After a long stay within the walls of the Fort, Claude had yielded to
her cousin's importunity, and gone out.
She felt the truth of the French saying before she had gone a hundred
yards from her gates. It was only the first step that cost, for, as she
passed along the little row of houses facing the harbour, there was a
smile from one, a look of glad recognition from another, and several of
the rough fishermen who were hanging about waiting for signs of fish
doffed their hats with a hearty "How do, miss?"
A thrill of pleasure ran through her, and a feeling of awakening as from
a time of sloth, as she realised that life could not be passed as a time
for mourning.
She turned to speak to Mary, after another or two of these friendly
salutations to the lady of the Fort, and was met by a smile and a nod.
"There, I told you so, Claudie. It was quite time you came out. It was
a duty."
Claude felt her cheeks burn slightly as she noted the direction in which
they were going, but she kept on, feeling truly that she would have felt
the same whichever direction they had taken.
It was a glorious evening, with the sun turning the whole of the western
sky to orange and gold; and, as she breathed in the soft elastic air,
watched the brilliant shimmer of colour as of liquid flames at sea, she
listened to the murmurs of the ripple among the boulders, where the
little river ran swiftly down from the glen, and the twitter of the
birds in birch and fir. The joyous sensation that filled her breast was
painful, even to drawing tears.
It was to her like the first walk after a long illness, when there is a
feeling akin to ecstasy, and life seems never to have been so beautiful
before. She could not speak, but wandered on beside her cousin--over
the bridge, where they paused to gaze down at the golden-amber water,
sparkling and foaming on its way to the sea. Ever onward and up the
glen, but not far before the sound of a large pebble, kicked by a heavy
boot out into the rippling water, where it fell with a splash, told them
that they were not alone, and the next minute Chris had overtaken them
and held out his hand.
There was a look almost of reproach in Claude's eyes, as, with quivering
lip, she laid her hand in his, and yielded it, as he gently and
reverently carried it to his lips.
"I have not been to you; I have not written," he said, in a deep voice.
"I felt that it was a duty to respect your sorrow. I have felt for you
none the less deeply."