The Twa Miss Dawsons Part 27

"We couldna stop, if we were once to begin, Geordie; and you are tired, and my father would be ill-pleased. I only wanted to be sure that you were really home again. And I'm no' sure yet," she added laughing and touching with caressing fingers the soft brown beard, that she could just see, for a faint gleam of dawn was breaking over the sea. They looked at each other with shy pleasure, these two. Jean blushed and smiled under her brother's admiring eyes, but she would not linger.

"My father will hear us, and he will not be pleased," said she going softly away.

But was it not a joyful morning?

"May, are you ready? Come down quickly. I have something that I want you to see."

"May, I think it is I who have something to see," said George, as his younger sister came in. One might search the countryside and find no other such brother and sisters as these three. The father looked at them with proud but sorrowful eyes, for their mother was not there to see them.

George was changed, even more than his sisters. He had gone away a lad, and he had come back a man. There was more than the soft brown beard to show that. He had grown taller even, his father thought, he had certainly grown broader and stronger. The colour that used to be as clear red and white as his sisters' was gone. His face was brown and his eye was bright and steady, and his smile--when it came--was the same sunny smile that his father had so longed for during the sorrowful days of his absence. But it did not come so often as it used to come, and at other times, his face was touched with a gravity new to them all.

But there was no gloom on it, and no trace of any thing that those who loved him would have grieved to see. It was a stronger face now than it had been in the old days, but it was none less a pleasant face, and in a little while they forgot that it had changed. It was George's face.

That was enough.

"It is a _man's_ face. And he'll show himself a man yet, and do a man's share in the work of the world," said the proud and happy father. And in his heart he acknowledged his son's right to take his own way and live his own life, even though the way might lie apart from his, and though the life he chose might not be just the life that his father would have chosen for him.

"Your aunt should have been here, Jean. You should have sent for her,"

said Mr Dawson in a little.

"I will go and see her," said George. "I will walk in with you to the town, by and by."

"But we must have her here, all the same, for a day or two. Ye'll send for her afterward, Jean."

But they did not go in the morning as they meant to do. They lingered long over the breakfast-table, and then in the garden and in the wood, and the father and son went down the burn and through the green parks beyond, never thinking how the time was pa.s.sing, till Jean came to tell them that dinner was waiting.

After dinner they went to the town. But they did not go down the High-street. They were both shy at the thought of all the eyes that would be upon them there.

"And it should be your aunt first," said Mr Dawson.

So they went down a lane that led straight to the sea and then turned to Miss Jean's house.

"You'll go in by yourself and I'll step on and come back in a while,"

said his father.

He had not stepped far before a hand touched his arm, and a pair of s.h.i.+ning eyes met his.

"Oh, Mr Dawson! Is it George come home? And isna your heart like to break for joy?"

There were tears as well as smiles on the beautiful face that looked up into his with joyful sympathy and with entire confidence that sympathy would be welcome. For an instant Mr Dawson met her look with strangely contending emotions. Then a strange thing happened. He took the bonny moved face between his two hands, and stooping down, kissed it "cheek and chin" without a word.

He would not have believed the thing possible a minute before, he could hardly believe if a minute afterwards, as he turned back again towards his sister's house. Mrs Cairnie coming slowly down the street saw it-- and then she doubted, telling herself, that "her e'en were surely nae marrows," or that the last "drappie" she had taken at "The Kail Stock"

had been ower muckle for her, and the first person to whom she told the story thought the same.

Bonny Marion's mother and brother saw it from the window of their own house: he with amazement, she with dismay.

"It maun be that Geordie has come home, and that the joy of it has softened his heart," said Willie.

"Ay. He has gotten his son back again?" said Mrs Calderwood. And Willie knew that his mother was thinking of her child who would never return.

Marion came dancing in with the glad news. She told it soberly after a glance at her mother's face. And then they all sat waiting, knowing that George and his father would pa.s.s that way.

But George did not pa.s.s. Both men stood still before their door, and George's hand was laid for an instant on his father's shoulder. They knew what he was saying though they did not hear him speak, and then Mr Dawson went on "looking grave, but no' angry," Marion whispered, and George came into the house.

Mrs Calderwood received him as she had received her son, kissing him and thanking G.o.d for his safe home coming at last. Their meeting could not be all gladness, remembering how they had parted. George was very white and silent. Even Marion's bright face and joyful welcome could not win a smile. Willie and he had much to say to each other, but all that must wait till another time. George could stay but a moment, for his father was waiting for him at the pier.

That night Mrs Calderwood and her son sat together in the gathering gloaming, and after a long silence Willie said, "Would it break your heart altogether, mother, to think of leaving Portie?"

"Hearts are no' so easily broken as I used to think. I could leave it, if it were the wisest thing to do. I could leave even Scotland itself, for that matter."

"Yes, it would end in leaving Scotland--if any change were to be made.

But as far as you are concerned, you needna be in haste for a time."

"A while sooner or later would make little difference," said his mother.

Nothing more was said; but from that night, Mrs Calderwood knew that it might come to leaving Portie with them, and she set herself calmly to look the possibility in the face.

George came home about the middle of July, and the preparations for May's marriage were nearly completed by that time. Jean had determined that it was to be a very pretty wedding, and so it was; and having said this, little more need be said about it. It was like all other pretty weddings--that is to say like pretty weddings in the north. The guests were many, and merrier than wedding guests usually are in other regions.

Mr and Mrs Seldon came from London to be there, and other friends came from other places. George was "best man," and there were many bridesmaids. Marion Calderwood was one of them, and Willie was an invited guest. But at the last moment Willie failed them, and the only reason given, was the unsatisfactory one of "business before pleasure."

On the very morning of the marriage he left home "for London, or Liverpool, or somewhere,--before I was up," said Marion, who came early to put on her pretty bridesmaid's dress in Jean's room; and George, when May questioned him, said with absolute truth, that not a word had pa.s.sed between him and Willie as to the reason of his going away.

Mr Manners might have cast some light on the matter, though he also could have said that no word had been spoken with regard to it. Intent on making the acquaintance of George, they had set out the night before the wedding for a long walk along the sh.o.r.e, and meeting young Calderwood, he turned at their invitation and went with them.

Probably Mr Manners learned more about both of them in listening to their conversation with each other than he would have had he had one of them to himself. As it was he enjoyed it much. They went far and before they returned the gloaming had fallen.

Standing for a moment at the point where the High-street of Portie turns off from the road which leads in one direction along the sh.o.r.e, and in the other out towards Saughleas, they heard a voice, familiar enough to George and Willie, coming through an open cottage window.

"Weel, weel! I maun be gaen. Ilka ane kens her ain trouble. And them that ha'e nane, whiles think they ha'e, and that's as ill to thole till real trouble comes, and then they ken the difference. But I maun awa'

hame."

Mrs Cairnie lingered, however, at the open door.

"Eh, woman! wha's yon comin' up the High-street? Wha would ha'e thought it? The Dawsons are on the top o' the wave enow! Do ye no' see, woman?

Yon's young Miss Jean's Englishman."

Mr Manners had not followed all the speech, but he understood the last part of it, and never doubted that it referred to himself, "though she has mistaken the lady's name," said he, turning laughing eyes on young Calderwood.

But Willie did not meet his look. He was looking down the High-street, and George was looking at Willie whose face had grown white through all its healthy brown. Mr Dawson was coming slowly up the street, and by his side there walked a young man large, and fair, and handsome; a gentleman evidently whom neither of them had ever seen before. A groom driving a dog-cart followed slowly after.

"It must be Captain Harefield. May has spoken of him," said Mr Manners.

It was Captain Harefield. Mr Dawson introduced him as they came up, and from his father's manner George knew that he was pleased at the meeting.

"I have been trying to persuade Captain Harefield to come to the marriage to-morrow," said he. "It is short notice, I know, but not too short, if you will come out to Saughleas to-night and see the bride."

Captain Harefield murmured something about an engagement, but he looked as though he would willingly be persuaded to break it. Mr Manners first, and then George added a word, and he yielded, and he and Mr Dawson drove off in the dog-cart at once.

"Ye'll come with us, Willie?" said George laying his hand on his shoulder, in boyish fas.h.i.+on. The friends looked at one another, and both changed colour a little.