Johnstone of the Border

"On board Andrew's yacht, I imagine."

Elsie was sensible of keen satisfaction; but only part of her fears were set at rest.

"And Andrew? Is he on the yacht?"

Staffer looked hard at her. She was trembling with excitement and cold, but she did not flinch, and he surprised her by a curious, bitter laugh. It carried a hint of understanding that brought the blood to her face.

"I don't know where he is, but there's reason to think he has come to no harm. That ought to satisfy you."

Elsie was silent. Her relief was great, but now that Andrew was safe, her mind could fix itself on other matters. Staffer had guessed her secret and knew that she had spoiled his plans; but his manner was more ironical than revengeful. For all that, it disturbed and frightened her. She thought something that had hit him hard had happened, and his cold-blooded calm was daunting.

"Well," he said, "there's a touch of grim humor in the situation. I found you a home and gave you the advantages you enjoy; and now you have baffled me and ruined the work of cleverer brains than mine. It's humiliating to see one's schemes brought to nothing by a raw girl's devotion to her stupid lover."

"I'm sorry the course of things made us enemies. It was unavoidable," she said quietly.

Staffer made an impatient sign.

"I'm going away and it's very doubtful if I'll ever return; but I'd rather you didn't mention the matter until breakfast to-morrow. Then you can say I've gone to Edinburgh. Perhaps you can promise me that?"

"Yes. Don't you want to see Mother before you go?"

"No," Staffer answered thoughtfully; "it might be better if I didn't."

He broke off as the car came throbbing to the door; and Elsie followed him across the hall.

"If things had only been different," she said, "we might have been friends – "

Staffer did not seem to hear, for he jumped into the car and it rolled away. Elsie stood looking out into the darkness for a long time; then she shut the door and went slowly upstairs. She felt limp and bewildered now that the strain had gone; the one thing she realized clearly was that Andrew was safe.

Madge turned to her eagerly as she entered her room; but Elsie did not stop.

"They are all right, but I can't talk about it now," she said and passed on into her room, closing the door.

While Staffer was leaving Appleyard, Andrew was picking his way toward the burnfoot, across a boggy heath. He had landed about an hour earlier and gone to a farm to ask for a horse and trap and had sent a man to Annan for a doctor. Now he was returning as fast as possible, because he felt anxious about Dick; but caution was needed, for many deep drains crossed the heath. The mist had closed in again, and, as he stopped at the last drain to look for a narrow spot, he heard the languid splash of the surf and the wild cry of a black-backed gull. For some reason, the harsh sound disturbed him; and, jumping the drain where he stood, he went on as fast as he could. The splash of the sea grew louder, and at last he saw an indistinct figure waiting near the water's edge. Andrew was used to the sands at night, but the motionless dark form seemed to strike a deeper note of desolation. His steps slackened as he approached it.

"Is that you, Jim?" he called.

Whitney waited until he came up, and then put his hand on his arm.

"I'm afraid you must brace yourself against a shock," he said gently.

"Ah! You mean Dick's worse?"

Whitney pressed his arm sympathetically.

"He's dead."

There was silence for the next minute, except for the mournful murmur of the sea.

"It wasn't long after you went ashore," Whitney added. "He looked up and beckoned me to sit on the locker by his cot. 'Tell Andrew I'm glad he'll have Appleyard,' he said."

Whitney paused for a moment.

"He lay still afterward, and I thought he'd gone to sleep. Then the cabin seemed to grow strangely quiet, and when I got up to look at him I saw that he was dead."

"The hurried trip down-channel killed him, and he made it for my sake!" Andrew said, in a tense, hoarse voice.

"You mustn't take that for granted; but, if true, he certainly wouldn't grudge the risk. He might have died at any time from some trifling exertion."

Andrew indicated the dinghy, in which he had rowed off from the yacht alone.

"How did you get ashore?"

"The bank's steep and I sheered her in until I could jump from the bowsprit end. I didn't want you to come on board without knowing."

"Thanks," said Andrew. "I'm going off to her now. Try to get into Marshall's hut and make a fire. We'll have to wait some time for the doctor."

He launched the dinghy, and when he returned Whitney had lighted a few sticks and peats in the fisherman's sod hut. Andrew's face was grave as he sat down on an empty box.

"If you don't mind, I'd rather not talk," he said.

He let Whitney row the doctor off when he arrived; and day was breaking when they reached Annan. An hour later, Andrew, feeling limp and cold, got down from a trap at Appleyard and walked stiffly into the hall. Elsie came to meet him with a glow in her eyes; but she stopped abruptly when she saw his face.

"What's the matter?" she asked.

He looked at her compassionately and she gasped.

"Oh! Is Dick – ?"

He put his arm around her and led her to an oak bench near the big fireplace.

"Dick's dead," he said quietly. "On board the Rowan. Heart failure, the doctor thinks."

"I sent him, when I knew he was ill!" she cried in distress.

"You didn't know it would do him much harm, dear."

"But I did!" Elsie moaned with a shiver, turning her head.

Andrew was puzzled, but he answered soothingly:

"I know what you feel, because I felt it too – Dick might have got better and lived a long time if he hadn't gone down-channel to warn me. In fact, I spoke to the doctor about it, but he didn't altogether take this view."

"He didn't want you to blame yourself."

"No; I don't think that was it. But it's a blow to us both, and the worst is I can do nothing to soften it for you."

"You loved him," she said with a look of pain. "You came home from Canada and fought Williamson for his sake. I was often impatient with him, and he always bore it well. He was generous and forgiving – and we know he was brave. He must have known the risk he ran – but he didn't hesitate. I knew it – and I sent him – "