Nan threw herself upon the grass beside him as he twisted hay-bands for the stacks, and said no more than “Good afternoon” for a little.
He gloomed at her, and hissed between his teeth a Skye pibroch. For a time he would have her believe he was paying no attention, but ever and anon he would let slip a glance of inquiry from the corner of his eyes. He was not too intent upon his own grievances to see that she was troubled with hers, but he knew her well enough to know that she must introduce them herself if they were to be introduced at all.
He changed his tune, let a little more affability come into his face, and it was an old air of her childhood on the _Jean_ he had at his lips. As he whistled it he saw a little moisture at her eyes; she was recalling the lost old happiness of the days when she had gone about with that song at her lips. But he knew her better than to show that he perceived it.
“Have you heard that father’s going away, Duncan?” she asked in a little.
“I have been hearing that for five years,” said he shortly. He had not thought her worries would have been his own like this.
“So they’re telling me,” said Black Duncan.
He busied himself more closely than ever with his occupation.
“Do you think he should be taking me?” she asked in a little.
He stopped his work immediately, and looked up startled.
“The worst curse!” said he in Gaelic. “He could not be doing that. He goes to the Gold Coast. Do I not know it--the white man’s grave?”
“But this Glen Shira,” said she, pretending merriment, “it’s the white girl’s grave for me, Duncan. Should not I be glad to be getting out of it?” And now her eyes were suffused with tears though her lips were smiling.
“I know, I know,” said he, casting a glance up that lone valley that was so much their common grief. “And could we not be worse? I’m sure Black Duncan, reared in a bothy in Skye, who has been tossed by the sea, and been wet and dry in all airts of the world, would be a very thankless man if he was not pleased to be here safe and comfortable, on a steady bed at night, and not heeding the wind nor the storm no more than if he was a skart.”
“Oh! you’re glad enough to be here, then?” said she.
“Am I?” said he. And he sighed, so comical a sound from that hard mariner that she could not but laugh in spite of the anxieties oppressing her.