About the time when Malcolm once more sped through the bored craig,
the marquis and Lady Florimel were walking through the tunnel on
their way home, chatting about a great ball they were going to give
the tenants.
He found the laird where he had left him, and thought at first he
must now surely be asleep; but once more bending over him, he could
hear him still murmuring at intervals, "Father o' lichts! Father
o' lichts!"
Not less compassionate, and more sympathetic than Eliphaz or Bildad
or Zophar, Malcolm again took his place near him, and sat watching
by him until the gray dawn began in the east. Then all at once the
laird rose to his feet, and without a look on either side walked
steadily away towards the promontory. Malcolm rose also, and gazed
after him until he vanished amongst the rocks, no motion of his
distorted frame witnessing other than calmness of spirit. So his
watcher returned in peace through the cool morning air to the side
of his slumbering grandfather.
No one in the Seaton of Portlossie ever dreamed of locking door or
window at night.
CHAPTER XXIII: ARMAGEDDON
The home season of the herring fishery was to commence a few days
after the occurrences last recorded. The boats had all returned
from other stations, and the little harbour was one crowd of stumpy
masts, each with its halliard, the sole cordage visible, rove
through the top of it, for the hoisting of a lug sail, tanned to
a rich red brown.
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