Linnet
wondered when she knelt beside Will that night if it would be wrong to
ask God to keep the wind ahead until Monday morning. Marjorie moaned in
her sleep in real trouble. Linnet dreamed that she awoke Sunday morning
and the wind had not changed.
But she did not awake until she heard a heavy rap on the window pane. It
was scarcely light, and Will had sprung out of bed and had raised the
window and was talking to his father.
"I'll be here in an hour or less time to drive you into Portland. Hollis
won't drive you; but I'll be here on time."
"But, father," expostulated Will. He had never resisted his father's will
as the others had done. He inherited his mother's peace-loving
disposition; he could only expostulate and yield.
"The Linnet must sail, or I'll find another master," said his father in
his harshest voice.
Linnet kept the tears back bravely for Will's sake; but she clung to him
sobbing at the last, and he wept with her; he had never wept on leaving
her before; but this time it was so hard, so hard.
"Will, how _can_ I let you go?"
"Keep up, sweetheart. It isn't a long trip--I'll soon be home. Let us
have a prayer together before I go."
It was a simple prayer, interrupted by Linnet's sobbing. He asked only
that God would keep his wife safe, and bring him home safe to her, for
Jesus' sake. And then his father's voice was shouting, and he was gone;
and Linnet threw herself across the foot of the bed, sobbing like a
little child, with quick short breaths, and hopeless tears.
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