Little John was very quiet, so I crept downstairs.  I found to my joy that Polly had eaten most of the toast, and had drunk the tea, and now she was sitting with her feet on the fender and her head in her hands, sobbing as if her heart would break.  What was it that had brought the tears?  She had not cried when the empty boat had come ashore; she had shed no tear when the doctor’s face had told her that he had no hope for the child; what was it that had helped her to give way to the tears which were such a relief to her?  It was a very simple thing.  She had picked up from the floor a little toy, a tiny roughly-shaped boat, which Duncan had made for the child, and which had been little John’s greatest treasure.  There had come over her such a rush of memories of the happy days of the past, gone, as she believed, for ever, of the father whose fingers had so busily carved the boat for his boy, but who would never come back to her again, and of the little lad passing away from her also, and leaving his treasured toy behind him.  All these sad but lovely memories came before her, as she took up the little boat and pressed it to her lips.  They came so strongly and with such power, that the tears which had refused to come before came with them, and brought, as I felt sure they would, wonderful relief to her over-strained heart.

‘Polly,’ I said, ’cheer up, don’t lose heart; I believe little John will recover.’

‘Thank you, sir, thank you,’ she said; as she dried her eyes.  ’I feel better now, a deal better, I do.  You have been good to me, sir.  I’ll go up again to him now.’

‘All right, Polly,’ I said; ’I’ll make up the fire, and then I’ll come and help you.  He’s asleep now, Polly.’

‘I’ll creep quietly up, then, sir,’ she said, and I saw as she rose to go that the stony look had gone out of her face and that she was herself again.

That sleep lasted for hours.  It was a quiet night, the wind had quite gone down, and everything seemed more still after the tumult of the previous night.  I was glad to see that Polly herself at length fell asleep in her chair; little John’s hand lay in hers, and I knew she would wake with his least movement; but I was pleased to see it, for I felt sure that even a light sleep would soothe and strengthen her.

I had just looked at my watch, and had seen that it was nearly half-past two, when I thought I heard footsteps outside, and a moment afterwards there came a gentle knock at the door.  It seemed a strange time for a visitor, but I thought probably it was some neighbour come to offer to help Polly in her long night watch, or perhaps it was Mr. Christie come to see how we were getting on.  I crept softly downstairs, lest either Polly or the child should wake, and carefully unfastening the bolts I opened the door.

I nearly yelled with joy when I saw who was standing there.  Never in all my life have I been more glad to see any man than I was that night to see Duncan, alive and uninjured, whilst all day long I had been picturing him being driven backwards and forwards by the waves, a drowned corpse at the mercy of the relentless sea.