CHAPTER XII

THE SAFE HAVEN

In the days that followed, Mrs. Peck’s honest soul was both vexed and anxious concerning her charge.  She found Columbine extraordinarily reticent.  As she herself put it, it was impossible to get any sense out of her.

In compliance with the doctor’s order and by the exercise of extreme self-restraint, she refrained from questioning her upon the matter of her behaviour on the night of the great tide.  That Columbine would have enlightened her had she done so was exceedingly doubtful.  But there was no doubt that something very unusual had taken place.  The little white roses that Rufus presented as a daily offering would have told her that, apart from any other indications.  She would have questioned Rufus, but something held her back; and Adam, when urged thereto, flatly refused to interfere.

Adam, rejuvenated and jubilant, went whistling about his work as of yore.  His boy had come back to him in the flesh, and he was more than satisfied to leave things as they were.

“Leave ’em alone, Missus!” was his counsel “Rufus he knows what he’s about.  He’ll steer a straight course, and he’ll bring her into harbour sooner or later.  You leave it to him, and be thankful that curly-topped chap has sheered off at last!”

Mrs. Peck had no choice but to obey, but her anxiety regarding Columbine did not diminish.  The girl was so listless, so unlike herself, so miserable.  It was many days before she summoned the energy to dress, and even then she displayed an almost painful reluctance to go downstairs.  She seemed to live in continual dread of some approaching ordeal.

“I believe it’s Rufus she’s afraid of,” was Mrs. Peck’s verdict.

But Adam scouted the idea as absurd.  “What will you think of next, woman?  Why, any one can see as he’s quiet and well-behaved enough for any lass.  She’s missing the curly-topped chap a bit maybe.  But she’ll get over that.  Give her time!  Give her time!”

So Mrs. Peck gave her time and urged her not at all.  She was not very friendly with Columbine in those days.  She disapproved of her, and her manner said as much.  She kept all suspicions to herself, but she could not behave as if nothing had happened.

“There’s wild blood in her,” she said darkly.  “I mistrust her.”

And Columbine was fully aware of the fact, but she was too wretched to resent it.  In any case, she would never have turned to Mrs. Peck for comfort.

She came downstairs at last one summer evening when Mrs. Peck was busy in the kitchen and no one was about.  She had made no mention of her intention; perhaps she wanted to be unhampered by observation.  It had been a soft, showery day, and there was the promise of more rain in the sky.

She moved wearily, but not without purpose; and soon she was walking with a hood drawn over her head in the direction of the cliff-edge where grew the sweet bog-myrtle and the little roses.