Suddenly, a broken voice came in answer: "Bring me Marget! Bring me Marget!" "Do you wish to speak to her, Andrew?" "Bring me Marget, won't you," came again the wavering voice. I brought the dear old woman from her kitchen. She was trembling with anxiety and suspense. William Auld threw the door open. Andrew Clark was standing in the middle of the floor, with a look on his face that I had never seen there before,--a look of holy tenderness. He held out his arms to the white-haired old lady, who tottered forward to meet him. "Marget! Marget! My own lass, Marget!" he cried huskily, as tears blinded his sight. He caught her and crushed her to him. Margaret tried to speak, but her voice caught brokenly. "Andrew! Andrew!--don't, lad,--oh! don't." She laid her head on his breast and sobbed in utter content, as he stroked her hair. "It's been ten year o' hell for me, Marget: ten year o' hell for us both," he went on, "but God has spoken to me in the darkness, in the quietness; through hunger and thirst. My lass, my lass;--my own, dear, patient lass." He was holding her tightly to him and did not seem to know of our presence. Our hearts were too full to remain. We turned and left them in the joy of their reborn love. The minister, with face aglow, got into his launch, while I jumped into my rowing boat. When I was quite a long way from the shore, I looked back across the water to the cottage; and there, kneeling together on their veranda steps, their arms around each other, their heads bent in prayer, I saw Andrew Clark and Margaret. The next afternoon, Andrew called on me. He was waiting for me at the store, as Jake and I returned with two boat-loads of fresh stock which we were out receiving from the _Cloochman_. The old fellow took me by the hand and surprised me by his smile of open friendship. "I would ha'e come over sooner, George, but I couldna get away frae the ranch these last few days." His eyes turned humorously as he said it. "I might ha'e run over this mornin', but Marget and me ha'e a lot o' leaway to make up. "Say! man,--I'll be glad if you will do what ye can to help Rita. Make your ain arrangements;--for, what suits you, suits me and Marget." CHAPTER XVIII A Maid, a Mood and a Song In Golden Crescent Bay things moved quietly, almost drowsily. There were the routine of hurried work and the long spells of comparative idleness. As for the people over the way, I saw little of them outside of business. I had not spoken to Mary Grant since the peremptory dismissal I had received from her during her recovery from the drowning accident.