During the days of alternating hope and disappointment following the storm
in which the Promoters perished, they had not permitted themselves to
think, much less to speak of a future which did not include those who
might yet return. But hope was over. When Promoter's mates beached his
boat, both David and Maggie understood the rite to be a funeral one. It
was not customary for women to go to funerals, but Maggie, standing afar
off, amid the gray thick fog, had watched the men drag the unfortunate
craft "where a boat ought never to be;" and when they had gone away, had
stood by the lonely degraded thing, and felt as sad and hopeless, as if it
had been the stone at a grave's mouth.

All the past was past; they had to begin a life set to new methods and
motives: "and the sooner the better," thought Maggie, "if fayther were
here, he wad say that."

"Davie?"

"Weel?"

"Is the tea gude? And the fish, and the cake?"

"Ay, they're gude. I didna think I was sae hungry. I'm maist 'shamed to
enjoy them sae hearty."

"Life's wark wants life's food; and we canna sit wi' idle hands anither
seven days. You were saying you had news, what will it be?"

"Ay, I had forgotten. Willie Johnson's Willie has brought back wi'
him a young man. He wants a quiet room to himsel', and there's naebody in
Pittenloch can gie him ane, if it be na us, or the Widow Thompson. He's