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Updated: May 15, 2025
He turned white under his tan, but he did not choose to make a book of his heart for Merran's bold black eyes to read. "It's a great thing for her," he answered calmly. "She was meant for better things than can be found at Racicot." "She was always too good for common folks, if that is what you mean," said Merran spitefully.
People had to work eighteen hours out of the twenty-four then. In the winter there was spare time to laugh and quarrel, woo and wed and were a man so minded dream, as did Rob Fletcher in his loneliness. In a Racicot winter much was made of small things. The arrival of Nora Shelley's weekly letter to her father and mother was an event in the village.
John Cameron and his wife were given the seats of honour in the middle of the room. Mrs. Cameron was a handsome, well-dressed woman, with an expression that was discontented and, at times, petulant. Yet her face had a good deal of plain common sense in it, and not even the most critical of the Racicot folks could say that she "put on airs."
John Cameron, childless millionaire, had built a summer cottage on that point two years ago, and given it the name of the old ancestral estate in Scotland. To the Racicot fishing folk the house and grounds were as a dream of enchantment made real. Few of them had ever seen anything like it. Nora Shelley knew Dalveigh well.
She's clever, and she's been hankering for more'n we can ever give her. I was the same way once. Lord, how I raged at Racicot! I broke away finally went to a city and got work. But it wasn't no use. I'd left it too long. The sea had got into my blood. I toughed it out for two years, and then I had to come back. I didn't want to, mark you, but I had to come. Been here ever since.
"Go to them," she said calmly. "You belong to them now." The news spread quickly over Racicot. Before night everyone on the harbour shore knew that the Camerons were going to adopt Nora Shelley and take her away with them. There was much surprise and more envy. The shore women tossed their heads. "Reckon Nora is in great feather," they said. "She always did think herself better than anyone else.
They wanted Nora these rich people who had so much in life wanted the blossom of girlhood that had never bloomed for them. John Cameron pleaded his cause well. "We will look on her as our own," he said at last. "We have grown to love her this summer. She is beautiful and clever she has a right to more than Racicot can give her. You have other children we are childless.
"And your notion is not to stick in Hon-fleur sweating over the stumps," added Racicot with a loud laugh. "You are quite right there, and I make no bones about it; that sort of thing would never have suited me. These men here bought my land-a good farm, and no one can gainsay it. They wanted to buy a farm and I sold them mine.
But the letters came to be more and more like those of a stranger and one apart from the Racicot life, and the father and mother felt it. "She's changing," muttered old Nathan. "It had to be so it's well for her that it is so but it hurts. She ain't ours any more. We've lost the girl, wife, lost her forever."
Nor did they. When Nora told them that she was going back to Racicot, they laughed at her kindly at first, treating it as the passing whim of a homesick girl. Later, when they came to understand that she meant it, they were grieved and angry. There were scenes of pleading and tears and reproaches. Nora cried bitterly in Mrs. Cameron's arms, but stood rock-firm.
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