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﻿Title: Capt'n Davy's Honeymoon
Author: Caine, Hall, Sir, 1853-1931
Language: English

*** Start of this Doctrine Publishing Corporation Digital Book "Capt'n Davy's Honeymoon" ***



By Hall Caine

Harper And Brothers - 1893


"My money, ma'am--my money, not me."

"So you say, sir."

"It's my money you've been marrying, ma'am."

"Maybe so, sir."

"Deny it, deny it!"

"Why should I? You say it is so, and so be it."

"Then d------ the money. It took me more till ten years to make it, and
it's gone, Mistress Quig-gin--d'ye hear me?--gone, every mortal penny of
Harry, and dang him--I'll lave ye, ma'am, I'll lave ye; and, sink or
swim, I'll darken your doors no more."

The lady and gentleman who blazed at each other with these burning
marriage with these words of wroth and madness. Something had come
divorce-making co-respondent. They call it Education.

mother might not see him from her place on the bed.

by falling in love with Nelly, his daughter.

When that happened Davy never quite knew. "That's the way of it," he
used to say. "A girl slips in, and there ye are." Nelly was in to a
had a rap of his own, and Nelly knew it.


could get out of a countenance half covered with soap.

"Come in, sir," said he, with a pretense of great deference. "Mawther,"
he said, twisting to Mrs. Kinvig, "just wipe down a chair for the

Davy slithered into his seat. "I'm in for it," he thought.

"They're telling me," said Kinvig, "that there is a fortune coming at
Respectable man, too--one of the first that's going, with sixty acres
at the knees."

said with bitter irony, "My house is too mane for you, sir. You must

Then Davy found his tongue. "You're right, sir," said he, leaping to
his feet, "It's too poor I am for your daughter, is it? Maybe I'll be a
piece richer someday, and then you'll be a taste civiler."

"Behold ye now," said Kinvig, "as bould as a goat! Cut your stick and

"I'm off, sir," said Davy; and, then, looking round and remembering that
ridiculous face.

"Good-by, ould Sukee," he cried. "I lave you to your texes."

again, "Good-by, mawther, take care of his ould head--it's swelling so
much that his chapel hat is putting corns on it."

That night with his "chiss" of clothes on his shoulders, Davy came down

shoveled upon himself.

"Good-by, Nell," he whispered; "there's thistles in everybody's crop.
a pony. But, Nelly, will ye wait for me?"

"D'ye doubt me, Davy?"

"No; but will ye though?"


"Then its all serene," said Davy, and with another hug and a kiss, and
gone with his chest into the darkness.

trading between Valparaiso and Callao. The climate was unhealthy,
of a Crown's shaft.

to him for something in the Isle of Man. "That's a new cowhouse at
Ballavolly." "That's Balladry." "That's ould Brew's mill at Sulby--he'll
be out by this time."

in small "i's" and capital "U's"? he always inquired how more material
things were faring. "How's the herrings this sayson; and did the men do

was a bould fellow. "None o' yer randy-tandy-tissimee-tea tied to the
old mawther's apron-strings about _him_. He's coming home rich, and
chapel, and kick ould Cowley and his fiddle out."

she came she minced her words affectedly, and Kinvig whispered the
mother that she was getting "a fine English tongue at her." The second
time she came she plagued everybody out of peace by correcting their
"plaze" to "please," and the "mate" to "meat," and the "lave" to
"leave." The third time she came she was silent, and looked ashamed: and
ten years' absence.

Davy came by the Sneafell from Liverpool. It was August--the height of
the visiting season--and the deck of the steamer was full of tourists.
Davy walked through the cobweb of feet and outstretched legs with the
was watching the land and remembering everything upon it, and shouting
"That's Castle Mona!" "There's Fort Ann!" "Yonder's ould St. Mathews's!"
they struck up "Home, Sweet Home." That was too much for Davy. He
aloud like a baby.

Ballaugh; but before the English driver from the Mitre had identified
country cart--Billiam Ballaneddan, who had come to Douglas to dispatch a
belongings into the landau, piling them mountains high on the cushioned
which should be home first--the cart or the carriage, the luggage or the
stones like a parched pea on a frying pan.

anything, and as he recognized everything he shouted throughout the
approached Kirk Michael his excitement was intense. He was nearing
home and he began to know the people. "Lord save us, there's Tommy
Bill-beg--how do, Tommy? And there's ould Betty! My gough, she's in
yet--how do, mawther? There's little Juan Caine growed up to a man!
yourself? Goodness me, here's Liza Corlett, and a baby at her----! I
knew her when she was no more than a babby herself." This last remark
tail of the springless cart.

"Drive on, Billiam! Come up, ould girl--just a taste of the whip,
is in the same place still."

At length the square tower of Ballaugh

off his billycock, whirled it round his head, bellowed "Hurrah! Hurrah!
Hurrah!" After that he would have leaped alongside to the ground and
run. "Hould hard!" he cried, "I'll bate the best mare that's going." But
the horse to a gallop with the other.

himself was sitting lame with rheumatism in the "elber chair" by the
ingle. They wiped down a chair for Davy this time.

"And Nelly," said Davy. "Where's Nelly?"

"She's coming, Capt'n," said Kinvig. "Nelly!" he called up the kitchen
stairs, with a knowing wink at Davy, "Here's a gentleman asking after


"Nell--Nelly," he shouted, "I've kep' my word."

"Aw, give her time, Capt'n," said Kinvig; "a new frock isn't rigged up

were full of it.

"Aw, mawther," said he. "They're like honeysuckles--don't spake to me
skess with you now, Davy."


It was a sermon to young fellows on the subject of sweethearts. "Don't
you marry for land," said he. "It's muck," said he. "What d'ye say,
Billiam--you'd like more of it? I wouldn't trust; but it's spaking the
a warm girl, she's got nice things at her--bas'es and pigs, and the like
of that.' But don't, if you'rr not a reg'lar blundering blockit." Then,
her lap beside him, he softened down to sentiment, and said, "Marry for
will be helping you through your work all next day."


Two hours afterward the landau was rolling away toward the Castle Mona
bride were to spend their honeymoon.


quarreled and separated, two of their friends were by their urgent
invitation crossing from England to visit them, Davy's friend was
destination of the other.

Miss Crow looked out of her twinkling eyes and saw a gentleman
diamond ring he somehow thought he knew.

an end.

After exclamations of surprise at the strange recognition (it was all
a mutual and satisfactory understanding. Neither had ever looked
at anybody else since their rupture, and therefore both were still

Having reached this stage of investigation, the wool and its needles
lady, and thus they sailed forth together.

"And with whom are you to stay when we reach the island, Jenny?" said

"With a young Manx friend lately married," said Jenny.

"That's strange; for I am going to do the same," said Lovibond. "Where?"

"At Castle Mona," said Jenny.

"That's stranger still; for it's the place to which I am going," said
Lovibond. "What's your Manx friend's name?"

"Mrs. Quiggin, now," said Jenny.

"That's strangest of all," said Lovibond; "for my friend is Captain
Quiggin, and we are bound for the same place, on the same errand."

This series of coincidences thawed down the remaining frost between the
to promise themselves a fortnight's further enjoyment of each other's

Two carriages were waiting for them on the pier--one, with a maid
take Lovibond to Fort Ann.

while her husband was at Fort Ann.

"They've parted, ma'am," said Peggy.

"Parted?" shrieked Jenny above the rattle of the carriage glass.

"Ah, yes, ma'am," Peggy stammered; "cruel, ma'am, right cruel, cruel
extraordinary. It's a wonder the capt'n doesn't think shame of his
she didn't clout him."

crying, "Gracious me, Ellen, what is this your maid tells me?"


"He reproached me with my poverty," she cried.


"Well, he told me I had only married him for his money--there's not much

"And what did you say?" said Jenny.


"But how did he come to accuse you of marrying him for his money? Had
you asked him for any?"

"Not I, indeed."

"Perhaps you hadn't loved him enough?"

"Not that either--that I know of."

"Then why did he say it?"

"Just because I wanted him to respect himself, and have some respect for
from the Calf."

Jenny gave a look of amused intelligence, and said, "Oh, oh, I see, I
see! Well, let me take off my bonnet, at all events."

her eyes, continued the recital of her wrongs:--

"Would you believe it, Jenny, the first thing he did when we arrived
mothers, and their sweethearts--the man knew them all. And when he heard
kitchen to talk about old times."

"Yes, I see," said Jenny; "he has made a fortune, but he is just the same
simple Manx lad that he was ten years ago."

for the fishermen counting their herrings out of the boats into the

"Not a bit changed, then, since he went away?" said Jenny, before the

on me and tells me I've only married him for his money."

"Dreadful!" said Jenny, fixing her fringe. "And is this the old
sweetheart you have waited ten years for?"

"Indeed, it is."

"And now that he has come back and you've married him, he has parted
from you in ten days?"

"Yes; and it will be the talk of the island--indeed it will."

"Shocking! And so he has left you here on your honeymoon without a penny
to bless yourself?"

"Oh, for the matter of that, he fixed something on me before the
wedding--a jointure, the advocates called it."

"Terrible! Let me see. He's the one who sent you presents from America?"

stingiest will do that. They like to think they're such generous
from her dream. 'You married me for my money--deny it?'"


Jenny was leaning her forehead against the window sash, and looking
in the tale of her troubles, and said, in another voice, "Jenny Crow,
take nothing seriously."

Jenny turned back to the room with a solemn face, and said, "Nellie,
years for you."

"I suppose he did."

love is the same?"

"Then how _could_ he say such things?"

that somebody else is different?"

"Now, Jenny Crow, you are going to say it's all my fault?"

"Not all, Nelly. Something has come between you."

then he can't fling it in your face that you are poorer than he."

to turn his back on his old poor comrades--not to think because he has
been in the sun that people are black who are only in the shade--not
to pretend to have altered his skin because his coat has changed--isn't

"I see what you mean. You mean that I've driven my husband away with my
bad temper."

"No; not that; but Nelly--dear old Nell--think what you're doing. Take
common who loves you--no matter what his ways are, or his manners, or
and you who are beloved. Cling to it--prize it--do not throw it away.
loved she is a queen, and he who loves her is her king."

swollen eyes to say, "I see; you would have me go to him and submit, and
money----' No," leaping to her feet, "I'll scrub my fingers to the bone

"But, Nelly----"


fingers, kicked up one leg a little, and said lightly, "Very well; and
now let us have some dinner,"----

Meantime Lovibond was hearing the other side of the story from Captain

"Aw, terr'ble doings, sir, terr'ble, terr'ble!" moaned Willie. "Young
all's blue."

soon as they were alone he said:

"But what's this that your boy tells me, captain?"

"I'm foundered," said Davy, "broke, wrecked, the screw of my tide's gone
twisting on the rocks. I'm done, mate, I'm done."

since morning.

d------ the money,' says I, 'I'll lave you till it's gone.' 'Do it and
in. Mate!" (this in a voice of thunder to the waiter at the end of the
adjoining room) "brandy for the gentleman."

Lovibond waited a moment and then said quietly, "But whatever made you
give her an ungenerous stab like that, captain?"

Davy looked up curiously and answered, "That's just what I've tooken six

"Why take it back?" said Lovibond.

"No, deng my buttons if I will."

"Why not?"

"'Cause it's true."

Lovibond waited again, and then said in another voice, "And is this the
little girl you used to tell of out yonder on the coast--Nessy, Nelly,
Nell, what was it?"

boot, and said, "No--yes--no--Well, it is and it isn't. It's Nelly

"The little thing that used to know your rap at the kitchen window, and
the lane with you in the starlight?"

the pieces out at the open window and said, "I darn't say no."

"The one that stuck to you like wax when her father gave you the great
bounce out--eh?"

Davy wriggled and spat, and then muttered, "You go bail."

"You have known her since you were children, haven't you?"

Davy's hard face thawed suddenly, and he said, "Ay, since she wore
together, and the daisies and the buttercups--and then the curlews
whistling and the river singing like music, and the bees ahumoning--aw,
divil a hat at the one of us--aw, deary me, deary me! Wasn't much starch
at her in them ould days, mate."

"Is there now, captain?"

"Now? D'ye say _now_? My goodness! It's always hemming and humming and a
threepenny bit--smooth astonishing. And partic'lar! My gough! You
it Thomas."

Lovibond smiled behind his big mustache.

"The rael ould Manx isn't good enough for her now. Well, I wasn't
objecting, not me. She's got the English tongue at her--that's all
and so did mine, and I arn't much of a Job neither."

"And what has made all this difference," said Lovibond.

it," said Davy, pitching the head of his pipe after the shank. "I went
girl to do for you, and you'll take your aise--only milking maybe, or
money, so I'm making it fly."

"And when it's gone--what then?" said Lovibond. "Will you go back to

"Maybe so, maybe no."

"Will anything be the better because the money's spent?"

"God knows."

you were?"

Davy heaved up to his feet. "What's the use of thinking of the like of
that?" he cried. "My money's mine, I baked for it out in that oven. Now
I'm spending it, and what for shouldn't I? Here goes--healths apiece!"

was pointed and punctuated by a sense of their own relations.

"It's plain that the good fools love each other," said Jenny.

"Quite plain," said Lovibond.

"Heigho! It's mad work being angry with somebody you are dying to love,"
said Jenny.

"Colney Hatch is nothing to it," said Lovibond.

"Smaller things have parted people for years," said Jenny.

"Yes; five years," said Lovibond.

"The longer apart the wider the breach, and the harder to cover it,"
said Jenny.

"Just so," said Lovibond.

"They must meet. Of course they'll fight like cat and dog, but better
that than this separation. Time leaves bigger scars than claws ever
made. Now, couldn't we bring them together?"

"Just what I was thinking," said Lovibond.

him," said Jenny.

"And I'm certain she must be as sweet as an angel, though I've never
seen her," said Lovibond.

and said eagerly, "There you are--there's the idea in a cockle-shell.
Now _if each could see the other through other eyes!_"

"The very thing!" said Lovibond.

"Then why don't you give me your arm at once, and let me think me over?"
and how it worked let those who read discover.


servants' sweethearts. "Seen Peggy lately?" Capt'n Davy would say. "I
suppose you've not come across Willie Quarrie lately?" Mrs. Quiggin
hearing anything of each other.

Lovibond had said nothing of Jenny to Davy.

Matters stood so when one evening Peggy Quine was dressing up her
mistress's hair for dinner, and answering the usual question.

beer, and cards and betting--it's ter'ble, ma'm, ter'ble. Somebody
free. Parsons and preachers and the like--they're all at him, same as
flies at a sheep with the rot."

"And what do people say, Peggy?"

"They say fools and their money is quickly parted ma'am."

"How dare you call anybody a fool, Peggy?"

"Aw it's not me, ma'am. It's them that's seeing him wasting his money
shouting loudest. 'Deed, ma'am, but his conduct is shocking."

"And what do people say is the cause of it, Peggy?"

"Lumps in his porridge, ma'am."


"Yes, though, that's what Willie Quarrie is telling me. When a woman
porridge. Aw, Willie's a feeling lad."

in another voice, "Peggy, there's a strange gentleman staying with the
Captain at Forte Ann, is there not?"

"Yes, ma'am; Mr. Loviboy."

"What is he like, Peggy?"


"Tall, Peggy?"

"No, a long wisp'ry man."

"I suppose he helps the Captain to spend his money?"


"How dare you, Peggy?"

without delay. This done, and marked _private_, she called Peggy back

swinging a parasol by a ring about her wrist.

"Such an adventure!" she said, sinking into a chair. "A man, of
was listening to the Bishop's preaching. Such a manly fellow!
Dark, of course, and such eyes, Nelly! Brown--no black-brown. I like
black-brown eyes in a man, don't you?"


"Then his dress--so simple. None of your cuffs and ruffs, and great high
jacket. I like a man in a monkey jacket."


"A sailor, thinks I. There's something so free and open about a sailor,
isn't there?"

"Do you think so, Jenny?" said Mrs. Quiggin in a faint voice.

"I'm sure of it, Nelly. The sailor is just like the sea. He's noisy--so
is the sea. Liable to storms--so is the sea. Blusters and boils, and
rocks and reels--so does the sea. But he's sunny too, and open and free,
and healthy and bracing, and the sea is all that as well."

and shame, but she only said, falteringly, "Didn't you talk of some

"Oh, of course, certainly," said Jenny. "After he had listened a moment
myself, and said I hoped he wouldn't disturb himself on my account."

"You never said that, Jenny Crow?"

right man is speaking it."

"So he was a Manxman," said Mrs. Quiggin, with a far-away look through
the open window.

"Didn't I say so before? But he has quite saddened me. I'm sure there's
'and I don't know nothing--'."

"Oh, then he wasn't a gentleman?" said Mrs. Quiggin.

Jenny fired up sharply. "Depends on what you call a gentleman, my dear.
first two syllables of the name."

Mrs. Quiggin looked down at her feet.

"I only meant," she said meekly, "that your friend hasn't as much

"Then, perhaps, he has more brains," said Jenny. "That's the way they're
sometimes divided, you know, and education isn't everything."

"Do _you_ think that, Jenny?" said Mrs. Quiggin, with another long look
through the window.

"Of course I do," said Jenny.

"And what did he say?"


"Poor fellow!" said Mrs. Quiggin. "He must have found things changed
since he went away."

"He must," said Jenny.

"Perhaps he has lost some one who was dear to him," said Mrs. Quiggin.

"Perhaps," said Jenny, with a sigh.

"His mother may be, or his sister--" began Mrs. Quiggin.

"Yes, or his wife." continued Jenny, with a moan.

Mrs. Quiggin drew up suddenly. "What's his name?" she asked sharply.

"Nay, how could I ask him that?" said Jenny.

"Where does he live?" said Mrs. Quiggin.

"Or that either?" said Jenny.

Mrs. Quiggin's eyes wandered slowly back to the window. "We've all got
our troubles, Jenny," she said quietly.

"All," said Jenny. "I wonder if I shall ever see him again."

"Tell me if you do, Jenny?" said Mrs. Quiggin.

"I will, Nelly," said Jenny.

"Poor fellow, poor fellow," said Mrs. Quiggin.


Meanwhile Lovibond at Fort Ann was telling a similar story to Captain
correspondence. Davy read with difficulty, and replied to all letters
letters pigeonholed between his legs. Willie Quarrie sat at a table
figures on the check-book.


"'Honored Captain, we are going to erect a new school in connection
'Dear David....' That's good--he walloped me out of the school once for
mimicking his walk--same as a coakatoo esactly. 'Dear David, owing to
the lamentable death of brother Mylechreest it has been resolved to
sort--kind of religious firm where there's three partners, only two of
them's sleeping ones. Dirty ould hypocrite! Fifteen pounds, Willie."

This was the scene that Lovibond interrupted by his entrance. "Still
bent on spending your money, Captain?" he said. "Don't you see that the
people who write you these begging letters are impostors?"

"Coorse I do," said Davy. "What's it saying in the Ould Book? 'Where the
translation theer, friends, should have been vultures."

"Half of them will only drink your money, Captain," said Lovibond.

"And what for shouldn't they? That's what I'm doing," said Davy.

"It's poor work, Captain, poor work. You didn't always think: money was
a thing to pitch into a ditch."

"Always? My goodness, no!" said Davy. "Time was once when I thought
slip of a lad, didn't I?" said he, sobering very suddenly. "The father
lot of us. They all went off except myself--the sisters and brothers.
The mawther weeded for Jarvis Kewley--sixpence a day dry days, and
some day.' And now--"

said shortly, "Where've you been to?"

"To church--the church with a spire at the end of the parade," said

"St. Thomas's--I know it," said Davy.

St. Thomas's was half way up to Castle Mona.


"Who preached?" said Davy, clasping hands at the back of his head.

"A young woman," said Lovibond.

Davy lifted his head out of its socket, "My goodness!" he said.

"Well, at all events," explained Lovi-bond, "it was a girl who preached
to _me_. The moment I went into the church I saw her, and I saw nothing
else until I came out again."

Davy laughed, "Ay, that's the way a girl slips in," said he. "Who was

"Nay; I don't know," said Lovibond; "but she sat over against me on
could keep my eyes from wandering from."

"And what was her tex', mate?"

"Beauty, grace, truth, the tenderness of a true heart, the sweetness of
a soul that is fresh and pure."

Davy looked up with vast solemnity. "Take care," said he. "There's odds
good ones. Now I've seen some you could swear to----."

"I'll swear to this one," said Lovibond with an appearance of tremendous

Davy looked at him, gravely. "D'ye say so?" said he.

"Such eyes, Capt'n--big and full, and blue, and then pale, pale blue, in
the whites of them too, like--like----."

"I know," said Davy; "like a blackbird's eggs with the young birds just
breaking out of them."

"Just," said Lovibond, "And then her hair, Capt'n--brown, that brown

"I know the sort, sir," said Davy, proudly; "like the ling on the
mountains in May, with the gorse creeping under it."

"Exactly. And then her voice, Cap tain, her voice--."

"So you were speaking to her?" said Davy.

"No, but didn't she sing?" said Lovi-bond. "Such tones, soft and
tremulous, rising and falling, the same as--as--."

"Same as the lark's, mate," said Davy, eagerly; "same as the
lark's--first a burst and a mount and then a trimble and a tumble, as if
and swallowing together--I know the sort; go on."

quietly, "I'm afraid she's in trouble."

"Poor thing!" said Davy. "How's that, mate?"

"People can never disguise their feelings in singing a hymn," said

"You say true, mate," said Davy; "nor in giving one out neither. Now,

"That's all," said Lovibond. "When the service was over I walked down
the aisle behind her, and touched her dress with my hand, and somehow--"

"I know," cried Davy. "Gave you a kind of 'lectricity shock, didn't it?
Lord alive, mate, girls is quare things."

"Then she walked off the other way," said Lovibond.

"So you don't know where she comes from?" said Davy.

"I couldn't bring myself to follow her, Capt'n."

"And right too, mate. It's sneaking. Following a girl in the streets is
your flotes down for a good one. Give her line, mate--give her line--and

Lovibond observed that Capt'n Davy was more than usually restless after
his boy:--

"Willie Quarrie, didn't you say there was an English lady staying with
Mistress Quiggin at Castle Mona?"

"Miss Crows; yes," said Willie. "So Peggy Quine is telling me--a little

"Then just slip across in the morning, and spake to herself, and say can

Davy's uneasiness continued far into the evening. He walked alone to
nothing, and he gave no sign.

and he went out on to the Head.

there as it had been noisy and hideous within.

when Davy himself came out.

"I can't stand no more of it, and I've sent them home," he said. "It's
with them wastrels."

He was sober in one sense only.

"Tell me more about the little girl in church. Aw, matey, matey!
would all be bachelors. Now mine came in at the ear."

"Did you fall in love with her singing, Capt'n?" said Lovibond.

"Yes, did I," said Davy, "and her spaking, too, and her whispering as
well, but it wasn't music that brought love in at my ear--my left ear it
was, Matey."

"Whatever was it then, Capt'n," said Lovibond.

"Milk," said Davy.

"Milk?" cried Lovibond, drawing up in their walk.

"Just milk," said Davy again. "Come along and I tell you. It was this
calf, that shy. One evening--it was just between the lights--that's
when girls is like kittens, terr'ble full of capers and
mischievousness--Nelly rigged up her kopie--that's her
milking-stool--agen mine, so that we sat back to back, her milking
swansdown. That's how Nelly and me 'came engage."

merry shout and a husky croak, "Aw, dear, aw, dear; the days that was,
sir--the days that was!"

the fires of buried passion.


"Good night, capt'n," said Lovi-bond. "I suppose you'll go to bed now?"

"Maybe so, maybe no," said Davy. "You see, I'm like Kinvig these days,
he'd got the lay of that cartwheel. Aw, yes, though--thinking, thinking,
thinking constant--that's me when I'm in bed. But it isn't the lying
afore a blacksmith's seven-pound sledge. Good night, mate; good night."


He _had_ seen her--in his own description of the girl in church, helped
advantage. There were some weary sighs and then she said:--

"I am in great, great trouble about my husband. They say he is wasting
his money. Is it true?"

"Too true," said Lovibond.

"And that if he goes on as he is now going he will be penniless?"

"Not impossible," said Lovibond, "provided the mad fit last long

"Is remonstrance quite useless, Mr. Lovibond?"

"Quite, Mrs. Quiggin."

of his boots.

I should have to think that I came into his life to wreck it."

"Don't blame yourself for that, Mrs. Quiggin. It will be his own fault
if he ruins himself."

"You are very good, Mr. Lovi-bond."

"Your husband will never blame you either."

"That will hardly reconcile me to his misfortunes."

["The man's an ass," thought Lovibond.]

"I shall not trouble him much longer with my presence here," Mrs.
Quiggin continued, and Lovibond looked up inquiringly.

"I am going back home soon," she added. "But if before I go some friend
would help me to save my husband from himself----"

Lovibond rose in an instant. "I am at your service, Mrs. Quiggin," he
said briskly. "Have you thought of anything?"

island are winning from him."



that--that--but will you forgive what I am going to tell you?"

"Anything," said Lovibond.

"That out on the coast _you_ could win from anybody. I remembered this
against my husband--for _me_------"

"I see what you mean, Mrs. Quiggin," said Lovibond.

Bank day by day as you got it."

"In whose name?" said Lovibond.

The great eyes opened very wide. "His, surely," she said falteringly.


"Very well," he said; "I'll do my best."

"Will it be wrong to deceive him, Mr. Lovibond?"

"It will be mercy itself, Mrs. Quiggin."

that I am thinking of myself, Mr. Lovibond?"

"Trust me for that, Mrs. Quiggin."

"And when the wild fit is over, and my husband hears of what has been
of it?"

"You shall tell him yourself, Mrs. Quiggin."

"Ah! that can never, never be," she said, with a sigh. And then she
murmured softly, "I don't know what my husband may have told you about
me, Mr. Lovibond--"

Lovibond's ardor overcame his prudence. "He has told me that you were
an angel once--and he has wronged you, the dunce and dulbert--you are an
angel still."

She had clutched at his invitation with secret delight. "Just the
thing," she thought. "Now, won't I give the other simpleton a piece of
my mind, too?" So she had bowled off to Fort Ann with a heart as warm
full of the memories of recent tears! Jenny recalled her description

led her up to it with rude but natural manners. "The girl was a ninny to
quarrel with a man like this," she thought. Nevertheless she remembered
or two.

"It's rael nice of you to come, ma'am," said Davy.

"It's more than you deserve," said Jenny.

"I shouldn't wonder but you think me a blundering blocket," said Davy.

"I didn't think you had sense enough to know it," said Jenny.

her face and said--

"I'm terr'ble onaisy about herself, ma'am, and can't take rest at nights
for thinking what's to come to her when I am gone."

"Gone?" said Jenny, rising quietly.

"That's so ma'am," said Davy. "I'm going away--back to that ould Nick's
oven I came from, and I'll want no money there."

"Is that why you're wasting it here, Captain Quiggin?" said Jenny. Her
gayety was gone by this time.

"No--yes! Wasting? Well maybe so, ma'am, may be so. It's the way with

"Well, Captain?"

"She won't take any of it, coming from me, but I was thinking, ma'am--"

"Yes?" Davy was pawing the carpet with one foot, and Jenny's eyes were
creeping up the horn buttons of his waistcoat.

"I was thinking, ma'am, if you could take a mossle of it yourself
before it's all gone, and go and live with her--you and she together
somewheres--some quiet place--and make out somehow--women's mortal
clever at rigging up yarns that do no harm--make out that somebody
belonging to you is dead--it can't kill nobody to say that ma'am--and
left you a bit of a fortune out of hand----"

Davy's restless foot was digging away at the carpet while he was
stammering out these broken words:

"Haven't you no ould uncle, ma'am, that would do for the like of that?"

then and there, "What a ninny the girl was!" she thought. But she said
aloud, as well as she could for her throat that was choking her, "I see
what you mean, Captain Quiggin. But, Cap tain----"

"Ma'am?" said Davy.

"If you have so much thought--(_gulp, gulp_)--for your wife's welfare
(_gulp_), you--must love her still (_gulp, gulp_)?

"I daren't say no, ma'am," said Davy, with downcast eyes.

"And if you love her, however deeply she may have offended you, surely
is only a woman, you know."

"That's just where the shoe pinches, ma'am, so I'm taking it off. Out
what matter?"

Jenny's eyes were beginning to fill.

of colic that isn't cured by drops."

Jenny was breaking down fast.

"Aw, the heart's a quare thing, ma'am. Got its hunger same as anything
the pit of your stomach, ma'am. Did you never feel it, ma'am?"

went away he would never be happy again.

"Happy, ma'am? D'ye say happy? I'm not happy _now,_" said Davy.

"It isn't everybody would think so, Captain," said Jenny, "considering
how you spend your evenings--singing and laughing----"

"Laughing! More cry till wool, ma'am, same as clipping a pig."

"So your new friends, Captain, those that your riches have brought

"Friends? D'ye say friends? Them wastrels! What are they? Nothing but
a parcel of Betty Quilleash's baby's stepmothers. And I'm nothing but
Betty Quilleash's baby myself, ma'am; that's what I am."

could not laugh, and Jenny's eyes were streaming.

"Betty lived at Michael, ma'am, and died when her baby was suckling.
right one it had lost. That's me, ma'am; that's me."

the innocent deception which Captain Davy had suggested. "That Nelly
Kinvig is as hard as a flint," she told herself, bitterly. "I've no
the very next opportunity?"


these was that Capt'n Davy's fortune changed hands.

Davy's savings had been invested in two securities--the Liverpool Dock

doubling until the stakes were prodigious. Every night he discharged his
the immediate cause of strife between them passed from the offender to
the offended, from the strong to the weak.

more spiritual were of still greater consequence.

Lovibond and Jenny met constantly. They made various excursions through
the island--to the Tynwald Hill, to Peel Castle, to Castle Rushen, the
these little jaunts and journeys?

Mrs. Quiggin provided all their illustrations to these interesting
themes, for naturally they never spoke of themselves.

"It's astonishing what geese some people can be," said Jenny.

"Astonishing," echoed Lovibond.

"Just for sake of a poor little word of confession to hold off like
this," said Jenny.

"Just a poor little word," said Lovibond.

"He has only to say 'My dear, I behaved like a brute,' but----"

"Only that," said Lovibond. "And she has merely to say, 'My love, I
behaved like a cat,' but----"

"That's all," said Jenny. "But he doesn't--men never do."

"Never," said Lovibond. "And she won't--women never will."

out as grappling hooks for jealousy.

there are women who would give their two ears for him," said Jenny.

"And she's the sweetest, tenderest, loveliest woman alive, and there are
men who would give their two eyes for her," said Lovibond.

"Pity they don't," said Jenny, "for all the use they make of them."

and Mrs. Quiggin nevertheless made due progress.

"She's half in love with my Manx sailor on the Head," said Jenny.

"And he's more than half in love with my lady in the church," said

"And now that we've made each of them fond of each other in disguise, we
have just to make both of them ashamed of themselves in reality," said

"Just that," said Lovibond.

"Ah me," said Jenny. "It isn't every pair of geese that have friends
like us to prevent them from going astray."

"It isn't," said Lovibond. "We're the good old ganders that keep the
geese together."

"Speak for yourself, sir," said Jenny.

separation a fortnight before that had been the constant condition of

occupied, and the pier crowded with people looking seaward. "She's the
Snaefell?" "No, but the Ben-my-Chree--see, she has four funnels." Then,
of the newsboys: "This way for Castle Mona!" "Falcon Cliff this way!"
"Echo!" "Evening Express!" "Good passage, John?" "Good." "Five hours?"
"And ten minutes." "What news over the water?" "They've caught him."
"Never." "Express!" "Fort Anne here--here for Villiers." "Comfortable
lodgings, sir." "Take a card, ma'am." "What verdict d'ye say?" "She's
got ten years." "Had fine weather in the island?" "Fine." "Echo! Evening
Echo!" "Fort Anne this way!" "Gladstone in Liverpool?" "Yes, spoke at
Hengler's last night--fearful crush." "Castle Mona!" "Evening News!"
"Peveril!" "This way Falcon Cliff!" "Ex-press!"

off from it--like the throbbing and bounding globules of fresh blood
an evening breeze.

"Such news!" cried Jenny. "I've seen him again."

Mrs. Quiggin's book dropped suddenly to her lap. "Seen him?" she said
with bated breath.

"You remember--the Manx sailor on the Head," said Jenny.

"Oh!" said Mrs. Quiggin, languidly, and her book went back to before her

"Been to Laxey to look at the big wheel," said Jenny; "and found the
so I heard everything. Didn't I tell you that he must be in trouble?"

"And is he?" said Mrs. Quiggin, monotonously.

"My dear," said Jenny, "he's married."

"I'm very sorry," said Mrs. Quiggin, with a listless look toward the
sea. "I mean," she added more briskly, "that I thought you liked him

"Liked him!" cried Jenny. "I loved him. He's splendid, he's glorious,
world. But it's just my luck--another woman has got him. And such
little finger."

"Is she so bad as that?" said Mrs. Quiggin, smiling feebly above the top

"My dear," said Jenny, solemnly, "she has turned him out of the house."

"Good gracious!" said Mrs. Quiggin; and away went the book on to the

some money. He had loved his wife passionately--that was the only blot
welcome had awaited him. His wife was as proud as Lucifer--the daughter
turned him adrift.

awake, listened eagerly. "Can it be possible that there are women like
that?" she said, in a hushed whisper.

"Indeed, yes," said Jenny; "and men are simple enough to prefer them to
better people."

"But, Jenny," said Mrs. Quiggin, with a far-away look, "we have only
heard one story, you know. If we were inside the Manxman's house--if we
knew all--might we not find that there are two sides to its troubles?"

"There are two sides to its street-door," said Jenny, "and the husband
is on the outside of it."

"She took his money, you say, Jenny?"

"Indeed she did, Nelly, and is living on it now."

"And then turned him out of doors?"

"Well, so to speak, she made it impossible for him to live with her."

"What a cat she must be!" said Mrs. Quiggin.

"She must," said Jenny. "And, would you believe it, though she has
treated him so shamefully yet he loves her still."

"Why do you think so, Jenny," said Mrs. Quiggin.

"Because," said Jenny, "though he is always sober when I see him I
suspect that he is drinking himself to death. He said as much."

"Poor fellow!" said Mrs. Quiggin. "But men should not take these things
so much to heart. Such women are not worth it."

"No, are they?" said Jenny.

"They have hardly a right to live," said Mrs. Quiggin.

"No, have they?" said Jenny.

"There should be a law to put down nagging wives the same as biting
dogs," said Mrs. Quiggin.

"Yes, shouldn't there?" said Jenny.

"Once on a time men took their wives like their horses on trial for a
say for the old custom."

"Yes, wouldn't there?" said Jenny.

"The woman who is nothing of herself apart from her husband, and has
her own, and still----"

"Did I say she took his money, Nelly?" said Jenny. "Well of course--not
to be unfair--some men are such generous fools, you know--he may have
given it to her."

it now."

"Oh, yes, certainly, that's very sure," said Jenny; "but then she's his
wife, you see, and naturally her maintenance----"

"Maintenance!" cried Mrs. Quig-gin. "How many children has she got?"

"None," said Jenny. "At least I haven't heard of any."

"Then she ought to be ashamed of herself for thinking of such a thing."

"I quite agree with you, Nelly," said Jenny.

"If I were a man," said Mrs. Quiggin, "and my wife turned me out of

"Did I say that, Nelly? Well not exactly that--no, not turned him out of
doors exactly, Nelly."

"It's all one, Jenny. If a woman behaves so that her husband can not
live with her what is she doing but turning him out of doors?"

"But, Nelly!" cried Jenny, rising suddenly. "What about Captain Davy?"

every obstacle, until brought up sharply by Jenny's question--like a
on Jenny with loud and hot reproaches.

"How dare you, Jenny Crow?" she cried.

"Dare what, my dear?" said Jenny.

"Say that I've turned my husband out of doors, and that I've taken his
to be a law to put me down."

"My dear Nelly," said Jenny, "it was yourself that said so. I was
speaking of the wife of the Manx sailor."

"Yes, but you were thinking of me," said Mrs. Quiggin.

"I was thinking of her," said Jenny.

"You were thinking of me as well," said Mrs. Quiggin.

"I tell you that I was only thinking of her," said Jenny.

"You were thinking of me, Jenny Crow--you know you were; and you meant
is different. My husband is turning _me_ out of doors: and, as for
to-morrow morning. I will--indeed, I will. I'll bear this torment no

other side of the door, and said beneath her breath, "Let her cry, poor
so much."

the morning.

secret and startling discovery. The man whom Jenny Crow had stumbled
found so much to admire--the simple, brave, manly, generous, natural
soul, all fresh air and by rights all sunshine--was no other than
Quiggin's cheeks with sensations of exquisite delight, and never before
a withering and cankering thought. The Manx sailor's wife--she who had
so behaved that it was impossible for him to live with her--she who was
dogs--she whose whole selfish body was not worth the tip of his little
finger--was no one else than herself!

was--that was as plain as a pickle. Then where was the good of


from Laxey he found Captain Davey occupied with Willie Quarrie in
"There's ould Billy, the carrier--ask him," Davy was saying, as he lay
twist. "And then there's Kerruish, the churchwarden, and Kewley, the
lanky shanks that is the headpiece of the Friendly and Malevolent
Association--got them all down, boy?"

"They're all through there in my head already, Capt'n," groaned Willie
slow pen to Davy's impetuous tongue.

"Then ask whosomever you plaze, boy," said Davy. "What's it saying in
Reminds me, sir," he added, looking up as Lovibond entered, "reminds me
of little Jimmy Quayle's aisy way of fetching poor Hughie Collister
brothers--that thick--and they'd been middling hard on the drink
there isn't nothing in the island that'll fetch him up quicker till

"But what is going on here, Capt'n?" said Lovibond, with an inclination
of his head toward the table where Willie Quarrie was still laboring
with his invitations.

"It's railly wuss till ever, sir," groaned Willie from behind his pen.

"What does it mean?" said Lovibond.

"It manes that I'm sailing to-morrow," said Davy.

"Sailing!" cried Lovibond.

"That's so," said Davy. "Back to the ould oven we came from. Pacific
by telegraph, and paid through Dumbell's. Only ninety pounds the
two--for'ard passage--but nearly claned out at that. What's the odds
heigho! stone broke, cut your stick and get out of it."

"A couple of berths? Did you say two?" said Lovibond.

"I'm taking Willie along with me," said Davy; "and he's that joyful at
the thought of it that you can't get a word out of him for hallelujahs."


"But you'll stay on," said Davy, "Eh?"

"No," said Lovibond, in a melancholy voice.

"Why not, then?" said Davy.

that he might look into his face.

"Why, man; what's this--what's this?" said Davy. "You're looking as down
up all his tex'es. What's going doing?"

breath. "I've seen her again, Capt'n," he said, solemnly.

"The sweet little lily in the church, sir?" said Davy.

"Yes," said Lovibond; and, after another deep breath, "I've spoken to

"Out with it, sir; out with it," said Davy, and then, putting one hand
on Lovibond's knee caressingly, "I've seen trouble in my time, mate; you
may trust me--go on, what is it?"

"She's married," said Lovibond.

Davy gave a prolonged whistle. "That's bad," he said. "I'm symperthizing
labor. I'm feeling for you. 'Deed I am."

"It's not myself I'm thinking of," said Lovibond. "It's that angel of a
woman. She's not only married, but married to a brute."

"That's wuss still," said Davy.

"And not only married to a brute," said Lovibond, "but parted from him."

Davy gave a yet longer whistle. "O-ho, O-ho! A quarrel is it?" he cried.
Extraordinary wayses they've at them of touching a man up under the
That'll do, that'll do. Lave them alone, mate, lave them alone."

"Ah, the sweet creature has had a terrible time of it!" said Lovibond,
lying back and looking up at the ceiling.

"I lave it with you," said Davy, charging his pipe afresh as a signal of
his neutrality.

"He must have led her a fearful life," continued Lovibond.

Davy lit up, and puffed vigorously.

"It would appear," said Lovibond, "that though she is so like a lady,
she is entirely dependent upon her husband."

"Well, well," said Davy, between puff and puff.

"He didn't forget that either, for he seems to have taunted her with her


"Indeed, that was the cause of quarrel."

"She did well to lave him," said Davy, watching the coils of his smoke
going upward.

"Nay, it was he who left her."

"The villain!" said Davy. But after Davy had delivered himself so there
over the pipe.

"And now," said Lovibond, "she can not stir out of doors but she finds
herself the gossip of the island, and the gaze of every passer-by."

"Poor thing, poor thing!" said Davy.

"He must be a low, vulgar fellow," said Lovibond; "and yet--would you
believe it?--she wouldn't hear a word against him."

"The sweet woman!" said Davy.

"It's my firm belief that she loves the fellow still," said Lovibond.

"I wouldn't trust," said Davy. "That's the ways of women, sir; I've seen
it myself. Aw, women is quare, sir, wonderful quare."

"And yet," said Lovibond, "while she is sitting pining to death indoors
he is enjoying himself night and day with his coarse companions."

Davy put up his pipe on the mantelpiece. "Now the man that does the like
of that is a scoundrel," he said, warmly.

"I agree with you, Capt'n," said Lovibond.

"He's a brute!" said Davy, more loudly.

"Of course we've only heard one side of the story," said Lovibond.

"No matter; he's a brute and a scoundrel," said Davy. "Dont you hould
with me there, mate?"

"I do," said Lovibond. "But still--who knows? She may--I say she may--be
one of those women who want their own way."

"All women wants it," said Davy. "It's mawther's milk to them--Mawther
Eve's milk, as you might say."

"True, true!" said Lovibond; "but though she looks so sweet she may have
a temper."

"And what for shouldn't she?" said Davy, "D'ye think God A'mighty meant
it all for the men?"

"Perhaps," said Lovibond, "she turned up her nose at his coarse ways and
rough comrades."

"And right, too," said Davy. "Let him keep his dirty trousses to
hisself. Who is he?"

"She didn't tell me that," said Lovibond.

"Whoever he is he's a wastrel," said Davy.

"I'm afraid you're right, Capt'n," said Lovibond.

"Women is priv'leged where money goes," said Davy. "If they haven't got
belt, sir. Accuse a man if you like--ten to one he's lazy--but a
woman--never, sir, never, never!"


"More till that, sir," he said. "A good girl with nothing at her who
money, come from the Lord knows where. What has _she_ brought him?
blow high, blow low--to sail by his side till they cast anchor together
at last Don't you hould with me there, sir?"

"I do, Capt'n, I do," said Lovibond.

"And the ruch man that goes bearing up alongside a girl that's sweet and
and divil, and ought to be walloped out of the company of dacent men."

"But, Capt'n," said Lovibond, falteringly! "Capt'n...."


"Wasn't Mrs. Quiggin a poor girl when you married her?"

"Lord-a-massy! What am I doing? What am I saying?"

worms that morning. "Butts in the stomach, sir," he moaned; "they're
bad, sir, aw, they're bad."

"Nothing wuss," said Davy. "I know them. Ate all the goodness out of
you and lave you without bowels. Men has them as well as horses--only we
call (them) friends instead."

The other guests arrived one by one--the blacksmith, the crier, the
charitable societies (whose names were "spells" too big for Davy), and
the keeper of a home for lost dogs.

the island,--young and elderly, silent and glib--rough as a pigskin, and

the table.

"Anywhere, anywhere!" cried Davy, as they took their places. "The mate
is the same at every seat."

"Ay, ay," they laughed, and then fell to without ceremony.

"Only wait till I've done the carving, and we'll all start fair," said

"Coorse, coorse," they answered, from mouths half full already.

"That's what Kinvig said when he was cutting up his sermon into firstly,
secondly, thirdly, and fourteenthly."

"Ha, ha! Kinvig! I'd drink the ould man's health if I had anything,"
cried the blacksmith, with a wink at his opposite neighbor.

"No liquor?" said Davy, looking up to sharpen the carving knife on the
steel. "Am I laving you dry like herrings in the hould?"

"Season us, capt'n," cried the black-smith, amid general laughter from
the rest.

"Aw, lave you alone for that," said Davy. "If you're like myself you're
in pickle enough already."

Then there were more winks and louder laughter.

"Mate!" shouted Davy over his shoulder to the waiter behind him, "a
gallon to every gentleman."

"Ay, ay," from all sides of the table in various tones of satisfaction.

"Yes, sir--of course, sir; beg pardon, sir, here, sir," said the waiter.

"Boys, healths apiece!" cried Davy.

"Healths apiece, Capt'n!" answered numerous thick voices, and up leaped
a line of yellow glasses.

"Ate, drink--there's plenty, boys; there's plenty," said Davy.

"Aw, plenty, capt'n--plenty."

"Come again, boys, come again," said Davy, from time to time; "but clane
plates--aw, clane plates--I hould with being nice at your males for all,
and no pigging."


"A 'propriate tex', too," said the church-warden. "Aw, it's wonderful
the scriptural the Captn's getting when he's a bit crooked," he
whispered behind the back of his hand.

After that Davy stretched back in his chair and cried, "Your pipes
Douglas at breakfast time."

greed in their eyes he had said to himself, "Davy is a rough fellow, but
rise at them?" When the supper was done, and while the cloth was being
rose and slipped out of the room.

answered in _hum's and ha's and that'll do's_ to the questions put to
like water from the neck of a bottle.

"What's agate of the Capt'n?" the men whispered. "He's quiet
to-night--quiet uncommon."

gliding into the harbor below.

Davy drew a long breath. "So you think," said he, "that the sweet woman
in the church is loving her husband in spite of all?"

"Fear she is, poor fool," said Lovibond.

"Bless her!" said Davy, beneath his breath. "D'ye think, now," said he,
"that all women are like that?"

"Many are--too many," said Lovibond.

"Equal to forgiving and forgetting, eh?" said Davy.

"Yes--the sweet simpletons--and taking the men back as well," said

"Extraordinary!" said Davy. "Aw, matey, matey, men's only muck where
rip--God forgive his son for saying it--and once he went trapsing after
angel's--soft and woolly to your lips like milk straight from the cow,


thinking of ould times," he said.

"Sign that I'm thirsty," he added; and then walked toward the window.
"But the father could never forgive hisself," he said, as he was
stepping through, "and if I done wrong to a woman neither could I--I've
that much of the ould man in me anyway."

his guests were shouting for his company. "Capt'n Davy!" "Where's Capt'n
Davy?" "Aw, here's the man himself?" "Been studying the stars, Capt'n?"
"Well, that's a bit of navigation." "Navigation by starlight--I know the
sort. Navigating up alongside a pretty girl, eh, Capt'n?"

to Lovibond.


"Sitting alone, is she, poor thing?" he said.

"Alone," said Lovibond.

"I know, I know," said Davy. "Like a bird on a bough calling mournful
Yet if he should ever come back now--eh?"

"He'll have to be quick then," said Lovibond; "for she intends to go
home to her people soon."

"Did you say she was for going home?" said Davy, eagerly. "Home
where--where to--to England?"


"A Manx woman, is she?" said Davy. "What's her name?"

"I didn't ask her that," said Lovibond.

"Then where's her home?" said Davy.

"I forget the name of the place," said Lovibond. "Balla--something."

"Is it---- is it----" Davy was speaking very quickly--"is it Ballaugh,

"That's it," and Lovibond. "And her father's farm--I heard the name of
the farm as well--Balla--balla--something else--oh, Ballavalley."

"Ballavolly?" said Davy.

"Exactly," said Lovibond.

Davy breathed heavily, swayed slightly, and rolled against Lovibond as
they walked side by side.

"Then you know the place, Capt'n," said Lovibond.

Davy laughed noisily. "Ay, I know it," he said.

"And the girl's father, too, I suppose?" said Lovibond.

Davy laughed bitterly. "Ay, and the girl's father too," he said.

"And the girl herself perhaps?" said Lovibond.

Davy laughed almost fiercely, "Ay, and the girl herself," he said.

Lovibond did not spare him. "Then," said he, in an innocent way, "you
must know her husband also."

Davy laughed wildly. "I wouldn't trust," he said.

"He's a brute--isn't he?" said Lovibond.

"Ugh!" Davy's laughter stopped very suddenly.

"A fool, too--is he not?" said Lovibond.

"Ay--a damned fool!" said Davy out of the depths of his throat, and then
himself erect.

"Helloa!" he cried, in another voice; "I'm rocking full like a ship with


Davy stumbled back through the window into the room, singing lustily--

   O, Molla Char--aine, where got you your gold?
     Lone, lone, you have le--eft me here,
   O, not in the Curragh, deep under the mo--old,
     Lone, lo--one, and void of cheer,
     Lone, lo--one, and void of cheer.

His cronies received him with shouts of welcome. "You'll be walking
the crank yet, Capt'n," said they, in mockery of his unsteady gait. His
altered humor suited them. "Cards," they cried; "cards--a game for good

"Hould hard," said Davy. "Fair do's. Send for the landlord first."

"What for?" they asked. "To stop us? He'll do that quick enough."

"You'll see," said Davy. "Willie," he shouted, "bring up the skipper."

Crier gave one line three times, and broke down as often. "I linger
round this very spot--I linger round this ve--ery spot--I linger round
this very--"

"Don't do it any longer, mate," cried Davy. "Your song is like Kinvig's
gave it out three times--'I am the Light of the World--I am the Light of
the World--I am the Light--' 'Maybe so, brother,' says ould Kennish, in
the pew below; 'but you want snuffing. Come down out of that.'"--

face smiling. What was the Captain's pleasure?

"Landlord," cried Davy, "tell your men to fill up these glasses, and
I'll want till to-morrow morning."

"To-morrow will do for the bill, Captain," said the landlord. "I'm not
afraid that you'll cut your country."

"Aren't you, though? Then the more fool you," said Davy. "Send it up, my
shining sunflower; send it up."

"Very well, Captain, just to humor you," said the landlord, backing
himself out with his head in his chest.

"Why, where are you going to, Capt'n?" cried many voices at once.

"Wherever there's a big cabbage growing, boys," said Davy.

The bill came up, and Willie Quarrie examined it. "Shocking!" cried
Willie; "it's really shocking! Shillings apiece for my breakfas'es--now
that's what I call a reg'lar piece of ambition."

the semblance of a wink, and said to Willie, "That'll see us over." Then
head downward at the money remaining on the table and said, "Men, see
gone I'm up the spout."

among themselves, "What game is he agate of now?" "Aw, it's true." "True
enough, you go bail." "I wouldn't trust, he's been so reckless." "Twenty
thousands, they're saying." "Aw, he's been helped--there's that Mister
Loviboy, a power of money the craythur must have had out of him." "Well,
sarve him right; fools and their money is rightly parted."

the drink he heard them.

talked more incessantly.

"Come, lay down, d'ye hear," he cried. "Do you think I care for the

"Lord save us, Capt'n--when?" cried one.

"Never mind when--not long ago, any way," said Davy.

"And you had heart to start afresh, Cap'n, eh?" cried another.

"Heart, you say? Maybe so, maybe no," said Davy. "But stow this jaw.
tares--who's game to toss for it? Equal stakes, sudden death!"

table, and laughed more madly than ever. "I care nothing, not I, say
what you like," he cried again and again, though no one disputed his

hubbub he was making.

"Well, well," he cried, "One glass and a toast, anyway, and part friends
for all." "Aisy there! silence! Hush? Chink up! (Hear, hear?) Are
none--Capt'n Davy Quiggin."

At that the raggabash who had been clinking glasses pretended to be
and began to shuffle out.

"Lave me, then; lave me," cried Davy. "Lave me, now, you Noah's ark of
your noses in the snow. I'm done, I'm done."


     "I'm hunting the wren," said Bobbin to Bobbin,
     "I'm hunting the wren," said Richard to Rob-bin,
     "I'm hunting the wren," said Jack of the Lhen,
     "I'm hunting the wren," said every one.


guggling and sputtering.

"I care nothing, not I--say what you like; I've had worse losses in my
time," he cried.


"See, that, mate?" he said, and held it up under the glass chandelier.

of faded blue ribbon.

"See it?" he cried in a husky gurgle. "It's all I've got left in the

pendants of the chandelier swung and jingled with the vibration of his

"The gorse under the ling, eh? There you are then! _She_ gave it me.
stars, for, by God, I was walking on them going away."

blow high, blow low. But we're going to part at last."

hair in his right.

"Good-by, ould friend!" he cried, in a shrill voice, rolling his head to
look at the curl, and holding it over the candle. "We're parting company
to-night. I'm going where I can't take you along with me--I'm going to
kiss you no more! S'long!"


"I can't, I can't," he cried, "God A'mighty, I can't. It's
Nelly--Nelly--my Nelly--my little Nell!"



"Ho, ho! what's this?" thought Jenny, and she had not long to wait for
an answer.

around with needless inquiries--_would Madame have this; would Madame
do that?_--and when this person had scraped himself out of the room Mrs.
Quiggin drew a long breath and said, "I don't think I care so very much
for this sort of thing after all, Jenny."

"What sort of thing, Nelly?"

"Waiters and servants, and hotels and things," said Nelly.

"Really!" said Jenny.

"It's wonderful how much happier you are when you can be your own
own cloth, and clear away and wash up afterward."

"Do you say so, Nelly?"

"Deed I do, though, Jenny. There's some life in the like of that--seeing
sweet old farm that is all your own somewhere? And, to think--to think,
haggard--O! it's delightful!"

"Really now!" said Jenny.

"And then the men coming down stairs, half awake and yawning, in their
shirt sleeves and their stocking feet, and pushing on their boots
crackles, and bustling here and bustling there, and stirring yoursef
work in the fields--aw, there's nothing like it in the world."

"And do _you_ think that, Nelly?" said Jenny.

"Why, yes; why shouldn't I?" said Nelly.

"Well, well," said Jenny. "'There's nowt so queer as folk,' as they say
in Manchester.

"What do you mean, Jenny Crow?"

"I fancy I see you," said Jenny, "bowling off to Balla--what d'ye call
it?--and doing all that _by yourself_."

"Oh!" said Nelly.

chirping around with a hundred inquiries about the packing of luggage
interest in these hurrying operations, and settled herself with her
thought, "Now, wouldn't she jump at a good excuse for not going at all?"

Presently Mrs. Quiggin said, in a tone of well-acted unconcern, "And
spite of all she has done to him?"

"Yes, Nelly. All men are like that--more fools they," said Jenny.

lips seemed to whisper, "Bless them!" But in a note of delicious
insincerity she only said aloud, "Not all, Jenny; surely not all."

"Yes, all," said Jenny, with emphasis. "Do you think I don't know the
men better than you do?"

Nelly dropped her needles and raised her face. "Why, Jenny," she said,
"however can that be?--you've never even been married."

"That's why, my dear," said Jenny.

poor pretense at a yawn, "So you think a man may love a woman even
after--after she has turned him out of doors, as you say?"

"Yes, but that isn't to say that he'll ever come back to her," said

The needles dropped to the lap again. "No? Why shouldn't he then?"

"Why? Because men are never good at the bended knee business," said
Jenny. "A man on his knees is ridiculous. It must be his legs that look
to me, I would----"

"What, Jenny?"

to and fro. "Kick him," she answered.

Nelly laughed again, and said, "And if you were a man, and a woman did
so, what then?"

"Why lift her up and kiss her, and forgive her, of course," said Jenny.

But being a true woman, she asked something else instead.

"So you think, Jenny," she said, "that your poor friend will never go
back to his wife?"

"I'm sure he won't," said Jenny. "Didn't I tell you?" she added,
straightening up.

"What?" said Nelly, with a quiver of alarm.

"That he's going back to sea," said Jenny.

"To sea!" cried Nelly, dropping her needles entirely. "Back to sea?" she
said, in a shrill voice. "And without even saying 'good-by!'"

"Good-by to whom, my dear?" said Jenny. "To me?"

"To his wife, of course," said Nelly, huskily.

"Well, we don't know that, do we?" said Jenny. "And, besides, why should

"If he doesn't he's a cruel, heartless, unfeeling, unforgiving monster,"
said Nelly.

as her adversary, she found a crooked way to the plain question. "Is it
at eleven," she said, "that the carriage is to come for you?"

delicate bout of thrust and parry. "I'm so sorry for your sake, Jenny,"
she said, in the old tone of delicious insincerity, "that the poor
fellow is married."

"Gracious me, for my sake? Why?" said Jenny.

"I thought you were half in love with him, you know," said Nelly.

"Half?" cried Jenny. "I'm over head and ears in love with him."

"That's a pity," said Nelly; "for, of course, you'll give him up now
that you know he has a wife."

"What of that? If he _has_ a wife I have no husband--so it's as broad as
it's long," said Jenny.

"Jenny!" cried Nelly.

"And, oh!" said Jenny, "there is one thing I didn't tell you. But you'll
by appointment this very night."

"But, Jenny!"

"Yes, in the garden of this house--by the waterfall at eight o'clock.
I'll slip out after dinner in my cloak with the hood to it."

"Jenny Crow!"

"It's our last chance, it seems. The poor fellow sails at midnight, or
friend one can trust, and if he _is_ another woman's husband--"

Nell had risen to her feet with her face aflame.

"But you mustn't do it," she cried. "It's shocking, it's
horrible--common morality is against it."

Jenny looked wondrous grave. "That's it, you see," she said. "Common
morality always _is_ against everything that's nice and agreeable."

on you both and shame you--indeed, she should," cried Nelly, and she
flounced out of the room in a fury.

Jenny watched her go and thought to herself. "She'll keep that
appointment for me at eight o'clock to-night by the waterfall."
Presently she heard Mrs. Quiggin with a servant of the hotel
countermanding the order for the carriage at eleven, and engaging it
instead for the extraordinary hour of nine at night. "She intends to
keep it," thought Jenny.

"And now," she said, settling herself at the writing-table; "now for the
_other_ simpleton."

"Tell D. Q.," she wrote, addressing Lovibond; "that E. Q. goes home by
Castle Mona. Then meet _me_ on the pier at seven-thirty."


Lovibond received this message while sitting at breakfast, and he caught

"Jealousy--the very thing!" he thought; and not until he was already

and handkerchiefs. At Davy's order Willie Quarrie had gathered up the
"Snaefell" was announced to sail for Liverpool at nine.

interest was actively proceeding. A waiter of the hotel was strutting
across the floor and sputtering out protests against this unseemly use
haunted Davy's elbow with his obsequious "Yes, sirs," "No, sirs," and
"Beg pardon, sirs"; but the morning had brought him knowledge of Davy's

"The ideal!" he cried. "Turnin' a 'otel drawrin'-room into a charwoman's

"Make it a rag shop at once," said Davy, as he went on quietly with his

"A rag shop it is, and I'll 'ave no more of it," said the waiter
loftily. "Who ever 'eard of such a thing?"

"No?" said Davy. "Well, well, now! Who'd have thought it? You never

"No, sir, but it's easy to see where _you_ came from," said the waiter,
with withering scorn.

"You say true, boy," said Davy, "but it's aisier still to see where you
the performing birds? You know--jacks and ravens and owls and such like.
trust, but he'd give twopence-halfpenny for you--and drinks all round.
You'd make his fortune as a cockatoo."

"Friends, some of us four is interrupting the play, and they're wanting
fellows--what do _you_ say? They're longing for you downstairs--won't

and said--

"My gough! they must have been Manxmen after all--they rowled downstairs
as if they'd been all legs together."

Lovibond looked grave. "That's going too far, Capt'n," he said. "For
your own sake it's risking too much."

"Risking too much?" said Davy. "There's only three of them."

Willie Quarrie looked out at the window. The "Snaefell" was lying by the
over the old "Imperial." Cars were rattling up the quay, passengers
thronged with people.

"Come along, my lad; look slippy," cried Davy, "only two bells more,
and three hampers still to pack. Tumble them in--here goes."

"Capt'n!" said Willie, still looking out.

"What?" said Davy.

"Don't cross by the ferry, Capt'n."

"Why not?"

"They're all waiting for you," said Willie, "every dirt of them all is
waiting by the steps--there's Tommy Tubman, and Billy Balla-Slieau, and
that wastrel of a churchwarden--yes, and there's ould Kennish--they're
to the gangway like smook, and abooard in a jiffy. That's it--yes, I'll
be off immadient, and we'll bate the blackguards anyway."

see the last of him; but Davy shouted "Stop," and pointed to the hampers
still unpacked.

"I'm broke," said he, "and what matter who knows it? Reminds me, sir,"
said Davy to Lovibond, "of Parson Cowan. The ould man lived up Andreas
going out of it middling full--not fit to walk the crank anyway--when
It was Bishop--Bishop--chut, his name's gone at me--but no matter,
glum as a gur-goyle anyway, and straight as a lamppost--a reglar
And him that sevare--it's shocking! He'll surspend you! And think what
don't care a damn--_I'll walk!_' Then away he went down the street past

gentlemen who had been flung down stairs. Willie Quarrie bustled about
twenty torturing minutes for some opportunity to begin, plunged into the
business of his visit at last.

"So you're determined to go, Capt'n?" he said.

"I am," said Davy.

"No message for Mrs. Quiggin? Dare say I could find her at Castle Mona."

"No! Wait--yes--tell her--say I'm--if ever I--Chut! what's the odds? No,
no message."

"Not even good-by, Capt'n?"

"She sent none to me--no."

"Not a word?"

"Not a word."

pipe from his pouch.

"Going back to Callao, Capt'n?" said Lovibond.

"God knows, mate," said Davy. "I'm like the seeding grass, blown here

"Capt'n, about the money?--dy'e owe me any grudge about that?" said

"Lord-a-massy! Grudge, is it?" said Davy. "Aw, no, man, no. The money
was my mischief. It's gone, and good luck to it."

"But if I could show you a way to get it all back again, Capt'n----"

could get back...."

The whistle sounded from the funnel of the "Snaefell," and the loud
coming over the harbor.

"Capt'n," said Lovibond, "she must have injured you badly----"

"Injured _me?_" said Davy. "Wish she had! I wouldn't go off to the
world's end if that was all betwixt us."

"If she hasn't, Capt'n," said Lovi-bond, "you're putting her in the way
of it."



"Have you never thought of it?" said Lovibond, "That when a husband
deserts his wife like this he throws her in the way of--"

"Not Nelly, no," said Davy, promptly. "I'll lave _that_ with her,
anyway. Any other woman perhaps, but Nelly--never! She's as pure as new
like to see the man, I say..."

Then there was another shrieking whistle from the steamer. Willie
Quarrie called up at the window and gesticulated wildly from the lawn

"Coming, boy, coming," Davy shouted back, and looking at his watch, he
said, "Four minutes and a half--time enough yet."

walked Davy begun to laugh. "Well, well!" he said, and he laughed again.
"Aw, to think, to think!" he said, and he laughed once more. But

convinced that he alone could see through it, he said, "No news of the
girl in the church, mate, eh? Gone home, I suppose?"

"Not yet," said Lovibond.

"No?" said Davy.

"The fact is--but you'll be secret?"


"It isn't a thing I'd tell everybody--"


after all."

Davy drew up on the path. "What is it?" he said.

"I'm to meet her to-night, alone," said Lovibond.


"Yes; in the grounds of Castle Mona, by the waterfall, after dark--at
eight o'clock, in fact.

"Castle Mona--by the waterfall--eight o'clock--that's a--now, that must
be a--"

lips, when he stopped and laughed, and said, "Amazing thick, eh?"

"Why not," said Lovibond? "Who wouldn't be with a sweet woman like that?
for somebody else."

"Then you're for making it up there?" said Davy, clearing his throat.

"It'll not be my fault if I don't," said Lovibond. "I'm not one of the
draws her to me--that's all."

"And she's willing, eh?" said Davy.

"Give her time, Capt'n," said Lovibond.

"But didn't you say she was loving this--this brute of a husband?" said

"Time, Capt'n, time," said Lovibond. "That will mend with time."

"And, manewhile, she's tellin' you all her secrets."

"I leave you to judge, Capt'n."

"After dark, you say--that's middling tidy to begin with, eh, mate--eh?"

Lovibond laughed: Capt'n Davy laughed. They laughed together.


"Now, then, Capt'n," cried Willie.


"Good-by Capt'n," said Lovibond, taking Davy by the hand.

"Good-by, mate," said Davy, absently.

"Good luck to you and a second fortune," said Lovibond.

"Damn the fortune," said Davy, under his breath.

Then there was another whistle from the "Snaefell."

"Capt'n Davy! Capt'n Davy!" cried Willie Quarrie.

"Coming," answered Davy. But still he stood at the top of the ferry
steps, holding Lovibond's hand, and looking into his face.

Then there came a loud voice from the bridge of the steamer--"Steam up!"

"Capt'n! Capt'n!" cried Willie from the bottom of the steps.

Davy dropped Lovibond's hand and turned to look across the harbor. "Too
late," he said quietly.

"Not if you'll come quick, Capt'n. See, the last gangway is up yet,"
cried Willie.

"Too late," repeated Davy, more loudly.


"Too late, I tell you," thundered Davy, sternly.


"Out of the way there!" "All ashore!" "Ready?" "Ready!" "Steam
up--slow!" The last bell rang. The first stroke of nine was struck by
and the "Snaefell" began to move slowly from the quay. Then there were
shouts from the deck and adieus from the shore. "Good-by!" "Good-by!"
"Farewell, little Mona!" "Good-by, dear Elian Vannin!" Handkerchiefs
waving on the steamer; handkerchiefs waving on the quay; seagulls
and harbor empty.

"She's gone!"

Lovibond smiled behind a handkerchief, with which he pretended to wipe
Davy gnashed his teeth at the top of them.

After a moment Davy said, "No matter; we can take the Irish packet at
nine, and catch the Pacific boat at Belfast. Willie," he shouted, "put

Then the three parted company, each with his own reflections.

"The Capt'n done that a-purpose," thought Willie.

"He'll keep my engagement for me at eight o'clock," thought Lovibond.

"I wouldn't have believed it of her if the Dempster himself had swore to
it," thought Davy.


wagging heads and sparkling eyes of one type of budding maidenhood,
sometimes the dark water under foot gleamed and glinted between the open

clock, counting the minutes, and scanning every female form that


"I couldn't get away sooner," whispered Jenny. "She watched me like a
he coming!"

"Trust him," said Lovibond.

"O, dear, what a meeting it will be!" said Jenny.

"I'd love to be there," said Lovibond.

"Umph! Would you? Two's company, three's none--you're just as well where
you are," said Jenny.

"Better," said Lovibond.

The clock struck eight in the tower.

"Eight o'clock," said Lovibond, "They'll be flying at each other's eyes
by this time."

"Eight o'clock, twenty seconds!" said Jenny. "And they'll be lying in
each other's arms by now."

"Did she suspect?" said Lovibond.

"Of course she did!" said Jenny. "Did he?"

"Certainly!" said Lovibond.

"O dear, O dear!" said Jenny. "It's wonderful how far you can fool
people when it's to their interest to be fooled."

"Wonderful!" said Lovibond.

They had walked to the end of the pier; the band was playing--

     Sweet Ben-my-chree,
     I love but thee, sweet Mona."

"So our little drama is over, eh?" said. Jenny.

"Yes; it's over," said Lovibond.


"And these good people have no further use for us," said Jenny.

"None," said Lovibond.

"Then I suppose we've no further use for each other?" moaned Jenny.

"Eh?" said Lovibond.

"Tut!" said Jenny, and she swung aside.

     "Mona, sweet Mona,
     I love but thee, sweet Mona.'

"There's only one thing I regret," said Lovibond, inclining his head
toward Jenny's averted face.

"And pray, what's that?" said Jenny, without turning about.

"Didn't I tell you that Capt'n Davy had taken two berths in the Pacific
steamer to the west coast?" said Lovibond.

"Well?" said Jenny.

"That's ninety pounds wasted," said Lovibond.

"_What_ a pity!" sighed Jenny.

"Isn't it?" said Lovibond--his left hand was fumbling for her right.

"If she were any other woman, she might be glad to go still," said

"And if he were any other man he would be proud to take her," said

"Some woman without kith or kin to miss her--" began Jenny.

"Yes, or some man without anybody in the world--" began Lovibond.

"Now, if it had been _my_ case--" said Jenny, wearily.

"Or mine," said Lovibond, sadly.

Each drew a long breath.

"Do you know, if I disappeared tonight, there's not a soul--" said
Jenny, sorrowfully.

"That's just my case, too," interrupted Lovibond.

"Ah!" they said together.

They looked into each other's eyes with a mournful expression, and

"Ninety pounds! Did you say ninety? Two berths?" said Jenny. "What a
shocking waste! Couldn't somebody else use them?"

"Just what I was thinking," said Lovibond; and he linked the lady's arm
through his own.

"Hadn't you better get the tickets from Capt'n Davy, and--and give them
to somebody before it is too late?" said Jenny.

"I've got them already--his boy Quarrie was keeping them," said

"How thoughtful of you, Jona--I mean, Mr. Lovi--"


"Ben-my-chree! Sweet Ben-my-chree, I love but thee--"

"O, Jonathan!" whispered Jenny.

"O, Jenny!" gasped Jonathan.

locked in each other's arms.

"Will you go back with me, Jenny?"

"Well," whispered Jenny. "Just to keep the tickets from wasting--"

"Just that," whispered Lovibond.

on board the Irish packet that was to overtake the Pacific steamship
of the music of the band:

     "Mona, sweet Mona,
        Fairest isle beneath the sky,
     Mona, sweet Mona,
        We bid thee now good-by."


Lovi-bond's insinuation against Mrs. Quiggin's fidelity he had turned
sick at heart. "When he said it," Davy had thought, "the blood went from
and rotten."

"You've been nothing but a fool, Davy," he told himself. "You've been
tooken in."

Then he had reproached himself for his hasty judgment. "Hould hard, boy,
hould hard; aisy for all, though, aisy, aisy!" He had remembered how
modest his wife had been in the old days--how simple and how natural.
"She was as pure as the mountain turf," he had thought, "and quiet
extraordinary." Yet there was the ugly fact that she had appointed to
"Some charm is put on her--some charm or the like," he had thought

ought to do.

"It's not for me to go sneaking after her," he had thought. "She's true,
you take rest till you're proving it."

"Other women are like yonder," he had thought; "just common stars in the
moon--the moon, bless her--"

simplicity. "I'm a fool," he had muttered, "a reg'lar ould bleating
Tommy Big Eyes."

Unconsciously he had begun to walk toward Castle Mona. "I'm not for
serene either way, Davy, my man, and here goes for it."

Meanwhile Mrs. Quiggin had been going through similar torments. "I don't
blame _him_," she had thought. "It's that mischief-making huzzy. Why did
for _him_--well, we'll see, Mr. David, we'll see!"


him with astonishment that Lovibond was not there already. "The man
bragged of coming, but I don't see him," he thought. He felt half
late. "I know someone who would have been early enough if he had been
coming to meet with somebody," he thought.

Presently he saw a female form approaching from the thick darkness at
a light dress beneath gleamed and glinted in the brightening starlight.
"It's herself," Davy muttered, under his breath. "She's like the silvery
for all! She's here! She sees me! She thinks I'm the man?"


of the house she recognized his dark figure among the trees. "But he's
alone," she thought. "Then the huzzy must have gone back to her room
coming. He thinks I am she. Umph! Now to astonish him!"


But neither betrayed the least surprise.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, if I'm not the man------" faltered Davy.

"It's a pity, sir, if I'm not the woman------" stammered Nelly.

"Hope I don't interrupt any terterta-tie," continued Davy.

"I trust you won't allow _me_----" began Nelly.


"What d'ye mane, ma'am?" said Davy.

"What do _you_ mean, sir?" said Nelly.

"I mane, that you're here to meet with a man," said Davy.

"I!" cried Nelly. "I? Did you say that I was here to meet----"

"Don't go to deny it, ma'am," said Davy.

"I do deny it," said Nelly. "And what's more, sir, I know why you are
here. You are here to meet with a woman."

"Me! To meet with a woman! Me?" cried Davy.

"Oh, _you_ needn't deny it, sir," said Nelly. "Your presence here is
proof enough against you."

"And _your_ presence here is proof enough agen you," said Davy.

"You had to meet her at eight," said Nelly.

"That's a reg'lar bluff, ma'am," said Davy, "for it was at eight you had
to meet with _him_?

"How dare you say so?" cried Nelly.

"I had it from the man himself," said Davy.

"It's false, sir, for there _is_ no man; but I had it from the woman,"
said Nelly.

"And did you believe her?" said Davy.

"Did _you_ believe _him?_" said Nelly. "Were you simple enough to trust
a man who told you that he was going to meet your own wife?"

"He wasn't for knowing it was my own wife," said Davy. "But were _you_
meet your own husband?"

"She didn't know it was my own husband," said Nelly. "But that wasn't
the only thing she told me."

"And it wasn't the only thing _he_ tould _me_." said Davy. "He tould me
all your secrets--that your husband had deserted you because he was a
brute and a blackguard."

"I have never said so," cried Nelly. "Who dares to say I have? I
measuring me by your own yard, sir; for you led _her_ to believe that I
be put down by the law just as it puts down biting dogs."

"Now, begging you pardon, ma'am," said Davy; "but that's a damned lie,
whoever made it."

"It's easy to say that when she isn't here to contradict you; but wait,
sir, only wait."

"And it's aisy for you to say yonder," said Davy, "when he isn't come to
deny it--but take your time, ma'am, take your time."

"Who is it?" said Nelly.

"No matter," said Davy.

"Who is the man," demanded Nelly.

"My friend Lovibond," answered Davy.

"Lovibond!" cried Nelly.

"The same," groaned Davy.

"Mr. Lovibond!" cried Nelly again.

"Aw--keep it up, ma'am; keep it up!" said Davy. "And, manewhile, if you
plaze, who is the woman?"

"My friend Jenny Crow," said Nelly.

Then there was another pause.

"And did she tell you that I had agreed to meet her?" said Davy.

"She did," said Nelly. "And did _he_ tell _you_ that I had appointed to
meet _him?_"

"Yes, did he," said Davy. "At eight o'clock, did she say?"

"Yes, eight o'clock," said Nelly. "Did _he_ say eight?"

"He did," said Davy.

The loud voices of a moment before had suddenly dropped to broken
whispers. Davy made a prolonged whistle.

"Stop," said he; "haven't you been in the habit of meeting him?"

"I have never seen him but once," said Nelly. "But haven't _you_ been in
the habit of meeting _her?_"

"Never set eyes on the little skute but twice altogether," said Davy.
"But didn't he see you first in St. Thomas's, and didn't you speak with
him on the shore--"

"I've never been in St. Thomas's in my life!" said Nelly. "But didn't
and come home with her in the coach?"

"Not I," said Davy.

"Then the stories she told me of the Manx sailor were all imagination,
were they?" said Nelly.

"And the yarns _he_ tould _me_ of the girl in the church were all
make-ups, eh?" said Davy.

"Dear me, what a pair of deceitful people!" said Nelly.

"My gough! what a couple of cuffers!" said Davy.

very air around him.

Quiggin first chuckled, then tittered, then laughed outright; and
at last her voice rose behind her husband's in clear trills of
uncontrollable merriment.

Laughter was the good genie that drew their assundered hearts together.
before it like evil creatures of the night.

At the first sound of Davy's laughter something in Nelly's bosom seemed
to whisper "He loves me still;" and at the first note of Nelly's,
something clamored in Davy's breast, "She's mine, she's mine!" They
turned toward each other in the darkness with a yearning cry.

"Nelly!" cried Davy, and he opened his arms to her.

"Davy!" cried Nelly, and she leaped to his embrace.


could command, "Seems to me, Nelly Vauch, begging your pardon, darling,
that we've been a couple of fools."

"Whoever could have believed it?" said Nelly.

"What does it mane at all, said Davy.

"It means," said Nelly, "that our good friends knew each other, and that
played a trick on our jealousy."

"Then we _were_ jealous?" said Davy.

"Why else are we here?" said Nelly.

"So you _did_ come to see a man, after all?" said Davy.

"And _you_ came to see a woman," said Nelly.

arm-inarm and waist-to-waist, vowing that they would never part--no,
never, never, never--and that nothing on earth should separate them,
when they heard a step on the grass behind.

"Who's there?" said Davy.

And a voice from the darkness answered, "It's Willie Quarrie, Capt'n."

Davy caught his breath. "Lord-a-massy me!" said he. "I'd clane

"So had I," said Nelly, with alarm.

"I was to have started back for Cajlao by the Belfast packet."

"And I was to have gone home by carriage."

"If you plaze, Capt'n," said Willie Quarrie, coming up. "I've been
looking for you high and low--the pacquet's gone."

Davy drew a long breath of relief. "Good luck to her," said he, with a

"And, if you plaze," said Willie, "Mr. Lovibond is gone with her."

"Good luck to _him_," said Davy.

"And Miss Crows has gone, too," said Willie.

"Good luck to her as well," said Davy; and Nelly whispered at his side,
"There--what did I tell you?"

"And if you plaze, Capt'n," said Willie Quarrie, stammering nervously,
"Mr. Lovibond, sir, he has borrowed our--our tickets and--and taken them
away with him."

"He's welcome, boy, he's welcome," cried Davy, promptly. "We're going
home instead. Home!" he said again--this time to Nelly, and in a tone
of delight, as if the word rolled on his tongue like a lozenge--"that

"We'll never leave it again," said Nelly.

"Never!" said Davy. "Not for a Dempster's palace. Just a piece of a
we'll lie ashore and take the sun like the goats."

"That reminds me of something," whispered Nelly. "Listen! I've had a
now--Ballamooar is to let!"

"Ballamooar!" repeated Davy, but in another voice. "Aw, no, woman, no!
And that reminds _me_ of something."

"What is it," said Nelly.

"I should have been telling you first," said Davy, with downcast head,
and in a tone of humiliation.

"Then what?" whispered Nelly.

"There's never no money at a dirty ould swiper that drinks and gambles
like a taypot. I'm broke, woman, I'm broke."

Nelly laughed lightly. "Do you say so?" she said with mock solemnity.

"It's only an ould shirt I'm bringing you to patch, Nelly," said Davy;
choice either ways."

"Then I take you, sir," said Nelly. "And as for the money," she
whispered in a meaning voice, "I'll take Ballamooar myself and give you

in a vice. "Then kiss me on it again and swear to it," he cried, "Again!
and I'm done!"

Since they had spoken to Willie Quarrie they had given no further
"If you plaze, capt'n, Mr. Lovibond was telling me to give you this
lether and this other thing," giving a letter and a book to Davy.

"Hould hard, though; what's doing now?" said Davy, turning them over in
his hand.

"Let us go into the house and look," said Nelly.

But Davy had brought out his matchbox, and was striking a light. "Hould
up my billycock, boy," said he; and in another moment Willie Quarrie was
examine what Lovibond had sent him.

"A book tied up in a red tape, eh?" said Davy. "Must be the one he

"A diary, Davy," said Nelly.

"Have it as you like, _Vauch_, and don't burn your little fingers,"
proceeded to read it.

told you has been a lie from beginning to end.'"

Davy lifted his head and laughed.

"Another match, Willie," he cried. And while the boy was striking a
the grass, and said: "A lie! Well, it was an' it wasn't. A sort of a
scriptural parable, eh?"

"Go on, Davy," said Nelly, impatiently, and Davy began again:

too!) 'They are deposited at Dumbell's in her name' (Right!), 'and---'"

"There--that will do," said Nelly, nervously.


Davy's lusty voice died off to a whisper.

"What is that?" said Nelly, eagerly.

"Nothin'," said Davy, very thick about the throat; and he rammed the
breezy side of the flickering match.

It was a note from Jenny Crow: "'You dear old goosy; your jealous little
going to have an Irish marriage tomorrow morning at Belfast--'"

"So they're a Co. consarn already," said Davy.

"'Good-by! Give your Manx sailor one kiss for me--'"

"Do it!" cried Davy. "Do it! What you've got to do only once you ought
to do it well."

Then they became conscious that a smaller and dumpier figure was

"Are you longing, Peggy?" Willie was saying in a voice of melancholy

And Peggy was answering in a doleful tone, "Aw, yes, though--longing

stepped out and said, "If you plaze, ma'am, the carriage is waiting this

"Then send it away again," said Davy.

"But the boxes is packed, sir----"

"Send it away," repeated Davy.

"No, no," said Nelly; "we must go home to-night."

"To-morrow morning," shouted Davy, with a stamp of his foot and a laugh.

"But I have paid the bill," said Nelly, "and everything is arranged, and
we are all ready."

"To-morrow morning," thundered Davy, with another stamp of the foot and
a peal of laughter.

And Davy had his way.

                       THE END.

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