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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Capt'n Davy's Honeymoon, by Hall Caine
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Capt'n Davy's Honeymoon
+       1893
+
+Author: Hall Caine
+
+Release Date: May 23, 2008 [EBook #25572]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CAPT'N DAVY'S HONEYMOON ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by David Widger
+
+
+
+
+
+CAPT'N DAVY'S HONEYMOON
+
+By Hall Caine
+
+Harper And Brothers - 1893
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+"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
+middling hard work at that; but you go bail it'll take me less nor ten
+months to spend it. Ay, or ten weeks, and aisy doing, too! And 'till
+it's gone, Mistress Quig-gin--d'ye hear me?--gone, every mortal penny of
+it gone, pitched into the sea, scattered to smithereens, blown to ould
+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
+words, which were pointed, and driven home by flashing eyes and
+quivering lips, were newly-married husband and wife. They were staying
+at the old Castle Mona, in Douglas, Isle of Man, and their honeymoon
+had not yet finished its second quarter. The gentleman was Captain Davy
+Quiggin, commonly called Capt'n Davy, a typical Manx sea-dog, thirty
+years of age; stalwart, stout, shaggy, lusty-lunged, with the tongue of
+a trooper, the heavy manners of a bear, the stubborn head of a stupid
+donkey, and the big, soft heart of the baby of a girl. The lady was
+Ellen Kinvig, known of old to all and sundry as Nelly, Ness, or
+Nell, but now to everybody concerned as Mistress Capt'n Davy Quiggin,
+six-and-twenty years of age, tall, comely, as blooming as the gorse;
+once as free as the air, and as racy of the soil as new-cut peat, but
+suddenly grown stately, smooth, refined, proud, and reserved. They loved
+each other to the point of idolatry; and yet they parted ten days after
+marriage with these words of wroth and madness. Something had come
+between them. What was it? Another man? No. Another woman? Still no.
+What then? A ghost, an intangible, almost an invisible but very real and
+divorce-making co-respondent. They call it Education.
+
+Davy Quiggin was born in a mud house on the shore, near the old
+church at Ballaugh. The house had one room only, and it had been the
+living-room, sleeping-room, birth-room, and death-room of a family of
+six. Davy, who was the youngest, saw them all out. The last to go were
+his mother and his grandfather. They lay ill at the same time, and died
+on the one day. The old man died first, and Davy fixed up a herring-net
+in front of him, where he lay on the settle by the fire, so that his
+mother might not see him from her place on the bed.
+
+Not long after that, Davy, who was fifteen years of age, went to live as
+farm lad with Kinvig, of Ballavolley. Kinvig was a solemn person, very
+stiff and starchy, and sententious in his way, a mighty man among the
+Methodists, and a power in the pulpit. He thought he had done an act of
+charity when he took Davy into his home, and Davy repaid him in due time
+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
+certainty when one night Davy came home late from the club meeting on
+the street, and rapped at the kitchen window. That was the signal of the
+home circle that some member of it was waiting at the door. Now there
+are ways and ways of rapping at a kitchen window. There is the pit-a-pat
+of a light heart, and the thud-thud of a heavy one; and there is the
+sharp crack-crack of haste, and the dithering que-we-we of fear. Davy
+had a rap of his own, and Nelly knew it.
+
+There was a sort of a trip and dance and a rum-tum-tum in Davy's rap
+that always made Nelly's heart and feet leap up at the same instant. But
+on this unlucky night it was Nelly's mother who heard it, and opened the
+door. What happened then was like the dismal sneck of the outside gate
+to Davy for ten years thereafter. The porch was dark, and so was the
+little square lobby behind the door. On numerous other nights that had
+been an advantage in Davy's eyes, but on this occasion he thought it a
+snare of the evil one. Seeing something white in a petticoat he thew his
+arms about it and kissed and hugged it madly. It struck him at the time
+as strange that the arms he held did not clout him under the chin, and
+that the lips he smothered did not catch breath enough to call him a
+gawbie, and whisper that the old people inside were listening. The
+truth dawned on him in a moment, and then he felt like a man with an eel
+crawling down his back, and he wanted nothing else for supper.
+
+It was summer time, and Davy, though a most accomplished sleeper, found
+no difficulty in wakening himself with the dawn next morning. He was
+cutting turf in the dubs of the Curragh just then, and he had four hours
+of this pastime, with spells of sober meditation between, before he came
+up to the house for breakfast. Then as he rolled in at the porch, and
+stamped the water out of his long-legged boots, he saw at a glance that
+a thunder-cloud was brewing there. Nelly was busy at the long table
+before the window, laying the bowls of milk and the deep plates for the
+porridge. Her print frock was as sweet as the May blossom, her cheeks
+were nearly as red as the red rose, and like the rose her head hung
+down. She did not look at him as he entered. Neither did Mrs. Kinvig,
+who was bending over the pot swung from the hook above the fire, and
+working the porridge-stick round and round with unwonted energy. But
+Kinvig himself made up for both of them. The big man was shaving before
+a looking-glass propped up on the table, and against the Pilgrim's
+Progress and Clark's Commentaries. His left hand held the point of his
+nose aside between the tip of his thumb and first finger, while the
+other swept the razor through a hillock of lather and revealed a portion
+of a mouth twisted three-quarters across his face. But the moment he saw
+Davy he dropped the razor, and looked up with as much dignity as a man
+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
+gentleman."
+
+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
+you. Aw, yes, though, and that you're taking notions on a farmer's girl.
+Respectable man, too--one of the first that's going, with sixty acres
+at him and more. Amazing thick, they're telling me. Kissing behind the
+door, and the like of that! The capers! It was only yesterday you came
+to me with nothing on your back but your father's ould trowis, cut down
+at the knees."
+
+Nelly slipped out. Her mother made a noise with the porridge-pot. Davy
+was silent. Kinvig walloped his razor on the strop with terrific vigor,
+then paused, pointed the handle in Davy's direction, tried to curl up
+his lip into a withering sneer that was half lost in the lather, and
+said with bitter irony, "My house is too mane for you, sir. You must
+lave me. It isn't the Isle of Man itself that'll hould the likes of
+you."
+
+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
+quick."
+
+"I'm off, sir," said Davy; and, then, looking round and remembering that
+he was being kicked out like a dog and would see Nelly no more, day
+by day, the devil took hold of him and he began to laugh in Kinvig's
+ridiculous face.
+
+"Good-by, ould Sukee," he cried. "I lave you to your texes."
+
+And, turning to where Mrs. Kinvig stood with her back to him, he cried
+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
+stairs and went out at the porch. There he slipped his burden to the
+ground, for somebody was waiting to say farewell to him. It was the
+right petticoat this time, and she was on the right side of the door.
+The stars were shining overhead, but two that were better than any in
+the sky were looking into Davy's face, and they were twinkling in tears.
+
+It was only a moment the parting lasted, but a world of love was got
+into it. Davy had to do penance for the insults he had heaped upon
+Nelly's father, and in return he got pity for those that had been
+shoveled upon himself.
+
+"Good-by, Nell," he whispered; "there's thistles in everybody's crop.
+But no matter! I'll come back, and then it's married we'll be. My
+goodness, yes, and take Ballacry and have six bas'es, and ten pigs, and
+a pony. But, Nelly, will ye wait for me?"
+
+"D'ye doubt me, Davy?"
+
+"No; but will ye though?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Then its all serene," said Davy, and with another hug and a kiss, and
+a lock of brown hair which was cut ready and tied in blue ribbon, he was
+gone with his chest into the darkness.
+
+Davy sailed in an Irish schooner to the Pacific coast of South America.
+There he cut his stick again, and got a berth on a coasting steamer
+trading between Valparaiso and Callao. The climate was unhealthy,
+the ports were foul, the government was uncertain, the dangers were
+constant, and the hands above him dropped off rapidly. In two years Davy
+was skipper, and in three years more he was sailing a steamer of his
+own. Then the money began to tumble into his chest like crushed oats out
+of a Crown's shaft.
+
+The first hundred pounds he had saved he sent home to Dumbell's bank,
+because he could not trust it out of the Isle of Man. But the hundreds
+grew to thousands, and the thousands to tens of thousands, and to send
+all his savings over the sea as he made them began to be slow work, like
+supping porridge with a pitchfork. He put much of it away in paper rolls
+at the bottom of his chest in the cabin, and every roll he put by stood
+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."
+
+All his dreams were of coming home, and sometimes he wrote letters to
+Nelly. The writing in them was uncertain, and the spelling was doubtful,
+but the love was safe enough. And when he had poured out his heart
+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
+well with the mack'rel at Kinsale; and is the cowhouse new thatched, and
+how's the chapel going? And is the ould man still playing hang with the
+texes?"
+
+Kinvig heard of Davy's prosperity, and received the news at first in
+silence, then with satisfaction, and at length with noisy pride. His boy
+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
+he'll buy half the island over, and make a donation of a harmonia to the
+chapel, and kick ould Cowley and his fiddle out."
+
+Awaiting that event, Kinvig sent Nelly to England, to be educated
+according to the station she was about to fill. Nelly was four years in
+Liverpool, but she had as many breaks for visits home. The first time
+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
+the fourth time it was to meet her sweetheart on his return home after
+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
+face of a man who thought he ought to speak to everybody. Fifty times in
+the first three hours he went forward to peer through the wind and
+the glaring sunshine for the first glimpse of the Isle of Man. When at
+length he saw it, like a gray bird lying on the waters far away, with
+the sun's light tipping the hill-tops like a feathery crest, he felt so
+thick about the throat that he took six steerage passengers to the bar
+below to help him to get rid of his hoarseness. There was a brass band
+aboard, and during the trip they played all the outlandish airs of
+Germany, but just as the pacquet steamed into Douglas Bay, and Davy
+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
+dived into his breeches' pockets, gave every German of the troupe five
+shillings apiece, and then sat down on a coil of rope and blubbered
+aloud like a baby.
+
+Kinvig had sent a grand landau from Ramsey to fetch Capt'n Davy to
+Ballaugh; but before the English driver from the Mitre had identified
+his fare Davy had recognized an old crony, with a high, springless,
+country cart--Billiam Ballaneddan, who had come to Douglas to dispatch a
+barrel of salted herrings to his married daughter at Liverpool, and was
+going back immediately. So Davy tumbled his boxes and bags and other
+belongings into the landau, piling them mountains high on the cushioned
+seats, and clambered into the cart himself. Then they set off at a race
+which should be home first--the cart or the carriage, the luggage or the
+owner of it; the English driver on his box seat with his tall hat and
+starchy cravat, or Billiam twidling his rope reins, and Davy on the
+plank seat beside him, bobbing and bumping, and rattling over the
+stones like a parched pea on a frying pan.
+
+That was a tremendous drive for Davy. He shouted when he recognized
+anything, and as he recognized everything he shouted throughout the
+drive. They took the road by old Braddan Church and Union Mills, past
+St. John's, under the Tynwald Hill, and down Creg Willie's Hill. As he
+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!
+How do, Johnny, and how's the girls and how's the ould man, and how's
+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
+to the English driver who was coming up sedately with his landau at the
+tail of the springless cart.
+
+"Drive on, Billiam! Come up, ould girl--just a taste of the whip,
+Billiam! Do her no harm at all. Bishop's Court! Deary me, the ould house
+is in the same place still."
+
+At length the square tower of Ballaugh
+
+Church was seen above the trees with the last rays of the setting sun
+on its topmost story, and then Davy's eagerness swept down all his
+patience. He jumped up in the cart at the peril of being flung out, took
+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
+Billiam pinned him down to the seat with one hand while he whipped up
+the horse to a gallop with the other.
+
+They arrived at Ballavolly an hour and a half before they were expected.
+Mistress Kinvig was washing dishes in a tub on the kitchen table. Kinvig
+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
+you."
+
+Davy was dying of impatience. Would she be the same dear old Nell?
+
+"Nell--Nelly," he shouted, "I've kep' my word."
+
+"Aw, give her time, Capt'n," said Kinvig; "a new frock isn't rigged up
+in no time, not to spake of a silk handkercher going pinning round your
+throat."
+
+But Davy, who had waited ten years, would not wait a minute longer, and
+he was making for the stairs with the purpose of invading Nell's own
+bedroom, when the lady herself came sweeping down on tiptoes. Davy saw
+her coming in a cloud of silk, and at the next moment the slippery stuff
+was crumbling, and whisking, and creaking under his hands, for his arms
+were full of it.
+
+"Aw, mawther," said he. "They're like honeysuckles--don't spake to me
+for a week. Many's the time I've been lying in my bunk a-twigging the
+rats squeaking and coorting overhead, and thinking to myself, Kisses is
+skess with you now, Davy."
+
+The wedding came off in a week. There were terrific rejoicings. The
+party returned from church in the landau that brought up Davy's luggage.
+At the bridge six strapping fellows, headed by the blacksmith, and
+surrounded by a troop of women and children, stretched a rope across the
+road, and would not let the horses pass until the bridegroom had paid
+the toll. Davy had prepared him-self in advance with two pounds in
+sixpenny bits, which made his trowsers pockets stand out like a couple
+of cannon balls. He fired those balls, and they broke in the air like
+shells.
+
+At the wedding breakfast in the barn at Ballavolly Davy made a speech.
+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
+truth I am for all. Maybe you think about some dirty ould trouss: 'She's
+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,
+looking down at the top of Nelly's head, where she sat with her eyes in
+her lap beside him, he softened down to sentiment, and said, "Marry for
+love, boys; stick to the girl that's good, and then go where you will
+she'll be the star above that you'll sail your barque by, and if you
+stay at home (and there's no place like it) her parting kiss at midnight
+will be helping you through your work all next day."
+
+The parting kiss at midnight brought Davy's oration to a close, for a
+tug at his coat-tails on Nelly's side fetched him suddenly to his seat.
+
+Two hours afterward the landau was rolling away toward the Castle Mona
+Hotel at Douglas, where, by Nell's arrangement, Capt'n Davy and his
+bride were to spend their honeymoon.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+Now it so befell that on the very day when Capt'n Davy and Mrs. Quiggin
+quarreled and separated, two of their friends were by their urgent
+invitation crossing from England to visit them, Davy's friend was
+Jonathan Lovibond, an Englishman, whose acquaintance he had made on the
+coast. Mrs. Quiggin's was Jenny Crow, a young lady of lively manners,
+whom she had annexed during her four years' residence at Liverpool.
+These two had been lovers five years before, had quarreled and parted on
+the eve of the time appointed for their marriage, and had not since set
+eyes on each other. They met for the first time afterward on the
+steamer that was taking them to the Isle of Man, and neither knew the
+destination of the other.
+
+Miss Crow looked out of her twinkling eyes and saw a gentleman
+promenading on the quarter-deck before her, whom she must have thought
+she had somewhere seen before, but that his gigantic black mustache was
+a puzzle, and the little imperial on his chin was a baffling difficulty.
+Mr. Lovibond puffed the smoke from a colossal cigar, and wondered if the
+world held two pair of eyes like those big black ones which glanced
+up at him sometimes from a deck stool, a puffy pile of wool, two long
+crochet needles, and a couple of white hands, from which there flashed a
+diamond ring he somehow thought he knew.
+
+These mutual meditations lasted two long hours, and then a runaway ball
+of the wool from the lap of the lady on the deck stool was hotly pursued
+by the gentleman with the mustache, and instantly all uncertainty was at
+an end.
+
+After exclamations of surprise at the strange recognition (it was all
+so sudden), the two old friends came to closer quarters. They touched
+gingerly on the past, had some tender passages of delicate fencing, gave
+various sly hits and digs, threw out certain subtle hints, and came to
+a mutual and satisfactory understanding. Neither had ever looked
+at anybody else since their rupture, and therefore both were still
+unmarried.
+
+Having reached this stage of investigation, the wool and its needles
+were stowed away in a basket under the chair, in order that the lady
+might accept the invitation of the gentleman to walk with him on the
+deck; and as the wind had freshened by this time, and walking in skirts
+was like tacking in a stiff breeze, the gentleman offered his arm to the
+lady, and thus they sailed forth together.
+
+"And with whom are you to stay when we reach the island, Jenny?" said
+Lovibond.
+
+"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
+pair, and they exchanged mutual confidences. They had gone so far as
+to promise themselves a fortnight's further enjoyment of each other's
+society, when their arrival at Douglas put a sudden end to their
+anticipations.
+
+Two carriages were waiting for them on the pier--one, with a maid
+inside, was to take Jenny to Castle Mona: the other, with a boy, was to
+take Lovibond to Fort Ann.
+
+The maid was Peggy Quine, seventeen years of age, of dark complexion,
+nearly as round as a dolley-tub, and of deadly earnest temperament. When
+Jenny found herself face to face and alone with this person, she lost no
+time in asking how it came to pass that Mrs. Quiggin was at Castle Mona
+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
+conduck. The poor misthress! She's clane heartbroken. It's a mercy to me
+she didn't clout him."
+
+In two minutes more Jenny was in Mrs. Quiggin's room at Castle Mona,
+crying, "Gracious me, Ellen, what is this your maid tells me?"
+
+Nelly had been eating out her heart in silence all day long, and now the
+flood of her pride and wrath burst out, and she poured her wrongs upon
+Jenny as fiercely as if that lady stood for the transgressions of her
+husband.
+
+"He reproached me with my poverty," she cried.
+
+"What?"
+
+"Well, he told me I had only married him for his money--there's not much
+difference."
+
+"And what did you say?" said Jenny.
+
+"Say? What could I say? What would any woman say who had any respect for
+herself?"
+
+"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
+his wife, too, and behave as a gentleman, and not as a raw Manx rabbit
+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."
+
+While this was being done in the bedroom Nelly, who was furtively wiping
+her eyes, continued the recital of her wrongs:--
+
+"Would you believe it, Jenny, the first thing he did when we arrived
+here after the wedding was to shake hands with the hall porter, and
+the boots who took our luggage, and ask after their sisters and their
+mothers, and their sweethearts--the man knew them all. And when he heard
+from his boy, Willie Quarrie, that the cook was a person from Michael,
+it was as much as I could do to keep him from tearing down to the
+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."
+
+"Just, just! We can't go out for a walk together but he shouts, 'How
+do? Fine day, mates!' to the drivers of the hackney cabs across the
+promenade; and the joy of his life is to get up at seven in the morning
+and go down to the quay before breakfast to keep tally with a chalk
+for the fishermen counting their herrings out of the boats into the
+barrels."
+
+"Not a bit changed, then, since he went away?" said Jenny, before the
+glass.
+
+"Not a bit; and because I asked him to know his place, and if he is a
+gentleman to behave as a gentleman and speak as a gentleman and not make
+so easy with such as don't respect him any the better for it, he turns
+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?"
+
+"Oh; he piled presents enough on me. It's the way of the men: the
+stingiest will do that. They like to think they're such generous
+creatures. But let a poor woman count on it, and she'll soon be wakened
+from her dream. 'You married me for my money--deny it?'"
+
+"Fearful!"
+
+Jenny was leaning her forehead against the window sash, and looking
+vacantly out on the bay. Nelly observed her a moment, stopped suddenly
+in the tale of her troubles, and said, in another voice, "Jenny Crow,
+I believe you are laughing at me. It's always the way with you. You can
+take nothing seriously."
+
+Jenny turned back to the room with a solemn face, and said, "Nellie,
+if you waited ten years for your husband, I suppose that he waited ten
+years for you."
+
+"I suppose he did."
+
+"And, if he is the same man as he was when he went away, I suppose his
+love is the same?"
+
+"Then how _could_ he say such things?"
+
+"And, if he is the same, and his love is the same, isn't it possible
+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."
+
+"It's the money. Oh, Jenny, if you ever marry, marry a poor man, and
+then he can't fling it in your face that you are poorer than he."
+
+"No; it can't be the money, Nelly, for the money is his, and yet it
+hasn't changed him. And, Nelly, isn't it a good thing in a rich man not
+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
+it?"
+
+"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
+warning from one who once made shipwreck of her own life. Think no man
+common who loves you--no matter what his ways are, or his manners, or
+his speech. Love makes the true nobility. It ennobles him who loves you
+and you who are beloved. Cling to it--prize it--do not throw it away.
+Money can not buy it, nor fame nor rank atone for it. When a woman is
+loved she is a queen, and he who loves her is her king."
+
+Mrs. Quiggin was weeping behind her hands by this time, but she lifted
+swollen eyes to say, "I see; you would have me go to him and submit, and
+explain, and beg his pardon. 'Dear David, I didn't marry you for your
+money----' No," leaping to her feet, "I'll scrub my fingers to the bone
+first."
+
+"But, Nelly----"
+
+"Say no more, Jenny Crow, We're hot-headed people, both of us, and we'll
+quarrel."
+
+Then Jenny's solemn manner was gone in an instant. She snapped her
+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
+Davy at Forte Ann. On the way there he had heard of the separation from
+the boy, Willie Quarrie, a lugubrious Manx lad, eighteen years old, with
+a face as white as a haddock and as grim as a gannet.
+
+"Aw, terr'ble doings, sir, terr'ble, terr'ble!" moaned Willie. "Young
+Mistress Quiggin ateing her heart out at Castle Mona, and Captain Davy
+hisself at Forte Ann over, drinking and tearing and carrying on till
+all's blue."
+
+Lovibond found Captain Davy in the smoke-room with a face as hard as a
+frozen turnip, one leg over the arm of an elbow chair, a church-warden
+pipe in his mouth, a gigantic glass of brandy and soda before him, and
+an admiring circle of the laziest riff-raff of the town about him. As
+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."
+
+Then he proceeded to recite the incidents of the quarrel, coloring them
+by the light of the numerous glasses with which he had covered his brain
+since morning.
+
+"'You've married me for my money,' says I. 'What else?' said she. 'Then
+d------ the money,' says I, 'I'll lave you till it's gone.' 'Do it and
+welcome,' says she, and I'm doing it, bad cess to it, I'm doing it.
+But, stop this jaw. I swore to myself I wouldn't spake of it to any man
+living. What d'ye drink? I've took to the brandy swig myself. Join
+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
+big drinks to find out. But no use at all, and what's left to do?"
+
+"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?"
+
+Davy's eyes began to fill, but his mouth remained firm. He cleared his
+throat noisily, shook the dust out of his pipe on to the heel of his
+boot, and said, "No--yes--no--Well, it is and it isn't. It's Nelly
+Kinvig, that's sarten sure. But the juice of the woman's sowl's dried
+up."
+
+"The little thing that used to know your rap at the kitchen window, and
+come tripping out like a bird chirping in the night, and go linking down
+the lane with you in the starlight?"
+
+Davy broke the shaft of his churchwarden into small lengths, and flung
+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
+petticoats up to her knees, and I was a boy in a jacket, and we played
+hop-skotch in the haggard, and double-my-duck agen the cowhouse gable.
+Aw dear, aw dear! The sweet little thing she was then any way. Yellow
+hair at her, and eyes like the sea, and a voice same as the throstle!
+Well, well, to think, to think! Playing in the gorse and the ling
+together, and the daisies and the buttercups--and then the curlews
+whistling and the river singing like music, and the bees ahumoning--aw,
+terr'ble sweet and nice. And me going barefoot, and her bare-legged, and
+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
+heise of the neck, and her head up like a Cochin-China, with a topknot,
+and 'How d'ye do?' and cetererar and cetererar. Aw, smooth as an ould
+threepenny bit--smooth astonishing. And partic'lar! My gough! You
+couldn't call Tom to a cat afore her, but she'd be agate of you to make
+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
+right. Only I'll stick to what I'm used of. Job's patience went at last
+and so did mine, and I arn't much of a Job neither."
+
+"And what has made all this difference," said Lovibond.
+
+"Why, the money, of coorse. It was the money that done it, bad sess to
+it," said Davy, pitching the head of his pipe after the shank. "I went
+out yonder to get it and I got it. Middling hard work, too, but no
+matter. It was to be all for her. 'I'll come back, Nelly,' says I, 'and
+we'll take Ballacry and have six craythurs and a pony, and keep a
+girl to do for you, and you'll take your aise--only milking maybe, or
+churning, but nothing to do no harm.' I was ten years getting it, and I
+never took notions on no other girls neither. No, honor bright, thinks
+I, Nelly's waiting for you, Davy. Always dreaming of her, 'cept when
+them lazy black chaps wanted leathering, and that's a job that isn't
+nothing without a bit of swearing at whiles. But at night, aw, at night,
+mate, lying out on the deck in that heat like the miller's kiln, and
+shelling your clothes piece by piece same as a bushel of oats, and
+looking up at the stars atwinkling in the sky, and spotting one of them,
+and saying to yourself quietlike, so as them niggers won't hear, 'That's
+star is atwinkling over Nelly, too, and maybe she's watching it now.'
+It seemed as if we wasn't so far apart then. Somehow it made the world
+a taste smaller. 'Shine on, my beauty,' thinks I, 'shine down straight
+into Nelly's room, and if she's awake tell her I'm coming, and if she's
+asleep just make her dream that I'm loving nobody else till her.' But,
+chut! It was myself that was dreaming. Drink up! She married me for my
+money, so I'm making it fly."
+
+"And when it's gone--what then?" said Lovibond. "Will you go back to
+her!"
+
+"Maybe so, maybe no."
+
+"Will anything be the better because the money's spent?"
+
+"God knows."
+
+"Will she be as sweet and good as she once was when you are as poor as
+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!"
+
+Next day Lovibond and Jenny Crow met on the pier. There they pondered
+the ticklish situation of their friends, and every word they said on it
+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.
+
+"I'm sure he must be a dear, simple soul, though I've never set eyes on
+him," said Jenny.
+
+"And I'm certain she must be as sweet as an angel, though I've never
+seen her," said Lovibond.
+
+Jenny shot a jealous glance at her companion, then cracked two fingers
+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?"
+said Jenny. In less than an hour these two wise heads had devised a
+scheme to bring Capt'n Davy and his bride together. What that scheme was
+and how it worked let those who read discover.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+Six days passed as with feet of lead, and Capt'n Davy and Mrs. Quiggin
+were still in Douglas. They could not tear themselves away. Morning
+and night the good souls were seized by a morbid curiosity about their
+servants' sweethearts. "Seen Peggy lately?" Capt'n Davy would say. "I
+suppose you've not come across Willie Quarrie lately?" Mrs. Quiggin
+would ask. Thus did they squeeze to the driest pulp every opportunity of
+hearing anything of each other.
+
+Jenny Crow, with Mrs. Quiggin at Castle Mona, had not yet set eyes on
+Captain Davy, and Lovibond, with Captain Davy at Fort Ann, had never
+once seen Mrs. Quiggin. Jenny had said nothing of Lovibond to Nelly, and
+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.
+
+"Seen Willie Quarrie, ma'am? Aw 'deed, yes, ma'am; and it's shocking the
+stories he's telling me. The Capt'n's making the money fly. Bowls and
+beer, and cards and betting--it's ter'ble, ma'm, ter'ble. Somebody
+should hould him. He's distracted like. Giving to everybody as free as
+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
+like water through a pitchfork. And the dirts that's catching most is
+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."
+
+"What?"
+
+"Yes, though, that's what Willie Quarrie is telling me. When a woman
+isn't just running even with her husband they call her lumps in his
+porridge. Aw, Willie's a feeling lad."
+
+There was a pause after this disclosure, and then Mrs. Quiggin said
+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?"
+
+"Pepper and salt trowis, ma'am, and a morsel of hair on the tip of his
+chin."
+
+"Tall, Peggy?"
+
+"No, a long wisp'ry man."
+
+"I suppose he helps the Captain to spend his money?"
+
+"Never a ha'po'th, ma'am, 'deed no; but ter'ble onaisy at it, and
+rigging him constant But no use at all, at all. The Capt'n's intarmined
+to ruin hisself. Somebody should just take him and wallop him, ding
+dong, afore he's wasted all he's got, and hasn't a penny left at him."
+
+"How dare you, Peggy?"
+
+Peggy was dismissed in anger, and Mrs. Quiggin sat down to write a
+letter to Lovibond. She begged him to pardon the liberty of one who was
+no stranger, though they had never met, in asking him to come to her
+without delay. This done, and marked _private_, she called Peggy back
+and bade her to take the letter to Willie Quarrie, and tell him to give
+it to the gentleman before the Captain came down to breakfast in the
+morning.
+
+The day was Sunday, the weather was brilliant, the window was open, and
+the salt breath of the sea was floating into the room. With the rustle
+of silk like a breeze in a pine tree Jenny Crow came back from a walk,
+swinging a parasol by a ring about her wrist.
+
+"Such an adventure!" she said, sinking into a chair. "A man, of
+course! I saw him first on the Head at the skirts of the crowd that
+was listening to the Bishop's preaching. Such a manly fellow!
+Broad-shouldered, big-chested, standing square on his legs like a rock.
+Dark, of course, and such eyes, Nelly! Brown--no black-brown. I like
+black-brown eyes in a man, don't you?"
+
+Captain Davy's eyes were of the darkest brown. Mrs. Quiggin gave no
+sign.
+
+"Then his dress--so simple. None of your cuffs and ruffs, and great high
+collars like a cart going for coke. Just a blue serge suit, and a monkey
+jacket. I like a man in a monkey jacket."
+
+Captain Davy wore a monkey jacket; Mrs. Quiggin colored slightly.
+
+"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."
+
+Mrs. Quiggin was thinking of Captain Davy, and tingling with pleasure
+and shame, but she only said, falteringly, "Didn't you talk of some
+adventure?"
+
+"Oh, of course, certainly," said Jenny. "After he had listened a moment
+he went on, and I lost sight of him. Presently I went on, too, and
+walked across the Head until I came within sight of Port Soderick. Then
+I sat down by a great bowlder. So quiet up there, Nelly; not a sound
+except the squeal of the sea birds, the boo-oo of the big waves outside,
+and the plash-ash of the little ones on the beach below. All at once
+I heard a sigh. At that I looked to the other side of the bowlder, and
+there was my friend of the monkey jacket. I was going to rise, but
+he rose instead, and begged me not to trouble. Then I was vexed with
+myself, and said I hoped he wouldn't disturb himself on my account."
+
+"You never said that, Jenny Crow?"
+
+"Why not, my dear? You wouldn't have had me less courteous than he was.
+So he stood and talked. You never heard such a voice, Nelly. Deep as
+a bell, and his Manx tongue was like music. Talk of the Irish brogue!
+There's no brogue in the world like the Manx, is there now, not if the
+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
+trouble hanging over him. 'I've been sailing foreign, ma'am,' said he,
+'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.
+Now, any man is a gentleman to me who can afford to dispense with the
+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
+education--."
+
+"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?"
+
+"' I've been sailing foreign, ma'am,' he said. 'And I don't know nothing
+that cut's a man's heart from its moorings like coming home same as
+a homing pigeon, and then wishing yourself back again same as a lost
+one.'"
+
+"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.
+
+As Jenny rose to remove her bonnet she shot a sly glance out of the
+corners of her eyes, and saw that Mrs. Quiggin was furtively wiping her
+own.
+
+Meanwhile Lovibond at Fort Ann was telling a similar story to Captain
+Davy. He had left the house for a walk before Davy had come down to
+breakfast, and on returning at noon he found him immersed in the usual
+occupation of his mornings. This was that of reading and replying to his
+correspondence. Davy read with difficulty, and replied to all letters
+by check. His method of business was peculiar and original. He was
+stretched on the sofa with a pipe in his mouth, and the morning's
+letters pigeonholed between his legs. Willie Quarrie sat at a table
+with a check-book before him. While Davy read the letters one by one he
+instructed Willie as to the nature of the answer, and Willie, with his
+head aslant, his mouth awry, and his tongue in his cheek, turned it into
+figures on the check-book.
+
+As Lovibond came in Davy was knocking off the last batch for the day.
+"'Respected sir,' he was reading, 'I know you've a tender heart'...
+Send her five pounds, Willie, and tell her to take that talk to the
+butchers."
+
+"'Honored Captain, we are going to erect a new school in connection
+with Ballajora chapel, and if you will honor us by laying the foundation
+stone....' Never laid a stone in my life 'cept one, and that was my
+mawther's sink-stone. Twenty pounds, Willie. 'Sir, we are to hold a
+bazaar, and if you will consent to open it....' Bazaar! I know: a
+sort of ould clothes shop in a chapel where you're never tooken up for
+cheating, because you always says your paternoster-ings afore you begin.
+Ten pounds, Willie. Helloa, here's Parson Quiggin. Wish the ould devil
+would write more simpler; I was never no good at the big spells myself.
+'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
+ask you to become a member of our committee....' Com-mittee! I know the
+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
+carcass is, there will the eagles be gathered together.' Only, as Parson
+Howard used to say, bless the ould angel, 'Summat's gone screw with 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
+money was just all and Tommy in this world. My gough, yes, when I was a
+slip of a lad, didn't I?" said he, sobering very suddenly. "The father
+was lost in a gale at the herrings, and the mawther had to fend for the
+lot of us. They all went off except myself--the sisters and brothers.
+Poor things, they wasn't willing to stay with us, and no wonder. But
+there's mostly an ould person about every Manx house that sees the young
+ones out, and the mawther's father was at us still. Lame though of his
+legs with the rheumatics, and wake in his intellecs for all. Couldn't
+do nothing but lie in by the fire with his bit of a blanket hanging over
+his head, same as snow atop of a hawthorn bush. Just stirring the peats,
+and boiling the kettle, and lifting the gorse when there was any fire.
+The mawther weeded for Jarvis Kewley--sixpence a day dry days, and
+fourpence all weathers. Middling hard do's, mate. And when she'd give
+the ould man his basin of broth he'd be saying, squeaky-like, 'Give
+it to the boy, woman; he's a growing lad?' 'Chut! take it, man,' the
+mawther would say, and then he'd be whimpering, 'I'm keeping you long,
+Liza, I'm keeping you long.' And there was herself making a noise with
+her spoon in the bottom of a basin, and there was me grinding my teeth,
+and swearing to myself like mad, 'As sure as the living God I'll be ruch
+some day.' And now--"
+
+Davy snapped his fingers, laughed boisterously, rolled to his feet, and
+said shortly, "Where've you been to?"
+
+"To church--the church with a spire at the end of the parade," said
+Lovibond.
+
+"St. Thomas's--I know it," said Davy.
+
+St. Thomas's was half way up to Castle Mona.
+
+The men strolled out at the window, which opened on to the warm, soft
+turf of the Head, and lay down there with their faces to the sun-lit
+bay.
+
+"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
+she?"
+
+"Nay; I don't know," said Lovibond; "but she sat over against me on
+the opposite side of the aisle, and her face was the only prayer-book I
+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
+of women, sir. They're like sheep's broth is women. If there's a heart
+and head in them they're good, and if there isn't you might as well be
+supping hot water. Faces isn't the chronometer to steer your boat to the
+good ones. Now I've seen some you could swear to----."
+
+"I'll swear to this one," said Lovibond with an appearance of tremendous
+earnestness.
+
+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
+with a golden bloom, as if it must have been yellow when she was a
+child."
+
+"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
+she'd got a drink of water out of the clouds of heaven, and was singing
+and swallowing together--I know the sort; go on."
+
+Lovibond had kept pace with Davy's warmth, but now he paused and said
+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
+Lovibond.
+
+"You say true, mate," said Davy; "nor in giving one out neither. Now,
+there was old Kinvig. He had a sow once that wasn't too reg'lar in her
+pigging. Sometimes she gave many, and sometimes she gave few, and
+sometimes she gave none. She was a hit-and-a-missy sort of a sow, you
+might say. But you always know'd how the ould sow done, by the way
+Kinvig gave out the hymn. If it was six he was as loud as a clarnet, and
+if it was one his voice was like the tram-bones. But go on about the
+girl."
+
+"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
+sneaking, and the man that done it ought to be wallopped till all's
+blue. But you'll see her again, I'll go bail, and maybe hear who she is.
+Rael true women is skess these days, sir; but I'm thinking you've got
+your flotes down for a good one. Give her line, mate--give her line--and
+if I wasn't such a downhearted chap myself I'd be helping you to land
+her."
+
+Lovibond observed that Capt'n Davy was more than usually restless after
+this conversation, and in the course of the afternoon, while he lay in a
+hazy dose on the sofa, he overheard this passage between the captain and
+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
+person with a spyglass, and that fond of the mistress you wouldn't
+think."
+
+"Then just slip across in the morning, and spake to herself, and say can
+I see her somewheres, or will she come here, and never say nothing to
+nobody."
+
+Davy's uneasiness continued far into the evening. He walked alone to
+and fro on the turf of the Head in front of the house, until the sun set
+behind the hills to the west, where a golden rim from its falling light
+died off on the farthest line of the sea to the east, and the town
+between lay in a haze of deepening purple. Lovibond knew where his
+thoughts were, and what new turn they had taken; but he pretended to see
+nothing, and he gave no sign.
+
+Sunday as it was, Capt'n Davy's cronies came as usual at nightfall. They
+were a sorry gang, but Davy welcomed them with noisy cheer. The lights
+were brought in, and the company sat down to its accustomed amusements.
+These were drinking and smoking, with gambling in disguise at intervals.
+Davy lost tremendously, and laughed with a sort of wild joy at every
+failure. He was cheated on all hands, and he knew it. Now and again he
+called the cheaters by hard name, but he always paid them their money.
+They forgave the one for the sake of the other, and went on without
+shame. Lovibond's gorge rose at the spectacle. He was an old gambler
+himself, and could have stripped every rascal of them all as naked as a
+lettuce after a locust. His indignation got the better of him at last,
+and he went out on to the Head.
+
+The calm sea lay like a dark pavement dotted with the reflection of the
+stars overhead. Lights in a wide half-circle showed the line of the bay.
+Below was the black rock of the island of the Tower of Refuge, and the
+narrow strip of the old Red pier; beyond was the dark outline of
+the Head, and from the seaward breast of it shot the light of the
+lighthouse, like the glow of a kiln. It was as quiet and beautiful out
+there as it had been noisy and hideous within.
+
+Lovibond had been walking to and fro for more than an hour listening to
+the slumberous voices of the night, and hearing at intervals the louder
+bellowing from the room where Captain Davy and his cronies were sitting,
+when Davy himself came out.
+
+"I can't stand no more of it, and I've sent them home," he said. "It's
+like saying your prayers to a hornpipe, thinking of her and carrying on
+with them wastrels."
+
+He was sober in one sense only.
+
+"Tell me more about the little girl in church. Aw, matey, matey!
+Something under my waistcoat went creep, creep, creep, same as a
+sarpent, when you first spake of her; but its easier to stand till that
+jaw inside anyway. Go on, sir. Love at first sight, was it? Aw, well,
+the eyes isn't the only place that love is coming in at, or blind men
+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
+way. Ould Kinvig kep' two cows, and we were calling the one Whitie and
+the other Brownie. Nelly and me was milking the pair of them, and she
+was like a young goat, that full of tricks, and I was same as a big
+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
+Brownie and me milking Whitie. 'What she agate of now?' thinks I, but
+she was looking as innocent as the bas'es themselves, with their ould
+solem faces when they were twisting round. Then we started, and there
+wasn't no noise in the cow-house, but just the cows chewing constant,
+and, maybe, the rope running on their necks at whiles and the rattle of
+the milk in the pails. And I got to draeming same as I was used of, with
+the smell of the hay stealing down from the loft and the breath of
+the cows coming puff when they were blowing, and the tits in my hands
+agoing, when the rattle-rattle aback of me stopped sudden, and I felt a
+squish in my ear like the syringe at the doctor's. 'What's that?' thinks
+I. 'Is it deaf I'm going?' But it's deaf I'd been and blind, too, and
+stupid for all down to that blessed minute, for there was Nessy laughing
+like fits, and working like mad, and drops of Brownie's milk going
+trickling out of my ear on to my shoulder. 'It's not deafness,' thinks
+I; 'it's love'; and my breath was coming and going and making noises
+like the smithy bellows. So I twisted my wrist and blazed back at her,
+and we both fired away, ding-dong, till the cows was as dry as Kinvig
+when he was teetotal, and the cow-house was like a snowstorm with a gale
+of wind through it, and you couldn't see a face at the one of us for
+swansdown. That's how Nelly and me 'came engage."
+
+He was laughing noisily by this time, and crying alternately, with a
+merry shout and a husky croak, "Aw, dear, aw, dear; the days that was,
+sir--the days that was!"
+
+Lovibond let him rattle on, and he talked of Nelly for an hour. He had
+stories without end of her, some of them as simple as a baby's prattle,
+some as deep as the heart of man, and splitting open the very crust of
+the fires of buried passion.
+
+It was late when they turned in for the night. The lights on the line of
+the land were all put out, and save for the reflection of the stars only
+the lamps of ships at anchor lit up the waters of the bay.
+
+"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,
+and go to bed to do my thinking. The ould man's cart-wheel came off
+in the road once, and we couldn't rig it on again no how. 'Hould hard,
+boys,' says Kinvig; and he went away home and up to the loft, and
+whipped off his clothes, and into the blankets and stayed there till
+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
+awake I'm minding. Och, no; it's the wakening up again. That's like
+nothing in the world but a rusty nail going driving into your skull
+afore a blacksmith's seven-pound sledge. Good night, mate; good night."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+Next day Lovibond saw Mrs. Quiggin at Castle Mona. He had come at once
+in obedience to her summons, and she took his sympathies by storm. It
+was hard for him to realize that he had not seen her somewhere before.
+He _had_ seen her--in his own description of the girl in church, helped
+out, led on, directed, vivified, and transfigured by Capt'n Davy's own
+impetuous picture, just as the mesmerist sees what he pretends to show
+by aid of the eye of the mesmerized. There she sat, like one for whom
+life had lost its savor. Her great slow eyes, her pale and quivering
+face,' her long deep look as she took his hand, and her softly
+tightening grasp of it went through him like a knife. Not all his
+loyalty to Capt'n Davy could crush the thought that the man who had
+thrown away a jewel such as this must be a brute and a blockhead.
+But the sweet woman was not so lost to life that she did not see her
+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
+enough."
+
+"Is remonstrance quite useless, Mr. Lovibond?"
+
+"Quite, Mrs. Quiggin."
+
+The great slow eyes began to fill, and Lovibond's gaze to seek the laces
+of his boots.
+
+"It is sorrow enough to me, Mr. Lovibond, that my husband and I have
+quarreled and parted, but it will be the worst grief of all if some day
+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?"
+
+"Yes. They tell me that he is gambling, and that all the cheats of the
+island are winning from him."
+
+"Well?"
+
+The pale face turned very red, and quivered visibly about the lips.
+
+"I have heard him say, when he has spoken of you, Mr. Lovibond,
+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
+when they told me that he was gambling, and I thought if you would play
+against my husband--for _me_------"
+
+"I see what you mean, Mrs. Quiggin," said Lovibond.
+
+"I don't want the money, though he was so cruel as to say I had only
+married him for sake of it. But you could put it back into Dumbell's
+Bank day by day as you got it."
+
+"In whose name?" said Lovibond.
+
+The great eyes opened very wide. "His, surely," she said falteringly.
+
+Lovibond saw the folly of that thought, but he also recognized its
+tenderness.
+
+"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."
+
+"To be sure, it is only to save him from ruin. But you will not believe
+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
+done, you will be careful not to let him know that it was I who thought
+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."
+
+While Lovibond was with Mrs. Quig-gin Jenny Crow was with Capt'n Davy.
+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
+as toast, and a tongue that was stinging hot. But when she had got there
+her purpose had suddenly changed. The first sight of Capt'n Davy's face
+had conquered her. It was so child-like, and yet so manly, so strong and
+yet so tender, so obviously made for smiles like sunshine, and yet so
+full of the memories of recent tears! Jenny recalled her description
+of the sailor on the Head, and thought it no better than a vulgar
+caricature.
+
+Davy wiped down a chair for her with the outside of his billycock and
+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
+her purpose of making him smart, and she stuck to her guns for a round
+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.
+
+With that second shot Jenny's powder was spent. Davy looked down into
+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
+money. Comes like the droppings out of the spout at the gable, ma'am;
+but goes like the tub when the bull has tipped it. Now I was thinking
+ma'am----"
+
+"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?"
+
+Jenny had to struggle with herself not to leap up and hug Capt'n Davy
+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
+you should never leave her. Come, now, Captain, forgive and forget; she
+is only a woman, you know."
+
+"That's just where the shoe pinches, ma'am, so I'm taking it off. Out
+yonder it'll be easier to forgive. And if it'll be harder to forget,
+what matter?"
+
+Jenny's eyes were beginning to fill.
+
+"No use crying over spilled milk, is it, ma'am? The heart-ache is a sort
+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
+else. Starve it, and it'll know why. Gives you a kind of a sinking at
+the pit of your stomach, ma'am. Did you never feel it, ma'am?"
+
+Davy's speech was rude enough, but that only made its emotion the more
+touching to Jenny. Between gulp and gulp she tried to say that if he
+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
+you--"
+
+"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."
+
+The stalwart fellow did not look much like anybody's infant, but Davy
+could not laugh, and Jenny's eyes were streaming.
+
+"Betty lived at Michael, ma'am, and died when her baby was suckling.
+There wasn't no feeding-bottles in them days, and the little one was
+missing the poor dead mawther mortal. But babies is like lammies, ma'am,
+they've got their season, and mostly all the women of the parish had
+babies that year. So first one woman would whip up Betty's baby and
+give it a taste of the breast, and then another would whip it up and
+do likewise, until the little baby cuckoo was in every baby nest in the
+place, and living all over the street, like the rum-butter bowl and the
+preserving pan. But no use at all, at all. The little mite wasted away.
+Poor thing, poor thing. Twenty mawthers wasn't making up to it for the
+right one it had lost. That's me, ma'am; that's me."
+
+Jenny Crow went away, crying openly, having promised to be a party to
+the innocent deception which Captain Davy had suggested. "That Nelly
+Kinvig is as hard as a flint," she told herself, bitterly. "I've no
+patience with such flinty people; and won't I give it her piping hot at
+the very next opportunity?"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+
+Jenny's opportunity was a week in coming, and various events of some
+consequence in this history occurred in the mean time. The first of
+these was that Capt'n Davy's fortune changed hands.
+
+Davy's savings had been invested in two securities--the Liverpool Dock
+Trust and Dumbell's Manx Bank. His property in the former he made over
+by help of the advocates, and with vast show of secrecy, to the name of
+Jenny Crow; and she, on her part, by help of other advocates, and with
+yet more real secrecy, transferred it to the name of Mrs. Quiggin.
+
+The remains of his possessions in the latter he lost to Lovibond, who
+gambled with him constantly, beginning with a sovereign, which Mrs.
+Quiggin had lent him for the purpose, and going on by a process of
+doubling until the stakes were prodigious. Every night he discharged his
+debt by check on Dumbell's, and every morning Lovibond repaid it into
+the same bank to the account of his wife. Thus, within a week, unknown
+to either of the two persons chiefly concerned, the money which had been
+the immediate cause of strife between them passed from the offender to
+the offended, from the strong to the weak.
+
+That was the more material of the changes that had come to pass, and the
+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
+Chasms, and the Calf. Of course they persuaded each other that these
+trips were taken solely in the interests of their friends. It was
+necessary to meet; it was desirable to do so where they would be
+unobserved; what else was left to them but to steal away together on
+these little jaunts and journeys?
+
+Then their talk was of love and estrangement and reconciliation, and how
+easy to quarrel, and how hard to come together again. Capt'n Davy and
+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."
+
+Then there would be innocent glances on both sides, and sly hints cast
+out as grappling hooks for jealousy.
+
+"Ah, well, he's the dearest, simplest, manliest fellow in the world, and
+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."
+
+Amid such bouts of thrust and counter-thrust, the affair of Capt'n Davy
+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
+Lovibond.
+
+"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
+Jenny.
+
+"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.
+
+Then came Jenny's opportunity. She had been out on one of her jaunts
+with Lovibond, leaving Mrs. Quiggin alone in her room at Castle
+Mona. Mrs. Quiggin was still in her room, and still alone. Since the
+separation a fortnight before that had been the constant condition of
+her existence. Never going out, never even going down for her meals,
+rarely speaking of her husband, always thinking of him, and eating out
+her heart with pride and vexation, and anger and self-reproach.
+
+It was the hour when the life of the island rises to the fever point;
+the hour of the arrival of the steamers from England. All day long the
+town had droned and dosed under a drowsy heat. The boatmen and carmen,
+with both hands in their breeches' pocket, had been burning the daylight
+on the esplanade; the band on the pier had been blowing music out of
+lungs that snored between every other blast; and the visitors had been
+lolling on the seats of the parade and watching the sea gulls disporting
+on the bay with eyes that were drawing straws. But the first trail of
+smoke had been seen across the sea by the point of the lighthouse, and
+all the slugs and marmots were wide awake: promenade deserted, streets
+quiet and pothouses empty; but every front window of every front house
+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,
+the steaming up, the firing of the gun, the landing of the passengers,
+the mails and newspapers, the shouting of the touts, the bawling of the
+porters, the salutations, the welcomes, the passings of the time of day,
+the rattling of the oars, the tinkling of the trams, and the cries
+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!"
+
+Thus, leaving the pier and the steamers behind them, through the streets
+and into the hotels, the houses, the cars, and the trains go, the new
+comers, and the newspapers, and the letters from England, all hot
+and active, bringing word of the main land, with its hub-bub and
+hurly-burly, to the island that has been four-and-twenty hours cut
+off from it--like the throbbing and bounding globules of fresh blood
+fetching life from the fountain-head to some half-severed limb. It is an
+hour of tremendous vitality, coming once a day, when the little island
+pulsates like a living thing. But that evening, as always since the time
+of the separation, Mrs. Quiggin was unmoved by it. With a book in her
+hand she was sitting by the open window fingering the pages, but looking
+listlessly over the tops of them to the line of the sea and sky, and
+asking herself if she should not go home to her father's house on the
+morrow. She had reached that point of her reverie at which something
+told her that she should, and something else told her that she should
+not, when down came Jenny Crow upon her troubled quiet, like the rush of
+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
+face.
+
+"Been to Laxey to look at the big wheel," said Jenny; "and found the
+Manxman coming back in the same coach. We were the only passengers, and
+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
+yourself."
+
+"Liked him!" cried Jenny. "I loved him. He's splendid, he's glorious,
+he's the simplest, manliest, tenderest, most natural creature in the
+world. But it's just my luck--another woman has got him. And such
+a woman, too! A nagger, a shrew, a cat, a piece of human flint, a
+thankless wretch, whose whole selfish body isn't worth the tip of his
+little finger."
+
+"Is she so bad as that?" said Mrs. Quiggin, smiling feebly above the top
+edge of her book, which covered her face up to the mouth.
+
+"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
+sofa.
+
+Then Jenny told a woeful tale, her eyes flashing, her lips quivering,
+and her voice ringing with indignation. And, anxious to hit hard,
+she hovered so closely over the truth as sometimes to run the risk of
+uncovering it. The poor fellow had made long voyages abroad and saved
+some money. He had loved his wife passionately--that was the only blot
+on his character. He always dreamt of coming home, and settling down
+in comfort for the rest of his life. He had come at last, and a fine
+welcome had awaited him. His wife was as proud as Lucifer--the daughter
+of some green-grocer, of course. She had been ashamed of her husband,
+apparently, and settling down hadn't suited her. So she had nagged the
+poor fellow out of all peace of mind and body, taken his money, and
+turned him adrift.
+
+Jenny's audacity carried her through, and Mrs. Quiggin, who was now wide
+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
+year and a day, and really with some women there would be something to
+say for the old custom."
+
+"Yes, wouldn't there?" said Jenny.
+
+"The woman who is nothing of herself apart from her husband, and has
+no claim to his consideration, except on the score of his love, and yet
+uses him only to abuse him, and takes his very 'money, having none of
+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."
+
+"No matter; taken or given, she has got it, I suppose, and is living on
+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
+doors----"
+
+"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?"
+
+Then there was a blank silence. Mrs. Quiggin had been borne along on
+the torrent of her indignation, brooking no objection, and sweeping down
+every obstacle, until brought up sharply by Jenny's question--like a
+river that flows fastest and makes most noise where the bowlders in its
+course are biggest, but breaks itself at last against the brant sides
+of some impassable rock. She drew her breath in one silent spasm, turned
+from feverish red to deadly pale, quivered about the mouth, twitched
+about the eyelids, rose stiffly on her half-rigid limbs, and then fell
+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
+money, and that I am a cat and shrew, and a nagger, and that there ought
+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
+that I was as bad as she was. But circumstances alter cases, and my case
+is different. My husband is turning _me_ out of doors: and, as for
+his money, I didn't ask for it and I don't want it. I'll go back home
+to-morrow morning. I will--indeed, I will. I'll bear this torment no
+longer."
+
+So saying, with many gasps and gulps, breaking at last into a burst of
+weeping, she covered her face with both hands and flounced out of the
+room. Jenny watched her go, then listened to the sobs that came from the
+other side of the door, and said beneath her breath, "Let her cry, poor
+girl. The crying has to be done by somebody, and it might as well be
+she. Crying is good for a woman sometimes, but when a man cries it hurts
+so much."
+
+Half an hour later, as Jenny was leaving the room for dinner, she heard
+Mrs. Quiggin telling Peggy Quine to ask at the office for her bill, and
+to order a carriage to be ready at the door for her at eleven o'clock in
+the morning.
+
+When the first burst of her vexation was spent Mrs. Quiggin made a
+secret and startling discovery. The man whom Jenny Crow had stumbled
+upon, first on the Head and afterward on the Laxey coach, could be no
+one in the world but her own husband. A certain shadowy suspicion of
+this had floated hazily before her mind at the beginning, but she had
+dismissed the idea and forgotten it. Now she felt so sure of it that it
+was beyond contempt of question. So the Manx sailor in whom Jenny had
+found so much to admire--the simple, brave, manly, generous, natural
+soul, all fresh air and by rights all sunshine--was no other than
+Capt'n Davy Quiggin! That thought brought the hot blood tingling to Mrs.
+Quiggin's cheeks with sensations of exquisite delight, and never before
+had her husband seemed so fine in her own eyes as now, when she saw
+him so noble in the eyes of another. But close behind this delicious
+reflection, like the green blight at the back of the apple blossom, lay
+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
+a cat, a shrew, a nagger, a thankless wretch, a piece of human flint,
+a creature that should be put down by the law as it puts down biting
+dogs--she whose whole selfish body was not worth the tip of his little
+finger--was no one else than herself!
+
+Then came another burst of weeping, but this time the tears were of
+shame, not of vexation, and they washed away every remaining evil humor
+and left the vision clear. She had been in the wrong, she was judged out
+of her own mouth; but she had no intention of fitting on the cap of
+the unknown woman. Why should she? Jenny did not know who the woman
+was--that was as plain as a pickle. Then where was the good of
+confessing?
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+
+While Jenny Crow was doing her easy duty at Castle Mona, Lovibond was
+engaged in a task of yet more simplicity at Fort Ann. On returning
+from Laxey he found Captain Davey occupied with Willie Quarrie in
+preparations for a farewell supper to be given that night to the cronies
+who had helped him to spend his fortune. These worthies had deserted
+his company since Lovibond had begun to take all the winnings, including
+some of their own earlier ones; and hence the necessity to invite them.
+"There's ould Billy, the carrier--ask him," Davy was saying, as he lay
+stretched on the sofa, puffing whorls of gray smoke from a pipe of thick
+twist. "And then there's Kerruish, the churchwarden, and Kewley, the
+crier, and Hugh Corlett, the blacksmith, and Tommy Tubman, the brewer,
+and Willie Qualtrough, that keeps the lodging-house contagious, and the
+fat man that bosses the Sick and Indignant society, and the long,
+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
+Quarrie in despair, as he struggled at the table to keep pace with his
+slow pen to Davy's impetuous tongue.
+
+"Then ask whosomever you plaze, boy," said Davy. "What's it saying in
+the ould Book: 'Go out into the highways and hedges and compel them to
+come in.' Only it's the back-courts and the public-houses this time, and
+you'll be wanting no grappling hooks to fetch them. Just whip a whisky
+bottle under your arm, and they'll be asking for no other invitation.
+Reminds me, sir," he added, looking up as Lovibond entered, "reminds me
+of little Jimmy Quayle's aisy way of fetching poor Hughie Collister
+from the bottom of Ramsey harbor. Himself and Hughie were same as
+brothers--that thick--and they'd been middling hard on the drink
+together, and one night Hughie, going home to Andreas, tumbled over the
+bridge by the sandy road and got hisself washed away and drowned. So the
+boys fetched grapplings and went out immadient to drag for the body,
+but Jimmy took another notion. He rigged up a tremenjous long pole, like
+your mawther's clothes' prop on washing day and tied a string to the
+top of it, and baited the end of the string with an empty bottle of Ould
+Tom, and then sat hisself down on the end of the jetty, same as a man
+that's going fishing. 'Lord-a-massy, Jemmy,' says the boys, looking up
+out of the boat; 'whatever in the name of goodness are you doing there?'
+'They're telling me,' says Jemmy, bobbing the gin-bottle up and down
+constant, flip-a-flop, flip-a-flop atop of the water; 'they're telling
+me,' says he, 'that poor ould Hughie is down yonder, and I'm thinking
+there isn't nothing in the island that'll fetch him up quicker till
+this.'"
+
+"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
+steamer laves Liverpool by the afternoon tide, and we'll catch her aisy
+if we take the 'Snaefell' in the morning. Fixed a couple of berths
+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
+though? Enough left to give the boys a blow-out to-night, and then,
+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."
+
+Willie's joy expressed itself at that moment in a moan, as he rose from
+the table with a woe-begone countenance, and went out on his errand of
+invitation.
+
+"But you'll stay on," said Davy, "Eh?"
+
+"No," said Lovibond, in a melancholy voice.
+
+"Why not, then?" said Davy.
+
+Lovibond did not answer at once, and Davy heaved up to a sitting posture
+that he might look into his face.
+
+"Why, man; what's this--what's this?" said Davy. "You're looking as down
+as ould Kinvig at the camp meeting, when the preacher afore him had used
+up all his tex'es. What's going doing?"
+
+Lovibond settled himself on the sofa beside Davy, and drew a deep
+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
+her."
+
+"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
+with you. You've been fishing with another man's floats and losing your
+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.
+"Husband and wife, eh? Aw, take care, sir, take care. Women is 'cute.
+Extraordinary wayses they've at them of touching a man up under the
+watch-pocket of the weskit till you'd never think nothing but they're
+angels fresh down from heaven, and you could work at the docks to keep
+them; but maybe cunning as ould Harry all the time, and playing the
+divil with some poor man. It's me for knowing them. Husband and wife?
+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
+poverty."
+
+A growl, like an oath half smothered by smoke, came from Davy.
+
+"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
+was nothing to be heard for the next ten seconds but the sucking of lips
+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
+it by heirship they can't make it by industry, and to accuse them of
+being without it is taking a mane advantage. It's hitting below the
+belt, sir. Accuse a man if you like--ten to one he's lazy--but a
+woman--never, sir, never, never!"
+
+Davy was tramping the room by this time, and making it ring with the
+voice as of a lion, and the foot as of an elephant.
+
+"More till that, sir," he said. "A good girl with nothing at her who
+takes a bad man with a million cries talley with the crayther the day
+she marries him. What has he brought her? His dirty, mucky, measley
+money, come from the Lord knows where. What has _she_ brought him?
+Herself, and everything she is and will be, stand or fall, sink or swim,
+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
+honest, and then twitting her with being poorer till hisself, is a dirt
+and divil, and ought to be walloped out of the company of dacent men."
+
+"But, Capt'n," said Lovibond, falteringly! "Capt'n...."
+
+"What?"
+
+"Wasn't Mrs. Quiggin a poor girl when you married her?"
+
+At that word Davy looked like a man newly awakened from a trance. His
+voice, which had rung out like a horn, seemed to wheeze back like a
+whistle; his eyes, which had begun to blaze, took a fixed and stupid
+look; his lips parted; his head dropped forward; his chest fell inward;
+and his big shoulders seemed to shrink. He looked about him vacantly,
+put one hand up to his forehead and said in a broken underbreath,
+"Lord-a-massy! What am I doing? What am I saying?"
+
+The painful moment was broken by the arrival of the first of the guests.
+It was Keruish, the churchwarden, a very-secular person, deep in the
+dumps over a horse which he had bought at Castletown fair the week
+before (with money cheated out of Davy), and lost by an attack of the
+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
+brewer, the lodging-house keeper, and the two secretaries of the
+charitable societies (whose names were "spells" too big for Davy), and
+the keeper of a home for lost dogs.
+
+They were a various and motley company of the riff-raff and raggabash of
+the island,--young and elderly, silent and glib--rough as a pigskin, and
+smooth as their sleeves at the elbow; with just one feature common to
+the whole pack of pick-thanks, and that was a look of shallow cunning.
+
+Davy received them with noisy welcomes and equal cheer, but he had
+the measure of every man of them all, down to the bottom of their fob
+pockets. The cloth was laid, the supper was served, and down they sat at
+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
+Davy.
+
+"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."
+
+Thus the supper went on for an hour, and then Davy by way of grace said,
+"Praise the Lord, O my soul, and all that is within me, praise His holy
+name."
+
+"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
+in your faces, boys. Smook up, smook up; chimleys everywhere, same as
+Douglas at breakfast time."
+
+For Davy's sake Lovibond had sat at table with the guests, though their
+voracity had almost turned his stomach. At sight of the green light of
+greed in their eyes he had said to himself, "Davy is a rough fellow, but
+a born Christian. These creatures are hogs. Why doesn't his gorge
+rise at them?" When the supper was done, and while the cloth was being
+removed, amid the clatter of dishes and the striking of lights, Lovibond
+rose and slipped out of the room.
+
+Davy saw him go, and from that moment he became constrained and silent.
+Sucking at his pipe and devoting himself steadily to the drink, he
+answered in _hum's and ha's and that'll do's_ to the questions put to
+him, and his laughter came out of him at intervals in jumps and jerks
+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."
+
+After a while Davy heaved up and followed Lovibond. He found him walking
+too and fro in the soft turf outside the window. The night was calm and
+beautiful. In the sky a sea of stars and a great full moon; on the
+land a line of gas jets, and on the dark bay a point here and there of
+rolling light. No sound but the distant hum of traffic in the town,
+the inarticulate shout of a sailor on one of the ships outside, and
+the rock-row rock-row of the oars in the rol-locks of some unseen boat
+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
+Lovibond.
+
+"Extraordinary!" said Davy. "Aw, matey, matey, men's only muck where
+women comes. Women is reg'lar eight-teen-carat goold. It's me to know
+it too. There was the mawther herself now. My father was a bit of a
+rip--God forgive his son for saying it--and once he went trapsing after
+a girl and got her into trouble. An imperent young hussy anyway, but no
+matter. Coorse the mawther wouldn't have no truck with her; but one day
+she died sudden, and then the child hadn't nobody but the neighbors to
+look to it. 'Go for it, Davy,' says the mawther to me. It was evening,
+middling late after the herrings, and when I got to the kitchen windey
+there was the little one atop of the bed in her nightdress saying her
+bits of prayers; 'God bless mawther, and everybody,' and all to that.
+She couldn't get out of the 'mawther' yet, being always used of it, and
+there never was no 'father' in her little tex'es. Poor thing! she come
+along with me, bless you, like a lammie that you'd pick out of the snow.
+Just hitched her hands round my neck and fell asleep in my arms
+going back, with her putty face looking up at the stars same as an
+angel's--soft and woolly to your lips like milk straight from the cow,
+and her little body smelling sweet and damp, same as the breath of a
+calf. And when the mawther saw me she smoothed her brat and dried her
+hands, and catched at the little one, and chuckled over her, and clucked
+at her and kissed her, with her own face slushed like rain, till yer'd
+have thought nothing but it was one of her own that had been lost and
+was found agen. Aw, women for your life, mate, for forgiveness.'"
+
+Lovibond did not speak, and Davy began to laugh in a husky voice.
+
+"Bless me, the talk a man will put out when he's a bit over the rope and
+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."
+
+When he got back to the room the air was dense with tobacco-smoke, and
+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?"
+
+There were rough jokes, and strange stories, and more liquor and loud
+laughter, and for a time Davy took his part in everything. But after a
+while he grew quiet again, and absent in manner, and he glanced up at
+intervals in the direction of the window, A new thought had come to him.
+It made the sweat to break out at the top of his forehead, and then he
+heard no more of the clatter around him than the rum-humdrum as of
+a train in a tunnel, pierced sometimes by the shrill scream as of an
+occasional whistle. Presently he rolled up again, and went out once more
+to Lovibond.
+
+The thought that had seized him was agony, and he could not broach it at
+once. So he beat about it for a moment, and then came down on it with a
+crash.
+
+"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
+for her mate; but he's gone, he's down, maybe worse, but lost anyway.
+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?"
+
+"No," said Lovibond. "Havn't I told you she's a Manx woman?"
+
+"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,
+sir?"
+
+"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
+he laughed and reeled again, and gripped at Lovibond's sleeve to keep
+himself erect.
+
+"Helloa!" he cried, in another voice; "I'm rocking full like a ship with
+a rolling cargo and my head is as thick as Taubman's brewery on boiling
+day."
+
+He was a changed man from that instant onward. An angel of God that had
+been breathing on his soul was driven out by a devil of despair. The
+conviction had settled on him that he was a dastard. Lovibond remembered
+the story of his father? and trembled for what he had done.
+
+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
+luck."
+
+"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."
+
+Willie Quarrie went out on his errand, and Davy called for a song. The
+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
+first sermon. The ould man couldn't get no farther till his tex', so he
+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.'"--
+
+Loud peals of wild laughter followed, and Davy's own laughter rang out
+wildest and maddest of all. Then up came the landlord with his round
+face smiling. What was the Captain's pleasure?
+
+"Landlord," cried Davy, "tell your men to fill up these glasses, and
+then send me your bill for all I owe you, and make it cover everything
+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."
+
+Davy turned out his pockets on to the table. The pockets were many,
+and were hidden away, back and front and side, in every slack and tight
+place in his clothes. Gold, silver, and copper came mixed and loose from
+all of them, and he piled up the money in a little heap before him. When
+all was out he picked five sovereigns from the haggis of coin and put
+them back into his waistcoat pocket, while he screwed up one eye into
+the semblance of a wink, and said to Willie, "That'll see us over." Then
+he called for a sight of the bill, glanced at the total and proceeded to
+count out the amount of it. This being done, he rolled the money in the
+paper, screwed it up like a penny worth of lozenges, and sent it down
+to the landlord with his bes' respec's. After that he straightened his
+chest, stuck his thumbs in the arm-holes of his waistcoat, nodded his
+head downward at the money remaining on the table and said, "Men, see
+that? It's every ha'penny I'm worth in the world, A month ago I came
+home with a nice warm fortune at me. That's what's left, and when it's
+gone I'm up the spout."
+
+The men looked at each other in blank surprise, and began to mutter
+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."
+
+Thus they croaked and crowed, and though Davy was devoting himself to
+the drink he heard them.
+
+A wild light shot into his eyes, but he only laughed more noisily and
+talked more incessantly.
+
+"Come, lay down, d'ye hear," he cried. "Do you think I care for the
+fortune? I care nothing, not I. I've had a bigger loss till that in my
+time."
+
+"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.
+Here's my harvest home, boys, my Melliah, only I am bringing back the
+tares--who's game to toss for it? Equal stakes, sudden death!"
+
+The brewer tossed with him and won. Davy brushed the money across the
+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
+protestation.
+
+But the manner of the cronies changed toward him nevertheless. Some fell
+to patronizing him, some to advising him, and some to sneering at the
+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
+you ready? Here goes, boys? The biggest blockit in the island, bar
+none--Capt'n Davy Quiggin."
+
+At that the raggabash who had been clinking glasses pretended to be
+mightily offended in their dignity. They looked about for their hats,
+and began to shuffle out.
+
+"Lave me, then; lave me," cried Davy. "Lave me, now, you Noah's ark of
+creeping things. Lave me, I'm stone broke. Ay, lave me, you dogs with
+your noses in the snow. I'm done, I'm done."
+
+As the rascals who had cheated and robbed him trooped out like men
+aggrieved, Davy broke out into a stave of another wild song:
+
+     "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.
+
+When the men were gone Lovibond came back by the window. The room was
+dense with the fumes of dead smoke, and foul with the smell of stale
+liquor. Broken pipes lay on the table amid the refuse of spilled beer,
+and a candle, at which the pipes had been lighted, still stood there
+burning.
+
+Davy was reeling about madly, and singing and laughing in gust on gust.
+His face was afire with the drink that he had taken, and his throat was
+guggling and sputtering.
+
+"I care nothing, not I--say what you like; I've had worse losses in my
+time," he cried.
+
+He plunged his right hand into his breast and drew out something.
+
+"See, that, mate?" he said, and held it up under the glass chandelier.
+
+It was a little curl of brown hair, tied across the middle with a piece
+of faded blue ribbon.
+
+"See it?" he cried in a husky gurgle. "It's all I've got left in the
+world."
+
+He held it up to the light and looked at it, and laughed until the glass
+pendants of the chandelier swung and jingled with the vibration of his
+voice.
+
+"The gorse under the ling, eh? There you are then! _She_ gave it me.
+Yes, though, on the night I sailed. My gough! The ruch and proud I was
+that night anyway! I was a homeless beggar, but I might have owned the
+stars, for, by God, I was walking on them going away."
+
+He reeled again, and laughed as if in mockery of himself, and then said,
+"That's ten year ago, mate, and I've kep' it ever since. I have though,
+here in my breast, and it's druv out wuss things. When I've been far
+away foreign, and losing heart a bit, and down with the fever, maybe, in
+that ould hell, and never looking to see herself again, no, never, I've
+been touching it gentle and saying to myself, soft and low, like a sort
+of an angel's whisper, 'Nelly is with you, Davy. She isn't so very far
+away, boy; she's here for all.' And when I've been going into some dirt
+of a place that a dacent man shouldn't, it's been cutting at my ribs,
+same as a knife, and crying like mad, 'Hould hard, Davy; you can't take
+Nelly in theer?' When I've been hot it's been keeping me cool, and when
+I've been cold it's been keeping me warm, better till any comforter.
+D'ye see it, sir? We're ould comrades, it and me, the best that's going,
+and never no quarreling and no words neither. Ten years together, sir;
+blow high, blow low. But we're going to part at last."
+
+Then he picked up the candle in his left hand, still holding the lock of
+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
+the divil. So long! S'long! I'll never strook you, nor smooth you, nor
+kiss you no more! S'long!"
+
+He put the curl to his lips, holding it tremblingly between his great
+fingers and thumb. Then he clutched it in his palm, reeled a step
+backward, swung the candle about and dashed it on to the floor.
+
+"I can't, I can't," he cried, "God A'mighty, I can't. It's
+Nelly--Nelly--my Nelly--my little Nell!"
+
+The curl went back into his breast. He sank into a chair, covered his
+face with his hands, and wept aloud as little children do.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+
+When Mrs. Quiggin came down to breakfast next morning, a change both in
+her appearance and in her manner caught the eye and ear of Jenny Crow.
+Her fringe was combed back from her forehead, and her speech, even in
+the first salutation, gave a delicate hint of the broad Manx accent.
+"Ho, ho! what's this?" thought Jenny, and she had not long to wait for
+an answer.
+
+An English waiter, who affected the ways of a French one, was fussing
+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
+servant, and boil your own kettle and mash your own tea, and lay your
+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
+to yourself and such like. And what are the pleasures of towns and
+streets and hotels and servants, and such botherations to those of a
+sweet old farm that is all your own somewhere? And, to think--to think,
+Jenny, getting up in the summer morning before the sun itself, when the
+light is that cool dead gray, and the last stars are dying off, and the
+first birds are calling to their mates that are still asleep, and
+then going round to the cowhouse in the clear, crisp, ringing air,
+and startling the rabbits and the hares that are hopping about in the
+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
+and clattering out to the stable, and shouting to the horses that are
+stamping in their stalls; and then you yoursef busy as Thop's wife
+laying the cups and saucers, and sending the boys to the well for water,
+and filling the big crock to the brim, and hanging the kettle on the
+hook, and setting somebody to blow the fire while the gorse flames and
+crackles, and bustling here and bustling there, and stirring yoursef
+terr'ble, and getting breakfast over, and starting everybody away to his
+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.
+
+Mrs. Quiggin had begun to speak in a voice that was something between a
+shrill laugh and a cry, and she ended with a smothered gurgle, such as
+comes from the throat of a pea-hen. After breakfast Peggy Quine came
+chirping around with a hundred inquiries about the packing of luggage
+which was then proceeding, with a view to the carriage that had been
+ordered for eleven o'clock. Mrs. Quiggin betrayed only the most languid
+interest in these hurrying operations, and settled herself with her
+needlework in a chair near to Jenny Crow. Jenny watched her, and
+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
+so you say that the poor man you tell me of is still loving his wife in
+spite of all she has done to him?"
+
+"Yes, Nelly. All men are like that--more fools they," said Jenny.
+
+Nelly's face brightened over the needles in her hand, and her parted
+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.
+
+Nelly laughed; then returning to the attack, she said, with a
+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
+Jenny.
+
+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
+so silly. If I had done anything to a man, and he went down on his knees
+to me, I would----"
+
+"What, Jenny?"
+
+Jenny lifted her skirt an inch or two, and showed a dainty foot swinging
+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.
+
+Nelly tingled with delight, and burned to ask Jenny if she should not at
+least let Captain Davy know that she was leaving Douglas and going home.
+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
+he?"
+
+"If he doesn't he's a cruel, heartless, unfeeling, unforgiving monster,"
+said Nelly.
+
+And then Jenny burned in her turn to ask if Nelly herself had not
+intended to do as much by Captain Davy, but, being a true woman as well
+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?"
+
+Mrs. Quiggin had recovered herself in a moment, and then there was a
+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
+keep it secret? Promise me you'll keep it secret. I'm to meet him again
+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
+tomorrow morning, or to-morrow night, or the next night, or sometime.
+So you see he's not going away without saying good-by to somebody. I
+couldn't help telling you, Nelly. It's nice to share a secret with a
+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."
+
+"I'm ashamed of you, Jenny Crow. I am; indeed, I am. I could never have
+believed it of you; indeed, I couldn't. And the man you speak of is no
+better than you are, and all his talk of loving the wife is hypocrisy
+and deceit; and the poor woman herself should know of it, and come down
+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
+carriage at nine o'clock to-night, and that you have appointed to meet
+her for a last farewell at eight by the waterfall in the gardens of
+Castle Mona. Then meet _me_ on the pier at seven-thirty."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+
+Lovibond received this message while sitting at breakfast, and he caught
+the idea of it in an instant. Since the supper of the night before he
+had been pestered by many misgivings, and troubled by some remorse.
+Capt'n Davy was bent on going away. Overwhelmed by a sense of what he
+took to be his dastardly conduct he was in that worst position of the
+man who can forgive neither himself nor the person he has injured.
+So much had Lovibond done for him by the fine scheme that had brought
+matters to such a pass. But having gone so far, Lovibond had found
+himself at a stand. His next step he could not see. Capt'n Davy must not
+be allowed to leave the island, but how to keep him from going away was
+a bewildering difficulty. To tell him the truth was impossible, and to
+concoct a further fable was beyond Lovibond's invention. And so it was
+that when Lovi-bond received the letter from Jenny Crow, he rose to the
+cue it offered like a drowning man to a life-buoy.
+
+"Jealousy--the very thing!" he thought; and not until he was already
+in the thick of his enterprise as wizard of that passion did he realize
+that if it was an effectual instrument to his end it was also a cruel
+one.
+
+He found Capt'n Davy in the midst of the final preparations for their
+journey. These consisted of the packing of clothes into trunks, bags,
+sacks, and hampers. On the floor of the sitting-room lay a various
+assortment of coats, waistcoats, trowsers, great-coats, billycock hats
+and sou'-westers, together with countless shirts and collars, scarfs
+and handkerchiefs. At Davy's order Willie Quarrie had gathered up the
+garments in armsful out of drawers and wardrobes, and heaped them at his
+feet for inspection. This process they were undergoing with a view to
+the selection of such as were suitable to the climate in which it
+was intended that they should be worn. The hour was 8.30 a.m., the
+"Snaefell" was announced to sail for Liverpool at nine.
+
+But, as Lovibond entered the room, a scene of yet more primitive
+interest was actively proceeding. A waiter of the hotel was strutting
+across the floor and sputtering out protests against this unseemly use
+of the sitting-room. The person was the same who the night before had
+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
+penury, and with that wisdom had come impudence if not dignity.
+
+"The ideal!" he cried. "Turnin' a 'otel drawrin'-room into a charwoman's
+laundry!"
+
+"Make it a rag shop at once," said Davy, as he went on quietly with his
+work.
+
+"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
+did? A rael Liverpool gentleman, eh? A reg'lar aristocrack out of Sawney
+Pope-street!"
+
+"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
+are going to. Ever seen the black man on the beach at all? No? Him with
+the performing birds? You know--jacks and ravens and owls and such like.
+Well, he's been wanting something like you this long time. Wouldn't
+trust, but he'd give twopence-halfpenny for you--and drinks all round.
+You'd make his fortune as a cockatoo."
+
+The waiter in fury called downstairs for assistance, and when two of
+his fellow servants had arrived in the room they made some poor show of
+working their will by force. Then Davy paused from his work, scratched
+the under part of his chin with the nail of his forefinger, and said,
+"Friends, some of us four is interrupting the play, and they're wanting
+us at the pay box to give us back the fare. I'm thinking it's you's
+fellows--what do _you_ say? They're longing for you downstairs--won't
+you go? No? you'll not though? Then where d'ye keep the slack of your
+trowsis?"
+
+Saying this Davy rose to his feet, hitched his left hand into the collar
+of the first waiter, and his right into the depths under his coat tails,
+and ran him out of the room. Returning for the other two waiters he did
+much the same by each of them, and then came back with a look of awe,
+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."
+
+The first bell rang on the steamer; it was quarter to nine o'clock.
+Willie Quarrie looked out at the window. The "Snaefell" was lying by the
+red pier in the harbor, getting up steam, and sending clouds of smoke
+over the old "Imperial." Cars were rattling up the quay, passengers
+were making for the gangways, and already the decks, fore and aft, were
+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
+all there. Deng my buttons, all of them. They're thinking to crow over
+us, Capt'n. Don't cross by the ferry. Let me run for a car. Then we'll
+slip up by the bridge yonder, and down the quay like a mill race, and up
+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."
+
+Willie was seizing his cap to carry out his intention of going for a
+cab in order that his master might be spared the humiliation of passing
+through the line of false friends who had gathered at the ferry steps to
+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
+way, and after sarvice he'd be saying, 'Boys let's put a sight on the
+Methodees,' and they'd be taking a slieu round to the chapel door.
+Then as the people came out he'd be offering his snuff-boxes all about.
+'William, how do? have a pinch?' 'Ah, Robbie, fine evening; take a
+sneeze?' 'Is that you, Tommy? I haven't another box in my clothes,
+but if you'll put your finger and thumb into my waistcoat pocket here,
+you'll find some dust.' Aw, yes, a reglar up-and-a-down-er, Parson
+Cowan, as aisy, as aisy, and no pride at all. But he had his wakeness
+same as a common man, and it was the Plow Inn at Ramsey. One day he was
+going out of it middling full--not fit to walk the crank anyway--when
+who should be coming up the street from the court-house but the Bishop!
+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
+steeple-up-your-back sort of a chap. Ould Mrs. Beatty saw him, and she
+lays a hould of Parson Cowan and starts awkisking him back into the
+house, and through into the parlor where the chiney cups is. 'You
+mustn't go out yet,' the ould woman was whispering. 'It's the Bishop.
+And him that sevare--it's shocking! He'll surspend you! And think what
+they'll be saying! A parson, too! Hush, sir hush! Don't spake! You'll be
+waiting till it's dark, and then going home with John in the bottom of
+the cart, and nice clane straw to lie on, and nobody knowing nothing.'
+But the ould man wouldn't listen. He drew hisself up on the ould woman
+tremenjous, and studdied hisself agen the door, and 'No,' says he; 'I'm
+drunk,' says he, 'God knows it,' says he, 'and for what man knows I
+don't care a damn--_I'll walk!_' Then away he went down the street past
+the Bishop, with his hat a-one side, and his hair all through-others,
+tacking a bit with romps in the fetlock joints, but driving on like
+mad."--
+
+The second bell rang on the steamer. It was seven minutes to nine, and
+the last of the luggage was packed. On the floor there still lay a pile
+of clothing, which was to be left as oil for the wounded joints of the
+gentlemen who had been flung down stairs. Willie Quarrie bustled about
+to get the trunks and hampers to the ferry steps. Davy, who had been in
+his shirt-sleeves, drew on his coat, and Lovibond, who had been waiting
+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."
+
+Davy was pawing up the carpet with the toe of his boot, and filling his
+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
+and there, and the Lord knows where; but maybe I'll find land at last."
+
+"Capt'n, about the money?--dy'e owe me any grudge about that?" said
+Lovibond.
+
+"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----"
+
+"Chut! I wouldn't have it, and I wouldn't stay. But, matey, if you could
+show me how to get back... the money isn't the loss I'm... if I was as
+poor as ould Chalse-a-killey, and had to work my flesh.... I'd stay if I
+could get back...."
+
+The whistle sounded from the funnel of the "Snaefell," and the loud
+throbs of escaping steam echoed from the Head. Willie Quarrie ran in to
+say that the luggage was down at the ferry steps, and the ferryboat was
+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."
+
+"What?"
+
+Davy was about to light his pipe, but he flung away the match.
+
+"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
+milk, and no beast milk neither. Nelly going wrong, eh? Well, well! I'd
+like to see the man that would... I may have treated her bad... but I'd
+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
+outside.
+
+"Coming, boy, coming," Davy shouted back, and looking at his watch, he
+said, "Four minutes and a half--time enough yet."
+
+Then they left the hotel and moved toward the ferry steps. As they
+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
+with every fresh outbreak of his laughter the note of his voice lost
+freshness.
+
+Lovibond saw his opportunity, and yet could not lay hold of it, so cruel
+at that moment seemed the only weapon that would be effectual. But Davy
+himself thrust in between him and his timid spirit. With another hollow
+laugh, as if half ashamed of keeping up the deception to the last, yet
+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?"
+
+"Coorse."
+
+"It isn't a thing I'd tell everybody--"
+
+"What?"
+
+"You see, if her husband has treated her like a brute, she's his wife,
+after all."
+
+Davy drew up on the path. "What is it?" he said.
+
+"I'm to meet her to-night, alone," said Lovibond.
+
+"No!"
+
+"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--"
+
+Davy had lifted his pipe hand to give emphasis to the protest on his
+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?
+If the fool that's left her doesn't know her worth, so much the better
+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
+wise asses that talk big about God's law and man's law; and if I were,
+man's law has tied this sweet little woman to a brute, and God's law
+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
+Davy.
+
+"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.
+
+Willie Quarrie, standing by the boat at the bottom of the steps, with
+the luggage piled up at the bow, shouted that there was not a minute to
+spare. The throbbing of the steam in the funnel had ceased, one of the
+two gangways had been run ashore, and the captain was on the bridge.
+
+"Now, then, Capt'n," cried Willie.
+
+But Davy did not hear. He was watching Lovibond's face with eyes of
+suspicion. Was the man fooling him? Did he know the secret?
+
+"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.
+
+"Just time to do it by the skin of your teeth, Capt'n," shouted the
+ferryman.
+
+"Too late, I tell you," thundered Davy, sternly.
+
+Meanwhile there was a great commotion on the other side of the harbor.
+
+"Out of the way there!" "All ashore!" "Ready?" "Ready!" "Steam
+up--slow!" The last bell rang. The first stroke of nine was struck by
+the clock of the tower; one echoing blast came from the steam whistle,
+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
+wheeling over the stern; white churning water in the wake; flag down;
+and harbor empty.
+
+"She's gone!"
+
+Lovibond smiled behind a handkerchief, with which he pretended to wipe
+his big mustache. Willie Quarrie looked helplessly up the ferry steps.
+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
+the luggage in the shed for the Belfast steamer. We'll sail to-night
+instead."
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX.
+
+At half-past seven that night the iron pier was a varied and animated
+scene. A band was playing a waltz on the circle at the end; young people
+were dancing, other young people of both sexes were promenading, lines
+of yet younger people, chiefly girls in short frocks, but with the
+wagging heads and sparkling eyes of one type of budding maidenhood,
+were skipping along arm-in-arm, singing snatches of the words set to
+the waltz, and beating a half-dancing time with an alternate scrape and
+stroke of the soles of their shoes upon the wood floor on which they
+walked. The odor of the brine came up from below and mingled with the
+whiffs of Mona Bouquet that swept after the young girls as they passed,
+and with the puffs of tobacco smoke that enveloped the young men as
+they dawdled on. Sometimes the revolving light of the lightship in the
+channel could be seen above the flash and flare of the pier lamps, and
+sometimes the dark water under foot gleamed and glinted between the open
+timbers of the pier pavement, and sometimes the deep rumble of the sea
+could be heard over the clash and clang of the pier band.
+
+Lovibond was there, walking to and fro, feeling himself for the first
+time to be an old fellow among so many younger folks, watching the
+clock, counting the minutes, and scanning every female form that
+came alone with the crink-crank-crick through the round stile of the
+pay-gate.
+
+Not until five minutes to eight did the right one appear, but she made
+up for the tardiness of her coming by the animation of her spirits.
+
+"I couldn't get away sooner," whispered Jenny. "She watched me like a
+cat. She'll be out in the grounds by this time. It's delicious! But is
+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--
+
+     "Ben-my-chree!
+     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.
+
+Jenny sighed; Lovibond sighed; they looked at each other and sighed
+together.
+
+"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
+Jenny.
+
+"And if he were any other man he would be proud to take her," said
+Lovibond.
+
+"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
+sighed again. Also their hands touched as their arms hung by their
+sides.
+
+"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
+Lovibond.
+
+"How thoughtful of you, Jona--I mean, Mr. Lovi--"
+
+"Je--Jen--"
+
+"Ben-my-chree! Sweet Ben-my-chree, I love but thee--"
+
+"O, Jonathan!" whispered Jenny.
+
+"O, Jenny!" gasped Jonathan.
+
+They were on the dark side of the round house; the band was playing
+behind them, the sea was rumbling in front; there was a shuffle of feet,
+a sudden rustle of a dress; the lady glanced to the right, the gentleman
+looked to the left, and then for a fraction of an instant they were
+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.
+
+Three quarters of an hour later they were sailing out of Douglas harbor
+on board the Irish packet that was to overtake the Pacific steamship
+next morning at Belfast. The lights of Castle Mona lay low on the
+water's edge, and from the iron pier as they passed came the faint sound
+of the music of the band:
+
+     "Mona, sweet Mona,
+        Fairest isle beneath the sky,
+     Mona, sweet Mona,
+        We bid thee now good-by."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X.
+
+The life that Davy had led that day-was infernal At the first shaft of
+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
+me like the tide out of the Ragged Mouth, where the ships lie wrecked
+and rotten."
+
+He had baffled with his bemuddled brain, to recall the conversation he
+had held with his wife since his return home to marry her, and every
+innocent word she had uttered in jest had seemed guilty and foul.
+"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
+meet a strange man in the gardens of Castle Mona, that night, alone.
+"Some charm is put on her--some charm or the like," he had thought
+again.
+
+That had been the utmost and best he could make of it, and he had
+suffered the torments of the damned. During the earlier part of the day
+he had rambled through the town, drinking freely, and his face had been
+a piteous sight to see. Toward nightfall he had drifted past Castle
+Mona toward Onchan Head, and stretched himself on the beach before Derby
+Castle. There he had reviewed the case afresh, and asked himself what he
+ought to do.
+
+"It's not for me to go sneaking after her," he had thought. "She's true,
+I'll swear to it. The man's lying... Very well, then, Davy, boy, don't
+you take rest till you're proving it."
+
+The autumn day had begun to close in, and the first stars to come out.
+"Other women are like yonder," he had thought; "just common stars in the
+sky, where there's millions and millions of them. But Nelly is like the
+moon--the moon, bless her--"
+
+At that thought Davy had leaped to his feet, in disgust of his own
+simplicity. "I'm a fool," he had muttered, "a reg'lar ould bleating
+billygoat; talking pieces of poethry to myself, like a stupid, gawky
+Tommy Big Eyes."
+
+He had looked at his watch. It was a quarter to eight o'clock.
+Unconsciously he had begun to walk toward Castle Mona. "I'm not for
+misdoubting my wife, not me; but then a man may be over certain. I'll
+find out for myself; and if it's true, if she's there, if she meets
+him.... Well, well, be aisy for all, Davy; be aisy, boy, be aisy! If the
+worst comes to the worst, and you've got to cut your stick, you'll be
+doing it without a heart-ache anyway. She'll not be worth it, and you'll
+be selling yourself to the Divil with a clane conscience. So it's all
+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
+I ask her? I wonder what in the world I ever saw in her. If I were not
+going away myself she should pack out of the house in the morning. The
+sly thing! How clever she thinks herself, too! But she'll be surprised
+when I come down on her. I'll watch her; she sha'n't escape me. And as
+for _him_--well, we'll see, Mr. David, we'll see!"
+
+As the clock in the hall in Castle Mona was striking eight these
+good souls in these wise humors were making their several ways to the
+waterfall under the cliff, in the darkest part of the hotel grounds.
+
+Davy got there first, going in by the gate at the Onchan end. It struck
+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
+inclined to be wroth with Lovibond for daring to run the risk of being
+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
+the Douglas end of the house. It was a tall figure in a long cloak, with
+the hood drawn over the head. Through the opening of the cloak in front
+a light dress beneath gleamed and glinted in the brightening starlight.
+"It's herself," Davy muttered, under his breath. "She's like the silvery
+fir tree with her little dark head agen the sky. Trust me for knowing
+her! I'd be doing that if I was blind. Yes, would I though, if I was
+only the grass under her feet, and she walked on me. She's coming! My
+God, then, it's true! It's true, Davy! Hould hard, boy! She's a woman
+for all! She's here! She sees me! She thinks I'm the man?"
+
+In the strange mood of the moment he was half sorry to take her by
+surprise.
+
+Davy was right that Mrs. Quiggin saw him. While still in the shadow
+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
+when I thought she slipped out at the porch. He's waiting for her.
+Should I wait, too? No! That he is there is enough. He sees me. He is
+coming. He thinks I am she. Umph! Now to astonish him!"
+
+Thus thinking, and both trembling with rage and indignation, and both
+quivering with love and fear, the two came face to face.
+
+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.
+
+And then, having launched these shafts of impotent irony in vain, they
+came to a stand with an uneasy feeling that something unlooked for was
+amiss.
+
+"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_
+simple enough to trust the woman who was telling you she was going to
+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
+have never opened my lips to any living man against you. But you are
+measuring me by your own yard, sir; for you led _her_ to believe that I
+was a cat and a shrew and a nagger, and a thankless wretch who ought to
+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."
+
+After this burst there was a pause and a hush, and then Nelly said,
+"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
+you meet her first on the Head above Port Soderick, and to go to Laxey,
+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.
+
+There was another pause, and then Davy began to laugh. First came a
+low gurgle like that of suppressed bubbles in a fountain, then a sharp,
+crackling breaker of sound, and then a long, deep roar of liberated
+mirth that seemed to shake and heave the whole man, and to convulse the
+very air around him.
+
+Davy's laughter was contagious. As the truth began to dawn on her Mrs.
+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.
+It broke down the barrier that divided them; it melted the frozen places
+where love might not pass. They could not resist it. Their anger fled
+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.
+
+And so ended in laughter and kisses their little foolish comedy of love.
+
+As soon as Davy had recovered his breath he said, with what gravity he
+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
+he told her, and she told him, and that to bring us together again they
+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.
+
+They had began to laugh again, and to walk to and fro about the lawn,
+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
+forgotten."
+
+"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
+shout.
+
+"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
+sounds better, doesn't it? Middling tidy, isn't it. Not so dusty, eh?"
+
+"We'll never leave it again," said Nelly.
+
+"Never!" said Davy. "Not for a Dempster's palace. Just a piece of a
+croft and a bit of a thatch cottage on the lea of ould Orrisdale, and
+we'll lie ashore and take the sun like the goats."
+
+"That reminds me of something," whispered Nelly. "Listen! I've had a
+letter from father. It made me cry this morning, but it's all right
+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
+everything. I'm on the ebby tide, Nelly, and my boat is on the rocks
+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;
+"but here I am, what's left of me, to take me or lave me, and not much
+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
+trust."
+
+With a cry of joy Davy caught her to his breast and held her there as
+in a vice. "Then kiss me on it again and swear to it," he cried, "Again!
+Again! Don't be in a hurry woman! Aw, kissing is mortal hasty work! Take
+your time, girl! Once more! Shocking, is it? It's like the bags of the
+bees that we were stealing when we were boys! Another! Then half a one,
+and I'm done!"
+
+Since they had spoken to Willie Quarrie they had given no further
+thought to him, when he stepped forward and said out of the darkness:
+"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
+holding Davy's hat on end to shield from the breeze the burning match
+which Nelly held inside of it. Then Davy, bareheaded, proceeded to
+examine what Lovibond had sent him.
+
+"A book tied up in a red tape, eh?" said Davy. "Must be the one he
+was writing in constant, morning and evening, telling hisself and God
+A'mighty what he was doing and wasn't doing, and where he was going to
+and when he was going to go. Aw, yes, he always kep' a diarrhea."
+
+"A diary, Davy," said Nelly.
+
+"Have it as you like, _Vauch_, and don't burn your little fingers,"
+said Davy; and then he opened the letter, and with many interjections
+proceeded to read it.
+
+"'Dear Captain. How can I ask you to forgive me for the trick I have
+played upon you? '(Forgive, is it?)' I have never had an appointment
+with the Manx lady; I have never had an intention of carrying her off
+from her husband; I have never seen her in church, and the story I have
+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
+fresh one Davy stamped out the burning end that Nelly dropped on to
+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:
+
+"'You know the object of that trick by this time' (Wouldn't trust), 'but
+you have been the victim of another' (Holy sailor!), 'to which I must
+also confess. In the gambling by which I won a large part of your money'
+(True for you!) 'I was not playing for my own hand. It was for one who
+wished to save you from yourself.' (Lord a massy!) 'That person was your
+wife' (Goodness me!), 'and all my earnings belong to her.' (Good thing,
+too!) 'They are deposited at Dumbell's in her name' (Right!), 'and---'"
+
+"There--that will do," said Nelly, nervously.
+
+"'And I send you the bank-book, together with the dock bonds,... which
+you transferred for Mrs. Quiggin's benefit... to the name... of her
+friend...'"
+
+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
+letter into his breeches' pocket and grabbed at his hat. As he did so,
+a paper slipped to the ground. Nelly caught it up and held it on the
+breezy side of the flickering match.
+
+It was a note from Jenny Crow: "'You dear old goosy; your jealous little
+heart found out who the Manx sailor was, but your wise little poll never
+once suspected that Mr. Lovibond could be anything to anybody, although
+I must have told you twenty times in the old days of the sweetheart from
+whom I parted. Good thing, too. Glad you were so stupid, my dear, for
+by helping you to make up your quarrel we have contrived to patch up our
+own. Good-by! What lovely stories I told you! And how you liked them!
+We have borrowed your husband's berths for the Pacific steamer, and are
+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
+standing in the darkness by the side of Willie. It was Peggy Quine.
+
+"Are you longing, Peggy?" Willie was saying in a voice of melancholy
+sympathy.
+
+And Peggy was answering in a doleful tone, "Aw, yes, though--longing
+mortal."
+
+Becoming conscious that the eyes of her mistress were on her, Peggy
+stepped out and said, "If you plaze, ma'am, the carriage is waiting this
+half-hour."
+
+"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.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Capt'n Davy's Honeymoon, by Hall Caine
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