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.