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.”