“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.