"Glad you like it," said Larkyns, coolly, without turning a hair. "Well, then, to finish the story. Very unfortunately for these fond lovyers, a storm arose, like that bit of breeze we had t'other day. This blew them out of their course and they lost their reckoning, landing at this very island, of which we are speaking instead of at some French port as they expected. The spot they pitched on was called Machico Bay on the eastern side; and there they lived happy ever after, having the additional satisfaction after departing this life of being both buried in one grave. Their last resting-place was seen by a party of Spaniards who subsequently re-discovered the island; when these sentimental mariners, noting the names of the aforesaid lovyers on their joint tombstone, and the account there detailed of their strange adventures, very romantically and devoutly erected a chapel to their memory. This chapel exists to this very day and can be seen by you, Stormy, or any other unbeliever in the truthfulness of my yarn! It is for this reason, my worthy Johnny, that I insist that the island shall be properly styled `My-deary'; for, as Robert loved Anna, he would naturally have addressed her as `My-deary.' Do you twig, young 'un, eh?" "Oh, yes," I answered with a snigger, "I think, though, it's rather far-fetched." "So it is," said he. "It came from Madeira; and that's some six hundred miles, more or less, from where we now are." At that moment, Corporal Macan appeared at the door of the gunroom and walked up to where I was sitting. "If you plaize, sor," he said, pulling his forelock, "the docthor would loike to say yez in the sick bay." "Indeed, Macan," I cried. "Do you know what he wants me for?" "The jintleman we tuk off the wrack's rekivered his sinses, an' none ov us, sure, can under-constubble his furrin lingo barrin' yersilf, sor. So, the docther wants ye fur to say what he's jabberin' about." "All right," said I, bolting as quickly as I could a piece of "plum duff" which Dobbs had just brought me. "Tell the doctor I'm coming." "By jingo, talk of the devil!" observed Larkyns, bursting into a laugh as Macan turned to go away. "Why, I was only just talking of that blessed Irish marine a minute ago, and here he has come on the scene in person, with his rum brogue." "Hush!" I said. "He'll hear you." "No matter if he does," rejoined Larkyns. "I suppose he knows he has got the Cork brogue strong enough to hang a cat-block from. Besides, he won't mind what I say." "Faix, that's thrue for yez, sor," muttered the corporal, who caught this remark as he was going out of the gunroom door, his ears being as sharp as those of a fox. "Begorrah, it's moighty little onyone ivver does mind what ye says at all, at all!"