"No, of course not," said Beck. "How absurd!" "Well, what's the matter? You're just off to sea, I believe." "Yes. Long voyage," said the young man huskily. "Go on; I'm all attention." Tom Beck did not go on, but stood examining his right hand, and frowning. "What's the matter with your hand?" "Oh, nothing. Miss Lydon's horse gave it a nip the other day." "Humph! Vicious brute. Those girls are more like rough riders than ladies." Beck looked at him curiously, while the young doctor flushed under the scrutiny, and said hastily: "Well, boy, what is it? Isabel?" "Yes," cried Beck, snatching at the words. "You see I may be gone for two years, and I wanted--and I thought that--" "Thought what? Is she very hard to please?" "Heaven bless her! no," cried the young sailor eagerly. "There, I can speak to you, Neil. You have always been to me like a big brother. And you know that I care for her." "Well, I suppose I have thought so, my lad. What's the matter?" "That's the matter," said the sailor, giving his head a side nod in the direction of Sir Cheltnam, who was crossing the lawn. "Humph! Burwood? You think so?" "He comes here a good deal, and I can't help being fidgety. It's the going away, you see. Can you help me?" "No," said Neil. "You must help yourself. Have you spoken to my father?" "No." "Why not? `Faint heart never won fair lady,' boy. Go and speak to him like a man." "All very well for an argumentative, scientific fellow like you. I can't talk; you can." "Nonsense!" "I know. I'm only a quiet, thoughtful sailor, and I tell you frankly, old fellow, I felt so miserable one day about your sister that I thought the best way out of it all would be to go and drown myself." "And did you?" "No, Irishman, I did not; but, 'pon my word, seeing how Burwood is encouraged here, I have been really disposed, not to drown myself, but my sorrows--in drink." "And did you?" said Neil, mockingly. "No," replied Beck dryly. "It was no good to try; they all know how to swim." "Humph!" ejaculated Neil laughing. "You're a queer fellow, Beck. So you think you love my sister?" "Neil, old fellow, I swear--" "No rhapsodies, please. Be matter of fact. I don't believe it's love; it's liver. Better let me prescribe for you." "Yes, do, old chap. Tell me what to do." "Go straight to my father and tell him in a frank, manly way that you care for Isabel, and as you are going away for so long, you would like to be engaged." "Neil, old fellow, I feel as if I dare not." "Nonsense! You, a sailor, who faces storms?" "Yes, but your father's a regular typhoon. I say, though, wouldn't it be premature?" "Of course not." "You would go--really?" "If I cared for the lady, certainly," said Neil, laughing at the combination of frank, manly daring and shrinking bashfulness before him. "It is not capital punishment if you fail." "No," said Beck thoughtfully, "it isn't. I've no cause to be afraid, have I?" "Not a bit."