"It is a delicate instrument, and wants great care in the working," said Kinvig. In that regard the net-maker considered himself fortunate, for he had just hit on a wonderfully smart young woman who could work it as well, Kinvig verily believed, as he could work it himself. "Who is she?" said Christian. "A stranger in these parts--came from the south somewhere--Castletown way," said Kinvig; and he added with a grin, "Haven't you heard of her?" Christian gave no direct reply, but displayed the profoundest curiosity as to this latest development in net-making ingenuity. He was forthwith carried off to inspect Kinvig's first treasure in looms. The two men stepped into a little room apart, and there, working at the only loom that the room contained, was little Ruby's sister, Mona Cregeen. The young woman was putting her foot on one of the lower treadles when they entered. She made a slight but perceptible start, and the lever went up with a bang. "Tut, my girl, how's this?" said Kinvig. "See--you've let that line of meshes off the hooks." The girl stopped, replaced the threads one after one with nervous fingers, and then proceeded with her work in silence. Kinvig was beginning an elaborate engineering disquisition for Christian's benefit--Christian's head certainly did hang rather too low for Kinvig's satisfaction--when a girl comes in from the outer factory to say that a man at the gate would like to see the master. "Botheration!" shouted Kinvig; "but wait here, Christian, and I'll be back." Then, turning to the young weaver--"Show this gentleman the action of the loom, my girl." * * * * * When the door had closed behind Mr. Kinvig, Christian raised his eyes to the young woman's face. There was silence between them for a moment. The window of the room was open, and the salt breath of the ocean floated in. The sea's deep murmur was all that could be heard between the clicks of the levers. Then Christian said, softly: "Mona, have you decided? Will you go back?" The girl lifted her eyes to his. "No," she answered, quietly. "Think again, Mona; think of me. It isn't that I couldn't wish to have you here--always here--always with me--" The girl gave a little hard laugh. "But think of the risk!" continued Christian, more eagerly. "Is it nothing that I am tortured with suspense already, but that you should follow me?" "And do _I_ suffer nothing?" said she. There was no laughter on Christian's lips now. The transformation to earnest pallor was startling. "Think of my father," he said, evading the girl's question. "I have all but impoverished him already with my cursed follies, and little does he dream, poor old dad, of the utter ruin that yet hangs over his head." There was a pause. Then, in a tenderer tone: