“Well, and why not? A good name for you too, and you richly deserve it.--But the Lord is lenient with such natures, John. He never tries them beyond their strength. She hasn't much leaning to religion, you know.” The girl recalled herself from the busy scene around and broke in again with a tone of humour and pathos mixed. “There, call me an infidel at once, grandfather. I know what you mean. But just to show you that I haven't exactly registered a vow in heaven never to go to church in London because you've given me such a dose of it in the Isle of Man, I'll promise to send you a full and particular report of Mr. Storm's first sermon. Isn't that charming of me?” The third bell was ringing, the blast of the steam whistle was echoing across the bay, and the steamer was only waiting for the mails. Taking a step nearer to the gangway, the old parson talked faster. “Did Aunt Anna give you money enough, child?” “Enough for my boat fare and my train.” “No more! Now Anna is so----” “Don't trouble, grandfather. Woman wants but little here below--Aunt Anna excepted. And then a hospital nurse----” “I'm afraid you'll feel lonely in that great wilderness.” “Lonely with five millions of neighbours?” “You'll be longing for the old island, Glory, and I half repent me already----” “If ever I have the blue-devils, grandpa, I'll just whip on my cape and fly home again.” “To-morrow morning I'll be searching all over the house for my runaway.” Glory tried to laugh gaily. “Upstairs, downstairs, and in my lady's chamber.” “'Glory,' I'll be crying, 'Where's the girl gone at all? I haven't heard her voice in the house to-day. What's come over the old place to strike it so dead?'” The girl's eyes were running over, but in a tone of gentle raillery and heart's love she said severely: “Nonsense, grandfather, you'll forget all about Glory going to London before the day after to-morrow. Every morning you'll be making rubbings of your old runes, and every night you'll be playing chess with Aunt Rachel, and every Sunday you'll be scolding old Neilus for falling asleep in the reading desk, and--and everything will go on just the same as ever.” The mails had come aboard, one of the gangways had been drawn ashore, and the old parson, holding his big watch in his left hand, was diving into his fob-pocket with the fingers of the right. “Here”--panting audibly, as if he had been running hard--“is your mother's little pearl ring.” The girl drew off her slack, soiled glove and took the ring in her nervous fingers. “A wonderful talisman is the relic of a good mother, sir,” said the old parson. The young clergyman bent his head. “You're like Glory herself in that though--you don't remember your mother either.” “No-no.”