“I'll keep in touch with your father, John, trust me for that. You and he shall be good friends yet. A man can't hold out against his son for nothing worse than choosing the Church against the world. The old man didn't mean all he said; and then it isn't the thunder that strikes people dead, you know. So leave him to me; and if that foolish old Chalse hasn't been putting notions into his head----” The throbbing in the steam funnel had ceased and in the sudden hush a voice from the bridge cried, “All ashore!” “Good-bye, Glory! Good-bye, John! Good-bye both!” “Good-bye, sir,” said the young clergyman with a long hand-clasp. But the girl's arms were about the old man's neck. “Good-bye, you dear old grandpa, and I'm ashamed I--I'm sorry I--I mean it's a shame of me to--good-bye!” “Good-bye, my wandering gipsy, my witch, my runaway!” “If you call me names I'll have to stop your mouth, sir. Again--another----” A voice cried, “Stand back there!” The young clergyman drew the girl back from the bulwarks, and the steamer moved slowly away. “I'll go below--no, I won't; I'll stay on deck. I'll go ashore--I can't bear it; it's not too late yet. No, I'll go to the stern and see the water in the wake.” The pier was cleared and the harbour was empty. Over the white churning water the sea gulls were wheeling, and Douglas Head was gliding slowly back. Down the long line of the quay the friends of the passengers were waving adieus. “There he is, on the end of the pier! That's grandpa waving his handkerchief! Don't you see it? The red-and-white cotton one! God bless him! How _wae_ his little present made me! He has been keeping it all these years. But my silk handkerchief is too damp--it won't float at all. Will you lend me----Ah, thank you! Good-bye! good-bye! good----” The girl hung over the stern rail, leaning her breast upon it and waving the handkerchief as long as the pier and its people were in sight, and when they were gone from recognition she watched the line of the land until it began to fade into the clouds, and there was no more to be seen of what she had looked upon every day of her life until to-day. “The dear little island! I never thought it was so beautiful! Perhaps I might have been happy even there, if I had tried. Now, if I had only had somebody for company! How silly of me! I've been five years wishing and praying to get away, and now! ... It _is_ lovely, though, isn't it? Just like a bird on the water! And when you've been born in a place ... the dear little island! And the old folks, too! How lonely they'll be, after all! I wonder if I shall ever.... I'll go below. The wind's freshening, and this water in the wake is making my eyes... Good-bye, little birdie! I'll come back--I'll.... Yes, never fear, I'll----”