Pete answered with a watery smile. His high spirits were failing him at last. Five years were a long time to be away, if one built all one's hopes on coming back. So many things might happen, so many chances might befall. Pete had no heart for laughter. Philip had small mind for it, either, after the first rush of the salt in his blood was over. He felt at some moments as if hell itself were inside of him. What troubled him most was that he could not, for the life of him, be sorry that Pete was leaving the island. Once or twice since they left Sulby he had been startled by the thought that he hated Pete. He knew that his lip curled down hard at sight of Pete's solemn face. But Pete never suspected this, and the innocent tenderness of the rough fellow was every moment beating it down with blows that cut like ice and burnt like fire. They were standing by the forecastle head, and talking above the loud throbbing of the funnel. “Good-bye, Phil; you've been wonderful good to me--better nor anybody in the world. I've not been much of a chum for the like of you, either--you that's college bred and ought to be the first gentry in the island if everybody had his own. But you shan't be ashamed for me, neither--no you shan't, so help me God! I won't be long away, Phil--maybe five years, maybe less, and when I come back you'll be the first Manxman living. No? But you will, though; you will, I'm telling you. No nonsense at all, man. Lave it to me to know.” Philip's frosty blue eyes began to melt. “And if I come back rich, I'll be your ould friend again as much as a common man may; and if I come back poor and disappointed and done for, I'll not claim you to disgrace you; and if I never come back at all, I'll be saying to myself in my dark hour somewhere, 'He'll spake up for you at home, boy; _he'll_ not forget you.'” Philip could hear no more for the puffing of the steam and the clanking of the chains. “Chut! the talk a man will put out when he's thinking of ould times gone by!” The first bell rang on the bridge, and the harbour-master shouted, “All ashore, there!” “Phil, there's one turn more I'll ask of you, and, if it's the last, it's the biggest.” “What is it?” “There's Kate, you know. Keep an eye on the girl while I'm away. Take a slieu round now and then, and put a sight on her. She'll not give a skute at the heirs the ould man's telling of; but them young drapers and druggists, they'll plague the life out of the girl. Bate them off, Phil. They're not worth a fudge with their fists. But don't use no violence. Just duck the dandy-divils in the harbour--that'll do.” “No harm shall come to her while you are away.” “Swear to it, Phil. Your word's your bond, I know that; but give me your hand and swear to it--it'll be more surer.” Philip gave his hand and his oath, and then tried to turn away, for he knew that his face was reddening.