In a few minutes, having cleared the harbour, they had opened the land on either side and were standing out for the fishing ground. Within two hours, in the midst of the fleet, they were sailing over the Carlingford sands, midway between the island and Ireland, and the sea-birds skimming above the water were showing them the shoal. Dinner was over, and Stowell, in jersey and big boots up to his thighs, saw Fenella come on deck in her oilskin coat and sou'-wester--with the new and surprising beauty which fresh garments, whatever they are, give to every woman in the eyes of the man who loves her. What shouts! What laughter! Stowell kept saying to himself: "Why not? It will soon be over." They slackened sail and waited for the sun to go down before shooting their nets. Presently the great ball of flame descended into the sea, the admiral of the fleet ran his flag to his masthead, and the Captain cried, "Shoot!" Then the brown net, with its floats, was dropped over the stern (Fenella taking a hand and shouting with the men), the foresail was hauled down, and the mizzen set to keep the ship head to the wind. And then, all being snug for the night, came the fisherman's prayer: "_Dy hannie Patrick Noo shin as nyn maaty_" (May St. Patrick bless us and our boat) with something about the living and the dead--the crew and the fish. After that came the throwing of the salt, a more robustious and less religious ceremony, which threw Fenella into fits of laughter. "What does it mean?" she asked. "Goodness knows!" "How delightful!" The grey twilight came down from the northern heavens, and then night fell--a dark night without moon but with a world of stars. Stowell and Fenella were leaning over the side to watch the phosphorescent gleams which, like flashes of light under the surface, came from the fish that were darting away from the prow. "Isn't it wonderful--the fish going on and on to the goal of their perpetual travels?" said Fenella. "They always come back to the place they were spawned, though," said Stowell. "Like humans, are they? You remember--'Back to the heart's place here I keep for thee.'" Stowell felt as if a hand were at his throat again. "Bye and bye," he thought. Before they turned in for the night he would tell her everything. Suddenly there was a crash at the stern--the anchor had been lifted up and then banged down on the deck. "What's that?" cried Fenella. "They're proving the nets to see if the fish are coming," said Stowell, and hurrying aft together they found the water milky white and full of irridescent rays. A couple of warps of the net were hauled aboard, and twelve or fifteen herring fell on to the deck. Fenella picked them up, wriggling, cheeping and twisting in her hands and threw them into a basket--she was in a fever of excitement.