After that several of the boats that were fishing alongside called across to know the result of the proving, and the Captain answered them in Manx, with the crude symbolism of the sea. "Let me do it next time," said Fenella. "Do you think you can, miss?" asked the Captain. "She can do anything," said Stowell, and when the next boat called, Fenella (with Stowell to prompt her) stood ready to reply. "_R'ou promal, bhoy?_" cried the voice out of the darkness. "What's he saying? Quick!" "He's asking were you proving, boy. Say '_Va_--I was.'" Fenella put her open palms at each side of her mouth, under her sou'-wester, and cried, "_Va!_" "_Quoid oo er y piyr?_" "He asks what you found in your net. Say '_Pohnnar_--a child.'" "Oh my goodness! _Pohnnar_," cried Fenella. "_Cre'n eash dy pohnnar?_" "He asks what is the age of your child. Say '_Dussan ny quieg-yeig_--twelve to fifteen.'" "My goodness gracious! _Dussan ny quieg-yeig_," cried Fenella. By this time everybody was in convulsions of laughter, and Stowell could scarcely resist the impulse to throw his arms about Fenella and kiss her. "Soon! Soon! I must tell her soon!" he thought. The wind had dropped and a great stillness had fallen on the sea. The glow from the lights of the Dublin was in the western sky; the revolving light of the Chicken Rock (the most southerly point of Man) was in the east; and for two miles round lay the herring boats, with their watch-lights burning on the roofs of their net houses, and looking like stars which had fallen from the darkening sky on to the bosom of the sea. Fenella began to sing, and before Stowell knew what he was doing he was singing with her: She: _Oh Molla-caraine, where got you your gold?_ He: _Lone, lone, you have left me here._ It was entrancing--the hour, the surroundings, the charm and sonority of the sea! "But this is madness," thought Stowell. It would only make it the harder to do--what he had to do. Nevertheless he went on, and when they came to the end of another Manx ballad _Kiree fo naightey_ (the sheep under the snow) he said: "Would you like to know where that old song was written?" "Where?" "In Castle Rushen--by a poor wretch whose life had been sworn away by a vindictive woman." "And what had he done to her? Betrayed her, and then deserted her for another woman, I suppose. That's the one thing a woman can never forgive--never should, perhaps." "I must tell her soon," thought Stowell. But he could think of no way to begin--no natural way to lead up to what he had to say. The night was now very dark and silent. The majesty and solemnity around were grand and moving. Fenella, who had been laughing all the evening, was serious enough at last. "It's almost as if the sea, grown old, had gone to sleep with the going down of the sun, isn't it?" she said. "The sea isn't always like this, though," said Stowell.