Ye’re a dirty Black-Baller just in from New York— Aye! Aye! Blow the man down! Blow the man down, bully, blow the man down— O give us some time to blow the man down!” Time went, but time was not for them. Where the tug-engineer, thrusting up his head for a little fresh air, saw but a prentice-lad and his sweetheart on a bollard, there sat Man and Woman, enthroned and exultant in face of the worlds. The ship swung round on the tide, bringing her lights square and her stem for the opening lock. The chanty went wailing to its end:— “Blow the man down, bully, blow the man down— To my Aye! Aye! Blow the man down! Singapore Harbour to gay London town— O give us some time to blow the man down!” The tug headed for the dock and the ship went in her wake with slow state, a gallant shadow amid the blue. Soon the tide stood, and stood, and then began its ebb. For a space there was a deeper stillness as the dim wharves hung in mid-mist, and water and sky were one. Then the air stirred and chilled, stars grew sharper, and the Thames turned its traffic seaward. XXVII. HAPPINESS never stayed long with Nora Sansom. Little, indeed, had been her portion, and it was a poor sort at best. But this new joy was so great that it must needs be short of life; and in truth she saw good reason. From the moment of parting with Johnny doubts had troubled her; and doubts grew to distress—even to misery. She saw no end—no end but sorrow. She had been carried away; she had forgotten. And in measure as her sober senses awoke she saw that all this gladness could but end in heart-break and bereavement. Better, then, end all quickly and have done with the pang. But herein she misjudged her strength. Doubts and perplexities assailed Johnny also, though for a time they grew to nothing sharper. He would have gone home straightway, proud and joyful, if a little sheepish, to tell his mother the tale of that evening. But Nora had implored him to say nothing yet. She wanted time to think things over, she said. And she left him at the familiar corner, two streets beyond the Institute, begging him to come no farther, for this time, at anyrate. Next evening was the evening of the dressmaking class. He saw her for a few minutes, on her way through those two familiar streets, and he thought she looked unwell. A few nights later he saw her again. Plainly she had been crying. When they came to a deserted street of shut-up wharves he asked her why. “Only—only I’ve been thinking!” she said. “What about?” “About you, Johnny—about you and me. We—I think—we’re very young, aren’t we?” That had not struck him as a difficulty. “Well,” he said, “I don’t know about that. I s’pose we are, like others. But I shall be out o’ my time in two years and a half, or not much more, and then—”