The Government resigned, and with its fall fell George Samways. He was not the object of any active hostility. He was simply ignored. It was as though he had never been. When he called at the Bishop’s house to see Arabella, the footman stared through him and said the Bishop would be obliged if he would write. George took the fellow by the scruff of the neck and laid him on the floor. Then he ran upstairs to Arabella’s room. “You!” she said. “Yes. I love you.” “We can’t be married now.” “No. We needn’t wait now. You’re coming with me.” He assisted her to pack a small handbag, and with that they set forth. At George’s lodgings they found Siebenhaar in argument with the master of the ship, who had delivered them and had now come to Bondon to claim his reward. He had sailed from Cecilia in his own ship, which was even now at the docks. “We will sail in her,” said George, “and we will find my island.” “Find the island? The whole navy’s looking for it!” “It will come to me,” said George. And Siebenhaar embraced Arabella and congratulated her on having taken his advice. XX: HOME They had a pleasant voyage, saw the sea-serpent twice, and when they came to the South Seas every night George sang those strange melodious chants that he had made out of _Tittiker_. One night when they had been at sea nigh eight months up and down the Southern Seas and almost into the Antarctic, George fell into a kind of swoon and said: “She is coming, she is coming, my mother, my land.” And Arabella, fearing for his reason, implored Siebenhaar to distract him with talk, and the master of the ship to make for the nearest port. But George silenced Siebenhaar, and in an unearthly voice he crooned: “Cathoire Mor, or the Great--had thirty sons. Conn Ceadchadhach, called the Hero of the Hundred Battles--slain. Conaire--killed. Art-Aonfhir, the Melancholy--slain in battle. Lughaidh, surnamed MacConn--thrust through the eye with a spear in a conspiracy. Feargus, surnamed Black-teeth--murdered at the instigation of his successor. Cormac-Ulfhada--‘A Prince of the most excellent wisdom, and kept the most splendid court that ever was in Bareland’; choked by the bone of a fish at supper....” Near dawn he rose to his feet and stood with outstretched arms, yelling at the top of his voice: “Connor, or Conchabhar--‘died of grief, being unable to redress the misfortunes of his country.’ Niall-Caillie--drowned in the river Caillie. Turgesius--‘expelled the Barish historians, and burnt their books’; thrown into a lough and drowned....” And Siebenhaar lifted up his eyes in wonder, for there was such a note of triumph in George’s voice. The sun was casting up his first rosy glow upon the sky, and against it, dark blue, almost purple, stood a tall hill that grew. There was little wind, but the ship sped forward. “My beloved! My island!” cried George, and Arabella fell upon his neck.