Denny Nolan! This way, b'ys, an' give me a sight o' the poor
lamb. Lay her here an' take yer tarpaulin away wid ye. Holy saints fend
us all, but she bes dead--an' a great lady at that!"

The stranger opened her eyes and looked at the old woman. Her wonderful
eyes seemed to bewitch Mother Nolan, even as they had bewitched the
skipper. The old dame stared, trembled and babbled. Turning to the
gaping men, including Denny, she cried to them to get out where they
belonged and shut the door after them. They obeyed, treading on each
other's heels. Even the skipper departed, though reluctantly.

"May every hair o' yer head turn into a wax candle to light ye to
glory," babbled the old woman, as she unwound the coarse blankets from
about the girl's unresisting body. The other smiled faintly.

"I don't want to be lighted to glory--just now," she said. "I must sing
in New York--to my own people--just as I sang before the Queen in
London. But now I am so cold--and so tired."

Mother Nolan gaped at her.

"Glory be!" she whispered. "Eyes like fairies' eyes an' a voice like a
mermaid's! An' the little white hands of her, soft as cream! An' the
beautiful rings! Glory be!"

CHAPTER VII

THE GOLD OF THE "ROYAL WILLIAM"

The skipper and his four companions returned to the cliff above the
wreck, the skipper striding ahead, silent, deep in a mental and
spiritual unrest that was thought without reflection. The others
followed, whispering among themselves but afraid to question their
leader. The wind had fallen to a breeze by the time they reached the
point of the cliff overlooking the slanted deck of the stranded ship.
Also, the seas had lost much of their height and violence, and the tide
was ebbing. The group on the cliff's edge eyed the skipper inquiringly,
furtively, as he joined them. He strode through them and looked down at
the wreck. His face lightened in a flash and his dark eyes gleamed.

"What did I tell ye!" he cried. "Now she lays steady as a house, all
ready to be gutted like a fish. Pass a couple o' lines this way, men.
Take in the slack o' the hawser an' make her fast to yonder nub o'
rock. Nick Leary, follow after me wid that block an' pulley. Bill, rig
yer winch a couple o' yards this way an' stake her down. Keep ten men
wid ye--an' the rest o' ye can follow me. But not too close, mind ye!
Fetch yer axes along, an' every man o' ye a line."

Three minutes later, the skipper was sliding down the foremast, w