here--aye, skipper o' every man an' boat in the harbor? She'd have no
call to touch her hand to honest work if she was my wife. Bain't I
rich?--and like to be richer? I'll build her a grand house. She'll have
wine every day, an' jewels on her fingers, an' naught to do all day, by
Saint Peter, but put the gowns o' silk on to her back. Bain't that
better nor singin' an' cavortin' afore the Queen?"

"Denny, ye bes a fool, sure, for all yer great oaths an' masterful ways
wid the men," said Mother Nolan. "Ye bes a fool over a woman--an' that
be the weakest kind o' fool! What would a lady like her be wantin' wid
ye for a husband?--wid a ignorant great fisherman the like o' ye,
skipper o' no skipper? What bes a skipper to the like o' her? No more
nor a dog, Denny Nolan! She'd break yer heart an' send yer soul to
damnation!"

The skipper left his chair without a word, and strode from the kitchen
to Mother Nolan's own room, stooping as he passed through the low
doorway. He advanced until he reached Flora's room. It was shut. He
halted for a moment, breathing quickly, then rapped with his knuckles,
and opened the door. Flora was sitting upright in the bed, backed by
pillows and with a shawl over her shoulders. She had been writing; and
Mary stood beside the bed and held the bottle of time-faded ink for her.
Both girls looked up with startled faces at the skipper's entrance. The
young man halted in the middle of the room, and stared at the singer. It
was the first time he had seen her since the day he had saved her from
the _Royal William's_ fore-top and brought her to this house. He saw
that her face was thinner now than on that day, but no paler. The
wonderful eyes were as clear, as bright as crystal, and yet as limpid,
as when they had first opened to him, there on the swaying cross-trees,
and worked their spell on him. But the lips were red now--as red and
bewitching as a mermaid's lips are supposed to be. She was the first to
speak.

"What is it? What do you want?" she asked somewhat fretfully, in that
silver voice that had delighted the ears of the young Queen on the other
side of the ocean. The question, or perhaps the way it was asked, sent a
chill through Black Dennis Nolan. His glance wavered and he crumpled his
fur cap in his hands. His sudden confusion showed in his dark face.

"It bes the skipper," said Mary Kavanagh, "him that fetched ye from the
wrack."

"Oh, I beg your pardon," said Flora. "Of course I shoul