your ear, woman," said Nary. "So here's
to the king that's comin'."

By this time Stephen had slipped out of the noisome place, and was
rambling on the quiet shore alone, with head bent, cheeks ashy pale,
eyes fixed, and his brawny hands thrust deep into his pockets. At
last, through the dense fumes within the house, Bella Coobragh noted
Stephen's absence, and "Where's your man?" she said to Liza, with a
tantalizing light in her eyes.

"Maybe where yours is, Bella," said Liza, with a toss of the head;
"near enough, perhaps, but not visible to the naked eye."

The effects of going to church on Liza Killey were what they often
are of a woman of base nature. With a man to work for her she became
more idle than before, and with nothing to fear from scandal more
reckless and sluttish. Having hidden her nakedness in the gown of
marriage, she lost the last rag of womanly shame.

The effects on Stephen Orry were the deepening of his sloth, his
gloom and his helplessness. What purpose in life he ever had was
paralyzed. On his first coming to the island he had sailed to the
mackerel fishing in the boats of Kane Wade--a shrewd Manxman, who
found the big, dumb Icelander a skilful fisherman. Now he neglected
his work, lost self-reliance, and lay about for hours, neither
thinking nor feeling, but with a look of sheer stupidity. And so the
two sat together in their ditch, sinking day by day deeper and yet
deeper into the mire of idleness, moroseness, and mutual loathing.
Nevertheless, they had their cheerful hours together.

The "king" of Nary's toast soon came. A child was born--a bonny,
sunny boy as ever yet drew breath; but Liza looked on it as a check
to her freedom, a drain on her energy, something helpless and looking
to her for succor. So the unnatural mother neglected it, and Stephen,
who was reminded by its coming that Rachel had been about to give
birth to a child, turned his heart from it and ignored it.

Thus three spirit-breaking years dragged on, and Stephen Orry grew
woe-begone and stone-eyed. Of old he had been slothful and spiritless
indeed, but not a base man. Now his whole nature was all but gone to
the gutter. He had once been a truth-teller, but living with a woman
who assumed that he must be a liar, he had ended by becoming one. He
had no company save her company, for his slow wit had found it hard
to learn the English tongue, and she alone could rightly follow him;
he had no desires save the petty ones of