one by a pitiful Portuguese laird. So, he pawned the title-deeds of
his ancestral estates in Skye, where I forgot to mention he lived when
at home; and, chartering a caravel, which happened luckily to be lying
at anchor off the port at the time, smuggled his sweetheart on board and
sailed away--with the intention of eloping to France, where her stern
paryent would, he thought, be unable to follow him for certain political
reasons."

"Very good so far," interposed Mr Stormcock again at this point, in an
ironical tone. "Pray go on; it is most interesting!"

"Glad you like it," said Larkyns, coolly, without turning a hair.
"Well, then, to finish the story. Very unfortunately for these fond
lovyers, a storm arose, like that bit of breeze we had t'other day.
This blew them out of their course and they lost their reckoning,
landing at this very island, of which we are speaking instead of at some
French port as they expected. The spot they pitched on was called
Machico Bay on the eastern side; and there they lived happy ever after,
having the additional satisfaction after departing this life of being
both buried in one grave. Their last resting-place was seen by a party
of Spaniards who subsequently re-discovered the island; when these
sentimental mariners, noting the names of the aforesaid lovyers on their
joint tombstone, and the account there detailed of their strange
adventures, very romantically and devoutly erected a chapel to their
memory. This chapel exists to this very day and can be seen by you,
Stormy, or any other unbeliever in the truthfulness of my yarn! It is
for this reason, my worthy Johnny, that I insist that the island shall
be properly styled `My-deary'; for, as Robert loved Anna, he would
naturally have addressed her as `My-deary.' Do you twig, young 'un,
eh?"

"Oh, yes," I answered with a snigger, "I think, though, it's rather
far-fetched."

"So it is," said he. "It came from Madeira; and that's some six hundred
miles, more or less, from where we now are."

At that moment, Corporal Macan appeared at the door of the gunroom and
walked up to where I was sitting.

"If you plaize, sor," he said, pulling his forelock, "the docthor would
loike to say yez in the sick bay."

"Indeed, Macan," I cried. "Do you know what he wants me for?"

"The jintleman we tuk off the wrack's rekivered his sinses, an' none ov
us, sure, can under-constubble his furrin lingo barrin' yersilf, sor.
So, the docther w