y had their happy boy and girl
days together. In her white jersey and stocking-cap she looked every inch
a sailor. When the wind freshened and the boat plunged she stood to the
tiller like a man, and he thought her the sweetest sight ever seen in a
cockpit. And when the wind saddened and the boom came aboard she was the
cheeriest companion in a calm. She sang, and so did he, and their voices
went well together. Her favourite song was "Come, Lasses and Lads"; his
was "John Peel"; and they would sing them off and on for an hour at a
spell. Thus on a summer evening, when the bay was lying like a tired
monster asleep, and every plash of an oar was echoing on the hills, the
people on the land would hear them coming around the castle rock with
their--

"D'ye ken John Peel, with his coat so gay?
D'ye ken John Peel at the break of day?
D'ye ken John P-e-e-l...."

For two years he amused himself with the child, and then realized that
she was a child no longer. The pity of the girl's position took hold of
him. This sunny soul with her sportfulness, her grace of many gifts, with
her eyes that flashed and gleamed like lightning, with her voice that was
like the warble of a bird, this golden-headed gipsy, this witch, this
fairy--what was the life that lay before her? Pity gave place to a
different feeling, and then he was aware of a pain in the breast when he
thought of the girl. As often as her eyes lasted upon him he felt his
face tingle and burn. He began to be conscious of an imprisoned side to
his nature, the passionate side, and he drew back afraid. This wild
power, this tempest, this raging fire within, God only knew whither it
was to lead him. And then he had given a hostage to fortune, or his
father had for him.

From his father's gloomy house at Knockaloe, where the winds were ever
droning in the trees, he looked over to Glenfaba, and it seemed to him
like a little white cloud lit up by the sunshine. His heart was forever
calling to the sunny spot over there, "Glory! Glory!" The pity of it was
that the girl seemed to understand everything, and to know quite well
what kept them apart. She flushed with shame that he should see her
wearing the same clothes constantly, and with head aside and furtive
glances she talked of the days when he would leave the island for good,
and London would take him and make much of him, and he would forget all
about his friends in that dead old place. Such talk cut him to the quick.
Th