ging
and swallowing together--I know the sort; go on."

Lovibond had kept pace with Davy's warmth, but now he paused and said
quietly, "I'm afraid she's in trouble."

"Poor thing!" said Davy. "How's that, mate?"

"People can never disguise their feelings in singing a hymn," said
Lovibond.

"You say true, mate," said Davy; "nor in giving one out neither. Now,
there was old Kinvig. He had a sow once that wasn't too reg'lar in her
pigging. Sometimes she gave many, and sometimes she gave few, and
sometimes she gave none. She was a hit-and-a-missy sort of a sow, you
might say. But you always know'd how the ould sow done, by the way
Kinvig gave out the hymn. If it was six he was as loud as a clarnet, and
if it was one his voice was like the tram-bones. But go on about the
girl."

"That's all," said Lovibond. "When the service was over I walked down
the aisle behind her, and touched her dress with my hand, and somehow--"

"I know," cried Davy. "Gave you a kind of 'lectricity shock, didn't it?
Lord alive, mate, girls is quare things."

"Then she walked off the other way," said Lovibond.

"So you don't know where she comes from?" said Davy.

"I couldn't bring myself to follow her, Capt'n."

"And right too, mate. It's sneaking. Following a girl in the streets is
sneaking, and the man that done it ought to be wallopped till all's
blue. But you'll see her again, I'll go bail, and maybe hear who she is.
Rael true women is skess these days, sir; but I'm thinking you've got
your flotes down for a good one. Give her line, mate--give her line--and
if I wasn't such a downhearted chap myself I'd be helping you to land
her."

Lovibond observed that Capt'n Davy was more than usually restless after
this conversation, and in the course of the afternoon, while he lay in a
hazy dose on the sofa, he overheard this passage between the captain and
his boy:--

"Willie Quarrie, didn't you say there was an English lady staying with
Mistress Quiggin at Castle Mona?"

"Miss Crows; yes," said Willie. "So Peggy Quine is telling me--a little
person with a spyglass, and that fond of the mistress you wouldn't
think."

"Then just slip across in the morning, and spake to herself, and say can
I see her somewheres, or will she come here, and never say nothing to
nobody."

Davy's uneasiness continued far into the evening. He walked alone to
and fro on the turf of the Head in front of the house, until the sun set
behind the hills to the west,