She's All THE -- 
 — World TO Me 
 
 f»p
 
 She's All the World 
 to Me 
 
 By 
 HALL CALNE 
 
 Author of 
 
 ^-^ The Bondsman,'' ''The Deevisier,'' ** 21ke 
 
 Shadow of a Crime, ' ' A Son of 
 
 Ha gar,'' etc^ etc. 
 
 CHICAGO 
 
 DONOHUE, HENNEBERRY & CO. 
 
 407-429 DEARBORN STREET
 
 DONOHUE & hfiNNEBERRY 
 
 printers and binders 
 
 Chicago
 
 PROEM. 
 
 This is the story of how a woman's' love tri- 
 umphed over neglect and wrong, and of how the 
 unrequited passion in the great heart of a boy 
 trod its devious paths in the way to death, until 
 it stood alone with its burden of sin before God 
 and the pitiless deep. 
 
 .In the middle of the Irish Sea there is, as every 
 one knows, an island which for many ages has 
 had its own people, with their own language and 
 laws, their own judges and governor, their own 
 lords and kings, their own customs and supersti- 
 tions, their own proverbs and saws, their own 
 ballads and songs. On the west coast of the Isle 
 of Alan stands the town of Peel. Though clean 
 and sweet, it is not even yet much of a place to 
 look at, with its nooks and corners, its blind lanes 
 and dark alleys, its narrow, crooked, crabbed 
 streets. Thirty-five years ago it was a poor little 
 hungry fishing port, chill and cheerless enough^ 
 
 2054310 ,
 
 4 PROEM. 
 
 staring straight out over miles and miles of blgak 
 sea. To the north of Peel stretches a broad 
 shore ; to the south lies the harbor with a rocky 
 headland and bare mountain beyond. In front 
 — divided from the mainland by a narrow strait 
 — is a rugged island rock, on which stand the 
 ruins of a castle. At the back rises a gentle 
 slope dotted over with gray houses. 
 
 This is the scene of the following histor}^ of 
 the love that was won and the love that was lost, 
 of death that had no sting and the grave that had 
 no victory. Wild and eerie as the coast on 
 which I learned it is this story of love and death ; 
 but it is true as Truth, and what it owes to him 
 who writes it now with feelings deeper than he 
 can say is less than it asks of all by whom it is 
 read in sympathy and simple faith.
 
 SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO HE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 MYLKEA BALLADHOO. 
 
 The season was early summer; the year 1850. 
 The morning had been bright and calm, but a 
 mist had crept up from the sea as the day wore 
 on, and the night, when it came, was close, dark 
 and dum.b. Laden with its salt scent, the dank 
 vapor had enveloped an old house on the ''brew" 
 behind the town. It was a curious place — ugly, 
 long, loose, and straggling. One might say it 
 was a featureless and irresolute old fabric. 0\ er 
 the porch was printed, "Prepare to meet thy 
 God.*' It was called Balladhoo, and, with iis 
 lands, it had been for ages the holding of the 
 ]Mylreas, an ancient Manx family, once rich and 
 consequently revered, now notoriously k-ss 
 wealthy and proportionately more fallible. 
 
 In this house there was a parlor that faced the 
 bay and looked out towards the old castle and
 
 6 SHE'S ALL THE WOULD TO ME. 
 
 the pier at the mouth of the harbor. Over the 
 mantel-piece was carved "God's Providence is 
 Mine Inheritance." One might add that it was 
 a melancholy old mansion. 
 
 A gentleman was busy at a table in the bay- 
 window sorting and arranging papers by the 
 last glimmering daylight. He was a man of 
 sixty-five, stout, yet flaccid and slack, and wear- 
 ing a suit of coarse blue homespun that lay 
 loosely upon him. His white hair hung about 
 a face that bespoke an unusual combination of 
 traits. The eyes and forehead were full of be- 
 nevolence, but the mouth was alternately strong 
 and weak, harsh and tender, uncertain whether 
 the proper function of its mobile corners was to 
 turn up in laughter or down in disdain. 
 
 This was Evan IMylrea, member of the House 
 of Keys, Harbor Commissioner, and boat-owner, 
 philanthropist and magistrate, coroner, con- 
 stable, and "local" for the Wesleyan body, and 
 commonly known by his surname coupled with 
 the name of his estate — Mylrea Balladhoo. 
 Mylrea Balladhoo did not belie his face. He 
 was the sort of man who gives his dog one blow 
 for snapping at his hand, and then two more for 
 not coming back to be caressed. Rightly un- 
 derstood, the theory of morals that an act like 
 this implies tells the whole story of Mylrea's life 
 and character, so far as either of these concerns
 
 SEE'S ALL TEE WORLD TO ME. 7 
 
 the present history. It was the rule on which 
 this man, now grown old, had lived with the 
 young, reckless, Hght-hearted, thoughtless, beau- 
 tiful, and darhng wife whom he had brought 
 from England thirty years ago, and buried at 
 home five years after^vards. It was the principle 
 on which he had brought up her only son. 
 
 Just now there came from some remote part 
 of the house the most doleful wails that ever 
 arrested mortal ears. At times they resembled 
 the scream of the cormorant as he wheels over 
 a rock at sea. At other times they recalled 
 more precisely the plaintiiT appeal of the tailless 
 tabby when she is pressed hard for time and 
 space. IMylrea Balladhoo was conscious of these 
 noises. Glancing once at his face, you might 
 have thought it had dropped to a stern frown. 
 Glancing twice, you must have seen that it had 
 risen to a broad grin. One might certainly say 
 that this was a grewsome dwelhng. 
 
 There was a loud banging of doors, the distant 
 screeches were suddenly abridged; there v.as 
 the tread of an uncertain foot in the passage 
 without, the door opened, and an elderly man 
 entered, carr}-ing a lamp, which he placed on 
 the table. It was James Quark, the gardener, 
 commonly called Jemmy Balladhoo. That men- 
 tion of the cormorant was lucky; this man's eyes 
 had just the sea-bird's wild %tare. The two little
 
 8 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 gray-green globes of fire were, however, set in 
 a face of the most flabby amiabihty. His hair, 
 which was thin and weak, travelled straight 
 down his forehead due for his eyes. In one hand 
 he carried something by the neck, which, as he 
 entered, he made late and futile efforts to con- 
 ceal behind his back. 
 
 ''It's Mr. Kerruish Kinvig, sir, that's coming 
 up to see you," said the man in a meek voice. 
 
 ''Show him in," said Mylrea Balladhoo; ''and, 
 Jemmy," he added, shouting in the man's ear, 
 *'for mercy's sake take that fiddle to the barn." 
 
 "Take him to the barn?" said Jemmy, with 
 an affrighted stare, ''\^^hy, it's coming here he 
 is, this very minute." 
 
 "The fiddle, the fiddle!" shouted Mr. Mylrea. 
 "I always had my doubts about the music that's 
 in it, and now I see there's none at all." 
 
 Jemmy took himself off, carrying his fiddle 
 very tenderly in both hands. He was all but 
 stone deaf, poor fellow, and had never yet 
 known the full enjoyment of his own music. 
 That's why he was so liberal of it with people 
 more happily endowed. 
 
 A big blustering fellow then dashed into the 
 parlor without ceremony. 
 
 "Balladhoo," he shouted, in a voice that rang 
 through the house, "why don't you have the
 
 SHE'S ALL THE ^YORLD TO ME. 9 
 
 life of that howling demon? Here, take my 
 clasp-knife at it and silence it forever." 
 
 "It's gone to the barn," said Mylrea Ballad- 
 hoo, quietly, in reply to those bloodthirsty pro- 
 posals. 
 
 The new-comer, Keraiish Kinvig, was a pros- 
 perous net-maker in Peel, and a thorn in the 
 side of every public official within a radius of 
 miles. The joy of his life was to have a delight- 
 ful row with a magistrate, a coroner, a commis- 
 sioner, or perhaps a parson by preference. When 
 there was never a public meeting to be inter- 
 rupted, never a 'Vestry" to be broken up, Ker- 
 ruish Kinvig became as flat and stale as an old 
 dog, and w^as forced to come up and visit his 
 friend T^Iylrea Balladhoo, just by way of keeping 
 his hand in. 
 
 On the present occasion he had scarcely seated 
 himself, when he leaped up, rushed to the win- 
 dow, peered into the night, and shouted that the 
 light on the harbor pier was out once more. He 
 declared that this was the third time within a 
 month; prophesied endless catastrophies ; didn't 
 know for his part what in the name of common- 
 sense the commissioners V\-ere about; could 
 swear that smuggling was going on under their 
 very noses. 
 
 *T'll have the law on the lot of you," bellowed 
 Kinvig at the full pitch of his voice, and mean-
 
 10 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 time he helped himself to the whiskey on the 
 table, and lilled his pipe from the domestic bowl. 
 ''It's the truth, Fll fling you all out," he shouted 
 through a cloud of smoke. 
 
 "Eh, you'll have your fling," replied the un- 
 perturbed Mylrea. 
 
 Then, going to the door, the master of Ballad- 
 hoo recalled the gardener. 
 
 From the subsequent conversation it appeared 
 that, to prevent illicit trading, the Imperial Gov- 
 ernment had been. compelled to station a cutter 
 in every harbor of the island; that the cutter sta- 
 tioned at Peel, having come by some injury a 
 month ago, had been removed to England for 
 repairs, and had not yet been brought back. 
 Kerruish Kinvig declared that some gang of 
 scoundrels, perceiving the incompetence of the 
 home officials, were availing themselves of the 
 absence of the Government ship to run vessels 
 laden with contraband goods under the cover of 
 the darkness. 
 
 Jemmy came back, and Mr. Mylrea sent him 
 to fetch his son Christian. 
 
 Jemmy went off for that purpose. 
 
 Some talk of the young man then ensued be- 
 tween his father and Kinvig. It transpired that 
 Christian had had a somewhat questionable ca- 
 reer — was his fathers only son, and had well- 
 nigh ruined the old man with debts contracted
 
 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. n 
 
 during a mysterious absence of six years. Chris- 
 tian had just returned home, and ^lylrea Ballad- 
 hoo, stern on the outside, tender at the core, 
 loving his son as the one thing left to him to 
 love, had forgiven evers'thing — disgrace, ingrati- 
 tude, and impoverishment — and taken back the 
 prodigal without a word. 
 
 And, in truth, there was something so win- 
 some in the young fellow's reckless, devil-may- 
 care indifference that he got at the right side of 
 people's affections in spite of themselves. Only 
 those vrho come close to this type of character 
 can recognize the rift of weakness or wilfulness, 
 or it may be of selfishness, that runs through the 
 fair vein of so much good-nature. And if Myl- 
 rea Balladhoo saw nothing, v^-ho then should 
 complain? 
 
 Now, Kerruish Kinvig was just as fond of 
 Christian as anybody else, but that was no just 
 cause and impediment why he should hold his 
 peace as to the young man's manifold weak- 
 nesses, So it was — 
 
 ''Look here, Balladhoo, I've something to say 
 about that fine son of yours, and it's middling 
 strange too." 
 
 "Drop it, Kerruish," muttered iMylrea. 
 
 ''So I will, but it's into your ear I'll drop it. 
 Do you know he's hanging round one of my 
 net-makers — eh ?''
 
 12 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 "You're fond of a spell at the joking, Ker- 
 ruish, but in a general way, you know, a man 
 doesn't like to look like a fool. You've got too 
 much fun in you, Kerruish; that's your fault, 
 and I've always said so." 
 
 There was a twinkle in tlie old man's eye, but 
 it went off like summer lightning. "Who is 
 she?" he asked, in another tone. 
 
 "Mona Cregeen they're calling her," said Kin- 
 vig. 
 
 "What is she?" 
 
 "Don't I tell you — one of my net-makers!" 
 thundered Kinvig. 
 
 "Who are her people? W^here does she come 
 from? What do you know about her? What 
 has Christian had to say to her — " 
 
 "Hold on; that's a middling tidy lot to begin 
 with," shouted Kinvig. 
 
 Then it was explained that Mona Cregeen was 
 a young woman of perhaps three-and-twenty, 
 who had recently come to Peel from somewhere 
 in the south of the island, accompanied by her 
 aged mother and little sister, a child of five, 
 closely resembling her. 
 
 Jemmy, the gardener, returned to say that 
 Christian was not at home; left an hour ago; 
 said he would be back before bed-time. 
 
 "Ah! it's the 'Jo^b' Herrings' he's off to," said
 
 8HE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 13 
 
 Kinvig. The "Jo^^y Herrings'' was a low hovel 
 of an inn down in the town. 
 
 "As I say, you've a fine feeling for the fun, 
 Kerruish," said ^iylrea; "J^^^^y^ P^^^ o^ your 
 coat quick. You have to carry a message to the 
 harbor-master. It can't wait for Z\Iaster Chris- 
 tian." 
 
 Now Jemmy Balladhoo had, as we have seen, 
 one weakness, but it was not work. He remem- 
 bered quite opportunely that there was a boy in 
 the kitchen who had just come up on an errand 
 from the town, and must of course go back 
 again. It was quite an inspiration, but none 
 the less plainly evident that the boy was the very 
 person to carry the message to the harbor-mas- 
 ter. 
 
 "Who is he," shouted Kerruish Kinvig. 
 
 "Danny Fayle," answered Jemmy. 
 
 "Pshaw! he'll never get there," bawled Kinvig. 
 
 "Bring him up," said ^lylrea Balladhoo. 
 
 A minute later, a fisher-lad of eighteen sham- 
 bled into the room. You might have said he 
 was long rather than tall. He wore a guernsey 
 and fumbled with a soft blue seaman's cap in 
 one hand. His fair hair clustered in tangled 
 curls over his face, which was sweet and comely, 
 but had a simple vacant look from a lagging 
 lower lip. 
 
 Danny was an orphan, and had been brought
 
 14 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 Up none too tenderly by an uncle and aunt. The 
 uncle, Bill Kisseck, was admiral of the fishing- 
 fleet, and master of a fishing-lugger belonging 
 to Mr. Mylrea. To-morrow was to be the first 
 day of the herring season, and it was relative to 
 that event that Danny had been sent up to Bal- 
 ladhoo. The lad received from Mr. Mylrea, in 
 his capacity as harbor commissioner, a message 
 of stern reoroof and warning, v/hich he was to 
 convey to the official whose lack of watchfulness 
 had allowed the light on the harbor pier to go 
 out. 
 
 ''Run straight to his house, Danny, my lad," 
 said Mylrea Balladhoo. 
 
 ''And don't go cooling your heels round that 
 cottage of the Cregeen's," put in Kerruisli Kin- 
 vig. 
 
 A faint smile that had rested like a ray of pale 
 sunshine on the lad's simple face suddenly van- 
 ished. He hung his head, touched his foreh^^ad 
 with the hand holding the cap, and dis^ppc^irr^d.
 
 SHE'S ALL THE WOULD TO ME. ib 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 IN PEELE CASTLE. 
 
 When Danny reached the outside of the house, 
 the night was even more dark and dumb than 
 before. He turned to the right under tlie hill 
 known as the Giant's Fingers, and took the cliff 
 road to the town. The deep boom of the wa- 
 ters roUing slowly on the sand below came up 
 to him through the dense air. He could hear 
 the little sandpiper screaming at Orry's Head 
 across the bay. The sea-swallow shot past him, 
 too, with its low mournful cry. Save for these, 
 everything was still. 
 
 Danny had walked about a quarter of a mile, 
 when he paused for a moment at the gate of a 
 cottage that stood halfway down the hill to the 
 town. There was a light in the kitchen, and from 
 where he stood in the road Danny could see 
 who were within. As if by an involuntary move- 
 ment, his cap was lifted from his head and fum- 
 bled in his fingers, while his eyes gazed yearn- 
 ingly in at the curtainless windov;. Then he 
 remembered the harsh word of Kerruish Kin-
 
 16 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME, 
 
 vig, and started off again more rapidly. It was 
 as though he had been kneeHng at a fair shrine 
 when a cruel hand befouled and blurred it. 
 
 Danny was superstitious. He was full to the 
 throat of fairy lore and stories of witchcraft. 
 The night was dark; the road was lonely; hardly 
 a sound save that of his own footsteps broke the 
 stillness, and the ghostly memories would arise. 
 To banish them Danny began to whistle, and, 
 failing with that form of musical society, to sing. 
 His selection of a song was not the happiest un- 
 der the circumstances. Oddly enough, it was 
 the doleful ballad of Myle Charaine. Danny 
 sang it in Alanx, but here is a stave of it in the 
 lusty tones of the fine old "Lavengro" — 
 
 "Oh, Myle Charaine, where got you your gold? 
 
 Lone, lione, you have left me here; 
 Oh, not in the Curragh, deep under the mould — 
 Lone, lone, and void of cheer," 
 
 There was not much cheer that Danny could 
 get out of Myle Charaine's company, but he 
 could not at the moment think of any ballad 
 hero who was much more heartsome. He had 
 a good step of the road to go yet. Somehow 
 the wild legend of the Moddey Dhoo would 
 creep up into Danny's mind. In the days when 
 the old castle was garrisoned, the soldiers in the 
 guard-room were curious about a strange black 
 dog that came every night and lay in their midst.
 
 SHE'S ALL TEE WORLD TO ME. 17 
 
 "It's a devil," said one. 'Til follow it to see/' 
 said another. When the dog rose to go the 
 intrepid soldier went out after it. His comrades 
 tried to prevent him. "1*11 follow it," he said, 
 *'if it leads to hell." A minute afterwards there 
 was an unearthly scream; the soldier rushed 
 back pale as a corpse, and with great staring 
 eyes. He said not a word, and died within the 
 hour. The ^.loddey Dhoo kept tomienting 
 poor Danny to-night. So he set up the song 
 afresh, and to heighten the sportive soul of it, he 
 began to run. Once having taken to his heels, 
 Danny ran as if the black dog itself had been 
 behind him. By the time he reached the town 
 he was fairly spent. j\Iyle Charaine and the Mod- 
 dey Dhoo together had been too much for Dan- 
 ny. \Miat with the combined exertion of legs 
 and lungs, the lad was perspiring from head to 
 foot. 
 
 The house of the harbor-master was a little 
 ivy-covered cottage that stood on the east end of 
 the quay, near the bridge that crossed the river. 
 The harbor-master himself was an unmarried 
 elderly man, who enjoyed the curious distinction 
 of having always worn short petticoats. His 
 full and correct name seems almost to have been 
 lost. He was known as Tommy-Bill-beg, a bv- 
 name which had at least a certain genealogical 
 value in showing that the harbor-master was
 
 18 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 Tommy the son of Little Bill. When Danny 
 reached the cottage he knocked, and had no 
 answer. Then he lifted the latch and walked in. 
 The house was empty, though a light was burn- 
 ing. It had two rooms and no more. One was 
 a dark closet of a sleeping-crib. The other, the 
 living room, was choked with nearly every con- 
 ceivable article of furniture and species of do- 
 mestic ornament. Shells, fish-bones, bits of 
 iron and lead ore, sticks and pipes lay on tables, 
 chairs, chests, settles, and corner cupboards. A 
 three-legged stool stood before thefireplace; and 
 with all his wealth of rickety furniture, this was 
 probably the sole article which the harbor-master 
 used. There was a facetious-faced timepiece on 
 the mantel-piece; and when folks pitied the iso- 
 lation of Tommy-Bill-beg, and asked him if he 
 never felt lonely, he always replied, **Not while 
 I hear the clock tick." But Tommy-Bill-beg 
 had not heard the clock tick for twenty years. 
 He resembled Jemmy Quark in being almost 
 stone-deaf, and had a further bond of union with 
 the gardener of Balladhoo in being musical. He 
 played no instrument, however, except his voice, 
 which he believed to be of the finest quality and 
 compass. The harbor-master was wofully wrong 
 as to the former, but right as to the latter; he 
 had a voice like a rasp, and as loud as a fog-horn. 
 Printed copies of ballads were pinned up on vari-
 
 SHE'S ALL THE WOULD TO ME. 19 
 
 ous parts of the wall of his kitchen. Tommy- 
 Bill-beg could not read a line; but he would 
 rather have died than allow that this was so, and 
 he never sang except from print. 
 
 Danny Fayle knew well how often the musi- 
 cal weakness of the harbor-master was played 
 upon by the Peel men; and when he found the 
 cottage empty he suspected that some wags of 
 fisher-fellows had decoyed Tommy-Bill-beg 
 away to the Jolly Herrings for the sport of hav- 
 ing him sing on this their last night ashore. 
 Danny set off for the inn, which was in Castle 
 Street. He walked along the quay, intending 
 to turn up a passage. 
 
 The night seemed darker than ever now, and 
 not a breath of wind was stirring. The harbor 
 on Danny's left was some twenty yards across, 
 and another twenty yards divided the main-land 
 from the island rock,, on which stood the ruins 
 of the old fortress. The tide was out, and the 
 fishing-luggers lay at secure anchorage on t:ie 
 shingle, and in six inches of mud. The pier was 
 straight ahead, and there the light should now 
 be burning. 
 
 As Danny approached the passage that led up 
 to Castle Street he heard the distant rumble of 
 noisy singing. Yes, it came from the Jolly Her- 
 rings beyond quesiion, and Tommy-Bill-beg 
 was there airing his single vanity.
 
 20 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 Danny was about to turn up the passage when, 
 in a lull in the singing, he thought he caught the 
 sound of voices and of the tread of feet. Both 
 came from the rock outside, and Danny could 
 not resist the temptation to walk on and listen. 
 
 There could be no doubt of it. Some people 
 were going up to the castle. What could they 
 want in that desolate place at night, and thus 
 late? In Danny's mind the ancient castle had 
 always been encircled by ghostly imaginings. 
 Perhaps it was fear that drew him to it now. 
 Probably ordinary common-sense would have 
 suggested that Danny should run off first to the 
 harbor-master with the message that he had 
 been charged to deliver, but Danny had neither 
 part nor lot in that ordinary inheritance. 
 
 Xear the bottom of the ebb tide the neck that 
 divided the pier from the castle could be forded. 
 Danny stole down the pier steps and crossed 
 the ford as noiselessly as he could. A flight of 
 other steps hewn out of the rock, went up from 
 the water's edge to the deep portcullis. Danny 
 crept up. He found that the old notched and 
 barred door leading into the castle stood open. 
 Danny stood and listened. The footsteps that 
 he heard before were now far ahead of him. It 
 was darkest of all under these thick walls. Dan- 
 ny had to pass the door^vay of the rumed guard- 
 room, terrible with the tradition of the black
 
 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 21 
 
 dog. As he went by the door he turned his 
 head towards it in the darkness. At that in- 
 stant he thought he heard something stir. He 
 gasped, but could not scream. He stretched 
 his arms fearfuhy towards the sound. There 
 was nothing. All was still once more. Only 
 the receding footsteps dying away. Danny 
 thought he had deceived himself. It was as 
 though he had heard the rustle of a dress, but 
 it must have been the soft rustle of leaves. Yet 
 there were no trees in the castle. 
 
 Danny stepped forward into the court-yard. 
 His feet fell softly on the grass that now grew 
 there. But he stopped again, and his heart 
 seemed to stand still. He could have sworn that 
 behind him he heard a light stealthy tread. 
 Danny dropped to his knees, breathless and 
 trembling. 
 
 It was gone. The deep, thick boom of the 
 sea came from the shore far behind, and the thin, 
 low plash of broken waters from the rocks be- 
 neath. The footsteps had ceased now, but 
 Danny could hear voices. He rose to his feet, 
 and walked towards whence they came. 
 
 He found himself outside the crumbling walls 
 of the roofless chapel of St. Patrick. He heard 
 noises from within, and crouched behind a stone. 
 Presently a light was struck. It lit all the air
 
 S2 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 above it. Danny crept up to the chapel wall 
 and peered in at one of the lancet windows. 
 
 A company of men were there, but he could 
 not distinguish their faces. The single lantern 
 they carried was now turned with its face to th e 
 ground. One of them had a crowbar with which 
 he was prizing up a stone It w^as a gravestone. 
 The men were tearing open an old vault. 
 
 There was some muttering, and one of the 
 men seemed to protest. ''Stop!" he cried; 'T'm 
 not going to have a hand in a job like this. 
 I'm bad enough, God knows, but no man shall 
 say that I helped to violate a grave." 
 
 Danny shook from head to foot. He knew 
 that voice. Just then the sea-swallow shot again 
 overhead, uttermg its- low, mournful cry. At 
 the same instant Danny thought he heard a half- 
 stifled moan not far from his side, and once more 
 his ear caught that soft rustling sound. Quiver- 
 ing in every limb, he could not stir. He must 
 stand and be silent. He clung to the stone wall 
 with convulsive fingers. 
 
 The man with the crowbar laughed. "Dowse 
 that now," he said, and laughed again. 
 
 ''Och, the timid he is to be sure, and the reli- 
 gious, too, all at once." 
 
 Danny knew^ that voice also, and knew as well 
 that to utter a word or sound at that moment
 
 SHE'S ALL THE V,Ol!LD TO ME. 
 
 might be as much as his Hfe was worth. The 
 men were raising the stone. 
 "Here, bear a hand," said one. 
 ''Never,'' said the first speaker. 
 There was a low, grating laugh. One of the 
 men leaped into the vault. 
 
 *'Now, then, tail on here more hands. Let's 
 have it, quick.'' 
 
 Then Danny saw that, lying on the ground, 
 was something that he had not observed before. 
 It was like a thick black roll some four feet long. 
 Two of the men got hold of it to hand it to the 
 man below. 
 
 "Come! lay down, d'ye hear?'' 
 Danny's terror mastered him. He turned to 
 run. Then the man who had spoken first cried, 
 "What's that?'' 
 
 There was a moment's pause. 
 *' What's what?" said the man in the vault. 
 *T'll swear on my soul I saw a woman pass 
 the porch.'' 
 
 A bitter little laugh followed. 
 "Och, it's alwavs a woman he's seelns^." 
 Danny had found his legs at last. Flying along 
 the grass as softly as a lapwing, he reached the 
 old gate. Then he turned and listened. No; there 
 was nothing to show that he had been heard. 
 He crept down the steps to the water's edge. 
 There in a creek he saw a boat which he had not
 
 24 ^HE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 observed on going up. He looked at the name. 
 It was Ben-my-Chree. 
 
 Danny turned to the ford. The tide had risen 
 a foot since he crossed, but he paddled through 
 the water and gained the pier. Then he ran 
 home as fast as his long legs would carry him, 
 w^et with sweat and speechless with dismay. 
 
 Next morning Danny remembered that he 
 had forgotten all about the harbor-master and 
 the light. 
 
 "Och, the cursed young imp that he is," cried 
 his uncle. Bill Kisseck, hitching his hand into 
 Danny-s guernsey at the neck, and steadying 
 him as if he had been a sack with an open mouth. 
 ''Aw, the booby; just taking a rovin' commis- 
 sion and snappin' his fingers at the ould masther. 
 What dVe think would a happent to you, ye 
 beach-comber, if some ship had run ashore and 
 been wrecked and scuttled and all hands lost, 
 and not a pound of cargo left at her, and never 
 a light on the pier, and all along of you, ye idiot 
 waistrel!"
 
 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 25 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 " MACK'REL — MACKER-EL — MACK-EE-EL. ! " 
 
 It was a brilliant morning. The sea lay like a 
 glass floor, and the sunshine, like a million 
 fairies, danced on it. The town looked as bright 
 as it was possible for Peel to look. The smoke 
 was only beginning to coil upward from its chim- 
 ney stacks, and the streets w^ere yet quiet, when 
 the silvery voice of a child was heard to cry — 
 "Sweet violets and primroses the sweetest." 
 
 It was a little auburn-haired lassie of five, 
 w^ith ruddy cheeks, and laughing lips, and 
 sparkling brown eyes. She wore a clean white 
 apron that covered her skirt, which was tucked 
 up and pinned in fish-wife fashion in front. Her 
 head was bare; she carried a basket over one 
 armi. and a straw hat that swung on the other 
 hand. The basket contained flowers which the 
 child was selling: ''A ha'penny a bunch, ma'am, 
 only a ha'penny!" The little thing was as bright 
 as the sunlight that glistened over her head. 
 She had made a song of her sweet call, and
 
 26 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 chanted the simple words with a rhythmic 
 swing — 
 
 "Sweet violets and primroses the sweetest." 
 
 *'Ruby," cried a gentleman at the door of a 
 house facing the sea. ''Here, little one, give 
 me a bunch of your falderolls. What? No ! not 
 falderolls? Is that it, little one, eh?" 
 
 It was Mr. Kerruish Kinvig. 
 
 The child pouted prettily and drew back her 
 basket. 
 
 ''What! not sell to me this morning. Oh, I see, 
 you choose your customers, you do, my lady. 
 But ril have the law on you, I will." 
 
 Ruby looked up fearlessly into the face of the 
 dread iconoclast. 
 
 "I don't love you," she said. 
 
 "No — eh? And why not now?" 
 
 "Because you call the flowers bad names." 
 
 "Oh, I do, do I? Well, never mind, little 
 one. Say we strike a peace — eh?" 
 
 "I don't like people that strike," said Ruby, 
 with averted eyes. 
 
 "Well, then, cry a truce — anything you like." 
 
 Ruby knew what crying a flower or a fish 
 meant. 
 
 "Here, now, little one, here's a penny; that's 
 double wages, you know. Don't you think the 
 law would uphold me if I asked for a — "
 
 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 27 
 
 "A what?" asked the child, with innocent eyes. 
 
 ''Well, say a kiss." 
 
 The bargain was concluded and the purchase 
 ratified. In another minute the little feet were 
 tripping away, and from a side street came the 
 silvery voice that sang — 
 
 "Sweet violets and primroses the sweetest." 
 
 At the next corner the lassie's childlike tones 
 were suddenly drowned by a lustier voice which 
 cried "Mack'rel! :\Iacker— el! Fine, ladies- 
 fresh, ladies— and beUies as big as bishops'— 
 Mack — er — el!'' 
 
 It was Danny Fayle with a board on his head 
 containing his last instalment of the season's, 
 mackerel. When the two street-venders came 
 together they stopped. 
 
 ''Aw now, the fresh you're looking this morn- 
 ing, Ruby veg — as fresh as a dewdrop, my 
 chree !" 
 
 The little one lifted her eyes and laughed. 
 Then she plunged her hand into her basket and , 
 brought out a bunch of wild roses. 
 "That's for you, Danny," she said. 
 '"'Och, for me is it now? Aw, and is it for 
 me it is?" said Danny, with wondering eyes. 
 "The clean ruined it would be in half a minute, 
 though, at the likes of me, Ruby veg. Keep 
 it for vourself. woman." Louder: "^^lack'rel —
 
 28 SEE'S ALL T IE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 fine, ladies — fresh, ladles — Macker-el !'' Then 
 lower: "Aw now, the sweet and tidy, they'd be 
 lookin' in your breast, my chree — the sweet ex- 
 traordinary!'' 
 
 The child looked up and smiled, looked down 
 and pondered ; then half reluctantly, half coquet- 
 tishly, fixed the flowers in her bosom. 
 
 *'Danny, I love you," she said, simply. 
 
 The object of Ruby's affection blushed vio- 
 lently and was silent 
 
 ''And so does Sissy," added the little one. 
 
 ''Mona?" asked Danny, and his tongue seemed 
 to cleave to his mouth. 
 
 "Yes, and mamma too." 
 
 Danny's face, which had begun to brighten, 
 suddenly lost its sunshine. His lower lip was 
 lagging wofully. 
 
 "Yes, Mona and mamma, and — and everv- 
 body," said the child, with ungrudging' spon- 
 taneity. 
 
 "No, Ruby ven." 
 
 Danny's voice was breaking. He tried to con- 
 quer this weakness by shouting aloud, "Mack- 
 er — Mack — " Then in a softer' tone, "Not 
 everybody, my chree." 
 
 "Well," said the child in earnest defence, 
 "everybody except your uncle Kisseck." 
 
 "Bill? Bill? What about Bill?" said Danny, 
 hoarsely.
 
 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 29 
 
 'Why don't you fight into him, Danny? 
 You're a big boy now, Danny. Why don't you 
 fight into him?" 
 
 Danny's simple face grew very grave. The 
 soft bkie eyes had had an uncertain look. 
 
 "Did Sissy say that, Ruby veg?" 
 
 *'Xo, but she said Bill Kisseck was a — was 
 a—" 
 
 "A what, Rue?" 
 
 "A brute — to you, Danny." 
 
 The lad's face trembled. The hanging lower 
 lip quivered, and the whole countenance became 
 charged with sudden energy. Lifting his board 
 from his head, and takmg up the finest of the 
 fish, he said, 
 
 "Ruby, take this home to Mona. Here, now; 
 it's at the bottom of your basket I'm putting it." 
 
 "^ly flowers, Danny!" cried Ruby, anxiously. 
 
 "Aw, what's the harm they'll take at all. There 
 — there" (fixing some sea-weed over the mack- 
 erel) — "nice, extraordinary- — nice, nice!'' 
 
 "But what will your uncle Bill say, Danny?" 
 asked the little one, with the shadow of fear in 
 her eyes. 
 
 "Bill? Bill? Oh, Bill," said Danny turning 
 away his eyes for a moment. Then, with an ac- 
 cess of strength as he lifted his board on to liis 
 head and turned to go, "If Bill savs anvthing, 
 
 i'ii_rii_^>
 
 30 SEE'S ALL TEE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 ''No, don't, Danny; no, don't," cried Ruby, 
 the tears rising to her eyes. 
 
 "Just a minute since," said Danny, "there 
 came a sort of a flash, hke that" (he swung one 
 arm across his eyes), "and all of a sudden I knew 
 middlin' well what to do with Bill." 
 
 "Don't fight, Danny," cried Ruby; but Danny 
 was gone, and from another street came "Mack'- 
 rel — fine, ladies — fresh, ladies — and bellies as 
 big as bishops' — Mack-er-el!"
 
 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME, 31 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE FERST OF "THE HEBEING." 
 
 Later in the day the final preparations were 
 being made for the departure of the herring fleet. 
 Tommy-Bill-beg, the harbor-master, in his short 
 petticoat, was bawling all over the quay, first at 
 this man in the harbor and then at that. Bill 
 Kisseck was also there in his capacity as admiral 
 of the fleet — an insular office for which he had 
 been duly sworn in, and for which he received 
 his five pounds a year. Bill was a big black- 
 bearded creature in top-boots — a relic of tlie 
 reign of the Norseman in ^lan. Tommy-Bill- 
 beg was chaffed about the light going out on 
 the pier. He looked grave, declared there was 
 ''something in it" Something supernatural. 
 Tommy meant. Tommy-Bill-beg believed in 
 his heart it was "all along of the spite of Gentle- 
 man Johnny-' — now a hogy, erst a thief, who in 
 the flesh had been put into a spiked barrel and 
 rolled over the pier into the sea, swearing furi- 
 ously, as long as he could be heard, that to prove
 
 33 SHE'S ALL TEE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 his innocence it was his fixed intention to haunt 
 forever the scene of his martyrdom. 
 
 Kerruish Kinvig was standing by, and heard 
 the harbor-master's explanation of the going out 
 of the hght 
 
 "It's middHng strange," shouted Kinvig, ''that 
 the ghost should potter about only when the 
 Government cutter happens to be out of the way, 
 and Tommy-Bill-beg is yelping and screeching 
 at the Jolly Herring. I'd have a law on such 
 bogies, and clap them in Cactle Ruchen," bawled 
 Kinvig, ''and all the fiddlers and carol-singers 
 along with them," he added. 
 
 The harbor-master shook his head, apparently 
 more in sorrow than in anger, and whispered 
 Bill Kisseck that, as "the good ould book" says, 
 "Bad is the man that has never no music in his 
 sowl." 
 
 It was one of Tommy-Bill-beg's peculiarities 
 of mental twist that he was full of quotations, 
 and never by any chance fails to misascribe, 
 misquote, and misapply them. 
 
 The fishing-boats were rolling gently with 
 the motion of the rising tide. When every- 
 thing had been made ready, and the flood w^as 
 at hand, the fishermen, to the number of several 
 hundred men and boys, trooped off to the shore 
 of the bay. There they were joined by a great 
 multitude of women and children. Presently the
 
 8HE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 33 
 
 vicar appeared, and, standing in an open boat, 
 he offered the customary prayer for the blessing 
 of God on the fishing expedition which was now 
 setting out. 
 
 "Restore and continue to us the harvest of 
 the sea!" 
 
 And the men, on their knees in the sand, with 
 uncovered heads, and faces in their hats, mur- 
 mured "Yn Meailley." 
 
 Then they separated, the fishermen returning 
 to their boats. 
 
 Bill Kisseck leaped aboard the lugger that lay 
 at the mouth of the harbor. His six men fol- 
 lowed him. "See all clear," he shouted to Dan- 
 ny, who sailed with him as boy. Danny stood 
 on the quay with the duty of clearing ropes from 
 blocks, and then following in the dingy that was 
 moored to the steps. 
 
 Among the women who had come down to 
 the harbor to see the departure of the fleet were 
 two who bore no very close resemblance to the 
 great body of the townswomen. One was an 
 elderly woman, with a thin sad face. The other 
 was a young woman, of perhaps two or three 
 and twenty, tall and muscular, with a pale cast 
 of countenance, large brown eyes, and rich au- 
 burn hair. The face, though strong and beau- 
 tiful, was not radiant with happiness, and yet it
 
 34 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 recalled very vividly a glint of human sunshine 
 that we have known before. 
 
 In another moment little Ruby, red with run- 
 ning, pranced up to their side, crying, "Mona, 
 come and see Danny Fayle's boat. Here, look, 
 there ; that one with the color on the deck." 
 
 The admiral's boat was to carry a flag. 
 
 The two women were pulled along by the 
 little sprite and stopped just where Danny him- 
 self was untying a knot in a rope. Danny rec- 
 ognized them, lifted his hat, blushed, looked 
 confused, and seemed for the moment to forget 
 the cable. 
 
 'Tail on there!" shouted Bill Kisscck from 
 the lugger. ''Show a leg there, if you don't want 
 the rat's tail. D'ye hear?" 
 
 Danny was fumbling with his cap. That poor 
 lagging lower lip was giving a yearning look to 
 the lad's simple face. He muttered some com- 
 monplace to Mona, and then dropped his head. 
 At that instant his eye fell on the lower part of 
 her dress. The blue serge of her gown was 
 bleached near her feet. Danny, who could think 
 of nothing else to say, mumbled something about 
 the salt water having taken the color out of 
 Mona's dress. The girl looked down, and then 
 said quietly, 
 
 ''Yes, I was caught by the tide last night — 
 I mean to say, I was — "
 
 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 35 
 
 She was clearly trying to recall her words, but 
 poor Danny had hardly heard them. 
 
 "You cursed booby!" cried Bill Kisseck, leap- 
 ing ashore, "prating with a pack of women when 
 I'm a-waiting for you. Til make you walk hand- 
 some over the bricks, my man." 
 
 With that he struck Danny a terrible blow 
 and felled him. 
 
 The lad got up abashed, and without a word 
 turned to his work. Kisseck, still in a tempest 
 of wrath, was leaping back to the lugger, when 
 the young woman stepped up to him, looked 
 fearlessly in his face, seemed about to speak, 
 checked herself and turned away. 
 
 Kisseck stood measuring her from head to 
 foot with his eyes, broke into a bitter laugh, and 
 said, 
 
 "I'm right up and down like a yard of pump- 
 water; that's what I am." 
 
 He jumped aboard again. Danny ran the 
 rope from the blocks, the admiral's boat cleared 
 away, and the flag shot up to the mast-head. 
 The other boats followed one after one to the 
 number of nearly one hundred. The bay vras 
 full of them. 
 
 When Kisseck's boat had cleared the harbor, 
 Danny ran down the steps of the pier with eyes 
 still avc-ted from the two ^vomen and the child,
 
 36 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 got into the dingy, took an oar and began to 
 scull after it. 
 
 "Sissy, Sissy," cried Ruby, tugging at Mona's 
 dress, "look at Danny's little boat. What's the 
 name that is on it in red letters?" 
 
 "Ben-my-Chree," the young woman answered. 
 
 Then the herring fleet sailed away under the 
 glow of the setting sun.
 
 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 37 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 CHRISTIAN MYLREA. 
 
 It was late when young Christian !Mylrea got 
 back to Balladhoo that night of Kemiish Kin- 
 vig's visit. "VvQ been up for a walk to the Mon- 
 ument on Horse Hill," he remarked, carelessly, 
 as he sat down at the piano and touched it lightly 
 to the tune of ''Drink to me only with thine 
 eyes." "Poor old Corrin/' he said, pausing with 
 tvvo fingers on the key-board, "what a crazy old 
 heretic he must have been to elect to busy him- 
 self up yonder." Then, in a rich full tenor. 
 Christian sang a bar or two of "Sally in our Al- 
 ley." 
 
 The tw^o older men were still seated at oppo- 
 site sides of the table smoking leisurely. ]\Iylrea 
 Balladhoo told Christian of the errand on which 
 he had wished to send him. 
 
 "The light? Ah, yes," said Christian, turning 
 his head between the rests in his song, "curious, 
 that, wasn't it? Do you know that coming 
 round by the pier I noticed that the light had 
 gone out; so" — (a run up the piano) — "so, after
 
 88 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO 31 E. 
 
 ineffectual attempts to rouse that sad dog of a 
 harbor-master of yours, dad, I went up into the 
 box and Ht it myself. You see it's burning now." 
 
 "Humph! so it is," grunted Kerruish Kinvig, 
 w^ho had got up in the hope of discrediting the 
 statement. 
 
 ''Only the wick run down, that was all," said 
 Christian, who had turned to the piano again, 
 and was rattling off a lively French catch. 
 
 Christian Mylrea was a handsome young fei- 
 low of five or six and twenty, with a refined ex- 
 pression and easy manner, educated, genial, 
 somewhat irresolute one might say, with a weak 
 corner to his mouth ; naturally of a sportive dis- 
 position, but having an occasional cast of 
 thoughtfulness ; loving a laugh, but finding it 
 rather apt of late to die away abruptly on his 
 lips. 
 
 Getting up to go, Kinvig said, "Christian, my 
 man, you've not seen my new net-loomis since 
 you same home. Wonderful inventions! Won- 
 derful! Extraordinary! Talk of your locomo- 
 tive — pshaw! Come down, man, and see them 
 at work in the morning." 
 
 Christian reflected for a moment. "I will," 
 he said, in a more serious tone than the occa- 
 sion seemed to require. "Yes, I'll do that," he 
 said. 
 
 "In the morning!" said M)drea Balladhoo.
 
 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 3» 
 
 "To-morrow is the first day of the herrings — no 
 time for new net-looms to-morrow at all." 
 
 "The herrings!'' shouted Kinvig from the door 
 in an accent of high disdain. 
 
 "Nothing like leather," said Christian, laugh- 
 ing. "Let it be the morning after," he added; 
 and so it was agreed. 
 
 N^ext day Christian busied himself a little 
 among the fishing-smacks that were the property 
 of his father, or were, at least, kno\vn by his 
 fathers name. He went in and sat among the 
 fisher-fellows with a cherry voice and pleasant 
 face. Everywhere he was a favorite. When 
 his back was turned it was : "Xone o' yer ransy- 
 tansy-tisimitee about Misther Christian; none 
 o' yer Well, my good man,' and the like o' that; 
 awful big and could, sem as if they'd jist riz from 
 the dead." Or perhaps, "No criss-crossing 
 about the young masther; allis preachin'; and 
 'I'll kermoonicate yer bad behavior' and all that 
 jaw." Or again, more plaintively, "I wish he 
 were a bit more studdy-like, and savin'. Of 
 coorse, of coorse, me and him's a allis been mid- 
 dlin' well acquent."
 
 40 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE NET FACTORY. 
 
 The morning after the fleet left the harbor, 
 Christian walked down to Kerruish Kinvig's 
 house, and together they went over the net fac- 
 tory. In a large room facing the sea a dozen 
 hand-looms for the manufacture of drift-nets 
 had been set up. Each loom was worked by a 
 young woman, and she had three levers to keep 
 in action — one with the hand and the others with 
 the feet. 
 
 Kinvig explained, with all the ardor of an 
 enthusiast, the manifold advantage of the new 
 loom over the old one with which Christian was 
 familiar; dwelt on the knots, the ties and the 
 speed, exhibited a new reel for the unwinding of 
 the cotton thread from the skein, and described 
 a new method of barking when the nets come 
 off the looms. Pausing now and then with the 
 light of triumph in his eyes, he shouted, ''Where's 
 your Geordie Stephenson now? Eh?" 
 
 Christian listened with every appearance of 
 rapt attention, and from time to time put ques-
 
 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 41 
 
 tions which were at least respectably relevant. A 
 quicker eye than Kerruish Kinvig's might per- 
 haps have seen that the young man's attention 
 was on the whole more occupied with the net- 
 makers than with their looms, and that his quick 
 gaze glanced from face to face with an inquir- 
 ing expression. 
 
 A child of very tender years was working a 
 little thread reel at the end of the room, and, on 
 some pretence, Christian left Kinvig's side, step- 
 ped up to the child, and spoke to her about the 
 click-clack of the levers and cranks. The little 
 woman lifted her head to reply ; but, having a full 
 view of her face. Christian turned away without 
 waiting for her answer. 
 
 After a quarter of an hour, all Christian's show 
 of interest could not quite conceal a look of 
 weariness. One would have said that he had 
 somehow been disappointed in this factory and 
 its contents. Something that he had expected 
 to see he had not seen. Just then Kinvig an- 
 nounced that the choicest of his looms was in 
 another room. This one would not only make 
 a special knot, but would cut and finish. 
 
 'Tt is a delicate instrument, and wants great 
 care in the working," said Kinvig. In that re- 
 gard the net-maker considered himself fortu- 
 nate, for he had just hit on a wonderfully smart
 
 43 SHE'S ALL TEE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 young woman who could work it as well, Kinvig 
 verily believed, as he could work it himself. 
 
 'Who is she?" said Christian. 
 
 *'A stranger in these parts — came from the 
 south somewhere — Castletown way," said Kin- 
 vig; and he added with a grin, "Haven't you 
 heard of her?" 
 
 Christian gave no direct reply, but displayed 
 the profoundest curiosity as to this latest devel- 
 opment in net-making ingenuity. He was forth- 
 with carried off to inspect Kinvig's first treasure 
 in looms. 
 
 The two men stepped into a little room apart, 
 and there, working at the only loom that the 
 room contained, was little Ruby's sister, Mona 
 Cregeen. The young woman was putting her 
 foot on one of the lower treadles when they en- 
 tered. She made a slight but perceptible start, 
 and the lever went up with a bang. 
 
 'Tut, my girl, how's this?" said Kinvig. "See 
 — you've let that line of meshes off the hooks.^' 
 
 The girl stopped, replaced the threads one 
 after one with nervous fingers, and then pro- 
 ceeded with her work in silence. 
 
 Kinvig was beginning an elaborate engineer- 
 ing disquisition for Christian's benefit — Chris- 
 tian's head certainly did hang rather too low for 
 Kinvig's satisfaction — when a girl comes in
 
 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 43 
 
 from the outer factory to say that a man at the 
 gate would Hke to see the master. 
 
 ''Botheration !'' shouted Kinvig; ''but wait 
 here, Christian, and I'll be back.'' Then, turn- 
 ing to the young weaver — "Show this gentle- 
 tnan the action of the loom, my girl.'' 
 
 When the door had closed behind ]\Ir. Kinvig, 
 Christian raised his eyes to the young woman's 
 face. There was silence between them for a 
 moment. The window of the room was open, 
 and the salt breath of the ocean floated in. The 
 sea's deep murmur was all that could be heard 
 between the clicks of the levers. Then Chris- 
 tian said, softly, 
 
 "Alona, have you decided? Will you go 
 back?" 
 
 The girl lifted her eyes to his. "Xo," she 
 answered, quietly. 
 
 "Think again, ]\Iona; think of me. It isn't 
 that I couldn't wish to have you here — always 
 here — always with me — " 
 
 The girl gave a little hard laugh. 
 
 "But think of the risk!" continued Christian, 
 more eagerly. Is it nothing that I am tortured 
 with suspense already, but that you should fol- 
 low me?'' 
 
 "And do I suffer nothing?" said she. 
 
 There was no laughter on Christian's lips now.
 
 44 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 The transformation to earnest pallor was start- 
 ling. 
 
 'Think of my father,'^ he said, evading the 
 girl's question. "I have all but impoverished 
 him already with my cursed follies, and litt'e 
 does he dream, poor old dad, of the utter ruin 
 that yet hangs over his head." 
 
 There was a pause. Then, in a tenderer tone, 
 
 "Mona, don't add to my eternal worries. Go 
 back to Derby Haven, like the dear girl that you 
 are. And when this storm blows over — and it 
 will soon be past — then all shall be made right. 
 Yes, i+ shall, believe me." 
 
 There was no answer. Christian continued, 
 
 "Go at once, my girl. Here" (diving into his 
 pockets), "I've precious little money left, God 
 help me, but here's enough to pay your way, and 
 something to spare." 
 
 He offered a purse in his palm. The girl 
 tossed up his hand with a disdainful gesture. 
 
 "It's not money I want from you," she said. 
 
 Christian looked at her for a moment with 
 blank amazement. She caught the expression, 
 and answered it with a haughty curl of the lip. 
 The sneer died ofif her face on the instant, and 
 the tears began to gather in her eyes. 
 
 "It's not love a girl wants, then?" she said, 
 struggling to curl her lip again. "It's not love, 
 then, that a girl like me can want," she said.
 
 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 45 
 
 She had stopped the loom and covered up 
 her face in her hands. 
 
 "No, no," she added, with a stifled sob, 'love is 
 for ladies — fine ladies in silks and satins — pure 
 • — virtuous. . . . Christian," she exclaimed, 
 dropping her hands and looking into his face 
 with indignant eyes, "I suppose there's a sort of 
 woman that wants nothing of a man but money, 
 is there?" 
 
 Christian's lips were livid. 'That's not what I 
 meant, Mona, believe me," he said. 
 
 The loom was still. The sweet serenity of the 
 air left hardly a sense of motion. 
 
 "You talk of you father,too," the girl con- 
 tinued, lifting her voice. "What of my mother? 
 You don't think of her. No, but I do, and it 
 goes nigh to making my heart bleed." 
 
 "Hush, ]\Iona," whispered Christian; bnt, 
 heedless of the warning, she continued. 
 
 "To be torn away from the place where she 
 was born and bred, where kith and kin still live, 
 where kith and kin lie dead — that was hard. But 
 it would have been harder, far harder, to remain, 
 with shame cast at her from every face, as it has 
 been every day for these five years." 
 
 She paused. A soft boom came up to them 
 from the sea, where the unrufBed waters rested 
 under the morning sun. 
 
 "Yes, we have both suftered," said Christian.
 
 46 SHE'S ALL TEE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 "What I have suffered God knows. Yes, yes; 
 the man who Hves two Hves knows what it is to 
 suffer. Talk of crime! no need of that, as the 
 good, goody, charitable world counts crime. Let 
 it be only a hidden thing, that's enough. Only a 
 secret, and yet how it kills the sunshine off the 
 green fields!" Christian laughed — a hollow, 
 hard, cynical laugh. 
 
 'To find the thing creep up behind every 
 thought, lie in ambush behind ever}- smile, break 
 out in mockery behind every innocent laugh. 
 To have the dark thing with you in the dark 
 night No sleep so sweet but that it is haunted 
 by this nightmare. No dream so fair but that an 
 ugly memor}^ steals up at first awakening — that, 
 yes, that is to suffer!" 
 
 Just then a flight of sea-gulls disporting on 
 a rock in the bay sent up a wild, jabbering noise. 
 
 *To know that you are not the man men take 
 you for; that dear souls that cling to you would 
 shudder at your touch if the scales could fall 
 from their eyes, or if for an instant — as by a flash 
 of lightning — the mask fell from your face!" 
 
 Christian's voice deepened, and he added, 
 
 **Yet to know that bad as one act of your life 
 may have been, that life has not been all bad; 
 that if men could but see you as Heaven sees 
 you. perhaps — perhaps — you would have acquit*
 
 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 47 
 
 His voice trembled and he stopped. ]\Iona 
 ■\vas gazing out over the sea with blurred eyes 
 that saw nothing. 
 
 Christian had been resting one foot on the 
 loom. Lifting himself he stamped on the floor, 
 threw back his head with a sudden movement, 
 and laughed again, slightly. 
 
 "Something too much of this,'* he said. Then 
 sobering once more, "Go back, Mona. It 
 sha'n't be for long. I swear to you it sha'n't. 
 But what must I do with debts hanging over 
 me—" 
 
 "I'll tell you what you must not do," said the 
 girl with energy. 
 
 Christian's eyes but not his lips asked "What?" 
 
 "You must not link yourself with that Bill Kis- 
 seck and his Curragh gang." 
 
 A puzzled look crossed Christian's face. 
 
 "Oh, I know their doings, don't you doubt it," 
 said the girl. 
 
 "What do you know of Bill Kisseck?" said 
 Christian with some perceptible severit}'. "Tell 
 me, Mona, what harm do you know of Bill and 
 his — his gang, as you call them?'- 
 
 " I know this — I know they'll be in Castle 
 Rushen one of these fine days.'' 
 
 Christian looked relieved. With a cold smile 
 he said, "I dare say you're right, ^lona. They
 
 48 SEE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 are a rough lot, the Curragh fellows; but no 
 harm in them that I know of." 
 
 ''Harm!" Mona had started the loom afresh, 
 but she stopped once more. "Harm!" she ex- 
 claimed again. Then in a quieter way, "Keep 
 away from them. Christian. You've seen too 
 much of them of late." 
 
 Christian started. 
 
 "Oh, I know it. But you can't touch pitch— 
 you mind the old saying." 
 
 Mona had again started the loom, and was 
 rattling at the levers with more than ordinaiy 
 energy. Christian watched her for a minute 
 with conflicting feelings. He felt that his man- 
 hood was being put to a severe strain. There- 
 fore, assuming as much masculine superiority of 
 manner as he could command, he said, 
 
 "We'll not talk about things that you don't 
 quite understand, Mona. What Kisseck may 
 do is no affairs of ours, unless I choose to join 
 him in any enterprise, and then I'm the best 
 judge, you know." 
 
 The girl stopped. Resting her elbow on the 
 upper lever, and gazing absently out at the win- 
 dow where the light weaves in the bay were glis- 
 tening through a drowsy haze, she said, quietly, 
 
 "The man that I could choose out of all the 
 world is not one who lives on his father and 
 waits for the storm to blow over. No, nor one
 
 SHE'S ALL TEE WORLD TO ME. 49 
 
 that cluthches at every straw, no matter what. 
 He's the man who'd put his hand to the boats, 
 or the plough, or the reins; and if he hadn't 
 enough to buy me a ribbon, Td say to myseh", 
 proudly. That man loves me !' '' 
 
 Christian winced. Then assuming afresh his 
 loftier manner, "As I say, ]\Iona, we won't talk 
 of things you don't understand." 
 
 'T'll not go back !" said the girl, as if by a leap 
 of thought. The loom was started afresh with 
 vigor. 
 
 "Then let me beg of you to be secret," whis- 
 pered Christian, coming close to her ear. 
 
 The girl laughed bitterly. 
 
 "Never fear," she said, "it's not for the woman 
 to blab. No, the world is all for the man, and 
 the law too. ]\Ien make the laws and women 
 suffer under them — that's the way of it." 
 
 The girl laughed again, and continued in 
 mocking tones, " Toor fellow, he's been sorely 
 tempted,' says the world; 'Tut on her, never 
 name her,' says the law." 
 
 And once more the girl forced a hollow, bitter 
 laugh. 
 
 Just then a child's silvery voice was heard in 
 the street beneath. The blithe call was — 
 
 "Sweet violets aod primroses the sweetest." 
 
 The little feet tripped under the window. The
 
 50 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 loom stopped, and they listened. Then Chris- 
 tian looked into the young woman's face, and 
 blinding tears rose on the instant into the eyes 
 of both. 
 
 "Mona!" he cried, in low passionate tones, and 
 opened his arms. There was an unspeakable 
 language in her face. She turned her head 
 towards him longingly, yearningly, with heaving 
 breast. He took one step towards her. She 
 drew back. *'No — not yet!" His arms fell, and 
 he turned away. 
 
 Then the voice of Kerruish Kinvig could be 
 heard in the outer factory. 
 
 'T've been middling long," he said, hurrying 
 in, ''but a man, a bailiff from England, came 
 bothering about some young waistrel that I 
 never heard of in my born days — had run away 
 from his debts, and so on — had been traced to 
 the Isle of Man, and on here to Peel. And 
 think of that tomfool of a Tommy-Bill-beg send- 
 ing the man to me. I bowled him off to your 
 father." 
 
 "My father!" exclaimed Christian, who had 
 listened to Kinvig's rambling account with an 
 uneasy manner. 
 
 "Yes, surely, and the likeliest man too. What's 
 a magistrate for at all if private people are to be 
 moidered like yonder? But come, I'll show you 
 the sweet action of this loom in unwinding.
 
 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 51 
 
 Look now — see — keep your eye on those hooks.'^ 
 
 And Kerruish Kinvig rattled on with his ex- 
 planation to a deaf ear. 
 
 "Air. Kinvig,'' interrupted Christian, *'I hap- 
 pen to know that father is not risen yet this 
 morning. That bailiff — " 
 
 "More shame for him; let him be roused 
 anyhow. See here, though, press your hand on 
 that level — so. Now when Mona puts down that 
 other level — do you see? No! Why don't you 
 look closer?" 
 
 "Air. Kinvig, do you know I half fancy that 
 young fellow the man was asking for must have 
 been an old college chum of mine. If you 
 wouldn't mind sending one of your girls after 
 him to Balladhoo to ask him to meet me in half 
 an hour at the harbor-master's cottage on the 
 quay — " 
 
 "Here! Let it be here;'' calling "Jane!'' 
 
 "No, let it be on the quay," said Christian; "I 
 have to go there presently, and it will save time, 
 you know." 
 
 "Bless me, man! have you come to your sav- 
 ing days at last?" 
 
 Kinvig turned aside, instructed Jane, and re- 
 sumed the thread of his technical explanations. 
 
 "Let me show you this knot again; that bum- 
 bailiflf creature was bothering you before. Look 
 now — stand here — so."
 
 52 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 "Yes," said Christian, with the resignation 
 of a martyr. 
 
 Then Kinvig explained everything afresh, but 
 with an enthusiasm that was sadly damped by 
 Christian's manifest inability to command the 
 complexities of the invention. 
 
 '1 thought once that you were going to be a 
 bit of an engineer yourself, Christian. Bless 
 me, the amazing learned you were at the wheels, 
 and the cranks, and the axles when you were a 
 lad in jackets; but" — with a suspicious smile— 
 *'it's likely you Ye doing something in the the- 
 ology line now, and that's a sort of feeding and 
 sucking and suction that won't go with the en- 
 gineering anyhow." Christian smiled faintly, 
 and Kinvig, as if by an after-thought, shouted, 
 
 "Heigh-ho! Let's take the road for it. We've 
 kept this young woman too long from her work 
 already." (Going out.) ''You didn't give her 
 much of a spell at the vvork while I was away." 
 (Outside.) "Oh, I saw the httle bit of your 
 sweethearting as I came back. But it's wrong. 
 Christian. It's a shame, man, and a middling 
 big one, too." 
 
 "What's a shame?" asked Christian, gasping 
 out the inquiry. 
 
 "Why, to moider a girl with the sweethearting 
 \vhen she's got her living to make. How would 
 you like it, eh? Middling well? Oh. would
 
 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 53 
 
 you? All piecework, you know; so much a piece 
 of net, a hundred yards long- and two hundred 
 meshes deep; work from eight to eight; fourteen 
 shillings a week, and a widowed mother to keep, 
 and a little sister as well. How would you like 
 it, eh?" 
 
 Christian shrugged his shoulders and hung 
 his head. 
 
 **Tut, man alive, you fine fellows browsing on 
 your lands, you scarce know you're born. Come 
 down and mix among poor folks like this girl, 
 and her mother, and the little lammie, and you'll 
 begin to know you're alive.'' 
 
 *'I dare say," muttered Christian, making long- 
 ish strides to the outer gate. A broad grin cross- 
 ed the face of Kerruish Kinvig as he added, 
 
 "But I tell you what, when you get your white 
 choker under your gills, and you do come down 
 among the like of these people with your tracts, 
 and your hymns, and all those rigs, and your 
 face uncommon solemn, and your voice like a 
 gannet — none of your sweethearting, my man. 
 Look at that girl IMona, now. It isn't reason- 
 able to think you're not putting notions into the 
 girl's head. It's a shame, man." 
 
 "You're right, Mr. Kinvig," said Christian, 
 under his breath, "a cursed shame." And he 
 stretched out his hand impatiently to bid good- 
 bye.
 
 54 SEE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 "No. I'll go with you to Tommy-Bill-beg's. 
 Oh, don't mind me. I've nothing particular on 
 hand, or I wouldn't waste my time on ye. Yes, 
 as I say, it's wrong. Besides, Christian, what 
 you want to do now is to marry a girl with a 
 property. That's the only thing that will put 
 yonder Balladhoo right again, and — in your ear, 
 man — that's about what your father's looking 
 for." 
 
 Christian winced, and then tried to laugh. 
 
 ''Oh, that's it, is it?" he said, absently. 
 
 *'But leave the girls alone. They're amazin^ 
 like the ghos'es are the girls ; once you start them 
 you never know where they'll stop, and they get 
 into every skeleton closet about the house^but 
 of course, of course I'm an old bachelor, and as 
 the saying is, I don't know nothin'." 
 
 ''Ha! ha! ha! of course not," laughed Chris- 
 tian with tragic efifort. 
 
 ' They had stopped outside the ivy cottage of 
 the harbor-master, and that worthy, who was 
 stading there, had over-heard the last loud words 
 of Kinvigs conversation. 
 
 "What do you say, Tommy-Bill-beg?" asked 
 Kinvig, giving him a prod in the ribs. 
 
 'T say that the gels in these days ought to get 
 wedded while they're babbies in arms — " 
 
 "That'll do, that'll do," shouted Kinvig with 
 a roar of laughter.
 
 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 55 
 
 At the same moment one of the factory girls 
 appeared side by side with a stranger. 
 
 "Good-bye, Mr. Kinvig/' said Christian. 
 
 ''Good-day," Kinvig answered; and then 
 shouting to the stranger, ''this gentleman knows 
 something of the young vagabond you want." 
 
 "So I see," answered the stranger with a cold 
 smile, and Christian and the stranger stepped 
 apart. 
 
 When they parted, the stranger said, "Well 
 one month let it be, and not a day longer.'' Chris- 
 tian nodded his head in assent, and turned to- 
 wards Balladhoo. After dinner he said, 
 
 "Father, Td like to go out to the herrings this 
 season. It would be a change." 
 
 "Humph!" grunted his father; "which boat?''' 
 
 "Well, I thought of the Ben-my-Chree; she's 
 roomy, and besides, she's the admiral's boat, and 
 perhaps Kisseck wouldn't much like to hear that 
 I'd sailed with aijother master." 
 
 ""You'll soon tire of that amusement," mum- 
 bled Mylrea Balladhoo.
 
 56 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE LAST OF "THE HEEKINGS." 
 
 Some months later, as the season was chilHng 
 down to winter, the Ben-my-Chree, with the fleet 
 behind her, was setting out from Peel for her 
 last night at ''the herrings." On the deck, among 
 others, was Christian Mylrea, in blue serge and 
 guernsey, heavy sea-boots and sou'wester. It 
 was past sundown; a smart breeze was blowing 
 off the land as they rounded the Contrary Head 
 and crossed the two streams that flow there. 
 It was not yet too dark, however, tO' see the coast- 
 line curved into covelets and promontories, and 
 to look for miles over the hills where stretched 
 the moles and hillocks of gorse and fussacks of 
 long grass. 
 
 The twilight deepened as they rounded Niar- 
 byl Point and left the Calf Islet on their lee, with 
 Cronte-nay-Ivey-Lhaa towering into the gloomy 
 sky. When they sailed through Fleshwick Bay 
 the night gradually darkened, and they saw 
 nothing of Ennyn Mooar. But the heavens 
 lightened again and glittered with stars, and
 
 SHE'S ALL TUB WORLD TO ME. 57 
 
 when they brought the lugger head to the wind 
 in six fathoms of water outside Port Erin, the 
 moon had risen behind Brada, and the steep and 
 rugged headland showed clear against the sky. 
 
 "Have you found the herring on this ground 
 at the same time in former seasons?'' asked Chris- 
 tian of Kisseck. 
 
 "Not for seven years." 
 
 'Then why try now?" 
 
 "See the gull there. She's skipper to-night. 
 She's showing us the fish." 
 
 And one after another the fleet brought to 
 about them. 
 
 Danny Fayle had been leaning over the bow, 
 and occasionally rapping with a stick at the tim- 
 bers near the water. 
 
 *'Any signs?''' shouted Kisseck. 
 
 **Ay," said Danny, "the mar-fire's risin'." 
 
 The wind had dropped, and luminous patches 
 of phosphorescent light in the water were shovv^- 
 ing Danny that the hemng was stirring. 
 
 ''Let's mak a shot; up with the gear," said 
 Kisseck ; and preparations were made for shoot- 
 ing the nets over the quarter. 
 
 "Davy Cain (the mate), you see by the lint. 
 Tommy Tear, look after the corks. Danny — 
 uhere's that lad? — look to the seizings; d'ye 
 hear?" 
 
 Then the nets were hauled from below and
 
 58 SUE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 passed over a bank board placed between the 
 hatchway and the top of the bulwark. Davy and 
 Tommy shot the gear, and as the seizings came 
 up, Danny ran aft with them and made them 
 fast to the warp near the taffrail. 
 
 When the nets were all paid out, every net in 
 t! e drift being tied to the next, and a solid wall 
 of meshes nine feet deep had been swept away 
 for half a mile behind them, Kisseck shouted, 
 "Down with the sheets." 
 
 The sails were taken in, the mainmast — made 
 to lower backward — was dropped, and only the 
 drift-mizzen was left to keep the boat's head to 
 the wind. 
 
 "Up with the light there," shouted Kisseck. 
 
 On hearing this Danny popped his head out of 
 the hatchways. 
 
 ''Ah! to be sure, that lad's never ready. Gerr 
 out of that, quick." 
 
 Danny took a lantern and fixed it on the top 
 3f the mitchboard. 
 
 Then vessel and nets drifted together. Chris- 
 tian and the skipper went below. 
 
 It was now a calm, clear night, with just light 
 enough to show two or three of the buoys on the 
 back of the first net as they floated under water. 
 The skipper had not mistaken his ground. 
 Large white patches came moving out of the sur- 
 rounding pavement of deep black, lightened only
 
 SHE'S ALL THE WOULD TO ME. 59 
 
 with the occasional image of a star where the 
 vanishing ripples left the sea smooth. Once or 
 twice countless faint popping sounds were heard, 
 and minute points of silver were seen in the water 
 around. The herrings were at play about them. 
 Shoals on shoals were breaking the sea into glis- 
 tening foam . 
 
 After an hour had passed, Kisseck popped his 
 head out of the hatchways, and cried, "Try the 
 look-on.-' 
 
 The warp was hauled in until the first net was 
 reached. It came up as black as coal, save for 
 a dog-fish or two that had broken a mesh here 
 and there. 
 
 ''Too much moon to-night," said Kisseck; 
 ''they see the nets, and the xute they are extra- 
 ordinary. 
 
 Half an hour later the moon went out behind 
 a thick ridge of cloud that floated over the land. 
 The sky became gray and leaden, and a rising 
 breeze ruffled the sea. Some of the men on deck 
 began to sing. 
 
 "Hould on their," shouted Kisseck, ''d'ye 
 want to frighten all the herrin' for ten miles?" 
 
 Hour after hour wore on, and not a fish came 
 to the "lookon" net. Towards one o'clock in 
 the morning the moon broke out again in full 
 splendor. • 
 
 'There'll be a heavv strike now," said Kis~
 
 60 SHE'i^ ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 seek; and in another instant a luminous patch 
 floated across the Hne of nets, sank, disappeared, 
 and pulled three of the buoys down with them. 
 
 'Tull up now," shouted Kisseck. 
 
 Then the nets were hauled. It was Danny 
 Fayle's duty to lead the warp through a snatch- 
 block fixed to the mast-hole on to the capstan. 
 Davy Cain disconnected the nets from the warps, 
 and Tommy Tear and Mark Crennel pulled the 
 nets over the gunwale. They came up, white in 
 the moonlight, as a solid block of fish. Bill Kis- 
 seck and Christian passed the nets over the scud- 
 ding pole, and shook the herrings into the hole. 
 
 "Five barrels at least," said Kisseck. 'Try 
 again." And once more the nets were shot. 
 The other boats of the fleet were signalled that 
 the Ben-my-Chree had discovered a scale of fish. 
 The blue light was answered by other blue lights 
 on every side. The fishing was faring well. 
 
 One, two, three o'clock. The night was wear- 
 ing on. The moon went out once more, and in 
 the darkness that preceded the dawn the lanterns 
 burning on the drifting boats gave out an eerie 
 glow. At last the gray light came in the east, 
 and the sun rose over the land. The breeze vvas 
 now fresh, and it was time to haul in the nets 
 for the last time. 
 
 In accordance with ancient custom, the admi- 
 ral's flag went up to the mast^hciad, and at this
 
 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. oi 
 
 sign every man in the fleet droppec! on one knee, 
 with his face in his cap, to offer his silent thanks- 
 giving for the blessings of the season. 
 
 "Tumble up the sheets — bear a hand there — 
 d the lad — geer out of the way." 
 
 In five minutes the lugger was running home 
 before a stiff breeze. 
 
 "Nine barrels — not bad for the last night," said 
 Christian. 
 
 ''Souse them well," said Kisseck, and Davy 
 Corteen sprinkled salt on the herrings as they lay 
 in the hold. 
 
 Mark Crennel, who acted as slushy, otherwise 
 cook, came up from below with a huge sauce- 
 pan, which he filled with the fish. As he did so, 
 the ear was conscious of a faint "cheep, cheep" — 
 the herrings were still alive. 
 
 All hands then went below for a smoke, except 
 the man at the tiller, and Kisseck and Christian, 
 who stood talking at the bow. It is true that 
 Danny Fayle lay on the deck, but the lad was 
 hardly an entity. His uncle and Christian heeded 
 him not at all, yet Danny heard their conversa- 
 tion, and, without thought of mischief, remem- 
 bered what he heard. 
 
 Christian was talking earnestly of some im- 
 pending disaster, of debts, and the near approach 
 of the time when his father must be told. 
 
 "I've put that man off time after time," he
 
 62 SEE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 said; ''he'll not wait much longer, and then — • 
 God help us all!'' 
 
 Kisseck laughed. "You're allis in Paddy's 
 hurricane — right up and down," he said, ieer- 
 ingly. "Yer raely wuss till ever." 
 
 "I tell you, the storm is coming," said Chris- 
 tian, with some vexation. 
 
 'Then keep your weather eye hftin', that's all," 
 said Kisseck, loftily. 
 
 Christian turned aside with an impatient ges- 
 ture. After a pause he said, "You wouldn't talk 
 to me Hke that, Kisseck, if I hadn't been a weak 
 fool with you. It's a true saying that when you 
 tell your serv^ant your secret you make him your 
 master." 
 
 Then Kisseck altered his manner and became 
 suave. 
 
 "What's to be done?" said Christian, irritated 
 at some humiliating compliments. 
 
 "I've somethin' terrible fine up here," said Kis- 
 seck, tapping his forehead mysteriously. Chris- 
 tian smiled rather doubtfully. 
 
 "It'll get you out of this shoal water, anyhow," 
 said the skipper. 
 
 "What is it?" asked Christian. 
 
 "The tack we've been on lately isn't worth 
 workin'. It isn't what it was in the good ould 
 days, when the Frenchn^en and the Dutchmen 
 came along v.i.h the Injm and Cl.inee goods,
 
 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 63 
 
 and we just run along-side in wherries and whip- 
 ped them up. Too many hands at the trade 
 now." 
 
 *'So, smuggling, like everything else, has gone 
 to the dogs," said Christian, with another grim 
 smile. 
 
 ''But I've a big consarn on now," whispered 
 Kisseck. 
 
 "What?" 
 
 '*Uch, a shockin' powerful skame! Listen!" 
 
 And Kisseck whispered again in Christian's 
 ear, but the words escaped Danny. 
 
 "No, no, that'll not do,'' said Christian, em- 
 phatically. 
 
 "Aw, and why not at all?" 
 
 "Why not? Why not? Because it's murder, 
 nothing else." 
 
 "Now, what's the use of sayin' the lek o' that. 
 Aw, the shockin' notions. Well, well, and do 
 ye raely think a person's got no feelin's? ^lur- 
 der? Aw, well now, well now! I didn't think 
 it of you. Christian, that I didn't." 
 
 And Kisseck took a step or two up and down 
 the deck with the air of an injured man. 
 
 Just then Crennel, the cook, came up to say 
 breakfast was ready. All hands, save the man at 
 the tiller, went below\ A huge dish of herrings 
 and a similar dish of potatoes stood on the table. 
 Each man dipped in with his hands, lifted his
 
 64 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 herrings on to his plate, ran his fingers from 
 tail to head, swept all the flesh off the fresh fish, 
 and threw away the bare backbone. Such was 
 the breakfast; and while it was being eaten there 
 was much chaff among the men at Danny 
 Fayle's expense. It was — 
 
 "Aw, you wouldn't think it's true, would ye 
 now?" 
 
 '*And what's that?" with a "glime" at Danny. 
 
 "Why, that the lek o' yander is tackin' round 
 the gels." 
 
 "Do ye raely mane it?" 
 
 "Yes, though, and snifhn' and snufhn' abaft of 
 them astonishin'." 
 
 "Aw, well, well, well." 
 
 Not a sign from Danny. 
 
 "Yes, yes, the craythur's doin' somethin' in the 
 spoony line," said Kisseck. "Him as hasn't get 
 the hayseed out of his hair yet." 
 
 "And who's the lady, Danny?" asked Chris- 
 tian, with a smile. 
 
 Danny was silent. 
 
 "Why, who else but that gel of Kinvig's, 
 Mona Cregeen," said Kisseck. 
 
 Christian dropped his herring. 
 
 "Aw, well," said Tommy Tear, "d'ye mane 
 that gal on the brew with the widda and the wee 
 craythur?"
 
 SEE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 65 
 
 ''Yes, the little skite and the ould sukee, the 
 mawther/' said Kisseck. 
 
 Davy Cain pretended to come to Danny's re- 
 lief. 
 
 "And a raal good gel, anyhow, Danny,''' he 
 said in a patronizing way. 
 
 ''Amazin' thick they are. Oh, ay, Danny got 
 to the lee of her — takes a cup of tay up there, 
 and the like of that." 
 
 "Aw, well, it isn't raisonable but the lad should 
 be coortin' some gel now," said Davy. 
 
 "What's that?" shouted Kisseck, dropping the 
 banter rather suddenly. "What, and not a far- 
 thin' at him? And owin' me a fortune for the 
 bringin' up?" 
 
 "No matter. Bill, and don't ride a man down 
 like a maintack. One of these fine mornings 
 Danny will be payin' his debt to you with the 
 fore-topsail." 
 
 "And look at him there," said Tommy Tear, 
 reaching round Davy Cain to prod Danny in the 
 ribs — "look at him pretendin' he never knows 
 nothin'." 
 
 But the big tears were near to toppling out of 
 Danny's eyes. He got up, and leaving his un- 
 finished breakfast, began to climb the hatchways. 
 
 "Aw, now, look at that," cried Tommy Tear, 
 with affected solemnity. 
 
 Davy Cain followed Danny, put an arm round
 
 i6 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 Ms waist, and tried to draw him back. ''Don't 
 mind the loblolly-boys, Danny veg," said Davy, 
 coaxingly. Danny pushed him away with an 
 angry word. 
 
 •'What's that he said?" asked Kisseck. 
 
 "Nothin'; he only cussed a bit," said Davy. 
 
 Christian got up too. 'I'll tell you what it 
 is, mates," he said, "there's not a man among 
 ;you. You're a lot of skulking cowards." 
 
 And Christian jumped on deck. 
 
 ''What's agate of the young masther at all, at 
 all?" 
 
 Then followed some talk of the herring Meail- 
 ley (harvest home), which was to be celebrated 
 that night at the Jolly Herrings. 
 
 When the boats ran into Peel harbor, of 
 course Tommy-Bill-beg was on the quay, shout- 
 ing at this man and that. As each boat got into 
 its moorings the men set off to their owner's 
 house for a final squaring up of the season's ac- 
 counts. Kerruish and his men, with Christian, 
 walked up to Balladhoo. Danny was sent home 
 by his uncle. The men laughed, but the lad was 
 accustomed to be ignored in these reckonings. 
 His share never yet reached him. The wives of 
 the fishermen had come down on this occasion, 
 and they went off with their husbands — Bridget, 
 Kisseck's wife, being among them. 
 
 When they got to Balladhoo the calculation
 
 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 67 
 
 was made. The boat had earned in all three 
 hundred pounds. Of this the master took four 
 shares for himself and his nets, the owner eight 
 'shares, every man two shares, a share for the 
 boy, and a share for the boat. The men grum- 
 bled when Christian took up his two shares like 
 another man. He asked if he had not done a 
 man's work. They answered that he kept a reg- 
 ular fisherman off the boat. Kisseck grumbled 
 also; said he brought home three hundred 
 pounds and got less than thirty pounds of it 
 "The provisioning has cost too much," said Myl- 
 rea Balladhoo. "Your tea is at four shillings a 
 pound, besides fresh meat and fine-flour biscuits. 
 What can you expect?" Christian offered to 
 give half his share to the man whose berth he 
 took, and the other half to Danny Fayle. This 
 quieted Kisseck, but the others laughed and 
 muttered among themselves, "Two more shares 
 for Kisseck.'' 
 
 Then the men, closely encircled by their wives, 
 moved off. 
 
 "Remember the ]\Ieailley!'' 
 
 "To-night. Aw, sure, sure !''
 
 68 mE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME, 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 "SEEMS TO ME IT'S ALL NATHTTR." 
 
 When Danny left the boat he threw his oil- 
 skins over his arm and trudged along the quay. 
 Bill Kisseck's cottage stood alone under the 
 Horse Hill, and to get to it Danny had to walk 
 round by the bridge that crossed the river. On 
 the way thither he met Ruby Cregeen, red with 
 running. She had sighted the boats from the 
 cottage on the hill, and was hurrying down to 
 see them come into harbor. The httle woman 
 was looking this m®rning like something be- 
 tween a glint of sunshine and a flash of quick- 
 silver. On the way down she had pulled three 
 stalks of the foxglove bell, and stuck them jaunt- 
 ily in her hat, their long swan-like necks droop- 
 ing over her sunny face. She had come too late 
 for her purpose, but Danny took her hand and 
 said he would see her back before going off 
 home to bed. The little one prattled every inch 
 of the way. 
 
 "Did you catch many herrings, Danny ?'^ 
 
 "Nine barrels." 
 
 "Isn't it cruel to catch herrings?" 
 
 ''Why cruel, Ruby veg?"
 
 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 69 
 
 "I don't know. Don't the herrings want to 
 stay in the water, Danny?'' 
 
 **Lave them alone for that. You should see 
 the shoals of them lying round the nets, watch- 
 ing the others — their mother and sisters, as you 
 might say — who've got their gills 'tangled. And 
 when you haul the net up, away they go at a 
 slant in millions and milhons — just like light- 
 ning firing through the water. Och, 'deed now 
 they've got their feelings same as anybody else. 
 Yes, yes, yes!" 
 
 ''What a shame!'' 
 
 "What's a shame, Ruby? What a solium 
 face, though." 
 
 "Why, to catch them." 
 
 Danny looked puzzled. He was obviously 
 reasoning out a great problem. 
 
 "Well, woman, that's the mortal strange part 
 of it. It does look cruel, sarten sure, but then 
 the herring themselves catch the sand-eels, and 
 the cod catch the herrings, and the porpoises 
 and grampuses catch the cod. Aw, that's the 
 truth, little big-eyes. It's wonderful strange. 
 but I suppose it's all nathur. You see. Ruby 
 veg, we do the same ourselves." 
 
 Ruby looks horrified. "How do you mean, 
 Danny? We don't eat one another." 
 
 "Oh, don't we, though? leave us alone for 
 that."
 
 •JO SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 Ruby is aghast. 
 
 "'"Well, of coorse, not to say ate, not ^xactly 
 ate ; but the biggest chap alHs rigs the rest. And 
 the next biggest chap alhs rigs a Httler one, you 
 know; and" the littlest chap he gets rigged by 
 everj-^body all round, doesn't he?" 
 
 Danny had clearly got a grip of the problem, 
 but his poor simple face looked sadly burdened. 
 
 ''Seems to me it must be all nathur somehow, 
 Ruby," 
 
 "'Do you think it is, Danny?" 
 
 "Well, well — I do, you know," with a grave 
 shake of the head over this summary of the phi- 
 losophy of life. 
 
 ''Then nature is very cruel, and I don't love it." 
 
 ''Cruel? well, pozzible, pozzible; it does make 
 me fit to cry a bit; but it must be nathur some- 
 how. Ruby." 
 
 Danny's eyes were looking very hazy, when 
 the little one, who didn't love nature, caught 
 sight of some corn-poppies and bounded after 
 them. 'The darlings! oh the loves!" And one 
 or two were immediately intertwined with the 
 foxgloves in the hat. 
 
 Just then Mona came down the hill. Danny 
 saw her at a distance, but gave no sign. lie 
 contrived to lead Ruby to the other side of the 
 Foad from that on which Mona was walking, so 
 that when they came abreast there was a dozen
 
 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 71 
 
 yards between them. IMona stopped. ''Good- 
 morning, Danny." 
 
 Danny's eyes were on his heavy sea-boots, and 
 he did not answer. 
 
 "Why, it's only Mona," cried Ruby, tug-ging^ 
 at Danny's oil-skins. 
 
 Mona crossed the road, and Danny ventured 
 to lift his eyes to the level of her neck. Thca 
 she asked about the fishing. Danny answered 
 in monosyllables. She colored slightly, and 
 spoke of Christian being in the boat. "Strange^ 
 wasn't it?" 
 
 ''Seems to me,'' answered Danny, "that there's 
 somethin' afoot between Uncle Bill and the 
 young masther.*' 
 
 Mona's curiosity vv^as aroused by the reph'. 
 and she probed Danny with searching questions. 
 Then he told her of the conversation on the deck 
 that morning. She perceived that mischief was 
 brewing. Yet Danny could give her nothing 
 that served as a clew. If only some one of 
 sharper wit could overhear such a conversation 
 then perhaps the mischief might be prevented. 
 Suddenly Mona conceived a daring idea, which 
 was partly suggested by the sight of an old dis- 
 used barn that stood in a field close at hand. 
 
 "Everybody is talking of some supper to-night 
 to finish the season. Will Christian be there?* 
 
 "I heard him say so," said Danny.
 
 73 SHE'S ALL THE WOh'LD TO ME. 
 
 "And your uncle, Bill Kisseck?'' 
 
 "Aw, 'deed, for sure. He's allis where there's 
 guzzlin'." 
 
 "Could you lend me your oil-skins, Danny?" 
 
 Danny looked puzzled. Mona smiled in his 
 troubled face. "Do, that's a good Danny," she 
 said, taking his big rough hand. Danny drew 
 it away. 
 
 "Yes," he said, looking vacantly over the sea. 
 
 Then they arranged that the oil-skins and cap 
 with a pair of sea-boots were to be left in the 
 barn, and that not a word was to be said to a liv- 
 ing soul about them. 
 
 "Good-bye," said Mona, holding out her hand. 
 
 It was not at first that Danny realized what he 
 ought to do when a lady ofifered her hand. Hav- 
 ing taken it, he did not quite know what it was 
 right to do next. So he held it a moment and 
 lifted his eyes to hers. "Good-bye, Danny," she 
 said, and there was a tremor in her voice. 
 
 She had gone — Danny never knew how. He 
 walked a little farther with Ruby, who pranced 
 and sang. On the way home he stopped and 
 repeated to himself in a whisper, "Mona, Mona, 
 Mona." He looked at his hand. It was coarse 
 and horny. He lifted it to his lips and kissed it. 
 Then he began to run. Suddenly he stopped, 
 and muttered, "But what for did she want the 
 oil-skins?"
 
 S>HE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 73 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE HERRING MEAILLET. 
 
 There was high sport at the Johy Herrings 
 that night. Christian ^lylrea was there, more 
 than hah' ashamed of his surroundings, but too 
 amiably irresohite, as usual, to imperil by ab- 
 sence from this annual gathering his old reputa- 
 tion for good-fellowship. 
 
 "Aw, the gentleman he is, isn't he? And him 
 straight from Oxford College, too." 
 
 "What's that they're sayin'? Oxford College? 
 Och, no; not that at all." 
 
 ''But the fine Ensflish tonsfue at him, anvwav. 
 It's just a pleasure to hear him spake. Smooth 
 as oil, and sweet astonishin'. Bill Kisseck — I 
 say, Bill, there — why didn't you put up the 
 young masther for the chair?'' 
 
 "Aw, lave me alone,'' answered Kisseck, with 
 a contemptuous toss of the head. "Him and 
 me's same as brothers." 
 
 "Bill's proud uncommon of the masther, and 
 middlin' jealous too. Aw, well ! who's wonderin' 
 at it?''
 
 74 Sllf:'^ ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 "It's a bit free them chaps are making," w'lis- 
 pered Kisseck to Christian. Then rising to his 
 feei with gravity, ''Gentlemen," he said, ''what 
 d'ye say to Misther Christian Mylrea Balladhoo 
 for the elber chair yander?'' 
 
 "Hoora! Iloora!" 
 
 Kisseck resumed his seat with a lofty glance 
 of patronage at the men about him, which said, 
 as plainly as words themselves, 'T tould ye to 
 lave it all to me." 
 
 "Proud? d'ye say. Look at him," whispered 
 Davy Cain. 
 
 Tlie Jolly Herrings w^as perhaps the most 
 ludicrous and incongruous house of entertain- 
 ment of which history records any veracious rec- 
 ord. It was a very gurgoil on the fair fabric of 
 the earth, except that it served the opposite uses 
 of attracting rather than banishing the evil spir- 
 its about it. Thirty-five years ago it was to be 
 found near the bottom of the narrow, crabbed 
 little thoroughfare that winds and twists and de- 
 scends to that part of the quay which overlooks 
 the mins of the castle. The gloomy pothouse 
 was entered by a little porch. Two steps down 
 led you into a room that was half parlor and 
 half bar, and where only the fumes of tobacco- 
 smoke were usually visible. Two more steps 
 led you to an inner and much larger room, that 
 was practically kitchen, living room, and room
 
 ^SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO MK. 75 
 
 of special entertainment. This was the apart- 
 ment in which the herring supper was always 
 given. What a paradox the place was ! All that 
 belonged to the room itself was of the rudest and 
 meanest kind. The floor was paved with stones, 
 the walls were sparsely plastered, the ceiling was 
 the bare wood hewn straight from the tree. But 
 over these indications of poverty there was an 
 extraordinary display of curious Vv'ealth. The 
 little window behind Christian in his "elber- 
 chair'- vras glazed vrith a rich piece of stained 
 glass that had the ^ladonna and child for subject. 
 The elbow-chair itself was of old oak deeply 
 canned and bound with clamps of engraved 
 brass. Bill Kisseck, who by virtue of his office 
 sat at the opposite end of the table, occupied a 
 small settee covered with gorgeous crimson vel- 
 vet. On the mantel-piece were huddled in lux- 
 urious confusion sundry brass censers, mediae- 
 val lamps, and an ivory crucifix. On the wall, 
 and beside a piece of marble carved with a me- 
 dallion, hung a skate that had been cut open to 
 dry. A pair of bellows lay on an antique chest in 
 the ingle. Into the mouth of the censers a 
 bundle of pipe-lights had been methodically ar- 
 ranged. A ponderous silver watch hung round 
 the arms of the crucifix, and a frying-pan was 
 suspended in the reveal of the window that was 
 consecrated to the ^^vladonna.
 
 76 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 Such was the kitchen and state-room of the 
 Jolly Herrings; and no apartment ever spoke 
 more plainly to those who had ears to hear of 
 the character and habits of its owners. The 
 house was kept by a woman who was thin, 
 wrinkled, and blear-eyed; and by a man who was 
 equally thin and no less wrinkled, but had quick, 
 suspicious eyes, and a few spiky gray hairs about 
 the chin that resembled the whiskers of a cat. 
 As husband and wife this couple held the little 
 pothouse; but long years after the events nov/ 
 being narrated, it was discovered that husband 
 and wife had both been women. 
 
 What sport! What noisy laughter! What 
 singing and rollicking cheers! The men stood 
 neither on the order of their coming nor their 
 going, their sitting nor their standing. They 
 wore their caps or not as pleased them, they sang 
 or talked as suited them, they laughed or 
 sneezed, they sulked or snarled, were noisy or 
 silent precisely as the whim of the individual pre- 
 scribed the individual rule of manners. The 
 chair at the Jolly Herrings was a position of 
 more distinction than duty, and it was numbered 
 among Christian's virtues that he had never at- 
 tempted to exercise an arbitrary control over the 
 liberties of free-born ]\Ianxmen. Jest or jeer, 
 fun or fight, were alike free of the gathering 
 w^here he presided; but ever}'thing had to be in
 
 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 77 
 
 conscience and reason, for Christian drew the 
 line rigidly at marline-spikes and belaying-pins. 
 
 Tommy-Bill-beg was there, and a fine scorn 
 sat on his face. The reason of this was that, as 
 a mistaken tribute to music, Jemmy Balladhoo 
 had also been invited, and was sitting with his 
 fiddle directly in front of the harbor-master, 
 though that worthy disdained to take notice of 
 the humiliating proximity. Danny Fayle was 
 there. The lad sat quietly and meekly on a form 
 near the door. 
 
 The supper was lifted direct on to the table 
 from the pans and boilers that simmered on the 
 hearth. First came the broth well loaded with 
 barley and cabbage, but not destitute of the fla- 
 vor of two sheep's heads. Then the suet pud- 
 ding, round as a well-fed salmon and as long 
 as a twenty-pound cod. After this came three 
 legs of boiled mutton and a square block of 
 roast beef. Last of all the frying-pan was taken 
 from the niche of the ^Madonna, and two or three 
 dozen of fresh herrings were made to frizzle and 
 crackle and bark and spatter over the fire. 
 
 Away went the dishes, away went the cloth, 
 an oil lamp with its open mouth — a relic, per- 
 haps, of some monkish sanctuary of the ^liddle 
 Ages — was lifted from the mantel-piece and put 
 on the table for the receipt of customs; the cen- 
 ser with the spills was placed beside it, pipes
 
 78 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 emerged from waistcoat-pockets, and pots of 
 liquor with glasses and bottles came in from 
 the outer bar. 
 
 "Is it heavy on the beer you're goin' to be, 
 Bill?" said Davy Cain. 
 
 Kisseck replied with a superior smile and the 
 lifting up of a whiskey bottle from which he had 
 just drawn the cork. 
 
 Then came the toasts. The chairman rose, 
 amid *'Hip, hip, hooraa," to give "Life to man 
 and death of fish." Kisseck gave "Death to the 
 head that never wore hair." Tommy-Bill-beg 
 responded to loud requests for "The Ladies." 
 He reminded the company of the old saying, 
 "No herring, no wedding;" and then, with some 
 pardonable discursiveness, he said he was "terri- 
 ble glad" to have the fleet around Peel, and not 
 away in those outlandish foreign parts, Kinsale 
 and Scotland; for when they were there he felt 
 like the chairman's namesake. Christian, in the 
 "Pilgrim's Progress." "And what is it he is say- 
 ing in the good ould Book?" exclaimed Tommy 
 — " 'My occipation's gone!' " 
 
 Then came more liquor and some singing. 
 Christian sang too. He sang "Black-eyed Sue," 
 amid audible sobs. 
 
 "The voice he has, anyway; and the loud it is, 
 and the tender, and the way he sliddhers up and
 
 SHE'^ ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 75 
 
 down, and no squeaks and jumps; no, no, nothin"* 
 lek squeezin' a tune out of an ould sow by pul- 
 ling the tail at her, and a sorter of a rippin' up 
 yer innards to get the hook out of yer gills.'* 
 "Aw, lovely he sung — lovely, uncommon." 
 ''Well, I tould you so. I allis said it." 
 Kisseck listened to this dialogue at his end of 
 the table with a lofty smile. ''It's noth',*' he said, 
 condescendingly. "That's nothin'. You should 
 hear him out on the boat, w^hen we're lyin' at 
 anchor, and me and him together, and the stars 
 just makm' a peep, and the moon, and the mar- 
 fire, and all to that, and me and him lyin' aft and 
 smookin' and having a glass maybe ; but nothin* 
 to do no harm at all — that's when you should 
 hear him.^^ 
 
 "More liquor there," shouted Tommy-Bill- 
 beg, climbing with difficulty to his feet — "more 
 liquor for the chair. And for some one beside 
 — is that what they're saying? Well, look here! 
 bad sess to it — of coorse, some for me too. It's 
 terrible good for the nar\-es, and they're telling 
 me it's mortal good for studdin' the vice. What's 
 that from the chair? Enemy — eh? Confound 
 it, that's true, though. What's that it's saying — 
 'Who's fool enough to put the enemy into his 
 mouth to stale away his brains?' Aw, now, it's 
 the good ould Book that's fine at summin' it all 
 up."
 
 80 snE\^ ALL THE ttoulb to me. 
 
 Still more liquor, and Jemmy Balladhoo 
 comes forth with his fiddle. Immediate and 
 complete capitulation of Tommy-Bill-beg en- 
 sues. The harbor-master never yet heard a 
 squeak from his rival's fiddle ; but the bare idea 
 that Jemmy Quark Balladhoo should play it 
 was really of itself too ridiculous. 
 
 "Aw, the rispen and the raspen. It's the moo 
 of a cow he's on for making now. No? Then 
 it's the sweet hoot of the donkey. Not that? 
 Och, then it's safe to be the grunt of Jemy's 
 ould pig, anyways." 
 
 The violinist had by this time finished an elab- 
 orate movement, and called on the chairman to 
 tell the company what it was. Christian, w^ho 
 had been hard put-to to preserve his gravity dur- 
 ing the extraordinary musical display, and had 
 not the very vaguest idea of what it w^as sup- 
 posed to stand for, thought to get out of the 
 difiFxCulty by flattering the performer. "Oh, that? 
 — what's that you say? — oh, of course — why 
 that's, of course, the Pastoral Symphony from 
 the 'Messiah' " 
 
 "Not at all," shouted the irate fiddler, "it's 
 'Rule Britannica!'" 
 
 Still more noise and more liquor, and a good 
 deal of both in the vicinity of the chair. Kisseck, 
 who had drunk heavily, struggled his way to the 
 head of the table.
 
 SUE',"^ ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 81 
 
 There were several strangers present, for it 
 was the custom to welcome as many of the Cor- 
 nish, Irish, or Scotch fishermen as happened to 
 be at Peel and cared to join in this dubious 
 thanksgiving, in the form of a noisy orgie. 
 Among the rest was a young fellow in oil-skins 
 and a glengarie, which, being several sizes too 
 big for him, fell low over his forehead and al- 
 most covered his eyes. He sat near to Christian, 
 drank little, and spoke not at all. When Kis- 
 seck made his way to Christian's side he had to 
 pass this stranger. ''Who have we here at all?'' 
 he said, trying to tip up the glengarie. The 
 young fellow's well-timed jerk of the head de- 
 feated Kisseck's tipsy intention. 
 
 ''Aw, Christian, man," said Kisseck in a whis- 
 per that was scarcely pitched with prudent mod- 
 eration even in that tumultuous assembly, "it's 
 a nice nate berth I've found for us at last — nice, 
 extraordinary.'' Christian motioned his head in 
 the direction of the young stranger; but heed- 
 less of the warning Kisseck continued, "Xo need 
 goin' messin' around graves in the ould castle 
 and all to that. And it isn't religious as you 
 were sayin', and I'm one that stands up for 
 religion, and singin' hymns at whiles, and a bit 
 of a spell at the ould Book sometimes. Aw, yes, 
 though I am — (Louder.) Look here! D'ye hear 
 down yander. Give us a swipe of them sperrits.
 
 S2 ^HE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 Right. Let us fill up your glass, Christian. 
 (Coming closer.) Aw, as I was sayin', it's in 
 the Poolvash — Lockjaw they're callin' it now, 
 and as nate as nate for stowin' a box of tay or a 
 roll of silk or lace, or maybe a keg of brandy, 
 and no one never knowin' nothin'." 
 
 The young fellow in oil-skins had dropped his 
 empty pewter at that moment, and it rolled be- 
 hind Christian's chair. As he stooped to re- 
 cover it the chairman wheeled round to give him 
 room, and coming up again, their eyes met for 
 an instant. Christian made a perceptible start. 
 ''Strange, at least," he muttered to himself. 
 
 More liquor and yet more, till the mouth of 
 the monastic lamp ran over with chinking coin. 
 "Silence!" shouted Bill Kisseck, struggling up 
 to speak. "Aisy there! Here's to Christian 
 Mylrea Balladhoo; and when he gets among 
 them Kays I'm calkerlatin' ifll be all up with 
 the lot o' them, and their laws agen honest 
 tradin', and their by-laws agen the countin' of 
 the herrin', and their new copper money, and all 
 the rest of their messin'. What d'ye say, men? 
 And wdiat's that you're grinnin' and winkin' at, 
 Davy Cain? It's middlin' free you're gettin' 
 with the masther anyhow, and if it wasn't for me 
 he wouldn't bemane himself by comin' among 
 the lek of you, singin' and makin' aisy. Chaps, 
 fill up your glasses, every man of you, d'ye hear?
 
 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 83 
 
 Here's to the best gentleman in the island, bar 
 none — hip, hip, hooraa!*' 
 
 Among the few who had not responded with 
 becoming alacrity to Kisseck's request was the 
 young stranger. Observing this as he shuffled 
 back to his seat, Kisseck reached over and struck 
 at the glengarie, which tumbled on the floor, and 
 revealed a comely face and a rich mass of auburn 
 hair. The stranger rose at this indignity and 
 made his way to the door. When he got there 
 Danny Fayle, who was leaning against the door- 
 jamb, looked closely into his face and reeled 
 back with a startled cry. The stranger was gone 
 the next instant. 
 
 "See yander. What's agate of the lad?" cried 
 Kisseck. And every one turned to Danny, whose 
 cheeks were as pale as death. "What's it that's 
 ailin' you at all?'' shouted Kisseck. 
 
 "I — I thought it was — was — a woman," stam- 
 mered Danny, with eyes still fixed on the door. 
 
 Loud peals of laughter followed. But wait — 
 what was now going on at the head of the table? 
 Wlien the stranger rose. Christian had risen too. 
 It was the moment to respond to the toast, but 
 Christian glared wildly about him with a tongue 
 that seemed to cleave to his mouth. His glass 
 fell from his fingers. Every eye was fixed on 
 his face. That face quivered and turned white. 
 Laughter died away on the lip, and the voices
 
 84 SEE'S ALL THE ^yORLD TO ME. 
 
 were hushed. At last Christian spoke. His 
 words came slowly, and fell on the ear like the 
 clank of a chain across snow. 
 
 ''Men/' he said, ''you've been drinking my 
 health. You call me a good fellow. That's 
 wrong. I'm the worst man among you." (Mur- 
 murs of dissent (and some faint smiles Oif incre- 
 dulity.) "Bill says I'm going to the House of 
 Keys one of these days. That's wrong too 
 Shall I tell you where I am going?" (Christian 
 put one hand up to his head; you could see the 
 throbbing of his temples.) "Shall I tell you?" 
 he cried in a hollow voice and with staring eyes; 
 *T'm going to the devil," and amid the breathless 
 silence he dropped back in his seat and buried his 
 head in his hands. 
 
 No one spoke. The fair hair lay on the table 
 among broken pipes and the refuse of spilled 
 beer. Then every man rose to his feet. There 
 could be no more drinking to-night. One after 
 one shambled out. In two minutes the room 
 was empty except for the stricken man, who lay 
 there with hidden face, and Danny Fayle, who 
 with a big glistening tear in his eye, was strok- 
 ing the tangled curls. 
 
 "Strange now, wasn't it? — strange, uncom- 
 mon! He's been heavy on the beer lately they're 
 tellin' me. Well, well, it isn't right, and him
 
 8HE\^ ALL THE WORLD TO ME. ';5 
 
 a gentleman. Not lek as if he was one of us." 
 "And goin* to be a parson, too, so they're 
 
 savin'. It's middlin' wicked anyway, and no 
 
 disrespec'. Oie vie! Good-night'/' 
 
 "Pazon, is it?" says Tommy-Bill-beg. '*Xever 
 
 a pazon will they make of his mother's son. 
 
 What's that they're sayin', 'Never no duck wasn't 
 
 hatched by a draKe.' "
 
 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 "THERE IS SORROW ON THE SEA-" 
 
 Two months passed away, and the mists from 
 the sea were chased by the winds of winter. It 
 was the twenty-third of December. In the two 
 days that followed between that day and Christ- 
 mas morning occurred the whole series of ap- 
 palling events which it now remains to us to 
 narrate. 
 
 Mona Cregeen and Danny Fayle, with Ruby 
 between them, were walking along the shore 
 from Orry's Head towards the south. The little 
 one prattled and sang, shook out her hair in the 
 wind, and flew down the sand; ran back and 
 clasped a hand of each ; dragged Danny aside to 
 look at this sea-weed, or pulled Mona along to 
 look at chat shell; tripped down to the water's 
 edge until the big waves touched her boots, and 
 then back once more with a half-frightened, half- 
 affected laughter-loaded scream. 
 
 Mona was serious and even sad, and Danny 
 wore a dejected look in his simple face which 
 added a melancholy interest to its vacant ex-
 
 SHE'S ALL THE M'URLD TO ME. &7 
 
 pression. Since we saw him first in the house cf 
 Mylrea Balladhoo, Danny had passed through a 
 bitter experience. There was no tangible sor- 
 row, yet who shall measure the depth of his suf- 
 fering? 
 
 When the new element of love first entered 
 into Danny's life, he knew nothing of what it 
 was. A glance out of a woman's eyes had in an 
 instant penetrated his nature. He was helpless 
 and passive. He would stand for an hour neither 
 thinking nor feeling, but with a look of sheer 
 stupidity. If this was love, Danny knew it by 
 no such name. But presently a ray of sunlight 
 floated into the lad's poor, dense intelligence, 
 and everything around was bathed in a new, 
 glad light. The vacant look died away from 
 his face. He smiled and laughed. He ran here 
 and there with a jovial willingness. Even Kis- 
 seck's sneers and curses, his threats and blows, 
 became all at once easier to bear. "Be aisy with 
 me. Uncle Bill", he would say; "be aisy, uncle, 
 and I'll do it smart and quick astonishin'." Peo- 
 ple marked the change. 'Tt's none so daft the 
 lad is at all, at all," they said sometimes. This 
 was the second stage of Danny's passion — and 
 presently came the third. Then arose a vague 
 yearning not only to love but to be loved. The 
 satisfied heart had not asked so much before, 
 but now it needed this further sustenance. Curi-
 
 88 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 ous and pathetic were the snnple appeals made 
 by Danny for the affection of the woman he 
 loved. Sometimes he took up a huge fish to the 
 cottage of the Cregeens, threw it on the floor, 
 and vanished. Sometimes he talked to Mona of 
 what great thiaigs he had done in his time — 
 what fish he had caught, how fast he had rowed, 
 and what weather he had faced. There was not 
 a lad in Peel more modest than Danny, but his 
 simple soul was struggling in this way with a 
 desire to make itself seem worthy of Mona's love. 
 The girl would listen in silence to the accounts of 
 his daring deeds, and when she would look up 
 with a glance of pity into his animated eyes, the 
 eyes of Danny would be brave no more, but fall 
 in confusion to his feet. 
 
 Then, bit by bit, it was borne in on Danny that 
 his great, strong, simple love could never be 
 returned ; and this was the last stage of his affec- 
 tion. The idea of love had itself been hard to 
 realize, but much harder to understand was the 
 strange and solemn idea of unrequited passion. 
 Twenty times had Mona tried in vain to convey 
 this idea to his mind without doing violence to 
 the tenderness of the lad's nature. But that 
 which no artifice could achieve time itself accom- 
 plished. Danny began to stay away from the 
 cottage on the *'brew,'' and when, in pity for that 
 unspeakable sorrow which Mona herself knew
 
 SHE' IS ALL TtiE WORLD TO ML. 89 
 
 but too well, the girl asked him why he did not 
 come up as often as before, he answered, "I'm 
 thinking it's not me }'Ou're wanting up there.'' 
 And Danny felt as if the words would choke him. 
 
 Then the whole world, which had seemed 
 brighter, or at least less cruel, became bathed in 
 gloom. The lad haunted the sea-shore. The 
 moan of the long dead sea seemed to speak to 
 him in a voice not indeed of cheer but of com- 
 forting grief. The white curves of the breakers 
 had something in them that suited better with 
 his mood than the sunlit ripples of a summer 
 sea. The dapple-gray clouds that scudded 
 across the leaden sky, the chill wind that scat- 
 tered the salt spray and whistled along the gun- 
 Vv'ale of his boat, the mist, the scream of the sea- 
 bird — all these spoke to his desolate heart in an 
 inarticulate language that was answered by tears. 
 
 Poor Danny, a hurricane had uprooted tiie 
 only idol of your soul, and for you the one flower 
 of life, the flower of love, was torn up an withered 
 forever ! 
 
 Love? Yes, even the image of a happy love 
 had at length stood up for one moment before 
 his mind, even before his mind. That love itself 
 might have been possible to him, yes, possible 
 to such a one as he was, though laughed at — 
 "rigged" as he called it — here, there, and every- 
 where — this was the blessed vision of one brief
 
 90 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 instant. He thought of how he might have 
 clasped her hands by the bright sea, and looked 
 lovingly into her eyes. But no, no, no; not for 
 him had God sent the gracious love, and Danny 
 turned in his dumb despair to the cold winter sea, 
 shrinkink from every human face. 
 
 "Is there not a storm coming?'' said Mona to 
 Danny, as she and Ruby overtook the boy on 
 the shore that morning. 
 
 '*Ay, the long cat's tail was going ofif at a slant 
 a while ago, and now the round thick slate yon- 
 der is hanging very low." 
 
 As he spoke, Danny turned about and looked 
 at the clouds which we have been taught to know 
 by less homely names. 
 
 ''Danny, Danny," interrupted the little one, 
 ''what is that funny thing you told me the sailors 
 say w^hen the wind is getting up?" 
 
 " 'Davy's putting on the copers for the par- 
 son,' '' answered the lad, absently, and without 
 the semblance of a smile. For the twentieth 
 time Ruby laughed and crowed over the dubious 
 epigram. 
 
 Mona glanced sometimes at Danny's listless 
 face as they walked together along the shore 
 with the child between them. His look was dull 
 and at certain moments even silly. Once she 
 thought she saw a tear glistening in his eye, but 
 he had turned his head away in an instant. There
 
 .SHE'S ALL THE WOh'LI) TO ME. 'ji 
 
 were moments when her heart bled for him. 
 People thought ' her harsh and even cynical. 
 "Aw, allis cowld and freezin' is the air she keeps 
 about her," they would say. Perhaps some bit- 
 ter experience of the past had not a little to do 
 with this. Nothing so sure to petrify the warmer 
 sensibilities as neglect and wrong. But in the 
 presence of Danny's silent sorrow the girl's heart 
 melted, and the almost habitual upward cur\'e at 
 one corner of her mouth disappeared. She knew 
 something of his suiYering. She could read it 
 in her own. At some thrilling moment, if 
 Heaven had so ordered it, they two, she and this 
 simple lad, might have uncovered to the other 
 the bleeding wound that each carried hidden in 
 the breast. And that great moment was yet to 
 come, though she knew it not. 
 
 Love is a selfish thing, let us say what we will 
 of it besides. 
 
 "Danny," said Mona, "have you seen anything 
 more of Christian?" 
 
 "Yes," said the lad. Some momentary re- 
 morse on Fiona's part compelled her to glance 
 into Danny's face. There was no trace of feel- 
 ing there. It was baffled love, and not jealousy, 
 that had taken the joy out of Danny's life. And 
 as yet the lad not once reflected that if ]\Iona did 
 not love him it was, perhaps, because she loved 
 another.
 
 92 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 ''He isn't going/' continued Danny. 
 
 'Thank God," said Mona, fervently. "And 
 "Kisseck, does he still mean to go?" 
 
 *'Ay, of coorse he's going. It'll be to-morrow, 
 it seems. I'm to go, too." 
 
 ''Dann-' you must not go," said Mona, drop- 
 ping Rubv's hand to take hold of the lad's arm. 
 He glanced up vacantly. 
 
 ''Seems to me it doesn't matter what I do," he 
 said. 
 
 "But it does matter, Danny. What these men 
 are attempting is crime — black, cruel, pitiless 
 crime — murder, no less." 
 
 "That's W'hat the young masther was sayin'," 
 answered the lad, absently; "and the one of them 
 hadn't a word to say agen it." 
 
 Rub^^ had tripped away for a moment. Re- 
 turning with a little oval thing in her hand, she 
 cried, "Danny, what's this? I found it under 
 a stone, and its gills were shining like fire." 
 
 "A sea-mouse," said the lad, and taking it out 
 of the child's hand, he added, "I'm less nor this 
 worm to our Bill." 
 
 "Danny, would it hurt you much if you w^ere 
 to hear that your uncle Kisseck was being pun- 
 ished?" 
 
 The lad lifted his eyes with a bewildered stare. 
 The idea that Bill Kisseck could be punished 
 had never really come to him as within tne limils
 
 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. ri 
 
 of possibility. Once, indeed, he had thought 
 of something that he might himself do, but the 
 wild notion had vanished with the next glance 
 at Kisseck's face. 
 
 "He could be punished," said ^lona, "and 
 must be." 
 
 Then Danny's eyes glittered and looked 
 strange, but he said not a word. They walked 
 on, the happy child once more taking a hand 
 from each, and laughing, prattling, leaping, and 
 making little runs between them. Ruby was in 
 a deeper sense the hnk that bound them, and in 
 the deepest sense of all she was the link that held 
 them apart forever. They had walked to the 
 mouth of the harbor, and ]Mona held out 
 her hand to say good-bye. Danny looked 
 beyond her over the sea. There was 
 something in his face that ^lona had never be- 
 fore seen there. What it meant she knew not 
 then, except that in a moment he had grown to 
 look old. "The storm is coming," said ]\Iona. 
 "I see the diver out at sea. Do you hear his 
 wild note?'' 
 
 "Ay, and ye see ^lother Carey's chicken yon- 
 der,'' said Danny, pointing where the stormy 
 petrel was scudding close to a white wave and 
 uttering a dismal cry. Then, absently and in 
 a low tone, "I think at whiles I'd hke to die in a 
 big sea like that,'' said the lad.
 
 94 'HE Oil aiUOM 3 HI IIY 8.3 ES 
 
 Mona looked for a moment in silence into the 
 lad's hopeless eyes. Danny turned back ^vith 
 his hands in his pockets and his face towards the 
 sand. 
 
 Truly a storm was coming-, and it was a storm 
 more terrible than wind and rain. 
 
 Alona and Ruby continued their walk. It was 
 the slack season at the factory, and Mr. Kinvig's 
 jewel in looms w^as compelled to stand idle three 
 working days out of the six. The young woman 
 and the child passed down the quay to the 
 bridge, crossed to the foot of the Horse-hill, and 
 walked along the south side of the harbor — now 
 full of idle luggers — towards Contrary Head. 
 When they reached the narrow strait which cut 
 off the Castle Isle from the main-land, they took 
 a path that led upward over Contrary Head. A 
 little way up the hill they passed Bill Kisseck's 
 cottage. The house stood on a wild headland, 
 and faced nothing but the ruined castle and the 
 open sea. An old quarry had once been worked 
 on the spot, and Kisseck's cottage stood with 
 its front to what must have been the level 
 cutting, and its back to the straight wall of rock. 
 A path wound round the house and came close 
 to the edge of the little precipice. Mona took 
 this path, and as they walked past the back part
 
 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 95 
 
 of the roof a woman's head looked out of a Httle 
 dormered window that stood in the thatch. 
 
 "Good-morning, Bridget," said Mona, cheer- 
 fully. 
 
 "Good-mornin'," answered Bridget, morosely. 
 ''It's middlin' cowld, isn't it, missis, for you and 
 that poor babby to be walkin' up there?" 
 
 "It's a sharp morning, but we're strong and 
 well, Rubv and I,'' said ^lona, going on. 
 
 'The crathur!" mumbled Bridget to herself 
 when they were gone, ''it's not lookin' like it she 
 is anyway, with a face as white as a haddick." 
 
 Mona and the little one walked briskly along: 
 the path, which from Kisseck's cottage was near- 
 ly level, and cut across the Head towards the 
 south. There was a second path a few yards be- 
 low them, and between these two, at a distance 
 of some five or six hundred yards from the 
 house, was the open shaft of an old disused lead- 
 mine which has since been filled up. 
 
 ''What a dreadful pit," said Ruby, clinging to 
 Mona's skirts in the wind. They continued their 
 walk until they came to a steep path that led 
 down to a little bay. Then they paused, and 
 looked back, around, and beneath. Overhead 
 were the drifting black clouds, heavy, wide, and 
 low. Behind was the Horse Hill, purple to the 
 summit with gorse. To the north was the Castle 
 Island, with its Fennella's Tower against the
 
 96 SHE'S ALL TEE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 sky, and the black rocks, fringed at the water's 
 edge with white spray. Beneath was the nar- 
 row covelet cleft of the hill-side, and apparently 
 accessible only from the sea. In front was the 
 ocean, whose moan came up to them mingled 
 with the shrill cry of the long-necked birds that 
 labored midway in the burdened air. 
 
 ''What is the name of that pretty bay?" asked 
 the^child. 
 
 'Toolvash," answered Mona, 
 
 ''And what does it mean?" asked the little one. 
 
 "The Bay of Death," said Mona; "that's what 
 they used to call it long ago, but they call it the 
 Lockjaw now." 
 
 "And what does that mean?" asked Ruby 
 again, with a child's tireless curiosity. 
 
 "It means, I suppose, that the tide comes up 
 into it,^nd then no one can get either in or out." 
 
 "Oh what a pity! Look at the lovely shells in. 
 the shingle," said Ruby. 
 
 Just then a step was heard on the path below, 
 and in a moment Bill Kisseck came up beside 
 them. He looked suspiciously at Mona and 
 passed without a word. 
 
 "That gel of Kinvig's is sniffin' round," he said 
 to his wife when he reached home. "She 
 wouldn't be partikler what she'd do if she got a 
 peep and a skute into anything."
 
 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 97 
 
 "Didn't you say no one could get up or down 
 the Lockjaw when the tide is up?" asked Ruby 
 as she tripped home at Mona's side. 
 - *'Yes," said ^lona, "except from the sea." 
 "And isn't the tide up now?" said Ruby. Mona 
 did not answer. 
 
 That night the storm that Danny had pre- 
 dicted from the aspect of the "cat's tail" and the 
 "skate" broke over Peel with terrific violence. 
 When morning dawned it was found that barns 
 had been unroofed and that luggers in the har- 
 bor had been torn from their m.oorings. The 
 worst damage done was to the old wooden pier 
 and the little wooden light-house. These had 
 been torn entirely away, and nothing remained 
 but the huge stone foundations wdiich were vis- 
 ible now at the bottom of the ebb tide. The 
 morning was clear and fine, the wind had drop- 
 ped, and only the svv'elling billows in the bay 
 and the timbers floating on every side remained 
 to tell of last nigjiit's tempest. 
 
 Little Ruby was early stirring, and before 
 Mona and her mother were awake she ran down 
 the hill towards Peel. An hour passed and the 
 little one had not returned. Two hours Vv-ent by, 
 and Mona could see no sign of the child from 
 the corner of the road. Then she became anx- 
 ious, and went in search of her.
 
 98 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 ''Geer out of this and take the boat round to 
 the Lockjaw, d'ye hear?" shouted Bill Kisseck, 
 "and see if any harm's been done down there. 
 Take a rope or two and that tarpaulin and cover 
 up anything that's wet." 
 
 Danny lifted the tarpaulin, and went quietly 
 out of the house. 
 
 "ril never make nothin' of that lad," said Kis- 
 seck ; "he hasn't a word to chuck at a dog." 
 
 Danny walked down to the harber, threw the 
 tarpaulin and two ropes into the boat, got inTo 
 it himself, took the oar, and began to scull to- 
 wards the sea. As he passed the ruined end of 
 the pier a voice hailed him. He looked up. It 
 was Christian Mylrea. 
 
 ''If you are going round the Head I'd like to 
 go with you," said Christian. ''I want to see 
 what mischief the sea has done to the west wall 
 of the oastle. Five years ago a sto-rm like this 
 swept away ten yards of it, at least." 
 
 Danny touched his cap and pulled up to the 
 pier. Christian dropped, hand under hand, 
 down a fixed w^ooden ladder, and into the boat. 
 Then they sculled away. When they reached 
 the west of the island, and had with difficulty 
 brought-to against the rocks, Christian landed, 
 and found the old boundaiy v/all overlooking 
 the traditional Giant's Grave torn down to the 
 dept of several feet. His interest was so strongly
 
 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 99 
 
 aroused that he would have stayed longer than 
 Danny's business allowed. ''Leave me here and 
 call as you return," he said, and then, with char- 
 acteristic irresolution, he added, "Xo, take me 
 with you." 
 
 The morning was fine but cold, and to keep 
 up a comfortable warmth Christian took an oar, 
 and they rowed. 
 
 'This pestilential hole, I hate it," said Chris- 
 tian, as they swept into the Lockjaw. ''How 
 high tlT?e tide is here," he added, in another tone. 
 
 They ran the boat up the shingle and jumped 
 ashore. As they did so their ears became sen- 
 sible of a feeble moan. Turning about they 
 saw something ly-ing on the stones. It was a 
 child. Christian ran to it and picked it up. It 
 was little Ruby. She was cold and apparently 
 insensible. Christian's face was livid, and his 
 eyes seemed to start from his head. 
 
 "Merciful God," he cried, "what can have hap- 
 pened?" 
 
 Then a torrent of emotion came over him, and, 
 bending on one knee, with the child in his arms, 
 the tears coursed down his cheeks. He hugged 
 the little one to his breast to warm it; he chafed 
 its little hands and kissed its pale lips, and cried, 
 "Ruby, Ruby, my darling, my darling!" 
 
 Danny stood by with amazement written on 
 his face. Rising; to his feet. Christian bore his
 
 100 SBE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME, 
 
 burden to the boat, and called on Danny to push 
 ofif and away. The lad did so without a word. 
 Ha- felt as if something was choking him, and he 
 could not speak. Christian stripped ofif his coat 
 and wrapped it about the child. Phesently the 
 little one's eyes opened, and she whispered, 
 *'How cold!" and cried piteously. When the 
 tears had ceased to flow, but still stood in big 
 drops on the little face. Ruby looked up at Chris- 
 tian and then towards Danny, where he sculled 
 at the stern. 
 
 ''She wants to go to you," said Christian, after 
 a pause, and witli a great gulp in his throat. 
 Danny dropped the oar and lifted the child very 
 tenderly in his big horny hands. ''Ruby ven, 
 Ruby ven," he whispered hoarsely, and the little 
 one put her arms about his neck and drew down 
 his head to kiss him. 
 
 Christian turned his awn head aside in agony. 
 *'Mercy, mercy, have mercy!" he cried, with his 
 eyes towards the sky. "What have I lost! 
 What love have I lost!" 
 
 He took the oars, and with head bent he 
 pulled in silence towards the town. When they 
 got there he took the little one again in his arm.s 
 and carried her to the cottage on the "brevvv" 
 Mona had newly returned from a fruitless 
 search. She and her mother stood together 
 with anxious faces as Christian, bearing th?
 
 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. loi 
 
 child, entered the cottage and stopped m the 
 middle of the floor. Danny Fayle was behind 
 him. There was a moment's silence. At length 
 Christian said, huskily, **We found her in the 
 Poolvash, cut off by the tide." 
 
 No one spoke. Mona took Ruby out of his 
 arms and sat with her before the fire. Christian 
 stepped to the back of the chair and looked 
 dow^n into the child's eyes, now wet with fresh 
 tears. Airs. Cregeen gazed into his face. Not 
 a word was said to him. He took up his coat, 
 turned aside, paused for an instant at the door, 
 and then walked away.
 
 102 SHE'8 ALL THE WORLD TO ME, 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 THE SHOCKIN' powerful SKAME. 
 
 'Tve two mammas, haven't I?" cried Ruby, 
 between her sobs, as Mona warmed her cold 
 limbs and kissed her. 
 
 Danny had sat on the settle and looked on 
 with wondering eyes. He glanced from Mona's 
 face to Ruby-s, and from Ruby's back to Mona's. 
 Some vague and startling idea was struggling 
 its way into his sluggish mind. 
 
 The child was warm and well in a little while, 
 and turning to Danny, Mona said, "Is it all set- 
 tled that you told me of?'' 
 
 "Yes," answered the lad. 
 
 'Ts it to be to-day?" 
 
 ''Ay; they're to go out at high-water with the 
 line for cod, and not come back till it's time to 
 do it." 
 
 ''Has any change been made in their arrange- 
 ments?" 
 
 "No, ^cept that the pier bein' swept away, 
 they're to run down the lamp that the harbor- 
 master has stuck up on a pole."
 
 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 103 
 
 "Is it certain that Christian will not be with 
 them?'' 
 
 "Ay, full certain. They came nigh to blows 
 over it last night.*' 
 
 "And you will not go, Danny?'' 
 
 "No, no; when I take back the boat I'll get 
 out of the road." 
 
 "The harbor-master is to be decoyed away 
 to the carol-singing and the hunting of the 
 wren?'' 
 
 "Ay, Davy Cain and Tommy Tear are at the 
 job."' 
 
 "And when it is high-water to-night?'' 
 
 "About eleven, but the Frenchman is mean- 
 ing to run in at ten. I heard Bill say that, 
 houldin' in his breath." 
 
 "You're quite sure about Christian?" asked 
 Mona again. 
 
 "Aw yes, certain sure." 
 
 "Then will you come back here to-night at 
 six o'clock, Danny?" 
 
 "Yes," said the lad, and he went out and down 
 towards the shore. 
 
 Mona hastened with all speed to the house of 
 Kerruish Kinvig. There in breathless haste, 
 but in the most logical sequence, she disclosed 
 the whole infamous scheme which was afoot to 
 wreck a merchantman that was expected to nm 
 into port on a smuggling adventure at ten
 
 104 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 o'clock that night. This was the pl^t as Mona 
 presented it to Mr. Kinvig. The harbor-mas- 
 ter's musical weakness was to be played upon, 
 and he was to be got out of the way, two of Kis- 
 seck's gang remaining ashore for that purpose. 
 At mid-day (that was ^o say in two hours) Kis- 
 seck and six men were to set out in the Ben-my- 
 Chree on pretence of line-fishing. At nine that 
 night they were to return. Kisseck himself and 
 three others were to put ashore in the dingy on 
 the west coast of the Castle Isle, and there lie 
 in wait. The other two were to take the lugger 
 round to harbor, and in doing sO' were to run 
 down the temporary light put up on the ruined 
 end of the pier. False lights were then to be 
 put on the south-west of the castle, and when 
 the merchantman came up to discharge her con- 
 traband goods, she was to run on the rocks and 
 be wrecked. 
 
 Such was the scheme as Mona expounded it. 
 Kerruish Kinvig blustered and swore; wanted 
 to know what the authorities were good for if 
 private people had to bedevil themselves with 
 these dastardly affairs. It was easy to see, how- 
 ever, that, despite his protestations, Mr. Kerru- 
 ish, with this beautiful nut to crack and a terrific 
 row to kick up, was in his joyful element. Away 
 he scoured to the house of Mylrea Balladhoo, 
 dragging Mona along with him. There the
 
 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. ]0d 
 
 story was repeated, and various sapient sug- 
 gestion's were thrown out by Kinvig. Finally 
 and mainly at Mona's own instigation, a plan 
 was concocted by which not only the wrecking 
 would be prevented, but the would-be wreckers 
 were to be captured. This was the scheme. 
 The harbor-miaster was to be allowed to fall a 
 prey to the device of the plotters. ("I'd have 
 him in Castle Rushen, the stone-deaf scoun- 
 drel," shouted Kinvig.) I\Ir. Kinvig himself was 
 to be the person to go to Castle Rushen. He 
 was to set ofif at once and bring back under the 
 darkness a posse of police or soldiers in private 
 clothes. Eight of these were to be secreted in 
 the ruined castle. Mona herself was to go on to 
 the Contrary^ Head, and the instant the light on 
 the pier had been run down ishe was to light a 
 lamp as a signal to the police in ambush, and as 
 a warning to the merchantinen out at sea. 
 Then the eight police were to pounce down on 
 the wreckers lying in wait under the castle's 
 western walls. 
 
 So it was agreed, and on a horse of ^lylrea 
 Balladlioo's Kerruish Kinvig started immediate- 
 ly for Castletown, taking tEe precaution not to 
 pass through the town. 
 
 i\Iona hastened home, and there to her sur- 
 prise found Danny. *The young masther is to 
 go,'' he cried. What had happened was this.
 
 106 SHE'S ALL TEE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 On taking the boat back to its moorings, the 
 lad had ben making his way towards Orry's 
 Head, as the remotest and most secluded quar- 
 ter, w4ien he passed Christian and a strange 
 gentleman in the streets, and overheard frag- 
 ments of their conversation. The stranger was 
 protesting that he must see Christian's father. 
 At length, and as if driven to despair, the young 
 master said, 
 
 ''Give me until to-morrow morning." 
 
 ''Very good," the stranger answered, "but 
 not an hour longer." They parted, and imme- 
 diately Bill Kisseck with Davy Cain and Tom- 
 my Tear came round a street corner and en- 
 countered Christian. 
 
 'T'll join you," Christian said, with an oath. 
 "When do you sail?" 
 
 'Tn half an 'hour," Kisseck -anrnvcfl-ed, pro- 
 fessing himself mightily pleased to have Chris- 
 tian's company. Then Christian turned away, 
 and Kisseck grunted to the men, 
 
 "It was necessary to get that chap into it, 
 you know. His iather is the magistrate, and 
 if anything should go wrong he'll have to hush 
 it up." The others laughed. 
 
 Danny saw that there was not a moment to 
 lose. In half an hour the young master would 
 be aboard the Ben-my-Chree on pretence of 
 going out with the lines. Danny started away,
 
 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. i07 
 
 but Kisseck having seen him, hailed him, and 
 threw down a pair of sea-boots for him to pick 
 up and take down to the boat. 
 
 ''And stay there till we come," Kisseck said 
 in going- off. The errand took several of Dan- 
 ny's precious minutes, but, throwing the boots 
 down the hatchways, he set off for the "brew,'' 
 taking care to run along the shore this time. 
 
 Mona heard his stor}^ with horror. She had 
 already set the police on the crew of the lugger. 
 She could not undo what she had done. Ker- 
 ruish Kinvig must be already far on his way 
 to Castle Rushen. It was certain that every 
 man who went out in the boat must be cap- 
 tured on her return. The only thing left to do 
 was to prevent Christian going out with her at 
 all. "He shall not go," cried ]\Iona, and she 
 hurried away to the quay. "He shall not go," 
 she murmured to herself once again; but as she 
 reached the harbor, Vvliite and breathless, she 
 saw the Ben-my-Chree sailing out into the bay, 
 and Christian standing on her deck.
 
 108 SHE'8 ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 STRONG KNOTS OF LOVE. 
 
 "At six o'clock the night had closed in. It 
 was as black as ink. Not a star had appeared, 
 but a sharp southwest wind was blowing, and 
 the night might lighten later on. In the cot- 
 tage on the "brew" a bright turf-fire \vas burn- 
 ing, and it filled the kitchen with a ruddy glow. 
 Little Ruby was playing on a sheep-skin before 
 the hearth. Old Mrs. Cregeen sat knitting in 
 an arm-chair at one side of the ingle. Her 
 grave face, always touching to look at, seemed 
 more than ever drawn down with lines of 
 pain. Ever few minutes she stopped to listen 
 for footsteps that did not come, or to gaze va- 
 oantly into the fire. Mona was standing at a 
 table cutting slices of bread and butter. At 
 some moments her lips quivered with agita- 
 tion, but she held the knife with the steady 
 grasp of a man's hand. Pale and quiet, with 
 courage and resolution on every feature, this 
 wms the woman for a great emergency. And 
 her hour was at hand. Heaven grant that her
 
 aS'Z/£'6' all TUL would to me. 1(i^.» 
 
 fortitude may not desert her to-night. She 
 needs it all. 
 
 A white face, with eyes full of fear, looked in 
 at the dark window. It was Danny Fayie. "Come 
 in,-' said Mona; but he would not come. He 
 must speak with her outside. She went out to 
 him. He was trembling with .excitement. He 
 told her that Kerruish Kinvig had returned, and 
 brought with him the men from Castle Rushen. 
 There were eight of them. They had been 
 across to the old castle and had opened a vault 
 in St. Patrick's chapel. There they had found 
 rolls of thread lace, casks of winies and spirits, 
 and boxes of tea. This was not important, but 
 Danny had one fact to communicate which 
 made ^Mona's excitement almost equal to his 
 own. In a single particular the arrangcm.ent 
 suggested by herself and agreed upon with ivl'yl- 
 rea the magistrate had been altered. Instead of 
 the whole eight men going over to the castle, 
 four only, with Kinvig as a guide, vrere to be 
 stationed there. The other four were to be 
 placed on the hill-side above Bill Kisseck's 
 house to watch it. 
 
 This change was an unexpected and almost 
 fatal blow to a scheme which ^lona had all day 
 been concocting for the relief of the men on 
 the Ben-my-Chree from the meshes in which 
 she herself had imprisoned them.
 
 ilO SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 Mona's anxiety was greatest now that her 
 hope seemed least. Rescme the men — Christian 
 being one of them — she must, God helping her. 
 Like a sorceress, whose charm has worked only 
 too fatally, Mona's whole soul was engaged to 
 break her own deadly spell. She conceived 
 a means of escape, but she could not without 
 help bring her design to bear. Would this 
 lad help her? Danny? She had seen the 
 agony of his despair wither up the last gleam of 
 sunshine on his poor, helpless face. 
 
 "Did you say that Mr. Kinvig is to be with 
 the men in the castle?" 
 
 "Yes," said Danny. 
 
 "Is Mr. Mylrea to be with the others above 
 your uncle's house?" 
 
 "No. They wanted him, but he was too old, 
 he was sayin', and went off to find Christian and 
 send him to be a guide to the strangers." 
 
 "That is very good," said Mona, "and we can 
 manage it yet. Danny, do you go off to the 
 castle — the tide is down; you can ford it, can't 
 you?" 
 
 "If I'm quick. It's on the turn." 
 
 "Go at once. The men are not there now, 
 are they?" 
 
 "No, they came across half an hour ago." 
 
 "Good They'll return to the castle just be- 
 fore nine. Go vou at this moment. Ford it
 
 SHE'S ALL TEE WORLD TO ME. l!i 
 
 and they'll see no boat. Hide yourself among 
 the ruins — in the guard-room — in the long pass- 
 age — in the cell under the cathedral — in the 
 sally-port — among the rocks outside — any- 
 where — and wait until the Castle Rushen men 
 arrive. As soon as they are landed and out of 
 sight, get you down to where they have moored 
 their boat, jump into it and pull away. That 
 will cut off five of the nine, and keep them pris- 
 oners on the Castle Rock until tomorrow morn- 
 ing's ebb tide." 
 
 ''But where am I to go in the boat?'' asked 
 Danny. 
 
 i\Iona came closer, 'Tsn't it true," she whis- 
 pened, "that Kisseck and the re'st of them go fre- 
 quently to the creek that they call the Lockjaw?" 
 
 ''How did you know it, IMona?" 
 
 "Never mind, now, Danny. Do you pull 
 down to the Lockjaw; run ashore there; climb 
 the brow above, and wait." 
 
 "Wait?— why? until when?" 
 
 "Danny, from the head of the Lockjaw you 
 can see the light on the end of the pier. I've 
 been there myself and know you can. Keep 
 your eye fixed on that light." 
 
 "Yes, yes; well, well?" 
 
 "The moment you see the light go down on 
 the pier — no matter v^-hen — no matter what else 
 has happened — do you that instant set fire to
 
 112 SHE'S ALL TEE WORLD TO ME, 
 
 the g"orse about you. Fire it here, there, everyx 
 where as if it were the night of May-day." 
 
 "Yes; what then?" 
 
 'Then creep down to the shore and wait 
 again." 
 
 "What will happen, Mona?" 
 
 "This — Kisseck and the men with him will 
 see your light over the Lockjaw, and guess that 
 it is a signal of danger. If they have half wit 
 they'll know that it must be meant for them. 
 Then they'll jump into their boat and pull down 
 to you." 
 
 "When they come, what am I to say?" 
 
 "Say that the police from Castle Rushen are 
 after them ; that four are cut off in the castle, and 
 four more are on the Horse Hill above Con- 
 trary. Tell them to get back, every man of 
 them, to Kisseck's house as fast as their legs will 
 carry them." 
 
 Danny's intelligence might be sluggish at or- 
 dinary moments, but to-night it was suddenly 
 charged with a ready man's swiftness and in- 
 sight. "But the Castle Rushen men on the 
 Horse Hill will see the burning gorse," he said. 
 
 "True — ah, yes, Danny, that's tr — . I have 
 it! I have it!" exclaimed the girl. "There are 
 two paths from the Lockjaw to Kisseck's house. 
 I walked both of them with Ruby, yesterday. 
 One goes above the open shaft of the old lead-
 
 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 113 
 
 mine, the other below it. Tell the men to take 
 the low road — the low^ road ; be sure you say the 
 low road — and if the police see your fire I'll send 
 them along the high road, and so they will pass 
 with a cliff between them.That's it, thank God. 
 You understand me, Danny? Are you quite 
 sure you understand even-thing — every little 
 thing?" ^ 
 
 ''Yes, I do," said the lad, with the energy of 
 a man. 
 
 ^'When they get to Ivisseck's cottage let them 
 smoke, drink, gamble, swear — anything — to 
 make believe they have never been out to-night. 
 You know what I mean?" 
 
 ''I do," repeated the lad. 
 
 He was a new being. His former self seemed 
 in that hour to drop from him like a garment. 
 
 IMona looked at him in the dim light shot 
 through the window from the fire, and for an 
 instant her heart smote her. What was she do- 
 ing with this lad? What was he doing for her. 
 Love was her pole-star. What was his? Only 
 the blank self-abandonment of despair. For 
 love of Christian she was risking all this. But 
 the wild force that inspired the heart of this sim- 
 ple lad was love for her wdio loved anothen 
 .Whose was the nobler part, hers who hoped all, 
 or his who hoped nothing? In the darkness 
 she felt her face flush deep. Oh, what a great
 
 114 SEE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 little heart was here — here, in this outcast boy; 
 this neglected, down-trodden, despised and re- 
 jected, poor, pitiful waif of humanity. 
 
 ''Danny," she murmured,, with plaintive ten- 
 derness, ''it is wrong of me to ask you to do this 
 for me — very, very wrong." 
 
 His eyes were dilated. The face, hitherto 
 unutterably mournful to see, was alive with a 
 strange fire. But he said nothing. He turned 
 his head towards the lonely sea, whose low moan 
 came up through the dark night. 
 
 She caught both his hands with a passionate 
 grasp. "Danny," she murmured again, "if there 
 was another name for love that is not — " 
 
 She stopped, but her eyes were close to his. 
 
 He turned. "Don't look like that," he cried, 
 in a voice that went to the girl's heart like an 
 arrow. 
 
 She dropped his hands. She trembled and 
 glowed. "Oh, my own heart will break," she 
 said; "to love and not be loved, to be loved and 
 not to love — " 
 
 ("I think at whiles I'd like to die in a big sea 
 like that.") 
 
 Mona started. What had recalled Danny's 
 strange words? Had he spoken them afresh? 
 No. 
 
 "Danny," she murmured once more, in tones 
 of endearment, and again she grasped his hands.
 
 SHE';^ ALL THE MOULD TO ME. 119 
 
 Their eyes met. The longing, yearning look 
 in hers answered to the wild glare in his. 
 
 ''Don't look at me like that,'' he repeated, with 
 the same low moan. 
 
 Mona felt as if that were the last she was ever 
 to see of the lad in this weary world. He loved 
 her with all his great, broken, bleeding heart. 
 Her lips quivered. Then the brave, fearless, stain- 
 less girl put her quivering lips tc his. 
 
 To Danny that touch was as fire. With a 
 passionate zry he flung his arms about her. For 
 an instant her head lay on his breast. "Xow 
 go," she whispered, and broke from his em-^ 
 brace.
 
 ti6 BHEPS ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 CHAPTER XIIL 
 
 THE FLIGHT AND PURSUIT. 
 
 Danny tore himself away with heart and brain 
 aflame. Were they to meet again? Yes. For 
 one terrible and perilous moment they were yet 
 to stand face to face. As he ran down the road 
 towards the town, Danny encountered a gang 
 of men with lanterns, whooping, laughing, sing- 
 ing carols, and beating the bushes. It was the 
 night before Christmas-e\^e, and they were 
 ^'hunting the wren." Tommy Tear and Davy 
 Cain were among them. Danny heard their 
 loud voices, and knew they had trapped the 
 harbor-master. The first act in to-night's trag- 
 edy had begun. 
 
 Two hours and a half later Mona passed the 
 same troop of men. They were now standing 
 in the Market-place. Tommy Tear and Davy 
 Cain had a long pole from shoulder to shoulder, 
 and from this huge bracket a tiny bird — a wren 
 • — was suspended. It was one of their Christ- 
 mas customs. Their companions came up at 
 intervals and plucked a feather from the wren^s
 
 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. Wi 
 
 breast. Tommy Bill-beg was singing a carol. 
 A boy held a lantern to a crimipled paper, from 
 which the unlettered coxcomb pretended to sing. 
 
 ^lona hurried on. Her immediate destina- 
 tion was the net-factory. There she found the 
 company of nine or ten men. She was taken 
 into the midst of them. "This is the young 
 woman,'' shouted Kerruish Kinvig; "and when 
 some of you fellows," he added, ''have been po- 
 lice for fifty years, and are grown gray in the 
 service, you may do worse than come here and 
 go to school to this girl of two-and-twenty." 
 
 There was some superior and depreciatory 
 laughter, and then ^lona was required to repeat 
 what she knew. When she had done so she did 
 not wait for official instructions. She quietly 
 and resolutely announced her intention of go- 
 ing on to the cliff-head above Contrary with a 
 lantern in hand. When the light on the pier 
 was rtm down by the fishing-boat, she would 
 light her lantern and turn it towards the castle 
 as a sign to the men in hiding there. The de- 
 termination and decision of this girl brooked 
 no question. The police agreed to her scheme. 
 And had she not been the root and origin of all 
 their movements, and the sole cause that they 
 were there at all? 
 
 But ^lona had yet another proposal, and to 
 herself this last was the most vital of all The
 
 118 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 four men who were to watch Bill Kisseck's 
 house must have a guide, or by their lumbering 
 movements they would awaken suspicion, and 
 the birds would be frightened and not snared. 
 Christian had not been, found. ''He's off to 
 Ramsey, nO' doubt," suggested Kinvig. "I'll 
 be guide to you myself," said Mona. ''I'll take 
 you to the Head, place you there, and then go 
 ofT to my own station." And so it was agreed. 
 It is not usually a man's shrewdness that can 
 match a woman's wit at an emergency like this. 
 And then the men in this case were police — a 
 palliating circumstance ! 
 
 Half an hour passed, and Mona was on the 
 clifif-head. She had .so placed the four men that 
 they could not see her own position or know 
 whether she duly and promptly lit her lantern 
 or not. The night was still very dark. Not a 
 star was shining; no moon appeared. Yet, 
 standing where she stood, with the black hill 
 behind her, she could at least descry something 
 of the sea in front. The water, lighter than the 
 land, showed faintly below. Mona could trace 
 the line of white breakers around the Castle Isle. 
 If a boat's sail came close to the coast, she could 
 see that also. The darkness of the night might 
 aid her. There was light enough for her move- 
 ments, but too little for the movements of the 
 four strangers behind her.
 
 SHE'S ALL THE ^yORLD TO ME. 119 
 
 ^lona saw the boat leave the shore that car- 
 ried Kinvig and his four assistants across the 
 strait to the castle. In a moment she lost it in 
 the black shadow. Then she heard the grating 
 of its keel on the shingle, and the clank of the 
 little chain that moored it. 
 
 Now everything depended on Danny. Had 
 the lad wit enough to comprehend all her mean- 
 ing? Even if so, was it in human nature to do 
 so much as she expected him to do from no 
 motive, but such as sprang from hopeless love? 
 God brighten the lad's dense intellect for this 
 night at least! Heaven ennoble our poor, self- 
 ish, uncertahi human nature for one brief hour! 
 
 Mona strained her ear for the splash of an oar. 
 Danny ought to be stirring now. But no ; ]\Iona 
 could hear nothing but the murmur of the water 
 on the pebbles and their distant boom in the 
 bay. 
 
 Look! coming up to the west coast of the 
 castle were the sails of a fishing-boat silhouetted 
 against the leaden sky. It was a lugger. ^lona 
 could see both mainmast and mizzen with main- 
 sail and yawl. It was the Ben-my-Chree. Chris- 
 tian was there and he was in deadly peril. She 
 herself had endangered his liberty and life. The 
 girl was almost beside herself with terror. 
 
 But look again! Though no sound of oars 
 could reach her, she could now see the clear out-
 
 120 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 line of a boat scudding- through the hghter patch 
 of water just inside the castle's shadow. It was 
 Danny! God bless and keep him on earth and 
 in heaven! How the lad rowed! Light as the 
 dip of a feather, and swift as the eagle flies! 
 Bravely, Danny, bravely! 
 
 The clock in the tower of the old church in 
 the Market-place was striking. How the bell 
 echoed on this lonely height! — six, seven, eight, 
 nine! Nine o'clock? Then the merchantman 
 ought to be near at hand. Mona strained her 
 eyes into the darkness. She could see nothing. 
 Perhaps the ship would not come. Perhaps 
 Heaven itself had ordered that the man 'she 
 loved should be guiltless of this crime. Merci- 
 ful Heaven, let it be so, let it be so! 
 
 The fishing-boat had disappeared. Yes, her 
 sails were gone. But out at sea, far out, half 
 a league aw^ay — what black thing was there? Oh, 
 it must be a cloud; that was all. No doubt a 
 storm was brewing. What was the funny sail- 
 or's saying that Ruby laughed at when Danny 
 repeated it? No, no! it was looming larger and 
 larger, and it was nearer than she had thought. 
 It was — yes, it was a sail. There could be no 
 doubt of it now. The merchantman was outside, 
 and she was less than half a mile away. 
 
 Bill Kisseck and the three men who were to 
 go ashore on the west pf the Castle Isle must
 
 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 131 
 
 now have landed. Christian was one of them. 
 Within fifty yards five men lay in wait to capture 
 them. See, the Ben-my-Chree was fetcWng 
 away to leeward. She was doubling the island 
 rock and coming into harbor. How awkwardly 
 the man at the tiller was tacking. That was a 
 ruse, lest he was w^atched. To Mona the sus- 
 pense of the moment was terrible. The very 
 silence was awful. She felt an impulse to scream. 
 
 What about Danny? Had he reached the 
 Lockjaw? 
 
 He must have rowed like a man possessed, 
 to be there already. The Ben-my-Chree would 
 sweep into harbor at the next tack. Could 
 Danny get up onto the pier in time to see the 
 lamp on the pier go down? 
 
 Mona could see the black outline of the Lock- 
 jaw headland from where she was stationed. 
 Her heart seemed to stand still. She turned her 
 eyes first to the pier, then to the Lockjaw, and 
 then to the cloud of black sail outside that grew 
 larger every instant 
 
 Look again — the fishing-boat is coming in; 
 Bhe is almost covering the lamp on the pier; she 
 has swept it down; it is gone, and all is blank, 
 palpable darkness. Mona covers her eyes with 
 her hands. 
 
 Is Danny ready? Quick, quick, Danny; one
 
 133 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME, 
 
 minute lost and all is lost. No light yet on the 
 Lockjaw. 
 
 Bravo ! Mona's heart leaps to her mouth. There 
 is a light on the Lockjaw Head! Thaniv God 
 and poor dear Danny for ever and ever! 
 
 And now, the lamp down, the gorse burn'ng, 
 the merchantman drawing nearer and nearer, 
 what must Mona herself do? She had prom- 
 ised to give the sign to the men in the castle the 
 instant the lig-ht on the pier was run down. Then 
 they would know that it was not too soon tc 
 pounce down on Kisseck and his men, with part 
 of their plot — the least dangerous part, but still 
 a punishaible part — carried into effect. But 
 Mona did not light her lantern. She never meant 
 to do it so soon. She must first see some rea- 
 son to believe that Christian and his compan- 
 ions haid taken Danny's warning. 
 
 She waited one minute — two, three. No sign 
 yet. Meantime the black cloud of sail in the bay 
 was drawing closer. There were living men 
 aboard of that ship, and they were running on 
 to the rocks. This suspense was agony. Mona 
 felt that she must do something. But what? 
 
 If she wxre to liglit her lantern now she might 
 save the merchantman ; but then Christian would 
 be pounced upon and taken. If she were not
 
 SHE'i^ ALL 'ItiE WORLD TO ME. i:>j 
 
 gored to pieces on the Castle Isle, and perhaps 
 all hands would be lost. What was ]\Iona to do? 
 The tension was terrible. 
 
 She strode up and down the hill-side — up and 
 down, up and down. 
 
 Three minutes gone — a fourth minute going. 
 Not a sound from the west coast of the castle. 
 Perhaps Christian, Kisseck and the rest had not 
 landed. She must not let the merchantman be 
 wrecked. Her lantern must he Ht for the crew*s 
 sake. Yes, they were men, living men — men 
 with wives who loved them, and children who 
 climbed to their knees. ^lona thought of Chris- 
 tian and of Ruby. It was a fierce moment of 
 conflicting passion. 
 
 Four minutes at least had gone. Alona had 
 decided to light her lantern, come what would 
 or could. She was in the act of doing so, when 
 she heard footsteps on the chflf behind her. The 
 four strangers had seen the light on the pier go 
 do'wn. They thought it must be time for them 
 to be moving. Either Kinvig and the other Tour 
 in the castle had taken their men, or they had 
 missed them. In either case their own time for 
 action had gone. 
 
 IMona, in a fever of excitement, afifected cer- 
 tain knowledge that Kisseck's men must be cap' 
 lured. She recommended the police to go
 
 124 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 down to the shore and wait quietly for their 
 friends. But at that moiment they caught sight 
 of Danny's fire on the Lockjaw Head. They 
 suspected mischief, and declared their intention 
 of going off to it. 
 
 At the same moment Mona's quicker eyes, 
 now pretematurally quick, caught sight of a 
 boat clearing the west coast of the Castle Rock, 
 and sailing fast towards the Lockjaw. It was 
 Christian's boat. Again Mona felt an impulse 
 to scream. 
 
 And now there came loud shouts from the 
 castle. At the sign of Mona's lantern, Kinvig 
 and his followers had leaped out of their am- 
 bush, only to find their men gone. Then they 
 •had run off to the creek in which they had left 
 their boat, meaning to give chase — only to find 
 that the boat had disappeared. There had been 
 treachery somewhere. They were imprisoned 
 on the Castle Rock, and so they shouted, Foud 
 and long, to their comrades on the cliff. 
 
 Mona thought she would have laugthed yet 
 louder and longer had she dared. But the po- 
 lice were still with her, and the desire to laugh 
 was quickly swallowed up in fresh fear. She 
 took the strangers to the high path that led to 
 the Lockjaw. "Follow this," she said, "and take
 
 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO }IE. r.n 
 
 no other, as you value your limbs and necks." 
 She told them to be very careful as they passed 
 the open shaft of the old lead-mine. It would 
 lie three yards on their right. Away they went. 
 
 What had happened to the merchantman? 
 She had seen danger and was already beating 
 down the bay. She and her crew were 'safe. Put- 
 ting down the lantern on the hill-side, ^lona 
 ran with all speed to Kisseck's cottage. In the 
 darkness she almost stumbled down the little 
 precipice on to the back of the roof. Running 
 round the path, she pushed her way into the 
 house. Bridget Kisseck was there. In breath- 
 less haste IMona told the woman that the police 
 were after Kisseck and his friends; urged her to 
 get pipes, tobacco, cards, ale, spirits, and the like 
 on the table. The men would be here in tliree 
 minutes. They must make pretence that they 
 had never been out. 
 
 Then ^lona ran back to the angle of the two 
 mountain paths, the high path and the low one. 
 
 Bridget, who had not comprehended Mona's 
 instructions, took fright at her intelligence, put 
 on her shawl and bonnet, and, Avithout waiting 
 for her husband, hurried awav to the town.
 
 126 SEE'S ALL TEE ^VORLD TO ME. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 "bill is GOJfE TO BED." 
 
 What was happening to Danny at the Lock- 
 jaw Creek? 
 
 Throughout two hours and a half he had 
 lain in the cold, motionless and silent, among 
 the rocks outside the castle. Wh^n the time 
 came he had leaped into the boat which the 
 police brought with them and pulled away. He 
 had strained every muscle to reach the Pool- 
 vash, knowing full well that if he gained it one 
 minute late it might be indeed the bay of 
 death. Before he had crossed that point at 
 which the two streams met midway in the 
 strait he could see the Ben-my-Chree tacking 
 into the harbor. Then, indeed, he sculled with 
 air his strength. He ran ashore. He mounted 
 to the clififhcad. With the matches in his hand 
 he peered through the darkness to where the 
 lamp still burned on the end of the pier. Yes, 
 he was in time. But what was that red riot that 
 was now rising in his heart? 
 
 It was then, and not till then, that the thought
 
 SEE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 127 
 
 came to him, "What am I here for?'' What for? 
 Who for? Why? It was a moment of blank 
 bewilderment. Then in an instant, as if by a 
 flash of Hghtning, evervthing became plain. 
 Mona, Christian, Ruby — these three, Hnked to- 
 gether for the first time in the lad's mind, flashed 
 the truth, the fact, the secret upon him. Danny 
 had at length stumbled into the hidden grave. 
 He saw it all now. What hcvd lain concealed 
 from other and wiser heads, vainer heads, heads 
 lifted above his in lofty pride, was revealed to 
 his simple intelligence and great yearning heart. 
 
 Yes, Danny knew now why he was there. 
 It was to save the life of the man who was be- 
 loved by the, woman whom he loved. 
 
 The world seemed in that moment to crumble 
 beneath his feet. He dropped his eyes in deep 
 self-abasement, but raised them again in self- 
 sacrifice and unselfish love. There was nO' doubt 
 as to what he should do. No, not even now, 
 with the life of Christian in the palm of his 
 hand. Some power above himself controlled 
 him. "For her sake," he whispered. "Oh, for 
 her sake, for all," he murmured, and at that 
 moment the light on the pier went down. 
 
 He struck his matches and lit the gorse. It 
 was damp, and at first it would not burn. It 
 dried at last, and burst into flame. Then th^
 
 128 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 lad crept down to the water's edge and waited. 
 
 The water lay 'black as the raven outside, but 
 the light of the burning gorse overhead gilded 
 the rolling wavelets at his feet. 
 
 In five minutes the dingy of the Ben-my- 
 Ohree shot into the creek, and four men leaped 
 ashore. One was Kisseck, another Christian, 
 and the other tw^O' were Paul Corteen and Luke 
 Killip. All were violently agitated. 
 
 *'What for is all this, you young devil?'' cried 
 Kisseck. ''What does it all mean? — out with 
 it, quick! — what tricks have you been pla}dng? 
 Damn -his fool's face, why doesn't he speak?'' 
 
 And Kisseck struck the lad, and he fell. Dan- 
 ny got up strangely quiet, strangely calm, with 
 great wide eyes, and a face that nO' man could 
 look on W'ithout fear. Kisseck trembled before 
 it, but — from dread alone and without waiting 
 for a word of explanation — ^^he raised his hand 
 once more. 
 
 Christian interposed. Danny told his stor}^; 
 how the police were on the cliff-head as w^ell as 
 the island; how they would certainly make for 
 this spot; how Mona Cregeen would send them 
 along the high path; and how they — Kisseck, 
 Christian and the others — were to take the low 
 path, get back with all haste to the cottage, and
 
 SHE'S ALL I HE WORLD TO ME. 129 
 
 make pretence that they had never been out. 
 
 Christian started away. He had dimbed the 
 precipitous cHffhead in a minute, the others fol- 
 lowing. \Vihen they reached the top, Danny 
 was side by side with his uncle, staring with 
 wild eyes into his face. Kisseck stopped. 
 
 " , what for do you look at me?" he cried. 
 
 Then again he lifted his hand and struck the 
 lad and threw him. When Danny rose to his 
 feet after this second blow he laughed aloud. 
 It was a laugh to freeze the blood. Christian 
 turned back. He took Kisseck by the shoul- 
 der. "By ,'' he said, between gusts of breath, 
 
 "touch him again and Til pitch you into the 
 sea.'' 
 
 Kisseck was silent and cowed. There was no 
 time to stand quarrelling there. "Come on,'' 
 cried Christian, and he set off to run. He speed- 
 ily outran the rest, and they lost sight of him. 
 
 The two paths that lead to the Lockjaw came 
 together within a 'hundred yards at the end. 
 In the darkness, in the confusion, in the tur- 
 moil of soul, Christian missed the lower path 
 and followed the higher one. He did not realize 
 his mistake. Running at his utmost speed, how- 
 ever, he heard footsteps in front of him. Tliey 
 were coming towards him. They were the foot-
 
 ■130 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 steps of the police. Christian was uncertain what 
 to do. For himself he cared little. But he thought 
 of his) father, of Mona, of little Ruby, and then 
 life and fame were dear. 
 
 The cliff was on the rigiht of him, as he sup- 
 posed, the sea on the left. He reckoned that he 
 must be near to Kisseck's cottage now. Per- 
 haps he could readh it before the men came up 
 to it. Tliey were drawing very close. Along the 
 higher path Christian ran at his utmost speed. 
 
 Ah! here is the cottage, nearer than he had 
 expected. He must have run faster than he sup- 
 posed. In the uncertain light Christian sees what 
 he takes to be the old quarry. There is no time 
 to go round by the road and in at the front. 
 He must leap down the back of the shallow 
 quarry, light on the thatoh, and lie there for a 
 minute until the men have passed. 
 
 He runs, he leaps, but — he has ju*mped down 
 the open shaft of the old disused lead-mine. 
 
 Meantime Kisseck and Danny Fayle, with 
 Corteen and Killip, found the low path and fol- 
 lowed it. They lieard the strangers pass on the 
 high path, but they were themselves running 
 softly on the thin grass, and a clifif was between 
 the police and them. When they got to the angle 
 of the roads and turned down the footpath in
 
 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 1?A 
 
 front of the house they passed Mona. As they 
 entered, '*Who was that woman?'' said Kisseck. 
 
 "Mona," answered Danny. 
 
 "Damn her, I'll lay my soul that craythur is 
 at the bottom of it all." 
 
 Danny s dilated eyes flashed fire. But he was 
 otherwise outwardly quiet and calm. 
 
 "Where's that other fellow — Christian?" said 
 Kisseck. "He has led me into all this cursed 
 mess." 
 
 "That's a lie," said Danny, with the color gone 
 from his cheeks. 
 
 Kisseck walked across to him with upHfted 
 arm. Never flinching, the lad w'aited for the 
 blow. Kisseck dropped his hand. Curling his 
 lip in bitter mockers^, he said, "What for is that 
 she-devil sthrov.ding around here?'' 
 
 One bright spot of blood came into the lad's 
 face, and as he drew his breath it went 
 through his teeth. But he was silent still. 
 
 "She has the imperince of sin," said Kisseck. 
 "If she comes here she'll suffer for it." 
 
 Danny walked to the door and pushed the 
 bolt. Kisseck laughed bitterly. 
 
 "I knew it," he said. "I knew she wasn't in 
 it. But I'll punish her. Out of the way, you 
 idiot waistreL"
 
 133 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 There was a hurried step on the road out- 
 side. 
 
 Danny put his back to the door. His eyes 
 mehed, and he cried beseechingly — 
 
 ''You'll not do that, Uncle Bill?" 
 
 ''Out of the road, you young- pauper," cried 
 Kisseck, and he took hold of Danny and thrust 
 him aside. 
 
 "You shall not do it," screamed the lad, run- 
 ning to the hearth and snatching up a pokier. 
 
 lA.11 Danny's unnatural quiet had forsaken 
 him. 
 
 There was a knock at the door, and an im- 
 patient footstep to and fro. 
 
 Kisseck walked into an inner room, and 
 came back with a pistol in his hand. 
 
 "Men, don't you see it plain? That woman is 
 at the bottom of it all," he said, turning to Cor- 
 teen and Killip, and pointing, as he spoke, to 
 the door. "She brought us here to trap us, and 
 now she has come to see if we are at home. She 
 has the men from Castle Rushen behind her; 
 but she shall pay for it with her life. Out of the 
 way, I say. Out — of — the way." 
 
 Danny was standing again with his back to 
 the door. He had the poker in his hand. Kisseck 
 put the pistol on a table, and closed with Danny
 
 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 133 
 
 to pus'i him aside. There was a terrible stru^:^- 
 gle. Amid curs'es from Kisse;ck and shouts 
 from Corteen and KilHp, the poker was 
 wrenched from Danny's grasp and thrown on 
 the floor. The lad himself was dragged away 
 from the door, and the bolt was drawn. 
 
 Then in an instant Danny rushed to the table 
 and picked up the pistol. There was a flash, a 
 deafening explosion, a shriek, a heavy fall, and 
 Kisseck rolled on the floor dead. 
 
 Danny staggered back to the door, the hot 
 pistol still in his hand. He was petrified. His 
 great eyes seemed to leap out of his head. When 
 the smoke cleared he saw what he had done. 
 His lips moved, but no words came from him. 
 The other men were speechless. There was a 
 moment of awful silence. Then, once more, 
 there came a knock at the door against which 
 Danny leaned. 
 
 Another knock. No answer. Another — loud- 
 er. Still no reply. 
 
 "Bridget,'' cried a voice from without. It was 
 Mona's voice. 
 
 "Bridget, let me in. What has happened?" 
 
 No one stirred. 
 
 "Bridget, they are coming. Tell the men to 
 go off to sea."
 
 134 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO MW. 
 
 None spoke or moved. The latch was lifted, 
 but in vain. 
 
 ' 'Bridget — Christian — Christian !'* — (knock* 
 ing" contmued). 
 
 ''Kisseck— Kisseck— Bill Kisseck— Bill !'^ 
 
 At last one of the men found his voice! 
 
 "Bill is gone to bed," he said hoarsely.
 
 SEE'S ALL TEE ^\ORLD TO ME. 135 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 A EESUREECTIOX INDEED. 
 
 "The night is long that never finds the day." — 
 Macbeth. 
 
 The shaft of the old lead-mine down which 
 Christian leaped was forty-five feet deep, yet 
 he was not killed; he was not even hurt. At the 
 bottom were fifteen feet of water, and this had 
 broken his dreadful fall. On coming to the sur- 
 face, one stroke in the first instant of dazed con- 
 sciousness had landed him on a narrow ledge 
 of rock that raked downward with the stream. 
 But what was his position when he realized it? 
 It seemed to be v/orse than death itself; it was 
 a living death; it was life in the arms 
 of death; it was burial in an open grave. 
 He lieard steps overhead, and in the agony of 
 fear he shouted. But the steps went by like a 
 swiift breath of wind, and no one answered. 
 Then he reflected that these must have been the 
 fcotsteps of the police. Thank God they had 
 not heard his voice. To be rescued by them must
 
 136 SHE'^ ALL THE WORLD TU ME. 
 
 ■have been ruin more terrible than all. Doubt- 
 less they knew of his share in to-night's at- 
 tempted crime. Knowing this they must know 
 by what fatality he was buried here. Christian 
 now realized that death encircled him on every 
 side. To remain in this pit was death; to be 
 lifted out of it was death no less surely. To' es- 
 cape was hopeless. He looked up at the sky. 
 It was a small square patch of leaden gray 
 against the impenetrable blackness of his prison 
 walls. 
 
 Standing on the ledge of rock, and steadying 
 himself with one hand, he lifted the other 
 stealthily upwards to feel the sides of the shaft. 
 They were of rock and were precipitous, but 
 had rugged projecting pieces on which it was 
 possible to lay hold. As he grasped one of 
 these, a sickening pang of hope shot through 
 him and wounded him worse than despair. But 
 it was swift; it was gone in an instant. The 
 piece of rock gave way in his hand, and tumbled 
 into the water below him with a hollow splash ! 
 The sides of the .shaft were of a crumbling 
 stone. 
 
 Now, indeed, he knew how hopeless was his 
 pHght He dare not cry for help. He must 
 stand still as death in this deep tomb. To at- 
 tract attention would of itself be death. To re-
 
 SHE'S ALL TEE WORLD TO ME. 137 
 
 main down the shaft would also be certain 
 death. To climb to the surface was impossible. 
 Christian's heart sank. His position was terri- 
 ble. 
 
 This conflict of soul did not last long. The 
 heart soon clung to the nearest hope. Cry for 
 help lie must; be dragged out of this grave he 
 should, let the issue be what it could or would. 
 To lie here and die was not human. To live 
 in the living present was the first duty, the first 
 necessity, be the price of life no less than future 
 death. 
 
 Christian reflected that the police, when he 
 heard their footsteps, had been running to Lock- 
 jaw Creek. It w^ould take them five minutes to 
 reach it. When they got there and saw the boats 
 on the shingle they would know that their men 
 had escaped them. Then they would hasten 
 back. In ten minutes they would pass the 
 mouth of the shaft again. Five of these ten 
 minutes must have gone already. If he were to 
 be rescued he must know nearabouts when they 
 ought to return, so that he might shout when 
 they were within hail. He remembered that their 
 footsteps had gone from him like the wind. The 
 long shaft and sixty feet of dull dead rock and 
 earth had carried them off in an instant. 
 
 Christian began to reckon moments. His
 
 i:8 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 thougihts came too fast. He knew tliey must 
 deceiye him as to time. Minutes in this perilous 
 position mig^hit count with him. for hours. He 
 took out his watch, meaning to listen for the 
 beat of its seconds. The watdh had stopped. No 
 doubt it was full of water. Christian's heart beat 
 loud enough. Then he began to count — one, 
 two, three. But his mind was in a whirl. He 
 lost his reckoning. He found that he had 
 stoppj^d counting land forgotten the number. 
 Whether five minutes or fifty had passed he 
 could not be sure. 
 
 Hark! He heard something over head. Were 
 they footsteps, those thuds that fell on the ear 
 like the first rumble of a distant thunder-cloud? 
 Yes, some one was near him. Noav was his 
 time to call, but his tongue was cleaving to his 
 mouth. Then he beard words spoken at the 
 mouth of the shaft. They rumbled down to him 
 like words shouted through a hollow black pil- 
 lar. 
 
 ''Here men," said one, "let's tumble him into 
 the lead-mine. No harm will it do him now, poor 
 craythur." 
 
 But another voice, laden with the note of 
 fearful agony, cried,. ''No, no, no!" 
 
 "We must do something. No time to lose
 
 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 139 
 
 now. The fac's is agen us. Let's make a slant 
 for it, anyway. Lift again — up!'' 
 
 Christian shuddred at the sound of human 
 voices. Buried, as he was, sixty feet beneath 
 the earth, they came to him hke the voice that 
 the wind might make on a tempestuous night 
 if, as it reached your ear, it whispered words 
 and fled away. 
 
 The men were gone. Christian's blood was 
 chilled. What had happened? Was some one 
 dead? Who was it? Christian shuddered at the 
 thought of what might have occurred if the 
 dead body had been tossed over him into the 
 pit. Had the police overstepped their duty? 
 Were they the police? Did he not remember 
 one of the voices — or both? Christian's entem- 
 pest soul was overwhelmed with agony. He 
 could not be sure that in very truth he was con- 
 scious of anything that occurred. 
 
 Time passed — he knew not how long or short 
 — and again he heard voices overhead. They 
 were not the voices he had heard before. 
 
 "They have escaped us," said one. "Their 
 boats are gone from the creek now.'' 
 
 These, then, were the police ; and, Avith a fresh 
 flood of agony. Christian realized that the other 
 men had been his friends. What fatalitv had
 
 140 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 prevented him from crying aloud to the only 
 persons on earth who could, in very truth, have 
 rescued and saved him? 
 
 The voices above him were dying away. 
 ''Stop," cried Christian. Despair made him 
 brave; fear made him fearless. But none an- 
 swered. Then he was conscious that a footstep 
 approached the top of the shaft. Had he been 
 heard? Now he prayed to God that he had not. 
 
 "What a gulf," said one. ''Lucky we didn't 
 tumble down. The young woman warned us, 
 you remember." 
 
 There was a short laugh at the mouth of 
 Christian's open grave. He did not call again. 
 The voices ceased, the footsteps died ol¥. 
 
 He was alone once more; but death was with 
 him. The poHce had gone. Kisseck and his 
 men had gone. They Avere no doubt out at sea 
 by this time if, as the police said, the boats had 
 been taken from the creek. Christian remem- 
 bered now that the voices he had heard first 
 w^ere those of Corteen and Danny Fayle. This 
 recovered consciousness enabled him to recall 
 the fearful memory of w^hat had been said. Cold 
 as he was, the sweat stood in big drops on Chris- 
 tian's forehead. One of their own men was 
 dead; one of the companions in this night's
 
 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 141 
 
 black adventure. A bad man perhaps, or per- 
 haps merely a weak victim, but his own as- 
 sociate, whatever else he had been. 
 
 Now if he were to escape from his death In 
 life it must be by his own unaided energies 
 alone. It was best so; best that he should climb 
 to the top without help, or be lost without de- 
 tection. After all, it was a superior Power that 
 had governed this dread eventuality and si- 
 lenced his impotent tongue. 
 
 An hour passed. The wind began to rise. 
 At first Christian felt nothing of it as he stood 
 in his deep tomb. He could hear its thin hiss 
 over the mouth of the shaft, and that was all. 
 But presently the hiss deepened to a sough. 
 Christian had often heard of the wind's sob. It 
 was a reality, and no metaphor, as he listened 
 to the wind novv. The wind began tO' descend. 
 With a great swoop it came down the shaft, 
 licked the walls, gathered voice from the echo- 
 ing water at the bottom, struggled for escape, 
 roared like a caged beast, and was once more 
 sucked up to the surface with a noise like the 
 breaking of a huge wave over a reef. The tu- 
 mult of the wind in the shaft was hard to bear, 
 but when it was gone it was the silence that 
 seemed to be deafening:.
 
 113 SHE'S ALL TEE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 Sometimes the gusits were laden with the 
 smoke of burning gorse. It came from the fire 
 that Danny had kindled on the head of the Pool- 
 vash. Would the fire reach the pit, encircle it, 
 descend in it? 
 
 Then the rain began to fall. Christian knew 
 this by the quick monotonous patter overhead. 
 But no rain touched him. It was being driven 
 aslant by the wdnd, and fell only against the up- 
 permost part of the w^alls of the shaft. Some- 
 times a soft thin shower fell over him. It was 
 like the spray from a cataract except that the 
 volume of water from which it came was above 
 and not beneath him. 
 
 Christian had begun to contemplate measures 
 for escape. That unexpected softness of the 
 rock which had at first appalled him began now 
 to give him some painful glimmerings of hope. 
 If the sides of the shaft had been uniformly of 
 the gray slate rock of the district, the ledge he 
 had laid hold of would not have crumbled in 
 his hand. Being soft, there must be a vein of 
 sandstone running across the shaft. Christian's 
 bewildered memory recalled what he must have 
 heard many times of the rift of redstone which 
 lay under the headland south of Peel. If this 
 vein were but deep enough, his safety was as-
 
 SHE'^ ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 145 
 
 sured. He could cut niches into it with a knife, 
 and so, perhaps, after infinite pain and labor, 
 reach the surface. Steadying himself with one 
 hand. Christian felt in his pockets for his kniTe. 
 It was not there! Now death indeed was cer- 
 tain. Despair began to take hold of him. 
 
 He was icy cold and feverishly hot at in- 
 tervals. His clothes were wet; the water still 
 dripped from them, and fell at intervals into the 
 hidden tarn beneath in hollow drops. 
 
 But not so soon is hope conquered, when it 
 is hope of life. Not to hope now would have 
 been not to fear. Christian remembered that he 
 had a pair of small scissors attached to a button- 
 hook. \Mien searching for his knife he had felt 
 it in his pocket, and spurned it for resembling 
 the knife to the touch of his nervous fingers. 
 Now it was his sole instrument. He found it 
 again, opened it, and with this paltry help he set 
 himself to his work of escape from this dark, 
 deep tunnel that stood upright. 
 
 The night was wearing on; hour after Hour 
 passed. The wind dropped; the rain ceased to 
 patter overhead. Christian toiled on step over 
 step; resting sometimes on the largest and firm- 
 est of the projecting ledges, he looked up at the 
 sky. Its leaden gray had changed to a dark
 
 144 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME, 
 
 blue studded with stars. The moon arose and 
 shone a little way down his prison, lighting all 
 the rest. He knew it mvist be early morning. 
 One star, a large, full globe of light, twinkled 
 directly above him. His eye was fascinated by 
 that star. He sat long and watched it. He 
 turned again and again in his toilsome journey 
 to look at it. Was it a symbol of hope? Pshaw! 
 Christian twisted back to his work. When he 
 looked for the star again it was gone. It had 
 moved beyond his ken; it had passed out oi 
 range of his narrow spot of heaven. Somehow 
 it had been a mute companio'n. Christian's heart 
 sank yet lower in his cheerless solitude. 
 
 Still he toiled on. His strength was far spent. 
 Tlie moon died off, and the stars went out one 
 after one. Then a deep, impenetrable cloud of 
 darkness overspread the little sky above. Chris- 
 tian knew it m^ust be the darkness that precedes 
 the dawn. He had reached a ledge of rock wid- 
 er than any that were beneath it. Clearly enough 
 a wooden rafter had lain along it. 
 
 Christian rested and looked up. At that mo- 
 ment he heard the light patter of four little feet 
 overhead, and a poor stray sheep, a lamb of last 
 spring's flock, bleated down the shaft. The mel- 
 ancholy call of the lost creature in that dismal 
 placed touched Christian deeply. What was it
 
 SUE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 145 
 
 that made the tears start to his eyes and liis 
 whole soul shake with a new agony? The out- 
 cast lamb wandering over this trackless wastj 
 in the night had touched an old scar in Chris- 
 tian's heart, and made the wound bleed afresh. 
 Was it strange that in that hour his thoughts 
 turned involuntarily to little Ruby Cregeen? 
 The darling child, caressed by the salt breath 
 of the sea, and with the sunlight dancing in her 
 eyes and glistening on her ruby lips, had she 
 then anything in common with the little wan- 
 derer that sent up her pitiful cry into the night? 
 Too much, too much, for the man who heard 
 it, and he was buried in a living grave, with 
 the tombstones of dead joys rising everv where 
 around, with the fire that had for years been 
 kept close burning now most of all. Oh, these 
 dead joys, they want the deepest grave. 
 
 Christian turned again to his weary task. To 
 live was a duty, and live he must. His fingers 
 were chilled to the bone. His clothes still hung 
 like damp cerements to^ his body. The meagre 
 blades of the scissors were worn short. They 
 could not last long. Christian rose to his feet 
 on the ledge of rock, and plunged the scissors 
 into the blank wall above 'him. Ah! what fresh 
 disaster was this? His hand went deep into soft 
 earth; the vein of rock had finished, and all that
 
 140 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 was above it must be loose, uncertain mouldt 
 He gasped at the discovery. A minute since 
 life had looked very dear. Must he abandon his 
 hope of it after all? He paused and reflected. 
 As nearly as he could remember he had made 
 twenty niohes in the rock. Hence he must be 
 fully thirty-five fciet from the water, and ten 
 from the surface. Only ten feet and then free- 
 dom! Yet these ten seemed to represent an 
 impossibility. To ascend by holes dug deep in 
 the soft earth was a perilous enterprise. A great 
 clod of soil might at any moment give way 
 above or beneath him, and then he would be 
 plunged once more into the pit. If he fell from 
 the side of the sihaft, he would be more likely 
 than at first to strike one of the projecting 
 ledges, and be killed before he reached ths 
 water. There was nothing left but to wait for 
 the dawn. Perhaps the daylight would reveal 
 some less hazardous method of escape. 
 
 Slowly the dull, dead, impenetrable blackness 
 above him was lifted of¥. It was as though a 
 spirit breathed on the night and it fled away. 
 When the woolly hue of morning dappled his 
 larger sky, Christian could hear the slow beat 
 of the waves on the shore. The coast rose up 
 before his vision then-, silent, solemn, alone with
 
 S:HE\^ all JUL MURLD TO HE. H7 
 
 the dawn. The light crept into his prison-house. 
 He looked down at the deep black tarn 
 
 And now hope rose in his heart again. Over- 
 head he saw the timbers running around and 
 across the shaft. These had been used to bank 
 up the earth and to make two grooves in which 
 the ascending and descending cages had once 
 worked. Christian lifted up his soul in thank- 
 fulness. The world was once more full of grace, 
 even for him. He could climb from stay to 
 stay, and so reach the surface. 
 
 Catching one of the stays in his uplifted 
 hands, he swung his knees on to another. One 
 stage Avas accomplished, but how stiff were his 
 joints and how sinewless his fingers! Another 
 and another stage was reached, and then four 
 feet and no more were between him and the 
 gorse that waved in the light of the risen sua 
 across the mouth of his night-long tomb. 
 
 But the rain of years had eaten into these tim- 
 bers. In some places they crumbled and 
 were rotten. God! how the one on which he 
 rested creaked under him at that instant. An- 
 other minute, and then the toilsome journey 
 would be over. Another minute, and his dead 
 self would be left behind, buried forever in this
 
 148 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 grave! Then there would be a resurrection 
 in very truth ! Yes, truly, God helping him. 
 
 Christian had swimming eyes and a big heart 
 as he raised himself on to the topmost stay that 
 crossed the shaft, and clutched the long tussacs 
 of the clinging gorse. Then, at the last spring, 
 he heard a creak — another — louder — the timbers 
 were breaking beneath his feet. At the same 
 moment he heard a half-stifled cr}- — saw a face 
 —it was Mona's face — there was a breathless in- 
 stant of bewildered consciousness. 
 
 In another moment Christian was standing 
 on the hill-side, close locked in Fiona's arms.
 
 8HE'^' ALL THE ^VORLD TO ME. 149 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 god's tvritixg on the sea. 
 
 When the knocking ceased at Kisseck's, and 
 Mona's footsteps were heard to turn away, Cor- 
 teen and KilHp knelt on the floor and felt the 
 body of the master, and knew that he was dead. 
 
 ''Let's get off anyway,'' said one; 'let's away 
 to sea, as the gel said. The fac's is agen us all.'' 
 
 "]Maybe the man was right,'' said the other. 
 *Tt's like enough she's got the Castle Rushen 
 fellows behind her, and they'll be on us quick. 
 Come, bear a hand." 
 
 Their voices sounded hollow. They lifted 
 Kisseck on to their shoulders. A thin red stream 
 was flowing from his breast. Corteen picked up 
 a cap from the floor and stanched the blood. 
 It was Danny's cap, and as they passed out it 
 fell again in the porch. 
 
 Danny himself stepped away from the door 
 to let them pass. He had watched their move- 
 ments with big wide eyes. They went by him 
 without a word. When they were gone, he fol-
 
 l.-O SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 lowed them mechanically, scarcely knowing 
 what he did. With bare head, and the pistol still 
 hanging in his rigid hand, he stepped out into 
 the night. 
 
 It was very dark now. They could see noth- 
 ing save the glow of the fire burning furiously 
 over the Poolvash. And only the sharp crackle 
 of the kindling gorse and the deep moan of the 
 distant sea could they hear. They took the low 
 path back to the Lockjaw, where they had left 
 the boats. The body was heavy, their steps 
 were uncertain in the darkness, and their cap- 
 ture seemed imminent. As they passed the 
 mouth of the old pit, Corteen proposed to throw 
 the body into it. Killip assented; but Danny, 
 who had not uttered word or sound until now, 
 cried, ''No, no, no." Then they hurried along. 
 
 When they reached the Lockjaw they de- 
 scended to the bay, got into one of the boats 
 and pushed ofif. The other boat — the police 
 boat that Danny had brought from the castle — 
 they pulled into mid-stream, and there sent it 
 adrift It ran ashore at the next flood-tide, two 
 miles farther up the shore. When they got 
 clear outside of the two streams that flow 
 round the Head, they were amazed to find the 
 Ben-my-Chree bearing down on them in the
 
 SHE'S ALL THE ^^OIiLD TO Ml. ir.i 
 
 uncertain light. \Miat had happened was this: 
 On running down the lamp that was put up 
 on the ruined end of the pier, the two men who 
 had charge of the fishing-boat had lain-to and 
 stayed aboard for some minutes. Davy Cain 
 and Tommy Tear, having effected their purpose 
 ashore, had stolen away from their simpler com- 
 panions, and were standing on the quay. The 
 t\vo couples of men Avere exchanging words in 
 eager whispers when they heard shouts from 
 the castle. ^'What's that? Kisseck's voice?" "No.'' 
 "Something has gone wrong. Let us sail and 
 away." So they stood out again to sea, passing 
 close by the Castle Rock. They now realized 
 that the voice they <had remembered was the 
 voice of Kinvig. That was enough to tell them 
 that mischief had been brewing. They rounded 
 the island and saw^ the fire over the head of the 
 Lockjaw. They filled away and kept the boat 
 off to her course. Soon they saw the dingy 
 athwart their hawse, and pulled to. Corteen and 
 Killip lifted the body of Kisseck into the fishing- 
 boat, and Danny Fayle, all but as silent and 
 rigid, w^as pulled up after it. As the lad w^as 
 dragged 'over the gunwale the pistol dropped 
 from his hand and fell with a splash into the 
 sea. A word of explanation ensued, and once
 
 152 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 more they were standing out to sea, with their 
 dread freight of horror and crime. 
 
 The wind was fresh outside. It was on their 
 starboard quarter as they now made for the 
 north. They saw the fire burning to leeward. 
 It sent a long, red, sinuous track of light across 
 the black water that flowed between them and 
 the land. Danny stood forward, never speaking 
 never spoken to, gazing fixedly at that sinuous 
 track. To his affrighted senses it was as tlTe 
 serpent of guilt that kept trailing behind him. 
 
 When they were well away, and the men had 
 time to comprehend in its awful fullness what 
 had occurred, they stood together aft and whis- 
 pered. They had placed the body of the mas- 
 ter by the hatchways, and again and again they 
 turned their iheads towards it in the darkness. 
 It was as thought the body might even yet stand 
 up in their midst, and any man at any moment 
 might find it face to face with him, eye to eye. 
 The certainty that it was dead had not taken 
 hold of all of them. It still bled, and one of 
 the crew, Ouilleash, an old man reputed to pos- 
 sess a charm to stop blood, knelt down beside 
 Kisseck and whispered in his ear. 
 
 "A few words can do no harm anyway," said 
 Tear, and even Davy Cain w^as too much aghast 
 to jeer at the superstition.
 
 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 153 
 
 ''Sanguis mane in te, Sicut Christus se/' whis- 
 pered the old man, in his native tongue into the 
 de'af ear, and then followed a wild command to 
 the blood to cease flowing in the name of the 
 three godly men who came to Rome — Christ, 
 Peter and Paul. 
 
 The blood stopped indeed. But ''Chamarroo 
 as clagh,*' said the old man, looking up; as dead 
 as a stone. 
 
 Danny stood and looked on in silence. His 
 spirit seemed to be gone, as though it could 
 awake to life again only in another world. 
 
 When death was certain the men began to 
 mourn over Kisseck, and recount their mem- 
 ories concerning him. 
 
 "Well, Bill's cruise is up, poor fellow; and a 
 real good skipper anyway." 
 
 'Toor Bill! What's that it's sayin'— 'He who 
 makes a ditch for another may fall into it him- 
 self.' " 
 
 None spoke to Danny. A kind of awe fell on 
 them in their dealings with the lad. They let 
 him alone. It was as if he had been the instru- 
 ment in greater hands. 
 
 "He hadn't a lazy bone in him, hadn't Bill. 
 Aw, well, God will be aisy on the poor chap." 
 
 *'You have to summer and winter a man be-
 
 l.H SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 fore you know him. And leave me to know 
 Kisseck. I've shared work, shared meat with 
 him this many a year." 
 
 ''And a fine big ahap, and as straight as the 
 backbone of a herring. Aw, well, well, well." 
 
 "Still, for sure, Bill made a man toe the mark. 
 I'm thinking, poor chap, he's got summat to 
 answer for anyway. Well, well, every man must 
 go to the mill with his own sack." 
 
 Then they compared memories of how the 
 dead man had foreseen his end. One remem- 
 bered that Kisseck had said he knew he should 
 net die in his bed. Another recalled the fact 
 that on Good Friday mornig Kisseck struck 
 the griddle that hung in the ingle and tumbled 
 it into the fire. This tangible warning of ap- 
 proaching death the witness had seen with his 
 own eyes. A third man remembered that Kis- 
 seck had met a cat when going home on Oie 
 houiney (Hallow-eve). And if these prognosti- 
 cations had counted for little, there was the re- 
 maining and awful fact that on New-year's-eve 
 Bridget Kisseck had raked the fire en going to 
 bed, and spread the ashes on the floor with the 
 tongs, and next morning had found that print 
 of a foot pointing towards the door winch '\as
 
 SUE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 155 
 
 the certain forewarning of death in the house- 
 hold within the year. 
 
 They were doubhng the point of Ayre, with 
 no clear purpose before them, and with some 
 misgivings as to whether they had done wisely 
 in setting oiit to sea at all, when the wind fell to 
 a dead calm. Then through the silence and 
 darkness they heard large drops of rain fail on 
 the deck. Presently there came a torrent which 
 lasted nearly an hour. The men turned in ; only 
 Danny and the body remained en deck. Still 
 the lad could see the glow of the fire on the cfiH, 
 which was now miles away. When the rain 
 cea'sed, the darkness, which had been all but pal- 
 pable lifted away, and the stars came out. To- 
 wards three in the morning, the moon rose, but 
 it was soon concealed by a dense black turret 
 cloud that reared itself upward from the hori- 
 zon. All this time the fishing-boat lay motion- 
 less, with only the lap of the waters heard about 
 'her. 
 
 The stars died off, the darkness came again, 
 and then, far on in the night, the first gray 
 'Streaks stretching along the east foretold the 
 dawn. Over the confines of another nig'ht ^nt 
 soft daylight was brealving, but more utterly 
 lonely, more void, more full of dread and fore-
 
 156 SHE'S ALL TEE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 boding, was the great, waste of waters now that 
 the striding Hght was chasing the curling mists 
 than when the night was dead and darkness 
 covered the sea. On one side of them no other 
 object on the waters was visible until sky and 
 ocean met in that great half-circle far away. On 
 the other side was the land which they called 
 •home — from which they had fled, to which they 
 -dare not return. 
 
 Still not a breath of wind. The boat was drift- 
 ing south. The men came up from below. The 
 cold white face on the deck looked up at them, 
 and at heaven. "We must put it away," said one, 
 in a low murmur. *'Aye," said another. Not 
 a second word was spoken. A man went below 
 and brought up an old sail. Two heavy iron 
 weights, used for holding down the nets, were 
 fetched up from the hold. There was no singing 
 out. They took up what lay there cold and stiff, 
 and wrapped it in the canvas, putting one of the 
 weights at the head and another at the feet. 
 Silently one man sat down with a sail-maker's 
 needle and string, and began to stitch it up. 
 
 ''Will the string hold?" asked another; ''is it 
 strong enough?" 
 
 "It will last him this voyage out — it's a short 
 one, poor fellow."
 
 SnE\S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. :r.7 
 
 Awe and silence sat on the crew. 
 
 Danny, his eyes suffused with an unearthly 
 light, watched their movements from the bow. 
 When he was lifted aboard last nig-ht a 6ull, 
 dense aching at his heart was all the conscious- 
 ness he had, and then the wcdd was dead to 
 him. Later on a fluttering within him preceded 
 the return of an agonizing sense. Had he not 
 sent his uncle to perdition? That he had taken 
 a warm human hfe; that Kisseck, who had been 
 alive, lay dead a few feet away from him — this 
 was as nothing to the horrible thought that his 
 imcle, a hard man, a brutal man, a sinful man, 
 had been sent by his hand, hot and unprepared, 
 to an everlasting hell. "Oh, can this have liap- 
 poned?'' his bewildued mind asked itself a 
 thousand times, as it awoke as often from the 
 half-dream of stunned and paralyzed con- 
 sciousness. Yet, it was true that such a thing 
 had occurred. No, it was not a nightmare. He 
 would never, never awake in the morning sun- 
 light and smile to knov/ that it was not true. 
 Xo, no — true, true; true it was even until the 
 day of judgment, and he and Kisseck stood once 
 more face to face. 
 
 Danny watched the old man when he whis- 
 pered into the dead ear the words of the mvstic
 
 158 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 charm. He turned his eyes to the sinuous trail 
 of light behind him. All night long he lay on 
 deck with only the dead for company. He saw 
 the other men, hut did not speak to them. It 
 was as though he himself were already a being 
 of another world, and could hold no comimerce 
 with his kind. 
 
 He thought of Mona, and then his heart was 
 near to breaking. With a dumb longing his 
 eyes turned through the darkness towards the 
 land. The boat that was sailing before the wind 
 was carrying him away from her forever. To 
 his spirituahzed sense the water that divided 
 them was as the river that would flow for all 
 eternity between the blessed and the damned. 
 
 The last ray of hope was flying away. It had 
 once visited him, like a gleam of sunlight, that 
 though he might never clasp her hand on eiaith 
 in heaven she would yet be his, to love forever 
 and ever. But now between them the great gulf 
 was fixed. 
 
 When the grey dawn came in the east, Danny 
 still lay in the bow, haggard and pale. The un- 
 earthly light that now fired his eyes was the first 
 w^ord of a fearful tale. A witch's Sabbath, a dev- 
 il's revelr>' had begun in his distracted brain. 
 In a state of wild hallucination he saw his own
 
 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 159 
 
 Spectre. It had gone into the body of Kisseck, 
 and it was no longer his uncle, but himself who 
 lay there dead. He was cold ; his face was white, 
 and it stared straight up at the sky. He watched 
 with quick eyes the movements of the crew. He 
 saw them bring up the canvas and the weights. 
 He knew what they were going to do ; they were 
 going to bury him in the sea. 
 
 Silently the men brought from below the 
 bank-board used in shooting the nets. They 
 lifted the body on to it, and then with the scud- 
 ding pole they raised one end of the board on 
 to the gunwale. 
 
 The boat had drifted many miles. She was 
 now almost due west off Peel. The heavy clouds 
 of night still rolled before the dawn. A gentle 
 breeze was rising in the southwest. 
 
 All hands stood round and lifted their caps. 
 Then the old man Ouilleash went down on one 
 knee, and laid his right hand on the body. Two 
 other men raised the other end of the board. 
 
 ''Dy bishee jeeah shin,'' murmured the old 
 fisherman. 
 
 "God prosper you,'' echoed the others. 
 
 Then down into the wide waste of still water 
 slid the body of Kisseck. 
 
 Danny saw it done. The image tliat had
 
 160 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME, 
 
 possession of him stood up so vividly before him 
 at that instant that he shrieked. He peered into 
 the water as if his eyes would bring back what 
 the immemorial sea ihad swallowed up forever. 
 
 Forever? No! Listen! 
 
 Listen to that rumble as the waves circle over 
 the spot where the body has disappeared! It is 
 the noise of the iron weights shifting from their 
 places. They are tearing open the canvas in 
 which the body is wrapped. They have rolled 
 out of it and sunk into the sea. 
 
 And now look! 
 
 The body, free of the w^eights, has come up 
 to the surface. It is floating Hke a boat. The 
 torn canvas is opening out. It is spreading like 
 a sail in the breeze. Away it goes over the sea! 
 It is flying across the \^aters, straight for the 
 land. 
 
 The men stood and stared in each other's 
 faces in speechless dismay. It was as though 
 an avenging angel had torn the murdered man 
 from their grasp and cried aloud in their ears, 
 ''Blood will have blood." 
 
 They strained their eyes to watch it until !t 
 became a speck in the twilight of the dawn, and 
 coiuld be seen no more. 
 
 Nor had the marvel ended yet. A great lumi-
 
 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. ^61 
 
 nous line arose and stretched from their quar- 
 ter towards the land, white as a moon's water- 
 way, but with no moon to make it. Flashing 
 along the sea's surface for several seconds, il 
 seemed to the men like the finger of God mark- 
 ing the "body's path on the waters. 
 
 The phenomenon will be understood by those 
 only who 'have marked closely what has been 
 said of the varying weather of this fearful night, 
 and can interpret aright its many signs. To 
 the crew of the Ben-my Chree it had but one 
 awful explanation.
 
 162 SEE'S ALL TEE WORLD TO ME, 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 "oh, ABSALOM, MY SON, MY SON." 
 
 As Mona stood at the angle of the mountain- 
 path and the road leading to the door of Kis- 
 seck's cottage, she saw four men pass (her and 
 run into the house. She recognized Danny and 
 his uncle, but not Christian. Pei'haps the dark- 
 ness deceived her, but she thought the other two 
 were Corteen and Killip. After a few minutes 
 she heard loud voices from the cottage, mingled 
 with terrific oaths. If the police returned sud- 
 denly, and were made witnesses to this turmoil, 
 discovery and conviction were certain. Mona 
 crept up, meaning to warn the men and get 
 them to put out to sea. She knocked and had no 
 answer. She tried thie door, and it was barred. 
 Still the loud quarreling continued. Among 
 other voices, she recognized Kisseck's and Dan- 
 ny's. Christian's voice she ciould not 'hear, but 
 in her perturbation and the angry tumult any 
 voice might escape lier. Then came the pistol- 
 s/hot, the cry, the fall, and a long silence. She
 
 SHE'S ALL TUB WORLD TO ME. 163 
 
 knocked again, and yet again. She called on 
 . Christian. She had no reply. She called on 
 Kisseck. Then came the words, "Bill is gone to 
 bed." Somehow, she knew not why, the words 
 chilled her to the heart's core. Fearful, dis- 
 traught, in the agony of uncertainty she fled 
 away to the town. Christian, where was he? 
 Had he indeed passed her among the rest? Was 
 he in that house when that shot was fired? At 
 whoim? by whom? wherefore? The suspense 
 was more terrible than the reality could have 
 been. 
 
 Through Peel and on to Balladhoo Mona ran 
 with shuddering heart. She asked for Christian 
 first. ■ How well her fears told her that he was 
 not there. She asked for the gardener. Jemmy 
 Quark Balladhoo, like Tommy-Biill^beg, -was 
 away at the waits. Something must be done, 
 for something terrible had occurred. The hour 
 was late, but Mylrea Balladhoo w^ould certainly 
 be awake, and waiting the return of Kerruish 
 Kinvig with intelligence of the expected cap- 
 ture. 
 
 'Tell Mr. INIylrea I wish to speak with him at 
 once and alone,'' said Mona. 
 
 In another moment Mylrea Balladhoo came 
 to the door with a lamp held above his head, to 
 catch sisfht of 'his late visitor.
 
 164 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 *'Ah, the young woman from Kinvig. Come 
 in, my girl ; come in, come in." 
 
 Mona followed the old gentleman Into the 
 Ihouse. Her face In the lamplight was ashy pale, 
 the pupils of her eyes were dilated, her lips quiv- 
 ered, her fingers trembled and were Intertwined. 
 
 *'Is Mr. Christian at home, sir?" said Mona. 
 
 Mylrea Balladhoo glanced up under 'his spec- 
 tacks. What Kerruish Kinvig had once said 
 of Christian and this young woman flashed 
 across his mind at that Instant. ''No, my girl, 
 no. Christian Is helping the Castle Rushen men 
 to lay hands on that gang of scoundrels, you 
 know.'' 
 
 "He is not with them, sir," said Mona, with a 
 fearful effort. 
 
 "Oh, yes, though; I sent Jemmy after him to 
 instruct him. But he'll be home soon; I expect 
 him ever}^ minute. I hope they've captured the 
 vagabonds." 
 
 It w^s terrible to go on. Mona lifted up her 
 whole soul In prayer for this old man, whose 
 liour of utmost need had now come. And she 
 herself was to deal the blow that must shatter 
 his liappiness. "God help him," she muttered 
 passionately, and the Involuntary prayer was 
 made audible. 
 
 Mylrea Balladhoo rose stiffly to his feet. He
 
 )S'//L".V ALL THE WORLD TiJ ML. 105 
 
 looked for an instant in silence into the pale face 
 before him. 
 
 "What is it?" he faltered, with an affrighted 
 stare. ''What news? Is Christian — Where is 
 Christian? Have the scoundrels — injured him?'' 
 
 *'He was one of themselves," said Alona, and 
 dropped to her knees in the depth of her agony. 
 
 Then slowly, disjointedly, inconsequentially, 
 repeating incident after incident, beginning 
 again and again, explaining, excusing, praying 
 for pardon, and clasping the old man's knees in 
 the tempest of her passion, Mona told the whole 
 story as she knew it : how she heard too late that 
 Christian had gone out in Kisseck's boat; how 
 s/he tried to compass his rescue ; how, at the very 
 crown and top of what she mistook for her suc- 
 cess, the hand of Fate itself seemed to 'have been 
 thrust in, to the ruin of all. She finished with 
 the stor}^ ol the flight of the four men to Kis- 
 seck's cottage, the quarrelling there, the pistol- 
 shot, and the strange answer to her knock. 
 
 Mylrea Balladhoo stood still with the stupid, 
 bewildered look of one who has been dealt an 
 unexpected and dreadful blow. The world 
 seemed to be crumbling under him. At that 
 first instant there was something like a ghastly 
 smile playing over his pallid face. Then the 
 truth came rolling over his soul. The sight was 
 fearful to look upon. He fell back with a low
 
 166 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 moan. But the good God sent the stricken old 
 man the gift of tears. He wept aloud, and cried 
 that he could better have borne poverty than 
 such disgrace. "Oh, my so'U, my son! how have 
 you shortened my days! How have you clothed 
 me with shame; oh my son, my son!" But love 
 was uppermost even in that bitter hour. 
 
 It w^as not for this that Mona had made her 
 w^ay to Balladhoo. She wanted help. She must 
 find where Christian was, and whether in truth 
 he had been one of the four that passed iher on 
 the mountain path. 
 
 Together she land Mylrea Balladhoo set off for 
 Kisseck's cottage. Hciw the old father tottered 
 on the way! How low his head was bent, as if 
 the darkness itself had eyes to peer into his 
 darkened soul. 
 
 When they reached the cottage in the quarry 
 the door was wide open. All was silent now. 
 No one was within. A candle burned low o.n the 
 table. The fire was out. A soft seaman's cap 
 lay near the porch. Mcma picked it up. It was 
 Danny Fayle's. They stepped into the kitchen. 
 A shallow pool was in the middle of the floor, 
 and the light from the candle flickei^ed in it. It 
 was a pool of blood. 
 
 '*My son, my son!" cried Mylrea Balladhoo. 
 His knees failed him, and he sank to the floor. 
 Tortured by suspense, bewildered, distracted,
 
 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 167 
 
 in an agony of doubt, he had juimped to the con- 
 clusion that this was Ohrisitian's bliood, and that 
 he had been murdered. No protest from Mona, 
 no argument, no entreaty, prevailed to disturb 
 that instant inference. 
 
 "He is dead, he is dead!" he cried; "now is my 
 heart smitten and withered like grass.'' Then, 
 rising to his feet, and gazing through his poor, 
 blurred eyes into ]\Iona's face with a look O'f re- 
 proach, "Young woman," he said, "why did you 
 torture an old man with words of hope? Cliris- 
 tian is dead. My son is dead. Dead? Can it 
 be true? Yes, dead. Lord, Lord, now let me 
 eat asihes for bread, and mingle my drink with 
 weeping.'' 
 
 And so he poured out his soul in a torrent of 
 wald laments. Debts were as trifles to this. Dis- 
 grace was but as a dream to this dread reality. 
 "Oh, my son, my son. Would to God I had died 
 for thee. Oh, my son, my son !" 
 
 Mona stood by and saw the unassuageable 
 grief shake him to the soul. Then she took his 
 hand in silence, and together they stepped again 
 into the night. Out of that chamber of death 
 Mylrea went forth a shattered man. He would 
 not return to Balladhoo. Side by side they 
 tramped up and down the harbor quay the long 
 night through. Up and down, up and down, 
 through darkness and rain, and then under
 
 168 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 moonlight and the stars, until the day dawned 
 and the cheerless sun rose over the sleeping 
 town. 
 
 Very pitiful was it to see how the old man's 
 soul struggled with a vain effort to glean com- 
 fort from his faith. Every text that rose to his 
 heart seemed to wound it afresh. 
 
 "As arrows are in the hand of a mighty man, 
 so are children of the youth .... They shall not 
 
 be ashamed Oh, Absalom, my son, my son 
 
 .... For thy sake I have borne reproach ; shame 
 
 hath covered my face I am poor and needy; 
 
 make haste unto me, O God .... Hide not Thy 
 face from Thy servant, for I am in trouble .... 
 Set thine house in order.... O'h, God, Thou 
 knowest my foolishness.... The waters have 
 overwhelmed me, the streams have gone over 
 my soul, the proud waters have gone over my 
 soul.-' 
 
 Thus hour after hour, tottering feebly at 
 Mona's side, leaning sometimes on the girl's 
 arm, the old man poured forth his grief. At one 
 moment, as they stood by the ruined end of the 
 pier, and Danny's gorse fire glowed red over the 
 Lockjaw Creek, and tihe moon broke through a 
 black rain-cloud over the town, the sorrowing 
 man turned calmly to Mona and said, with a 
 strange resignation: 'T will be quiet. Christian 
 is dead. Surely I shiall quiet myself as a child
 
 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 109 
 
 that is weaned of its mother. Yes, my soul is 
 even as a weaned child." 
 
 Just then two of the police who had been on 
 the cliff-head came up and spoke. 
 
 ''They have escaped us so far, sir," he said^ 
 ''but we are certain to have them. The fire yon- 
 der was lit to warn them. Your fishing-boat, 
 the Ben-my-Chree, has been taken out to sea. 
 Ever}' man that is in .her must be captured. 
 Don't trouble to stay longer, sir. We are posted 
 evers'where about. They are doomed men. 
 ]\Iake your mind easy, sir, and go off to bed. 
 Good-night.'' 
 
 Alona felt the old man's arm tremble as it lay 
 on hers. 
 
 The day dawned and they parted. !Mylrea 
 Balladhoo said he would go home now, and 
 away he started along the shore. With the com- 
 ing of daylight his sorrow bled afresh, and he 
 cried piteously. 
 
 ^lona turned in the opposite direction. She, 
 on her part, had not given up hope of Christian. 
 She could not forget that she had not recognized 
 him among the men who ran past her into Kis- 
 seck's house. Christian was still alive, but who 
 wras it that was dead ? 
 
 Mona stopped. The seaman's cap which she 
 had picked up at the porch of the deserted cot- 
 tage in the quarry she had carried all night in
 
 170 SEE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 Ilier hand. At that instant she looked at ilt agiain, 
 and seeiinig it for the first time in the dayHg;ht, 
 she saw that it was stained with spots of blood. 
 It was Danny Fayle's cap. Then it must be Dan- 
 ny who was dead. The inference in her case 
 was as swift as in the case of Mylrea Balladhoo. 
 And as Httle would argument or entreaty have 
 prevailed to disturb it. 
 
 Danny was dead, and it was she who had sent 
 him to his death. His great little heart that had 
 been broken for love of her, had also' died for 
 her sake. 
 
 And now the anguish of the girl was not less 
 than that of the old man himself. Where was 
 Christian? Did he know what Kisseck had 
 done? It must have been Kisseck. But God 
 would punish him. Had Christian gone out to 
 'sea? 
 
 jNIona set of¥ for the Lockjaw Creek, think- 
 ing that some trace of Christian might perhaps 
 be found there. 
 
 She took the high path. The sun had risen, 
 and the gorse fire burned blue. When she came 
 by the mouth of the old mine she was thinking 
 both of Danny and of Christian. **He will be 
 cold now; he will be in heaven," she muttered 
 to herself. 
 
 Then it was that, half-buried in the pit, she 
 saw the pallid, deep-ploughed face of Christian
 
 SHE'S ALL THE WOHLD TO ME. 171 
 
 himself. She could not suppress a cry. Then 
 she heard the creak and fall of the timbers under 
 (him. For a moment she lost consciousness, and 
 in another moment she was in Christian's arms. 
 
 Hardly had the be^dldered senses of these two 
 regained an instant's composure when a man 
 came running towards them from the town. In 
 disjointed w^ords he told them that some fearful 
 thing had washed ashore in the bay, and that 
 ^lylrea Balladhoo was there, raving over it like 
 one mad. This is what had happened. 
 
 As Balladhoo turned along the shore towards 
 'his home, bemoaning what he believed to be the 
 death of Christian, his dazed eye caught sight 
 of a curious object some distance out at sea. It 
 might be a gig with a sail, but it looked too 
 small. It might be a diver or a solan goose with 
 outspread wings, but it looked too Urge. What 
 it was mattered little to him. The world had 
 lost its light. The sun that shone above him 
 entered not into his soul. His days henceforth 
 were to be but as a shadow that passeth away. 
 
 Balladhoo walked on, meaning and cr}-ing 
 aloud. As he approached his house every step 
 awoke a new grief; every stone, every hedge, 
 was sacred to some memor\-. Here he had seen 
 the lad playing with other lads. Here, laughing 
 and cialling, he had seen him ride the rough colt 
 his fatlier gave him. As he opened the gate he
 
 X72 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 could almoist Imagine he saw a falr-balred boy 
 i-uiunlng to meet him, a whip In one hand and a 
 toy horse tumbhng behind. Balladhoo Hfted his 
 head to brush away the bUndlng tears. As he 
 did so his eyes fell on a window In the gable 
 half-hidden by the leafless boughs of an old rose- 
 tree. That awoke the bitterest and oldest nitm- 
 o-ry of all. It was of a fair young w^oman' s form, 
 with joy in the blue eyes and laughter on the red 
 lips. In her -arms was a. child, and as she. cried 
 to it *'L'Ook," the little one, plunging and leap- 
 ing, called 'Tapa, papa," and clapped its tiny 
 hands. 
 
 The Lord gave, and the Lord ha,th taken 
 away; blessed 
 
 No, Mylrea Balladhoo could not enter his 
 house. It was full of too many spectres. 
 
 He turned back. It was to be anywhere; he 
 knew not where. Jemmy, the gardener, who 
 had been awake all night in amazement and dis- 
 tress at his master's absence, saw him now ap- 
 speak to him, and, failing to get a word in reply, 
 walked in silence by his side. 
 
 He returnied along the shore. And now the 
 white thing which he had seen before was with- 
 in fifty yards of the beach, and was sailing due 
 to land. What oould it be? In a minute it 
 drifted to Balladhoo's feet, and then he saw that 
 it "was a human body which had been bound in
 
 i^IIE'S ALL Tin: WOL'LI) TO ML. i;3 
 
 canvas for burial at sea, and had come ashore in 
 this strange way. He gave it but one glance. 
 He did not look to see whose body it was. He 
 concluded at once that it must be the body of 
 Christian. Had he not heard that the men had 
 put out to sea ? They had taken the body of his 
 murdered son with them, and tried to bur}' it 
 there and hide their crime forever. It was all so 
 terribly plain to Balladhoo's bewildered mind. 
 Then he cried aloud in a tempest of agony that 
 nothing could restrain. His religion seemed to 
 desert him. At least it gave no comfort His 
 face became suddenly and awfully discolored 
 and stern, and, standing by the dread thing on 
 the sand, the tottering old man lifted his clinched 
 fist to the sky in silent imprecation of Heaven. 
 
 Jemmy Quark left him, and, rushing to the 
 tov.-n, cried out that something horrible had 
 washed ashore. One of those who heard hira 
 had seen ^vlona and Balladhoo part on the quay. 
 This m.an went in pursuit of the young woman, 
 who had been seen to take the path over Con- 
 trary. 
 
 And now Christian and ^lona, with a group 
 of others, hastened to the bay. Th(?re — seeing 
 nothing but the dread thing lying on the shore — 
 was Mylrea Balladhoo. He was crying aloud 
 that if Heaven had spared his boy Hell might 
 have taken all else he had.
 
 t74 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 *'Oh, my son, my son, would to God I liad 
 died for you ! Oh, my son, my son !" 
 
 Then the stricken father went down on his 
 knees and stretched out a feeble, trembling hand 
 to draw aside the canvas that hid the face. 
 
 As he did so Mona and Christian came up. 
 Christian stood opposite his father on the other 
 side of the corpse; the old man on his knees, the 
 son on his feet, the dead man between them. 
 
 The others stood around. Noine spoke. Then 
 Mona, motioning Christian to silence, sitepped 
 up to Balladhoo and knelt beside him. It was 
 better that he should realize the truth by degrees 
 and not too suddenly. He would see the face, 
 and know that it was not the face of his son. 
 Mona, on her part, knew it wo'uld be Danny's 
 face. And the boy was dead. The beating of 
 her heart fell low. 
 
 There was a moment of unutterable suspense. 
 Then, with rapid, audible breath, the old man 
 stretched out a half-palsied hand and drew off 
 the loose canvas. 
 
 They saw the face of Kisseck. 
 Balladhoo got up with great wide eyes. There 
 before him, face to face with him, was Christian 
 himself.
 
 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 175 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 she's all the world to me. 
 
 When the crew of the Ben-my-Chree hall re- 
 covered from their first consternation on seeing 
 the body of Kisseck rise to the surface and shoot 
 stood once more out to sea. The gentle breeze 
 away like a sceptre boat, they hoisted sail and 
 filled the canvas, and for half an hour the jib 
 lay over the side, while the fishing-boat scudded 
 along like a startled bird. 
 
 The sun rose over the land, a thin gauze ob- 
 scuring it. The red light flashed and died away 
 as if the wind were the sunshine. The haggard 
 faces of the men caught at moments a lurid 
 glow from it. In the west a mass of bluish cloud 
 rested a little while on the horizon, and then 
 passed into a nimbus of gray rain-cloud that 
 floated above it. Such was the dawn and sunrise 
 of a fateful day. 
 
 They were sailing north; they had no haven 
 in their view. But Peel was beliind them. 
 Think what home is to the fisherman who goes 
 down into the great deep. Then know that to
 
 E76 SHE'S ALL TEE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 them home could be all this no longer. The sil- 
 very voices of girls, the innocent prattle of little 
 children, the welcome of wife, the glowing hearth 
 — these were theirs no more. Then belly out, 
 brave sail, and back off with a noise like thunder; 
 let the blocks creak, and the ropes strain. Any- 
 where, anywhere, away from the withering re- 
 proach of the crime of one and the guilt of all. 
 
 But they were standing only two miles off Jur- 
 hy Point when once more the wind fell to a dead 
 calm. The men looked into eacli other's faces. 
 Here was the work of fate. There wais to be no 
 flying away; God meant them to die on these 
 waters. The sail flapped idly; they furled it, and 
 the boat drifted south. 
 
 Then one after one sat down on the deck, help- 
 less and hopeless. Hours went by. The day 
 wore on. A passing breath sometimes stirred 
 the waters, and again all around was dumb, 
 dead, pulseless peace. Hearing only the faint 
 flap of the rippling tide, they drifted, drifted, 
 drifted. 
 
 Then they thouglit of home once more, and 
 now with other feelings. Death was before fbhem 
 — slow, sure, relentless death. There was to be no 
 jugglery. Let it be death at home rather than 
 death on this desert sea. Anything, anytihing 
 but this blind end— this dumb end; this dying 
 bit by bit on still waters. To see the darkness
 
 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 177 
 
 come again and the sun rise afresh, and once 
 more the sun sink and the darkness deepen, and 
 still to lie there with nothing around but the 
 changeless sea, and nothing above but the emp- 
 ty sky, and only the eye of God upon them, 
 while the winds and waters lay in His avenging 
 hand. Let it rather be death — swift death, just 
 death — there where their crime was attempted, 
 and one black deed was done. 
 
 Thus despair took hold of them and drove all 
 fear away. Each hard man, with despair seated 
 on his rugged face, longed, like a sick child, to 
 lay his head in the lap of home. 
 
 "What's it saying?'' muttered the old man 
 Quilleash, '''A green hill when far aw^ay; bare, 
 bare when it is near.' " 
 
 It was some vague sense of their hopelessness 
 that was floating through the old man's mind 
 as he recalled the pathetic IManx proverb. The 
 others looked down at the deck wdth a stony 
 stare. 
 
 Danny still lay forward. When the speck that 
 had glided along the waters could be seen no 
 more, he had turned and gazed in silence to- 
 wards the eastern light and the distant shores of 
 morning. If madness be the symbol en earth 
 of the tortures oi the damned, Danny had then 
 a few hours' blessed respite. He saw calmly 
 what he had done and why he had done it.
 
 178 8HE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 ''Surely, God is just," he thooight: "surely He 
 will not condemn me ; surely, surely not." Then, 
 amid surging inward tears, which his eyes re- 
 fused to shed, the simple lad tried to recall the 
 good words that he had heard in the course of 
 his poor, neglected, battered life. One after 
 another they came back to him, most of them 
 from some farnaway and 'hazy dream-world, 
 strangely bright with the vision of a face that 
 looked fondly upon him, and even kissed him 
 tenderly. "Gentle Jesus!" and "Now I lay me 
 d'own to sleep" — he could remember them both 
 pretty well, and the simple words went up with 
 the supplicator}' ardor of his great grown heart 
 to the sky on which his longing eyes were bent. 
 
 The thought of Mona intertwined itself with 
 the yearning hope of pardon and peace. It sus- 
 tained him now to think of her. She became part 
 of his scheme of penitence. His love for her was 
 to redeem him in the Father's eye. He was to 
 take it to the foot of God's white throne, and 
 when his guilt came up for judgment he was to 
 lay it meekly there and look up into the good 
 Father's face. God had sent him his great love, 
 and it was not for his harm that he had sent it. 
 
 Then a film overspread his sight, and when he 
 awoke he knew that he had slept. He had seen 
 Mona in a dream. There was a bright thought 
 in her face. She loved and was beloved. Everv-
 
 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 179 
 
 thing about her spoke of peace. All her troubles 
 were gone forever. No, not that either. In her 
 eyes was the reflection of his own face, and 
 sometimes it made them sad. At the memor)^ of 
 this the dried-up well of Danny's own eyes 
 moistened at last to tears. 
 
 The cold, thick winter day was far worn to- 
 w^ards sunset. Xot a breath of wind was stirring. 
 Gilded by the sun's rays, the waters to the west 
 made a floor of bleared red. The fishing-boat 
 had drifted nearly ten miles to the south. If she 
 should drift two miles more she must float into 
 the south-easterly current that flows under Con- 
 trary- Head. The crew lay half-frozen on the 
 deck. Xo one cared to go below. All was still 
 around them, and silence was in their midst. At 
 last a man lifted his head, and asked if any one 
 could say what had become of Christian. Xo 
 one knew. Old Quilleash thought he must have 
 come by some mischief, and perhaps be captured 
 or even dead. It was only the general hopeless- 
 ness of their hearts that gave a ready consent to 
 this view of the possibilities. Then they talked 
 of Christian as if he were no longer a living man. 
 *'He didn't want to be in it, didn't the vounsf 
 masther," said one. 
 
 "Did you see how he was criss-crossin' and 
 
 putting up obstacles at every turn?" said another. 
 
 "Tbxat was nothin' to the way he was glad
 
 l8o SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 when we saw the lad's fire over the Lockjaw, 
 and had to make a slant for it and leave tlie 
 thing not done." 
 
 "Aw, well, well," said Ouilleash, "it was poor 
 Bill that's gone, God help him, that led the 
 young masther into the shoal water. What's it 
 sayin? — 'Black as is the raven, he'll get a part- 
 ner;' but Bill, poor chap, he must be for makin' 
 a raven out of a dove." 
 
 "God won't be hard on the masther. No, no, 
 God'll never be hard on a good heart because he 
 keeps company with a bad head.'' 
 
 "It'll be Bill, poor chap, that'll have tO' stand 
 for it when the big day comes," said Davy Cain. 
 
 "No, not that anyway. Still, for sure, it's 
 every herring must hang by his own gill. Aw, 
 yes, man," said Tommy Tear. 
 
 "Poor IMasther Christian," said Ouilleash, "I 
 remember him since he was a baby in his 
 mother's arms — and a fine lady, too. And w^hen 
 he grew up it was, 'How are you, Billy Quil- 
 leash?' And when he came straight from Ox- 
 ford College, and all the larning at him, and the 
 fine English tongue, and all to that, it was, 'And 
 how are you to-day, Billy?' 'I'm middlin' to- 
 day, ]\Iasther Christian.' Aw, yes, yes, a tender 
 heart at him anyhow, and no pride at all, at aU." 
 
 The old man's memories were not thrilling to
 
 SEE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. i8i 
 
 narrate, but they brought tears to his eyes, and 
 he brushed them away with his sleeve. 
 
 They were now drifting past Peel, two miles 
 from the coast. It was Christmas-eve. Old Quil- 
 leash thought of this, and they talked of Christ- 
 mas-eves gone by, and of what happy days there 
 had been. This was too tender a chord, and they 
 were soon silent once more, Then, while the 
 waters lay cold and clear and still, and the sun 
 was sinking in the west, there came floating to 
 them from the land through the breathless air 
 the sound of church-bells. It was the last drop 
 in their cup. The rude men could bear up no 
 longer. ]\Iore than one dropped his head on to 
 his knees and sobbed aloud. Then Ouilleash, 
 in a husky voice, and coarsely, as if ashamed of 
 the impulse, said, "Some one pray, will you?'' 
 '*Ay," said anotlier. '"Ay," said a third. But no 
 one prayed. 
 
 *'You, Billy," said one. The old man had never 
 known a prayer. 
 
 "You, Davy." Davy shook his head. Xone 
 could pray. 
 
 All lay quiet as death around them. Only the 
 faint sound of the bells was borne to them as 
 a mellow whisper. 
 
 Then Danny rose silently to his feet. Xo one 
 had thought of asking him. With that longing 
 look in his big eyes, he turned to the land and be-
 
 i82 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME, 
 
 gan to sing. He was thinking of Mona. All 
 liis soul was going out to her. She was his an- 
 chor, his hope, his prayer. The lad's voice, 
 laden with tears, floated away over the great 
 waters. This was what he sang: 
 "Her brow is Hke the snaw-drift, 
 
 Her neck is like the swan, 
 Her face it is the fairest 
 
 That e'er the sun shone on; 
 That e'er the sun shone on. 
 
 ;|i ^ ^ ^ :Js 
 
 And she's a' the world to me; 
 And for bonnie Annie Laurie 
 
 I'd lay me doon and dee." 
 
 The boy's eyes were bright with a radiant 
 brightness, and glistening tears ran down his 
 face in gracious drops like dew. The men hung 
 their heads and were mute. 
 
 All at once there came a breath of wind. At 
 first it was as soft as an angel's whisper. Then it 
 grew stronger and ruffled the sea. Every man 
 lifted his eyes and looked at his mates. Each was 
 struggling with a painful idea that perhaps he 
 was the victim of a delusion of the sense. But 
 the chill breath of wind was indeed among them. 
 *Tsn't is beginning to puff up from the sou'- 
 west?" asked one in a hoarse whisper. 
 
 At that Davy Cain jumped to his feet. The 
 ideii of the supernatural had already gone from
 
 SHE'S ILL THE WORLD TO ME. 183 
 
 him at least. *'Xow for the sheets, and to make 
 sail," he cried. 
 
 As mate formerly, Davy constituted himself 
 skipper now. 
 
 One after one the men got up and bustled 
 about. Their limbs were well-nigh frozen stiff. 
 
 ''Heave hearty, men; heave and away.'' 
 
 All was stir and animation in an instant. Pul- 
 ling at the ropes, the men had begun to laugh — 
 yes, with their husky, grating, tear-drowned 
 voices even to laugh. 
 
 ''Bear a hand, men. We're drifting fast into 
 the down-stream to Contrar\'," cried Davy. 
 
 Then a grewsome sense of the ludicrous took 
 hold of him. . It was the swift reaction from sol- 
 emn thoughts. 
 
 "Lay on, Quilleash, .my man. Why, you're 
 going about like a brewing-pan. What are 
 your arms for, eh?'' 
 
 The old fellow's eyes, that had been dim with 
 tears a moment ago, glistened with grisly mis- 
 chief. 
 
 ''Who hasn't heard that a ^lanxman's arms 
 are three legs?" he said, with a hungry smile. 
 
 How the men laughed! What humor there 
 was now in the haggard old saw! 
 
 "Where are you for, Davy?" cried one. 
 
 ''Scotland — Shetlands," answered Da\w. in- 
 definitelv.
 
 i84 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 **Hooraa! Bold fellow. Ha, ha, ha, he." 
 
 **IVe been there before to-day, Davy," said 
 Quilleash; "they're all poor men there; but it's 
 right kind they are. Aw, yes, it's safe and well 
 we'll be when we're there. What's it sayin'? — 
 *When one poor man helps another poor man, 
 God laughs.' " 
 
 How they worked! In two minutes mainsail 
 and mizzen were up, and they filled away and 
 stood out. But they had drifted into the down- 
 stream, though they knew it not as yet. 
 
 From the shores of death they had' sailed 
 somehow into the waters of life. Hope was 
 theirs once more. 
 
 They began to talk of what had caused the 
 wind. "It was the blessed St. Patrick," said Kil- 
 lip. St. Patrick was the patron saint of the sea, 
 and Killip was a Catholic and more than half 
 an Irishman. 
 
 "St. Patrick be ," cried Davy Cain, with a 
 
 scornful laugh. They got to high words, and at 
 length almost to blows. 
 
 Old Quilleash had been at the tiller. His gris- 
 ly face had grown ghastly again. "Drop it, 
 men," he cried, in a voice of fear. "Look yan- 
 der! D'ye see what's coming?" 
 
 The men looked towards the west. 'Phe long, 
 thin cloud which Danny knew as the cat's-tail
 
 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 185 
 
 •\vas scudciing fast in the line of their star-board 
 quarter. 
 
 ''^lake all snug," cried Dav}\ 
 
 A storm was coming. It was very near; in ten 
 minutes it was upon them. It was a terrific 
 tempest, and they knew now that they were in 
 the down-stream. 
 
 The men stared once more into each others' 
 faces. Their quips were gone; their hopeful 
 spirits had broken down. 
 
 *'God, it's running a ten-knots' tide," shouted 
 Ouilleash. 
 
 *''xA.nd we're driving before it — dead on for 
 Peel," answered Davy, with an appalling look 
 of fear towards the west, where the mnd was 
 seen to be churning the long waves into foam. 
 
 Danny saw^ it all, but there was no agony in 
 his face and no cr\^ of dread on his Hps. 'T think 
 at whiles I'd like to die in a big sea like that." 
 His despair was courage now.
 
 i86 SEE'8 ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 THE world's want IS MEN. 
 
 In the old house at Balladhoo, three hearts 
 newly made glad had still one painful passage to 
 experience. It was dusk. By the fire stood Myl- 
 rea Balladhoo, with Mona Cregeen seated be- 
 side him. Christian had stepped to the door, 
 and now returning to the room with the stranger 
 previously seen in liis company, he said, with 
 averted face,' "This is the man, father." 
 
 Balladhoo neither lifted his eyes to the new- 
 comer nor shifted his gaze from the fire. His 
 frame trembled perceptibly as he said, 'T know 
 your business, sir, and it shall have my atten- 
 tion." The stranger glanced from father to son. 
 They stood apart each unable to meet the other's 
 face. Perhaps there is no more touching sight 
 in nature, rightly regarded, than an old man, 
 and to the pathos incident to age Balladhoo 
 added the sorrow of a wretched and shattered 
 hope. 
 
 ''May I ask if this deed was drawn by your au- 
 thority?" said the stranger. He stepped up to
 
 ,^:HE':S all the world to me. iS7 
 
 the old man, and put the document into his Hst- 
 less hand. Balladhoo glanced down at it, but 
 his poor blurred eyes saw nothing. 
 
 '*Yes," he answered promptly enough, but in 
 a husky voice. Christian's face quivered, and 
 his head dropped on his breast. The stranger 
 looked incredulous. "It is quite right if you 
 say so," he answered, with a cold smile. 
 
 Balladhoo lifted his face. It was seamed with 
 lines of pain, and told of a terrible struggle. "I 
 do say so," he replied. 
 
 His fingers crumpled the deed as he spoke; 
 but his head was erect, and truth seemed to sit 
 on his lips. Christian sat down and buried his 
 eyes in his hand. 
 
 The stranger smiled again the same cold' smile. 
 *The mortgageor wishes to withdraw' the mort- 
 gage," he said. 
 
 "He may do so — in fifteen days,'' answered 
 Balladhoo. 
 
 "That will suffice. It would be cniel to pro- 
 long a painful inter\'iew." 
 
 Then, with a glance towards Christian, as he 
 sat convulsed w'ith distress that he was unable 
 to conceal, the stranger added, in a hard tone, 
 
 "Only, the mortgageor came to have reasons 
 to think that perhaps the deed had been drawn 
 without your knowledge." 
 
 Balladhoo handed back the document with a
 
 i88 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 nerveless hand. He looked again through dim 
 eyes at the stranger, and said quietly, but with 
 an awful inward effort, "You have my answer — 
 I knew of it." 
 
 The recording angel set down the words in the 
 Book of Life to the old man's credit in Heaven. 
 They were not true. 
 
 The stranger bowed low and retired. 
 
 Christian leaped up and took his father by 
 both hands, but his eyes were not raised to the 
 troubled face. 
 
 "This is worse than all," he said, "but God 
 knows everything. He will make me answer 
 for it.'^ 
 
 "What is the debt?" asked Balladhoo, with an 
 effort to be calm. 
 
 "Money squandered in England." 
 
 The old man shook his head with an impa- 
 tient gesture. 
 
 "I mean how much?" 
 
 **A thousand pounds." There was a pause. 
 
 "We can meet it," said Balladhoo; "and now, 
 my son, cheer up ; set your face the right way, 
 and His serv^ant shall not be ashamed." 
 
 Christian strode up and down the room. His 
 agitation Avas greater than before. "I feel less 
 than a man," he said. "Oh, but a hidden sin 
 is a mean thing, father — a dwarfing, petrifying, 
 corroding, unmanly thing. And to think that I
 
 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME, ix<) 
 
 could descend so low as to try to conceal it — a 
 part of it — by consorting with a gang of lawless 
 fellows — by a vulgar outrage that might have 
 ended in death itself but that the hand of Heaven 
 interposed!'^ 
 
 *'You are not the first/' answered Balladhoo, 
 "who has descended from deceit to the margin 
 of crime; but it isn't for me to judge you. Read 
 your misfortunes, my lad, as Heaven writes 
 them. Are they not warnings against the want 
 of manliness? No, it's not for me to say it; but 
 if there's one thing truer than another, it is that 
 the world wants men. Clever fellows, good fel- 
 lows, ft has ever had in abundance, but in all 
 ages the world's great want has been men." 
 
 Balladhoo glanced down at Mona. Through- 
 out this inter\-iew she had sat with her eyes 
 bent on her lap. The old man touched the arm 
 of his son and continued, 
 
 "As for the hand of Heaven, it has worked 
 throug"h tlie hand of this brave girl. You owe 
 *her your life, Christian." 
 
 Then the young man, with eyes aflame, 
 walked to ]Mona and lifted her into his arms. 
 The girl looked very beautiful in her confusion, 
 and while she sobbed on Christian's breast, and 
 Balladhoo looked on with wondering eyes, 
 Cliristian confessed everything; how, in effect, 
 IMona had been his wife for six years past, and 
 little Ruby was their child.
 
 iQO SEE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 It was a staggering blow. But w^hen the sur^ 
 prise of it was past, all was forgiven. 
 
 "You love my boy?" said Balladh'oo, turning 
 to xvlona. 
 
 The girl could not answer in words. She threw 
 her arms around the old man's neck and he 
 kissed her. Then through the tears that had gath- 
 ered in his blurred old eyes there shot a merry 
 gleam as he said above the girl's hidden face, 
 *'Oh, so I've got to be happy yet, I find." 
 
 There came a noise of people entering the 
 house. In another moment Kerruish Kinvig 
 had burst in w^th one of the Castle Rushen men 
 behind him. 
 
 "Manxman-like, he's a dog after the fair, and 
 away from Peel to-night," bawled Kinvig, indi- 
 cating the subject of his inconsequent remarks 
 by a contemptuous lurch of his hand over his 
 shoulder. 
 
 "We stayed too long in hiding," said the man, 
 with a glance of self-justification. 
 
 *'Of course," shouted Kinvig, oblivious of the 
 insinuation against his own leadership; "and 
 W' ho hasn't heard that the crab that ]ics always in 
 its hole is never fat?" 
 
 "The fisihing-boat is stiill ait 'sea, sir. It's 
 scarce likely that the men will come back to 
 Peel," said the man, addressing Balladhoo. 
 
 "Who dreamed that they would?" cried Kin- 
 vig. "What black ever stamped on his own foot?"
 
 SHE'S ALL THE ^yORLD TO ME. 191 
 
 ''We're trusting you think we've done our 
 best, sir," continued the man, ignoring the inter- 
 ruptions. 
 
 "Eaten bread is quick forgotten/' sihouted 
 Kinvig. "What you've done you've done, and 
 there's an end of it, and it's not much either; and 
 if I were magistrate, I'd have the law en a lot of 
 you for a pack of incompetent loblolly boys. 
 Wouldn't you, Christian?" 
 
 "You have done your best," said Balladhoo, 
 and the man left them. "As for you, Kerruish," 
 he added, "if you'd had the ill-luck to succeed, 
 think what a sad dog you must have been by 
 this time; you would have had nothing to growl 
 about." 
 
 Christian had walked to the window. ''Hark,'' 
 he said, turning to ]\Iona, " the wind is rising. 
 What of those poor fellows outside?" The mel- 
 ancholy sough of the wind could be 'heard above 
 the low moan of the distant sea. ]\lona thought 
 of Danny, and the tears came again into her 
 eyes. 
 
 It was time for the girl to return home. Giris- 
 tian put on bis hat to accompany her, and when 
 they left the house together he laughed, dejected 
 though he was, at the bewildered look on the 
 face of Kerrush Kinvig as he glanced in stupid 
 silence from Balladhoo to them, and from them 
 back to Balladhoo.
 
 192 SEE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME, 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 THE FAIRY THAT CAME FOR RUBY. 
 
 The night was dark, and the wind was dhill 
 outside, but the hght and warmth were in tAvo 
 happy hearts. With larms entwined and clasped 
 hands they Avalked down the famiHar road, trans- 
 figured now into strange beauty at ever}' step. 
 A¥hen two souls first pour out their flood of love, 
 whatever the present happiness, it is the un- 
 conscious sense of a glad future that thrills them. 
 It was the half-unconscious sense .of a sad past 
 shared together that touched these two to-night 
 
 "I feel like another man," said Christian; "to 
 have the weig^ht of these six years of disguise 
 lifted away is a ncAv birth." 
 
 He seemed to breathe more freely. 
 
 "How glad I am it is gone, this haunting se- 
 cret," said Mona, with a sigh of relief; but sud- 
 denly a fresh torment suggested itself. "What 
 will people say?" she asked. 
 
 ''Don't think of that. Let people say what 
 they will. In these relations of life the world has 
 always covered its nakedness in the nasty rags of
 
 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 193 
 
 its old conventions, and dubbed its clothes mor- 
 alit}^ We'll not heed what people say, Mona." 
 
 ''But the child?" said the girl with some tremor 
 of vodce. Christian answered the half-uttered 
 question, 
 
 *'Ruby is as much my daughter as Rachel was 
 the daughter of Laban, and you are even now 
 as much my wife as she was the wife of Jacob.*' 
 
 Mona glanced up into his face. ''Can this be, 
 Christian?'' she thought. 
 
 "Where one man sets (himself apart for one 
 woman," he continued, "there is true marriage, 
 whether the mystic symbol of the church be used 
 or not. No; I've feared the world too long. I 
 mean to face it now." 
 
 "I'm afraid I don't understand. Christian," 
 answered Mona. "But surely to defy the world 
 is foolishness, and marriage is a holy thing." 
 
 He stopped, and, with a smile, kissed the girl 
 tenderly. "Never fear, darling — that shall be 
 made as the world wants it. I was thanking of 
 the past not the future. And if ours was a sin, 
 it was one of passion only, and we whispered 
 each other — did w^e not? — that He who gave 
 the love would forgive its transgression." Then 
 they walked on. In the distance the hill above 
 glowed red through the darkness. Danny's 
 contrary fire, which had smouldered all day, 
 showed brightly again.
 
 194 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 "Oh, how glad I am that all is over," repeated 
 the girl, creeping closer beneath Christian's arm. 
 *'Yoii said toniglit to your father that a secret 
 sin is a corroding thing. How truly I've felt it 
 so when I've thought of my own poor father. 
 You never knew him. He dded before you came 
 to us. He was a good simple man, and loved us, 
 though perhaps he left us poorer than we mig^ht 
 Bhave been, and more troubled than we were in 
 the old days at Glen Rushen." 
 
 "No, I never knew him; but the thought of 
 Jiim has stung me to tlie quick when I've seen 
 his daughter working for her daily bread. It has 
 been ithen that I've felt myself the meanest of 
 men." 
 
 ^'Christian," continued Mona, regardless of 
 the initerruption, *'have you ever thought that the 
 dead are links that connect us with the living?" 
 
 "How?" 
 
 "Well, in this way. From our kin in Heaven 
 we can have no secrets ; and when the living kin 
 guess our hidden thought, our secret act, per- 
 haps it has been our dead kin who have whds- 
 pered iof it." 
 
 "That is a strange fancy, Mona, an awful 
 fancy. Few of us would dare to have secrets if 
 we accepted it." 
 
 They were approaching the cottage, and 
 could hear a merr}- child-s voice singing. "List-
 
 SEE'S ALL TEE WORLD TO ME. 195 
 
 en," said IMona. and they stopped. Then the 
 girl's head dropped. Tears were again in her 
 eyes. 
 
 "She's been sorrow as well as happiness to 
 you, my brave !Mona/' said Christian. And he 
 put her arms about 'his neck. 
 
 The girl lifted her face to his In the darkness. 
 "That's true," she said. "Ah, how^ often in the 
 early days did I gaze into the face of m}- father- 
 less little one, and feel a touch of avre in the 
 presence of the mute soul that lay behind the 
 speechless baby face, and wonder if some power 
 above had told it something that its mother must 
 needs hide from it, and if, when it spoke, it 
 would reproach me with its own shame, or pity 
 me for mine." 
 
 Christian smoothed her 'hand tenderly. "If 
 the child suffered," he said, "before her race of 
 life began, let it be mine henceforth to make it 
 up to her with all that love can yet do." 
 
 "And w-hen I heard its cr\-,*' said ^lona, "its 
 strange, pitiful cr}- as it awoke from that mystery, 
 a baby's troubled dream, and looked into its red, 
 startled eyes and into its little face, all liquid 
 grief, and saiH, 'It's only a dream, darling,' the 
 thoug'ht has sometimes stolen up to my heart 
 that perhaps some evil spirit had whispered to it 
 the stor}' of its shame — for what else had it to 
 cry about so bitterly?"
 
 196 SHE'8 ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 Christian kissed her again, a great gulp in his 
 throat *'Yes," he said, "in the eyes of men we 
 may have wronged the cMld, but in the eternal 
 world, when these few painful years are as a 
 span, s-he will be ours indeed, and God will not 
 ask by right of what symbol we claim her/' 
 
 They had walked to the gate. 
 
 "Wait!" said Mona, and ran towards the door. 
 
 Christian thoug^ht she had gone to prepare her 
 mother, but returning in an instant, and on tip- 
 toe, with the light of laughter struggling through 
 her tears, ^sihe beckoned him to follow her, with 
 steakhy tread. Creeping up to the window, she 
 took 'his hand and whispered, "Look !" 
 
 They were standing in the darkness and cold, 
 but the house within was bright this winter's 
 night, with one little human flower in bloom. 
 Ruby had dressed the kitchen in hibbin and hol- 
 len, and had scattered wheaten flour over the 
 red ^berries to resemble snow. She was stand- 
 ing near Mrs. Crageen's knee, being undressed 
 for bed. Her heart had leaped all day at the 
 (thought of a new hat, wlnich she w^as to v\^ear for 
 the first time next morning. This treasure had 
 I been hung on a peg over the plates above the 
 ' dresser, and at intervals more or less frequent 
 Ruby twisted about and cocked her eye up at 
 it. It 'took a world of s-tolen glances to grow 
 faimiliar with the infinite splendor of its bow and
 
 SHE'S ALL TEE WORLD TO ME, 197 
 
 feather. While the thread's and the buttons 
 were ibeing undone Ruby sang and gossiped. 
 A well-filled water-<:rock had been set on the 
 table, and, touching this, the little one said, 
 
 "Do the fairies bathe in winter?" 
 
 "So thevTe saying, my veen," answered ]\Irs. 
 Cregeen. 
 
 "Can I see the fairies if I lie awake all night? 
 I'm not a bdt sleepy. Can I see them all in their 
 little velvet jackets — can I?'' 
 
 "No no; little girls must go to bed." 
 
 There was a pretty pretense at disappointment 
 
 in the downward cun^e of the lip. The world 
 
 had no real sorrow for the owner of that miar- 
 
 vellous hat. The next instant the child sang — 
 
 "I rede ye beware of the Carrasdoo men 
 
 As ye come up the wold; 
 I rede ye beware of the hunted glen — " 
 
 Ruby interrupted her song to wriggle out of 
 Mrs. Cregeen's hands, pull cfif her stocking, and 
 hang it on one of the knobs of the dresser. "I 
 hope it will be the Phynnodderee that comes to- 
 night," she said. 
 
 "Why that one?" said Mrs. Cregeen, smiling. 
 
 "Because Danny says that's the fairy that 
 loves little Manx girls." 
 
 "Danny shouldn't tell you such foolish old 
 stories." 
 
 "Are they stories?"
 
 198 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Oh!" 
 
 Another sly glance at the wonderful hat on the 
 peg behind. That was a reality at all events. 
 
 "But I'm sure a good fairy will come for me 
 to-night,'^ insisted Ruby. 
 
 "Why are you sure, Ruby veg?" 
 
 "Because — ^because I am." 
 
 Ohristian tightened his grasp of Mona's hand. 
 
 At that moment a gust of wind passed round 
 the house. Mona remembered that to-night 
 she was standing with Christian on the spot 
 where last night she had parted with Danny. 
 
 "Listen" said Mrs. Cregeen to the child. 
 "Pity the poor sailors at sea." 
 
 "Didn't Mona say Danny was at sea?" 
 
 "Yes, ^he was saying so." 
 
 Then the little one sang — 
 
 In Jorby Curragh' they dwell alone 
 By dark peat-bogs where the willows moan 
 Down in a gloomy and lonely glen — " 
 
 "Mammy, had Danny any father?" 
 
 "Everybody had a father, my veen." 
 
 "Had Ruby a father?" 
 
 "Hush, Ruby veg!" 
 
 Mona's hand unconsciously pressed the hand 
 of Christian. "Oh," she muttered, and crept 
 closer to his breast. Christian's bowels yearned 
 for the child.
 
 SHE'^ ALL THE WuRLD 1 U ME, igg 
 
 The silvery voice was singing again — 
 
 "Who has not heard of Adair, the youth? 
 Who does not kno^' that his soul was truth? 
 Woe is me, how smoothl^^ they speak, 
 And Adair was brave, and a man, but weak." 
 
 "I am quite sure a good fairy is coming,'' said 
 Ruby, cocking her eye aslant at that peg on the 
 dresser. 
 
 Christian could bear it no longer. He flung 
 open the door, and snatched up the darling in 
 his arms. 
 
 An hour later he and Mona came out again 
 into the night, leaving the little one with laugh- 
 ing, wondering, wakeful eyes in bed, and Mrs. 
 Cregeen sitting before the fire with soonething 
 like happiness in her usually mournful face. 
 
 They took the road towards the town. They 
 had no errand there, but the restless, tumultuous 
 joy of this night would not leave them a mo- 
 ment's peace. 
 
 As they passed through the Market-place 
 they saw that the church \\-indows were lit up. 
 The bells were ringing. Numbers of young 
 people were thronging in at the gates. But the 
 parson was co-ming out of them. There was no 
 pleasant expression on his face as he beheld the 
 throngs that sought admission. It was Oiel \'er- 
 ree, the Eve of Mary. The bells were ringing 
 for the only service in the year at Avhich not the
 
 200 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 parson but the parishioners presided. It was an 
 old Manx custom, that after prayers on Christ-^ 
 mas-eve the church should be given up to the 
 people for the singing of their native carols. 
 Prayers were now over, and on his way through 
 the Market-place the parson encountered Tom- 
 my-Bill-beg among the others who were walking 
 towards the church. He stopped the harbor- 
 master, and said, "Mind you see that all is done 
 in decency and order, and that you close my 
 church before midnight." 
 
 *'Aw, but the church is the people's, Tm think- 
 in'," said Tommy-Bill-beg, with a deprecating 
 shake of his wise head. 
 
 *The people are as ignorant as goats," said 
 the parson angrily. 
 
 "Aw, well, and you're the shepherd, so just 
 make sheeps of them," answered Tommy, and 
 passed on. 
 
 Laughing at the rejoinder. Christian and 
 'Mona went by the church, and, readiing the 
 quay, they croissed the bridge at the top of the 
 harbor. Then, hand in hand, they walked under 
 the Horse Hill, and, without thinking what di- 
 rection they took, they turned up the path that 
 led towards the cottage in the old quarry. 
 
 Half the hill-side seemed to be ablaze. Dan- 
 ny's fire over tlie Poolvash had spread north by 
 many hundred yards. The wind was now blow-
 
 'SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 2ot 
 
 ing strongly from the sea, and fanned it into 
 flame. The castle could be seen by its lig-ht 
 from the black rocks fringed about with foam 
 to the top of Fennella's Tower. 
 
 When they came abreast of the cottage they 
 saw that a dim light burned in one window. 
 They stepped up and looked into the house. On 
 a bed, covered by a white sheet, lay all that re- 
 mfained of Kisseok, An old woman, set to 
 watch the body, sat knitting beside it. 
 
 The deeip roar of the sea was all that could be 
 heard there above the moan of the wind.
 
 kiHf/S ALL TEE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 CHAPTER XXL 
 
 OIEL VERKEE. 
 
 On this occasion, as on all similar occasions 
 for the last thirty years, Tonimy-Bill-beg,the har- 
 bor-master, and Jemmy Quark Balladhoo had 
 been each to contribute towards the curious 
 Manx ritual of carol or carval singing. Great 
 had hitherto been the rivalry between these mu- 
 sical celebrities. But word had gone around the 
 town that to-night their efforts were to be com- 
 bined in a carol which they w-ere to sing to- 
 gether. A young wag had effected this extraor- 
 dinary combination by a plot w^iich was expect- 
 ed to add largely to the amusement of the list- 
 eners. 
 
 Tommy-Bill-beg, as was well known, could 
 not read a syllable, yet he would never sing his 
 carol withotit having the printed copy of it In 
 his hand. Suah curious vanity had long been a 
 cause of merriment, and now some capital was to 
 be made out of it. Jemmy Quark Balladhoo, 
 on the other hand, could read, but he resembled 
 Tommy-Bill-beg in being almost stone-deaf.
 
 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 203 
 
 Each could hear hinrnself sing, but neither could 
 hear another. 
 
 And now for the plot. Young Mr. Wag had 
 called on the harbor-master that morning at his 
 ivy cottage, and "Tommy,'' said he, *'it's mortal 
 strange the way a man of your common-sense 
 can't see that you'd wallop that squeaking ould 
 Jemmy Balladhoo in a jiffy if you'r only con- 
 sent to sing a ballad along with him. Bless me, 
 it's then they'd be seeing what a weak, ould, 
 cracked pot of a voice is at him." 
 
 Tommy-Bill-beg's face began to wear a smile 
 of benevolent condescension. Observing his 
 advantage, the young rascal continued, '*Do it 
 at the Oiel Verree to-night, Tommy. He'll sing 
 his treble, and you'll sing seconds to him." 
 
 It was an unlucky remark. The harbor-mas- 
 ter frowned with the austerity of a Malvolio. 
 *"Me sing seconds to the craythur? Xo; never !'^ 
 
 It was explained to Tommy-Bill-beg, with a 
 world of abject apology, that there was a sense 
 in which seconds meant firsts. The harbor-mas- 
 ter was mollified, and at length consented to the 
 proposal; but with one idea clearly impressed 
 upon his mind, namely, that if he was to sing a 
 carol with Jemmy Balladhoo, he must take good 
 care to sing his loudest in order to drown at 
 once 'tlie voice of his rival, and the bare notiop
 
 204 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME, 
 
 tliat it was he who was singing seconds to such 
 a poor creature as that. 
 
 Then Mr. Wag walked up the hill to Ballad- 
 hoo, and "J^^^y/' said he, "it's mortal strange 
 the way a man of your common-sense can't see 
 that you'd wallop that squeaking ould Tommy- 
 Bill-beg in a jiffy if you'd only consent to sing a 
 ballad along ivith him. Do dt at the Oiel Verre 
 to-night, Jemmy, and bless me! that's the when 
 they'll be seeing what a weak, ould cracked-pot 
 of a voice is at the craythur." 
 
 The gardener of Balladhoo fell an easier prey 
 to the plot than the harbor-master, and a carol 
 was selected. It w^as to^ be the ancient carol of 
 the bad women mentioned in the Bible as hav- 
 ing (from Eve downward) brought evil on man- 
 kind. This was accounted an appropriate ditty 
 for these notaible illustrations of bacRelordom. 
 
 Now, Tommy-Bill-beg always kept hrs carols 
 where Danny saw them — ^pinned lagainst the 
 walls of his cottage. The **Bad Women" was 
 the carol which was pinned above the mantel- 
 piece. It resembled all the others in being *vom, 
 crumpled, and dirt}^; but Tommy knew it by its 
 locality, and could^istinguish every other by its 
 position. 
 
 Young Mr. Wag had somehow got what he 
 called a "skute" intO' this literary mystery; so, 
 after arranging with Jemmy Quark, he watched
 
 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 205 
 
 Tonimy-Bill-beg out of his house, crept into it 
 unobserved, took down the carol pinned above 
 the mantel-piece, and fixed up another in place 
 of it from a different part of the room. The sub- 
 stituted carol 'liappened, oddly enoug-h, to be a 
 second copy of the same carol on ''Bad Women," 
 ^^-ith this radical difference: that the one taken 
 down was the version of the carol in English, 
 and the one put up was the version in jManx. 
 
 The bells began to ring, and Tommy-Bill-beg 
 donned his best petticoat and monkey-jacket, put 
 the carol in his pocket, and went off to church. 
 
 Prayers had been said that night to a thin 
 congregation, but no sooner were they done, 
 and the parson had prepared to leave, than 
 great crowds of young m-en and maidens trooped 
 down the aisles. The young women went up into 
 •the galler}-, and from that elevation s/hot down 
 at their bachelor friends large handfuls of peas; 
 but to what ancient spirit of usage, beyond the 
 ancient spirit of mischief, the strange practice 
 was due must be left as a solemn problem to the 
 learned and curious antiquaries. 
 
 Nearly everybody carried a candle, the can- 
 dles of the young women being usually adorned 
 Avith a red ribbon and rosette. The brilliance of 
 illumination was such as the dusky old church 
 enjoyed only once a year. 
 
 When everything was understood to be ready.
 
 2o6 SUE'S ALL TEE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 and the parish clerk had taken his station inside 
 the cammumon-rail, the business of the Oiel 
 Verree began. First one man got up and sang a 
 carol in English ; then another sang a Manx car- 
 ol. The latter depicted the physical sufferings 
 of Ghrist, and described, with an intensity of 
 "naturalism" even yet unknovm to modern lit- 
 erature, how the "skin was torn off his shoulder- 
 blade.'^ But the great event of the night was 
 to be the carol sung by the sworn enemies, Toni- 
 my-Bill-beg and Jemmy Quark Balladhoo. 
 
 At last their 'time came. They rose from op- 
 posite sides of the church, eyed eaoh other with 
 severe looks, stepped out of their pews, and 
 walked down the aisle to the door of the porch. 
 Then they turned about in silence, and, standing 
 side by side, faced the communion. 
 
 The whispering in the gallery and tittering in 
 the body were audible to all except the persons 
 who were the occasion of them. 
 
 "Hush, hush, ma veen, that's him, that's him." 
 "Bless me, look at Tommmy-Bill-beg and the 
 petticoat, and the handkercher pimiin' round 
 'his throat!" "Aw, dear, it's what he's used of.'" 
 "A reg'lar Punch-and-Judy." "Hush, man, let 
 4:hem make a start for all." 
 
 The carol they were about to sing- contained 
 som.e thirty verses. It was an ancient usage that 
 after each verse the carol-singers should take a
 
 SHE'S ALL TtiE WORLD TO ME. 207 
 
 long stride together towards the communion. 
 By the time the carol came to an end they must 
 therefore be at the opposite end of the church. 
 What this meant must also be left to the vener- 
 able doctors aforesaid. 
 
 There was now a swblime scorn printed on the 
 features of Jemmy Quark, As for Tommy-Bill- 
 beg, he looked at this last moment like a man 
 who was rather sorry than otherwise for his rash 
 adversary. ''The rermantick they're looking/' 
 whispered one expectant maiden in the gallery 
 to a giggling companion beside her. 
 
 Expectation was at its highest when Tommy- 
 Bill-beg thrust "his hand into the pocket of his 
 monkey-jacket and brought out a printed copy 
 of the carol. Tommy unfolded it, glanced at it 
 with the air of a conductor taking a final look 
 at hi's score, nodded his head as if in approval, 
 and then, with a mngnanimous gesture, held it 
 between himself and Jemmy Quark. Jemmy in 
 turn glanced at it, glanced again, glanced a third 
 time at the paper, and then up into the face of 
 Tommy-Bill-beg. 
 
 Anxiety was now on jtip-toe. "Hush, d'ye 
 hear, hush, or it's spoiling all you'll be, for sure." 
 
 At the moment when Jemmy Quark glanced 
 into the face of Tommy-Bill-beg ttiere was a 
 smile on that benign countenance. Jemmy mis- 
 took that smile. He imagined he saw a trick.
 
 2o8 SUE'S ALL TEE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 Jemmy could read, and iiQ perceived tliat the 
 carol which the harbor-master held out to him 
 was nqt the canol he, had been told to prepare for. 
 They were, by arrangement, to have sung- the 
 Eaiglish version* pf "Bad Women." This was the 
 Manx version, and it was always sung to a dif- 
 ferent metre. Ha! Jemmy understood dt all! 
 This rascally Tommy-Bill-beg was trying to ex- 
 ,pose 'him. The monster wanted to show that 
 ihe. Jemmy Quark Balladhoo, could only sing 
 one carol, but Jemmy w^ould be even with him. 
 He could sing this Manx version and he would. 
 It was now Jemmy's turn to smile. 
 
 "Aw, look at them — the pair of them — grin- 
 nin' together like the two ould gurgoils on the 
 steeple." 
 
 At a motion of the harbor-masters hand, in- 
 tended to beat the time, the singers began. 
 Tommy-Bill-beg sang the carol agreed upon — ■ 
 the English version of "Bad Women." Jemmy 
 Quark sang the carol of which they held the 
 printed copy in their hands — the Manx version 
 of "Bad Women." Nether 'heard the othfer. 
 Each bawled at the utmost reach of his lung 
 pcHvver. To one tune Tommy-Bill-beg sang — 
 "Thus from the days' oif Adairi) 
 Her mischief you may trace," 
 
 And to another tune Jemmy Quark sang — 
 
 "She ish va'n voir ain ooilley 
 Son v'ee da Adam ben."
 
 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 209 
 
 What laug-hter ensued! Hoav tlie young 
 women in the gallery lay back in their seats with 
 shrieks of hysteria ! How the young fellows in 
 the body made the sacred edifice ring with 
 guff as? But the singers — Tommy especially — 
 with eyes steadfastly fixed on the paper, heard 
 nothing but each his own voice. Thus they sang 
 on. 
 
 They had got through three verses, and made 
 three strides towards the communion, when sud- 
 denly there was heard above the uproar a dismal 
 and tmearthly cry, and all at once the laughter 
 and shouting of the people ceased. Every face 
 turned to the porch. 
 
 Bareheaded, dripping wet from his matted 
 hair to? his feet, a ghastly light in his sunken eyes, 
 with wasted cheeks and panting breath, Danny 
 Fayle stood there, one hand on the door-jamb, 
 the other holding a coil of rope. 
 
 "The Ben-my-Chree is on the rocks!'' he cried 
 and was gone in an instant. 
 
 If a spectre "had appeared the consternation 
 had scarcely been greater. But the next moment 
 recovering from their surprise, the people on 
 all sides leaped up and rushed out of the church. 
 In two minutes not a soul was left except Tom- 
 my-Bill-beg and Jemmy Quark Balladhoo, who 
 still sang lustily, oblivious of the fact that they 
 had no audience.
 
 2IC SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO MtL 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 ON THE MOAE BEEF. 
 
 This is what had ^happened. 
 
 When Christiain, and Mona turnea away irom 
 the house in the quarry, with its dead man and 
 solitary watcher, they thoug'ht they descried a 
 sail far out in the 'black void beyond the line of 
 wild sea that was lit up by the burning gorse. 
 
 *'Let^s hope they're not in the down-stream, 
 poor fellows, whoever they are," said Christian. 
 '*In a wind like this it would be certain to drive 
 them dead on to the Moar Reef." 
 
 Then they continued their walk, and passed 
 the open shaft in which Christian had spent his 
 night of peril and agony. There was so much 
 to say that neither spoke except at long intervals. 
 There was so much else to feel that neither felt 
 w^eary, nor remembered the many hours in 
 \Vhich both had been strangers to sleep. They 
 miglht ^have wandered on — two dairk figures 
 agaiinst the red glow of the great fire — until the 
 steep declivities of the Poolvash had stopped 
 them, but that the wind rose higher every mo-
 
 SHE' 8 ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 211 
 
 ment, and threatened to sweep them from their 
 feet. 
 
 ''Listen how the sea thunders/" said Christian: 
 and^justthen a cloud-of hissing spray came up to 
 them, high as they were, from the boihng surge 
 below. 
 
 They turned back, laughing as every gust tore 
 them a little apart. 
 
 Before they passed the cottage on their return 
 they were conscious of faint cries from beneath. 
 
 "Hark,-' said Mona, ''surely they were voices 
 from the sea." 
 
 There could be no doubt of it now. Several, 
 voices were calling in accents of fearful agony, 
 and above the rest was one wild, thin shriek. It 
 seemed to echo in the lowering dome of the emp- 
 ty sky — was such a cry of distress as might haunt 
 one's dreams for years. 
 
 "It^s from the boat we saw, and they're on the 
 Moar Reef, too surely," said Christian. Then 
 they hastened on. 
 
 When they reached the shore they found the 
 sea running high. A long ground-swell was 
 breaking in the narrow strait between the main- 
 land and the Castle Isle. Flakes of sea-foam 
 were fl>'ing around them. The waves were 
 scooping up the shingle and flinging it through 
 the air like sleet. 
 
 The cries were louder here than above. By
 
 212 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 the light of Danny's fire it was but too easy to 
 see from whence they came. Jammed between 
 two huge protruding horns of rock a fishing- 
 boat was laboring hard in the heavy sea, rearing 
 w^ith a creak on the great waves, and plunging 
 down with a crash and groan on the sharp teeth 
 of the shoal beneath her. 
 
 The men on deck could be seen hacking at the 
 mast to lighten her, and cutting away the gun- 
 wale forward to ease her off the horns that held 
 her like a vise. But every fresh wave behind 
 drove her head deeper into the cleft. The men 
 shouted in mingled rage and fear. They tried to 
 leap onto the rocks, but the weight of seas break- 
 ing on them made this a perilous adventure, 
 even if the pitching of the boat left it possible. 
 
 Christian took in the situation in an instant. 
 
 Two or three small boats were lying high and 
 dry on the shore. He ran to them, cut awa}' 
 their cables, tied them together in strong knots> 
 slung one end around his waist and passed the 
 other about an old spar that lay close by. 
 
 "They're too near for us to stand and see 
 them die," he shouted excitedly above the tu- 
 mult of the wind. 
 
 Aldna clung to him for an Instant. Then she 
 loosed him with a fervent kiss. 
 
 In another moment he had plunged into the 
 water.
 
 SEE'S ALL THE VORLD TO ME, 213 
 
 The strait was ver}^ marrow — sixty feet at 
 most from the shore to the rocks. Yet what a 
 toilsome journey to the man who was wading 
 ofif with the rope. The tide was flowing and 
 near the top. It neA'er rose higher than four or 
 fiVe feet in this cliannel. A man might cress it 
 if the swell did not sweep him back. 
 
 ITirougli the boiling surf, piercingly cold. 
 Christian struggled bravely. He was young 
 and strong. He reached the boat at last. It was 
 prancing like an unbroken horse. But waiting 
 for a receding wave, he rushed in, laid firm, hold 
 of the first man at hand, and carried him Back 
 to the shore. The man had laid in his arms a 
 dead weight. Was he dead indeed? 
 
 Mona stooped and looked into his face. "It 
 is Danny Fayle," she cried. 
 
 But Danny was not dead. He recovered con- 
 sciousness, and staggered to his feet. 
 
 Loud and angry cries were now coming from 
 the boat. ]\Iingled with the curses of rage there 
 came the words, "Why didn't you give us the 
 rope?" 
 
 Christian shouted that he was coming bacTc 
 with it. Then, watching again for an ebbing 
 wave, he plunged off afresh. He reached the 
 boat quicker this time. Being pulled aboard, 
 he unlashed the rope and strapped it to the cap- 
 stan. Then one of the men — it was old Quill-
 
 214 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 eash — dropped over the side, and drew himself 
 hand-over-hand through the water. 
 
 But the rope streached and creaked at the rol- 
 ling of the boat. The spar to which the end 
 ashore was strapped budged not an inch. Mona 
 saw the danger too late. Before she could ease, 
 the rope it snapped. 
 
 Now Christian added one more to the number 
 of those on the boait! 
 
 Old Billy, safe on shore, sat down on the shin- 
 gle and sobbed, terror-stricken and helpless. 
 Thank God, the poor despised Danny had his 
 wits a.bout him. He saw what had happened, 
 and ran for another rope. Flying into town, he 
 shouted, "Help, help!'' But all Peel seemed to 
 be at the '^carvels." He ran to the church. 
 Screams of laughter and the tumult of noisy 
 singing came out into the darkness. Scarce 
 knowing what he did, he burst open the door, 
 and cried, in a piercing voice, 'The Ben-my- 
 Chree is on the rocks." Then with the new rope 
 in his hands he fled away to the shore. 
 
 When Danny got back a great multitude was 
 at his heels. Old Quilleash still sat wailing and 
 helpless. Mona ran up and down the shore in 
 an agony of suspense. The lad looked at nei- 
 ther. The hill-side of fire behind them showed 
 but too clearly what had occurred. Chilled to 
 the bone by the raw winter wind, four of the
 
 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME, 215 
 
 men had dropped overboard. A fifth had leaped 
 into the water, and after a fearful struggle iov 
 life had been lifted ofif his feet by the breakers 
 and broken on the rocks. 
 
 He was seen no more. Only two remained 
 on the deck, and one of the two was Christian. 
 He could be seen clinging to a bowsprit, which 
 was shipped. The dingy had been torn from the 
 tngger, and thrown by the rising tide high and 
 dry on the shingle. Danny pushed it to the 
 water's edge, jumped in, strapped one end of 
 the new rope about his body, threw the other to 
 a group of men on the shore, and looked round 
 for assistance. None stepped out. Many fell 
 back. **It's no use throwing more lives awav," 
 muttered one. "They're past saving," said an- 
 other. Women clung to their husbands and 
 would not let them stir. Other Ayom.en, the 
 wives of men who had been on the boat, cried 
 "Help." Little children, crouching together 
 with fear and cold, wept piteously. 
 
 Danny pushed ofif his boat, but in an instant 
 it was lifted on to the top of a snow-ca-pped bil- 
 low and pitched ashore. Danny himself was 
 thrown out on the shingle. "Xo use, man,^' 
 shouted many voices, and the lad was compelled 
 to desist. 
 
 The wind clamored louder every minute. 
 Timbers cut away from the fishing-boat and
 
 2i6 SHE'S ALL THE ^YORLD TO ME. 
 
 were swept up with every wave. The surf 
 around the rocks was hke snow. The water 
 was beaten into seething foam around the boat 
 also; between the billows the long swell was red 
 with the reflection of the fire, but the sea was 
 black as ink beyond the line of the Castle Isle, 
 save where, at the farthest line of wave and sky, 
 a streak of ashen light shone in the darkness. 
 
 Danny had coiled the rope from end to end 
 around his waist. Then lie stood and waited. 
 He knew that the tide must soon turn. He 
 knew too that, having once begun to ebb, it 
 would flow out at this point as fast a horse 
 might gallop. But low water never left those 
 rocks dry beitween which the fishing boat was 
 jammed. The men aboard of her would still 
 need succor. But the help might then come 
 to them from the castle side of the channel. 
 
 The crowd knew his purpose, and laughed 
 at it. One grisled old fisherman took Danny by 
 the arm, and would have held him. But at the 
 first glimpse of the reef that ran across the high- 
 est aud narrowest point of the strait, the lad 
 shook himself free, and bounded across to the 
 Castle Isle. 
 
 ''Brave Danny,'' said ]\Iona in a deep whisper. 
 
 "Brave? Is it brave? Aw, well, it's mad I'm 
 calling it," said the old salt. 
 
 There is a steep pathway under the east wall
 
 SHE'.S ALL THE WORLD TO }fE. 217 
 
 of the castle. It runs up from the shore to a 
 great height above the water. It is narrow 
 enough to be called a ledge, and the rocks be- 
 neath it fall well-nigh precipitously. Dannv 
 ran along this path until he came to the square 
 turret whose truncated shaft stands on the 
 south-east corner of the castle. While he was 
 under the shelter of the walls the wind did not 
 touch him, but when he reached the east angle 
 a fierce gust from the west threatened to fling 
 him over into the sea. He tried to round the 
 corner and could not. The wind filled his jersey 
 like a sail. He took the jersey off and threw it 
 aside. Then, on hands and knees, he crawled 
 round inch by inch clinging to the stones of the 
 turret and the few tussacs of long grass that 
 grew between them. 
 
 Every movement he made could be watched 
 from the opposite side of the channel. The 
 light of the gorse fire over the Poolvash fell full 
 upon him, and lit up the entire castle and rocks 
 and the shuddering boat beneath with an eerie 
 brilliance. The townspeople were congregated 
 by thousands on the Horse Hill and the shore of 
 the main-land. "Whose yonder madman?" 
 cried one. "Danny Fayle.'' answered another. 
 "No, not Danny, the gawk?" "Aw, yes, though, 
 Danny, the gawk." Kerruish Kinvig was there 
 striding up and down, and shouting like thunder
 
 2i8 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME, 
 
 itself above the tumult of the wind, "Clear the 
 road. Stand back, the ruck of you." There was 
 nothing else that Kinvig could do. Mylrea Bal- 
 ladilioo had been sent for. He came and sat 
 down on the spar to which Christian had 
 strapped the rope. The -broken piece still hung 
 to it, Mona stood beside him, and spoke to him 
 at intervals. He answered nothing, but stared 
 vacantly before him. 
 
 The people held their breath as Danny round- 
 ed the turret, expecting every instant to see 
 him lifted fro^m the ledge and hurled into the surf 
 beneath. When he had cleared the corner, and 
 stood full in the wind on the south side of the 
 castle, directly above the two protruding rocks 
 that held the fishing boat in their grip. The 
 crowds ruched down the shore and along the top 
 of the Contrary Head to keep him in view. 
 What other mad act would the lad attempt? 
 
 "He'll go round to the west, and come back 
 on the shingle." 
 
 "Not him, man; the shore there is in six feet 
 of water." 
 
 Danny emerged presently. He was seen to tie 
 one end of his rope through a hole in the old 
 castle wall to a huge stone built into it. The 
 other end was still about his waist. "He's going 
 down the rocks to the boat." "Gerr out of that.
 
 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO Ji±>. 219 
 
 He'd be cut in pieces." "Aw, dear, the poor 
 boy's not mad enough for that, anyway." 
 
 But Danny was going down the rocks. Sharp 
 as needles with their thousand teeth turned up- 
 ward, slippery and icy cold, Danny set his foot 
 on them. He began his descent with his back to 
 the sea. Clouds of spray rose from every third 
 wave and hid from the people. But he was seen 
 to be going down foot after foot. What had 
 seemed like madness before began to look like 
 courage now that success appeared possible. It 
 was neither — it was despair. "Aw, beautiful!" 
 "Beautiful, extraordinary!" "It's the young 
 Masther Christian he's going down for.'' "Well, 
 v/ell, the masther was kind to the boy as- 
 tonishing." "Poor lad, there's a heart at him!" 
 
 Meanwhile Christian was clinging to the bow- 
 sprit. He was chilled near to losing his hold. 
 He saw Danny with the rope and wondered if 
 he would ever reach them. His companion — 
 some said it was the mate, Davy Cain — saw him 
 also, and the poor fellow was so transported by 
 the prospect of deliverance that he died on the 
 instant, and was swept away. Only Christian 
 now remained. Ever)' moment the waves 
 washed over him. He was numbed past feeling. 
 His haadls were swelled to jtwice their size. 
 Wondering if when Danny reached him with the
 
 220 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 rope he would have strength enoug-h to grip it, 
 he lost consciousness. 
 
 When within a yard of the bow of the boat, 
 Danny leaped and landed on the deck. The 
 people had held their breath while he descended. 
 Now a great cheer went up on the shore and on 
 the cliff. It rang out above the clamor of the 
 wind and the hiss of the thrashing billows. But 
 Danny heard it not. His thoughts were of 
 Mona was praying that strength might be grant- 
 heart. As surely as if he heard it with his carnal 
 ear, Danny knew that even at that moment 
 Mona was praying that strength mignt be grant- 
 ed him, and that he might be blessed in the 
 mercy of God forever. 
 
 He lifted Christian in his arms. The swelled 
 hands had next to no hold now. Then the lad 
 set his face afresh to the cruel, black, steep 
 rocks. Once again a s/hower of spray hid from 
 the people. When tlie white cloud had fallen 
 back he could be seen half-way up the rock, 
 dragging Christian on one arm after him. 
 
 Could none help him? Yes; twenty hands set 
 out at this moment, nine-tenths of the peril past. 
 The tide 'had left a wide bank across the highest 
 part of the strait, and the water was running out 
 on both sides. 
 
 Danny was helped up, but he would not re- 
 linquish his burden. Walking feebly, he carried
 
 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME, 221 
 
 Christian, who was still insensible, along the 
 narrow path under the east wall back to the 
 shore. The crowd divided for 'him. He saw 
 Mona, where she stood with clasped hands be- 
 side Balladhoo. Making his way to her, lie 
 laid Christian at her feet. 
 
 Danny's life's work was done. He had given 
 back to the woman who was all the world to him 
 the man she loved. 
 
 Mona dropped to her knees beside Christian, 
 and kissed him tenderly. Danny stood apart in 
 silence, and amid all that throng saw Mona 
 alone Then ihe turned his head .aside and 
 looked away over the sea. Only Heaven knew 
 what his thoughts were in that bitter hour — 
 that blessed hour — that hour of sorrow and of 
 glory. In this world his days were done. For 
 Kisseck's death, what remained to him among 
 men? Without Mona's love, what was left to 
 him on earth? 
 
 Christian returned to consciousness. Alona 
 rose up and took Danny's hand. She would 
 have put her arms around his neck, but he drew 
 away, and turned his eyes again towards the 
 sea. The longing look came back, but no tear 
 would start, for the gift of tears had gone forever. 
 
 The hum of human voices arose above them. 
 ''Poor tad, and his uncle dead, too.'' "Kisseck?" 
 '"Aw, yes, Kisseck." "Xo." "Yes, though — and
 
 222 SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 shot, they're savin'." "Never." "Who shot him?'' 
 "There's no one knowing that." 
 
 A loud, unearthly peal of laug'hter was heard 
 above the noise o>f the people and the tumult of 
 the storm. Every one turned to look for Danny. 
 He had gone. The next moment he was seen 
 at the water's edge pushing off the dingy of the 
 lugger. He leaped into it and picked up an oar. 
 But the ebbing tide needed no such help. It 
 caught the boat and carried it away on a huge 
 billow wdiite with foam. In a minute it was rid- 
 ing far out into the dark void beyond. 
 
 Tliein Al'ona Iremembelred Danny's strange 
 words two days ago, "I think at whiles I'd like to 
 die in a big sea like thait." 
 
 Next da}^ — Christmas-day — ^when the bleared 
 sun was smking over the western bar of the deep 
 lone sea, and Danny's gorse fire on the clifif- 
 head was smouldering out, a boat was washed 
 ashore in the Poolvash — empty, capsized. It 
 was the dingy of the Ben-my-Chree !
 
 SHE'S ALL THE WOULD TO ME. 223 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 THREE YEARS AFTER, 
 
 One scene more. 
 
 It was the morning of a summer's day. The 
 sunshine danced bewitchingly over the sea, that 
 lay drowsily under the wide vault of a blue sky. 
 Lambent, lan-giiid, white, earth and air slept 
 together. 
 
 A soothing and dreamy haze rested on the lit- 
 tle town of Peel. 
 
 Brighter than the sunshine, fresher that the 
 salt breath of the sea, a little girl of eight tripped 
 over the paved and crabbed streets. In one 
 band she swung a straw hat overflowing with 
 flowers. By the other she held a fair-haired 
 boy, who was just old enough to trot along at 
 ■her side. The stout little man carried a mighty 
 'Spade across one shoulder, and the hand that 
 held the hand of his sister held also a bucket 
 heavily laden with perhaps a teaspK>onful of sand. 
 At one moment the maiden exercising the grave 
 duties of a guardian, stopped, and volunteered 
 to relieve the little chap of this burden; but, of
 
 224 ISHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 
 
 course, he resented the humihating' tender with 
 proper masculine dignity. Then they tripped 
 on. 
 
 They were making for the Market-place, and 
 when they reached It they turned in at the church 
 gates. Many a green grave lay there bathed in 
 the sunbeams; and many a simple stone, moss- 
 grown and discolored, looking brighter on this 
 brilliant day. An old man sat on a tomb and 
 leaned forward on a stick. He seemed to doze 
 in the light and warmth ; but as the little people 
 passed him, he fumbled at his hat and smiled, 
 through his teethless gums. 
 
 '"At's Billy," said the little fellow, with an air 
 of knowledge. 
 
 The children walked to the south-west angle 
 of the dhurch, and stopped before a white marble 
 slab embedded in the wall. There was no grave 
 beneath it. Tossed on the shimmering waters 
 that stretched aw^ay miles on miles in front of it, 
 or resting calmly in that ocean bed, was all that 
 remained of him to whom this stone was raised. 
 
 The little maiden cast her flowers in front of 
 it. The little boy, too, must needs cast his flow- 
 ers also. Then he looked up with his great blue 
 wondering eyes at the letters of the inscription. 
 They ran: 
 
 TO DEAR DANNY IN HEAVEN. 
 
 The tide w^as just on the turn and the murmur
 
 8HE\S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 22$ 
 
 of the first receding waves began to break the si- 
 lence. 
 
 ''Listen " said the Httle woman, with Hfted fin- 
 ger. 
 
 "I 'ikes the sea," said the boy. 
 
 The children turned to go. "Come, Danny," 
 said she. 
 
 "Ees, Ruby," he hsped. 
 
 When Dhey reached the gate the Httle feet 
 tripped faster over the stones, and a silvery voice 
 sang: 
 
 ''Sweet violets, and primroses the sweetest." 
 THE END.
 
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