ed ship, you say? What was her name?" he asked, anxiously.

"The name o' the ship? Well, sir, far's I kin remember it was the _Rile
Willyum_. Aye, sir, that was it."

Mr. Darling got excited. His face went dead white, then flaming red, and
he leaned forward and gripped the fingers of his right hand in Lynch's
shoulder. But Dick was too mellow and happy to object or to feel
surprise.

"And what was the lady's name?" cried Mr. Darling. "Out with it, man!
Out with it! What was _her_ name?"

"Name o' the lady? Lady's name? Her name? Sure, sir, it bes Nora."

"Nora! Don't you mean Flora?"

"Aye, Flora. Sure, sir, Flora bes what I said."

"God!" exclaimed Mr. Darling, leaning back in his chair. Dick Lynch
smiled across at him. He recovered himself in a minute.

"With a beautiful voice, you say?" he queried faintly.

"Aye, sir. Sure, didn't she sing a song afore the Queen herself,"
returned Dick.

"It is Flora!" cried the other. "My God, it is Flora!" Then gripping
Lynch again, "Did you say--did you say she--she is--well?" he whispered.

"Sure, I telled ye she bes well," replied the befuddled fisherman.
"Well, d'ye say? Aye, she bes plump as a pa'tridge, a-livin' on the fat
o' the land--the fat o' all the wracks that comes up from the sea. An' a
beauty she bes, altogether. Saints presarve ye, sir, she bes the
beautifulest female woman ever come ashore on that coast. She was
desperate bad wid the fever, was Nora, when first the skipper took her
home wid him; but now she bes plump as a young swile, sir, an' too
beautiful entirely for the likes o' meself to look at."

Mr. Darling's face went white again.

"The skipper?" he asked, huskily. "For God's sake, man, what are you
saying? Why does she stay in Chance Along? What has she to do with that
damned big black beast you call the skipper?"

"Now you bes a-gettin' excited, sir, all along o' that Nora girl,"
protested Dick Lynch. "She bes a-livin' wid Mother Nolan, in the
skipper's own house. The skipper bes figgerin' on coaxin' of her 'round
to marry wid him; but I hears, sir, as how she telled him as how she'd
marry no poor, ignorant, dacent fisherman at all, but a king wid a
golden crown on his head. Aye, sir, that bes the trut'. The likes o' she
be well able to keep Black Denny Nolan in his place."

"Thank God!" exclaimed Mr. Darling, sitting back in his chair again.

Dick Lynch eyed him with drunken cunning.

"Ye knows that grand young woman, sir?" he querie