of
the farm as well--Balla--balla--something else--oh, Ballavalley."

"Ballavolly?" said Davy.

"Exactly," said Lovibond.

Davy breathed heavily, swayed slightly, and rolled against Lovibond as
they walked side by side.

"Then you know the place, Capt'n," said Lovibond.

Davy laughed noisily. "Ay, I know it," he said.

"And the girl's father, too, I suppose?" said Lovibond.

Davy laughed bitterly. "Ay, and the girl's father too," he said.

"And the girl herself perhaps?" said Lovibond.

Davy laughed almost fiercely, "Ay, and the girl herself," he said.

Lovibond did not spare him. "Then," said he, in an innocent way, "you
must know her husband also."

Davy laughed wildly. "I wouldn't trust," he said.

"He's a brute--isn't he?" said Lovibond.

"Ugh!" Davy's laughter stopped very suddenly.

"A fool, too--is he not?" said Lovibond.

"Ay--a damned fool!" said Davy out of the depths of his throat, and then
he laughed and reeled again, and gripped at Lovibond's sleeve to keep
himself erect.

"Helloa!" he cried, in another voice; "I'm rocking full like a ship with
a rolling cargo and my head is as thick as Taubman's brewery on boiling
day."

He was a changed man from that instant onward. An angel of God that had
been breathing on his soul was driven out by a devil of despair. The
conviction had settled on him that he was a dastard. Lovibond remembered
the story of his father? and trembled for what he had done.

Davy stumbled back through the window into the room, singing lustily--

O, Molla Char--aine, where got you your gold?
Lone, lone, you have le--eft me here,
O, not in the Curragh, deep under the mo--old,
Lone, lo--one, and void of cheer,
Lone, lo--one, and void of cheer.

His cronies received him with shouts of welcome. "You'll be walking
the crank yet, Capt'n," said they, in mockery of his unsteady gait. His
altered humor suited them. "Cards," they cried; "cards--a game for good
luck."

"Hould hard," said Davy. "Fair do's. Send for the landlord first."

"What for?" they asked. "To stop us? He'll do that quick enough."

"You'll see," said Davy. "Willie," he shouted, "bring up the skipper."

Willie Quarrie went out on his errand, and Davy called for a song. The
Crier gave one line three times, and broke down as often. "I linger
round this very spot--I linger round this ve--ery spot--I linger round
this very--"

"Don't do it any longer, mate," cried Davy. "Your song is