the shore. "Good-by!" "Good-by!"
"Farewell, little Mona!" "Good-by, dear Elian Vannin!" Handkerchiefs
waving on the steamer; handkerchiefs waving on the quay; seagulls
wheeling over the stern; white churning water in the wake; flag down;
and harbor empty.

"She's gone!"

Lovibond smiled behind a handkerchief, with which he pretended to wipe
his big mustache. Willie Quarrie looked helplessly up the ferry steps.
Davy gnashed his teeth at the top of them.

After a moment Davy said, "No matter; we can take the Irish packet at
nine, and catch the Pacific boat at Belfast. Willie," he shouted, "put
the luggage in the shed for the Belfast steamer. We'll sail to-night
instead."

Then the three parted company, each with his own reflections.

"The Capt'n done that a-purpose," thought Willie.

"He'll keep my engagement for me at eight o'clock," thought Lovibond.

"I wouldn't have believed it of her if the Dempster himself had swore to
it," thought Davy.

CHAPTER IX.

At half-past seven that night the iron pier was a varied and animated
scene. A band was playing a waltz on the circle at the end; young people
were dancing, other young people of both sexes were promenading, lines
of yet younger people, chiefly girls in short frocks, but with the
wagging heads and sparkling eyes of one type of budding maidenhood,
were skipping along arm-in-arm, singing snatches of the words set to
the waltz, and beating a half-dancing time with an alternate scrape and
stroke of the soles of their shoes upon the wood floor on which they
walked. The odor of the brine came up from below and mingled with the
whiffs of Mona Bouquet that swept after the young girls as they passed,
and with the puffs of tobacco smoke that enveloped the young men as
they dawdled on. Sometimes the revolving light of the lightship in the
channel could be seen above the flash and flare of the pier lamps, and
sometimes the dark water under foot gleamed and glinted between the open
timbers of the pier pavement, and sometimes the deep rumble of the sea
could be heard over the clash and clang of the pier band.

Lovibond was there, walking to and fro, feeling himself for the first
time to be an old fellow among so many younger folks, watching the
clock, counting the minutes, and scanning every female form that
came alone with the crink-crank-crick through the round stile of the
pay-gate.

Not until five minutes to eight did the right one appear, but she made
up f