the blue and flash and fathomless depths
of her eyes. I remembered the sweet, moist touch of her lips: I
remembered--in that period of musing, when my uncle, fallen
disconsolate in his chair, sipped his rum--the kiss that she gave
me in the cabin of the _Shining Light_.

"Dannie," says my uncle, "what you thinkin' about?"

I would not tell.

"'Tis some good thing," says he. "I'd like wonderful well t' know."

I could but sigh.

"Dannie," says he, in his wisdom, "you've growed wonderful fond o'
Judy, isn't you?"

"I'm t' wed Judy," I answered.

'Twas with no unkindness--but with a sly twinkle of understanding--that
he looked upon me.

"When I grows up," I added, for his comfort.

"No, no!" says he. "You'll never wed Judith. A gentleman? 'Twould
scandalize Chesterfield."

"I will," said I.

"You'll _not_!" cries he, in earnest.

"But I will!"

The defiance still left him smiling. "Not accordin' t' Chesterfield,"
says he. "You'll be a gentleman, Dannie, when you grows up, an' you'll
not be wantin' t' wed Judy."

"Not _wantin'_ to?"

"No, no; you'll not be wantin' to."

"Still," says I, "will I wed Judy."

"An' why?"

"Because," said I, "I've kissed her!"

* * * * *

My uncle would have his last glass alone (he said); and I must be off
to bed and to sleep; 'twas grown late for me (said he) beyond the
stretch of his conscience to endure. Lord love us! (said he) would I
never be t' bed in season? Off with me--an' t' sleep with me! 'Twould
be the worse for me (said he) an he caught me wakeful when he turned
in. The thing had an odd look--an odd look, to be sure--for never
before had the old man's conscience pricked him to such fatherly
consideration upon a night when the wind blew high. I extinguished the
hanging lamp, smothered the smouldering coals, set his night-lamp at
hand, and drowsily climbed the stairs, having given him good-night,
with a hearty "Thank 'e, sir, for that there tutor!" He bawled after
me an injunction against lying awake; and I should presently have gone
sound asleep, worn with the excitements of the day, had I not caught
ear of him on the move. 'Twas the wary tap and thump of his staff and
wooden leg that instantly enlisted my attention; then a cautious
fumbling at the latch of the door, a draught of night air, a
thin-voiced, garrulous complaint of the weather and long waiting.

"Hist, ye fool!" says my uncle. "Ye'll wake the lad."