Capt'n Davy's Honeymoon Part 20

"Yes, did he," said Davy. "At eight o'clock, did she say?"

"Yes, eight o'clock," said Nelly. "Did _he_ say eight?"

"He did," said Davy.

The loud voices of a moment before had suddenly dropped to broken whispers. Davy made a prolonged whistle.

"Stop," said he; "haven't you been in the habit of meeting him?"

"I have never seen him but once," said Nelly. "But haven't _you_ been in the habit of meeting _her?_"

"Never set eyes on the little skute but twice altogether," said Davy.

"But didn't he see you first in St. Thomas's, and didn't you speak with him on the sh.o.r.e--"

"I've never been in St. Thomas's in my life!" said Nelly. "But didn't you meet her first on the Head above Port Soderick, and to go to Laxey, and come home with her in the coach?"

"Not I," said Davy.

"Then the stories she told me of the Manx sailor were all imagination, were they?" said Nelly.

"And the yarns _he_ tould _me_ of the girl in the church were all make-ups, eh?" said Davy.

"Dear me, what a pair of deceitful people!" said Nelly.

"My gough! what a couple of cuffers!" said Davy.

There was another pause, and then Davy began to laugh. First came a low gurgle like that of suppressed bubbles in a fountain, then a sharp, crackling breaker of sound, and then a long, deep roar of liberated mirth that seemed to shake and heave the whole man, and to convulse the very air around him.

Davy's laughter was contagious. As the truth began to dawn on her Mrs.

Quiggin first chuckled, then t.i.ttered, then laughed outright; and at last her voice rose behind her husband's in clear trills of uncontrollable merriment.

Laughter was the good genie that drew their a.s.sundered hearts together.

It broke down the barrier that divided them; it melted the frozen places where love might not pa.s.s. They could not resist it. Their anger fled before it like evil creatures of the night.

At the first sound of Davy's laughter something in Nelly's bosom seemed to whisper "He loves me still;" and at the first note of Nelly's, something clamored in Davy's breast, "She's mine, she's mine!" They turned toward each other in the darkness with a yearning cry.

"Nelly!" cried Davy, and he opened his arms to her.

"Davy!" cried Nelly, and she leaped to his embrace.

And so ended in laughter and kisses their little foolish comedy of love.

As soon as Davy had recovered his breath he said, with what gravity he could command, "Seems to me, Nelly Vauch, begging your pardon, darling, that we've been a couple of fools."

"Whoever could have believed it?" said Nelly.

"What does it mane at all, said Davy.

"It means," said Nelly, "that our good friends knew each other, and that he told her, and she told him, and that to bring us together again they played a trick on our jealousy."

"Then we _were_ jealous?" said Davy.

"Why else are we here?" said Nelly.

"So you _did_ come to see a man, after all?" said Davy.

"And _you_ came to see a woman," said Nelly.

They had began to laugh again, and to walk to and fro about the lawn, arm-inarm and waist-to-waist, vowing that they would never part--no, never, never, never--and that nothing on earth should separate them, when they heard a step on the gra.s.s behind.

"Who's there?" said Davy.

And a voice from the darkness answered, "It's Willie Quarrie, Capt'n."

Davy caught his breath. "Lord-a-ma.s.sy me!" said he. "I'd clane forgotten."

"So had I," said Nelly, with alarm.

"I was to have started back for Cajlao by the Belfast packet."

"And I was to have gone home by carriage."

"If you plaze, Capt'n," said Willie Quarrie, coming up. "I've been looking for you high and low--the pacquet's gone."

Davy drew a long breath of relief. "Good luck to her," said he, with a shout.

"And, if you plaze," said Willie, "Mr. Lovibond is gone with her."

"Good luck to _him_," said Davy.

"And Miss Crows has gone, too," said Willie.

"Good luck to her as well," said Davy; and Nelly whispered at his side, "There--what did I tell you?"

"And if you plaze, Capt'n," said Willie Quarrie, stammering nervously, "Mr. Lovibond, sir, he has borrowed our--our tickets and--and taken them away with him."

"He's welcome, boy, he's welcome," cried Davy, promptly. "We're going home instead. Home!" he said again--this time to Nelly, and in a tone of delight, as if the word rolled on his tongue like a lozenge--"that sounds better, doesn't it? Middling tidy, isn't it. Not so dusty, eh?"

"We'll never leave it again," said Nelly.

"Never!" said Davy. "Not for a Dempster's palace. Just a piece of a croft and a bit of a thatch cottage on the lea of ould Orrisdale, and we'll lie ash.o.r.e and take the sun like the goats."

"That reminds me of something," whispered Nelly. "Listen! I've had a letter from father. It made me cry this morning, but it's all right now--Ballamooar is to let!"

"Ballamooar!" repeated Davy, but in another voice. "Aw, no, woman, no!

And that reminds _me_ of something."

"What is it," said Nelly.