“Tell him I have taken the advice he gave us in his sermon last Sunday.  Say I have turned my back on the world, the flesh, and the devil.”

“How can you talk so, Robert!  And the boys, too—­you promised not to go without bidding the boys good-by.”

“That’s true.  I made my little nephews a promise, and I’ll keep it.”  He kicked off his shoes as he spoke, on the mat outside the door.  “Light me upstairs, Lizzie; I’ll bid the two boys good-by without waking them.”

She saw the uselessness of resisting him any longer; and, taking the candle, went before him upstairs.

The boys—­both young children—­were sleeping together in the same bed.  The youngest was his uncle’s favorite, and was called by his uncle’s name.  He lay peacefully asleep, with a rough little toy ship hugged fast in his arms.  Kirke’s eyes softened as he stole on tiptoe to the child’s side, and kissed him with the gentleness of a woman.  “Poor little man!” said the sailor, tenderly.  “He is as fond of his ship as I was at his age.  I’ll cut him out a better one when I come back.  Will you give me my nephew one of these days, Lizzie, and will you let me make a sailor of him?”

“Oh, Robert, if you were only married and happy, as I am!”

“The time has gone by, my dear.  I must make the best of it as I am, with my little nephew there to help me.”

He left the room.  His sister’s tears fell fast as she followed him into the parlor.  “There is something so forlorn and dreadful in your leaving us like this,” she said.  “Shall I go to Aldborough to-morrow, Robert, and try if I can get acquainted with her for your sake?”

“No!” he replied.  “Let her be.  If it’s ordered that I am to see that girl again, I shall see her.  Leave it to the future, and you leave it right.”  He put on his shoes, and took up his hat and stick.  “I won’t overwalk myself,” he said, cheerfully.  “If the coach doesn’t overtake me on the road, I can wait for it where I stop to breakfast.  Dry your eyes, my dear, and give me a kiss.”

She was like her brother in features and complexion, and she had a touch of her brother’s spirit; she dashed away the tears, and took her leave of him bravely.

“I shall be back in a year’s time,” said Kirke, falling into his old sailor-like way at the door.  “I’ll bring you a China shawl, Lizzie, and a chest of tea for your store-room.  Don’t let the boys forget me, and don’t think I’m doing wrong to leave you in this way.  I know I am doing right.  God bless you and keep you, my dear—­and your husband, and your children!  Good-by!”

He stooped and kissed her.  She ran to the door to look after him.  A puff of air extinguished the candle, and the black night shut him out from her in an instant.

Three days afterward the first-class merchantman Deliverance, Kirke, commander, sailed from London for the China Sea.

CHAPTER III.