The young man eyed her gloomily and inquiringly until she blushed and turned her face away from him.

“Ye talks fair, Mary,” he said.  “Ye talks as if ye was a friend o’ mine; but ye bain’t always actin’ that same way, these days.  Last night, now, ye an’ granny was sure fightin’ agin me!  I seed ye bat Nick Leary wid the leg o’ the chair—­an’ I seed that dacent old woman a-hangin’ to Bill Brennen’s whiskers like a wildcat to the moss on a tree.”

“An’ why not, Denny Nolan?” retorted the girl.  “Ye t’ree men was after murderin’ that poor lad!  D’ye think Mother Nolan was wantin’ to see ye carried off to St. John’s an’ hung by yer neck?  Sure, we was fightin’ agin ye.  What hurt had that poor lad ever done to ye?  He come to Chance Along for his lass—­an’ sure, she was ready enough to be goin’ away wid him!”

The skipper’s face darkened.  “Who saved her life from the wrack?” he cried.  “Tell me that, will ye!  Who salvaged her from the fore-top o’ the wrack?”

Without waiting for an answer, he brushed past Mary and strode up to his house.  The girl stood motionless for a little while, gazing after him with a flushed face, twitching lips and a flicker of amusement in her gray eyes.

“Poor Denny,” she murmured.  “His pride bes hurt more nor the heart of him!”

John Darling was not honored by a visit from the skipper that day; but Bill Brennen carried food to him, made up a fire in the stove, and even loosed his bonds for a few minutes upon receiving his word of honor that he would not take advantage of the kindness by trying to escape.

“What does Nolan intend to do with me?” asked Darling.

“Well, sir, it looks to me as how he bes figgerin’ to keep ye in Chance Along till June.  He bes t’inkin’ as how the young lady may blow ’round to his own idee,” replied Bill.

“And what is his idea?”

“As how he bes a better man nor ye be.”

“But why does he figure to keep me until June?  Why not until July, or August—­or next Christmas?”

“Well, sir, ye see it bes this way wid him.  Father McQueen, the dear, riverent gentleman—­an’ may he never die till I kills him, an’ may every blessed hair on his head turn into a wax candle to light him to glory!—­bes comin’ back to Chance Along in June.  The skipper bain’t afeared o’ any man in the world but his riverence.”

John Darling smiled.  “I should like to see Father McQueen,” he said; “but I am afraid I must be going away from here considerably before the first of June.”

Bill wagged his head.  “Now don’t ye be too sure, sir,” he whispered.  “Ye bain’t dealin’ wid any ignorant fisherman when ye bes dealin’ wid Black Dennis Nolan.  Sure, didn’t he find yer bully this very mornin’!”

“My bully!” exclaimed the other, losing color.  “Where did he find it?”

“Driftin’ in the harbor,” returned Bill.  “It bes a grand bully entirely, sir.”