“Lad,” said Pat, “I sees as how ye bes young, an’ a sailor—­aye, an’ bewitched, too.  Sure, I was a sailor meself, in the old days.  I likes the cut o’ yer fore-sils, lad, an’ the lines o’ yer hull, so I tells ye, man to man like, watch out for the skipper.  Aye, armed or empty-handed, alone or wid a crew at yer back, watch out for Black Dennis Nolan.  He bes a grand lad in his own way, an’ ginerous an’ fair wid his friends—­but Saint Peter help the man who hauls acrost his bows!  If ye’ve come to Chance Along to take the girl away wid ye, then get hold o’ her quick an’ clear out wid her quick.”

“I’ll take ye to her, sir,” said Mary, eagerly.  “Come, sir!  Come along wid ye.  She bes at the skipper’s own house.”

“At his own house?  So I heard,” said Darling, thickly.

“Aye,” said Pat, “an’ safe as if she was in church, wid Mother Nolan to mind her.  Sure, an’ Denny Nolan bain’t such a pirate as ye t’inks, sir.  Lie an’ curse an’ fight an’ wrack he will, like the divil himself; but he bes a decent man wid the helpless, accordin’ to his lights, for all that.  Aye, cap’n, till she bes Denny Nolan’s wife she kin be any man’s wife—­if he bes smart enough to get her out o’ Chance Along.”

“Come along wid me, sir!” urged Mary, pulling at Darling’s sleeve.  “He bes out o’ the harbor now, wid all the crew.  Now bes yer chance, sir!”

She had thrown a shawl over her head and shoulders while her father was talking; and now she opened the door and led the sailor into the choking fog outside.

“Give me yer hand, sir, an’ mind yer feet,” she whispered.  And then, as she pressed quickly forward, leading Darling by the hand, “It must be the saints themselves sent ye an’ the fog to Chance Along together, sir—­ye an’ the fog an’ the wrack they all bes a-lookin’ out for!”

“Then I trust the saints may continue their good offices,” said Darling, seriously.

“Aye, sir, an’ why not?” she returned.  “But here we be, sir.  Mother Nolan an’ yer lass bes alone in the house together this minute; an’ Mother Nolan will not be sayin’ nay to yer plans o’ runnin’ away.”

She opened the door and drew Mr. Darling after her into the lighted kitchen.  “Here bes yer help, Flora darlin’,” she said.  “An’ ’twas no letter fetched him, ye kin lay to that, but the drag in his own heart for ye.”

Old Mother Nolan looked up at them with her snapping black eyes.

“Shut the door!” said she.  “D’ye want to fill all me poor old bones wid misery?”

Mary laughed uncertainly and slammed the door; and it was not until then that Flora Lockhart moved or uttered a sound.  She sprang to her feet, her clear eyes shining like stars.

“Jack!  Mr. Darling!” she cried.  “You here?  Have you come for me?”

The sailor’s heart fairly flooded his arteries with joy and tenderness.  She had remembered him at a glance after the three long years!  She had called him by name!  Work, ambition, fame and disaster had not driven out the memory of him.