THE same evening Hal Grame and Joe Pullen walked up the Ship lane together in silence. They had just returned from one of their fishing expeditions and Joe carried the catch in a dripping basket on his shoulder.

Hal strode along beside him, his hands in his pockets and his eyes fixed moodily on the ground.

No word of Anny had passed between them since the night a fortnight before, when Hal had stumbled into Joe’s cottage and told the story of his quarrel with her. Ever since, with natural delicacy, Joe had carefully avoided the subject, and had carried his mate off fishing as often as he could, thinking that this would take his mind off the girl.

Suddenly Hal stopped.

“How much had we from the sale of yesterday’s fishing?” he asked abruptly.

“Four groats,” replied Joe promptly.

“Wilt thou give me two, mate?”

Joe looked at his friend in surprise; Hal was not wont to want money, but he answered readily enough:

“Certes, lad, certes,” and setting his basket down he brought out the two coins almost reverently from his pocket and held them to Hal, who took them thoughtfully, weighed them in his hand, and then looked up at his mate questioningly.

“How much silk can I buy with these at Tiptree?” he asked slowly.

Joe looked at him in astonishment.

“Silk? Why, Hal Grame, what in heaven and earth do you want with——” He broke off abruptly, a wave of understanding passing over his face.

“She’s not worth your troubling, mate,” he said at last.

A dull flush of anger spread over the younger man’s face and he broke out impetuously:

“Not worth my troubling! Lord save you, Joe Pullen, if it was any other man who said as much, I’d——”

Joe put a huge paw on the boy’s shoulder.

“That’s right, lad, that’s right,” he said kindly. “The lass is your love when all’s said an’ done—pray Heaven you may not be as fooled as I was, though,” he added mournfully, the thought of Mistress Amy flashing through his mind.

Hal smiled in spite of himself at his friend’s lugubrious expression, but he soon became serious again.

“Joe,” he said hesitatingly.

“Ay!”

“You have had a deal of truck with women?”

Joe grunted.

“Wi’ one woman, you mean,” he said savagely.

Hal looked at him curiously before he spoke.

“What will I do about Anny?” he said at last.

Joe cleared his throat; he had very strong views on this subject.

“You make too much ado about her,” he said.

“But for these last two weeks I have said naught to her,” Hal objected.

Joe knew this was true and he shrugged his shoulders.

“I should be sharp with her, lad,” he said at last. “Tell her there be other lasses you could love, and she’ll come round in no time.”

Hal nodded.

“I had thought as much myself,” he said.

“Depend on it, I’m right,” said Joe, shaking his head sagely, and reshouldering the basket, and they continued thoughtfully up the dusty road.

On turning into the Ship yard they saw the usual company seated on benches before the kitchen door, drinking beer and rum, each man to his fancy.

Old Gilbot’s chair had been moved out into the porch, and he sat in it drunk and happy, singing to his heart’s content.

The two mates were greeted cheerily; Joe sat down and called for rum, but Hal, seeing Blueneck and one or two others of the Anny’s crew among the company, walked into the kitchen, put his cap and coat by, and looked about for Anny.

She was not in the kitchen or the scullery, so presently he wandered out into the garden where the evening shadows lay deep over the plants and shrubs. He sat down on an upturned barrel, his elbows resting on his knees and his chin on his hands.

Hardly had he been there a moment when there was a rustling in the shrubbery at the end of the garden and Anny, her plaits flying out behind her, sped up the path toward him. She did not notice him, and would have passed had not he put out an arm to stay her.

At his touch the girl gave a little terrified scream and started back like a frightened animal. When she saw who it was, however, she gave a little sigh of relief and a smile crept into her face, while her heart beat faster.

Hal was going to make friends with her at last, she thought, and as she smiled up at him she felt that here was the solution of her difficulties.

Hal on his side felt a glow of pleasure at her obvious friendliness and a warm impulse to take her in his arms. However, he remembered Joe’s advice and the smile died on his lips as he said sharply:

“Where have you been, Ann Farran? And why come you in so quickly by the back way?”

The eager, happy light died out of the girl’s eyes in a moment, and a flush of anger spread over her cheeks.

“And what will that matter to you, Master Hal Grame?” she said, pertly tossing her head.

Hal’s young face grew hard and he laid a hand on her arm.

“Indeed, it has a great deal to do with me, Ann Farran. What duty am I paying to Master Gilbot if I let his serving wenches go flying about the Island at all hours of the day, and besides, Anny, don’t forget that you—you——” His voice had grown much softer and even trembled a little, but Anny was too angry to notice it.

“Indeed, I think you take too much on your shoulders, master—master tapster,” she burst out.

Hal gasped, and then as his anger rose, his grip on her arm tightened and he shook her violently.

“Take care, Anny, take care,” he said between his teeth, “don’t forget that you were to wed me!”

Anny tried to wrench her hand away.

“Were? Ay, you’re right, Hal Grame,” she said proudly. “Marry! I would not wed you now if you and I were the last to be on earth.”

Hal blinked and let go his grip on her wrist; then a smile broke over his boyish features, and he said half laughing:

“Lord, you’re daft, Anny, you know you love me. Come, say I lie, you can’t!”

Anny’s black brows came down on her white forehead until they made one straight line across her brow and her big green eyes blazed.

“I say you lie, Hal Grame,” she said very quietly and distinctly. “I say you lie and that you are an over-weening puppy and think yourself too fine.”

Hal was stung into replying sharply:

“Lord preserve you, silly wench, who do you think would marry you, a little serving slut, without a portion, or even a father, for that matter?”

Anny tossed her head and looked at him disdainfully.

“I could be wed to-morrow to a finer man than you,” she said, forgetting prudence in her irritation.

Hal laughed savagely.

“Oh, you fool, you fool, Anny,” he said bitterly. “Do you think your little sea-rat will wed you?”

Anny looked at him with child-like surprise.

“I do not think at all,” she said, and added under her breath: “I know.”

Hal looked at her hopelessly. He felt that Joe’s advice had not been altogether helpful, and as she stood there, a wild, free-looking little creature in the dim light, he could not help feeling that if he had coaxed her instead of attempting to drive her into his arms things might have gone better with him, and Anny as she stood looking at him felt a pang in her heart when she thought of the old Hal, the Hal whom she had loved, who had been so different from this new Hal who seemed to be deliberately trying to make her hate him.

For two seconds they stood looking at one another, each hoping against hope that all would yet come right; yet neither of them spoke. At last Anny turned away and went slowly into the house, her mind made up about her marriage and her thoughts on Black’erchief Dick.

Hal watched her go and then sat down again, his head on his hands. Presently he put his hand into his pocket and brought out the two groats, and looked at them as they lay shining in his palm, and then made a gesture as though to fling them from him away into the bushes, but thought better of it and repocketed them.

“The lass may love me still,” he muttered to himself. “I’ll get the present for her. Lasses are slippery catches. I would I knew the way of them.”

Then, thrusting his hands deep into his pockets, he got up heavily and strolled slowly up the path, kicking savagely at the loose gravel as he went.