“Master Tom,” said he, at length, as his lips almost touched me, “my child, my heart's blood, you won't forget poor Darby. Ye 'll be a great man yet; ye 'll be all I wish ye. But will you remember a poor man like me?”
“Jump ashore there, my good fellow,” cried the coxswain; “we'll have enough to do to round the point before the tide ebbs.”
“One minit more, and God love ye for it,” said Darby, in a voice of imploring accent. “Who knows will we ever meet again; 't is the last time, maybe, I 'll ever look on him.”
I could but press his hand to my heart; for my agitation increased the debility I felt, and every effort to speak was in vain.
“One half minit more,—if it 's only that he 'll be able to say, 'God bless you, Darby!' and I 'll be happy.”
“Push off, my lads!” shouted the sailor, sternly; and as he spoke the oars plashed heavily in the sea, and the boat rocked over with the impulse. Twice the strong stroke of the oars sent the craft through the clear water, when the piper clasped his arm wildly around me, and kissing me on the cheek, he sprang over the side. The waves were nearly to his shoulders; but in a few seconds he had buffeted through them, and stood upon the shore.
With a last effort I waved my hand in adieu; and as I sank back exhausted, I heard a wild cry burst from him, half in triumph, half in despair. One glance more I caught of his figure as we stood out to sea; he was kneeling on the beach, bareheaded, and as if in prayer. The tears gushed from my eyes as I beheld him, and the long pent up sorrow at last broke forth, and I sobbed like a child.
“Come, come, my lad! don't feel downhearted,” said the sailor, laying his hand on my shoulder; “the world can scarce have been over rough to one so young as you are. Lift up your head, and see what a glorious morning we 've got! And there comes the breeze over the water. We hadn't such weather the last time we made this trip, I assure you.”
I looked up suddenly; and truly never did such a scene of loveliness meet my eyes. The sun had risen in all his glorious brilliancy, and poured a flood of golden light across the bay, tipping with a violet hue the far-off peaks of the Wicklow mountains, and lighting up the wooded valleys at their feet. Close above us rose the rugged sides of Howth in dark shadow; the frowning rocks and gloomy caverns contrasting with the glittering tints of the opposite coast, where every cottage and cliff sparkled in the dancing sunlight.
As we rounded the point, a cheer broke from the men, and was answered at once. I turned my head, and saw beneath the tall cliffs the taper spars of a small vessel, from which the sails hung listlessly, half brailed to the mast.