"And then the monastery bell tolled. And presently he heard a chanting—a slow sad chanting! And then the chanting also died away.
"He had been lying on the wall with his hat in his hand and staring up at the sky. Now he sat up, put on his hat, took another look to the lights in the harbor, and hummed softly the Philippine service song—
"It's home, boy, home, it's home you ought to be."
"And you've no kick coming. Dreams dreams, always dreams, but you've had your hour, too.' He took another look at the lights of the fleet—another [pg 334] to the lights of the city below him—'Good night, Lima,' he whispered, and dropped off the wall."
The pump-man had begun his story this evening while sitting with back to the rail and feet stretched out on the deck before him. He finished while lying on his back, hands clasped under the back of his head, and wide eyes on the sky.
The passenger leaned on the rail, studied the stem of the ship, and listened to the surge of back wash against the ship's bow as she drove on. Abeam, the young moon drooped.
Kieran said nothing more. The passenger nothing for a long time. Then it was:
"And they were married?"
"I don't know—Cogan didn't wait to see—but of course."