“No harm shall come to her while you are away.”
“Swear to it, Phil. Your word's your bond, I know that; but give me your hand and swear to it—it'll be more surer.”
Philip gave his hand and his oath, and then tried to turn away, for he knew that his face was reddening.
“Wait! There's another while your hand's in, Phil. Swear that nothing and nobody shall ever come between us two.”
“You know nothing ever will.”
“But swear to it, Phil. There's bad tongues going, and it'll make me more aisier. Whatever they do, whatever they say, friends and brothers to the last?”
Philip felt a buzzing in his head, and he was so dizzy that he could hardly stand, but he took the second oath also. Then the bell rang again, and there was a great hubbub. Gangways were drawn up, ropes were let go, the captain called to the shore from the bridge, and the blustering harbour-master called to the bridge from the shore.
“Go and stand on the end of the pier, Phil—just aback of the lighthouse—and I'll put myself at the stern. I want a friend's face to be the last thing I see when I'm going away from the old home.”?
Philip could bear no more. The hate in his heart was mastered. It was under his feet. His flushed face was wet.
The throbbing of the funnels ceased, and all that could be heard was the running of the tide in the harbour and the wash of the waves on the shore. Across the sea the sun came up boldly, “like a guest expected,” and down its dancing water-path the steamer moved away. Over the land old Bar-rule rose up like a sea king with hoar-frost on his forehead, and the smoke began to lift from the chimneys of the town at his feet.