Publisher's Synopsis
On the morning of the 9th of May, 18-, three persons important to this story stood among the passengers on the deck of the Isle of Man steamship Tynwald as she lay by the pier at Douglas getting up steam for the passage to Liverpool. One of these was an old clergyman of seventy, with a sweet, mellow, childlike face; another was a young man of thirty, also a clergyman; the third was a girl of twenty. The older clergyman wore a white neckcloth about his throat, and was dressed in rather threadbare black of a cut that had been more common twenty years before; the younger clergyman wore a Roman collar, a long clerical coat, and a stiff, broad-brimmed hat with a cord and tassel. They stood amidships, and the captain, coming out of his room to mount the bridge, saluted them as he passed. "Good morning, Mr. Storm." The young clergyman returned the salutation with a slight bow and the lifting of his hat. "Morning to you, Parson Quayle." The old clergyman answered cheerily, "Oh, good morning, captain; good morning." There was the usual inquiry about the weather outside, and drawing up to answer it, the captain came eye to eye with the girl. "So this is the granddaughter, is it?" "Yes, this is Glory," said Parson Quayle. "She's leaving the old grandfather at last, captain, and I'm over from Peel to set her off, you see." "Well, the young lady has got the world before her-at her feet, I ought to say.-You're looking as bright and fresh as the morning, Miss Quayle."
