The schooner was to sail on the 15th of August, and on the eve of that day I had no reason to think that Captain Len Guy had repented him of his categorical refusal. Indeed, I had made up my mind to the disappointment, and had no longer any angry feeling about it. When Captain Len Guy and myself met on the quay, we took no notice of each other; nevertheless, I fancied there was some hesitation in his manner; as though he would have liked to speak to me. He did not do so, however, and I was not disposed to seek a further explanation. At seven o'clock in the evening of the 14th of August, the island being already wrapped in darkness, I was walking on the port after I had dined, walking briskly too, for it was cold, although dry weather. The sky was studded with stars and the air was very keen. I could not stay out long, and was returning to mine inn, when a man crossed my path, paused, came back, and stopped in front of me. It was the captain of the _Halbrane_. "Mr. Jeorling," he began, "the _Halbrane_ sails to-morrow morning, with the ebb tide." "What is the good of telling me that," I replied, "since you refuse--" "Sir, I have thought over it, and if you have not changed your mind, come on board at seven o'clock." "Really, captain," I replied, "I did not expect this relenting on your part." "I repeat that I have thought over it, and I add that the _Halbrane_ shall proceed direct to Tristan d'Acunha. That will suit you, I suppose?" "To perfection, captain. To-morrow morning, at seven o'clock, I shall be on board." "Your cabin is prepared." "The cost of the voyage--" "We can settle that another time," answered the captain, "and to your satisfaction. Until to-morrow, then--" "Until to-morrow." I stretched out my arm, to shake hands with him upon our bargain. Perhaps he did not perceive my movement in the darkness, at all events he made no response to it, but walked rapidly away and got into his boat. I was greatly surprised, and so was Atkins, when I found him in the eating-room of the Green Cormorant and told him what had occurred. His comment upon it was characteristic. "This queer captain," he said, "is as full of whims as a spoilt child! It is to be hoped he will not change his mind again at the last moment." The next morning at daybreak I bade adieu to the Green Cormorant, and went down to the port, with my kind-hearted host, who insisted on accompanying me to the ship, partly in order to make his mind easy respecting the sincerity of the captain's repentance, and partly that he might take leave of him, and also of Hurliguerly. A boat was waiting at the quay, and we reached the ship in a few minutes. The first person whom I met on the deck was Hurliguerly; he gave me a look of triumph, which said as plainly as speech: "Ha! you see now. Our hard-to-manage captain has given in at last. And to whom do you owe this, but to the good boatswain who did his best for you, and did not boast overmuch of his influence?"