When the runners at length gave up the search, Dirk came from his hiding-place. In the distance the frigate was fading from sight. I shall never forget that gaunt, dripping figure, slowly dragging himself up the cliff because of the pain at his damaged foot, his clothes clinging to his limbs and oozing with green weed, his long hair with the pig-tail all undone drooping flat down his neck and over his sunken cheeks. The picture still haunts me in my dreams; and I see him as he climbed to a ledge of rock, and slowly turned his face towards the sea, his eyes, still heavy from the long darkness, peering with evil hate at the vanishing ship that was carrying away his mates to their doom. His teeth gnashed with impotent rage, and he tottered to his feet and shook one terrible fist at the frigate, and cried a bitter curse on the spy who had betrayed his comrades. Then laughing brokenly he turned to me, and clambered on up the cliff, saying, "But I saw him, kiddy; I know him; an' I'll follow him to the end of the world, but I'll have his heart's blood." I was silent, and the giant continued his painful ascent. And breaking from a snarling mutter he said to me, stopping on his path, "See here, kiddy, you don't know what hate means, I dessay. But it means just this: I've made my pile; I can rest an' be comfortable, an' have my seat by the fire an' the drink at my hand; but I'll give every piece I've gathered to hunt that devil to earth. I'll get him. I'll get him." At the top of the cliff he hurled forth his last threat, as the white square sails faded into the misty air, then slowly stumbled back with me to the inn. And as I walked at his side I thought I began to understand why one man should hunt another over the world. I knew something of the life of the hunted; now for the first time I saw the hunter giving cry. And my father.... But I couldn't imagine my father as a spy and a betrayer. And then the old story of the Mad Captain came back to me. But neither could I see my father as one who had left his men to perish all alone. What was the secret of his flight? At the inn my father was ready for the road again. "Come Tommy," he said, "we must tramp." I held out my hand to Dirk. "Good-bye," I said. He took my little hand in both his. "Good-bye, kiddy," he said kindly enough. "You're a good brat. You've saved my life; an' maybe I'll do the same for you one day." He nodded curtly to my father, and rolled into the inn. But we two plunged into the woodland and travelled far that night, and with the morning struck the highway, and begging a lift of a carter bound for market were soon jolting along the road, fast asleep. CHAPTER VII THE MANUSCRIPT