With a great cry she threw herself upon his neck and strained him to her withered bosom, and kissed him. She could not believe her eyes, her senses, but clasped him convulsively, and bade him speak again, and wept, and thanked God, and laughed all in a breath. Then she remembered herself, and led him tottering to the old Windsor chair, thrust him in it, and quivering with excitement took food and drink from the cupboard and placed before him. He ate hungrily, the old woman watching him, and standing by his side to keep his glass filled with the home-brewed beer. At times he would have spoken, but she motioned him to silence and bade him eat, the tears coursing down her aged cheeks as she looked at his white famished face. At length he laid down his knife and fork, and drinking off the ale, intimated that he had finished. “My boy, my boy,” said the old woman in a broken voice, “I thought you had gone down with _Tetby’s Pride_ long years ago.” He shook his head heavily. “The captain and crew, and the good ship,” asked his mother. “Where are they?” “Captain—and—crew,” said the son, in a strange hesitating fashion; “it is a long story—the ale has made me heavy. They are——” He left off abruptly and closed his eyes. “Where are they?” asked his mother. “What happened?” He opened his eyes slowly. “I—am—tired—dead tired. I have not—slept. I’ll tell—you—morning.” He nodded again, and the old woman shook him gently. “Go to bed then. Your old bed, Jem. It’s as you left it, and it’s made and the sheets aired. It’s been ready for you ever since.” He rose to his feet, and stood swaying to and fro. His mother opened a door in the wall, and taking the lamp lighted him up the steep wooden staircase to the room he knew so well. Then he took her in his arms in a feeble hug, and kissing her on the forehead sat down wearily on the bed. The old woman returned to her kitchen, and falling upon her knees remained for some time in a state of grateful, pious ecstasy. When she arose she thought of those other women, and, snatching a shawl from its peg behind the door, ran up the deserted street with her tidings. In a very short time the town was astir. Like a breath of hope the whisper flew from house to house. Doors closed for the night were thrown open, and wondering children questioned their weeping mothers. Blurred images of husbands and fathers long since given over for dead stood out clear and distinct, smiling with bright faces upon their dear ones. At the cottage door two or three people had already collected, and others were coming up the street in an unwonted bustle. They found their way barred by an old woman—a resolute old woman, her face still working with the great joy which had come into her old life, but who refused them admittance until her son had slept. Their thirst for news was uncontrollable, but with a swelling in her throat she realised that her share in _Tetby’s Pride_ was safe.