This was the prevailing sentiment of the people when the first excitement was over. There was a little disappointment on the part of the idlers and curious ones that they were not to have another day in court, but they consoled themselves by going in crowds to the jail and staring at the windows and the twisted bars and the finger marks and footprints, which last were effectually trampled out of sight before the day was over by the many feet which walked over the spot. “We must try to find him, of course,” the people said, and a pretended watch was kept upon the outgoing boats and the little fishing smacks which crossed to the mainland, but there was no heart in it. Nobody wanted to capture the runaway, and when a new sensation came up in the shape of a fire and the arrest of the incendiary, public interest was centred in that, and when Paul was mentioned it was only to ask, “Where do you suppose he is?” CHAPTER XXXIX. WHERE HE WAS. While the men were going over the house he was lying in the smuggler’s room on the billiard table, which had been put there in the spring and scarcely used at all, as the young men preferred the one in the third story, which commanded a view of the sea. On this Tom had improvised a comfortable bed, taking his own mattress and pillows and secretly purloining sheets and blankets in his frequent tours through the house. Here he had lain Paul after a hard struggle to get him there. On his return from seeing Elithe home he had found Paul in a state of semi-unconsciousness, from which he could not at first rouse him. “Paul, Paul,” he said, dropping the Mr. in his anxiety as he shook him by the arm, “come with me now; you are at home; safe,—free. Come.” Paul only answered, “Yes, I know; the storm is terrible, and she is wet through. I can feel how she trembles.” He was still in the boat with Elithe in his arms. Tom understood it, and said: “Miss Elithe is home. I took her there. Don’t you remember? And you are home. Come.”