The skipper went, and came back in a state of wild-eyed misery. Even Miss Pilbeam's statement that his own mother would not know him failed to lift the cloud from his brow. He stood disconsolate as the girl opened the front door. “Good-by,” she said, gently. “Write and tell me when you are safe.” Captain Bligh promised, and walked slowly up the road. So far from people attempting to arrest him, they vied with each other in giving him elbow-room. He reached the harbor unmolested, and, lurking at a convenient corner, made a careful survey. A couple of craft were working out their coal, a small steamer was just casting loose, and a fishing-boat gliding slowly over the still water to its berth. His own schooner, which lay near the colliers, had apparently knocked off work pending his arrival. For Sergeant Pilbeam he looked in vain. He waited a minute or two, and then, with a furtive glance right and left, strolled in a careless fashion until he was abreast of one of the colliers. Nobody took any notice of him, and, with his hands in his pockets, he gazed meditatively into the water and edged along towards his own craft. His foot trembled as he placed it on the plank that formed the gangway, but, resisting the temptation to look behind, he gained the deck and walked forward. “Halloa! What do you want?” inquired a sea-man, coming out of the galley. “All right, Bill,” said the skipper, in a low voice. “Don't take any notice of me.” “Eh?” said the seaman, starting. “Good lor'! What ha' you——” “Shut up!” said the skipper, fiercely; and, walking to the forecastle, placed his hand on the scuttle and descended with studied slowness. As he reached the floor the perturbed face of Bill blocked the opening. “Had an accident, cap'n?” he inquired, respectfully. “No,” snapped the skipper. “Come down here—quick! Don't stand up there attracting attention. Do you want the whole town round you? Come down!” “I'm all right where I am,” said Bill, backing hastily as the skipper, putting a foot on the ladder, thrust a black and furious face close to his. “Clear out, then,” hissed the skipper. “Go and send the mate to me. Don't hurry. And if anybody noticed me come aboard and should ask you who I am, say I'm a pal of yours.” The seaman, marvelling greatly, withdrew, and the skipper, throwing himself on a locker, wiped a bit of grit out of his eye and sat down to wait for the mate. He was so long in coming that he waxed impatient, and ascending a step of the ladder again peeped on to the deck. The first object that met his gaze was the figure of the mate leaning against the side of the ship with a wary eye on the scuttle. “Come here,” said the skipper. “Anything wrong?” inquired the mate, retreating a couple of paces in disorder. “Come—here!” repeated the skipper. The mate advanced slowly, and in response to an imperative command from the skipper slowly descended and stood regarding him nervously.