"No; not by anything more than a rabbit," said Gil, in a grave, quiet voice. "Get up the bars when the lads are rested. We shall have to stay here for the night." Volume 3, Chapter XIV. HOW WAT KILBY FIRED A TRAIN AND MOTHER GOODHUGH SPOKE. Gil sat down beside the old woman and remained thinking of what had taken place during the past year. He had sailed away, reckless and heart-broken, caring little where he went, and, after discharging cargo in one of the Spanish ports, he had taken in provisions, and, his men rather welcoming the change, he had made sail for the far East, touching at Ceylon; then on to the Eastern Islands, the lands of spices and strange growths. It was an aimless voyage, but they took in small articles of cargo--silk here, rice there, and dye-woods; and then sailing further went north and east to China and Japan, before the vessel's stem was turned once more for home. For a strange sense of longing had come over Gil Carr. Months back he had felt that he could never see Roehurst more. Then came the change, with its longing void in his heart. Night and day it was ever the same. There was the old place before his eyes, and a something tugging at his heartstrings to draw him back. The face of Sweet Mace seemed gazing appealingly in his as it asked him to come and save her. "Save her--from what?" he cried passionately, as he paced up and down the little deck, looking wild-eyed and strange, while his men whispered the one to the other, and he set his teeth firmly and his eyes flashed with anger, for he knew they thought him mad. It was the work of a minute almost. They were sailing into a fresh port in Japan, where they could see the strangely-dressed people staring at the new comers from the decks of their junks, when Gil suddenly gave orders--he recalled it all--orders to 'bout ship, and they were obeyed without a word. It was not until they had been sailing on for days that Wat Kilby had come to him with the gruff question, "Where to now, skipper?" "_Home_!" was the single word spoken in reply; and then, as he stood gazing straight before him at the wide expanse of ocean, there arose from the crew a tremendous cheer. He recalled it all--how he had stood gazing there while order after order was given by Wat Kilby; how sail after sail had been set and the little vessel careened to the breeze; while ever before him, with a smile upon her face, the figure of Mace seemed to stand waving him on. And so it had been during the homeward voyage. Every sail the vessel would bear had been kept set, and she seemed to skim over the sea in fair weather, and to battle bravely in foul, to get back to the little river and her ancient moorings beneath the trees. He recalled telling himself that he was mad, for this was but another phase of his humour. But a short time back he was restless to get farther and farther away; now he had conjured up this phantasy to call him back--back to what?