"Yes. You know I borrowed a lot of money, and told the people from whom I borrowed it that I was my aunt's heir. Well, it turned out I wasn't; they haven't been able to get their money back, and I haven't been able to pay the interest. There are writs out against me, I believe, and all sorts of things. Oh, what a muddle it's been, every bit of it!" "But what are you going to do?" asked the captain. "Well, if you'll let me, I'd like to rest here just for to-night; and to-morrow, before the sun is up, I'll be far away again. I'm going abroad, going to try and make a fresh start." "Is there no other way?" asked the captain. "None. I've got to live somehow, and I must start in a new world, with a clean slate. But don't let us talk any more about myself; tell me all that has happened in this long time. Poor Brian is dead, I understand." "Yes, he's dead," replied the captain slowly, "and is a greater man in death than he was in life. Do you know that they've raised a statue to him in this town, the place of his birth?" "Yes, I heard of that," replied Comethup. "I saw the statue only this evening. It's curious that they should have stuck it up on the old walls where we used to play together when we were boys, isn't it? It was half dark when I saw it, but it looks very fine, and they've caught his attitude to the life." "Yes, it's quite like him," replied the captain. "They made a great fuss of it at the time; it was raised by public subscription. He seems to have had a great many admirers." "Tell me of the others," said Comethup. "What of--of 'Linda; is she well?" "Yes, very well. She has been living since her husband's death with Miss Carlaw, your aunt; so you understand she wants for nothing." "Thank God for that!" said Comethup fervently. "You've taken quite a load off my mind. I've thought of her a thousand times and feared that she might be in want and that I might not be able to help her. And my aunt, does she--does she still think badly of me?" "I'm afraid so," said the captain. "Well, I gave her every reason to do so. There--don't ask me anything about it, because I can't tell even you; there are some things, you know, that one has to keep quite to one's self. It's good to know that _you_ don't think so very badly of me; that you are willing to take me by the hand again just as though all this had never happened." He got up from his chair and laid his hand on the captain's shoulder. "If you'll let me sleep in the little room in which I slept as a child I'll be grateful to you. And let us say good-bye here for the last time. Long before you're awake in the morning, old friend, I shall be gone. And I pray you, for the sake of the love you had for me so long ago, don't think of me as you see me to-night--poor and broken and an outcast; but remember only the child you played with years and years ago; remember only the boy you were proud of when you used to come and see me at school. Will you do that?"