Almost as excited as the cook, the skipper sprang ashore and hurried along the quay with him, violently shaking off certain respectable citizens who sought to detain the cook, and ask him what he meant by it. “I expect you’ve made a mistake,” said the skipper, as they rapidly reached the small street. “Don’t run—we shall have a crowd.” “If it wasn’t ’im it was his twin brother,” said the cook. “Ah, there he is! That’s the man!” He pointed to Henry’s acquaintance of the previous day, who, with his hands in his pockets, was walking listlessly along on the other side of the road. “You get back,” said the skipper hurriedly. “You’d better run a little, then these staring idiots ’ll follow you.” The cook complied, and the curious, seeing that he appeared to be the more irrational of the two, and far more likely to get into mischief, set off in pursuit. The skipper crossed the road, and began gently to overtake his quarry. He passed him, and looking back, regarded him unobserved. The likeness was unmistakable, and for a few seconds he kept on his way in doubt how to proceed. Then he stopped, and turning round, waited till the old man should come up to him. “Good-morning,” he said pleasantly. “Morning,” said the old man, half stopping. “I’m in a bit of a difficulty,” said the skipper laughing. “I’ve got a message to deliver to a man in this place and I can’t find him. I wonder whether you could help me.” “What’s his name?” asked the other. “Captain Gething,” said the skipper. The old man started, and his face changed to an unwholesome white. “I never heard of him,” he muttered, thickly, trying to pass on. “Nobody else seems to have heard of him either,” said the skipper, turning with him; “that’s the difficulty.” He waited for a reply, but none came. The old man, with set face, walked on rapidly. “He’s supposed to be in hiding,” continued the skipper. “If you should ever run across him you might tell him that his wife and daughter Annis have been wanting news of him for five years, and that he’s making all this trouble and fuss about a man who is as well and hearty as I am. Good-morning.” The old man stopped abruptly, and taking his outstretched hand, drew a deep breath. “Tell him—the—man—is _alive?_” he said in a trembling voice. “Just that,” said the skipper gently, and seeing the working of the other’s face, looked away. For a little while they both stood silent, then the skipper spoke again. “If I take you back,” he said, “I am to marry your daughter Annis.” He put his hand on the old man’s, and without a word the old man turned and went with him. They walked back slowly towards the harbor, the young man talking, the old man listening. Outside the post office the skipper came to a sudden stop. “How would it be to send a wire?” he asked. “I think,” said the old man eagerly, as he followed him in, “it would be the very thing.”