“Certainly not,” said Wilson, in a voice which he tried in vain to make stronger. “When you say lost, ma’am, you mean missing?” “Five years,” said the old woman, shaking her head and folding her hands in her lap. “How long do you say you’ve been looking for Captain Jackson?” “Seven,” said the skipper with a calmness which surprised himself. “And you haven’t given up hope, I suppose?” “Not while life lasts,” said the other, studying the carpet. “That’s the way I feel,” said the old woman energetically. “What a surprise it’ll be when you meet him!” “For both of them,” said the girl. “It’s five years last May—the 20th of May,” said the old woman, “since I last saw my poor husband. He—” “It can’t be of any interest to this gentleman, mother,” interposed the girl. “I’m very much interested, ma’am,” said the skipper defiantly; “besides, when I’m looking for poor Jackson, who knows I mightn’t run up against the other.” “Ah! who knows but what you might,” said the old woman. “There’s one gentleman looking for him now—Mr. Glover, my daughter’s husband that is to be.” There was a long pause, then the skipper, by dint of combining his entire stock of Christianity and politeness, found speech. “I hope he finds him,” he said slowly. “All that a man can do he’s doing,” said the old lady. “He’s a commercial traveller by trade, and he gets about a great deal in the way of business.” “Have you tried advertising?” inquired the skipper, striving manfully to keep his interest up to its former pitch. The other shook her head and looked uneasily at her daughter. “It wouldn’t be any good,” she said in a low voice—“it wouldn’t be any good.” “Well, I don’t want to pry into your business in any way,” said Wilson, “but I go into a good many ports in the course of the year, and if you think it would be any use my looking about I’ll be pleased and proud to do so, if you’ll give me some idea of who to look for.” The old lady fidgeted with all the manner of one half desiring and half fearing to divulge a secret. “You see we lost him in rather peculiar circumstances,” she said, glancing uneasily at her daughter again. “He—” “I don’t want to know anything about that, you know, ma’am,” interposed the skipper gently. “It would be no good advertising for my father,” said the girl in her clear voice, “because he can neither read nor write. He is a very passionate, hasty man, and five years ago he struck a man down and thought he had killed him. We have seen nothing and heard nothing of him since.” “He must have been a strong man,” commented the skipper. “He had something in his hand,” said the girl, bending low over her work. “But he didn’t hurt him really. The man was at work two days after, and he bears him no ill-will at all.” “He might be anywhere,” said the skipper, meditating.