Then, as suddenly as the financial crash, came the blow from which he never fully recovered. On the homeward passage, shortly after rounding the Cape of Good Hope, his wife sickened and died. She had been ailing ever since they left Anjer, but he had not realized the seriousness of her condition. They had already caught the trades in the South Atlantic; it was hopeless to think of putting back to Capetown. He urged the ship with every rag of sail, trying to reach St. Helena in time; but the trades held light, the elements were against him. For three days of nearly flat calm he paced the deck in agony, or sat beside his wife’s bunk while she talked to him in a low voice, telling him of her love, of what to do when she was gone; trying to make it easy for him, for she knew that she was dying. On the third day, she died in his arms. That night his hair turned from black to white. He came on deck the next morning an old and broken man. The wind continued light and uncertain, there was no chance of reaching St. Helena in time for the last rites; and he buried her there in the deep sea. That voyage, they had left their son at home in school. Alone now in the empty cabin, Captain Bradley’s thoughts were much of his boy. He himself could stand it, must stand it. But how could he tell Frankie, his Frankie? Night after night he paced the narrow floor below, going back over life, living in the past from which he had now been definitely cut adrift. Perhaps he was not quite sane for the remainder of the passage; he could never remember clearly those weeks before his arrival. But always, behind every conscious thought, lay the dread of what he would have to tell Frankie. This he remembered; it seemed to have been beaten into his brain. Then a wonderful thing happened. He arrived home to find that the boy they had left behind had grown into a young man, had developed a strong and resolute character of his own. He came to meet his father at the train; the news had reached him already. "I did all that I could, Frankie" were Captain Bradley’s first words, as they faced each other on the gloomy platform. His son looked at him steadily, fighting back the tears. "I know you did, sir" It was the son who put his arms around the father’s shoulders; Captain Bradley had felt a strange hesitation, almost akin to shame or fear. But now his heart rose for the first time since his wife had gone. This was the stuff that men were made of. His son. They entered the house together—the old Bradley house, where Frankie lived with his aunt when he was at home. Captain Bradley greeted his sister, took off his hat and sat down heavily. Suddenly the boy cried out and fell at his father’s feet, holding him by the knees, his whole body shaking. "My God, father, your hair is white!" "Yes, yes, Frankie. That doesn’t matter. Poor mother, poor mother!" He leaned forward to hold the heaving shoulders. For a long while they cried in each other’s arms.