“It ’ud be a rum go if he did turn up after all,” he said to himself softly, as he sat on the edge of the bed.  “I’ve heard of such things in books.  I dessay she’d be disappointed if she did see him now.  Thirty years makes a bit of difference in a man.”

“Jackson!” cried his wife from below, “I’m going out.  If you want any dinner you can get it; if not, you can go without it!”

The front door slammed violently, and Jackson, advancing cautiously to the window, saw the form of his wife sailing majestically up the passage.  Then he sat down again and resumed his meditations.

“If it wasn’t for leaving all my property I’d go,” he said gloomily.  “There’s not a bit of comfort in the place!  Nag, nag, nag, from morn till night!  Ah, Cap’n Budd, you let me in for a nice thing when you went down with that boat of yours.  Come back and fill them boots again; they’re too big for me.”

He rose suddenly and stood gaping in the centre of the room, as a mad, hazy idea began to form in his brain.  His eyes blinked and his face grew white with excitement.  He pushed open the little lattice window, and sat looking abstractedly up the passage on to the bay beyond.  Then he put on his hat, and, deep in thought, went out.

He was still thinking deeply as he boarded the train for London next morning, and watched Sunset Bay from the window until it disappeared round the curve.  So many and various were the changes that flitted over his face that an old lady, whose seat he had taken, gave up her intention of apprising him of the fact, and indulged instead in a bitter conversation with her daughter, of which the erring Pepper was the unconscious object.

In the same preoccupied fashion he got on a Bayswater omnibus, and waited patiently for it to reach Poplar.  Strange changes in the landscape, not to be accounted for by the mere lapse of time, led to explanations, and the conductor—­a humane man, who said he had got an idiot boy at home—­personally laid down the lines of his tour.  Two hours later he stood in front of a small house painted in many colours, and, ringing the bell, inquired for Cap’n Crippen.

In response to his inquiry, a big man, with light blue eyes and a long grey beard, appeared, and, recognising his visitor with a grunt of surprise, drew him heartily into the passage and thrust him into the parlour.  He then shook hands with him, and, clapping him on the back, bawled lustily for the small boy who had opened the door.

“Pot o’ stout, bottle o’ gin, and two long pipes,” said he, as the boy came to the door and eyed the ex-pilot curiously.

At all these honest preparations for his welcome the heart of Jackson grew faint within him.

“Well, I call it good of you to come all this way to see me,” said the captain, after the boy had disappeared; “but you always was warm-hearted, Pepper.  And how’s the missis?”

“Shocking!” said Pepper, with a groan.