n, that his son was as himself, and that the woman
who was dead had been as a curse to both of them.

But Michael Sunlocks made him no answer.

"I've gone from bad to worse--I know that, Michael. I've done in cold
blood what I'd have trembled at when she was by me. Maybe I was
thinking sometimes of my boy even then, and saying to myself how
some day he'd go back for me to my own country, when I had made the
money to send him."

Michael trembled visibly.

"And how he'd look for her, and find her, and save her, if she was
alive. And if she wasn't--if she was dead, poor girl, with all her
troubles over, how he'd look for the child that was to come when I
left her--my child, and hers--and find it where it would surely be,
in want and dirt and misery, and then save it for its mother's sake
and mine. Michael, will you go?"

But still Michael Sunlocks made him no answer.

"It's fourteen years since God spared your life to me; just fourteen
years to-night, Michael. I remembered it, and that's why we are here
now. When I brought you back in my arms _she_ was there at my feet,
lying dead, who had been my rod and punishment. Then I vowed, as I
should answer to the Lord at the last day, that if _I_ could not go
back, _you_ should."

Michael covered his face with hands.

"My son, my son--Michael, my little Sunlocks, I want to keep my vow.
Will you go?"

"Yes, yes," cried Michael, rising suddenly. His doubt and pride and
shame were gone. He felt only a great tenderness now for the big rude
man, who had sinned deeply and suffered much and found that all he
could do alone would avail him nothing.

"Father, where is she?"

"I left her at Reykjavik, but I don't know where she is now."

"No matter, I will hunt the world over until I find her, and when I
have found her I will be as a son to her, and she shall be as a
mother to me."

"My boy, my boy," cried Stephen.

"If she should die, and we should never meet, I will hunt the world
over until I find her child, and when I have found it I will be as a
brother to it for my father's sake."

"My son, my son," cried Stephen. And in the exultation of that
moment, when he tried to speak but no words would come, and only his
rugged cheeks glistened and his red eyes shone, it seemed to Stephen
Orry that the burden of twenty heavy years had been lifted away.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE GOING OF SUNLOCKS.

It was then past noon. The Irish brig was in the harbor taking in
Man