him along with me straight away."

Jason rose instantly. "I'll go," he said, and he snatched up a cap.

"And I'll go with you," said Greeba, and she caught up a shawl.

Not a word more was said, and at the next instant, before the others
had recovered from their surprise, or the laughter and shouting were
yet quite gone from their lips, the door had closed again and the
three were gone.

Chalse, in his eagerness to be back, strode on some paces ahead in
the darkness, and Jason and Greeba walked together.

"Who is it?" said Jason. "Do you know?"

"No," said Greeba. "Chalse!" she cried, but the old man, with his
face down, trudged along as one who heard nothing. She tripped up to
him, and Jason walking behind heard the sound of muttered words
between them, but caught nothing of what passed. Dropping back to
Jason's side, the girl said: "It's a man whom nobody holds of much
account, poor soul."

"What is he?" said Jason.

"A smuggler, people say, or perhaps worse. His wife has been long
years dead, and he has lived alone ever since, shunned by most folks,
and by his own son among others. It was his son who sailed to Iceland
to-night."

"Iceland? Did you say Iceland?"

"Yes, Iceland. It is your own country, is it not? But he hadn't lived
with his father since he was a child. He was brought up by my own
dear father. It was he who seemed to be so like to you."

Jason stopped suddenly in the dark lane.

"What's the name?" he asked, hoarsely.

"The son's name? Michael."

"Michael what?"

"Michael Sunlocks."

Jason drew a long breath, and strode on without a word more. Very
soon they were outside the little house in Port-y-Vullin.

Chalse was there before them, and he stood with the door ajar.

"Whist!" the old man whispered. "He's ebbing fast. He's going out
with the tide. Listen!"

They crept in on tiptoe, but there was small need for quiet. The
place was a scene of direful uproar and most gruesome spectacle. It
was all but as thronged of people as it had been nineteen years
before, on the day of Liza Killey's wedding. On the table, the form,
the three-legged stool, and in the chimney corner, they sat together
cheek-by-jowl, with eyes full of awe, most of them silent or speaking
low behind their hands. On the bed the injured man lay and tossed in
a strong delirium. The wet clothes wherein he had passed through the
sea had been torn off, his body wrapped in a gray blanket, and the
wound on his head ba