that he is--or was--a friend of a friend
of mine, and I should like to see him."

"Oh! indeed," responded the captain, regarding his visitor with a
doubtful look. "Well, Gibson has just got leave to go ashore, and I
heard him say to one of his mates he was going to the Tartar
public-house, so you'll see him there, probably, for he is not invisible
or'narily. But I don't know where the Tartar is."

"But I know," returned Captain Rik; "thank you. I'll go seek him
there."

Stumps sat alone in one of the boxes of the Tartar public-house, which
at that hour chanced to be nearly empty. His face was buried in his
hands, and a pot of untasted beer stood at his elbow. Poor Stumps!
Conscience had been remarkably busy with him on the voyage home. He
would have given worlds to have got back to Bombay, return the
ill-gotten bags, and confess his guilt, but it was too late--too late.

There is something very awful in these words, too late! We read of and
hear them often, and we use them sometimes, lightly it may be, but it is
only when they can be used by ourselves with reference to something very
serious, that we have a glimmering of their terrible significance.
There is a proverb, "It is never too late to mend," which is misleading.
When the dream of life is over, and the doom is fixed, it _is_ too late
to mend. No doubt the proverb is meant to refer to our condition while
this life lasts, but even here it is misleading. When the murderer
withdraws the knife and gazes, it may be, horror-struck at the
expressionless face of his victim, it is too late. He cannot mend the
severed thread of life. When the reckless drunkard draws near the end
of his career, and looks in the mirror, and starts to see the wreck of
his former self, it is too late. Health will never more return. Not
too late, blessed be God, for the salvation of the soul, but too late
for the recovery of all that was held dear in the life of earth.

Yes, Stumps had many a time while on the sea muttered to himself, "Too
late!" He did so once again in that low public-house near the docks.
Uncle Rik overheard him, and a feeling of profound pity arose within
him.

"I beg pardon," he said, and at the first word Stumps looked quickly,
almost fiercely, up, "your name, I believe, is Gibson."

"No, it isn't--I, that is to say--Well, yes it is. Sailors has got
aliases, you know, sometimes. What d'ye want wi' me?"

"You were acquainted in Bombay," resumed Capt