oken by the salt marshes,
with now and then the manor-house of some gentleman-planter visible on
either side. Late on the second day I beheld again the cliffs that mark
the mouth of the Severn, then the sail-dotted roads and the roofs of
Annapolis.

We landed, Banks and I, in a pinnace from the schooner, and so full was
my heart at the sight of the old objects that I could only gulp now and
then, and utter never a word. There was the dock where I had paced up
and down near the whole night, when Dolly had sailed away; and Pryse the
coachmaker's shop, and the little balcony upon which I had stood with
my grandfather, and railed in a boyish tenor at Mr. Hood. The sun cast
sharp, black shadows. And it being the middle of the dull season, when
the quality were at their seats, and the dinner-hour besides, the
town might have been a deserted one for its stillness, as tho' the
inhabitants had walked out of it, and left it so. I made my way, Banks
behind me, into Church Street, past the "Ship" tavern, which brought
memories of the brawl there, and of Captain Clapsaddle forcing the
mob, like chaff, before his sword. The bees were humming idly over the
sweet-scented gardens, and Farris, the clock-maker, sat at his door, and
nodded. He jerked his head as I went by with a cry of "Lord, it is Mr.
Richard back!" and I must needs pause, to let him bow over my hand.
Farther up the street I came to mine host of the Coffee House standing
on his steps, with his hands behind his back.

"Mr. Claude," I said.

He looked at me as tho' I had risen from the dead.

"God save us!" he shouted, in a voice that echoed through the narrow
street. "God save us!"

He seemed to go all to pieces. To my bated questions he replied at
length, when he had got his breath, that Captain Clapsaddle had come
to town but the day before, and was even then in the coffee-room at his
dinner. Alone? Yes, alone. Almost tottering, I mounted the steps, and
turned in at the coffee-room door, and stopped. There sat the captain at
a table, the roast and wine untouched before him, his waistcoat thrown
open. He was staring out of the open window into the inn garden beyond,
with its shade of cherry trees. Mr. Claude's cry had not disturbed his
reveries, nor our talk after it. I went forward. I touched him on the
shoulder, and he sprang up, and looked once into my face, and by some
trick of the mind uttered the very words Mr. Claude had used.

"God save us! Richard!" And he