Vanslyperken, encouraged by the sympathy, if we may use the term, shown by his mother, narrated what he had done.

“Well, well, child, ’tis a beginning,” replied the old woman, “and I’ll not call you craven again.”

“I must go back,” said Vanslyperken, starting up from his chair.

“Go, child, it is late—­and dream it over.  Vengeance is sweet, even in sleep.  I have had mine—­and for years have I dwelt on it—­and shall for years to come.  I shall not die yet—­no, no.”

Vanslyperken quitted the house; the weather had cleared up, the breeze was fresh and piercing, and the stars twinkled every now and then, as the wild scud which flew across the heavens admitted them to view.  Vanslyperken walked fast—­he started at the least sound—­he hurried by everyone whom he met, as if fearful to be recognised—­he felt relieved when he had gained the streets of Portsmouth, and he at last arrived at the Point; but there was no cutter’s boat, for he had given no orders.  He was therefore obliged to hire one to go on board.  The old man whom he engaged shoved into the stream; the tide was running in rapidly.

“A cold night, sir,” observed the man.

“Yes,” replied Vanslyperken, mechanically.

“And a strong tide, with the wind to back it.  He’d have but a poor chance, who fell overboard such a night as this.  The strongest swimmer, without help, would be soon in eternity.”

Vanslyperken shuddered.  Where was Smallbones at this moment? and then, the mention of eternity!

“Silence, man, silence,” said Vanslyperken.

“Hope no offence, Mr Lieutenant,” replied the man, who knew who his fare was.

The boat pulled alongside of the Yungfrau, and Vanslyperken paid his unusual fare, and stepped on the deck.  He went down below, and had the precaution to summon Smallbones to bring lights aft.  The word was passed along the lower deck, and Vanslyperken sat down in the dark, awaiting the report that Smallbones could not be found.

Snarleyyow went up to his master, and rubbed his cold nose against his hand, and then, for the first time, it occurred to Vanslyperken, that in his hurry to leave the vessel, he had left the dog to the mercy of his enemies.  During the time that Vanslyperken waited for the report of the lights, he passed over in his mind the untoward events which had taken place—­the loss of the widow’s good-will, the loss of Corporal Van Spitter, who was adrift in the Zuyder Zee, the loss of five thousand pounds through the dog, and, strange to say, what vexed him more, the loss of the dog’s eye; and when he thought of all these things his heart was elated, and he rejoiced in the death of Smallbones, and no longer felt any compunction.  But a light is coming aft, and Vanslyperken is waiting the anticipated report.  It is a solitary purser’s dip, as they are termed at sea, emitting but feeble rays, and Vanslyperken’s eyes are directed to the door of the cabin to see who carries it.  To his horror, his dismay, it is brought in by the drowned Smallbones, who, with a cadaverous, and as he supposes, unearthly face and vacant look, drawls out, “It’s a-blowed out twice, sir, with the wind.”