The other seemed to shrink under this remark, and replied, “Sir, I have lived to feel it deeply.”

“Wa’al,” said the captain, mollified, “then I’ve made a good cast without knowing it.  Now, Tregarthen, there stands the lover of your only child, and here stand I who know his secret.  I warrant it a righteous secret, and none of his making, though bound to be of his keeping.  I want to help him out with it, and tewwards that end we ask you to favour us with the names of two or three old residents in the village of Lanrean.  As I am taking out my pocket-book and pencil to put the names down, I may as well observe to you that this, wrote atop of the first page here, is my name and address:  ’Silas Jonas Jorgan, Salem, Massachusetts, United States.’  If ever you take it in your head to run over any morning, I shall be glad to welcome you.  Now, what may be the spelling of these said names?”

“There was an elderly man,” said Tregarthen, “named David Polreath.  He may be dead.”

“Wa’al,” said the captain, cheerfully, “if Polreath’s dead and buried, and can be made of any service to us, Polreath won’t object to our digging of him up.  Polreath’s down, anyhow.”

“There was another named Penrewen.  I don’t know his Christian name.”

“Never mind his Chris’en name,” said the captain; “Penrewen, for short.”

“There was another named John Tredgear.”

“And a pleasant-sounding name, too,” said the captain; “John Tredgear’s booked.”

“I can recall no other except old Parvis.”

“One of old Parvis’s fam’ly I reckon,” said the captain, “kept a dry-goods store in New York city, and realised a handsome competency by burning his house to ashes.  Same name, anyhow.  David Polreath, Unchris’en Penrewen, John Tredgear, and old Arson Parvis.”

“I cannot recall any others at the moment.”

“Thank’ee,” said the captain.  “And so, Tregarthen, hoping for your good opinion yet, and likewise for the fair Devonshire Flower’s, your daughter’s, I give you my hand, sir, and wish you good day.”

Young Raybrock accompanied him disconsolately; for there was no Kitty at the window when he looked up, no Kitty in the garden when he shut the gate, no Kitty gazing after them along the stony ways when they begin to climb back.

“Now I tell you what,” said the captain.  “Not being at present calculated to promote harmony in your family, I won’t come in.  You go and get your dinner at home, and I’ll get mine at the little hotel.  Let our hour of meeting be two o’clock, and you’ll find me smoking a cigar in the sun afore the hotel door.  Tell Tom Pettifer, my steward, to consider himself on duty, and to look after your people till we come back; you’ll find he’ll have made himself useful to ’em already, and will be quite acceptable.”

All was done as Captain Jorgan directed.  Punctually at two o’clock the young fisherman appeared with his knapsack at his back; and punctually at two o’clock the captain jerked away the last feather-end of his cigar.