"Wa'al, _I_ hope so," observed the captain, quite at his ease; "more than
that, I believe so,--though you don't. Now, Mr. Tregarthen, you don't
want to exchange words of mistrust with me; and if you did, you couldn't,
because I wouldn't. You and I are old enough to know better than to
judge against experience from surfaces and appearances; and if you
haven't lived to find out the evil and injustice of such judgments, you
are a lucky man."

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