"Can you, in any case," I asked, "tell me what has become of our cabin boy, Willie MacDougald?"
"Of whom?"
"Of Willie MacDougald—the little fellow that came ashore to-day?"
"Did he not return to the brig?"
"No."
The man stepped forward.
"No," I repeated, "I have not seen him since."
"Then," he returned, "you are not likely ever to see him again."
"What do you mean?" I demanded. "What has happened? Where is he?"
Getting no answer, I looked around the room at the chairs and tables and pictures,—they had an air of comfort that made me miserably homesick,—and at the well-trimmed lamp from which the light fell on the Bible. Then I turned and went out into the darkness.