Days, weeks and months passed away without bringing any authentic news of the lost ruler.
At length hope was given up. The advertisements were withdrawn from the papers.
Still occasionally, at long intervals of time, vague rumors reached his friends—a sailor had seen him in the streets of Rio de Janeiro; a fur trader had found him in Washington Territory; a miner had met him in California—but nothing came of all these reports.
One morning, late in December, there came some news, not of the actual fate of the governor, but of the long-lost man who had seen the last of him alive.
Despite the bitter pleading of the poor, bereaved bride, who dreaded the crowded city and desired to remain in seclusion in the country, old Aaron had removed his whole family to their town house for the winter.
They had been settled there only a few days, and were gathered around the breakfast table, when a card was brought in to Mr. Rockharrt.
"'Captain Ross!' Who, in the fiend's name, is Captain Ross? And what does he want at this early hour of the morning?" demanded the Iron King, after he had read the name on the card. Then, as he scrutinized it, he saw faintly penciled lines below the name and read:
"The late visitor who called on Governor-elect Rothsay on the evening of his disappearance."
"Show the man in the library, Jason," exclaimed old Aaron Rockharrt, rising, leaving his untasted breakfast, and striding out of the room.
In the library he found a young skipper, tall, robust, black bearded and sun burned.