I believe the last words he said to himself as he laid his head on the pillow were "Sarpinto, Sarpinto, where on earth have I heard the name! Sar——"
He was asleep before he could finish the word, but when he awoke next morning he did finish it. "Pinto," he muttered to himself, "Pinto, yes, now I have it. That was part of the word that I read on the bill of lading that came on shore with dear Toddie, and that Bunko afterwards found in the log of wood. Pinto! I have it. How singular now if this Señor Sarpinto turned out to be nobody else but Toddie's wicked uncle."
Captain Cawdor was not an early riser, as the term is understood by the fisherfolks of Methlin, but on this particular morning he was up and out by seven o'clock.
He found Eean anxiously waiting for him.
"Come with me for a stroll," said Eean, "as far as a cave I have here. Ah! Toddy darling, here you are."
Toddie, who was quite a tall and very pretty girl, now threw her arms about the old bard's neck to give him a morning kiss, and receive his blessing. Then she shyly gave a hand to Captain Cawdor.
"Yes, you can come with us, pet," said the bard. "It is about you we are going to talk."
So the three walked along the cliff-top, and finally descended to the cave.
And there Eean, with the paper in his hand, told Captain Cawdor the whole of Toddie's strange story, as far as he himself knew it.
It was a strange story certainly, but simple enough in the main. There surely was nothing in it to strike so sturdy and hardy an old seafarer as Captain Cawdor speechless. But that is precisely the effect it had on this ancient mariner.