With a choking cry Mrs. Pepper ran towards him, and, to the huge gratification of her lawful spouse, flung her arms about his neck and kissed him violently.
“Jem,” she cried breathlessly, “is it really you? I can hardly believe it. Where have you been all this long time? Where have you been?”
“Lots of places,” said the captain, who was not prepared to answer a question like that offhand; “but wherever I’ve been”—he held up his hand theatrically—“the image of my dear lost wife has been always in front of me.”
“I knew you at once, Jem,” said Mrs. Pepper fondly, smoothing the hair back from his forehead. “Have I altered much?”
“Not a bit,” said Crippen, holding her at arm’s length and carefully regarding her. “You look just the same as the first time I set eyes on you.”
“Where have you been?” wailed Martha Pepper, putting her head on his shoulder.
“When the Dolphin went down from under me, and left me fighting with the waves for life and Martha, I was cast ashore on a desert island,” began Crippen fluently. “There I remained for nearly three years, when I was rescued by a barque bound for New South Wales. There I met a man from Poole who told me you were dead. Having no further interest in the land of my birth, I sailed in Australian waters for many years, and it was only lately that I heard how cruelly I had been deceived, and that my little flower was still blooming.”
The little flower’s head being well down on his shoulder again, the celebrated actor exchanged glances with the worshipping Pepper.
“If you’d only come before, Jem,” said Mrs. Pepper. “Who was he? What was his name?”
“Smith,” said the cautious captain.