ard. He soon came to the ship of his desire. Her crew were at their
evening mess, only two or three sailors were to be seen.

Snorro paused a moment, for he was trembling with emotion, and as he
stood he saw three officers come from the cabin. They grouped
themselves on the quarter-deck, and one of them, taller, and more
splendidly dressed than the others, turned, and seemed to look
directly at Snorro. The poor fellow stretched out his arms, but his
tongue was heavy, like that of a man in a dream, and though he knew it
was Jan, he could not call him. He had received at the office,
however, a permit to board "The Retribution" in order to speak with
her commander, and he found no difficulty in reaching him.

Jan was still standing near the wheel talking to his officers as
Snorro approached. Now that the moment so long watched and waited for,
had come, poor Snorro could hardly believe it, and beside, he had seen
in the first glance at his friend, that this was a different Jan
somehow from the old one. It was not alone his fine uniform, his sash
and sword and cocked hat; Jan had acquired an air of command, an
indisputable nobility and ease of manner, and for a moment, Snorro
doubted if he had done well to come into his presence unannounced.

He stood with his cap in his hand waiting, feeling heart-faint with
anxiety. Then an officer said some words to Jan, and he turned and
looked at Snorro.

"Snorro! Snorro!"

The cry was clear and glad, and the next moment Jan was clasping both
his old friend's hands. As for Snorro, his look of devotion, of
admiration, of supreme happiness was enough. It was touching beyond
all words, and Jan felt his eyes fill as he took his arm and led him
into his cabin.

"I am come to thee, my captain. I would have come, had thou been at
the end of the earth."

"And we will part no more, Snorro, we two. Give me thy hand on that
promise."

"No more, no more, my captain."

"To thee, I am always 'Jan.'"

"My heart shall call thee 'Jan,' but my lips shall always say 'my
captain,' so glad are they to say it! Shall I not sail with thee as
long as we two live?"

"We are mates for life, Snorro."

Jan sent his boy for bread and meat. "Thou art hungry I know," he
said; "when did thou eat?"

"Not since morning. To-day I was not hungry, I thought only of seeing
thee again."

At first neither spoke of the subject nearest to Jan's heart. There
was much to tell of people long known to both men, b