without
delay.

The change that came over Jackson's face as he learned the quality of
the stranger and his requests was great. The old salt, who had been king
of his house and of the Point for so long a time, had evidently
never even thought of the probability of such an intrusion as was now
presented to him, and he was amazed at what he considered to be the
unwarrantable assurance of the stranger. However, he recovered himself
smartly, and asked the new man if he had any written credentials.

"Certainly," replied he, pulling out a document all wet with salt water.
"Here is a letter from Messrs. Flint Brothers, of which, no doubt, you
will have a copy in your mail-bag."

Jackson took the letter and opened it, and seemed to read it slowly to
himself. All at once he started, looked at the new agent, advanced a
step or two toward him, muttering, "Bransome, Bransome," then stopped
and asked him in a strange constrained voice, "Is _your_ name Bransome?"

"Yes," replied the latter, astonished at the old man's question.

"I knew a Bransome once," said Jackson, steadily, "and he was a
scoundrel."

For a moment the two men looked at each other--Jackson with a gleam of
hatred in his eyes, while Bransome had a curiously frightened expression
on his face, which blanched slightly. But he quickly resumed his
composure and peremptory way, and said, "Show me a room; I must get
these wet things off me."

As, however, he addressed himself this time to me rather than to
Jackson,--who, indeed, regarded him no longer, but stood with the letter
loose in his hand, looking at the floor of the room, as if in deep
meditation,--I showed him into my own room, where I ordered his trunks
to be brought. These, of course, were wet; but he found some things in
the middle of them that were not more than slightly damp, and with the
help of a pair of old canvas trousers of mine he managed to make his
appearance at dinner-time.

Jackson was not at the meal. He had left the house shortly after his
interview with the new agent, and had, I fancied, gone on one of his
solitary rambles. At any rate he did not return until late that night.

I thought Mr. Bransome seemed to be somewhat relieved when he saw
that the old man was not coming; and he became more affable than I had
expected him to be, and relinquished his arrogant style altogether when
he began to question me about Jackson--who he was? what had he been?
how long he had lived on the coast? To