a visitor who came
round and read and talked to the poor wounded occupants of the wards.
He came to my bed. I looked up in his face, and recognised in him my
old friend and commander, Captain Tooke. He had left the sea, I found,
and having a competence, thus employed himself in visiting hospitals,
especially those which contained seamen, and in other works of a
labouring Christian. I told him what had occurred between me and
Iffley. He sat by the bedside of my former shipmate, and talked, and
read to him, and prayed with him. His voice ceased. I saw him bending
over Iffley. Slowly he turned round to me. "He is gone," he said in a
low voice. "He placed his hope on One who is ready and able to forgive,
and I am sure that he is forgiven." Captain Tooke promised to write to
my wife to break to her the news of my wound. I got rapidly round,--
indeed, the doctors said I might venture to move to my home whenever I
pleased. Just then business called Captain Tooke to Portsmouth, and he
invited me to accompany him. We found a vessel on the point of sailing
there. We had a quick and smooth run, and in two days we were put on
shore at the Point at the entrance of the harbour. A hackney coach was
sent for, and we drove to Southsea. When I got near the house where I
had left my uncle and aunt, and where I hoped to find my beloved wife, I
felt so faint that I begged to be put down, thinking that the fresh air
would revive me. Captain Tooke thought the same, and so, getting out of
the carriage, he told me to sit down on a low wall near at hand, while
he went on to announce my coming. While there, a little rosy,
fair-haired boy ran laughing by, as if trying to escape from some one.
I sprang forward, and putting out my hand, he took it and looked up in
my face. I cannot describe the tumultuous feelings which came rushing
into my bosom when I saw that child. "Who are you, my little fellow?
What's your name?" I asked, with a tremulous voice.

"Willand--Willand Wetherholm," he answered plainly.

Yes, my feelings had not deceived me. I took him up, he nothing loth,
though he looked inquiringly at my empty sleeve. "And your mother, boy,
where is she?" I asked, still more agitated.

"In there," he answered, pointing to our old abode. "She no guess I run
away."

I now went up to the house with the child hanging round my neck. I was
blessed indeed. There was my own dear wife, still pale from her anxiety
about me,