There was a break in the clouds and pale sunlight was filtering on to Lymington as the two boys came down the High Street from the little church towards Totton's house. They realized that people were looking at them. One woman ran out and seized Jonathan's arm and started to bless God that he was alive, but he managed to shake her off politely and, not wanting to be further delayed, he broke into a trot.

When he reached his house he went to the street door that gave into his father's counting house thinking, if his father was at home, to surprise him. But the room was empty, so he went through it into the galleried hall, which was silent also.

For a moment he assumed that it, too, was empty. None of the servants was there. The light came in through the high window and fell into its pale, vacant spaces; it seemed like a yard that had been swept clean before its owners had departed for another place. Only when he had taken a couple of steps into the hall did he realize that the upright wooden chair under the gallery passage was occupied.

It was turned slightly away from him so that the first thing he noticed was his father's ear. But the merchant had not heard him. He was sitting in his usual posture, but staring so straight ahead that it seemed as if he were in a trance. Saying nothing, the boy tiptoed forward, watching his father's face.

He had not seen grief before. When his wife had died, believing he was protecting the boy, Totton had hidden his distress beneath a calm exterior. But now, thinking himself alone, he was staring in silent misery at the images his mind presented before him: the baby he had loved, but left, as was proper, to be cared for by his mother; the toddler he had watched and for whom he had done nothing but make plans; the child he did not know how to comfort; the boy who only wanted to sail away from him; the son he had lost.

Jonathan had never witnessed anguish, but he did now. 'Father.'

Totton turned.

'It's all right. We're all safe.' The boy took a step forward. 'We were blown down the coast.' Totton was still staring at him as though he were a ghost. 'There was a shipwreck in the storm. Alan Seagull is still out there.'

'Jonathan?'

'I'm quite all right, Father.'

'Jonathan?'

'Did your boat get home?'

His father was still in a daze. 'Oh. Yes.'

'So you won your bet.'

'My bet?' The merchant stared. 'My bet?' He blinked. 'Dear God, what's that when I have you?'

So Jonathan ran to him.

And then Henry Totton suddenly burst into tears.