No end of comment was excited by his appearance, and a thousand conjectures were afloat as to the object of his visit.
For a moment, the white-haired stranger paused before the public house in which Bacon was at that moment reposing.

Some thought he was going in; but he passed on and addressed no one, until he came to Robert Stevens, who stood at the side of a well, under a wide spreading chestnut tree.
"Will you draw me some water?
for I am athirst," said the stranger.
Robert did so, and handed the stranger a drink from an earthen mug, which was kept by the town pump for the accommodation of the public.
After drinking, the old man returned the mug and, fixing his eyes on the young man, asked: "Have you lived long in Virginia ?" "I was born here, good sir." "Then you must know all of Jamestown ?" "Not so much, good sir, as I might, if I had not passed a few years in New England." "Your home is still here ?" With a sigh, Robert answered: "It is, though I do not live in it now." Robert evidently was alluding to some domestic difficulties, and the stranger very considerately avoided asking him any further questions about himself.

He asked about the proprietors of several houses and gained something of the history of the town and people.
All expected that Sir Albert would return to his vessel; but he did not.
Instead, he wandered over the hill into the wood and sat down upon a log.

Robert saw him sitting there, with his white head bowed between his hands, looking so sad and broken-hearted, despite all his wealth, that his heart went out to him.

He was for hours thus communing with nature, then came back to the town and went on board the _Despair_.
After that, he frequently came ashore and strolled about the town, seldom speaking, even when addressed.