THE GIRL'S OWN PAPER

"OUR HERO."

By AGNES GIBERNE, Author of "Sun, Moon and Stars," "The Girl at the Dower House," etc.

CHAPTER IV.

MOST UNPLEASANT TIDINGS.

"Hallo!—Keene!—Mr. Jack Keene! At your service, sir."

"Admiral! How do you? I was near giving you the go-by."

"Near running me down, you might say. Like to a three-decker in full sail. You are going indoors? Ay, ay, then I'll wait; I'll come another day. 'Twas in my mind that Mrs. Fairbank might be glad of a word. But since you are here——"

"She will be glad, I can assure you. Pray, sir, come in with me. This is a frightful blow. It was told me as I came off the ground after parade; and I hastened hither at full speed."

"Ay, ay; that did you!" muttered the Admiral. "Seeing nought ahead of you but the Corsican, I'll be bound."

"'Tis a disgrace to his nation," burst out Jack. "Sir, what do you think of the step?"

"Think! The most atrocious—the most abominable piece of work ever heard of. If ever a living man deserved to be strung up at the yard-arm, that man is Napoleon and none other."

"It can never, sure, be carried out."

"Nay, if the Consul choose, what is to hinder?"

"Government will not give up the vessels seized."

"Give them up! Knuckle down to the Corsican! Crouch before him like to a whipped hound! Why, war has been declared. Our Ambassador had had his orders to come home, before ever the step was taken. Give up the ships! Confess ourselves wrong, in a custom which has been allowed for ages. We'll give nothing up, nothing, my dear Jack! Sooner than that, let Boney do his best and his worst. Wants to chase our vessels of war, does he? Ay, so he may, when they turn tail and run away. We shall know how to meet him afloat, fast enough—no fear! With our jolly tars, and brave Nelson at their head, there's a thing or two yet to be taught to the First Consul, or I'm greatly in error."

The two speakers stood outside Mrs. Fairbank's house in Bath, where they had arrived from opposite directions at the same moment. Both had walked fast; and each after his own mode showed excitement. The older of the two, Admiral Peirce, a grizzled veteran, made small attempt to hide the wrath which quivered visibly in every fibre of his athletic figure. He had usually a frank and kindly countenance, weather-beaten by many a storm, yet overflowing with geniality. The geniality had forsaken it this morning, and he looked like one whom an enemy might prefer not to meet at too close quarters.

Jack Keene had, as he intimated, come straight from parade, not waiting to get rid of his uniform; and in that uniform the young ensign looked older than in civilian dress. Also he seemed older in this mood of hot indignation, his light blue eyes sparkling angrily, and his brows frowning. For once, whatever might usually be the case, he had fully the air of a grown man. Boys became men earlier in those days than they do in these, for the tension and stress of life were greater—albeit railways did not exist, and telegrams had not been heard of.

"His worst!" Jack repeated, with a note of inquiry.

"He'll not go beyond a point. Don't think it. No danger to their lives—none whatever, you understand! Only detention. That's bad enough, but that is all. And yon pretty sister of yours, the fair Polly, why, to be sure, and she is the betrothed of Captain Ivor."

Jack nodded. His mind had already made an excursion in that direction.

"Ay, ay. But it can't last. 'Tis a freak of Boney's. The whole civilised world will cry out upon him. Not that he greatly troubles his pate with what folks may say of his deeds!" added Admiral Peirce, reflecting that the civilised world had already, for many years, been crying out upon Napoleon, with no particular result, beyond relieving its own feelings. "Still, my dear sir, there are limits to everything. Yes, yes, I will come in with you. Doubtless the ladies will stand in need of consolation."

Jack led the way, and they found a forlorn trio within. Mrs. Fairbank knitted fast, with set jaw, and frequent droppings of stitches. Polly, white and dismayed, had an arm round Molly, whom she was trying to comfort, while much needing comfort herself. The news of this latest move of the First Consul had reached them less than an hour before.

"Will Roy ever come home again? Will my papa and mamma always be prisoners? Shall I never, never see them any more?" Molly had questioned pitifully, too much bewildered at first even for tears. Two days earlier a letter had arrived from Colonel Baron, with a cheerful report of Roy's improvement; and Molly's happiness was sadly dashed by this new complication.