"Oh, they will come back; of course they will come back," Polly assured her again and again. "Napoleon couldn't keep them always, Molly dear. It would be too cruel. We shall have them back by-and-by; perhaps very soon. Ah—here comes somebody; and we shall hear more about what it all means."

As Jack's face appeared, a cry broke from Molly. "Jack—oh, it is Jack. Jack will tell us."

Jack was speedily down by her side, comforting her. She was small and childish for her twelve years, and he felt himself older unspeakably, besides being exactly like her brother; so she cried quietly, leaning her face against his scarlet coat, while he whispered hopeful foretellings.

"This is truly a doleful state of things, ma'am," the Admiral observed, turning his attention first, as in duty bound, to the elder lady. "Who could have thought it? Dear, dear me; 'tis prodigiously sad. I vow there was never such a being as this First Consul since the world was created. But cheer up, ma'am, and pretty Polly too. Things will come right in time, there's no sort of doubt."

"'Tis a puzzle to us all," pretty Polly remarked, more anxious for precise information than for general abuse of Napoleon, however well deserved. "Is Colonel Baron indeed a prisoner? And Mrs. Baron and Roy? And—Captain Ivor?"

"Nay; not altogether so bad as that. The First Consul may be but a few degrees removed from a fiend, 'tis true; yet even he does not war with women and school-boys. Mrs. Baron is surely free to return when she will, and to bring Roy with her. 'Tis Colonel Baron and Captain Ivor who are to be accounted prisoners of war! An atrocious deed! But being both in His Majesty's Army, they have, I fear, no chance of getting off. Cheer up!" as Polly's tears began to flow. "'Tis but for a while. Just one of the chances of war; though 'tis a mighty shame it should be so, with harmless and innocent travellers, taking their pleasure abroad. But our Government will protest; and it may be Boney will think better of what he has done. Eh, Jack?"

"It says, Admiral—it says, my dear Jack——" Mrs. Fairbank knitted furiously as she spoke—"it says, in that most iniquitous paper——"

"Right, right!" nodded the Admiral. "The paper in truth is iniquitous!"

"That"—pursued Mrs. Fairbank, getting unexpectedly choky, and dropping stitches by the bushel, as her eyes fell on the pitiful faces of Polly and Molly—"that 'all the English, from the age of eighteen to sixty'—all—not men only!"

"Nay, nay, nay; it signifies men only, not women. None but savages fight against women," declared the Admiral, with vigour. "They will be right enough, my dear madam. 'Tis only the Colonel and the Captain who are included."

That "only" sounded hard to Polly, though it was meant in all kindness. The good Admiral was doing his best to cast a gleam of sunshine on the cloudy prospect.

Before anyone could answer him, the door opened, and in sailed Mrs. Bryce, followed by her husband. Mrs. Bryce was looking her gayest, as befitted a fashionable visitor to fashionable Bath.

When once Mrs. Bryce had come upon the scene, other people would not have a chance of saying much.

"So this is the outcome of it all!" she exclaimed, with uplifted hands. "A fortnight in Paris! and only a fortnight! More like to be a matter of years. Nap has them there in safe keeping; and depend on't, he'll not let them go in no sort of haste. I protest, when Colonel Baron told me of his purpose, I had an inkling in my mind of what was to happen. Did I not warn him, Polly? Did I not tell him he should be content to stay at home? For you were there, and you heard. 'Tis now as I foretold. My dear Mrs. Fairbank, I do most sincerely condole with you all."

Mrs. Fairbank parted her lips, and had time to do no more. The Admiral looked at Mr. Bryce, and Mr. Bryce looked at the Admiral.

"'Tis done now, and it cannot be undone, but 'tis a lesson for the future. Had the Colonel but shown his accustomed sense, he would have taken warning by my words, and he might now be sound and safe in old England. But everybody has expected nothing less than war. Pray, my dear madam, what else could have resulted? If England will not give up Malta at the bidding of Nap, England has to fight. And England will never give up Malta."

"The Treaty of Amiens——" Mrs. Fairbank tried to say.

"O excuse me, I beseech—don't talk to me of the Treaty of Amiens! We agreed, doubtless, under certain conditions, to give over Malta to the Knights of St. John. And those conditions have been broke. Broke, my dear ma'am. Broke, my dear sir!" She turned eagerly from one to another, talking as fast as the words would leave her lips. "Give up Malta, quotha! Ay, we did arrange to give it up, but not to Nap! Why, the last new Grand-Master of the Knights of St. John has been appointed by the Pope, and the Pope himself, poor old gentleman, is Boney's humble slave. Give up Malta, under such circumstances! I protest, England is not yet sunk so low."

Mrs. Fairbank and the Admiral both tried to intimate that they entirely agreed with Mrs. Bryce. They failed to make her understand; and the lively lady went on—

"I have it all from my brother, who has it at first hand from his Grace, the Duke of Hamilton. One thing is certain—our friends over the Channel will not be back again this great while. I give them at the least two years. Nay, why not four or five?"

"Nay, why not forty or fifty?" muttered Jack. "Nay, Molly!" as he felt her start. "Who knows? The war may last but six months. And Roy is free." But he could not speak of Ivor as free, and he saw Polly's colour deepen, her eyes filling. This could not be allowed to go on. A diversion had become necessary; and Jack's voice was heard to say something in slow insistent tones, making itself audible through Mrs. Bryce's continued outpour.

"A very great friend of his Grace, the Duke of Hamilton," reached her ears; and Mrs. Bryce, being much of a tuft-hunter, stopped short.

"You were saying, Jack—What was that which you were pleased to remark?"

"I did but observe, ma'am, that the Duke of Hamilton's particular friend—who is also in my humble opinion and in the opinion of many others, the greatest of living Englishmen—chances to be at this instant staying in Bath."

"The Duke's particular friend! Then of a surety, 'tis somebody whom also we are acquainted with, my dear,"—turning to her husband. "Somebody doubtless in the world of mode and fashion; and 'twould be vastly odd if we had not come across him."

"We can scarce claim to be acquainted with all his Grace's friends," objected Mr. Bryce mildly.

"Well, well—that's as may be. But who is the distinguished person, Jack?"

"None less than General Moore himself, ma'am."

Mrs. Bryce held up startled hands, and vowed that the most ardent wish of her heart was to set eyes on this Hero of heroes, General John Moore, whom by a succession of mischances she had hitherto failed to meet.

"Though in truth, 'tis no such marvel, since the General is for ever away across the seas, fighting his country's battles," she added. "Except in the year of the Peace, when each time that I would have seen him fate prevented me. And he is in Bath at this moment, say you? General Moore—that was Governor of St. Lucia, and that was under Sir Ralph Abercrombie, both there and in Egypt! And that Denham Ivor was under also, in both places! General Moore, his very own self!"

"Ay, ma'am!"—when Jack could edge an answer in. "And if you desire to find another, who reckons General Moore to be the foremost English soldier of his time, and to be one of the noblest of men, why, I've but to refer you to Ivor."

Mrs. Bryce did not seem quite convinced even yet. "And you are not seeking to take me in, Jack! You are not jesting?"

"'Tis no matter for jesting, I do assure you, ma'am. The name of so gallant a hero as John Moore is not to be handled