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"Something wrong somewhere?" he suggested, in a conversational way. "By daylight we were ramping up channel with three French men-of-war after us," was Captain Clubbe's comprehensive reply. "As chance had it, the channel squadron hove in sight round the Foreland, and the Frenchmen turned and left us." Clubbe marked a pause in his narrative by a glass of claret taken at one draught like beer.
"Something wrong somewhere?" he suggested, in a conversational way. "By daylight we were ramping up channel with three French men-of-war after us," was Captain Clubbe's comprehensive reply. "As chance had it, the channel squadron hove in sight round the Foreland, and the Frenchmen turned and left us." Clubbe marked a pause in his narrative by a glass of claret, taken at one draught like beer.
"We are all here, the Marquis, Barebone, and I. Clubbe took us on board one dark night in the Gironde and brought us home." "Are you hurt?" asked Turner, curtly. "Oh, no. But Clubbe's collar-bone is broken and his leg is crushed. We had to leave four on board; not room for them in the boat. That fool Barebone has gone back for them. He promised them he would. The sea out there is awful!"
Colville turned to see whether River Andrew had noticed, and saw that landsman looking skyward with an eye that seemed to foretell the early demise of a favouring wind. "That's 'The Last Hope," he said, in answer to Dormer Colville's question. "And it will take all Seth Clubbe's seamanship to save the tide.
The bell of Captain Clubbe's ship rang out the hour a new sound in the stillness of this forgotten town. "The Last Hope," added Dormer Colville, with a queer laugh. Neither had spoken again when their thoughts were turned aside from that story which Colville, instead of telling, had been called upon to hear.
When she was satisfied that he had nothing more to add, she looked at him, her needle poised in the air. "Do you think it matters?" she asked, in a little cool, even voice. It was so different from what he had expected that, for a moment, he was taken aback. Captain Clubbe's bluff, uncompromising reception of the same news had haunted his thoughts.
"Un tel qu'on vantait Par hasard etait D'origine assez mince; Par hasard il plut, Par hasard il fut Baron, ministre, et prince." Captain Clubbe's harsh voice broke into the song with the order to let go the anchor. As the ship swung to the tide the steersman, who wore neither coat nor waistcoat, could be seen idly handling the wheel still, though his duties were necessarily at an end.
When she was satisfied that he had nothing more to add, she looked at him, her needle poised in the air. "Do you think it matters?" she asked, in a little cool, even voice. It was so different from what he had expected that, for a moment, he was taken aback. Captain Clubbe's bluff, uncompromising reception of the same news had haunted his thoughts.
We must not awake her sleeping sorrow until all is ready. I shall make the journey to Frohsdorf that I promise you. But to-night we have another task before us." "Yes yes," answered his listeners. "You are to open the locket. Where is it? show it to us." And the locket which Captain Clubbe's wife had given to Dormer Colville was handed from one to another.
"I do not think we had better bring Him into the question," was the retort: an odd reflex of Captain Clubbe's solid East Anglian piety. "No. If we go on with the thing at all, let us be honest enough to admit to ourselves that we are dishonest. The portrait in that locket points clearly enough to the Truth." "The portrait in that locket is of Marie Antoinette," replied Colville, half sullenly.
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