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Wilson leaned against the bench and waited. He knew that Billy had brought him into the shed to speak of other things than decoys.,

"You are very kind, sir, to take an interest in my affairs," answered Mr Lawrence with slight sarcasm.,

When Billy reached the loft, Anson was standing in the center of the room, smashing with clenched fists at the empty air. Billy sat down on his bed and grinned. "You will run straight into trouble, in spite of all I say, Anse," he said gently. "It's all your own fault; you will be a tattle-tale.",

"Is Maurice asleep?" whispered the woman.

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She took the flower, put it to her lips, and handed it to him. His passion for her was very visible as he received the flower with his eyes fixed upon her face. He gave her a low bow, and then put on his hat, and going to the hedge pulled a leaf in which he wrapped[Pg 45] the daisy, and carefully placed both in his waistcoat pocket.,

"Anse," Billy's voice was sympathetic. "I see I have to tell you everythin'. Ma, she's goin' fo give you the canin' of your young life, jest as soon as she thinks we're proper asleep.",

Greyquill, who saw little to fear in the pursuit of a man with a wooden leg, turned his head upon his shoulder and cried back: "There are too many of us.",

It would be impossible to describe the feelings, sensations, passions of three of the principal actors in this story. Who can analyse human emotion when its state is one of almost chaotic conflict? Sir William Lawrence being satisfied that the sail ahead was Captain Acton's barque, fixed his face in a mask iron-hard with resolution to endure, come what would. His answers were short, and to the[Pg 429] point. He had little to say. His tendency to the garrulity of old age had temporarily withered; he was as grim and reserved as though he commanded a line-of-battle ship, whose stern-walk was exclusively his promenade. He was an old sailor and a gentleman: he prided himself upon his descent; he greatly loved honour and loyalty, which is the spirit of honour, and above all, he loved truth. Yonder was his son in charge of a ship he was endeavouring to steal from his benefactor; he had by a base stratagem kidnapped the sweet and beautiful daughter of his friend; he had proved himself a liar, a thief, a scoundrel in the most voluminous sense of the word. The people of the frigate commanded by Lord Garlies might, doubtless must, come to hear all about his wrongdoing, and through them the story would leak with plenty of colour and plenty of exaggeration, into every ward-room and gun-room and cockpit in His Majesty's Service. These were thoughts and considerations to hold the Admiral austerely silent, and keep him to himself whilst the chase continued.