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"Well, who did?" snapped Billy, glowering at his two bosom friends. They gently rolled the dead, or dying, man on to his back, and the nature of his injury appeared. He was clothed in white trousers, a light blue coat, and a shirt the front of which was ornamented by some light tracing like flowers. He was without a cravat, and his head was uncovered. The left side of his shirt was soaked in blood, and the singed hole through which the bullet had passed from the weapon whose muzzle he had pressed to his breast, was visible in the thick of the dark crimson dye. His face was marble-white. It wore an expression of torture. His lips were parted and grey. The eyelids were half-closed, and the whites of the eye only were visible. "Oh, you'll find that out soon enough," promised Anson. "He told me to tell you that he would do the same thing to you first chance he got.".

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The position of the Victory gave plenty of scope for the manœuvrings of the Aurora. Captain Weaver, finding that he would rapidly outsail the liner and be ahead and out of hail before half a dozen sentences could be exchanged, luffed the Aurora to windward of the Victory, wisely declining to be becalmed by the big ship's sails if he stationed his little craft to leeward of her. A lieutenant stood at the forward end of the raised deck, or poop as it really was. One or two midshipmen were visible. The sentry on the forecastle was in sight; otherwise scarce a man was to be seen. The lieutenant hailed as the officer in the Amphion had: "Schooner ahoy! Are you fresh from England?" "I've had our good friend Hinter for company, girlie," said her father, stroking the damp curls. At this moment the conversation was interrupted by the bustling entrance of Admiral Sir William Lawrence, when of course the conversation was immediately changed from the subject of his son and sick-bays to other matters. "Oh, hadn't he then! Well, who up and deliberately stole his horse, I'd like to know?" Mrs. Wilson held her breath waiting for the answer..