With a chill at the heart, I glanced swiftly around the darkened room in search of the one man we could not afford upon any account to lose. I failed to discover his face. He was not lying in the shadows, nor yet propped against the stone wall; nor was he among the card players grouped around the table. Surely he was not—

“I am astounded to see you here again, Miss Austen,” said Mr. Hill, “and deeply grateful.”

I collected myself and curtseyed to the surgeon. “I could not stay away, Mr. Hill, and I have brought with me a companion. Miss Lloyd has consented to assist us.”

“We have brought eggs,” Martha declared. “They should be coddled over a moderate fire and served upon toast — provided, of course, that your men are capable of keeping their victuals down?”

Mr. Hill straightened. “I am happy to report that several of them seem equal to the task of taking a little sustenance. And I may say that I am well-acquainted with the process of coddling an egg.”

“Then you are a better man than most,” Martha retorted, and moved off in the direction of the fire.

“Pray tell me, Mr. Hill,” I attempted. “The French surgeon — Monsieur LaForge. Is he …”

“—Attempting to shave by the light of that far window,” Mr. Hill replied.

I followed his gesture with a queer little catch in my throat and a sensation of relief. The corner in which Etienne LaForge sat was difficult to plumb with eyes adjusting to Wool House dimness; but I discerned his clean profile, the spill of dark hair over the broad brow, the delicate hands poised with the razor. He looked and seemed stronger at a distance of twenty-four hours. Not for him, the coarse black shroud and the common pit dusted with lime.

He had ceased his ablutions and was staring at me intently. I found that I blushed, and looked away. With my brother beside me, purposeful in his intent of securing LaForge's witness, I felt almost a traitor to the Frenchman's confidence.

“Captain Austen has been telling me of Captain Seagrave's case,” Mr. Hill persisted. “Most extraordinary. I had no notion we harboured such celebrated prisoners in this dreadful place. I did not even know that LaForge was a surgeon. I might have secured his assistance in treating the sick; but, however, he has been almost unable to stand upright before this.”

“He is improved, then?”

“I am happy to say it. I lost several men in the early hours of morning, Miss Austen.” He shook his head in weariness and regret. “It is always thus; a man will go out with the night's ebb tide, as though he cannot wait for dawn.”

Frank was listening to our conversation without attempting to form a part of it. His eyes roamed over the assembled pallets, but his countenance evidenced neither shock nor distaste; the scene before us must resemble the usual squalor of the lower decks. He had often seen men in suffering before.

“I have given my consent to your brother,” said Mr. Hill, “for this small liberty of Monsieur LaForge's. He shall accompany Captain Austen to Portsmouth on the morrow.”

“You are not his gaoler, surely?”

“No — but I remain his doctor,” returned the gentleman shrewdly. “He goes with Captain Austen on one condition: that I might form another of the party. I should not wish LaForge to suffer from exposure in the hoy.”

“You are very good,” I said. “But there remains one other person's consent we must seek.”

“Admiral Bertie's?”

“Etienne LaForge's,” I replied.

THE BUSINESS WAS CONCLUDED WHILE MARTHA CODDLED two dozen eggs.

LaForge was brought forward, his white shirtsleeves rolled high and his jaw wiped clean with a reasonably fresh towel. He stood easily before my brother, regarding him with the faint expression of amusement I had detected the previous day. For support he chose an ornately-carved walking-stick, ebony with a silver handle — so precious a thing must surely be his own, carried out of the Manon. He leaned upon it with all the careless disregard of long use.

While the two gentlemen conversed, I undertook to assist Hill with his patients — it seemed the least I could do for the harassed surgeon. My brother's interrogation did not require many minutes.

Frank bowed; the Frenchman nodded — and with a slight glance over his shoulder, returned to the place where he had been sitting. I thought his countenance somewhat sobered. But before I had occasion to consider the man and his moods, my brother was at my side.

“He does not deny his story, at least,” Frank said without preamble. “What he told you yesterday in the vestige of fever, he is very happy to report with a clearer head to a panel of British officers. He attempted to bargain, naturally — but I could promise him nothing. I told him merely that I would exert myself on his behalf, and so I shall.”

“What sort of price does one put upon the truth?” I asked curiously. “Exchange to France? A quantity of gold?”

“Neither. He merely begs to be allowed to remain in England, a free man. I suppose there are many who cannot love the Monster Buonaparte.”

“But it is agreed? He sails with you tomorrow?”

“Quite early.” Frank's grey eyes moved over the face of the prisoner beside me; I had been attempting to feed the man an egg, but found him unequal to the task. “The trial is settled for eleven o'clock, you know, and I should like to be arrived in good time. I must write to Admiral Hastings aboard the Valiant, and request permission for LaForge to come aboard.”

“I should like to accompany you, Fly.”

“To the court-martial? Don't be absurd. It is not the place for a lady,” he said stiffly.

“Not to the Valiant itself, but to Portsmouth.”

“Jane, you do not know what a dreadful thing it is to see a man hang. It is entirely possible that if things go badly — not at all in Seagrave's way — that the sentence will be carried out immediately. It is the tradition in the Navy.”

“Then Louisa Seagrave will undoubtedly require a companion,” I rejoined with equanimity. “Think, Frank! A lady in such a state! With her little children all around her, and no support but a surly maidservant in a black eye-patch! It is not to be thought of. Certainly I shall go.”

Frank's lips parted, but he failed to voice a word. An appeal to the feelings of a lady must always reign paramount in his mind, however strong his attention to naval niceties and forms.

I handed Mr. Hill the remnants of coddled egg. There was a spark of humour in the surgeon's grave eyes as he took charge of spoon and bowl.

“This is become quite a pleasure party,” he observed. “A morning's diversion on the Solent! Do not neglect a hearty breakfast, Miss Austen. It is the surest safeguard against seasickness.”

“I should never ignore the advice of a surgeon,” I said, and prepared to attend Martha to the French Street theatre.

THE PALE SUNLIGHT THAT HAD GREETED THE DAY WAS soon fled, and succeeded by the usual Southampton drizzle we had come to abhor. I feared the night would prove far too wet for my mother's health, and that a diminution of our evening party must be the result. Nothing short of widespread revolution, however, should prevent me from seeing the play in French Street. I had found too little enjoyment this winter, and meant to have my share of amusement.

I have long been a devotee of good hardened real acting, and though I may win contempt for preferring a Comedy to a Tragedy, I own that Mrs. Jordan is exactly the sort of player to please my taste. She is bright and light and sparkling; ingenuous in her air, despite the increase in grandeur that has attended her notice from the Duke. She delivers her lines with so lively a humour, that one might almost believe the words to have sprung directly from her wit, rather than the pen of a Kotzebue or an Inchbald. I had once been disappointed in a glimpse of her at Covent Garden, while on a visit to my brother Henry; I could hardly credit my good fortune in finding the lady descended upon Southampton, and must assume that some imminent embarkation aboard a royal yacht had occasioned Mrs. Jordan's removal hither.