sort of low laugh which followed his words.

"You seem to think it a light matter to have been at the galleys, my
friend," said L'Estrange, half reprovingly. "How did it happen that an
Englishman should be in such a discreditable position?"

"It's a long story--too long for a hungry man to tell," said the
sailor; "perhaps too long for your own patience to listen to. At all
events, it has no bearing on my present condition."

"I'm not so sure of that, my good fellow. Men are seldom sentenced to
the galleys for light offences; and I 'd like to know something of the
man I'm called on to befriend."

"I make you the same answer I gave before--the story would take more
time than I have well strength for. Do you know," said he, earnestly,
and in a voice of touching significance, "it is twenty-eight hours since
I have tasted food?"

L'Estrange leaned forward in his chair, like one expecting to hear more,
and eager to catch the words aright; and then rising, walked over to the
rail where the prisoner stood. "You have not told me your name," said
he, in a voice of kindly meaning.

"I have been called Sam Rogers for some time back; and I mean to be Sam
Rogers a little longer."

"But it is not your real name?" asked L'Estrange, eagerly.

The other made no reply for some seconds; and then, moving his band
carelessly through his hair, said, in a half-reckless way, "I declare,
sir, I can't see what you have to do with my name, whether I be Sam
Rogers, or--or--anything else I choose to call myself. To you--I
believe, at least--to you I am simply a distressed British sailor."

"And you are Jack Bramleigh?" said L'Estrange, in a low tone, scarcely
above a whisper, while he grasped the sailor's hands, and shook them
warmly.

"And who are you?" said Jack, in a voice shaken and faltering.

"Don't you know me, my poor dear fellow? Don't you remember George
L'Estrange?"

What between emotion and debility, this speech unmanned him so that he
staggered back a couple of paces, and sank down heavily, not fainting,
but too weak to stand, too much overcome to utter.

CHAPTER LVI. AT LADY AUGUSTA'S

"The Count Pracontal, my Lady," said a very grave-looking groom of the
chambers, as Lady Augusta sat watching a small golden squirrel swinging
by his tail from the branch of a camellia tree.

"Say I am engaged, Hislop--particularly engaged. I do not receive--or,
wait; tell him I am much occupied, but if he is quite sure his visit