d their presence in Farlingford, Captain Clubbe nodded
gravely and that was all.

"We can wait, however, until a more suitable opportunity presents
itself," Colville hastened to add. "You are busy, as even a landsman can
perceive, and cannot be expected to think of anything but your vessel
until the tide leaves her high and dry."

He turned and explained the situation to the Marquis, who shrugged his
shoulders impatiently as if at the delay. For he was a southerner, and
was, perhaps, ignorant of the fact that in dealing with any born on the
shores of the German Ocean nothing is gained and, more often than not,
all is lost by haste.

"You hear," Colville added, turning to the Captain, and speaking in a
curter manner; for so strongly was he moved by that human kindness
which is vaguely called sympathy that his speech varied according to his
listener. "You hear the Marquis only speaks French. It is about a fellow
countryman of his buried here. Drop in and have a glass of wine with us
some evening; to-night, if you are at liberty."

"What I can tell you won't take long," said Clubbe, over his shoulder;
for the tide was turning, and in a few minutes would be ebbing fast.

"Dare say not. But we have a good bin of claret at 'The Black Sailor,'
and shall be glad of your opinion on it."

Clubbe nodded, with a curt laugh, which might have been intended to
deprecate the possession of any opinion on a vintage, or to express his
disbelief that Dormer Colville desired to have it.

Nevertheless, his large person loomed in the dusk of the trees soon
after sunset, in the narrow road leading from his house to the church
and the green.

Monsieur de Gemosac and his companion were sitting on the bench outside
the inn, leaning against the sill of their own parlour-window, which
stood open. The Captain had changed his clothes, and now wore those in
which he went to church and to the custom-house when in London or other
large cities.

"There walks a just man," commented Dormer Colville, lightly, and no
longer word could have described Captain Clubbe more aptly. He would
rather have stayed in his own garden this evening to smoke his pipe in
contemplative silence. But he had always foreseen that the day might
come when it would be his duty to do his best by Loo Barebone. He had
not sought this opportunity, because, being a wise as well as a just
man, he was not quite sure that he knew what the best would be.

He shook hands gravely w