e upon which to draw when in need. She had received letters
from France, which were carefully treasured by her until her death, and
for long afterward by Frenchman, who finally burnt all at his marriage,
saying that he was now an Englishman and wanted to retain no ties
with France. At this time, Clubbe remembered, Louis XVIII. was firmly
established on the throne of France, the Restoration--known as the
Second--having been brought about by the Allied Powers with a high hand
after the Hundred Days and the final downfall of Napoleon.

Frenchman may well have known that it might be worth his while to return
to France and seek fortune there; but he never spoke of this knowledge
nor made reference to the recollections of his childhood, which cast a
cold reserve over his soul and steeped it with such a deadly hatred of
France and all things French, that he desired to sever all memories that
might link him with his native country or awake in the hearts of any
children he should beget the desire to return thither.

A year after his marriage his wife died, and thus her son, left to the
care of a lonely and misanthropic father, was brought up a Frenchman
after all, and lisped his first words in that tongue.

"He lived long enough to teach him to speak French and think like
a Frenchman, and then he died," said Captain Clubbe--"a young man
reckoning by years, but in mind he was an older man than I am to-day."

"And his secret died with him?" suggested Dormer Colville, looking at
the end of his cigar with a queer smile. But Captain Clubbe made no
answer.

"One may suppose that he wanted it to die with him, at all events,"
added Colville, tentatively.

"You are right," was the reply, a local colloquialism in common use, as
a clincher to a closed argument or an unwelcome truth. Captain Clubbe
rose as he spoke and intimated his intention of departing, by jerking
his head sideways at Monsieur de Gemosac, who, however, held out his
hand with a Frenchman's conscientious desire to follow the English
custom.

"I'll be getting home," said Clubbe, simply. As he spoke he peered
across the marsh toward the river, and Colville, following the direction
of his gaze, saw the black silhouette of a large lug-sail against the
eastern sky, which was softly grey with the foreglow of the rising moon.

"What is that?" asked Colville.

"That's Loo Barebone going up with the sea-breeze. He has been down to
the rectory. He mostly goes there in the