!"

"Ah, I'm afraid it is true that I ate one of the ducks."

"But they were for his Majesty!"

"It appears they were cooked on the chance of pleasing his Majesty,
who left, however, without inquiring for them. The landlord and his
wife have just eaten the other. Is it time to start?"

"Yes."

Tristram jumped up and stretched himself, smiling amiably on the host
and hostess, who returned his look with no very good will. Captain
Salt, having made the proper deductions calmly, paid the reckoning,
and they left the house.

Outside the weather was still dirty, and a wind, which had gradually
risen since the morning, blew in their faces charged with chilly
moisture. The mist, however, had cleared a little, and Tristram, as
he rammed his hat tightly on his head before facing the night, could
see the lights of the squadron far out upon the black and broken
waters of the Maese.

"In what ship do we return?" he asked.

The wind apparently drowned his question; for Captain Salt started
off without replying and led the way down across the sandbanks.
It seemed to Tristram that their path lay to the left of that by
which they had approached the inn early in the morning. He was
straining his eyes on the look out for the wooden landing-stage, when
suddenly, on climbing a ridge somewhat higher than the rest, he saw
the white fringe of the waves glimmering close under his feet and the
inky shadow of a boat, in which sat a couple of dark forms. One of
them, hearing the low whistle uttered by Captain Salt, scrambled
forward to the bows and held out a hand.

Tristram looked at his father, who nodded. They entered the boat in
silence, and within a minute were being rowed rapidly across the
tide. It struck our hero that the oars made remarkably little noise,
in spite of the energy with which they were plied. He was about to
speak, but checked himself on seeing his father raise a finger to his
lips. "What is the meaning of this?" he wondered. His enormous meal
had made him drowsy; and deciding that, if not allowed to speak, he
might at least nod, he closed his eyes.

He opened them again with a start. From the shore behind them the
roar of guns had just burst out upon the night.

This was his first impression; but the sound was not repeated, and in
a moment or two he fancied he must have been dreaming of the salute
he had heard in the lazarette of the _Good Intent_, as the squadron
sailed out of Harwich. The boat w