men, who ask
no better than to have their throats cut in honor of the parliament of
Scotland and England."

"And this man, my lord?" said Spithead, pointing to the fisherman, who,
during this conversation, had remained standing and motionless, like a
man who sees but does not understand.

"Ah, that is true," said Monk. Then turning towards the fisherman,--"I
shall see you again, my brave fellow," said he; "I have selected a
lodging for you. Digby, take him to it. Fear nothing; your money shall
be sent to you presently."

"Thank you, my lord," said the fisherman, and after having bowed, he
left the tent, accompanied by Digby. Before he had gone a hundred paces
he found his companions, who were whispering with a volubility which did
not appear exempt from uneasiness, but he made them a sign which seemed
to reassure them. "_Hola_, you fellows!" said the _patron_, "come this
way. His lordship, General Monk, has the generosity to pay us for our
fish, and the goodness to give us hospitality for to-night."

The fishermen gathered round their leader, and, conducted by Digby,
the little troop proceeded towards the canteens, the post, as may be
remembered, which had been assigned them. As they went along in the
dark, the fishermen passed close to the guards who were conducting the
French gentleman to General Monk. This gentleman was on horseback and
enveloped in a large cloak, which prevented the _patron_ from seeing
him, however great his curiosity might be. As to the gentleman, ignorant
that he was elbowing compatriots, he did not pay any attention to the
little troop.

The aid-de-camp settled his guests in a tolerably comfortable tent,
from which was dislodged an Irish canteen woman, who went, with her six
children, to sleep where she could. A large fire was burning in front
of this tent, and threw its purple light over the grassy pools of the
marsh, rippled by a fresh breeze. The arrangements made, the aid-de-camp
wished the fishermen good-night, calling to their notice that they might
see from the door of the tent the masts of their bark, which was tossing
gently on the Tweed, a proof that it had not yet sunk. The sight of this
appeared to delight the leader of the fishermen infinitely.

Chapter XXIV. The Treasure.

The French gentleman whom Spithead had announced to Monk, and who,
closely wrapped in his cloak, had passed by the fishermen who left the
general's tent five minutes before he entered it,--the French