alf-moon, with the westering sun striking full upon the
windows of their high, castellated poops. Their great guns gleamed; mast
and spar and rigging made network against the blue; high in air floated
bright pennants and the red cross in the white field. To and fro plied
small boats, while over the water to them in the wherry came a pleasant
hum of preparation for the morrow's sailing. Upon the _Cygnet_, lying
next to the _Mere Honour_, and a very noble ship, the mariners began
to sing.

"Shall we not row more closely?" cried Sedley. "The _Cygnet_ knows not
that it is you who pass!"

Sir Mortimer laughed. "No, no; I come to her arms from the Palace
to-night! Trouble her not now with genuflections and salutings." His
eyes dwelt with love upon his ship. "How clearly sounds the singing!"
he said.

So clearly did it sound over the water that it kept with them when the
ships were passed. Robin-a-dale had his fancies, to which at times he
gave voice, scarce knowing that he had spoken. "'Tis the ship herself
that sings," he now began to say to himself in a low voice, over and
over again. "'Tis the ship singing, the ship singing because she goes on
a voyage--a long voyage!"

"Sirrah!" cried his master, somewhat sharply. "Know you not that the
swan sings but upon one voyage, and that her last? 'Tis not the _Cygnet_
that sings, but upon her sing my mariners and soldiers, for that they go
forth to victory!"

He put his hands behind his head, and with a light in his eyes looked
back to the dwindling ships. "Victory!" he repeated beneath his breath.
"Such fame, such service, as that earthworm, that same Detraction, shall
raise no more her lying head!" He turned to Sedley: "I am glad, Harry,
that your lot is cast with mine. For we go forth to victory, lad!"

The younger man answered him impetuously, a flush of pride mounting to
his smooth, dark cheek. "I doubt it not, Sir Mortimer, nor of my
gathering laurels, since I go with you! I count myself most fortunate."
He threw back his head and laughed. "I have no lady-love," he said, "and
so I will heap the laurels in the lap of my sister Damaris."

By now, the tide being with them, they were nearing Greenwich House.
Ferne dipped his hand into the water, then, straightening himself, shook
from it the sparkling drops, and looked in the face of the youth who was
to make with him his maiden voyage.

"You could heap laurels in the lap of no sweeter lady," he said,
courteously. "I th