and until '41, when the business of the Austrian
succession forced them to withdraw their troops and leave the Genoese
once more face to face with the islanders. Promptly these rose
again. Giafferi and Hyacinth Paoli had fled to Naples; Hyacinth with
two sons, Pascal and Clement, whom he trained there (as I am told) in
all the liberal arts and in undying hatred of the Genoese.
These two lads, returning to the island, took up their father's fight
and have maintained it, with fair success as I learn. From parts of
the island they must have completely extruded the enemy for a while;
since my lady made bold, four years ago, to settle these visitors of
ours in her palace above the Taravo. It would appear, however, that
the Genoese have gathered head again, and his business with them may
explain why Pascal Paoli has not answered the letter I addressed to
him, these eight months since, notifying my son's claim upon the
succession. Or he may have reckoned it indecent of me to address him
in lieu of his Queen, who had returned to the island. I had not
heard of her return. I heard of it to-day for the first time, and of
her peril, which shall hurry us ten times faster than our
pretensions. Prosper," my father concluded, "we must invade Corsica,
and at once."

"Good Lord!" exclaimed my uncle. "How!"

"In a ship," my father answered him as simply. "How otherwise?"

Said my uncle, "But where is your ship?"

Answered my father, "If you will but step outside and pick up one of
these fir-cones in the grass, you can almost toss it on to her deck.
She is called the _Gauntlet_, and her skipper is Captain Jo Pomery.
I might have racked my brain for a month to find such a skipper or a
ship so well found and happily named as this which Providence has
brought to my door. I attach particular importance to the name of a
ship."

My uncle ran his hands through his hair. "But to invade a kingdom,"
he protested, "you will need also an army!"

"Certainly. I must find one."

"But where?"

"It must be somewhere in the neighbourhood, and within twenty-four
hours," replied my father imperturbably. "Time presses."

"But an army must be paid. You have not only to raise one, but to
find the money to support it."

"You put me in mind of an old German tale," said my father, helping
himself to wine. "Once upon a time there were three brothers--but
since, my dear Gervase, you show signs of impatience, I will confine
myself to the