ous way,
"I--perhaps I was wrong, Mr. Seymour. I know I was, but I have loved
her all my life. I am sorry I spoke so, and I beg your pardon;
but--won't you tell me about the note now?"

A great pity for the young man filled Seymour's heart in spite of his
own sorrow. "I loved her too," he said quietly. "The note was sent to
me from Gwynn's Island, where they were confined. I had offered myself
to her the night of the raid,--just before it, in fact,--and she
accepted me. The note was mine. Where is it?"

"Oh!" said Talbot, softly, lifting his hand to his throat, "and I loved
her too, and she is yours. Forgive me, Seymour, you won her honorably.
I was too confident,--a fool. The note is gone into the sea. We
cannot quarrel about it now."

"There can be no quarrel between us now, Talbot. She is mine no more
than she is yours. She--she--" He paused, choking. "She--"

"Oh, what is it? Speak, man," cried Talbot, in sudden fear which he
could not explain. Philip Wilton had drawn near and was listening
eagerly.

"That ship there--the Radnor, you know--is lost, and all on board of
her must have perished long since."

"Yes, yes, it's awful; but what of that? what of Katharine?"

"Don't you remember the note? Colonel Wilton and she were on the
Radnor."

The strain of the last hour had undermined the nervous strength of the
young soldier. He looked at Seymour, half dazed.

"It can't be," he murmured. "Why did you do it? How could you?" The
world turned black before him. He reeled as if from a blow, and would
have fallen if Seymour had not caught him. Philip strained his gaze
out over the dark water.

"Oh, my father, my father!" he cried. "Mr. Seymour, is there no hope,
no chance?"

"None whatever, my boy; they are gone."

"Oh, Katharine, Katharine! Why did you do it, Seymour?" said Talbot,
again.

Seymour turned away in silence. He could not reply; now that it was
done, he had no reason.

The dim light from the binnacle lantern fell on the face of Bentley;
tears were standing in the old man's eyes as he looked at them, and he
said slowly, as if in response to Talbot's question,--

"For love of country, gentlemen."

And this, again, is war upon the sea!

BOOK III

THE LION AT BAY

CHAPTER XIX

_The Port of Philadelphia_

The day before Christmas, the warden of the port of Philadelphia,
standing glass in hand on one of the wharves, noticed a strange vessel
slowly coming