gth, one rare morning when the sun poured in,
the jolly doctor dressed my wounds with more despatch than common, and
vouchsafed that I might talk awhile that day.

"Oh!" cries he, putting me as ever to confusion, "but I have a guess
whom my gentleman will be wishing to talk with. But I'll warrant, sir,
you have said a deal more than I have any notion of without opening your
lips."

And he went away, intolerably pleased with his joke.

Alas for the perversity of maiden natures! It was not my dear nurse who
brought my broth that morning, but Mrs. Manners herself. She smiled at
my fallen face, and took a chair at my bedside.

"Now, my dear boy," she said, "you may ask what questions you choose,
and I will tell you very briefly how you have come here."

"I have been thinking, Mrs. Manners," I replied, "that if it were known
that you harboured one of John Paul Jones's officers in London, very
serious trouble might follow for you."

I thought her brow clouded a little.

"No one knows of it, Richard, or is likely to. Dr. Barry, like so many
in England, is a good Whig and friend to America. And you are in a part
of London far removed from Mayfair." She hesitated, and then continued
in a voice that strove to be lighter: "This little house is in Charlotte
Street, Mary-le-Bone, for the war has made all of us suffer some. And
we are more fortunate than many, for we are very comfortable here, and
though I say it, happier than in Arlington Street. And the best of our
friends are still faithful. Mr. Fox, with all his greatness, has never
deserted us, nor my Lord Comyn. Indeed, we owe them much more than I can
tell you of now," she said, and sighed. "They are here every day of the
world to inquire for you, and it was his Lordship brought you out of
Holland."

And so I had reason once more to bless this stanch friend!

"Out of Holland?" I cried.

"Yes. One morning as we sat down to breakfast, Mr. Ripley's clerk
brought in a letter for Dorothy. But I must say first that Mr. Dulany,
who is in London, told us that you were with John Paul Jones. You
can have no conception, Richard, of the fear and hatred that name has
aroused in England. Insurance rates have gone up past belief, and the
King's ships are cruising in every direction after the traitor and
pirate, as they call him. We have prayed daily for your safety, and
Dorothy--well, here is the letter she received. It had been opened
by the inspector, and allowed to pass. And i