By the time that Moore got home from Sweden, Sir Arthur Wellesley had already been sent to Portugal, with a force of nine thousand men; and the eleven thousand, who had returned from the fruitless errand to Sweden, were at once ordered to Portsmouth en route for Portugal.
An evening or two later Jack rushed in upon the Bryce circle, in hot haste.
"Jack! Hallo, man—what's up now? Something out of the common, to judge from the looks of you," declared Mr. Bryce, sitting near the window, in flowered waistcoat, velvet tights, and silver-buckled shoes.
"How d'you all do? How d'you do, ma'am? Find yourself well, Polly? All right, Molly? Heard the news?"
"What news?" from all four.
"Sir John Moore is ordered off to Spain. And our regiment is under orders too!"
"Oh!" from Molly. "And if Roy should be taken prisoner!"
"Or if he should not!" suggested Mr. Bryce. "Nay, child, we'll permit no doleful foretellings. What's up, jack? 'Tis no ill news to you to be ordered to the seat of war."
"Ill news, sir! No!" with sufficient energy.
"Yet you look uncommon like to a thunder-cloud. What's wrong?"