"Could wish nothing better than to go, sir. Every man in the Army is wild to be off. But I'm angry, I'll admit. 'Tis a fact that, after serving in Sicily and in Sweden as Chief in command, Sir John Moore is now to be in a subordinate position as third."
"Yet the King and the Duke of York are ever his friends," mused Mr. Bryce. "And Lord Castlereagh esteems him highly."
"So say all. But there's Sir Arthur Wellesley in command of one army, gone to Spain; and Sir John till now in command of another; and both of 'em to be under Sir Hew Dalrymple; and till he gets to Portugal, Sir Harry Burrard is to act for him. Moore—the foremost and most brilliant officer England has ever owned—to be under Burrard and Dalrymple! Has the world gone crazed? But he'll rise to the top—small fear!"
"What says Sir John himself?"
Jack's face broke into a smile.
"Well, sir, it must go no further. Sir John was summoned to the presence of Lord Castlereagh to receive orders. And those who were in waiting in the anteroom heard sounds of a stormy interview. Sir John said after to a friend—so I am told—that he had had it out with the Ministers, and he was glad he had, for he would now think no more about the matter."
"Jack, shall we soon see Roy?" asked Molly.
Jack had little doubt that Roy would look in. Everything was to be done in a terrific hurry; and he had come himself to say good-bye there and then; but Roy would certainly appear before starting for Portugal. A few minutes later he called Polly into the little boudoir, and said: "That's a brave Poll. No tears and no wailings. 'Tis as should be."
"Dear Jack, I know well how glad you are. And I would not hold you back." Polly spoke courageously, though she looked white.
"I knew well that you would bid me God-speed. And you will think of me. Think especially on Sunday—in church. Eh, dear? Polly, no letter from Verdun?"