"So," he said, breaking into a smile which lighted up his whole face,—"so 'tis a false alarm this time."
Polly's exclamation contained a note of something like disappointment. Mr. Bryce seemed more gratified than astonished. The General's keen glance went from the one to the other.
"Due to a mistaken signal," he remarked briefly, "which the signal-officer at Folkestone understood to mean what it did not mean. The French transports have not left their stations, either at Calais or at Ostend."
"And you, sir, were at Dungeness Point," observed Mr. Bryce. "You must have ridden the twenty miles thence at a great speed."
"At full gallop, the entire distance. My horse, poor fellow, is I fear the worse. Not this one; I have mounted another. But the alarm is scarce a subject for regret. The spirit displayed on all sides has been of the best."
"Will Napoleon really come, think you, sir?" asked Polly, half shy, half brave.
"If his intention be to come before the winter, he has little time to lose," Moore answered courteously, and also with a touch of reserve; for privately he had not much faith in the threatened invasion.
"And you think he may do so, in very truth?"
"He may doubtless make the attempt—if he choose. The question is rather, what will he gain by it? It would seem, however, that Government is in greater apprehension of invasion now than a while since. Three more regiments join me here next Tuesday."
