"Thank you, my lord," came the other's voice, deep and rumbling.
"And if you'll give me your word that it's all moonshine," continued Nelson, "why, I'll ask you to shake my hand and forgive me. And that's an end of the dirtiest bit of business I ever had to handle."
The other's voice stuck in his throat. Out it came at last like muffled drums.
"My lord, you're a gentleman."
Nelson came to him with outstretched hand and a wonderful smile.
"Forgive me," he said.
The darkness drifted from the saint's face, leaving behind it evening calm, the stars beginning to shine.
Folding his arms, he bowed deliberately.
Nelson's hand dropped. He stopped short, and his smile died. In a flash the man of action, brisk and curt, had taken the place of the comrade chivalrously admitting a mistake.
"Then I must trouble you to fetch the key of the powder-magazine, and to follow me." He clapped on his cocked hat.