And in the dusk the living knelt beside the dead.
It was high noon.
The Victory's barge lay on Southsea Beach.
A midshipman, with keen long face and anxious eyes, was standing by it, a curly-haired parson at his side.
"Listen here, Kit," the latter was saying, "this is the Times of a week ago:—
"The intelligence which we announced yesterday, respecting the breaking up of the camp at Boulogne, has been confirmed by the crew of a gun-boat, which was captured on its way from that port to Havre."
He laid his hand on the boy's arm.
"Nap's given it up," he said. "And we know why."
"Hark!" cried Kit. "Here comes Nelson."
And come he did, the man for whom they had fought and conquered.