“They’ve a few small difficulties to surmount first,” Mr. Bryce remarked drily. “’Tis no case of walking quietly on shore. I’ll be back in good time, my dear, to protect you both, though, indeed, should the French arrive, my place would be in the ranks with others.”
Mr. Bryce had not been in such excellent spirits for many a day. He was a quiet and meek-mannered little man commonly, but the prospect of a fight made him feel quite young again. When next he returned he carried a musket with supreme satisfaction. Few middle-aged men have not some remnants of boyhood in them, and all the boyhood in Mr. Bryce came that day to the surface. He studied his new weapon with glee, talking much to Polly of “firelocks,” fingering daintily the touch-hole, showing her how the spark from the flint would set the gunpowder on fire, and foretelling the certain death of some unfortunate French conscript, forced to fight for Boney against his will.
“Nay, sir, but you need not kill him,” remonstrated Polly. “Only fire at his limbs, pray, and we will nurse him till he is well again.”
“I have writ a letter to your grandmother, Polly,” Mrs. Bryce said, in quavering tones. “Where is the wax? I wish it fastened at once. I protest I’ve scarce strength to lift a penholder. But I’ve informed her we will go to Bath so soon as ever we may. I trust only that we’ll not be made prisoners for life, before ever we’re away from this.”
Somewhat later, no further news having reached them, Mr. Bryce again sallied forth, and this time he consented to take Polly, both of them promising to return to Mrs. Bryce, on the very first intimation that the invading fleet had been sighted. They had not walked far, when a man on horseback drew near at a quick trot.
“’Tis himself!” Polly exclaimed, with enthusiasm. Both she and Mr. Bryce knew well the soldierly figure, with its peerless ease and grace of bearing, and every line of those fine features was familiar to them.
“All will now go well,” murmured Mr. Bryce.
“The General! ’Tis the General, sir.”
They stood still, and Moore, drawing rein sharply, sprang to the ground. He was well bespattered with mud, and he had the look of having ridden hard and fast.
“So,” he said, breaking into a smile which lighted up his whole face, “so, ’tis a false alarm this time!”