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 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, also with a touch of reserve, for privately he had not much faith in the threatened invasion.
“And you think he may do so, sir, 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 that Government has greater apprehension of invasion now than awhile since. Three more regiments join me next Tuesday.”
“’Tis better to be over-careful than under-careful,” suggested Mr. Bryce.
“And the stronger front we present, the less likely are we to be attacked. But I must away. Sir David Dundas will be arriving soon. My compliments to Mrs. Bryce. She is not, I hope, the worse for this alarm.”