“Polly!” No answer. “Polly—are you awake?”
A pause, and then—
“You must go to sleep, Molly!”
“You are not crying, Polly?”
Polly’s hand gently pressed hers, but Polly’s face was turned away, and another short break took place before she replied in a tone of strained cheerfulness—
“’Tis far too late. We may not lie and talk now. Go to sleep and dream. No, not one little word more.”
Molly had to obey. Yet she felt sure that soon again she heard the tiny smothered sound which had suggested tears. She lay long, listening. Was Polly thinking of Denham Ivor? Or could it be a question of Captain Peirce?
This side of life went on, and had to go on, even in such a period of stormy unrest, of perpetual warfare between nations. Men and maidens love and mate, work has to be done, hopes rise and sink, even the lesser amusements and gaieties and the small daily occupations of existence do not cease, though the whole world should be at loggerheads.
The deadly duel between Napoleon and Britain continued; and while Great Britain was supreme upon the ocean, Napoleon was all but irresistible upon land. Of all the nations, England still alone withstood him; and at this date she fearlessly faced a Europe in arms. For the Continent as a whole had crouched beneath the heel of the tyrant and was tamely ranged on his side.
In the year 1807 Britain had not one ally. Sweden, the last remaining, had been compelled by Russia to break away. One brother of Napoleon’s was king of Holland; another brother was king of Westphalia; a third brother was king of Naples; while lesser European kingdoms and the congeries of little German states had well-nigh disappeared into the vortex, and French soldiers swaggered about the streets of Berlin.