Roger Kyffin's Ward

by William Henry Giles Kingston

“Surely we have met before,” said the latter. “Was it not at Toulon?” A deep melancholy came over the foreigner’s countenance.

“It may be, for I was there once,” he answered; “would that I had died there, too; but my life was saved by a brave English officer, who, at the risk of his own, carried me away amid showers of musketry poured down upon us by my countrymen, and amidst exploding ships, and masses of burning ruin which showered down upon our heads. Tell me, sir, are you that officer? for as you know well, my mind was unhinged by the dreadful events of that night, and though I have a dim recollection of his features, if you are he, you will recollect that I had scarcely recovered when he was compelled to send me to the hospital.”

“Yes, indeed,” cried Captain Everard, “I had the satisfaction of saving the life of a French officer in the way you describe. Captain Rochard, I understood, was his name, and although he remained several weeks in my cabin, all that time he was scarcely conscious of what was taking place around him.”

“Yes, yes, I am the very man,” exclaimed the foreign officer, rising from his seat, and taking Captain Everard’s hand in his own. “Let me now express my gratitude to you, which I was at that time unable to do. I have since then lived a chequered and adventurous life, and though I dare not contemplate the past, I feel that there is still pleasure and satisfaction to be found in the present. While a spark of hope remains in the bosom of a man, he cannot desire death.”

The other officers seemed much interested at the meeting between their friend and the English captain. Captain Rochard, they said, had joined them, and one or two had known him formerly when he was in the French marine, and they were convinced that he would do credit to their corps.

Harry Tryon had come to the house twice before in the day to inquire for Lucy; he now returned with the Baron de Ruvigny, who really looked dejected and almost heartbroken at the illness of the young lady. Harry had exchanged a few words with Mabel; they were parting words, so we must not too curiously inquire into what was said. He had been, however, anxious to remain a few days longer, but Lady Tryon insisted on setting off the next day for London. He once more rejoined the Baron at the hall-door. He found him standing with the foreign officers, whom he had invited to spend the rest of the evening at Lynderton. Harry was of course asked to join the party. Captain Everard was parting from them at the hall-door, and as the light fell on Captain Rochard’s features Harry was sure that he was an old acquaintance. Captain Rochard dropped a little behind his companions as they walked down the avenue, and Harry took this opportunity of addressing him.

“We have met before, Captain Falwasser,” said Harry; “I am sure that I am not mistaken, and you were very kind to me on one occasion when I was a boy.”

“Ah!” answered the Captain, with a start, “that was my name; I will not deny it; that is to say, it was my name for a time, and it may be my name again; but at present I must beg you will know me as Captain Rochard, the friend of your relative—is he not?—Captain Everard.”

“I will be careful to obey your wishes, Captain Rochard,” said Harry; “but Captain Everard is not a relative.”

Harry felt himself blushing as he said this, for he certainly hoped that he might be so some day. Harry felt very curious to know who this Captain Rochard could possibly be. He had known him, apparently, as the commander of a smuggler; now he found him in the character of a military officer. “Perhaps, after all, he may be neither one nor the other,” thought Harry; “there is a peculiarly commanding and dignified air about him.”