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'Time hangs on your hands,' Sir Andrew rallied him, 'and it's plain the Governor and his Council don't overwork you.'

'They may be doing so before long, Sir Andrew. And, faith, the sooner, the better.' He paused to receive the punch, which old Remus proffered on a salver, and gracefully to thank Miss Carey for her part in its preparation.

'Confusion to all rebels,' he said lightly as he raised the glass to his lips.

'Amen to that! Amen!' boomed solemnly the voice of Sir Andrew, whilst Myrtle looked on with a face that was white and drawn.

They sat down, the Captain and his host facing each other across the dark, glossy board on which glass and silver seemed to float, reflected as in a pool, Myrtle on a window-seat, perhaps instinctively placing her back to the light that her troubled countenance might escape notice.

Sir Andrew filled himself a long pipe from a silver box, and Remus attended him with a lighted taper.

'No use to offer you a pipe, I know,' the Baronet mumbled, the stem between his teeth. And the fastidious Mandeville, who loathed the stench of tobacco smoke, smilingly agreed.