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'Eight bells, sir. Eight bells.'

The curtains opened an inch to let in a ray of brighter light still, and Maria's grip tightened, but they came together again as Hornblower found his voice.

'Very well. I'm awake.'

'I'll light your candles for you,' piped the voice, and the shuffling step went round the room and the light through the curtains grew brighter.

'Where's the wind? What way's the wind?' asked Hornblower, now so far awake as to feel the quickening of his heartbeat and the tensing of his muscles as he realised what this morning meant to him.

'Now that I can't tell you, sir,' piped the voice. 'I'm not one who can box the compass, and there's no one else awake as yet.'

Hornblower snorted with annoyance at being kept in ignorance of this vital information, and without a thought reached to fling off the bedclothes so as to get up and find out for himself. But there was Maria clasping him, and he knew that he could not leap out of bed in such a cavalier fashion. He had to go through the proper ritual and put up with the delay. He turned and kissed her, and she returned his kisses, eagerly and yet differently from on other occasions. He felt something wet on his cheek; it was a tear, but there was only that one single tear as Maria forced herself to exert self control. His rather perfunctory embrace changed in character.