tling of chain, told that another anchor had been dropped, and that
another vessel had found rest in the harbor of Brest. Her side lights
were quickly extinguished, and a white light at her bow as she swung to
the tide, told curious eyes, if there were any, that the stranger was
snug for the night. Four bells tinkled here and tinkled there, nor did
the new-comer omit the resonant salutation to Father Time.

To starboard and to port, great hulls, not many hundred feet away, could
be distinguished by the sharpest eyes, rising blacker than the night.
The Mediterranean squadron of France had but made port the day before,
and were due in Cherbourg on the morrow. The last patient launch had
brought the last gay officer aboard, and peace commanded the formidable
fleet.

Through the port-holes, veiled with silk, a light glimmered from the
unconscious vessel that had just dipped anchor. Colonel Odminton, at
that moment, was parting the curtains from his son's bed, and was
regarding him with conflicting expressions. The lad slept restlessly,
and under his father's eyes began to toss and mutter. Fearing to waken
him, the unhappy man withdrew softly to his own cabin. There he poured
himself out a full glass of brandy and began to pace the floor
furiously.

It was a changed face that looked apprehensively at the door every time
the timbers creaked in the chop of the sea. He was no longer the
elegant, complacent, and successful criminal; he was the bandit at bay.
He was distrustful, suspicious, ready for revenge. If he had only had
Gatling guns aboard, he would have taught the inhabitants of Penzance a
costly lesson for their threats and curses. Now, for the first time he
rebelled against his lineage, and hated Englishmen and England with a
virulent abhorrence.

But France was different. Tolerant blood ran in her veins. Here he felt
secure from insult. The nation that had died in ecstasy under the nod of
Napoleon, could not be otherwise than liberal to him. Colonel Odminton
did not exactly expect a reception by the President of the Republic; but
he did look forward to a respectful and harmless curiosity that would
titillate his pride and remove the memory of his indignities.

His face began to assume a more benevolent expression, and the cowering,
snarling look which comes to those who find themselves detested for good
reasons, and thrust out, gave way to one of hope, such as comes to the
convict when his term of imprisonment is