was sent off as a prize
to Havre, and here I have been ever since,' said Bill, 'a prisoner at
large, allowed to pick up a living as I can amongst the shipping.'"

"And the remainder of the crew?" inquired Fritz.

"Are all here prisoners of war."

"And the Rev. Mr. Wolston and the captain?"

"Are prisoners on parole."

"Where?"

"Here."

"What! in Havre?"

"Yes, close at hand, in the Hotel d'Espagne."

"And we sitting here," cried Jack, snatching up his hat and rushing
down stairs four steps at a time.

Willis and Fritz followed as fast as they could.

When they all three reached the bottom of the stairs.

"If Captain Littlestone is here, Willis," said Jack, "he could not
have been on board the _Boudeuse_."

"That is true, Master Jack."

"In that case, Great Rono, you must have been dreaming in the
corvette as well as in the Yankee."

"No," insisted Willis, "it was no dream, I am certain of that."

"Explain the riddle, then."

"I cannot do that just at present, but it may be cleared up by-and-by,
like all the mysteries and miracles that surround us."

FOOTNOTES:

[I] This circumstance is historical, and will be found at length in
the Memoirs of Napoleon, by Amedee Goubard.

CHAPTER XXVII.

CAPTAIN LITTLESTONE IS FOUND, AND THE REV. MR. WOLSTON IS SEEN FOR THE
FIRST TIME.

Jack, on arriving at the hotel, ascertained the number of the room in
which Captain Littlestone was located. In his hurry to see his old
friend, the young man did not stop to knock at the door, but entered
without ceremony, with Fritz and Willis at his heels. They found
themselves in the presence of two gentlemen, one of whom sat with his
face buried in his hands, the other was reading what appeared to be a
small bible.

The latter was a young man seemingly of about twenty-four or
twenty-five years of age. He had a mild but noble bearing, and his
aspect denoted habitual meditation. His eyes were remarkably piercing
and expressive; in short, he was one of those men at whom we are led
involuntarily to cast a glance of respect, without very well knowing
why; perhaps it might be owing to the gravity of his demeanour,
perhaps to the peculiar decorum of his deportment, or perhaps to the
scrupulous propriety of his dress. He raised his eyes from the book he
held in his hand, and gazed tranquilly at the three figures who had so
abruptly interrupted his reveries.

"May I inquire," said he, "to what we owe this intrusion