to
mention my former rank, Mr. Playdon."

Had another of the _Orient's_ 12-pounder shells suddenly burst in
the midst of the group of officers, it would have created less dismay
than this unexpected avowal. Court-martialed! Cashiered! None but a
service man can grasp the awful significance of those words to the
commissioned ranks of the army and navy.

Anstruther well knew what he was doing. Somehow, he found nothing hard
in the performance of these penances now. Of course, the ugly truth
must be revealed the moment Lord Ventnor heard his name. It was not
fair to the good fellows crowding around him, and offering every
attention that the frank hospitality of the British sailor could
suggest, to permit them to adopt the tone of friendly equality which
rigid discipline, if nothing else, would not allow them to maintain.

The first lieutenant, by reason of his rank, was compelled to say
something--

"That is a devilish bad job, Mr. Anstruther," he blurted out.

"Well, you know, I had to tell you."

He smiled unaffectedly at the wondering circle. He, too, was an
officer, and appreciated their sentiments. They were unfeignedly sorry
for him, a man so brave and modest, such a splendid type of the soldier
and gentleman, yet, by their common law, an outcast. Nor could they
wholly understand his demeanor. There was a noble dignity in his
candor, a conscious innocence that disdained to shield itself under a
partial truth. He spoke, not as a wrong-doer, but as one who addresses
those who have been and will be once more his peers.

The first lieutenant again phrased the thoughts of his juniors--

"I, and every other man in the ship, cannot help but sympathize with
you. But whatever may be your record--if you were an escaped convict,
Mr. Anstruther--no one could withhold from you the praise deserved for
your magnificent stand against overwhelming odds. Our duty is plain. We
will bring you to Singapore, where the others will no doubt wish to go
immediately. I will tell the Captain what you have been good enough to
acquaint us with. Meanwhile we will give you every assistance,
and--er--attention in our power."

A murmur of approbation ran through the little circle. Robert's face
paled somewhat. What first-rate chaps they were, to be sure!

"I can only thank you," he said unsteadily. "Your kindness is more
trying than adversity."

A rustle of silk, the intrusion into the intent knot of men of a young
lady in a Paris gown,