"But he can't intend to close with them," I replied. "He has not the
courage."

"God knows what he intends," said the commodore, bitterly. "It is no
good, at all events."

My heart bled for him. Some minutes passed that he did not speak, making
shift to raise his glass now and again, and I knew that he was gripped by
a strong emotion. "'Twas so he ever behaved when the stress was
greatest. Presently he lays down the glass on the signal-chest, fumbles
in his coat, and brings out the little gold brooch I had not set eyes on
since Dolly and he and I had stood together on the Betsy's deck.

"When you see her, Richard, tell her that I have kept it as sacred as her
memory," he said thickly. "She will recall what I spoke of you when she
gave it me. You have been leal and true to me indeed, and many a black
hour have you tided me over since this war' began. Do you know how she
may be directed to?" he concluded, with abruptness.

I glanced at him, surprised at the question. He was staring at the
English shore.

"Mr. Ripley, of Lincoln's Inn, used to be Mr. Manners's lawyer," I
answered.

He took out a little note-book and wrote that down carefully. "And now,"
he continued, "God keep you, my friend. We must win, for we fight with a
rope around our necks."