When they walked away from the Angel through the pitch dark street Maria clung eagerly to Hornblower’s arm.

“A delightful evening, my dear,” she said. “Lady Barbara seems to be a very genteel person.”

“I’m glad you have enjoyed yourself,” said Hornblower. He knew only too well that Maria after any party to which he accompanied her delighted in discussing the others who had been present. He shrank from the inevitable dissection of Lady Barbara which was bound to come.

“She had breeding,” said Maria, inexorably, “far beyond what I was led to expect by what you told me about her.”

Searching back in his memory Hornblower realised that he had only laid stress on her fine courage and her ability to mix with men without embarrassment. At that time it had pleased Maria to think of an Earl’s daughter as a masculine hoyden; now she was just as pleased to revert to the traditional attitude, admiring her for her breeding, and being gratified at her condescension.

“She is a very charming woman,” he said, cautiously falling in with Maria’s mood.

“She asked me if I were going to accompany you on your approaching voyage, and I explained that with the hopes of the future which we were beginning to cherish it was inadvisable.”

“You told her that?” asked Hornblower sharply. At the last moment he was able to keep the anguish out of his voice.

“She wished me joy,” said Maria, “and asked me to give you her fe-felicitations.”

It irked Hornblower inexpressibly to think of Maria’s discussing her pregnancy with Lady Barbara. He would not allow himself to think why. But the thought of Lady Barbara’s knowledge was one more complexity in the whirl of thoughts in his mind, and there was no chance of straightening anything out in the course of the short walk to their lodgings.

“Oh,” said Maria when they were in their bedroom. “How tight those shoes were!”

She chaffed her feet in the white cotton stockings as she sat in the low chair; from the candle on the dressing table her shadow danced on the opposite wall. The shadow of the bed tester lay in a grim black rectangle on the ceiling.

“Hang up that best coat of yours carefully,” said Maria, beginning to take the pins out of her hair.

“I’m not ready for sleep,” said Hornblower, despairingly.

He felt that no price would be too great to pay at the moment to be able to slip away to the solitude of his ship. But he certainly could not do that; the hour would make such a thing odd and the full dress uniform he wore would make it preposterous.

“Not ready for sleep!” It was so like Maria to repeat his words. “How strange, after this tiring evening! Did you eat too much roast duck?”

“No,” said Hornblower. It was hopeless to try to explain a too rapidly working mind to Maria, hopeless to try to escape. Any attempt to do so would only hurt her feelings, and he knew by experience he could never make himself do that. With a sigh he began to unbuckle his sword.

“You have only to compose yourself in bed and you will sleep,” said Maria, from her own constant experience. “We have few enough nights together left to us now, darling.”

That was so; Admiral Leighton had told them that the Pluto, Caligula and Sutherland were ordered to escort as far as the Tagus an East India convoy which was even then assembling. And that raised once more the cursed question of the shortage of men—how the devil was he to complete his crew in time? Bodmin Assizes might send him a few more criminals. His lieutenants, due to return any day now, might bring in a few volunteers. But he needed fifty more topmen, and topmen could not be picked up in gaols, nor in the market squares.

“It is a hard service,” said Maria, thinking of the approaching separation.

“Better than counters at eightpence a week,” replied Hornblower, forcing himself to speak lightly.

Before their marriage Maria had taught in a school with graduated fees—readers paid fourpence, writers sixpence, and counters eightpence.

“Indeed yes,” said Maria. “I owe much to you, Horatio. Here’s your nightshirt, ready for you. The torment I went through when Miss Wentworth found I had taught Alice Stone the multiplication table although her parents only paid fourpence! And then the ungrateful minx egged that little Hopper boy to let those mice loose in the schoolroom. But I’d suffer it all again, darling, if—if that would keep you near me.”

“Not while duty calls, my dear,” said Hornblower, diving into his nightshirt. “But I’ll be back with a bagful of guineas for prize money before two years are up. Mark my words.”

“Two years!” said Maria pitifully.

Hornblower yawned elaborately, and Maria rose to the bait thus deftly cast, just as Hornblower had been sure she would.

“And you said you were not ready for sleep!” she said.

“It has come upon me now,” said Hornblower. “Perhaps the admiral’s port is beginning to take effect. I can hardly keep my eyes open. I shall say ‘good night’ now, my love.”

He kissed her as she sat before the dressing table, and, turning hastily away, he climbed up into the big bed. There, lying on the farthest edge, keeping rigidly still, he lay until Maria had blown out the candle and climbed up beside him, until her breathing grew quiet and regular. Only then could he relax and change position and give rein to the galloping thoughts coursing through his mind.

He remembered what Bolton had said to him with a wink and a nod when they found themselves together at one time during the evening in a corner where they could not be overheard.

“He means six votes to the Government,” said Bolton, jerking his head towards the Admiral.

Bolton was as stupid as a good seaman could be, but he had been in London recently and attended a levee and had heard the gossip. The poor old King was going mad again, a Regency was imminent, and with the Regency the Tories might go out and the Whigs might come in—the six votes of the Leighton interests were valuable. With the Marquis Wellesley as Foreign Secretary, and Henry Wellesley as Ambassador in Spain, and Sir Arthur Wellesley—what was his new title? Lord Wellington of course—as Commander in Chief in the Peninsula it was not surprising to find Lady Barbara Wellesley married to Sir Percy Leighton, and still less to find the latter given a command in the Mediterranean. The virulence of the Opposition was growing day by day, and the history of the world hung in the balance.

Hornblower shifted restlessly in bed at the thought, but a slight movement by Maria in reply fixed him rigid again. It was only a small party of men—the Wellesleys chief among them—who still had the resolution to continue the struggle against the Corsican’s dominion. The smallest check, on land, at sea, or in Parliament, might pull them from their high positions, bring their heads perilously near the block, and tumble all Europe into ruin.

Some time during the evening Lady Barbara had been pouring tea, and Hornblower had found himself standing alone beside her, waiting for his refilled cup.

“It gave me pleasure,” she had murmured, “when my husband told me you had been given the Sutherland. England needs all her best captains at present.”

She must have meant more than she said then. Probably she was hinting at the necessity for maintaining Leighton in his command. It had been no indication, all the same, that she had exerted herself to obtain the appointment for Hornblower. But it was satisfactory to be able to think that she had married Sir Percy for some other reason than love. Hornblower hated the thought of Lady Barbara being in love with anyone. He began to remember every word she had said to her husband, every look she had given him. Certainly she did not seem in the least like an adoring bride. But the fact remained that she was Leighton’s wife—that she was in bed with him at this very minute. Hornblower writhed in fresh anguish at the thought.