_"My lord."_

_"What's that boat doing under my quarter?"_

_"A Deal hovel, my lord, asking for brandy."_

Feet came towards the side.

_"First time I ever heard of a hovel stopping a King's ship to ask for brandy."_

_"That's what I told him, my lord,"_ came the firm reply.

"You didn't!" screamed Kit from far below. "You didn't. Heave to! Heave to! or--"

"You'll sink me, I suppose, young gentleman!"

Kit looked up.

A one-eyed little man was twinkling down at him.

II

The boy came over the side.

He was without hat and in his shirt, a pale stripling, gaunt of cheek, and with flaming eyes.

"Liar!" he cried, and transfixed the giant with a finger.

The one-eyed little man, one-armed too, four stars on his breast, turned on the boy in a cold blaze.

"Remember in whose presence you stand!" he said. "I am Lord Nelson."

"He said you weren't on board, sir," cried the boy stubbornly.

"I said nothing of the sort, my lord," replied the giant calmly. "I said I wasn't going to stop the way of your lordship's frigate to let a smuggler's brat liquor up."

"And quite right too," said Nelson. "What is it the boy wants?"

"I understood him to ask for brandy, my lord--for the corpse in the boat."

"What! is there a corpse in the boat?"

"O yes, my lord--a nice little bit of a corpse. But whether the two young gents killed him and are bringing him off to your lordship for a present, as I ave known done in the Caribbees, or whether they dug him up and took him aboard for ballast, only the young gents know."

Those strange eyes dwelt upon the lad sardonically. One thing was plain.

Mr. Dark was amusing himself.

Nelson seemed not to hear him.

"Who are you?" rounding on the boy.

"I'm of the same Service as yourself, my lord," replied Kit, white as ice. "A midshipman. My name is Caryll."

"What ship?"

"The _Tremendous_, my lord."

"The _Tremendous_! let's see. What do I know of the _Tremendous_?"

"Gone where we've all got to go some day, my lord--down, down, down,"

said the giant. "Posted missing Tuesday night." He had folded his arms and was leaning up against the side, moody as the devil. "For some it makes a change; for others it don't. I'm one of the last sort. It's all stale to me. I live there--down, down, down." He yawned with creaking jaws.

Nelson stared at him, then turned to the boy.

"And may I ask what you're doing here, Mr. Carvell?"

"He said he had despatches for you, my lord," interrupted the giant languidly. "Don't see em myself."

Kit's swift mind leapt at the fellow's mistake.

Swift as he was, there was one present swifter--the man who in a flashing moment had won the day at St. Vincent.

Nelson swept round on the giant.

_"He said--he had--despatches--for me?_ You just told me he wanted brandy. How d'you account for that?"

The stillness before the storm was never so appalling as that calm. In all the world only the giant's slow eyelids seemed to stir. The boy felt lightning in the air: he felt it in his heart.

Dark remained unmoved. He lolled against the bulwark, legs crossed. It was scarcely respectful to the great seaman who stood before him; but the man seemed a law to himself. His chin dropped, his arms folded, those glimmering eyes of his never lifted from his feet.

"I don't account for it, my lord," came the deep voice. "I can't account for myself--much less for my lies."

Far down in those strange eyes Kit caught a gleam. Was it humour?--was it anguish?--what was it? He did not know. The man baffled him. He was groping in the dark and finding--darkness. He was at war with this man, war to the death; and yet, yet, yet, he felt they had something in common. What was it?--a kindred soul?--who should say?

For a long minute Nelson gazed gravely at the other.

"You're mighty strange, Mr. Dark," he said at last.

The man nodded and nodded.

"I'm mighty dark, Mr. Strange," he said--"mighty dark."

III

Nelson turned to the boy.