“You have, Monsieur,” answered Raoul, courteously, “but not into the hands of enemies.  This is le Feu-Follet, and I am Raoul Yvard.”

“Then all hope for Jane is gone forever!  I have passed a happy day, though a busy one, for I did begin to think there was some chance for me.  A man cannot see Nelson without pulling up, and wishing to be something like him; but a prison is no place for promotion.”

“Let us go into my cabin, Monsieur.  There we can converse more at our ease; and we shall have a light.”

Clinch was in despair; it mattered not to him whither he was taken.  In the cabin he sat the picture of a helpless man, and a bottle of brandy happening to stand on the table, he eyed it with something like the ferocity with which the hungry wolf may be supposed to gaze at the lamb ere he leaps the fold.

“Is this the gentleman you mean, Etooelle?” demanded Raoul, when the cabin-lamp shone on the prisoner’s face; “he who was so much rejoiced to hear that his enemy was not hanged?”

“’Tis the same, Captain Rule; in the main, he is a good-natured officer—­one that does more harm to himself than to any one else.  They said in the ship, that he went up to Naples to do you some good turn or other.”

“Bon!—­you have been long in your boat, Mr. Clinch—­we will give you a warm supper and a glass of wine—­after which, you are at liberty to seek your frigate, and to return to your own flag.”

Clinch stared as if he did not, or could not, believe what he heard—­then the truth flashed on his mind, and he burst into tears.  Throughout that day his feelings had been in extremes, hope once more opening a long vista of happiness for the future, through the renewed confidence and advice of his captain.  Thus far he had done well, and it was by striving to do still better that he had fallen into the hands of the enemy.  For a single moment the beautiful fabric which revived hopes had been industriously weaving throughout the day was torn into tatters.  The kindness of Raoul’s manner, however, his words, and the explanations of Ithuel, removed a mountain from his breast, and he became quite unmanned.  There is none so debased as not to retain glimmerings of the bright spirit that is associated with the grosser particles of their material nature, Clinch had in him the living consciousness that he was capable of better things, and he endured moments of deep anguish—­as the image of the patient, self-devoting, and constant Jane rose before his mind’s eye to reproach him with his weaknesses.

It is true that she never made these reproaches in terms; so far from that, she would not even believe the slanders of those she mistook for his enemies; but Clinch could not always quiet the spirit within him, and he often felt degraded as he remembered with how much more firmness Jane supported the load of hope deferred than he did himself.  The recent interview with Cuffe had aroused all that remained of ambition and self-respect, and he had left the ship that morning with a full and manly determination to reform, and to make one continued and persevering effort to obtain a commission, and with it Jane.  Then followed capture and the moment of deep despair.  But Raoul’s generosity removed the load, and again the prospect brightened.