“Do they suffer from seasickness?” asked Tom.

“Ay, from the nausea of it,” answered Lord Claud; “but the relief that we can gain by sickness is impossible to them, and therefore they must needs die if things be too bad with them.  But if the weather change not—­and there looks no fear of that—­we shall have a swift and prosperous voyage; so now let us to supper, and I will tell you more of what lies before us.”

But as it turned out, there were too many other guests at the table for private talk to be possible; and only when on board the good sloop Marlborough did Tom hear anything of the details of the projected expedition.

It was a clear, promising morning, a light breeze blowing from the west, but the sea still and smooth, only dimpling with the puffs of wind.  Tom stood on board beside the horses, soothing their fears at the strange sights and sounds about them, his own heart beating somewhat high with excitement at the thought of putting to sea for the first time.

The sailors were busy hauling in ropes, singing and shouting.  The vessel gave a little start and shiver, there was a rattle of canvas overhead, and a gentle lurching movement.  Then the shore seemed suddenly to be slipping away; and Tom knew, with a start of surprise and exhilaration, that they were off upon their voyage to unknown lands.

Presently the horses grew calm and quiet, used to their strange surroundings, and willing to nibble at the heap of fragrant hay put down at their feet.  Tom was able to leave them with a clear conscience, and came over to where Lord Claud was standing in the fore part of the vessel, watching the sheets of green water that fell away from the prow as the sloop cut her way through the waves.

“Well, friend Tom, so we are off at last.”

“Yes, my lord; but I have not heard yet whither.”

“No; and, like a wise and prudent fellow, have not desired to know too much.  You are a model of patience, Tom—­an excellent companion to have.  But the time has come when I can safely enlighten you as far as you need be enlightened.  I shall not tell you all I know; for, in truth, you would not understand it.”

“That may very well be,” answered Tom humbly.

“But I will tell you this much, Tom; we are bound upon an errand of peril.  We have some difficult journeyings to make, and there will be certain persons lying in wait for messengers from Marlborough; and we may be sore beset to avoid them.  Tom, do you remember the tall dark man with whom my duel was fought?”

“Sir James?”

“That is the name by which he goes in England.  He passes there as one Sir James Montacute, a man of bravery and wealth.  But there is another side to the picture.  That man, Tom, is a spy, and in the pay of the King of France.  If I had known as much that day as I have since learned from his Grace the Duke, methinks I should not have left him alive upon the field.  Tom, we shall probably have to measure our wits against his in a duel of another sort ere long.”