“I never heard a word against him, sir,” James said earnestly.  “His uncle, Mr. Linthorne, has large estates near Sidmouth, and has been the kindest friend to me and mine.  At one time, it was thought that Horton would be his heir, but a granddaughter, who had for years been missing, was found; but still Horton will take, I should think, a considerable slice of the property, and it would grieve the squire, terribly, if Horton failed in his career.  I think it’s only a fault of manners, sir, if I may say so, and certainly I myself know nothing whatever against him.”

“I don’t know,” Captain Peters replied thoughtfully.  “Just before I sailed, I happened to meet an old friend, and over our dinner I mentioned the names of my officers.  He told me he knew this Mr. Linthorne well, and that Horton had gone to sea with him for the first time as a midshipman, and that there was certainly something queer about him as a boy, for Linthorne had specially asked him to keep his eye upon him, and had begged him, frankly, to let him know how he conducted himself.  That rather set me against him, you know.”

“I don’t think that was anything,” James urged.  “I do not much like Horton, but I should not like you to have a false impression of him.  It was a mere boyish affair, sir—­in fact, it was connected with that fight with me.  I don’t think he gave a very strictly accurate account of it, and his uncle, who in some matters is very strict, although one of the kindest of men, took the thing up, and sent him away to sea.  Horton was certainly punished severely enough, for that stupid business, without its counting against him afterwards.”

“I like the way you speak up in his defence, Captain Walsham, especially as you frankly say you don’t like him, and henceforth I will dismiss the affair from my mind, but I should say that he has never forgiven it, although you may have done so.”

“That’s natural enough,” James laughed, “because I came best out of it.”

To Richard Horton, the news that James Walsham was about to undertake a desperate enterprise, which, if he succeeded in it, would bring him great honour and credit, was bitter in the extreme, and the admiration expressed by the other officers, at his courage in undertaking it, added to his anger and disgust.  He walked moodily up and down the quarterdeck all the afternoon, to think the matter over, and at each moment his fury increased.  Could he in any way have put a stop to the adventure, he would instantly have done so, but there was no possible way of interfering.

The thought that annoyed him most was of the enthusiasm with which the news of the successful termination of the enterprise would be received at Sidmouth.  Already, as he knew, Aggie regarded James as a hero, and the squire was almost as proud of his mention in despatches as if he had been his own son; but for this he cared but little.  It was Aggie’s good opinion Richard Horton desired to gain.  James Walsham still thought of her as the girl of twelve he had last seen, but Richard Horton knew her as almost a woman, and, although at first he had resolved to marry her as his uncle’s heiress, he now really cared for her for herself.