“And meanwhile,” he complained to his Admiral, “I am detained here by the absence of this fool of a Deputy-Governor.”

“So?” said van der Kuylen.  “But vhy should dad dedam you?”

“That I may break the dog as he deserves, and appoint his successor in some man gifted with a sense of where his duty lies, and with the ability to perform it.”

“Aha!  But id is not necessary you remain for dat.  And he vill require no insdrucshons, dis one.  He vill know how to make Port Royal safe, bedder nor you or me.”

“You mean Blood?”

“Of gourse.  Could any man be bedder?  You haf seen vhad he can do.”

“You think so, too, eh?  Egad!  I had thought of it; and, rip me, why not?  He’s a better man than Morgan, and Morgan was made Governor.”

Blood was sent for.  He came, spruce and debonair once more, having exploited the resources of Port Royal so to render himself.  He was a trifle dazzled by the honour proposed to him, when Lord Willoughby made it known.  It was so far beyond anything that he had dreamed, and he was assailed by doubts of his capacity to undertake so onerous a charge.

“Damme!” snapped Willoughby, “Should I offer it unless I were satisfied of your capacity?  If that’s your only objection....”

“It is not, my lord.  I had counted upon going home, so I had.  I am hungry for the green lanes of England.”  He sighed.  “There will be apple-blossoms in the orchards of Somerset.”

“Apple-blossoms!” His lordship’s voice shot up like a rocket, and cracked on the word.  “What the devil...?  Apple-blossoms!” He looked at van der Kuylen.

The Admiral raised his brows and pursed his heavy lips.  His eyes twinkled humourously in his great face.

“So!” he said.  “Fery boedical!”

My lord wheeled fiercely upon Captain Blood.  “You’ve a past score to wipe out, my man!” he admonished him.  “You’ve done something towards it, I confess; and you’ve shown your quality in doing it.  That’s why I offer you the governorship of Jamaica in His Majesty’s name — because I account you the fittest man for the office that I have seen.”

Blood bowed low.  “Your lordship is very good.  But....”

“Tchah!  There’s no ‘but’ to it.  If you want your past forgotten, and your future assured, this is your chance.  And you are not to treat it lightly on account of apple-blossoms or any other damned sentimental nonsense.  Your duty lies here, at least for as long as the war lasts.  When the war’s over, you may get back to Somerset and cider or your native Ireland and its potheen; but until then you’ll make the best of Jamaica and rum.”

Van der Kuylen exploded into laughter.  But from Blood the pleasantry elicited no smile.  He remained solemn to the point of glumness.  His thoughts were on Miss Bishop, who was somewhere here in this very house in which they stood, but whom he had not seen since his arrival.  Had she but shown him some compassion....