But I had scarce finished my chocolate and begun to smoke in a pleasant revery, when I was startled by the arrival of two gentlemen.  One was Comyn, and the other none less than Mr. Charles Fox.

“Now where the devil has your captain flown to?” said my Lord, tossing his whip on the table.

“I believe he must be sight-seeing,” I said.  “I dare swear he has taken a hackney coach to the Tower.”

“To see the liberation of the idol of the people, I’ll lay ten guineas.  But they say the great Mr. Wilkes is to come out quietly, and wishes no demonstration,” said Mr. Fox.  “I believe the beggar has some sense, if the—­Greek—­would only let him have his way.  So your captain is a Wilkite, Mr. Carvel?” he demanded.

“I fear you run very fast to conclusions, Mr. Fox,” I answered, laughing, tho’ I thought his guess was not far from wrong.

“I’ll lay you the ten guineas he has been to the Tower,” said Mr. Fox, promptly.

“Done, sir,” said I.

“Hark ye, Richard,” said Comyn, stretching himself in an arm-chair; “we are come to take the wind out of your sails, and leave you without an excuse for going home.  And we want your captain, alive or dead.  Charles, here, is to give him a commission in his Majesty’s Navy.”

Then I knew why Dorothy had laughed when I had spoken of seeing her again.  Comyn—­bless him!—­had told her of his little scheme.

“Egad, Charles!” cried his Lordship, “to look at his glum face, one might think we were a couple of Jews who had cornered him.”

Alas for the perversity of the heart!  Instead of leaping for joy, as no doubt they had both confidently expected, I was both troubled and perplexed by this unlooked-for news.  Oak, when bent, is even harder to bend back again.  And so it has ever been with me.  I had determined, after a bitter struggle, to go to Maryland, and had now become used to that prospect.  I was anxious to see my grandfather, and to confront Grafton Carvel with his villany.  And there was John Paul.  What would he think?

“What ails you, Richard?” Comyn demanded somewhat testily.

“Nothing, Jack,” I replied.  “I thank you from my heart, and you, Mr. Fox.  I know that commissions are not to be had for the asking, and I rejoice with the captain over his good fortune.  But, gentlemen,” I said soberly, “I had most selfishly hoped that I might be able to do a service to John Paul in return for his charity to me.  You offer him something nearer his deserts, something beyond my power to give him.”

Fox’s eyes kindled.

“You speak like a man, Mr. Carvel,” said he.  “But you are too modest.  Damn it, sir, don’t you see that it is you, and no one else, who has procured this commission?  Had I not been taken with you, sir, I should scarce have promised it to your friend Comyn, through whose interest you obtain it for your protege.”

I remembered what Mr. Fox’s enemies said of him, and smiled at the plausible twist he had given the facts.