And so I had reason once more to bless this stanch friend!

“Out of Holland?” I cried.

“Yes.  One morning as we sat down to breakfast, Mr. Ripley’s clerk brought in a letter for Dorothy.  But I must say first that Mr. Dulany, who is in London, told us that you were with John Paul Jones.  You can have no conception, Richard, of the fear and hatred that name has aroused in England.  Insurance rates have gone up past belief, and the King’s ships are cruising in every direction after the traitor and pirate, as they call him.  We have prayed daily for your safety, and Dorothy—­well, here is the letter she received.  It had been opened by the inspector, and allowed to pass.  And it is to be kept as a curiosity.”  She drew it from the pocket of her apron and began to read.

“The Texel, October 3, 1779

“My dear Miss Dorothy:  I would not be thought to flutter y’r Gentle Bosom with Needless Alarms, nor do I believe I have misjudged y’r Warm & Generous Nature when I write you that One who is held very High in y’r Esteem lies Exceeding Ill at this Place, who might by Tender Nursing regain his Health.  I seize this Opportunity to say, my dear Lady, that I have ever held my too Brief Acquaintance with you in London as one of the Sacred Associations of my Life.  From the Little I saw of you then I feel Sure that this Appeal will not pass in Vain.  I remain y’r most Humble and Devoted Admirer,

“JamesOrchardson.”

“And she knew it was from Commodore Jones?” I asked, in astonishment.

“My dear,” replied Mrs. Manners, with a quiet smile, “we women have a keener instinct than men—­though I believe your commodore has a woman’s intuition.  Yes, Dorothy knew.  And I shall never forget the fright she gave me as she rose from the table and handed me the sheet to read, crying but the one word.  She sent off to Brook Street for Lord Comyn, who came at once, and, in half an hour the dear fellow was set out for Dover.  He waited for nothing, since war with Holland was looked for at any day.  And his Lordship himself will tell you about that rescue.  Within the week he had brought you to us.  Your skull had been trepanned, you had this great hole in your thigh, and your heart was beating but slowly.  By Mr. Fox’s advice we sent for Dr. Barry, who is a skilled surgeon, and a discreet man despite his manner.  And you have been here for better than three weeks, Richard, hanging between life and death.”

“And I owe my life to you and to Dorothy,” I said.

“To Lord Comyn and Dr. Barry, rather,” she replied quickly.  “We have done little but keep the life they saved.  And I thank God it was given me to do it for the son of your mother and father.”

Something of the debt I owed them was forced upon me.