"Admiral, I was just about to tell Miss Westcote that the time is come to congratulate her.

Here is winter past--except that of two years ago, the hardest known in Axcester; and, thanks to her subscription lists and working parties, our countrymen have never gone so well fed and warmly clad." "Which," growled the Admiral, "does not explain why no less than eight of them have broken their parole.

An incredible, a shameful number!" "As time goes on, Admiral, they grow less patient.

Hope deferred--" _Ta-ra, tara-ra! Ta-ra, tara-ra-ra!_ The notes of the guard's horn broke in upon Dorothea's excuse.

Groups scattered, market carts were hastily backed alongside the pavement, and down the mid-thoroughfare came the mail at a gallop, with crack of whip and rushing chime of bits and swingle-bars.
Dorothea watched the crowd closing round it as it drew up by "The Dogs," and turned to note that the Admiral's face was pale and his eyes sought those of his old friend.
"Better leave it to me to-day, if Miss Westcote will excuse me." General Rochambeau lifted his hat and hurried after the crowd.
Then Dorothea understood.