"I have taken to English customs," said the captain, "and Dame Tricot is willing to please my taste, however much she may pity it. She cannot talk much English, but you may talk French to her, and if you make her your confidant I am sure that you will win her affections. There's nothing an old woman likes so much as to be trusted by the young. I believe that if you had committed a highway robbery and confessed it to her she would not betray your confidence. I shall have to go into Lynderton, and perhaps shall not return for some days; but you can remain here, and I'm sure she will take very good care of you." Harry, however, was anxious to see Mabel. If he did not go at once, something might prevent him. He told the captain, therefore, that he wished to visit his friends at Stanmore. "Ah! you'll only find the colonel and Miss Everard there, for the captain has got a ship, and gone away again to sea. My young friend, the Baron de Ruvigny, is, I am told, a constant visitor there, undoubtedly attracted by the _beaux yeux_ of Miss Mabel." Harry felt uncomfortable. He thought that his friend was wrong in his suspicions; at the same time, he did not like to hear them uttered. The captain agreed to take his horse to Lynderton that it might be sent back, while he proceeded on foot towards Stanmore. Harry set forth soon. From a height which he reached he saw the blue sea stretching before him, the rays of the setting sun lighting up the snowy cliffs of the western end of the Isle of Wight, which rose like a lofty buttress out of the glittering ocean. Several vessels were sailing in and out of the narrow passage between the island and the main land. Some with lofty canvas were standing out into mid channel, others were creeping along in shore, lest during darkness an enemy's cruiser might approach and carry them off as prizes. He was about to take a cut across the fields, when he saw below him a figure sitting on a stile. A rich manly voice burst forth with a stave of a ditty-- "British sailors have a knack, Haul away ye ho, boys, Of hauling down a Frenchman's Jack 'Gainst any one you know, boys. "Come three to one, right sure am I If we can't beat them, still we'll try To make old England's colours fly, Haul away, haul away, haul away ye ho, boys." "That fellow has not much care at his heart," thought Harry, rather disposed to avoid the singer. Harry went on. He had, however, to ask him to move on one side to let him pass. "With all the pleasure in my life, my hearty," was the answer. "Why, Master Harry Tryon, on my life!" exclaimed the singer, as Harry jumped over the stile. "Stop, you are not going to cut an old friend, are you?" "I should scarcely have known you, Jacob Tuttle, if you had not spoken to me," said Harry, taking the seat the other had vacated; "you are grown into such a big burly fellow."