“We shall have some game, and a fine game too,” said Renaud Charron to himself, as he ordered more sail to be made. “Milord gives himself such mighty airs! We will take him to the cross-run off the Middle Bank, and offer him a basin through the key-hole. To make sea-sick an Englishman--for, after all, what other is he?--will be a fine piece of revenge for fair France.” Widow Shanks had remarked with tender sorrow--more perhaps because she admired the young man, and was herself a hearty soul, than from any loss of profit in victualling him--that “he was one of they folk as seems to go about their business, and do their jobs, and keep their skins as full as other people, without putting nort inside of them.” She knew one of that kind before, and he was shot by the Coast-guard, and when they postmartyred him, an eel twenty foot long was found inside him, doubled up for all the world like a love-knot. Squire Carne was of too high a family for that; but she would give a week's rent to know what was inside him. There was no little justice in these remarks, as is pretty sure to be the case with all good-natured criticism. The best cook that ever was roasted cannot get out of a pot more than was put in it; and the weight of a cask, as a general rule, diminishes if the tap is turned, without any redress at the bung-hole. Carne ran off his contents too fast, before he had arranged for fresh receipts; and all who have felt what comes of that will be able to feel for him in the result. But a further decrease was in store for him now. As the moon arose, the wind got higher, and chopped round to one point north of west, raising a perkish head-sea, and grinning with white teeth against any flapping of sails. The schooner was put upon the starboard tack as near to the wind as she would lie, bearing so for the French coast more than the English, and making for the Vergoyers, instead of the Varne, as intended. This carried them into wider water, and a long roll from the southwest crossing the pointed squabble of the strong new wind. “General,” cried Charron, now as merry as a grig, and skipping to the door of Carne's close little cabin, about an hour before midnight, “it would afford us pleasure if you would kindly come on deck and give us the benefit of your advice. I fear that you are a little confined down here, and in need of more solid sustenance. My General, arise; there is much briskness upon deck, and the waves are dancing beautifully in the full moon. Two sail are in sight, one upon the weather bow, and the other on the weather quarter. Ah, how superior your sea-words are to ours! If I were born an Englishman, you need not seek far for a successor to Nelson, when he gets shot, as he is sure to be before very long.” “Get out!” muttered Carne, whose troubles were faintly illuminated by a sputtering wick. “Get out, you scoundrel, as you love plain English. Go direct to the devil--only let me die in peace.”