Captain Wallace was not on board when Mr. Hammond reached the deck. The captain was taking a holiday by walking through the town, and probably solacing himself with a pipe and a bottle of brandy at some favorite resort where the old mariner was well known. So Dick had to wait an hour or two for his return. When Wallace came back Dick soon discovered that he was well posted up in regard to the event, which was then the one topic of conversation at every coffee room in the town. “And so you were too late to stop the duel, sir?” were almost the first words the master of the yacht spoke to Dick. “Yes; but the affair did not terminate so fatally as might have been apprehended.” “No, so I hear—so I hear! And the wounded gentleman was your kinsman, sir?” “Yes.” “Shall you take him over to England?” “Oh, no. He cannot be moved at present. My uncle will remain here to look after him; but I return at once, or as soon as the tide will serve.” “That will be about nine o’clock.” “Can you be ready to make sail by that time?” “Yes, sir; the yacht is yours for the time it is hired.” “Then we will sail at nine. I will be here punctually at that hour.” “All right, sir.” Dick Hammond returned to the hotel, where he arrived about one o’clock. He spent the day and dined with his uncle and his friend. At half-past eight o’clock he paid his last visit to the bedside of his cousin, in whom, as yet, there appeared but little change. And then he took leave of all and went down to the yacht; and at a few minutes after nine the “Flying Foam” made sail for England. CHAPTER XXVII. A SHOCK. What is life? ’Tis like the ocean, In its placid hours of rest,— Sleeping calmly, no emotion Rising on its tranquil breast. But, too soon, the heavenly sky Is obscured by Nature’s hand; And the whirlwind, passing by, Leaves a wreck upon the strand.—ANONYMOUS. “A black cloud, that! rising over yonder—we shall have dirty weather to-night,” said the master of the “Flying Foam,” coming to the side of Dick Hammond, as the latter stood leaning over the bulwarks of the yacht and looking out upon the receding town and shores of St. Aubins. Dick raised his eyes to a long black line just visible above the heights of Noirmont, and then said: “Yes; I think it looks threatening; but the ‘Flying Foam’ is a sea-worthy little craft, I suppose?” “Bless you, yes, sir! I’ve seen her ride safely over seas that would have swamped a ship of the line,” answered the master, as he went forward to make ready for the expected “dirty weather.” And dirty weather it was, though not so “dirty” as to endanger the safety of the yacht.