Nelson was coming out of the powder-magazine. Down the gangway he came pale and uplifted. He was quite calm, and about his face there was the rain-washed look the boy had seen on his mother's as she came out of the room where Uncle Jacko lay dead. "You were right, Mr. Carvell," he said quietly. "Forgive me." "Caryll, my lord," ventured the lad--"Kit Caryll." Nelson's eye leapt. "Kit Caryll!" he cried. "Kit Caryll! Kit Caryll!" He held the boy's hand, and a beautiful smile broke all about his face. "Have I been blind? You're your father over again." He dwelt on the boy's face, flooding it with tenderness. "D'you know," he continued quietly, "d'you know you come to me as a friend risen from the dead?--a friend of my best days, come back to remind me of the years--the happy years--before ... I won the Nile." Kit heard him, amazed. He was not happy, then, this man who had won all the world has to give! He looked _back_ for his best days. They were not now: they were the days before fame had come; fame, the Betrayer, that like a roaring breaker lifts a man heavenwards, and before he can clutch his star, has smashed him on the beach. The boy recalled his first indelible impression--that the hero was a _disappointed_ man. Disappointed of what?--he, young still, crowned with glory, queens at his feet, nations worshipping him. Could it be of happiness? "I have a message for you from another friend of those days, my lord." "Who's that?" "Commander Harding." A darkness chilled the other's face. "Well." The boy gave old Ding-dong's dying message. "I thank you," said Nelson coldly. "Commander Harding always did what he believed to be his duty." Then the tenderness returned, and he put his hand on the boy's shoulder. "Come on deck," he said. II The boy's throat was surging as he followed Nelson on deck. Now he would have died for the man whom twenty minutes before he could have knifed with joy. Up there in the sunlight and wind all was noise and bustle. A little lap-dog officer trotted up in a fuss. "Mr. Dark gone mad, my lord, mad, and jumped overboard. We lowered a boat, but he shot himself, shot himself, before we could get to him." "Call the boat away," said Nelson briefly. "And be so good as to make your course back for Dover." "For Dover, my lord, Dover?" blankly. "And don't let me have to repeat my orders." "Very good indeed, my lord. Very good indeed." He trotted forward, barking fussily. Nelson climbed on to the poop, Kit at his heels, and leaned over the side listlessly. "What's that boat under my starn?" "The boat I came off in, my lord." "Ah, I forgot.... Is that a dead man in the starn-sheets?" "No, my lord. That's Mr. Joy, who commanded us in the cottage. He used to know you, my lord. Joy, Captain in the Black Borderers." A wave of colour swept across the other's white cheek. He flashed his eye on Kit. "Joy!" he cried. "Old Peg-top Timbers! Hi! below there!" He leaned far over. "Joy! Joy of Battle!"