Jack Keene had, as he intimated, come straight from parade, not waiting to get rid of his uniform; and in that uniform the young ensign looked older than in civilian dress. Also he seemed older in this mood of hot indignation, his light blue eyes sparkling angrily, and his brows frowning. For once, whatever might usually be the case, he had fully the air of a grown man. Boys became men earlier in those days than they do in these, for the tension and stress of life were greater--albeit railways did not exist, and telegrams had not been heard of. "His worst!" Jack repeated, with a note of inquiry. "He'll not go beyond a point. Don't think it. No danger to their lives--none whatever, you understand! Only detention. That's bad enough, but that is all. And yon pretty sister of yours, the fair Polly, why, to be sure, and she is the betrothed of Captain Ivor." Jack nodded. His mind had already made an excursion in that direction. "Ay, ay. But it can't last. 'Tis a freak of Boney's. The whole civilised world will cry out upon him. Not that he greatly troubles his pate with what folks may say of his deeds!" added Admiral Peirce, reflecting that the civilised world had already, for many years, been crying out upon Napoleon, with no particular result, beyond relieving its own feelings. "Still, my dear sir, there are limits to everything. Yes, yes, I will come in with you. Doubtless the ladies will stand in need of consolation." Jack led the way, and they found a forlorn trio within. Mrs. Fairbank knitted fast, with set jaw, and frequent droppings of stitches. Polly, white and dismayed, had an arm round Molly, whom she was trying to comfort, while much needing comfort herself. The news of this latest move of the First Consul had reached them less than an hour before. "Will Roy ever come home again? Will my papa and mamma always be prisoners? Shall I never, never see them any more?" Molly had questioned pitifully, too much bewildered at first even for tears. Two days earlier a letter had arrived from Colonel Baron, with a cheerful report of Roy's improvement; and Molly's happiness was sadly dashed by this new complication. "Oh, they will come back; of course they will come back," Polly assured her again and again. "Napoleon couldn't keep them always, Molly dear. It would be too cruel. We shall have them back by-and-by; perhaps very soon. Ah--here comes somebody; and we shall hear more about what it all means." As Jack's face appeared, a cry broke from Molly. "Jack--oh, it is Jack. Jack will tell us." Jack was speedily down by her side, comforting her. She was small and childish for her twelve years, and he felt himself older unspeakably, besides being exactly like her brother; so she cried quietly, leaning her face against his scarlet coat, while he whispered hopeful foretellings.