“Jack and Mr. Pierce indeed! Why, of course ’tis the French. Cannot you understand, child? Will you awake? We’ve not a moment to lose. I’ve always said ’twas nonsense, and they’d never truly come. But they’re off; they’re on their way. And the wind is favourable, and ’tis all up with us.” Mrs. Bryce frantically wrung her hands, standing beside the curtained bed, in her flowered dressing-gown, her hair too hanging loose, though not descending so low as Polly’s abundant mane, while her face was yellow-white with terror. “And what we’re to do nobody knows. Two French fleets of transports, and a whole French army aboard! And bonfires alight, and folks all astir, and there will be fighting, and people will be killed. And Mr. Bryce will sure be in the front of everything, and he will get shot, and I shall be left a widow, Polly.” Mrs. Bryce collapsed on the foot of the bed. “And we might have been safe away out of it, if I hadn’t made such a prodigious fool of myself, never thinking for a moment that old Nap meant a word of it all. I protest, ’tis enough to drive one distracted. I’ll never in my life go to the sea-coast again, not for no sort of consideration. And they say old Nap’ll be here in a few hours, and there’s no way of getting off--not a horse to be had for love or money! If I’d had a notion of it, I’d never have stopped here.” By this time Polly had grasped the situation, and her drowsiness was gone. She sprang out of bed upon her little white toes, and made a movement akin to dancing, as she flung a pink wrapper round her shoulders. This _was_ being in luck, she would have said, if she had spoken out her first thought. To find herself in the very thick of it all--as safe as if a hundred miles away, with Moore and his soldiers to protect her, yet able to see everything--it was delightful. Polly was a high-spirited girl, not easily alarmed, and fear found no corner in her mind this morning. She was simply eager and excited, whereas Mrs. Bryce, who, from sheer perversity had refused to believe in even the possibility of an invasion, and who from sheer lack of imagination had failed to realise beforehand what such an invasion might mean if it ever came, was overwhelmed with terror. “Has Jack been?” asked Polly. “Jack! No! How should Jack be spared? He is wanted, of course. They’ll all be wanted,” moaned Mrs. Bryce. “And they’ll all be killed. And we shall be taken prisoners, and be carried away to France, and put into dungeons, and never see England again.” “I shouldn’t mind going to France, if they would let me be where somebody is!” murmured Polly. “But they won’t--they won’t. Napoleon has no such easy task before him. They’ll never get past our soldiers. Why, think--General Moore is here!” “Nay, but he’s not; that’s the worst. He away at Dungeness Point. And the French may land before ever he can get back. Everything is gone wrong. Alack! Oh, dear!” “Where is Mr. Bryce?”