"That is well--you shall keep it, monsieur," said the gruff captain; "Sir John Moore was indeed a soldier!" "Am I, then, a prisoner?" said Quentin, with a sigh of intense bitterness, as he looked after the distant ships, now beyond even the range of the guns at San Diego, and bearing away with all their sails set--away for England! "My captain has seen you--it must be so," replied Ribeaupierre, leading him into the city; "but prisoner or not, remember, mon ami, that you are with _me_." The measured tramp of infantry was now heard, and guarded by fixed bayonets, some thirty or forty British prisoners passed with an air of sullen defiance in their faces and bearing. They were men of all regiments, gleaned up on the field or in the suburbs, and they were marched towards the citadel. Quentin gave a convulsive start as he recognised the face of Cosmo among them! He saw Quentin covered with blood--wounded to all appearance severely, and a prisoner too; so he gave him a parting smile full of malignity and hate. Quentin cared not for this, he sprang forward to speak with him; but at that moment the blood burst forth afresh, his senses reeled, and he fainted. On that evening the tricolour was seen hoisted half-mast high on the citadel of Corunna, and the British fleet, though "far away on the billow," could hear the French artillery as they fired a funeral salute over the grave of Sir John Moore, in a spirit that was worthy of France and the best days of France's chivalry! True it is, indeed, that "he whose talents exacted the praises of Soult, of Wellington, and of NAPOLEON, could be no ordinary soldier." But there was one in whose heart a blank remained that no posthumous honours could ever fill up--the heart of his mother, to whom Sir John Moore was ever a tender and affectionate son, and whom he loved with great filial devotion. It was not for some weeks after all this that Quentin learned that the Master of Rohallion had been sent a prisoner of war to Verdun, in the department of the Meuse, where his fierce pride having procured him the enmity of the commandant, he could never effect an exchange; thus he remained on parole five long and miserable years, even until the battle of Toulouse was fought; and, in the meantime, worthy old Jack Middleton recovered from his wound, and was appointed lieutenant-colonel of the 2nd Battalion of the King's Own Borderers. CHAPTER XXII. MADAME DE RIBEAUPIERRE. "Who should it be? Where shouldst thou look for kindness? When we are sick, where can we look for succour? When we are wretched, where can we complain? And when the world looks cold and surly on us, Where can we go to meet a warmer eye With such sure confidence as to a mother?" JOANNA BAILLIE.