"Yes," said the little fellow, softly, and there was a choking sound in his fresh young voice as he whispered the words in the wounded sailor's ear: "Yes; Lord Nelson is dead." CHAPTER EIGHT. It was about a fortnight after the _Victory_ had returned to port, that a lady in deep mourning came off in a shore boat asking for the captain, but in his absence having to see the first lieutenant instead. This officer listened to her rather impatiently at first; but after a minute or two he began to take a good deal of interest in the statement she made. "Oh, yes," he said, at last; "we have such a boy on board. He came with one of the men who were pressed; but it was just at a time when everyone's attention was taken up by our sailing. There was some talk of the little fellow having been left an orphan and then being so ill-used that he ran away. Was this so, madam?" "There is, I am sorry to say, a good deal of truth in it, for though well-meaning, my brother was so stern and harsh that the poor little fellow was afraid of him, and took that very foolish step. It was long enough before I was able to trace him, and found the woman who kept the inn from which he was taken." "And now, madam," said the first lieutenant, "I presume that your visit means that you have come to claim the boy?" "Oh, yes," cried the lady, eagerly. "He is my little nephew, my dear dead brother's child." "Exactly; but he is quite happy and settled down with our men, and I don't know that we should be justified in giving him up." "You don't mean," cried the lady, indignantly, "that you would keep him here to become a common sailor?" "I beg your pardon, madam," said the officer, stiffly, "but I was not aware that there was anything common about a sailor." "Oh, I did not mean that," said the lady, flushing. "And what is more, I feel sure that our captain would not allow our little powder monkey--" "Powder monkey!" cried the lady, aghast. "Only a sailor's playful term, madam," said the lieutenant. "I say our captain would not give up our brave little fellow to go back to a life of ill-treatment." "He would come back to no ill-treatment," cried the lady, with the tears brimming in her eyes. "I love my dead brother's son. He would be with me, as his father expressly desired in his will. My other brother would have nothing whatever to do with him. Pray, pray let me see the little fellow, and I can prove to you that he would be happy." "Oh, he is no prisoner, madam," said the lieutenant. "Will you come with me? You will find him doing duty in what we term the sick bay--the infirmary--where are several of our wounded men." The lady uttered a faint sob, and looking more and more troubled, suffered herself to be led to where poor Jack Jeens, looking very white and thin, lay back close to an open port-hole, listening to something Phil was reading from a book.