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under sail and on the right course. The wind was rising and the sea with it, the
Cormorant
being close-hauled with spray breaking over her forecastle. Guernsey slid to the windward but the features he could recognize were soon lost in the mist as the sloop headed once more for Portsmouth.
    As on the outward voyage Delancey found himself pacing the deck with Lieutenant Saunders.
    â€œWhat will you do now? Will you return to the
Grafton?”
    â€œI am no longer posted to her or to any ship. I was here on temporary duty. All I have now is a letter of recommendation addressed to Admiral Macbride.”
    â€œBut didn’t you know? He is no longer at Portsmouth. I hear that he has gone overseas to a dockyard appointment.”
    â€œIf that is so you behold the picture of a half-pay lieutenant. Where stationed? On the beach.”
    â€œYour luck will turn, I feel sure of it.”
    â€œWith the reputation of one who has refused a challenge?”
    â€œBut that is nonsense. You fought and I was your second. Captain Bastable was a witness to the meeting and you were not challenged again.”
    â€œThere was another officer ready to challenge me and everyone knew it.”
    â€œYou received no challenge, however, and you left the island under orders from your superior officer.”
    â€œAll that is true but will the soldiers believe it? You know as well as I do what the story is going to be.”
    In his cabin that night Delancey asked himself where he had gone wrong. Should he have made more of a fight at La Gravelle? Should he have chosen to meet young Watkins with pistols? Should he have made the coxswain of the
Cormorant
’s gig put him ashore again? Unfair it might be but the stain on his reputation was going to be permanent. But was it altogether unfair? D’Auvergne had ordered him to leave Guernsey at once but that was an act of kindness. He knew that this was what Delancey wanted. God knows he had obeyed orders with a sigh of relief. Who wouldn’t? But the real test was coming and he knew that he would fail it. Having reported back to Macbride—no, to the Port Admiral now—a real hero in his position would take the next packet back to Guernsey. He would then be a half-pay lieutenant no longer under D’Auvergne’s orders. A genuine hero would go back to the Golden Lion, ready to be insulted by Captain Hilliard, ready to fight again on the headland and ready, finally, to die with a great reputation for gallantry. But Delancey knew that he would do nothing of the sort. He would rather live with his courage still in question. He might have to quit the navy but what of that? There were other ways of earning a living. He was still thinking of alternatives when he fell asleep.
    Next morning the
Cormorant
came into Spithead after rounding the Isle of Wight. There was a fleet of merchantmen there awaiting convoy, smart West Indiamen having pride of place but slave ships looking rakish and fast. There were ships of every kind at anchor but the craft that caught his eye was a Post Office cutter, almost a twin of the
Royalist,
his first command—and perhaps his last. She was on her outward passage and came out through the anchorage with the sunlight on her sails and the white foam parted by her stem. Yes, that was just the way the
Royalist
had looked. He would have liked to possess a picture of her, a watercolour perhaps. Given time, he might have made a drawing himself, for he had taught himself how to use a pencil and believed that the skill of recording what he had seen was proper to his calling. There had been no leisure for that and he found himself wishing that the whole
Royalist
episode was still to come. But how could he have acted differently? Still wondering what else he could have done, he said goodbye to his friends on board the
Cormorant
and was rowed ashore soon after the ship had anchored. He took a room at the Star and Garter for the night and left his gear there