Adam was in the passageway, and some one was handing him his hat.

"This way, sir. "A different porter, and the door was shut. As if he had imagined it.

But the words lingered in his memory. had to know, to be certain.

He touched the sword, pressing the weight of it against his hip. He did not see the same two officers turn as he passed them.

The old captain had seen all the faces of command.

The blame and recrimination as well as the huzzas of triumph when an enemy's flag dipped through the smoke of battle. And when pride vanquished the doubt, and the fear.

He could still feel the iron grip on his hand. Then do it! To see her again, to be with her. Walk with me.

It seemed to take an eternity before the chief clerk was satisfied. Questions, answers, papers that needed a signature.

Then it was done. On his way to the entrance hall, he passed the main waiting room again.

All the chairs were stacked at one end, and two men were mopping the floor in readiness for another day. A door opened and slammed, but neither looked up from his work.

The doors of Admiralty were opened, and the air like ice. It was pitch dark on the street outside. But there were carriages, and men's voices passing the time of day. One would take him to Bethune's house.

But all he saw was the officer who had just emerged from the sealed room. The last interview of the day. One of many…

Perhaps after the long wait, he had been offered some hope. How many times? Then suddenly he swung round and stared at Adam's uniform and the gold lace, caught momentarily in the light from the porters "lodge, and then, openly, at his face. Not envy.

It was hate, like a raw wound.

"This way, Captain Bolitho!"

He followed the porter down the steps and into the cold darkness. Like a brutal warning. Something he would never forget.