The sun was slowly sinking behind the tree-clad Hampshire Downs. Already the long shadows of Rake Hill lay athwart the misty coombe, and the glimmer of the innumerable forges in the valley beneath began to hold its own against the rapidly fading daylight. The cold east wind, for it was but the beginning of March, in the year of grace 1660, whistled through the clump of gaunt pine trees that marked the summit of the hill, and, despite the fact that each of us wore a thick doublet, the chilly blast cut us like a knife.

WELL shall I ever remember the last day of August in the year of grace 1642. The shadow of war, and civil war to boot, lay heavily over the length and breadth of the kingdom, and the usually peaceful Isle of Wight was no exception to the rule. It was owing to this fact that I, Humphrey Markham, was compelled to remain at school during the holidays instead of spending them, as was my wont, at my father's castle of Ashley, which lies betwixt the borders of Hamptonshire and Sussex, hard by the town of Petersfield.

"WELL, we've seen something of the fun," exclaimed Hugh Frazer, as the last of the 89th Regiment of Infantry filed through the jealously-guarded gateway of the Naval Yard at Naples. "Come on, let's get back to the front, and we may see the transports leave the bay."Hugh

"We've made a proper mess of things this time " ejaculated Ross Trefusis-"or rather I have." "It can't be helped," rejoined his chum, Vernon Haye. "We've done our level best to get her off. How long is it before the tide floats her?" "A matter of seven or eight hours, worse luck. You see, it was only half ebb when we landed." Ross bent down to remove a streak of bluish-grey mud from his ankle.

A thrilling war-time naval novel by Percy F. Westerman.

A thrilling novel by a master of the genre.