As Betty had never heard of Bouchain before, she very wisely held her peace. But she soon dragged George off up-stairs to the little room which was his whenever he stayed at Mount Vernon, and where Billy had preceded him with the portmanteau. George was full of questions about his mother and everybody at Ferry Farm, and Betty was full of questions about Greenway Court and Lord Fairfax, so they made but little headway in their mutual inquiries. Suddenly, as George glanced out of the window towards the river, he saw a beautiful black frigate lying at anchor. It was near sunset of a clear December evening, and a pale green light was over the river, the land, and the sky. Every mast was clearly outlined, and her spars were exactly and beautifully squared in true man-of-war style. The union jack flying from her peak was distinctly visible in the evening light, and the faint echo of the bugle came softly over the water and died among the wooded hills along the shore.