The surrender of Lord Cornwallis was admitted to be the practical end of the war. The English people, as a mass, rose up and declared that the strife must end. Parliament, it was known, would not vote another shilling for soldiers or ships for America. The Ministers gave up in despair, and even George III., the most obstinate king of which history makes any record, saw that he must yield.

The attitude of the English people and Parliament was known in Paris by the middle of December, and at once ended the projects for the fitting-out of hostile ships for America, and likewise for the exchange of the few American officers in Europe who were on parole. With the end of the long and obstinate conflict in view, they had to exercise a little more patience and wait for the formal preliminaries of peace in order to be unconditionally released.

One of the first letters that Archy received after the great news from America was from his uncle, Colonel Baskerville. It said:

"There is no longer any question of a renewal of hostilities. I have it on authority that the Government is considering an armistice and the appointment of plenipotentiaries of peace, and the only delay in the way is that the Colonies cannot make peace without France, nor can France make peace without Spain and Holland—and Spain means to make one last desperate effort to regain Gibraltar. But I will leave it to your friends, Dr. Franklin and Commodore Jones, whether there is any chance of active employment for you, and if there is not, I beg that you will come to England under a safe-conduct to see your grandfather. You have no relatives in America, and nothing can be arranged concerning your future until peace is declared and the navy of the Colonies is reorganized, or rather established, for they have nothing which can be called a navy at present. I understand that the arming and equipping of such few vessels as the Colonies can get together is now totally abandoned. Meanwhile your grandfather is extremely desirous to see you for a very special purpose. He is an old man, and may not long survive; and if you once cross the ocean, there is but little likelihood of your return during his remnant of life. Therefore, if your friends, who are older and more experienced than you, think that you can come with honor, pray do so. Your safe-conduct will enable you to return at any time to either France or America. You will certainly not be called upon to fight any more, and the emergency of the case justifies me in urging you to come."

Archy showed this letter to Paul Jones and to Dr. Franklin, and, after both had considered it, they advised him to go.

"My impression is, Mr. Baskerville," said Dr. Franklin, "that Lord Bellingham wishes to make some arrangement about his estates; and although you are under age, and have no guardian—and you say that your father united with your grandfather in cutting the entail—yet he may want to make you some amends, and I recommend you to accept the safe-conduct and go."

Paul Jones, with whom Archy had lived for many months, talked with him long and confidentially, and his advice was of the same tenor as Dr. Franklin's.

"Nothing will be easier," he said, "than for me to arrange with the Minister of Marine to notify you if, by any chance, there should be a resumption of hostilities; and meanwhile you will be better off with your own relatives, especially such a man as you represent Colonel Baskerville to be, than alone in Paris, for I may leave for America any day. And you know very well, my dear Archy, that both our purses are low, and are likely to remain so until the Bon Homme Richard's prize-money is paid over, and Heaven knows when that will be. I have great confidence in you, but for a young man to be alone and living by his wits in a city like Paris would test the integrity of the finest young man in the world. True, Dr. Franklin remains; but he is often in straits for money, and you could scarcely expect him, with his vast cares, to take upon himself the charge of confidential friend, adviser, and banker of a young man like yourself. So, I say, go to Bellingham Castle, and if your grandfather will do the handsome thing by you, so much the better. I have not the slightest fear that you can be beguiled from your allegiance to your country by any blandishments Lord Bellingham can offer."

"That I cannot!" cried Archy, with energy; "and I will show him I cannot."

Nevertheless, it was not with gayety of heart that Archy prepared to take his friend's advice. He almost wept when he bade farewell to Paul Jones on the morning that he took the diligence for Calais, and was rather hurt by his old commander's laughing air and gay manner at the moment of parting, until Paul Jones said:

"Perhaps I may see you in England myself. True, I believe there is a standing offer of ten thousand guineas for me, dead or alive; but did not Captain Cunningham, who also had a price upon him, take his vessel into an English port and refit? And I have had a fancy to see England ever since I was honored with so high a price upon my head."

A light broke in upon Archy's mind.

"I see! I see!" he cried. "Very well; all I can say is that if the people molest you there is Admiral Digby, at the Admiralty, who will defend you."

"But the people will not know that I am Paul Jones," significantly replied the Commodore. "I grant you, if I went in my proper character I should see only the inside of Newgate Prison; and as I wish a more extended view, I would do better not to tell my name and adventures. I say this to you: we shall meet again in England."

This started Archy off in high spirits, and he already began to plan concealing Paul Jones at Bellingham Castle. His cheerfulness lasted until he began to think of his "enemies" at Gibraltar. Were they still alive? There was no news from the Rock except that it still held out stubbornly, and that before Spain was forced by her allies to sign a peace she meant to make one last desperate and unprecedented effort to regain that mighty fortress.

However, nothing could damp his happiness at the splendid prospects of his country, and, elated with the idea, he easily persuaded himself that everything concerning everybody he loved would come right. This happy conviction, which was partly justified by circumstances and partly accounted for by youth and health and motion along a fine high-road on a bright morning, inspired him to raise his voice in song; but as he sang very badly, and the guard laughed at him, he concluded to try some other form of amusement.

He had the box-seat, and having a little gold still left in his belt he slyly insinuated a piece into the hand of the coachman, who, in return, passed him over the reins. But a few jolts and bumps, a growl from the postilion, and a sharp volley from the guard, together with a chorus of shrieks from several nervous old ladies inside, caused the coachman to resume his job hurriedly, much to Archy's chagrin. This was but a temporary damper, and he proved a very lively companion all the way to Calais.

They arrived in the afternoon, just at the turn of the tide, and with a favorable wind for the Channel Islands, where Archy meant to go. There was a guardship, he knew, stationed off the island of Jersey, and if he could get to her he knew there was constant communication with Spithead.

As soon as he got to Calais he at once reported to the authorities, who, on the strength of his safe-conduct, directed him where to find a boatman. He soon found one with a tolerably large boat, who agreed to take him for a moderate sum to the British guardship. The boatman was as anxious not to lose the wind as Archy, so in an incredibly short time they were off, and before midnight, by the light of a brilliant moon, they made the island of Jersey. As they sighted the guardship they hoisted for a flag of truce a sheet which Archy had bought at a Calais tavern. They were suffered to come alongside—a small sailboat with two men not being alarming.

Archy handed up his credentials in a small bag tied to an oar, and after they had been sent to the captain for inspection, and returned as being all right, he was asked to come aboard.

In a few minutes he was on the deck of the guardship, and the little boat had tacked for France. The reception he met with from the officer of the deck, and subsequently the captain, was rather chilling. The British people, as a whole, had opposed the war, but there were many persons, especially in the army and navy, who regarded the Americans still as traitors. Archy's first question was well meant, but unfortunate. He eagerly inquired of the captain if there was any news of Gibraltar.

"News of its fall, I presume you mean," was the captain's brusque reply. "No, sir, there is no news of that—and will not be. The enemies of England need not expect those gallant men to yield. Gibraltar will remain ours."

Archy had so long been accustomed to regard Gibraltar as the abode of his friends that he was a little staggered for a moment, but recovering himself, he said, with dignity:

"Sir, I was a prisoner at Gibraltar for nearly a year, and I was so kindly treated by the brave garrison that, although they were the enemies of my country, I could not but consider them as personal friends, and my question was inspired by the most sincere solicitude for them."

Even this did not melt the captain's icy manner, and his next words were an offer to let Archy sail next morning in a tender that was to carry despatches to Spithead. The invitation was given so like an order to kick him off the ship that Archy promptly accepted it—and as promptly declined a rather cool invitation to accept a berth. He returned to the deck, and selecting a sheltered corner under one of the boats, wrapped himself in his cloak, used his portmanteau for a pillow, and in a little while was sleeping the sleep of the just, the young, and the healthy. At daylight he was aboard the tender. It was a mild January morning, and the good breeze of the night before still held. When they came within sight of the splendid British fleet in The Downs, Archy could not repress a sensation of envy. Could but his country have the half of such a fleet!

The journey from Spithead to Yorkshire was not very pleasant. Archy, like most hot-headed young persons, was fond of airing his opinions and proclaiming his beliefs in season and out; and, armed with his safe-conduct, he enjoyed an immunity that he had never known before. He swaggered on his way, announcing with vast pride and belligerence that he was an American; he inquired for news concerning the surrender of Cornwallis wherever he judged it would be most annoying; he entertained sulky English travellers with accounts of the fight between the Serapis and the Bon Homme Richard whenever he had the chance; and when he did all this without getting a broken head he rashly concluded that it was due to his own superior wisdom; and, in short, conducted himself in such a manner that in after-life he often bitterly regretted that he had not been well thrashed for his behavior. Being naturally good-tempered, he was much surprised when people took offence at remarks that amused him but were exasperating to others, and he always assumed the air of a much injured person when called to account for his impertinence.

He travelled over the same road from London to Bellingham Castle that he had taken more than two years before, and he really began to look forward with pleasure to seeing his grandfather again—so strong is the tie of blood when once acknowledged. Colonel Baskerville he thought of with the greatest affection; and when, at the same hour of the evening that he had first arrived at the village, the coach rolled in and he saw his uncle waiting for him at the door of the inn and posting-house, Archy's heart beat with joy, and, jumping down, he seized the staid Colonel in an embrace that very much surprised and startled him. And his very first remark, after asking affectionately of his uncle's health, was to proclaim, with an air of triumph:

"And, nunky, what do you say to General George Washington now?"

"I say that he is a very remarkable man," good-naturedly replied Colonel Baskerville; "but from your tone and manner of confidence and arrogance I imagine that you yourself contributed largely towards the result of Lord Cornwallis's surrender"—which almost brought a blush to Archy's sunburned cheek.

Lord Bellingham had sent the coach to meet Archy, much to his amusement, as well as Colonel Baskerville's, and as they were bumping along the road through the park the Colonel said, smiling:

"Grandsons are all the rage now. Lord Bellingham has actually condescended to admit that he had a grandson in the continental navy, but he continues to speak of your commission as if your holding it were a mere boyish escapade."

"He does, does he? Poor grandfather! He will know better before he is much older."

"I will say to you, frankly, that Lord Bellingham mortally hates the idea of the title lapsing; and if you will agree to accept it, and to cease to be an American, no doubt your grandfather will make you his heir. But if you stick to your country, as you call it, I am equally sure that Trevor Langton will be the heir—that is, if he is alive, for the latest reports from Gibraltar show that although the loss of life from the bombardment is small, there is an epidemic of fever and scurvy, and, naturally, we are all anxious about Trevor Langton. It is piteous to see his poor mother."

Archy remained silent, distressed by what he had just heard, and Colonel Baskerville continued:

"Langton's mother, my niece, is now staying at Bellingham—the first time her father has recognized her since her marriage. Her two daughters are with her—Mary and Isabel—fine, handsome girls they are."

"If they are anything like Trevor they must be everything they ought to be, for he is the finest fellow: so brave, so gentle, so quiet—so unlike me."

Colonel Baskerville smiled again at this, while Archy went on to explain that he and Langton knew the status of affairs perfectly well. "When we were in the hut at Gibraltar we often talked it over, but it never made the least difference between us. I am an American, and shall remain so, and Trevor will get the money; but I'll never want for it while he lives, and you know I have enough to keep me in clothes and food, candles and fuel, anyhow."

Presently they rattled up to the great pile of Bellingham Castle. But how different was Archy's reception from his first visit! Lord Bellingham had developed a whim, or possibly something better, of liberality and large-heartedness, and it had impelled him to open his house, send for his daughter and her children, and receive Archy in a manner calculated to please a much older and better-balanced person. Lord Bellingham, with all his faults and freaks, was not without feeling. Archy's spirit, intelligence, and strong personal resemblance to Lord Bellingham in his youth had softened the old man's heart. He felt a natural desire that the title should remain in his family, which could only be done by Archy's accepting it. At first he had regarded his grandson's unwillingness to give up his citizenship in his own country as a mere boyish impulse; but he had become convinced that it would take all his powers of persuasion, and all that could dazzle a young and impressionable mind, to induce the boy to become a subject of a king who was so well hated by Americans. Nothing, however, was to be lacking in the way of subtle flattery, and for that reason Archy's reception was imposing. The great hall doors were flung wide open as soon as the coach drew up; an army of servants in livery were drawn up on each side of the entrance, the men on one side, the maids on the other, and Lord Bellingham, elegantly dressed, as usual, and looking like a prince—and, what was more, like a prince in a good-humor—greeted Archy with stately cordiality.

"My grandson! Welcome to Bellingham."

A man quite as fastidious as Lord Bellingham might have felt pride and pleasure in the beautiful young man before him. Archy's figure had filled out, his handsome features had not lost their natural, joyous expression; but instead of his boyish confidence he had gained a manly self-possession, and the likeness to his grandfather in every respect had become simply astounding. In Archy Lord Bellingham saw himself in the brightness and the glory of his youth, and it did not make his heart less tender towards this handsome grandson.

Archy greeted him affectionately, and then came forward Mrs. Langton, who was just what Archy thought Trevor Langton's mother should be, and who met him and kissed him with all the affection of a mother. Mary and Isabel were two tall, handsome young girls, the most self-possessed creatures that Archy had ever seen, who, instead of dropping their eyes and curtseys at the same time, looked him full in the face with laughing glances, and were not nearly so ready to take him on trust as their gentle mother.

Archy's first eager words on greeting her were: "Have you heard anything of Langton?" Mrs. Langton's eyes filled with tears.

"Not one word direct for nearly two years. I know from your letters to my father and uncle much that happened at Gibraltar while you were with him, but the last word I had from my son was when Admiral Rodney's fleet left Gibraltar in the March of '80."

Archy's heart went out to his aunt, as it had done to Mrs. Curtis, and always did when sweet and motherly women were kind to him. But his heart did not go out to his cousins, Mary and Isabel. They looked at him loftily; they seemed disposed to treat him as a bandit and an insurgent, and evidently regarded his connection with their brother as his only title to consideration; in short, they were a good deal like Archy himself, and for that reason they did not affiliate very promptly.

As Archy looked around him after the first greeting, he could scarcely believe it the same place that he had known two years before. Instead of a simple dinner served in the little dining-parlor for Colonel Baskerville and himself, the great dining-hall was thrown open, and a splendid dinner was served to the family party of six—Lord Bellingham leading his daughter out on his arm, with his antique courtesy. The younger, prettier, and saucier of his cousins, Isabel Langton, fell to Archy's share.

"Dear me," remarked Isabel, looking critically at Archy when they were seated at the table, "I had no idea you were so old."

"Nineteen is not old, my dear," responded Archy, in a tone as if he were addressing Dolly Curtis, who was ten.

"Isabel!" said her mother, in a warning voice.

"Let them alone, ma'am," remarked Lord Bellingham. "I think my grandson can take care of himself."

Mary, seated on Archy's other side, now came to her sister's rescue, while Colonel Baskerville, with a grin, prepared to enjoy seeing the young ones having it out, hammer and tongs.

"My sister is not accustomed to such familiarity as 'my dear' from strangers, even if you are a cousin," she severely remarked.

"Mary!" was Mrs. Langton's next protest.

"Isn't she?" said Archy. "I beg a thousand pardons. The last little girl I had much to do with was a darling of ten years old—Dolly Curtis—and I used to ride her on my shoulder and steal apples for her from the stores; and I thought, perhaps, you and your sister—but never mind."

Isabel and Mary took refuge in silent indignation, exchanging wrathful glances; Mrs. Langton looked distressed, Colonel Baskerville highly amused, and Lord Bellingham's handsome old face was quite impassive. Archy, as if to show that Isabel and Mary were quite too childish to have any claim upon the attention of a young man of nineteen, then turned to his grandfather and said, airily:

"By-the-way, sir, the conduct of Captain Curtis at Gibraltar is second only to that of General Eliot, and we Americans congratulate ourselves that these two officers were not in Virginia with Lord Cornwallis. It might have delayed the surrender considerably."

An electric shock ran round the table at that. The old butler quietly removed a decanter that was handy at Lord Bellingham's elbow, and Mrs. Langton looked ready to faint. But, to everybody's amazement, after a moment's pause, Lord Bellingham suddenly smiled; his laugh was quite silent in contrast to the happy ripple that had been his throughout youth, and which he had lost during a long course of selfishness and bad temper.

Then Colonel Baskerville shouted, and Mrs. Langton smiled, and Archy, with a fine assumption of addressing two very small children, remarked to Mary and Isabel:

"Haven't you heard the news, my dears? Lord Cornwallis, on the 19th day of last October, surrendered his whole force to General George Washington. Didn't know it, eh? It's a shame that you are kept so cooped up in the nursery that you never know what is going on in the world"; and then even the two girls laughed while they scowled.

The dinner was very jolly after that. The girls continued to snap at Archy, and he gave it them back in his best style; but it was good-natured snapping, and it so amused Lord Bellingham and Colonel Baskerville that Mrs. Langton not only permitted the girls to defend themselves, but she even smiled faintly at the scrimmage. Nevertheless, when Archy and Colonel Baskerville were parting for the night, Archy said, in a grave manner:

"I can hardly believe, uncle, that those pert misses are Langton's sisters. They need to be sent to a good stiff boarding-school to bring them down a peg or two."

"They are as much like you as girls can be like a boy," was the Colonel's cool rejoinder, "and that is why you do not fancy them."