In just a few short weeks, Horatio's spirits had been restored. It was as if he had returned from the edge of death along with Archie. His mind drifted back to last night. Archie had insisted on getting up. He'd done it too quickly, and nearly fallen. But Horatio had caught him, and held him. And for the first time, his embrace was returned. It had only lasted brief moments – too many men with prying eyes were constantly passing in front of the door – but he had known, then, that Archie would not push him away again. Whatever the future held, it would be theirs together.

Somewhere, a whistle blew. Horatio realized he had been standing there grinning like a fool, while Matthews went on about his work. He brought himself back to the present, looking down into the old sailor's twinkling eyes.

A sudden realization dawned. "You know, don't you, Matthews?" he asked.

Matthews gave a nervous little cough. "Sir?"

"About myself and Mr. Kennedy."

He tied off the rope with an expert knot. "I wouldn't have said anything for the world, sir," he said softly.

"I never doubted it. And the other men?"

"They know what's proper to be talked about, and what isn't. They'll mind their tongues, sir. You have my word on that."

"I appreciate your understanding."

"Well, the way I see it, sir, the good Lord made some of us one way and some of us another. Who'm I to question." He had finished with the rope, and using it as a seat, pulled a piece of wood from his pocket along with a knife, and soon had little shavings flying everywhere.

Horatio knelt beside him, fascinated by the shape emerging slowly from the block. "What is that you're making?" he asked.

"Just a little plaything, sir. A doll. I'm just roughin' it out now, 'twill take a finer knife to make her face right and all."

"Do you have children, then?"

"Indeed I do, sir. Three girls, all the spittin' image of my Bess."

"I don't suppose you see them often."

"Not often enough, sir. I told Bess when I took her to wife she'd regret marryin' a sailor."

Horatio smiled. "I doubt very much that she regrets it, Matthews. You're a good man, and I'm sure you look after your wife and children better than most men who never leave home."

"I do what I can, sir. When I have a coin or two, I buy little things to take to 'em when I get leave. Can't afford much, so I make a few things m'self, like this." He held out the wood block, which was beginning to take on vaguely human form. "It's not much, but Bess can use a few scraps to make a little dress for it."

"I'm sure your little girl will be delighted with the doll," Horatio said. "How old is she?"

Matthews grew pensive, biting his lip. "She's near 18 now, Polly is. But still a little girl in her mind. They call her a half-wit. She's a sweet little thing, never any trouble to anybody."

"I'm sorry -- that is, I -- I'm sure she is."

"Oh, don't apologize, sir. Most folk think it a curse, to be born that way." He turned the doll in his hands, inspecting his work. "You ever known anyone like that, sir?"

Horatio frowned. There were two near his home. There was Mr. Granger's son, who was kept inside and whom only a few people had ever seen. And Tom, who kept pigs on Lord Farnham's estate. Farnham's steward sometimes brought Tom into town with him, but Horatio had always avoided him. Most folk did, because if you greeted him, he would take you by the hand and not want to let go, and the steward would have to pull him away. "Not well, Matthews. But I -- know such things happen."

Matthews shook his head sadly. "The only thing that ever troubles my mind, sir … when Bess and I are gone, who'll look after Polly. I know how the folk in the village feel about ones like her."

"Surely one of her sisters would take her in?"

"Maybe, but it wouldn't be all up to them. If their husbands didn't want the bother … well, I been puttin' a little aside, when I can. But if somethin' should happen to me, sir …," he sighed. "If not for that worry, sir, I wouldn't have a worry in the world."

Horatio pondered a moment. "Matthews, I want you to put this matter out of your mind. I'll see that provisions are made for your daughter."

Matthews gaped. "Sir, I couldn't let you do that. You've precious little enough of your own to spare. No offense, sir, but pay rates is no secret."

"All too true, Matthews. I can barely cover my own expenses. But I know someone who can."

"I couldn't ask it, sir. I couldn't take charity."

"Then call it a gift of friendship. From my -- friend and I. The sum would be nothing to him, and he would gladly do it for me, and I for you."

"But, sir, I -- " Matthews stopped, thinking. "Aye, it would set Bess's mind at ease. It wouldn't take much, sir. Just enough to see her fed and clothed. We're simple folk."

"Consider it done," Horatio said, smiling.

"God bless you, sir." Matthews turned his head away, his voice breaking.

"Enough of that now, Matthews. I am happy to help."

Both men were distracted by the sound of Bowles' voice.

"Ah, there you are, Lieutenant Hornblower! The Captain wants to see you, seems there is a letter for you."

"Thank you, Mr. Bowles. I'll be right along."