A week had glided by, and fishing was in full progress below the cliff.
Hezz and his people had enclosed a small shoal of mackerel in their
seine, and at another time Lance would have been in the thick of the
business, revelling in seeing the line of corks drawn in closer and
closer till the shoal was dashing about seeking for a way of escape,
before the tuck net was brought to bear, and the arrowy wave and
ripple-marked fish were ladled out in baskets.
Lance had watched the movements of the cutter anxiously while she stayed
off the point; but one fine day she had glided away west with all sail
set to the light breeze, and the boy breathed more freely.
Then the days passed and nothing seemed to happen, except that when
Lance went along the high cliffs, climbing from place to place till he
settled himself down in some snug rift where he could scan the sea and
note what was going on in the cove below, to see if there was any sign
of smuggling, he found that his cousin came cautiously along no less
than three times, and the boy laughed to himself from his hiding-place.
"He's watching me to see if I go down and join Hezz. How can any one be
such a sneak?"
Lance often mused after this fashion as the days slipped by; but he kept
away from the people down by the cliff, in spite of a wistful look or
two he caught from Hezz, who came up to the house several times to sell
fish.
"No," Lance said firmly, "I haven't told tales; but I won't have
anything to do with smugglers."
One fine afternoon soon after dinner Lance saw his cousin go into the
study and take down a book, rest his head on his hands, and begin to
read.
Lance had followed him to propose that they should go inland and have a
ramble in the woods, but his cousin's action checked him.
"It's of no use," he said; "he wouldn't come."
So the lad went off till he reached one of his favourite look-outs, just
by a rift overgrown with brambles, where, when the tide was up, the
whispering and washing of water could be heard, showing that one of the
many caverns and cracks along the bold coast ran in a great way.
"Wish I knew which of them belonged to this," he had more than once
said; and upon this particular occasion as he seated himself he began
listening to the strange whispering sounds.
"I meant to have tried to find this out," he said, "along with Hezz.
Why, I did say something about it once, and he only laughed and said it
was a land-spring. Well, I can't get the boat now."
Somehow the place had a strange fascination for him that day, and after
looking about a bit he picked up a piece of mossy granite as big as his
head and pitched it among the bramble growth and ferns just where the
whispering washing sound could be faintly heard.
To his surprise there was the fluttering of wings, and a jackdaw flew
out and away.
"Nest there," he muttered; but his thoughts were divided by hearing the
stone he had pitched down strike heavily, sending up a hollow sound; and
directly after it struck again more loudly, and all was still.
He was in the act of rising to examine the spot, but he sank down
directly, ducking his head behind a great tuft of ragwort.
"Well, he is a sneak," he muttered.
He sat close, and Alfred passed about twenty yards below, going on
cautiously away to the right, and passing out of sight.
Lance sighed, rose, and looked away to the west; but there was no sign
of his cousin, so he walked back home.
The night came on soft and calm, and after sitting reading a bit, and
going over some translation ready for the vicar next day, Lance looked
up, to see that he was alone, so putting away his books he strolled out
on to the big sloping lawn to where he could see the sea; but it looked
quite dark and forbidding, and the stars were half hidden by a haze.
Still it was very pleasant out there, and after a time he turned to look
back at the house with its light or two in the windows of the
ground-floor, while everything else looked black, till all at once a
little window high up in the centre gable of the old Elizabethan place
shone out brightly with a keen steady bluish light which lasted while he
could have counted twenty, and then all was blacker than ever.
"Why, it's a firework," said Lance to himself. "It must be Alf."
He had hardly thought this when the light shone out again, burned
brightly for a time, and once more went out, leaving the boy wondering,
till it once again blazed out sharply, and left all blacker than ever.
Lance's mind was just as black and dark, for he could make nothing of
it. Alfred was not likely to be letting off fireworks. What could it
mean?
Coming to the conclusion that his cousin had been amusing himself in
some way or another connected with chemistry, he stood thinking for a
minute and then went in, to find the object of his thoughts sitting by
his aunt's side talking quietly, while the squire seemed engrossed in a
book.
"Well, perhaps you had better," said Mrs. Penwith. "There's nothing like
bed for a bad sick headache."
The boy sighed, said good-night, and went up to his room.
"He had too long a walk to-day," said Mrs. Penwith, "and the sun upset
him. By the way, Lance, your cousin complains about your being given to
avoiding him. Do, pray, put aside all sulkiness and be more brotherly."
"Why, it is Alf, mother, who never will come out with me."
"There, there, say no more about it," said Mrs. Penwith gently. "You
know I wish you to be brotherly, so do try."
Lance felt too much aggrieved to say anything, and sat in moody silence
till it was bed-time, when he said "good-night" and went to his own
room, thinking the while about those lights.
There he lay, thinking and listening for above an hour, during which he
heard the various sounds in the house of the servants shutting up and
going to bed, and soon after his father and mother's room door closed,
and he settled down to go to sleep.
He might as well have settled down to keep awake, for he turned and
twisted, and got out of bed to drink water, and got in again. Then he
turned the pillow and tried that. Next he threw off the quilt because he
was too hot. And so on, and so on, till he sat up to try and face the
question which haunted his brain: What did those lights in the little
upper window mean?
"It's of no use," said the boy at last. "I shall never go to sleep till
I know." He sprang out of bed and dressed himself, and then stood
thinking. Did he dare go up in the dark to that little room in the roof
and see whether he could find out anything?
Yes; and while the exaltation of brain was upon him, he softly opened
his door, went out into the broad passage, and along it to the end where
the little oak staircase led up to the three attic-like places in the
three gables, rooms that were only used for lumber and stores.
The boy's heart beat heavily as he went up in his stockings, and twice
over when a board cracked he was ready to rush back to his room; but
he forced himself into going on, and stood at last at the centre door of
the three, feeling that if he hesitated now he should never do it.
[Illustration: "A signal! came the next moment in answer."]
So pushing the door it yielded, and he nearly darted back, for there was
a peculiar sulphury smell in the dark room.
But Lance had made fireworks in his time, especially blue lights, and
the smell was just the same as that, and he no longer felt scared, for
the thought flashed across his brain that some one had burned some
pieces of blue light there, and if such were the case there would be
something on the window-sill on which they had been burned.
He stepped boldly in, and there, sure enough, he found what he
expected--a little piece of sheet-iron about half the size of a slate.
But what for?
_A signal_! came the next moment in answer; and wildly excited now, he
stepped back across the room, descended the stairs and went to the door
of his cousin's chamber, tried the door softly, found it yield, and
entered.
The bed was empty, and quite cold.