Archy was some little distance ahead of his men, and he had just stepped
into the patch of woodland which surrounded the Hoze, when he heard a
pleasant little voice singing a snatch of a Jacobite song.
He stopped short to listen, it sounded so bird-like and sweet, and
half-laughingly he sang the last line over aloud, thinking the while how
disloyal he was.
Hardly had he finished, when there was a burst of barking, a rush, and a
dog came hurrying toward him, followed by a voice crying--
"Grip, Grip, come here!"
The dog seemed to pay no heed to the call, and at a turn of the track,
Archy saw him coming open-mouthed.
It was not a pleasant sight, and the youth felt disposed to take to his
heels, and run for protection to his men.
But there were drawbacks to such a proceeding.
If he ran it would look cowardly, and he knew for certain that the dog
would come after him, and take him at a disadvantage; so, making a
virtue of necessity, he whipped out his dirk and ran hard at the dog,
who checked his pace, hesitated, stopped, barked more furiously than
ever, and then turned round, and was chased by the midshipman, who drew
up on finding himself face to face with Sir Risdon's daughter, out for
her daily walk.
The girl turned white, and was in the act of turning to run away, when
Archy's words arrested her.
"No, no," he cried, "don't run away."
She stopped, and looked from his face to his dirk, and back.
"Oh, I see," he said, "that alarmed you. There," he continued,
sheathing the little weapon, "I only drew it because your dog looked so
fierce. Does he bite?"
"Sometimes, I'm afraid. But were you coming to see my father? Who are
you?" she added uneasily, as she glanced at the lad's uniform.
"I am Archibald Raystoke, of His Majesty's cutter _White Hawk_."
"And you want to see my father?" cried the girl, beginning to tremble.
"Well, yes, I ought to see him. The fact is, we have landed to search
for a quantity of smuggled things, and to make a capture of the
smugglers if we can."
Celia looked at him wildly, and her face grew more and more white.
"Will you show me the way to the house? The Hoze you call it, do you
not?"
Celia gave a quick, almost imperceptible nod, as she recalled how she
had lain in her clothes, and listened to the busy coming and going of
footsteps, for the greater part of the night.
As all this came to her mind, she felt at first as if she must run to
warn her father. Then a giddy feeling of dread came over her, and she
stood staring blankly at the frank-looking boy before her.
"I know the great vault is full of smuggled things," she said to
herself, "and that they will think my father put them there. What shall
I do?"
"Poor little lassie!" said Archy to himself, as he smiled complacently;
"she has never seen an officer in uniform before, and I frightened her
with my drawn sword."
At that moment, Gurr came up with the men, and Celia seemed as if turned
to stone.
"This young lady lives at the house, Mr Gurr," said Archy aloud, "and
she will show us the way."
Poor Celia felt as if she could neither move nor speak. It seemed
horrible to her that she should have the task of guiding the king's men,
perhaps to arrest her father. But just then she was brought to herself
by the behaviour of the dog, who, on seeing his mistress talking in a
friendly way to the stranger who had chased him, had condescended to be
quiet, but now that a fresh party of the enemy was approaching, set up
his bristles, and began to bark and growl furiously.
"Down, Grip! Quiet!" she cried, and feeling bound to act, she went on,
with the midshipman keeping close up, and putting in an apologetic word
about giving her so much trouble.
Celia could hardly keep down a hysterical cry, as she caught sight of
her father and mother, the latter with her hand upon the former's arm.
They had been taking their customary walk in the neglected garden, and
Sir Risdon was about to lead his pale, careworn lady up the steps, when
the snarling and subdued barking of Grip made him turn his head, and he
stopped short with his lips almost white.
"What is it?" whispered Lady Graeme, as she saw the uniforms and weapons
of the men.
"The end!" said the unhappy man, as he looked wildly at his wife. "The
result of my weakness. They are on the scent of the smuggled goods, and
I am to be called to account for their possession. Better that we had
starved!"
Lady Graeme caught his hand, and pressed it hard.
"Be firm," she whispered; "you will betray yourself."
"Well," he replied bitterly, "why not? Better so than being the slave
of that wretched man. I feel that I am worse than he. I do know
better, he does not."
Recalling that he was in the presence of a gentleman, Archy raised his
hat, advanced and said, apologetically, who and what they were. That
his was a very unpleasant duty, but that as a gentleman, Sir Risdon
would see that the king's officers had no alternative but to carry out
their duty.
"Of course not, sir," said Sir Risdon. "I understand, sir, you wish to
search. Very well, I shall raise no objection. Proceed."
"Shall we close the men all round the house?" said the master, coming up
after halting the men.
"Wait a minute," replied Archy. "Really, I hardly think it is necessary
for us to commit so serious an act of rudeness towards a gentleman.
Perhaps Sir Risdon Graeme will be good enough to assure me."
"No, sir," said the baronet sternly; "I shall make no obstacle. You
have your duty to do; pray proceed."
The midshipman hesitated, and looked from one to the other, seeing Lady
Graeme standing pale, handsome, and statuesque by her husband's side,
while on the other side was Celia, holding her father's hand, and
resting her forehead against his arm.
"I won't do it, I can't," thought Archy. "Why didn't he say out at once
he had no knowledge of the affair, and send us about our business?"
At that moment, he felt his sleeve plucked, and turning angrily round,
he saw the elderly master, who had been standing hat in hand, greatly
impressed by Lady Graeme's dignity.
"We're on the wrong tack, Mr Raystoke, sir," he whispered.
"Think so, Gurr?" said Archy joyfully.
"Oh, yes! These are not the sort o' folk to do that kind o' thing.
Apologise, and I'll give the order to march. It goes through me like a
knife."
Archy drew a long breath, and was about to retire his men, when he heard
something which made him bound forward, for Celia, unable to bear the
horror and alarm any longer had suddenly swooned away.
The midshipman was too late, for Sir Risdon had bent down, raised his
child, and was about to carry her into the house.
He turned fiercely on the young officer.
"Well, sir," he said sternly, "you have your duty to do; pray go on, and
then relieve my wife and child of the presence of your men."
"I beg your pardon, Sir Risdon," said Archy quickly. "No one could
regret this more than I do. You see I am only a young officer, quite a
boy, and was sent on this unpleasant duty."
"Go on, sir, go on!"
"Oh, no!" cried the lad; "I am unwilling to search the place. I'm sure
if our lieutenant knew he would not wish it for a moment."
The baronet gazed at the boy wildly, as he clasped his child to his
breast.
"You--you are not going to search?" he said hesitatingly.
"No, of course not. Pray forgive me. I'll lead my men back to the boat
at once."
He raised his hat to Lady Graeme, an example followed by the master
clumsily, as he backed away to the men, whom he faced round, the order
was given, and they began to march back.
As they disappeared among the trees, Sir Risdon stooped down and kissed
his child's forehead passionately.
"Wife," he said, in a deep, husky voice, "I never felt the misery and
degradation of my position so cruelly before. Take her up to her room."
"What are you going to do, Risdon?" exclaimed the lady.
"Follow that poor lad, and let him know the truth. I will not let him
fail in his duty, to rescue that old scoundrel down below."
"No, no! You must not. It would be too cruel," whispered Lady Graeme
wildly. "Think of the consequences."
"I do," said Sir Risdon sternly. "I should have behaved like what I
have a right to be called--a gentleman."
"And make our fortunes ten times worse. You would be torn from us.
What are poverty and disgrace to that?"
"You are cruel," said Sir Risdon bitterly. "I must, woman; I tell you I
must. If this poor child should ever know into what a pit I have
allowed myself to be led, how can I ever look her in the face again?"
"It would kill her for you to be taken away, to be punished, perhaps,
for that which you could hardly help."
"No, she would soon forget."
"And I should soon forget?" said Lady Graeme reproachfully.
Sir Risdon turned to her wildly, as she laid her head upon his breast.
"If you were taken from us, it would kill me too," she said tenderly;
and then in silence, they bore their insensible child into the
forbidding-looking house.