be at once recognised if his face
was seen, he crept on under the wall a few yards, and lay flat
listening, as he wished that there was time for him to get down to the
cliff, and signal for help, to capture the smugglers and their store.

An impossibility, he knew, for the cargo might be all gone long before
he could reach the cutter, even if a boat were waiting; beside which, he
felt that he did not want to tell all he had seen, for if he did, what
would follow with respect to those he had spoken with that day?

"Now, my lads, in with you," cried a familiar voice. "Load up carefully
when you get down to the carts, and we shall get all snug before
daylight."

A murmur of acquiescence followed, and they began to tramp very close to
where the midshipman lay, expecting every moment to be seen.

He crouched down as low as he could, not daring to raise even his head,
and wondering whether the bright hilt of his dirk would show, and he
thrust it farther into his breast. Then he wondered whether he could
back softly away; but that was impossible, for the light came from
behind him, through the grated window, while escape forward was
impossible, as he was close to a door through which shadowy forms were
passing in.

There was nothing for it but to lie still, and trust to his not being
seen, when the next minutes were made agreeable by a host of
recollections regarding the treatment received by those who betrayed
smugglers, of the desperate fights there had been, how many had been
killed, and a shudder ran through the lad as he recalled the story of a
man who had played the spy, somewhere about the south coast, being
thrown from a cliff, and literally smashed.

"They'll see me, I know they'll see me," thought Archy; "but I'm a
king's officer, young as I am, and I'll show them that I can fight for
my life like a man."

As this thought struck him, his hand went involuntarily to his side to
get a good grip of and draw his dirk.

The movement betrayed him, for, before he could quite realise that his
dirk was hidden in his breast, he was seized by two great muscular
hands, dragged into a standing position, and he could dimly see a face
peering into his, as a voice, which he recognised as the farmer's,
growled savagely--

"Who's this?"

Before he could struggle or answer, the man went on fiercely--

"Why, you lazy, shuffling, young villain! Sit there and skulk, while
the others do the work, would you? Come on!"

Be