upposed to be in Australia. Indeed, it may be that
Mr. Turnbull has his suspicion even now that I am harbouring an
accomplice of the men whose trade is smuggling, and who try to get rid
of those who prevent them carrying it on. I beseech you to cut
yourself adrift from that other man, who, I believe, has you under his
influence, and who, I feel sure, is associated with this gang of
lawbreakers."

At this stage, Mrs. Turnbull could not restrain the desire to cough.
She did try to subdue it, but Mrs. Clarkson's companion whispered to
her--

"Whist! I hear some one on the landing."

"Do not fear," said Mrs. Clarkson; "it is only the wind making noises
through the trees."

But her companion knew better, so not another word was spoken.

The next morning Mrs. Clarkson looked worried, but she was quite
affable with her guest, who acted her part without giving the
slightest suspicion of having overheard the little nocturnal
conversation.

Immediately after breakfast, Mrs. Turnbull bade farewell to the
family, and was soon in the thick of domestic matters in her own home.
That night's experience at the Dean Farm settled the destiny of
several families. The information unwittingly gleaned and discreetly
used, led to far-reaching consequences to the district, and to all
those involved.

It was well known that the smugglers had places of concealment other
than the accommodation gratuitously given them by certain farmers. The
secret of the real cave's whereabouts was successfully kept, but one
of those accidents that often come to disturb the current of human
affairs led to an important discovery.

* * * * *

Softly the night wind blew over a glassy sea. The sound of the
rippling water on the reef of rocks and on the sandy beach had a
weird, melancholy effect. Then came the dull noise of muffled oars
commingling with the cawing of the gull and hollow surging of the
waters into the Fairy Rocks. There was neither moon nor stars visible,
but in the bay the experienced eye could discern the mysterious
lugger. There she lay, hove to, or anchored below the Dean House,
which could be seen peeping out between two sandy hills. A dim
light--which, to the uninformed, would have conveyed the impression of
a light in a cottage window, but which was really a signal to the
smugglers that the coast was clear--flickered in a line with the sandy
valley; and, in truth, the quietude of the night betokened all