ould have walked confidently, where
the crust of earth was not strong enough to bear the weight of a child
over the unfathomed depths of slime and water beneath. The solitary
cottage, built of planks pitched black, stood on ground that had been
steadied and strengthened by resting it on piles. A little wooden tower
rose at one end of the roof, and served as a lookout post in the
fowling season. From this elevation the eye ranged far and wide over a
wilderness of winding water and lonesome marsh. If the reed-cutter
had lost his boat, he would have been as completely isolated from all
communication with town or village as if his place of abode had been a
light-vessel instead of a cottage. Neither he nor his family complained
of their solitude, or looked in any way the rougher or the worse for it.
His wife received the visitors hospitably, in a snug little room, with
a raftered ceiling, and windows which looked like windows in a cabin on
board ship. His wife's father told stories of the famous days when the
smugglers came up from the sea at night, rowing through the net-work of
rivers with muffled oars till they gained the lonely Broads, and sank
their spirit casks in the water, far from the coast-guard's reach. His
wild little children played at hide-and-seek with the visitors; and
the visitors ranged in and out of the cottage, and round and round the
morsel of firm earth on which it stood, surprised and delighted by the
novelty of all they saw. The one person who noticed the advance of
the evening--the one person who thought of the flying time and the
stationary Pentecosts in the boat--was young Pedgift. That experienced
pilot of the Broads looked askance at his watch, and drew Allan aside at
the first opportunity.

"I don't wish to hurry you, Mr. Armadale," said Pedgift Junior; "but the
time is getting on, and there's a lady in the case."

"A lady?" repeated Allan.

"Yes, sir," rejoined young Pedgift. "A lady from London; connected
(if you'll allow me to jog your memory) with a pony-chaise and white
harness."

"Good heavens, the governess!" cried Allan. "Why, we have forgotten all
about her!"

"Don't be alarmed, sir; there's plenty of time, if we only get into
the boat again. This is how it stands, Mr. Armadale. We settled, if
you remember, to have the gypsy tea-making at the next 'Broad' to
this--Hurle Mere?"

"Certainly," said Allan. "Hurle Mere is the place where my friend
Midwinter has promised to come and m