l anyone _you_ was a
smuggler. That I promise you!"

"Good! And why are you ready to promise me so quick? I'm inclined to
be afraid you'll let out, after all. I've been a fool to trust you."

He grasped her arm roughly and knitting his brows was buried in
thought again. But she broke in on his silence, with blazing eyes of
such beauty that he understood why he had kissed her.

"Not a bit of it, Monsieur Le Mierre! A man is not a fool to trust a
girl who ... likes ... him!"

"But, that's all very well! How is it you like me? You've never
spoken to me before."

"I've seen you to church; and one can like people without speaking
to them."

He laughed. "Perhaps _you_ can, but I can't! Well, the job's done
now, so I suppose I'll have to trust you. Next time you see me to
church, you won't believe it's me you've really seen here. But you
must be off--or else the other chaps will catch you. Look here, I'm
sorry I've made your head bleed! and you'll have to tell a pack of
lies to explain why there's a cut under your hair. Are you afraid
to tell lies, eh?"

"Not to keep you safe."

"Well, you're no coward I must say. And now, stop a bit, how much
money do you expect me to give you to keep a still tongue in your
head?"

"Money! not a double!"

"Bah, I can't believe it, and if ever you need it to help your
father and mother, you come to me. But quick, you must go, it seems
to me I hear somebody coming. There, you're over the step, run,
quick, it _is_ the men, coming up the cliff!"

When she had disappeared into the darkness, Le Mierre muttered to
himself, "I'm _ensorcelai_, that's certain, for I've never found out
what brought the girl here at all!"

CHAPTER II.

It was winter, always a time for enjoyment in the days of old
Guernsey, when evening after evening, people met together at the
_Veilles_, to knit and sing and to tell stories of witchcraft and
weird tales of the sea.

Colomberie Farm was glowing with warmth and light, and swarming with
company on the evening of the twenty-first of December, for it was
the special festival of _longue veille_. The spotless wooden table
in the middle of the sanded floor was piled high with woollen goods
of every kind, which had been knitted by men and women at former
_veilles_. The dark blue of "jerseys" and "guernseys" were an
effective background for stacks of white woollen stockings and
scarlet caps.

"My good," said Mrs. Cartier, of Les Casquets Cottage, "th