n, a few yards ahead, I heard a man's voice declaiming
in monotone some sentences which I could not catch; and rounding the
corner, came upon Laquedem and July. She was seated on a rock; and he,
on a patch of turf at her feet, held open a small volume which he laid
face downwards as he rose to greet me. I glanced at the back of the
book and saw it was a volume of Euripides. I made no comment, however,
on this small discovery; and whether he had indeed taught the girl some
Greek, or whether she merely listened for the sake of hearing his voice,
I am unable to say.

Let me come then to the last scene, of which I was one among many
spectators.

On the morning of August 15th, 1810, and just about daybreak, I was
awakened by the sound of horses' hoofs coming down the road beyond the
vicarage gate. My ear told me at once that they were many riders and
moving at a trot; and a minute later the jingle of metal gave me an
inkling of the truth. I hurried to the window and pulled up the blind.
Day was breaking on a grey drizzle of fog which drove up from seaward,
and through this drizzle I caught sight of the last five or six scarlet
plumes of a troop of dragoons jogging down the hill past my bank of
laurels.

Now our parish had stood for some weeks in apprehension of a visit from
these gentry. The riding-officer, Mr. Luke, had threatened us with them
more than once. I knew, moreover, that a run of goods was contemplated:
and without questions of mine--it did not become a parish priest in
those days to know too much--it had reached my ears that Laquedem was
himself in Roscoff bargaining for the freight. But we had all learnt
confidence in him by this time--his increasing bodily weakness never
seemed to affect his cleverness and resource--and no doubt occurred to
me that he would contrive to checkmate this new move of the
riding-officer's. Nevertheless, and partly I dare say out of curiosity,
to have a good look at the soldiers, I slipped on my clothes and hurried
downstairs and across the garden.

My hand was on the gate when I heard footsteps, and July Constantine
came running down the hill, her red cloak flapping and her hair powdered
with mist.

"Hullo!" said I, "nothing wrong, I hope?" She turned a white,
distraught face to me in the dawn.

"Yes, yes! All is wrong! I saw the soldiers coming--I heard them a
mile away, and sent up the rocket from the church-tower. But the lugger
stood in--they _must_ have se