ys, when he was near his
lady-love, some whispers had reached him about this fellow, whose
countenance had always been repulsive to him, arrogant, moody, and
mysterious. His good mother also, though most careful not to harass
him, had mentioned that Carne in her latest letter, and by no means in
a manner to remove his old misgivings. As a matter now of duty to his
country and himself, the young sailor resolved to discover, at any risk,
what traitorous scheme had brought this dark man over here.

To escape the long circuit by the upper bridge, he had obtained leave,
through M. Jalais, to use an old boat which was kept in a bend of the
river about a mile above the house. And now, after seeing that English
boat make for the creek where she had been berthed on Christmas Eve, he
begged Madame Fropot to tell his host not to be uneasy about him, and
taking no weapon but a ground-ash stick, set forth to play spy upon
traitors. As surely as one foot came after the other, he knew that every
step was towards his grave, if he made a mistake, or even met bad luck;
but he twirled his light stick in his broad brown hand, and gently
invaded the French trees around with an old English song of the days
when still an Englishman could compose a song. But this made him think
of that old-fashioned place Springhaven; and sadness fell upon him, that
the son of its captain should be a traitor.

Instead of pulling across the river, to avoid the splash of oars he
sculled with a single oar astern, not standing up and wallowing in the
boat, but sitting and cutting the figure of 8 with less noise than a
skater makes. The tide being just at slack-water, this gave him quite
as much way as he wanted, and he steered into a little bight of the
southern bank, and made fast to a stump, and looked about; for he durst
not approach the creek until the light should fade and the men have
stowed tackle and begun to feed. The vale of the stream afforded shelter
to a very decent company of trees, which could not have put up with the
tyranny of the west wind upon the bare brow of the coast. Most of these
trees stood back a little from the margin of high tide, reluctant to see
themselves in the water, for fear of the fate of Narcissus. But where
that clandestine boat had glided into gloom and greyness, a fosse of
Nature's digging, deeply lined with wood and thicket, offered snug
harbourage to craft and fraud.

Scudamore had taken care to learn the ups and downs of