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"If the French Flotilla is not in sight," said Captain Acton, "what can be the intention of Mr Tupman rising at this very early hour and getting his brig under weigh? For certainly the Saucy is making a start for something or somewhere. Do you see her sheeting home her canvas, Lucy?" The girl shuddered. "I know they hang for piracy!" she exclaimed. "It is what must happen if you convey him to England." "What time this morning did Miss Lucy leave the house?".

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"What do you see? The French Flotilla?" cried Miss Acton in a voice tremulous with agitation. She darted her eyes through her glasses over the sea. So much had she told him, and the light had gone from her eyes, the song from her lips. The wharves were old platforms black with tar or pitch, and at the back of them were three warehouses for the accommodation of such merchandise as this Old Harbour received or sent afloat. Perched midway on the slope that was terminated by the brow of the cliff where the windmill this morning was peacefully revolving its vans, was Old Harbour Town, a romantic grouping of little grey houses full of sparkling lozenge windows backed by a church spire, the whole looking in the distance like a toy that could be put into a box and set out according to taste upon a table by a child. Anson looked troubled. "Supposin' I don't know—" he began, but Billy shook his head..