The justice dismissed the party to keep guard for the night in the old castle with a large allowance of food and liquor, with the full hope and belief that they would spend the night neither in watching nor prayer.  Next morning great was the alarm when the escape of the prisoner was discovered.  When the officers had been sent off in all directions (except the right one), Glossin went to Hatteraick in the cave.  A light soon broke upon his confusion of ideas.  This missing heir was Vanbeest Brown who had wounded young Hazlewood.  He hastily explained to Dick Hatteraick that his goods which had been seized were lying in the Custom-house at Portanferry, and there to the Bridewell beside it be would send this younker, when he had caught him; would take care that the soldiers were dispersed, and he, Dick Hatteraick, could land with his crew, receive his own goods, and carry the younker Brown back to Flushing.

“Ay, carry him to Flushing,” said the captain, “or to America, or—­to Jericho?”

“Psha!  Wherever you have a mind.”

“Ay, or pitch him overboard?”

“Nay, I advise no violence.”

“Nein, nein!  You leave that to me Sturm-wetter; I know you of old.  But, hark ye, what am I, Dirk Hatteraick, to be the better for this?”

Glossin made him understand it would not be safe for either of them if young Ellangowan settled in the country, and their plans were soon arranged.  None of the old crew were alive but the gipsy who had sent the news of Brown’s whereabouts and identity.

Brown, or, as we may now call him, Harry Bertram, had retreated into England, but now, hearing that Hazlewood’s wound was trifling, returned and landed at Ellangowan Bay; he approached the castle, unconscious as the most absolute stranger, where his ancestors had exercised all but regal dominion.

Confused memories thronged his mind, and he paused by a curious coincidence on nearly the same spot on which his father had died, just as Glossin came up the bank with an architect, to whom he was talking of alterations; Bertram turned short round upon him, and said: 

“Would you destroy this fine old castle, sir?”

He was so exactly like his father in his best days that Glossin thought the grave had given up its dead.  He staggered back, but instantly recovered, and whispered a few words in the ear of his companion, who immediately went towards the house, while Glossin talked civilly to Bertram.  By the next evening he was safely locked up in the Bridewell at Portanferry, until Sir Charles Hazlewood, the injured youth’s father, to whom Glossin had conducted him, could make inquiries as to the truth of his story.

IV.—­Bertram’s Restoration

Bertram, unable to sleep, gazing out of the window of his prison, saw a long boat making for the quay.  About twenty men landed and disappeared, and soon a miscellaneous crowd came back, some carrying torches, some bearing packages and barrels, and a red glare illuminated land and sea, and shone full on them, as with ferocious activity they loaded their boats.  A fierce attack was made on the prison gates; they were soon forced, and three or four smugglers hurried to Bertram’s apartment.  “Der teyvil,” said the leader, “here’s our mark!” And two of them seized on Bertram, and one whispered, “Make no resistance till you are in the street.”