“A sharp look out, Lilly, dear; you’ve the best eyes among us, and we must have a clue from whence last night’s surprise proceeded.”

“I can see nothing yet, mother; but the fog is driving back fast.”

“It’s but a cheerless night your poor father had, to pull twice across the channel, and find himself just where he was.  God speed them, and may they be safe in port again by this time.”

“I say so too, mother, and amen.”

“D’ye see nothing, child?”

“Nothing, dear mother; but it clears up fast to the eastward, and the sun is bursting out of the bank, and I think I see something under the sun.”

“Watch well, Lilly,” replied the woman, who was throwing more wood on the fire.

“I see a vessel, mother.  It is a sloop beating to the eastward.”

“A coaster, child?”

“No, mother, I think not.  No, it is no coaster—­it is that king’s vessel, I think, but the glare of the sun is too great.  When he rises higher I shall make it out better.”

“Which do you mean, the king’s cutter on the station, the Yungfrau?”

“Yes, mother,” replied Lilly, “it is.  I’m sure it is the Yungfrau.”

“Then it is from her that the boats came last night.  She must have received some information.  There must be treachery somewhere; but we’ll soon find that out.”

It may appear singular that Lilly could speak so positively as to a vessel at a great distance; but it must be remembered that she had been brought up to it, nearly all her life.  It was her profession, and she had lived wholly with seamen and seamen’s wives, which will account for her technical language being so correct.  What Lilly said was true; it was the Yungfrau, which was beating up to regain her port, and having to stem a strong ebb-tide during the night, had not made very great progress.

“There are three other vessels in the offing,” said Lilly, looking round, “a ship and two brigs, both going down channel:”  and as she said this, the little thing dropped lightly from rock to rock till she stood by her mother, and commenced rubbing her hands before the now blazing fire.

“Nancy must go over to Portsmouth,” observed the mother, “and find out all about this.  I hardly know whom to suspect; but let Nancy alone, she’ll ferret out the truth—­she has many gossips at the Point.  Whoever informed against the landing, must know of this cave.”

But we must introduce the mother of Lilly to the reader.  She was a tall, finely-featured woman, her arms beautifully moulded, and bare.  She was rather inclined to be stout, but her figure was magnificent.  She was dressed in the same costume as her daughter, with the exception of a net worsted shawl of many colours over her shoulders.  Her appearance gave you the idea that she was never intended for the situation which she was now in; but of that hereafter.  As the reader may have observed, her language was