“The Lord forbid!  He slews all out of gear, like a carronade with rotten lashings.  If I boarded him, how could I get out of his way?  No, no, my dear, brace him up sharp, and bear clear.”

“But you wanted to know about some enemy, captain.  An enemy as bad as my poor Lord Keppel?”

“Mary, my dear, the very biggest villain!  A hundred golden guineas on his head, and half for you.  Think of your father, my dear, and Sunday gowns.  And you must have a young man—­by-and-by, you know—­such a beautiful maid as you are.  And you might get a leather purse, and give it to him.  Mary, on your duty, now?”

“Captain, you drive me so, what can I say?  I cannot bear the thought of betraying anybody.”

“Of course not, Mary dear; nobody asks you.  He must be half a mile off by this time.  You could never hurt him now; and you can tell your father that you have done your duty to the king.”

“Well, Captain Carroway, if you are quite sure that it is too late to catch him, I can tell you all about him.  But remember your word about the fifty guineas.”

“Every farthing, every farthing, Mary, whatever my wife may say to it.  Quick! quick!  Which way did he run, my dear?”

“He really did not seem to me to be running at all; he was too tired.”

“To be sure, to be sure, a worn-out fox.  We have been two hours after him; he could not run; no more can we.  But which way did he go, I mean?”

“I will not say anything for certain, sir; even for fifty guineas.  But he may have come up here—­mind, I say not that he did—­and if so, he might have set off again for Sewerby.  Slowly, very slowly, because of being tired.  But perhaps, after all, he was not the man you mean.”

“Forward, double-quick!  We are sure to have him!” shouted the lieutenant—­for his true rank was that—­flourishing his cutlass again, and setting off at a wonderful pace, considering his limp.  “Five guineas every man Jack of you.  Thank you, young mistress—­most heartily thank you.  Dead or alive, five guineas!”

With gun and sword in readiness, they all rushed off; but one of the party, named John Cadman, shook his head and looked back with great mistrust at Mary, having no better judgment of women than this, that he never could believe even his own wife.  And he knew that it was mainly by the grace of womankind that so much contraband work was going on.  Nevertheless, it was out of his power to act upon his own low opinions now.

The maiden, blushing deeply with the sense of her deceit, was informed by her guilty conscience of that nasty man’s suspicions, and therefore gave a smack with her fern whip to Lord Keppel, impelling him to join, like a loyal little horse, the pursuit of his Majesty’s enemies.  But no sooner did she see all the men dispersed, and scouring the distance with trustful ardor, than she turned the pony’s head toward the sea again, and rode back round the bend of the hollow.  What would her mother