In the Kings Name | Page 6

in a choking voice exclaimed:
"Oh, Hilary! don't you know me again? Pray, pray save my poor father. Oh, you will not give him up?"
The young man's heart seemed to stand still as the dilemma in which he was placed forced itself upon him. He was in his majesty's service, and in the king's name he ought to have called upon this gentleman, a well-known Jacobite, to surrender, and tell the lieutenant who he was.
On the other hand, if he did this unpleasant duty he would be betraying a dear old companion of his father, a man who had watched his own career with interest and helped him through many a little trouble; and, above all, he would be, as the thought flashed upon him, sending Adela's father--his own old companion's father--to the scaffold.
These thoughts flashed through his mind, and with them recollections of those delightful schoolboy days that he had passed at the Old Manor House, Sir Henry's pleasant home, in Sussex, when boy and girl he and Adela had roamed the woods, boated on the lake, and fished the river hard by.
"No," he muttered between his teeth; "I meant to be a faithful officer to my king; but I'd sooner jump overboard than do such dirty work as that."
There was an angry look in the young girl's eyes; and as Hilary read her thoughts he could not help thinking how bright and beautiful a woman she was growing. He saw that she believed he was hesitating, and there was something scornful in her gaze, an echo, as it were, of that of her grey-haired, careworn father, whose eyebrows even seemed to have turned white, though his dark eyes were fiery as ever.
There was no doubt about it; they believed that he would betray them, and there was something almost of loathing in Adela Norland's face as her hood fell back, and the motion she made to place her hands in her father's brought her head out of the shadow into the bright morning light.
"Thank ye, ma'am," said Hilary in a rough, brisk voice; "I was just going to ask you to move. You'd better come in, Tom Tully, there's a lot of things to move. P'r'aps this gentleman will stand outside."
"Ay, ay, sir," growled Tom Tully, as Hilary darted one meaning look at the proscribed man.
"Look here, sir," continued Hilary, as he heard the lieutenant approaching, "you may just as well save us the trouble by declaring what you have hidden. We are sure to find it."
"Got anything, Mr Leigh?" said the lieutenant briskly.
"Nothing yet, sir. Have you?"
"Not a tub, or a package."
"If you imagine, sir, that this boat is laden with smuggled goods you may save yourselves a great deal of trouble, for there is nothing contraband on board, I feel sure."
"Thank you," said the lieutenant politely, and with a satirical laugh; "but you'd hardly believe it, my dear sir, when I tell you that dozens of skippers and passengers in boats have said the very same thing to me, and whenever that has been the case we have generally made a pretty good haul of smuggled goods. Go on, my lads; I can't leave a corner unsearched."
Sir Henry gave his shoulders a slight shrug, and turned to draw his daughter's hood over her head.
"You'll excuse my child, gentlemen," he said coldly. "She is very weak and ill."
"Oh! of course," said Hilary; "we've searched here, sir; she can lie down again."
Adela uttered a low sigh of relief, and she longed to dart a grateful look at the young officer, but she dared not; and knowing that in place of looking pale and ill a warm flush of excitement was beaming in her cheeks, she hastily drew her hand closer over her face, and let her father place her upon a rough couch of dry nets.
"Heaven bless him!" muttered Sir Henry to himself; "but it was a struggle between friendship and duty, I could see."
Meanwhile the lugger was ransacked from end to end, three more men being called from the cutter for the purpose. Tubs were turned over, spare sails and nets dragged about, planks lifted, bunks and lockers searched, but nothing contraband was found, and all the while the skipper of the lugger and his crew stood staring stupidly at the efforts of the king's men.
"Labour in vain, Leigh," said the lieutenant at last. "Into the boat there. Confound that scoundrel! I wish he was overboard."
The lieutenant did not say what for, but as soon as the men were in the boat he turned to the skipper:
"Look ye here, my fine fellow, you've had a narrow escape."
"Yes," said the man stolidly, "I thought you'd have hit us."
The lieutenant did not condescend to reply, but climbed over the side into the cutter's boat, and motioned to Leigh to follow,