In the pause which followed, both Joan and Tregenna were aware of a loud, rumbling noise in the village street below, coming gradually nearer. And in a few minutes, during which they all stood silent and wondering, without exchanging a word, they perceived a huge black mass, dim, shadowy, like some mammoth beast whose bulk makes rapid motion impossible, creeping slowly by in the obscurity of the trees at the bottom of the hill.
Slow, phantom-like, it crept along with no sound but the rumbling and creaking that had at first arrested the vicar’s attention.
Tregenna, on the alert at once, would have descended the hill to find out what the monster was. But at a sign from his daughter, Parson Langney laid a restraining hand upon the young man’s arm.
“What can you do—alone?” said he, warningly. “Keep your heart in your breast for to-night, at least. In the morning—why, you must do your duty. Come, a tankard will do you no harm. You shall drink ‘confusion to free-traders’ if you will. And, egad, I’m inclined, after what I’ve heard, to drink the same toast myself!”
Tregenna agreed, anxious for another chance of a word with Joan. But he saw no more of her that night. Even while the vicar was giving this invitation, his daughter had slipped quietly into the house, and disappeared for the night.
This left Tregenna free to tell his host, over the nut-brown ale which the vicar poured out with loving hands, the whole story of the adventures of the evening. Astounded, enthralled, marveling at his daughter’s courage, and furious at the smugglers’ daring outrage, the vicar listened with all his ears.
And when the young man’s tone grew lower, his eyes more passionate, as he declared his love and admiration for the girl who had risked so much for him, Parson Langney listened sympathetically, and with tears in his eyes, to the tale he had often indeed heard before, but never from such eager lips.
“Ay, ay, she’s a good girl, a good girl, my bonnie Joan!” said he, in a tremulous voice, when Tregenna paused. “You’re not the first that has come to me with this tale, sir, though you’re the first she’s shown such kindness to as she’s shown to you. But reckon not too much on that, I warn you. She’s not your ordinary lass, that minces and mouths, like the girls at Hurst Court we’re going to dine with to-morrow.” Tregenna made a mental note of this fact, and determined that he would be invited too. “And what she did and what she said she’d have done and said for any other man in such a plight as yours, I doubt not! But we’ll see, we’ll see. I’m in no hurry to lose my Joan, I promise you, sir. The day must come when she’ll go forth from me as a bride; but there’s time enough for that, time enough for that! And I would not have you hope too much, though I do not bid you despair.”
Tregenna was forced to be content with this vague encouragement, and with the comfort of having unburdened his heart to a sympathetic ear. It was not long before he took his leave, and having followed the vicar’s advice to concern himself for that night with nothing but his own safety, reached the boat in the creek without accident, and was soon on board the Sea-Gull.
Next morning he was early astir. He had already, on arriving on board, sent a trusty messenger to Rye, to beg the brigadier to lose no time in making a second expedition against Rede Hall; he promised to meet him there, and to put him in possession of some facts he had learnt concerning its hiding-places.