“Never mind, my lad,” said the master good-humouredly. “It’s all an accident, and nobody’s fault. Wish I had my pipe.”
“Ahoy!” shouted Archy, but there was no reply.
“I’d sit down and wait for morning, only conscience won’t let me.”
“Well, let’s try this way,” suggested Archy.
“Seems to me, my lad, that it don’t matter which way we take, we only go wandering in and out among the stones and brambles and winding all sorts of ways. Never mind; we must keep moving, so come on.”
They trudged on for how long they could not tell, but both were getting exceedingly weary, and as ignorant now ever as to their whereabouts; for, whether the direction they followed was east, west, south, or north, there was no indication in the sky; and they kept on, always cautiously, in dread and yet in hope that they might come upon the edge of the cliff, which would solve their difficulty at once, if they could see the cutter’s lights.
“Though that aren’t likely, Mr Raystoke. Strikes me that he’ll lie there, and not show a light, on the chance of a smuggling lugger coming along, though that’s hardly our luck.”
“I don’t know,” said Archy bitterly. “Seems just the time for her to come when the skipper’s so short-handed that he can’t attack.”
“Yes, we are an unlucky craft and no mistake, and I ’most wish sometimes I’d never sailed in her. Look here, for instance, here’s a chance for us.”
“Hist! Listen!” whispered Archy.