It seemed all done in such a matter of course way that it was evident that Ram was accustomed to the task, and supporting the lanthorn on his head, first with one and then with the other hand, he went on whistling softly an old west country air, thinking the while about Sir Risdon and Lady Graeme, and about how poor they were, and how much better it was to live at a farmhouse where there was always plenty to eat, and where his father could go fishing in the lugger when he liked, and how he could farm and smuggle, and generally enjoy life.
“That’s good half an hour,” said Ram, lowering his lanthorn, opening the door, and puffing out the candle, afterwards serving the others the same.
Whew—whew—whew—whew!
A peculiar whishing of wings from far overhead, as a flock of birds flew on through the darkness of the night, following the wonderful instinct which made them take flight to other lands.
“Wasn’t geese; and I don’t think it was ducks,” said the lad to himself, as he slung his darkened lanthorns together, and began to descend as coolly as if he had been provided by nature with wings to guard him against a fall down the cliff.
“Wonder whether they saw the lights,” he said to himself. “Not much good showing them, if they were in the fog.”
He went on, gradually approaching the mist which lay below him, and at last was descending the zigzag path with the stars blotted out, and the tiny drops of moisture gathering on his eyelashes, finding his way more by instinct than sight.
“Come in with the tide ’bout ’leven,” said Ram, as he still descended the face of the cliff, then the path, and at last was well down in the little valley, whose mouth seemed to have been filled up in some convulsion of nature by a huge wall of cliff, under which the streamlet which ran from the hills had mined its way.
As soon as he was down on level ground, the boy started for home at a trot, gave the lanthorns into his mother’s hands, and, after a brief inquiry as to his father’s whereabouts, he started off once more.
The part of the cliff for which he made was exactly opposite Sir Risdon’s old house, and to a stranger about the last place where it would be deemed possible for a smuggler to land his cargo.