She stopped, and looked from his face to his dirk, and back.
“Oh, I see,” he said, “that alarmed you. There,” he continued, sheathing the little weapon, “I only drew it because your dog looked so fierce. Does he bite?”
“Sometimes, I’m afraid. But were you coming to see my father? Who are you?” she added uneasily, as she glanced at the lad’s uniform.
“I am Archibald Raystoke, of His Majesty’s cutter White Hawk.”
“And you want to see my father?” cried the girl, beginning to tremble.
“Well, yes, I ought to see him. The fact is, we have landed to search for a quantity of smuggled things, and to make a capture of the smugglers if we can.”
Celia looked at him wildly, and her face grew more and more white.
“Will you show me the way to the house? The Hoze you call it, do you not?”
Celia gave a quick, almost imperceptible nod, as she recalled how she had lain in her clothes, and listened to the busy coming and going of footsteps, for the greater part of the night.
As all this came to her mind, she felt at first as if she must run to warn her father. Then a giddy feeling of dread came over her, and she stood staring blankly at the frank-looking boy before her.