“Where are you from?”
“From? Nowheres. We been out all night fishing.”
“What’s your port?”
“Shoreham.”
“And what have you on board? Who are those people?”
Those two people had been seen on the instant by Hilary Leigh, as they sat below the half-deck of the lugger, shrinking from observation in the semi-darkness. He had noticed that, though wearing rough canvas covering similar to those affected by a crew in stormy weather, they were of a different class; and as the lieutenant was in converse with the skipper of the lugger, he climbed over the lowered sail between, and saw that one of the two whom the other tried to screen was quite a young girl.
It was but a momentary glance, for she hastily drew a hood over her face, as she saw that she was noticed.
“Jacobites for a crown!” said Hilary to himself, as he saw a pair of fierce dark eyes fixed upon him.
“Who are you?” he exclaimed.
“Hush, for heaven’s sake!” was the answer whispered back; “don’t you know me, Leigh? A word from you and they will shoot me like a dog.”