“Worse for you,” Hilary supposed, but he did not hear the words, for the lieutenant was already down below, and the young officer took the glass and stood watching the lugger rapidly growing distant as the cutter began to feel the breeze.
A curious turmoil of thought was harassing the young man’s brain, for he felt that he had been a traitor to the king, whose officer he was, and it seemed to him terrible that he should have broken his faith like this.
But at the same time he felt that he could not have done otherwise, and he stood watching the lugger, and then started, for yes—no—yes—there could be no mistake about it, a white handkerchief was being held over the side, and it was a signal of amity to him.
Quite a couple of hours had passed, and the lugger had for some time been out of sight round the headland astern, when all at once the lieutenant came on deck to where his junior was pacing up and down.
“Why, Leigh,” he exclaimed, “I did not think of it then; but we ought to have detained that chasse marée.”
“Indeed, sir; why?”
“Ah! of course it would not occur to you, being so young in the service; but depend upon it that fellow was a Jacobite, who had persuaded those dirty-looking scoundrels to bring him across from Saint Malo, or some other French port, and he’s going to play spy and work no end of mischief. We’ve done wrong, Leigh, we’ve done wrong.”
“Think so, sir?”
“Yes, I’m sure of it. I was so intent on finding smuggled goods that I didn’t think of it at the time. But, there: it’s too late now.”
“Yes, sir,” said Leigh quietly, “it’s too late now.”