He went with Jack to the door.
"That is your way, sir," he said, pointing to a path that ran irregularly across the fields to the right. "The coast winds a good deal here; you would not think it, but the path will bring you near to the sea. Bastable Grange is on the cliff, sir, the other side of Luscombe, a fine airy position, though too near the coast if the French should land, I say."
Jack set off at a good pace, vaulted the many stiles that crossed the field path, and in less than half an hour found himself approaching a fine old red-brick house nestling among trees at the edge of the cliff. He paused for a few moments before lifting the latch of the gate to take a look round. There, in a hollow between the two cliffs, lay the village of Luscombe, its few cottages straggling from the beach up the slope. Two or three fishing smacks lay alongside the short stone jetty: others rocked gently in the little bay. A turn of the path hid them from sight for a minute or two; when next they came into view Jack was surprised to see one of the smacks making under full sail out to sea.
"Smart work that!" he thought. "There was no sign of her putting off a few minutes ago. The Luscombe fishers would make good king's men, by the look of it; they'll have a visit from the press-gang one of these days."
He watched until the smack rounded the point; then he turned, opened the gate, walked up the gravel path, and pulled the bell at the door of Bastable Grange.
CHAPTER II
MONSIEUR DE FRONSAC
Jack was shown into a little snuggery, where he found a red-faced, blue-eyed gentleman sitting deep in a comfortable arm-chair, his legs perched on a smaller chair. His black hair was tied in a short queue; he had curly side whiskers: and he wore the full uniform of the Dorsetshire yeomanry—a tight red coat with a high stock, white buckskin breeches, and big Hessian boots that came to the knee.
"A young gentleman to see you, sir," said the servant.
"How d'ye do, Cousin Humfrey?" said Jack, advancing with a smile and outstretched hand.