The Admiral's Daughter

by Margaret Stuart Lane

'Yes, but, Roger, I am my father's daughter, and Elise is but his ward. It is only fair that I should go first and Elise later. But all this is idle talk. It may never happen at all. Look! is not that beautiful?'

The path had wound round the head of a copse that curled like a snake in and out of the folds of the hills. For some time their eyes had been on the trees and bushes of the glades, the primroses starring their path. Suddenly, bearing round the edge of the wood, they were come in view of the village and open harbour again, the cottages at the waterside nestling in the soft haze, and beyond the twin headlands of the water mouth, the sapphire bar of the sea. The young man looked once, but his eyes were caught by the lines of the Fair Return, and with a pang he turned his face inland again.

'Yes!' he said constrainedly. 'It is beautiful.' His keen gaze swept the valley. 'Ah—look there—horsemen coming down the Bodmin Road. What can be wanting in Garth?'

'Mother Poole will tell us,' said Marion. 'She knows everything.'

The fisherwife's cottage lay about a mile up the valley, and the two, bearing down to it on narrow paths, lost for a time the sight of the high road.

'See! There are the horsemen still!' exclaimed Marion when the prospect widened again. 'They have turned into the lane. They are making for Mother Poole's cottage. Oh Roger'—Marion gripped his arm—'surely, surely 'tis nothing about Jack and that terrible rising. I thought it was forgotten long ago.'

'The spies of Jeffreys never forget,' replied Roger quietly. 'And Jack broke out of gaol, you remember. He is still in the eyes of the law a prisoner. Brave lad, Jack! But if 'tis he they're after, with luck they'll miss their man. He should be aboard by now, and Jeffreys will need a long arm to catch Poole on the Fair Return once past the mouth. I think I'll just run down and see what they're about.'

'Roger'—Marion's hand tightened—'you cannot, you cannot. There are six horsemen yonder, all armed. A word from you and they'll take you as well.'

'I cannot let Jack be caught like a rat in a trap,' said Roger. 'Let go my arm, Mawfy.'

At that moment the cottage door opened and a man in sailor's garb came down the path. An old woman, her apron at her eyes, stood in the doorway looking after him. Not till he reached the gate—perhaps because the sadness of his mother's farewell dimmed his eyes—did he become aware of the horsemen in the path. He gave one glance round, a step backward, and then stood still. It was too late. In three minutes the sorry little act was played out. A couple of the horsemen swung from their saddles. Another covered the sailor with his carbine. The old woman, running to her son's side, was roughly thrust away.