It was a sign that there were dwellings near, and the inhabitants might be looking out to ascertain what made their dogs bark.
“Never mind,” whispered Bill; “the chances are that the dogs are tied up, and if we keep moving the people won’t see us.”
They passed through the village or hamlet.
They were still, they knew, some distance from the harbour.
Here and there only could they see a light twinkling from a window, probably of some sick-chamber. It was pretty evident that most of the people had gone to bed, still some one or other might be up who would give the alarm.
They found themselves verging to the right; it was better, however, than keeping to the left side, which might lead them away from the harbour. Presently they came to some grassy downs, and the regular road they had been pursuing turned sharp off to the left.
“We had better keep straight on,” said Bill; “we shall be more exposed on the open downs; but then it isn’t likely that anybody will be there to see us, so that won’t matter.”
Jack, as usual, was ready to do whatever Bill proposed. They got quickly over the grass, which was cropped short by sheep feeding on it, and they could manage to see somewhat better than they had done on the road. Presently Jack, whose eyesight was even keener than Bill’s, having been well practised at night from his childhood, caught his companion’s arm, exclaiming, “Hold back; it seems to me that we have got to the edge of the downs.”
They crept cautiously forward. In another instant they would have leapt down a cliff some hundred feet in height, and been dashed to pieces.
They turned away from it, shuddering at the fearful risk they had run, and kept along on somewhat lower ground, still having the star which had before guided them ahead.