I turned back to the cliffs, and gazed upwards, searching for the light of a farmhouse or outbuilding, that might herald my progress towards the Grange; but the flanking bulk of the chalk heights foreshortened my view, and revealed nothing of the civilisation hugging its very edge. I stepped back, and farther back, until my boots sank well into the wet sand at the sea's margin; and craned myself to tip-toe.

And then I saw it — the short blink of a beam, as swiftly blinked out. An idea of Seraphine's curious lanthorn sprang to mind — its long, cylindrical spout debouching from one side, with a sliding cover of tin, so obviously designed for signalling. Someone above would make converse with a ship at sea. I wheeled, and strained to peer through the darkness — and was rewarded by an answering flare of light.

Not a moment should be lost, for they would be upon me with some swiftness. But where to hide myself?

Eliza's voice it might almost have been, from a light-hearted walk over a fortnight since, and ringing in my ears with her habitual frivolity—A cavern, Jane, as foetid and dank as Mrs, Radclijfe should make it! Shall we venture within, at the very peril of our lives?

I hastened myself back along the cliff wall, endeavouring to recall the exact location of the slight opening in the rock; had it been before the Crawford pits, or just after? Or was it well along the Charmouth shingle, almost to its end? Without the aid of the moon, I could make nothing of the fold and meander of the chalk; where deliberation and calm were required, I was maddened by a sense of urgency that would not be gainsaid; and so it seemed that I must have stumbled about the place a veritable age, when of a sudden I recalled the small rock cairn I had observed so many days ago, in walking with Eliza by the cave's entrance. A moment only secured it to my sight; and my relief at turning past it, and slipping within the protective blind, was little greater than my previous desperation.

I was forced to stoop in the entry, and felt the chill brush of moisture against my back; but the cave's sandy floor was dry enough, however little my eyes might discern of its depths. If the darkness without might be enough to terrify, it was nothing to the blackness within; and I groped my way like a blind woman robbed of her cane, with tentative step and arms outstretched. It remained only to find a suitable spot for sitting, since my purpose was to o'erlook the beach as best I might, while shielding myself from others’ eyes; and to the left-hand side of the cave's opening, I found a large boulder with space enough behind to settle myself in a heap of exhausted brown wool, and schooled myself to wait.

TO MY HORROR, I STARTED AWAKE SOMETIME LATER WITH AN AUDIBLE snort — and possessed not the slightest notion how long I had been slumbering. I was on my feet in anxious haste before the slight sound of oars turning in their locks stopt me at the cave's mouth; and so with caution renewed, I held my breath, and peered out into the night.

Two figures were huddled upon the shore, straining for a glimpse of something progressing over the waves— the very Seraphine, to judge by her length of dusky cloak, and the boy Toby, bent over his crutches. The mademoiselle 's right hand was flung protectively around the boy's shoulders, while from her left depended an indiscernible object — the lanthorn, in all probability. I looked towards the sea for the object that engaged their full regard, and could just make out the form of a dory, breasting the surf well out from shore, where a hidden bar rose up in the night water. It was from thence the sound of oarlocks emanated.

I stood as still as caution might make me, and watched as the boat pulled nearer, revealing with the additional passage of a few moments the figures of four men — two at the oars, and two bent over the cargo. Brandy kegs? Or crates of goods, as various as the peoples of the Continent?

The boat slid to shore; the oarsmen jumped into the sea, and dragged their vessel high up on the sand; and to my surprise, Seraphine gave a stifled cry, and stumbled towards the dory's gunnels, her hand over her mouth in horror.

And at that instant, a group of men rushed from the cliff's foot down the shingle's length, and hurled themselves on the boat — dragoons, I thought at first, with a pounding heart, come to attack the Reverend's proxy — but it was clear they were known to the boatmen, and further observation revealed them dressed as rough fisherfolk, their faces blackened with soot to defy discovery. One, however, I recognised, to my intense surprise — for Mr. Dagliesh, the bashful surgeon's assistant, stood by the mademoiselle's side, while his fellows exchanged places with the oarsmen, and turned the boat back out to sea. Whatever did it mean?

I could spare no more attention for the dory's progress, however, the bulk of my interest being claimed by Seraphine, who knelt in a red-cloaked huddle over the vessel's beached cargo — which was neither kegs nor caskets, but the figure of a man, and quite insensible, from his attitude. The mademoiselle's shaking shoulders betrayed her to be silently weeping; and my curiosity was not greater than the sympathy her sorrowful attitude aroused. Dagliesh dropped to her side, and busied himself in attending the man; and the boy Toby leaned upon his staves, silently watching, with head bowed. His mistress looked up, and asked a quick question of Dagliesh, which was as fluidly and unintelligibly answered; and if my ears did not betray me, both had spoken in French.

Some grave mishap had overcome the smuggler's crew, that much was certain; and a wounded man — perhaps a dead man — had been brought to shore, and a team dispatched to serve as relief. Had the cutter been pursued across the Channel's length? Had it been fired upon, even, and stopt only long enough to send its casualties into English safekeeping? I shook my head in consternation. Such things were past my understanding.

The huddle of folk about the still form suddenly fell into disarray; Seraphine, with a wringing of her hands, turned to seek the path up the cliff's face, with Toby hobbling in tow; and the oarsmen, taking up their burden with a grunt, hoisted the unknown fellow to their shoulders and moved off into the night. No light had they, but for Seraphine's lanthorn; and if the cutter had indeed been pursued, it seemed likely they should spurn illumination for the protective cover of darkness. What a lonely trudge they faced to High Down Grange! And still more disheartening a night's watch, perhaps, over a man with little life left in him!

I turned back to the cave's interior, intent upon retaining my seclusion until the sounds of the smugglers’ passage should have entirely died away, though my own spirits were so cast down, and my energy so sapped, that I should as lief have been gone on my own way home, the quicker to put the night's peculiarities behind me. The threat of discovery I could not entertain, however; and so I counseled myself in greater patience, and ignored the cold that crept beneath my gown, and hugged my arms closer about my person. I envied Seraphine the utility of her thick cloak, and saw that I had much to learn of midnight skulduggery.

Perhaps a quarter-hour had passed, and I felt myself to be quite alone, and had just arisen with limbs aching from the cold, and ventured to the cave's mouth — when the sound of laughter and a stumbling foot stopt me dead. 1 drew breath, a wave of fear unaccountably washing over me, and found the courage to peer once more into the night.

Neither Seraphine nor Toby, nor yet one of the men so recently disembarked upon the shingle; but two fellows, quite rough in appearance, and strangers to my eyes. As I watched, one raised a bottle to his lips and tottered backwards, unmanned by spirits or die slope of beach or both; the other gave forth a burst of raucous cheer, and sang a snatch of a sailor's chanty. I glanced wildly about, and felt too swiftly the idiocy of my position — how alone I had made myself, and how unlikely a cry for help should now draw forth any aid from the Grange above — and cursed my too-active curiosity. It shall be my very death, I am sure, before the passage of much more time.