The doctor's first introduction to the flying Margaret is well known to the reader. His knowledge of her under those circ.u.mstances made him feel for her; but there were some questions he wished to put to her, as his curiosity had been excited by what Robin had revealed. The farmer had already given him some hint about her confessions; but the doctor wanted to find out whether, after what had taken place that night, the tide of her affections might not have turned a little toward his patient. It was a delicate question to ask, but he thought he would find it out by another plan; so he desired to see Margaret in the parlour before he left the house.

"I did not half like your look, my girl, when I first saw you to-night. Come hither; let me feel your pulse: let me look at your tongue. Your pulse is quick, and you've some fever hanging about you."

"I thank you, sir, I shall be better to-morrow. I'm very sorry for what has happened."

"You could not help it, my girl--you could not help it; it was not your fault."

"I don't know that, sir,--I don't know that. I blame myself much; but--but--"

"But you don't like to blame anybody else, Margaret; I know you."

"Well, sir, that's the truth; but yet he was to blame."

"Who? Barry?"

"No, sir, no; but he who shot him."

"Yes, he was a cowardly fellow. What induced him to do it?"

"Because Barry's brother shot him. I suspect he was excited at the remembrance of his own sufferings, and urged on to desperation by the fellow that was with him; and, in a moment of madness, thought to revenge himself."

"This was not right, Margaret; it was still very cowardly."

"Why, yes, it was; but--but, I do not defend him, sir."

"What then, Margaret? what then?"

"Why, I was to blame, sir!"

"Why so?"

"Because I told him Barry loved me, sir."

"Ho, ho! a little jealousy, was it? Was it so, Margaret? Well, well, he will be more jealous now."

"I'm sorry for it, sir. Had I not thought he would have known my preference for him, I should not have told him this. It is this I blame myself for, as much as I do him. I hope Barry will do well, sir."

"Your hopes may be disappointed, Margaret. His is a very bad case; and, if he dies, Will Laud will be hanged."

"Then you know all, sir? Oh, pray save him if you can, sir!"

"Who?"

"John Barry, sir,--John Barry."

"Margaret, do you love him?"

"No, sir; yes--yes, sir. I think he is a very good young man, and he would be a great loss to his parents."

"More so than to you, my girl?"

"Oh, yes, sir, yes. I'm sure I wish him well, and shall always feel grateful to him for his kindness to me. I do hope he will recover, sir, for Laud's sake."

This was enough; the doctor now knew all. He saw that his patient was in love with Margaret, but that Margaret loved another. He was in possession of the whole secret. He promised to do all he could; he dismissed the girl; and, after a few minutes' further chat with the master and mistress of the house, and strongly advising them to send for Barry's parents in the morning, he took his leave. His little bay pony soon rattled up Gainsborough's Lane, through the open fields towards the Race-course, and over Bishop's Hill, to the town of Ipswich.

Barry's parents were not long in coming to their son, nor long in learning the real state both of his mind and body. It is the happiest time to die when a parent's tender care is round you. Then the agony of suffering is greatly relieved, and the heart can open its most inward thoughts. It turns, with such filial respect and thankfulness, towards those whom it does not like to grieve, but who are always the most quick-sighted to see our wants and to relieve our distresses. So gentle is a mother's love--so delicate, so soothing, so healing to the youthful mind, that nature almost decays with pleasure before her soft attentions. Nor is a father's manliness and feeling less sensibly experienced at such a time. He may not have a woman's gentleness, but he has a firmness and a quietness of action which are seldom seen at other times, and which make a sick room seem more calm and sufferable. He has quite as deep feeling, though it is more subdued. Who that ever has been ill in his youth, and has seen the kindness of parental love, but has thought that he never could die happier than when his fond parents were near him?

So thought young Barry when his parents were by his side; and not only thought so, but plainly told them that he wished to die.

"I hope not yet, my boy," said his father. "The young sapling may get a blight, but it soon recovers, and springs up vigorously; but the old trees naturally decay. I hope to go first, my boy."

"Yes, father, such may be your hope and natural expectation; but Heaven avert it! You have others to live for; may I never live to see your death!"

"Come, John, do not give way to such feelings. You know not yet what the good G.o.d may have in store for you."

"He has, indeed, been good to me, father, and has left me nothing more to wish for in this world."

"Perhaps not for your own benefit, John; but we are not always to die just when we wish it. Neither are we to live merely for ourselves. We are called upon to live for others; and more may be expected of us on this account than upon our own. We are not to be such selfish beings as to think, 'The wind blows only for our own mill.'"

"I meant not to find fault, father; but I am disappointed, and feel therefore useless."

"I know your disappointment, boy; but I would not have you take it so to heart as to let it prey upon your spirits. There are others far better and more worthy of you, who may esteem you, John, for your good conduct and character; and one of such may make you an excellent companion for life."

"Father, I know I am not so wise as you are. I have not your experience; yet this I feel and say, that I hope you will never find fault with that poor girl."

"I will not, John, in your presence; but how can a father help feeling hurt and angry with a girl who prefers a smuggler to an honest man?"

"That may or may not be a fault; but you just now told me we should live for others, and not be so selfish as to think only of ourselves. Now, I do believe that Margaret lives only in the hope that Will Laud will become an altered man."

"He never will! A lawless villain, who will revenge a blow upon the innocent hand that never gave it, has a heart too reprobate and stony ever to change."

"You will not say it is impossible?"

"I did not mean to say it is a thing impossible with G.o.d; but you seemed to think that, by Margaret's influence, such a change might be effected. This, I say, will never be. Laud may influence her, and may corrupt her mind; but, take my word for it, the man whose love is swallowed up in the violence of pa.s.sion, as his is, will never produce anything good. He will be a selfish villain even towards the poor unfortunate victim of his choice."

"Oh, father, would that you could persuade Margaret of this! She is indeed a good girl, and a warm-hearted one; and, had she received any education, would have been as good and respectable as my own dear mother."

"All this may be, John; but, if I could persuade you out of this fit of fancy, I then might have hope that I should have some power of persuasion with Margaret. Till then I shall stand no chance. For, if I cannot root the weeds out of my own ground, how shall I be fit to work for others?"

The young man sighed deeply, and could answer no more. He felt the force of the superior wisdom of his father; and, owning to himself that there was much truth in the remark, felt how difficult it would indeed be to conquer in his own heart his hopeless attachment.

In due time, Barry's wounds progressed towards recovery, and it was agreed among his fellow-labourers that, before the cold weather should set in, they would form a corps for carrying him home to Levington. Twelve undertook the task; and, one fine October day, they managed to place him and his bed upon a frame, made for the occasion, to which were attached shoulder-pieces, and so conveyed him to his father's residence, where all things were made ready by his mother's hand for his reception.

CHAPTER IX.

EVIL WAYS.

Onward went the boat to the haven at the mouth of the river, and the two guilty souls in her felt that they had narrowly escaped capture, and that, if the law of the land should ever lay hold upon them, they would both have to rue the foul deed they had committed. But the law of the land had long been set at defiance by them; and they owned none but those of the wind and weather, which compelled them to run for foreign ports, and to slink into those of their own country at the dead of night.

After various congratulations upon their luck in getting off, and making many remarks upon the late encounter, they turned to their duties as sailors, kept their boat trim, and scudded along, with all sails set, toward the Alde, which now lay in the shade of Felixstowe Cliff, moored, as if waiting wind and tide to carry her up the river. They were well acquainted with the spot, and bore away through the bright moonlight, reached the mouth of the river, and were at length lifted up by the rolling waves of old Ocean, which came tumbling in from the harbour's mouth.

"The light burns low by the water's edge, and is hidden from the sentinel on Landguard Fort. All's right; we shall be on board presently."

Soon did they run along the side of the dark cutter; and giving the signal, "Aldeburgh", were well understood by the dark-looking sailor who kept watch upon the forecastle of the ship. All was right; and when the captain came on board, all hands were had up, the sails quickly set, and the anchor weighed. Luff took the helm, the captain retired to his cabin, and in a short time the boat was hoisted in, and away they dashed to sea.

The dark dreams of the captain were mingled with the visions of his past failure, and disturbed with the jealousy and hatred of all the Barrys. The phosphoric lights upon the sea, as the vessel glided through the waves, made it look like a boiling ocean of flame, like burning waters; and the spray which the waves gave off resembled smoke. They were fiery spirits who lived on board that vessel, as ardent as the liquid flame they bore in their tubs, and about as productive of good. Could the history of every one on board the Alde be told, it would make the blood curdle in the veins of many a stout landsman. They were pirates as well as smugglers. Secrecy and crime went hand-in-hand with them. Daylight and honesty were things scarcely known amongst them.

The chief employer of these men lived, as the reader knows, in tolerable repute, sometimes at one place, sometimes at another. He had many vessels at sea, and Captain Bargood was as well known on the opposite side of the German Ocean as on this. He acc.u.mulated riches, but he never enjoyed them. He lived in a kind of terror, which those only who have felt it can describe. He outlived, however, all his ships and all his ships' companies; and looked, to the day of his death, an old weather-beaten log, which had outstood storms and tempests, and come ash.o.r.e at last to be consumed. He prided himself, in his old days, upon the many daring captains he had made, and the manner in which he had secretly commanded them. He had a regular register of their appointments and their course, how many trips each ship had taken, how she paid, how she was lost or taken, and what became of her and her crew. That fearful log-book could tell of many a horrid tale. It would also serve to show the enormous extent of illicit traffic carried on at that period by one man alone.

We must now return to the Alde. While dashing through the sea, past the sand-bank, or bar, at the mouth of the Deben, those on board saw a solitary light burning in Ramsholt Church, a sign that she might send a boat on sh.o.r.e in safety. Luff undertook to go. He did so, and found a messenger from Captain Bargood to land the cargo at the Eastern Cliff, as the coastguard had received information that a run was going to take place at Sizewell Gap, and they had therefore drawn away their men, that their force at that point might be strong enough.

The work was soon done, and the desperate crew betook themselves to the cave, to spend a night of revel and carouse, such as spirits like theirs only could delight in.

To the surprise of many, Will Laud remained on board, and preferred taking a cruise, and coming in again the following night for the ship's company. The fact, however, was, that he was afraid of the land. The consciousness of his guilt, and the fear of the revenge of Barry, should the coast-guard hear of his attack upon young Barry, the brother, acted upon his nerves, and made him think himself safe only on the broad sea.

A certain number of men always remained on board to take the vessel out of sight of the land until the night, and then only were these free-traders able to near the sh.o.r.e. The lives of these men were always in jeopardy, and none of them ever turned out good husbands or friends. When they were compelled to leave off the contraband traffic, they generally took to poaching, and led fearful and miserable lives; which, if traced to the close, would generally be found to end in sorrow, if not in the extremity of horror.

John Luff had an interview with Captain Bargood, and then told him of Will Laud's awkward situation upon the banks of the Orwell.

"A lucky fellow to escape as he did!" exclaimed Bargood. "He might have been at this moment in Ipswich gaol, and from thence he would only have escaped through the hangman's hands."

"We must keep him out of the way, sir. We must again report him killed, and change his name from Hudson. He is already known as Will Laud, and his fame will spread along the sh.o.r.e."

"Well, he is a lucky fellow. He should go round the world. I'll send him, ship and crew, a good long voyage. Something may be done in the fur-trade this winter. I have received a notice that I might send a ship, and cheat the Hudson's Bay Company of a good cargo of skins. What shall we dub the captain?"

"Let's call him Captain Cook; I'll tell the crew it's your desire to have the captain honoured for his success by giving him the t.i.tle of the great navigator."

"That will do, John--that will do. Take these orders to Captain Cook. Give these presents to the men. Tell them to disperse themselves upon a visit to their friends, and meet again at the Cliff on the 12th of next month, for the purpose of making a long voyage. In the meantime do you and the captain contrive to get the ship into friendly quarters abroad, and if you like to run ash.o.r.e yourselves, there is my cottage at Butley Moor, and you can take possession of it. But keep yourselves quiet. Five of the crew belong to Butley, and I know what they will be up to. Do not let Captain Cook go up the Orwell again, if you can help it, and steer clear of the coastguard."

"Aye, aye, master, I'll manage"; and, leaving the old commodore, he returned to the cave, and reached it at the precise moment when the hardy fellows were drinking "Long life to Jack Luff!"

"I'm just come in time, boys, to make you all return thanks instead of me. I wish you all long life and good luck. I've got you all near three weeks' run ash.o.r.e. So here's your healths! But I say, boys, the commodore approves our young captain, and has appointed him a good voyage next turn; and as he is to sail across the Atlantic, he wills that you all should join in calling him Captain Cook."

"With all our hearts! With all our hearts!" exclaimed several of the crew. "But what were you saying about the three weeks' run?"

"Why, that you must all be here by the 12th of October. In the meantime, if you want to see me or the captain, you will find us after next week at the green-windowed cottage at Butley. Till then, my boys, follow your own fun. Here's your pay, and a present besides for each."

A noisy shout issued through that dark and dreary cavern. They were not long in obeying their employer's orders. By twos and threes they dispersed, some to Boyton, some to Butley, some to Shottisham, Ramsholt, Bawdsey, Hollesley, Felixstowe, one or two as far as Trimley, Nacton, and Ipswich.

The country was too hot for some of them, who, being suspected of being concerned in the attack made upon young Barry, were looked after in order to be prosecuted for attempt at murder. All pains had been taken; rewards offered, their persons described; and so nearly did some of the crew resemble the description of their companions, that they had to cut their cables, and run for the furthest port in safety. John Luff and the captain took up their quarters again by Butley Moor, and employed themselves, as before, in the dangers, and to them familiar sports, of poaching.

The 12th of October came, and the smugglers returned to their places of meeting, and the captain and his mate met them at the cave. Two only did not come to the muster, and these two were always suspected of being rather "shy c.o.c.ks."

"I say, captain," said one of the men, "I had like to have suffered for you, and Tim Lester for Jack Luff. Two fellows laid an information against us, and swore that we were the men who attempted to murder young Barry. The hundred pounds' reward would have made them stick to it as close as a nor'-wester to the skin. We cut our cables, and ran off and escaped. The country around is hot enough after you both, so the sooner we are on board the better."

Accordingly, stores were soon shipped, anchors, cables, spars, and rigging carried on board, orders given, and "far, far at sea they steered their course."

CHAPTER X.

THE PARTING.

Unaffected was the joy with which the parents and family of young Barry received their brave son into their peaceful cot. The good miller and his wife welcomed the pale and dejected youth with that quiet, composed, and affectionate interest which at once soothes and comforts a sick soul.

The young man had more upon his mind than he chose to speak of, and a heavy weight upon his spirits, which not all the cheerfulness of his brothers and sisters and parents could allay. His wounds gradually healed; but his weakness continued, and he appeared to be suffering some internal torture which prevented his sleeping at night. He read, and tried to improve his mind; but it availed nothing. His sisters, too, sought every opportunity to afford him diversion; but the languid smile and forced expression of thankfulness told that, although he felt grateful, he did not relish their mirth. He looked intently into the newspaper, especially into all matters connected with the coast and coastguard; and when he read of any skirmish with the smugglers, he was feverishly anxious to know who they were. He also expressed a particular wish to see his brother Edward.

Though the miller could not say exactly when Edward might be expected home, he resolved to send to the stations where he might be found, and urge him to obtain leave of absence.

It was not long before that leave was given, and he returned to visit his parents and his invalid brother. The young men mutually rejoiced to see each other, and were not long in comparing notes upon their separate adventures.

"I prophesy I shall catch him one of these days," said Ned; "and if I do, he shall never remember his last escape. We know him well when we see him, but the fellow changes his name as often as he does his place, so that our information is frequently contradictory. If once I have a chance of changing shots with him again, Jack, he shall pay me for those cowardly wounds in your side."

"Nay, Ned, I had rather that the sea swallowed him up, than that you should shoot him."

"How then would you know he was dead, Jack? His ship might be lost, and the wreck driven on sh.o.r.e; but we should not know it, and he might or might not escape. There's nothing like a bullet for certainty."

"But you would know him, if you saw his body cast ash.o.r.e?"

"Yes, that I should; and I would soon let you know it, too."

"Well, if I must hope for his destruction, I would rather it were in this way than by your hand."

"For your sake, Jack, I should be satisfied with it so; but, for my own part, I have no compunction in shooting a desperado like him, who lives upon the vitals of others, and fights against his king and country, and sets at defiance all laws, human and divine. He would kill any man that opposed his nefarious traffic; and, as I am one that he has sworn to attack by land or by sea, whether in war or peace, I see no reason why I should not defend your life and my own, even though it may cost the taking away of his."

The sufferer did not argue the point any further; and especially as there were reasons of a private nature which had a powerful influence upon his mind. He revived very much during his brother's stay, and seemed to be more cheerful than at any former period of his illness. He even a.s.sisted in the labours of the mill, and by little and little began to pick up strength. His brother's leave of absence, however, expired; and the two were seen to walk away together over the hill, arm-in-arm, in the most earnest and deep conversation.

"Never fear, Jack; I will keep your secret honestly, and render you all the help in my power. I will let you know our movements."

"And take care of yourself, Ned, and do not risk your life for my sake. If you should fall, what should I feel?"

"I hope you would feel that I fell in a good cause, brother. At least, I do feel it so myself, or I should not be a happy man. No man can be happy, John, who even thinks that he is doing wrong."

"G.o.d preserve you, dear brother! Farewell!"