s anxiety to get on board and away. I
should have figured windows flung open and night-capped heads
projected, and heard in imagination the clanking sabre of a gendarme
trotting in our wake.

I did not breathe freely till the harbour lay before us. Caudel said
as we crossed to where the flight of steps fell to the water's edge:

"I believe there's a little air of wind amoving."

"I feel it," I answered; "what's its quarter?"

"Seems to be off the land," said he.

"There is a man!" cried Grace, arresting me by a drag at my arm.

A figure stood at the head of the steps, and I believed it one of our
men until a few strides brought us near enough to witness the gleam of
uniform buttons, showing by the pale light of a lamp at a short
distance from him.

"A _douanier_," said I. "Nothing to be afraid of, my pet."

"But if he should stop us, Herbert?" cried she, halting.

"Sooner than that should happen," rumbled Caudel, "I'd chuck him
overboard. But why should he stop us, miss? We ain't smugglers."

"I would rather throw myself into the water than be taken back,"
exclaimed my sweetheart. I gently induced her to walk, whilst my
captain advancing to the edge of the quay and looking down, sang out:

"Below there! Are ye awake?"

"Ay, wide awake," was the answer, floating up in hearty English accents
from the cold, dark surface on which the boat lay.

The _douanier_ drew back a few steps; it was impossible to see his
face, but his steadfast suspicious regard was to be imagined. I have
no doubt he understood exactly what was happening. He asked us the
name of our vessel. I answered in French. "The small yacht _Spitfire_
lying astern of the Folkestone steamer." Nothing more passed and we
descended the steps.

I felt Grace shiver as I handed her into the boat. The harbour water
washed black and cold to the dark line of pier and wharf opposite;
there was an edge of chill, too, in the distant sound of surf crawling
upon the sand, and the wide spread of stars carried the fancy to the
broad, black breast of ocean over which they were trembling. The oars
dipped, striking a dim cloud of phosphor into the eddies they made; and
a few strokes of the blades carried us to the side of the little
_Spitfire_. I sprang on to the deck, and lifting my darling through
the gangway, called to Caudel to make haste to get the boat in and
start, for the breeze, that had before been little more than a fancy to
me, I could now