itted a few rays to stream down and reveal the
elemental strife that was going on below.

Coleman, regardless of the storm, maintained his position on his
one-legged companion, and bending his body to the blast, endeavoured to
pierce the gloom that enshrouded everything seaward beyond the large
breakers that sent their foam hissing up to his very feet. While he sat
there he thought, or muttered, thus:--

"It's odd, now, I'd ha' thought he'd have run ashore afore this; seein'
that I've sat on this here donkey for more nor an hour, a-purpose to let
him see that I'm only watchin' _here_, and nowhere else. He can't but
see there's a goodish lump o' the coast free to him so long as I sit
here. But he's a sly feller; p'raps he suspects somethin'. An' yet,
I'll go bound, he don't guess that there's six or seven of his worst
enemies hidin' all along the coast, with eyes like needles, and ears on
full cock! How'sever, it won't do to sit much longer. If he don't come
in five minutes, I'll git up an' walk along in an easy unsuspectin' way.
Dear me, wot a set o' hypocrites we've got to be in the hexecution of
our dooty!"

While Coleman moralised thus, in utter ignorance of the near proximity
of an eye-witness, the smuggler at the mouth of the cave, who was no
other than Orrick's friend, Rodney Nick, muttered some remarks between
his teeth which were by no means complimentary to the other.

"What are ye sittin' there for, ye old idiot?" said he savagely. "I do
b'lieve ye've larned to sleep on the donkey. Ha! there's two of ye
together, an' the wooden one's the best. Wouldn't I just like to be yer
leftenant, my boy? an' I'd come to know why you don't go on your beat.
Why, there may be no end o' cats and galleys takin' the beach wi' baccy
an' lush enough to smother you up alive, an' you sittin' there snuffin'
the east wind like an old ass, as ye are."

The smuggler uttered the last sentence in deep exasperation, for the
time appointed for signalising his comrades at sea had arrived, and yet
that stolid coast-guard-man sat there as if he had become fastened to
the shingle.

"I've a good mind to run out an' hit ye a crack over yer figure-head,"
he continued, grasping his pistol nervously and taking a step forward.
"Hallo! one would a'most think you'd heard me speak," he added and
shrank back, as Coleman rose from his seat (the five minutes having
expired), and sauntered with a careless air straight towards the cave.

On