our friends well?" Harry asked.

"All except poor Tom Hardy. He slipped his cable six months since, and
his wife, poor old soul, is gone to some friends near Winchester."

"Who's living in the cottage?"

"Black Jack has taken it."

"What! has he moved from his old place, then?"

"No, it is said that he's taken it for a Frenchy, who comes down off
and on. They say he's in the smuggling business with Black Jack, and
that he disposes of the silks and wines that are brought over in the
_Lucy_, and that Jack trades over in France with his friends. The
lieutenant at the coast-guard station has his eye upon him, and I
believe that some day they will catch Black Jack as he runs his cargo;
but he's a slippery customer. It would be a good day for Hayling if
they could do so, for he and his crew do a lot of harm to the place.
They look more like men who have belonged to the _Seamew_ I was
talking to you about than honest English fishermen."

"It is a curious thing, dad, that the Frenchman should be coming
backwards and forwards here, and I wonder that the revenue people
don't inquire into it."

"I don't suppose that they know very much about it, Harry. He comes
off and on, generally arriving at night, and leaving a few hours
afterwards. I hear about these things because everyone knows that old
Peter Langley is not the chap to put his nose into other people's
business. I don't like these goings on, I must say, and consider they
will end badly. However, it is no business of ours, lad. We get our
brandy cheap in Hayling--nowhere cheaper, I should say--and that,
after all, is the matter that concerns us most. The wind's rising
fast; I think we're in for a gale."

It was as Peter said. The clouds were rising fast behind the island,
the waves were breaking with a short, sharp sound upon the beach,
white heads were beginning to show themselves out at sea, the fishing
craft were running in towards Portsmouth under reefed sails, the
men-of-war at Spithead could be seen sending down their topmasts, and
everything betokened that it would be a nasty night.

"What time must you leave, Harry?"

"I shall go off at three to-morrow morning; shall cross the ferry, and
catch the coach as it goes along at eight. I promised that I would be
back on the following morning, and I would not fail in keeping my
appointment, for as the captain has been so good I should be sorry
that he should think that I had broken my word."

In the course of t