"THERE IS SORROW ON THE SEA"

By Gilbert Parker

I

 "YORK FACTORY, HUDSON'S BAY, "23rd September, 1747. 

"MY DEAR COUSIN FANNY, --It was a year last April Fool's Day, I left youon the sands there at Mablethorpe, no more than a stone's throw from theBook-in-Hand Inn, swearing that you should never see me or hear from meagain. You remember how we saw the coast-guards flash their lights hereand there, as they searched the sands for me? how one came bundling downthe bank, calling, 'Who goes there?' You remember that when I said, 'Afriend, ' he stumbled, and his light fell to the sands and went out, and in the darkness you and I stole away: you to your home, with awhispering, 'God-bless-you, Cousin Dick, ' over your shoulder, and I witha bit of a laugh that, maybe, cut to the heart, and that split in a sobin my own throat--though you didn't hear that. 

"'Twas a bad night's work that, Cousin Fanny, and maybe I wish itundone, and maybe I don't; but a devil gets into the heart of a man whenhe has to fly from the lass he loves, while the friends of his youth gohunting him with muskets, and he has to steal out of the backdoor of hisown country and shelter himself, like a cold sparrow, up in the eaves ofthe world. 

"Ay, lass, that's how I left the fens of Lincolnshire a year last AprilFool's Day. There wasn't a dyke from, Lincoln town to Mablethorpe thatI hadn't crossed with a running jump; and there wasn't a break in theshore, or a sink-hole in the sand, or a clump of rushes, or a samphirebed, from Skegness to Theddlethorpe, that I didn't know like every lineof your face. And when I was a slip of a lad-ay, and later too--how youand I used to snuggle into little nooks of the sand-hills, maybejust beneath the coast-guard's hut, and watch the tide come swillingin-water-daisies you used to call the breaking surf, Cousin Fanny. Andthat was like you, always with a fancy about everything you saw. And when the ships, the fishing-smacks with their red sails, and thetall-masted brigs went by, taking the white foam on their canvas, youused to wish that you might sail away to the lands you'd heard tellof from old skippers that gathered round my uncle's fire in theBook-in-Hand. Ay, a grand thing I thought it would be, too, to go ridinground the world on a well-washed deck, with plenty of food and grog, andmaybe, by-and-by, to be first mate, and lord it from fo'castle bunk tostern-rail. 

"You did not know, did you, who was the coast-guardsman that stumbled ashe came on us that night? It looked a stupid thing to do that, and letthe lantern fall. But, lass, 'twas done o' purpose. That was the one manin all the parish that would ha' risked his neck to let me free. 'TwasLancy Doane, who's give me as many beatings in his time as I him. Wewere always getting foul one o' t'other since I was big enough to shy abit of turf at him across a dyke, and there isn't a spot on's body thatI haven't hit, nor one on mine that he hasn't mauled. I've sat on hishead, and he's had his knee in my stomach till I squealed, and we nevercould meet without back-talking and rasping 'gainst the grain. The nightbefore he joined the coast-guardsmen, he was down at the Book-in-Hand, and 'twas little like that I'd let the good chance pass--I might neverhave another; for Gover'ment folk will not easy work a quarrel on theirown account. I mind him sittin' there on the settle, his shins againstthe fire, a long pipe going, and Casey of the Lazy Beetle, and Jobbinthe mate of the Dodger, and Little Faddo, who had the fat Dutch wifedown by the Ship Inn, and Whiggle the preaching blacksmith. And you werestandin' with your back to the shinin' pewters, and the great jug of alewith the white napkin behind you; the light o' the fire wavin' on yourface, and your look lost in the deep hollow o' the chimney. I think ofyou most as you were that minute, Cousin Fanny, when I come in. I tellyou straight and fair, that was the prettiest picture I ever saw; andI've seen some rare fine things in my travels. 'Twas as if the thing hadbeen set by some one, just to show you off to your best. Here you were, a slip of a lass, straight as a bulrush, and your head hangin' proud onyour shoulders; yet modest too, as you can see off here in the North thetop of the golden-rod flower swing on its stem. You were slim as slim, and yet there wasn't a corner on you; so soft and full and firm youwere, like the breast of a quail; and I mind me how the shine of yourcheeks was like the glimmer of an apple after you've rubbed it witha bit of cloth. Well, there you stood in some sort of smooth, plain, clingin' gown, a little bit loose and tumblin' at the throat, and yourpretty foot with a brown slipper pushed out, just savin' you from bein'prim. That's why the men liked you--you didn't carry a sermon in yourwaist-ribbon, and the Lord's Day in the lift o' your chin; but you hada smile to give when 'twas the right time for it, and men never saidthings with you there that they'd have said before many another maid. 

"'Twas a thing I've thought on off here, where I've little to do butthink, how a lass like you could put a finger on the lip of such roughtykes as Faddo, Jobbin, and the rest, keepin' their rude words underflap and button. Do you mind how, when I passed you comin' in, I laid myhand on yours as it rested on the dresser? That hand of yours wasn'ta tiny bit of a thing, and the fingers weren't all taperin' like asimperin' miss from town, worked down in the mill of quality and gotfrom graftin' and graftin', like one of them roses from the flower-houseat Mablethorpe Hall--not fit to stand by one o' them that grew strongand sweet with no fancy colour, in the garden o' the Book-in-Hand. Yours was a hand that talked as much as your lips or face, as honest andwhite; and the palm all pink, and strong as strong could be, and warmin'every thread in a man's body when he touched it. Well, I touched yourhand then, and you looked at me and nodded, and went musin' into thefire again, not seemin' to hear our gabble. 

"But, you remember--don't you?--how Jobbin took to chaffin' of LancyDoane, and how Faddo's tongue got sharper as the time got on, and manya nasty word was said of coast-guards and excisemen, and all that hadto do with law and gover'ment. Cuts there were at some of Laney's wilddoings in the past, and now and then they'd turn to me, saying what theythought would set me girdin' Lancy too. But I had my own quarrel, andI wasn't to be baited by such numskulls. And Lancy--that was a thing Icouldn't understand--he did no more than shrug his shoulder and call formore ale, and wish them all good health and a hundred a year. I neverthought he could ha' been so patient-like. But there was a kind oflittle smile, too, on his face, showin' he did some thinkin'; and Iguessed he was bidin' his time. 

"I wasn't as sharp as I might ha' been, or I'd ha' seen what he waswaitin' for, with that quiet provokin' smile on his face, and his eyessmoulderin' like. I don't know to this day whether you wanted to leavethe room when you did, though 'twas about half after ten o'clock, laterthan I ever saw you there before. But when my uncle come in from Louth, and give you a touch on the shoulder, and said: 'To bed wi' you, mylass, ' you waited for a minute longer, glancin' round on all of us, atlast lookin' steady at Lancy; and he got up from his chair, and took offhis hat to you with a way he had. You didn't stay a second after that, but went away straight, sayin' good-night to all of us, but Lancy wasthe only one on his feet. 

"Just as soon as the door was shut behind you, Lancy turned round tothe fire, and pushed the log with his feet in a way a man does when he'sthink-in' a bit. And Faddo give a nasty laugh, and said:

"' Theer's a dainty sitovation. Theer's Mr. Thomas Doane, outlaw andsmuggler, and theer's Mr. Lancy Doane his brother, coast-guardsman. Now, if them two should 'appen to meet on Lincolnshire coast, Lord, theer'sa sitovation for ye--Lord, theer's a cud to chew! 'Ere's one gentlemanwants to try 'is 'and at 'elpin' Prince Charlie, and when 'is Up doesn'tamount to anythink, what does the King on 'is throne say? He says, "Asfor Thomas Doane, Esquire, aw've doone wi' 'im. " And theer's anothergentleman, Mr. Lancy Doane, Esquire. He turns pious, and says, "Aw'mgoin' for a coast-guardsman. " What does the King on his throne say? 'Esays, "Theer's the man for me. "'"

But aw says, "Aw've doone, aw've doone wi' Mr. Lancy Doane, Esquire, andbe damned to 'im!" He! he! Theer's a fancy sitovation for ye. Mr. ThomasDoane, Esquire, smuggler and outlaw, an' Mr. Lancy Doane, Esquire, coast-guardsman. Aw've doone. Ho! ho! That gits into my crop. '

"I tell you these things, Cousin Fanny, because I'm doubtin' if you everheard them, or knew exactly how things stood that night. I never was afriend of Lancy Doane, you understand, but it's only fair that the truthbe told about that quarrel, for like as not he wouldn't speak himself, and your father was moving in and out; and, I take my oath, I wouldn'tbelieve Faddo and the others if they was to swear on the Bible. Not thatthey didn't know the truth when they saw it, but they did love just tolet their fancy run. I'm livin' over all the things that happened thatnight--livin' them over to-day, when everything's so quiet about mehere, so lonesome. I wanted to go over it all, bit by bit, and work itout in my head, just as you and I used to do the puzzle games we playedin the sands. And maybe, when you're a long way off from things you oncelived, you can see them and understand them better. Out here, where it'sso lonely, and yet so good a place to live in, I seem to get the hang o'the world better, and why some things are, and other things aren't; andI thought it would pull at my heart to sit down and write you a longletter, goin' over the whole business again; but it doesn't. I supposeI feel as a judge does when he goes over a lot of evidence, and sums itall up for the jury. I don't seem prejudiced one way or another. But I'mnot sure that I've got all the evidence to make me ken everything; andthat's what made me bitter wild the last time that I saw you. Maybe youhadn't anything to tell me, and maybe you had, and maybe, if you everwrite to me out here, you'll tell me if there's anything I don't knowabout them days. 

"Well, I'll go back now to what happened when Faddo was speakin' at myuncle's bar. Lancy Doane was standin' behind the settle, leanin' hisarms on it, and smokin' his pipe quiet. He waited patient till Faddohad done, then he comes round the settle, puts his pipe up in the rackbetween the rafters, and steps in front of Faddo. If ever the devil wasin a man's face, it looked out of Lancy Doane's that minute. Faddo hadtouched him on the raw when he fetched out that about Tom Doane. All ofa sudden Lancy swings, and looks at the clock. 

"'It's half-past ten, Jim Faddo, ' said he, 'and aw've got an hour an' ahalf to deal wi' you as a Lincolnshire lad. At twelve o'clock aw'm theGover'ment's, but till then aw'm Lancy Doane, free to strike or free tolet alone; to swallow dirt or throw it; to take a lie or give it. Andnow list to me; aw'm not goin' to eat dirt, and aw'm goin' to give youthe lie, and aw'm goin' to break your neck, if I swing for it to-morrow, Jim Faddo. And here's another thing aw'll tell you. When the clockstrikes twelve, on the best horse in the country aw'll ride toTheddlethorpe, straight for the well that's dug you know where, tofind your smuggled stuff, and to run the irons round your wrists. Aw'mdealin' fair wi' you that never dealt fair by no man. You never hadan open hand nor soft heart; and because you've made money, not out o'smugglin' alone, but out o' poor devils of smugglers that didn't knowrightly to be rogues, you think to fling your dirt where you choose. Butaw'll have ye to-night as a man, and aw'll have ye to-night as a King'sofficer, or aw'll go damned to hell. '

"Then he steps back a bit very shiny in the face, and his eyes liketorchlights, but cool and steady. 'Come on now, ' he says, 'Jim Faddo, away from the Book-in-Hand, and down to the beach under the sand-hills, and we'll see man for man--though, come to think of it, y 'are no man, 'he said--'if ye'll have the right to say when aw'm a King's officer thatyou could fling foul words in the face of Lancy Doane. And a word more, 'he says; 'aw wouldn't trust ye if an Angel o' Heaven swore for ye. Takethe knife from the belt behind your back there, and throw it on thetable, for you wouldn't bide by no fair rules o' fightin'. Throw theknife on the table, ' he says, comin' a step forward. 

"Faddo got on to his feet. He was bigger built than Lancy, and a bittaller, and we all knew he was devilish strong in his arms. There wasa look in his face I couldn't understand. One minute I thought it wasfear, and another I thought it was daze; and maybe it was both. But allon a sudden something horrible cunnin' come into it, and ugly too. 

"'Go to the well, then, since ye've found out all about it, ' he says, 'but aw've an hour and a half start o' ye, Lancy Doane. '

"'Ye've less than that, ' says Lancy back to him, 'if ye go with me tothe sands first. '

"At that my uncle stepped in to say a word for peacemakin', but Lancywould have none of it. 'Take the knife and throw it on the table, ' hesaid to Faddo once more, and Faddo took it out and threw it down. 

"'Come on, then, ' Faddo says, with a sneerin' laugh; 'we'll see bydaybreak who has the best o' this night's work, ' and he steps towardsthe door. 

"'Wait a minute, ' says Lancy, gettin' in front of him. 'Now take theknife from your boot. Take it, ' he says again, 'or aw will. That's likea man, to go to a fist fight wi' knives. Take it, ' he said. 'Aw'll gi'ye till aw count four, and if ye doan't take it, aw'll take it meself. One!' he says steady and soft. 'Two!' Faddo never moved. 'Three!' Thesilence made me sick, and the clock ticked like hammers. 'Four!' hesaid, and then he sprang for the boot, but Faddo's hand went down likelightnin' too. I couldn't tell exactly how they clinched but once ortwice I saw the light flash on the steel. Then they came down together, Faddo under, and when I looked again Faddo was lying eyes starin' wide, and mouth all white with fear, for Lancy was holding the knife-point athis throat. 'Stir an inch, ' says Lancy, 'and aw'll pin ye to the lid o'hell. '

"Three minutes by the clock he knelt there on Faddo's chest, theknife-point touching the bone in's throat. Not one of us stirred, butjust stood lookin', and my own heart beat so hard it hurt me, and myuncle steadyin' himself against the dresser. At last Lancy threw theknife away into the fire. 

"'Coward!' he said. 'A man would ha' taken the knife. Did you think awwas goin' to gie my neck to the noose just to put your knife to properuse? But don't stir till aw gie you the word, or aw'll choke the breatho' life out o' ye. '

"At that Faddo sprung to clinch Laney's arms, but Laney's fingers caughthim in the throat, and I thought surely Faddo was gone, for his tonguestood out a finger-length, and he was black in the face. 

"'For God's sake, Lancy, ' said my uncle, steppin' forward, 'let him go. '

"At that Lancy said: 'He's right enough. It's not the first time aw'vechoked a coward. Throw cold water on him and gi' 'im brandy. '

"Sure enough, he wasn't dead. Lancy stood there watchin' us while wefetched Faddo back, and I tell you, that was a narrow squeak for him. When he got his senses again, and was sittin' there lookin' as if he'dbeen hung and brought back to life, Lancy says to him: 'There, JimFaddo, aw've done wi' you as a man, and at twelve o'clock aw'll beginwi' you as King's officer. ' And at that, with a good-night to my uncleand all of us, he turns on his heels and leaves the Book-in-Hand. 

"I tell you, Cousin Fanny, though I'd been ripe for quarrel wi' LancyDoane myself that night, I could ha' took his hand like a brother, forI never saw a man deal fairer wi' a scoundrel than he did wi' Jim Faddo. You see, it wasn't what Faddo said about himself that made Laney wild, but that about his brother Tom; and a man doesn't like his brotherspoken ill of by dirt like Faddo, be it true or false. And of Laney'sbrother I'm goin' to write further on in this letter, for I doubt thatyou know all I know about him, and the rest of what happened that nightand afterwards. "

"DEAR COUSIN FANNY, I canna write all I set out to, for word come to me, just as I wrote the last sentence above, that the ship was to leave portthree days sooner than was fixed for when I began. I have been rareand busy since then, and I have no time to write more. And so 'twill beanother year before you get a word from me; but I hope that when thisletter comes you'll write one back to me by the ship that sails nextsummer from London. The summer's short and the winter's long here, Cousin Fanny, and there's more snow than grass; and there's more flowersin a week in Mablethorpe than in a whole year here. But, lass, the sunshines always, and my heart keeps warm in thinkin' of you, and I ask youto forgive me for any harsh word I ever spoke, not forgettin' that lastnight when I left you on the sands, and stole away like a thief acrossthe sea. I'm going to tell you the whole truth in my next letter, butI'd like you to forgive me before you know it all, for 'tis a rightlonely and distant land, this, and who can tell what may come to pass intwice a twelve month! Maybe a prayer on lips like mine doesn't seem inplace, for I've not lived as parson says man ought to live, but I thinkthe Lord will have no worse thought o' me when I say, God bless thee, lass, and keep thee safe as any flower in His garden that He waterethwith His own hand. Write to me, lass: I love thee still, I do love thee. 

 "DICK ORRY. "

II

 THE BOOK-IN-HAND INN, MABLETHORPE, LINCOLNSHIRE. May-Day, 1749. 

"DEAR COUSIN DICK, --I think I have not been so glad in many years aswhen I got your letter last Guy Fawkes Day. I was coming from the churchwhere the parson preached on plots and treasons, and obedience to theKing, when I saw the old postman coming down the road. I made quickly tohim, I know not why, for I had not thought to hear from you, and beforeI reached him he held up his hand, showing me the stout packet whichbrought me news of you. I hurried with it to the inn, and went straightto my room and sat down by the window, where I used to watch for yourcoming with the fishing fleet, down the sea from the Dogger Bank. I wasonly a girl, a young girl, then, and the Dogger Bank was, to my mind, asfar off as that place you call York Factory, in Hudson's Bay, is to menow. And yet I did not know how very far it was until our schoolmastershowed me on a globe how few days' sail it is to the Dogger Bank, andhow many to York Factory. 

"But I will tell you of my reading of your letter, and of what Ithought. But first I must go back a little. When you went away thatwild, dark night, with bitter words on your lips to me, Cousin Dick, Ithought I should never feel the same again. You did not know it, but Iwas bearing the misery of your trouble and of another's also, and of myown as well; and so I said over and over again, Oh, why will men be hardon women? Why do they look for them to be iron like themselves, bearingdouble burdens as most women do? But afterwards I settled to a quietnesswhich I would not have you think was happiness, for I have given upthought of that. Nor would I have you think me bearing trouble sweetly, for sometimes I was most hard and stubborn. But I lived on in a sort ofstillness till that morning when, sitting by my window, I read all youhad written to me. And first of all I must tell you how my heart wastouched at your words about our childhood together. I had not thoughtit lay so deep in your mind, Cousin Dick. It always stays in mine; butthen, women have more memories than men. The story of that night Iknew; but never fully as you have told it to me in your letter. Of whathappened after Lancy Doane left the inn, of which you have not written, but promised the writing in your next letter, I think I know as well asyourself. Nay, more, Cousin Dick. There are some matters concerning whatfollowed that night and after, which I know, and you do not know. Butyou have guessed there was something which I did not tell you, andso there was. And I will tell you of them now. But I will take up thethread of the story where you dropped it, and reel it out. 

"You left the inn soon after Lancy Doane, and James Faddo went then too, riding hard for Theddlethorpe, for he knew that in less than an hour thecoast-guards would be rifling the hiding places of his smuggled stuff. You did not take a horse, but, getting a musket, you walked the sandshard to Theddlethorpe. 

"I know it all, though you did not tell me, Cousin Dick. You had nopurpose in going, save to see the end of a wretched quarrel and asmuggler's ill scheme. You carried a musket for your own safety, notwith any purpose. It was a day of weight in your own life, for on oneside you had an offer from the Earl Fitzwilliam to serve on his estate;and on the other to take a share in a little fleet of fishing smacks, of which my father was part owner. I think you know to which side Iinclined, but that now is neither here nor there; and, though you didnot tell me, as you went along the shore you were more intent on handingbackwards and forwards in your mind your own affairs, than of whatshould happen at Theddlethorpe. And so you did not hurry as you went, and, as things happened, you came to Faddo's house almost at the samemoment with Lancy Doane and two other mounted coast-guards. 

"You stood in the shadow while they knocked at Faddo's door. You were sonear, you could see the hateful look in his face. You were surprisedhe did not try to stand the coast-guards off. You saw him, at theirbidding, take a lantern, and march with them to a shed standing off alittle from the house, nearer to the shore. Going a roundabout swiftly, you came to the shed first, and posted yourself at the little windowon the sea-side. You saw them enter with the lantern, saw them shift acider press, uncover the floor, and there beneath, in a dry well, werebarrels upon barrels of spirits, and crouched among them was a man whomyou all knew at once--Laney's brother, Tom. That, Cousin Dick, was JimFaddo's revenge. Tom Doane had got refuge with him till he should reachhis brother, not knowing Lancy was to be coast-guard. Faddo, coming backfrom Mablethorpe, told Tom the coast-guards were to raid him that night;and he made him hide in this safe place, as he called it, knowing thatLancy would make for it. 

"For a minute after Tom was found no man stirred. Tom was quick of brainand wit--would it had always been put, to good purposes!--and saw atonce Faddo's treachery. Like winking he fired at the traitor, who wasalmost as quick to return the fire. What made you do it I know not, unless it was you hated treachery; but, sliding in at the open doorbehind the coast-guards, you snatched the lantern from the hands of one, threw it out of the open door, and, thrusting them aside, called forTom to follow you. He sprang towards you over Faddo's body, even as youthrew the lantern, and, catching his arm, you ran with him towards thedyke. 

"'Ready for a great jump!' you said. 'Your life hangs on it. ' He waseven longer of leg than you. 'Is it a dyke?' he whispered, as the shotsfrom three muskets rang after you. 'A dyke. When I count three, jump, 'you answered. I have read somewhere of the great leap that one DonAlvarado, a Spaniard, made in Mexico, but surely never was a greaterleap than you two made that night, landing safely on the other side, andmaking for the sea-shore. None of the coast guardsmen, not even Lancy, could make the leap, for he was sick and trembling, though he had firedupon his own brother. And so they made for the bridge some distanceabove, just as the faint moon slipped behind a cloud and hid you fromtheir sight. 

"That is no country to hide in, as you know well, no caves, or hills, ormazy coombes, just a wide, flat, reedy place, broken by open woods. Theonly refuge for both now was the sea. 'Twas a wild run you two made, side by side, down that shore, keeping close within the gloom of thesand-hills, the coast-guards coming after, pressing you closer thanthey thought at the time, for Tom Doane had been wounded in the leg. ButLancy sent one back for the horses, he and the other coming on; and so, there you were, two and two. 'Twas a cruel task for Lancy that night, enough to turn a man's hair grey. But duty was duty, though those twolads were more to each other than most men ever are. You know how itended. But I want to go all over it just to show you that I understand. You were within a mile of Mablethorpe, when you saw a little fishingsmack come riding in, and you made straight for it. Who should be inthe smack but Solby, the canting Baptist, who was no friend to you or myuncle, or any of us. You had no time for bargaining or coaxing, and so, at the musket's mouth, you drove him from the boat, and pushed it outjust as Lancy and his men came riding up. Your sail was up, and youturned the lugger to the wind in as little time as could be, but thecoast-guardsmen rode after you, calling you to give in. No man will everknow the bitter trouble in Laney's heart when he gave the order to fireon you, though he did not fire himself. And you--do I not know, CousinDick, what you did? Tom Doane was not the man to fire at the three darkfigures riding you down, not knowing which was his brother. But you, youunderstood that; and you were in, you said to yourself, and you'd playthe game out, come what would. You raised your musket and drew upon afigure. At that moment a coast-guard's musket blazed, and you saw theman you had drawn on was Lancy Doane. You lowered your musket, and asyou did a ball struck you on the wrist. 

"Oh, I have thanked God a hundred times, dear Cousin Dick, that youfired no shot that night, but only helped a hunted, miserable man away, for you did get free. Just in the nick of time your sail caught thewind, and you steered for the open sea. Three days from that, TomDoane was safe in the Low Country, and you were on your way back toLincolnshire. You came by a fishing boat to Saltfleet Haven, and madeyour way down the coast towards Mablethorpe. Passing Theddlethorpe, you went up to Faddo's house, and, looking through the window, you sawFaddo, not dead, but being cared for by his wife. Then you came on toMablethorpe, and standing under my window, at the very moment when I wason my knees praying for the safety of those who travelled by sea, youwhistled like a quail from the garden below--the old signal. Oh, howmy heart stood still a moment and then leaped, for I knew it was you! Iwent down to the garden, and there you were. Oh, but I was glad to seeyou, Cousin Dick!

"You remember how I let you take me in your arms for an instant, andthen I asked if he was safe. And when you told me that he was, I burstinto tears, and I asked you many questions about him. And you answeredthem quickly, and then would have taken me in your arms again. But Iwould not let you, for then I knew--I knew that you loved me, and, oh, a dreadful feeling came into my heart, and I drew back, and could havesunk upon the ground in misery, but that there came a thought of yoursafety! He was safe, but you--you were here, where reward was posted foryou. I begged you to come into the house, that I might hide you there, but you would not. You had come for one thing, you said, and only one. An hour or two, and then you must be gone for London. And so you urgedme to the beach. I was afraid we might be seen, but you led me away fromthe cottages near to the little bridge which crosses the dyke. By thatway we came to the sands, as we thought unnoted. But no, who shouldit be to see us but that canting Baptist, Solby! And so the alarm wasgiven. You had come, dear Cousin Dick, to ask me one thing--if I lovedyou? and if, should you ever be free to come back, I would be your wife?I did not answer you; I could not answer you; and, when you pressed me, I begged you to have pity on me and not to speak of it. You thought Iwas not brave enough to love a man open to the law. As if--as if I knewnot that what you did came out of a generous, reckless heart. And on myknees--oh, on my knees--I ought to have thanked you for it! But I knewnot what to say; my lips were closed. And just then shots were fired, and we saw the coast-guards' lights. Then came Lancy Doane stumblingdown the banks, and our parting--our parting. Your bitter laugh as youleft me has rung in my ears ever since. 

"Do not think we have been idle here in your cause, for I myself went toEarl Fitzwilliam and told him the whole story, and how you had come tohelp Tom Doane that night. How do I know of it all? Because I have seena letter from Tom Doane. Well, the Earl promised to lay your case beforethe King himself, and to speak for you with good eager entreaty. Andso, it may be, by next time I write, there will go good news to you, and--will you then come back, dear Cousin Dick?

"And now I want to tell you what I know, and what you do not know. Tom Doane had a wife in Mablethorpe. He married her when she was butsixteen--a child. But she was afraid of her father's anger, and herhusband soon after went abroad, became one of Prince Charlie's men, andshe's never seen him since. She never really loved him, but she neverforgot that she was his wife; and she always dreaded his coming back;as well she might, for you see what happened when he did come. I pitiedher, dear Cousin Dick, with all my heart; and when Tom Doane died onthe field of battle in Holland last year, I wept with her and prayed forher. And you would have wept too, man though you are, if you had seenhow grateful she was that he died in honourable fighting and not ina smuggler's cave at Theddlethorpe. She blessed you for that, and shenever ceases to work with me for the King's pardon for you. 

"There is no more to say now, dear Cousin Dick, save that I would haveyou know I think of you with great desire of heart for your well-being, and I pray God for your safe return some day to the good country which, pardoning you, will cast you out no more. 

 "I am, dear Cousin Dick, "Thy most affectionate Cousin, "FANNY. "

"Afterword--Dear Dick, my heart bursts for joy. Enclosed here is thypardon, sent by the good Earl Fitzwilliam last night. I could serve himon my knees for ever. Dick, she that was Tom Doane's wife, she lovesthee. Wilt thou not come back to her?

"In truth, she always loved thee. She was thy cousin; she is thy Fanny. Now thou knowest all. "