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Cutlass and Cudgel

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<h3>Chapter Fourteen.</h3> Angry, but trembling with dread, Celia had hurried up to her own room, to try and think what was best to be done. She had secured the door of the room below to gain time, feeling as she did that, as the young midshipman knew of the storing of the smuggled goods, he would, the moment he was free, go back to the cutter, bring help, there would perhaps be a desperate fight, with men killed, and her father would be dragged away to prison. Her first thought was to go to her father, but she shrank from doing this as her mother would probably be asleep, and in her delicate state the alarm might seriously affect her. Having grown learned in the ways of the smugglers, from their having on several occasions made use of the great vault without asking permission—at times when Sir Risdon was away from home—Celia had sat up to watch that night to see if the men would fetch away the kegs and bales; hence her presence during the scene, and when she had awakened to the fact that the midshipman had played spy and was ready to denounce her father, she felt that all was over. Three times over, after listening at the head of the stairs for sounds from below where her prisoner was confined, Celia had crept on tiptoe to her father’s door, only to shrink away again not daring to speak. For what would he say to her? She thought. She had no right to be downstairs watching the acts of the smugglers, and she dreaded to make a confession of her knowledge of these nocturnal proceedings. At last, bewildered, anxious, and worn-out, she knelt down by her bed, to consider with her head in her hands, ready for kindly nature to bring her comfort, for when she started up again the sun was streaming brightly in at her window. She pressed her hands to her temples, and tried to think about the business of the past night, and by degrees she collected her thoughts, and recalled that the smugglers had come to take up their kegs and bales from the temporary store to carry them further inland, that she had discovered the young midshipman watching, and to save her father she had shut their enemy in the lower corner room. Celia stood with her cheeks burning, trembling and anxious, and after bathing her face and arranging her hair, she went out into the broad passage and listened at her father’s door. It was too soon for him to be stirring yet, and determining at last to go and declare his innocency, and make an appeal to the frank-looking lad, she crept timidly down the grand old flight of stairs, trying to think out what she would say. There were two flights to descend, and the first took a long time; but she worked out a nice little speech, in which she would tell the cutter’s officer that her father had once been rich, but he had espoused the young Pretender’s cause, and the result had been that he had become so impoverished that there had been a time when they had had hardly enough to keep them and the old maid-servant who still clung to their fallen fortunes. By the time she was at the bottom of the second flight she was ready and quite hopeful, and, with the tears standing in her eyes, she felt sure that the frank, gentlemanly lad would be merciful, forgive her, and save her father from a terrible disgrace. She had, then, her speech all ready, but when she spoke everything was condensed in the one exclamation— “Oh!” For as she reached the hall where her coming and going had so startled the midshipman in the darkness, she found that the door was wide open and the window shut. She looked about bewildered, but there was no sign of the room having been occupied. “Did I dream it all?” she said in an awe-stricken whisper. “No: the men came to take away the brandy and silk, and I saw them here.” She pressed her hands to her temples, for the surprise had confused her, and in addition her head ached and throbbed. “Could I have dreamed it?” she asked herself again. “No, I remember the men coming to fetch away the things and then I found him watching.” She stood gazing before her, with her puzzled feeling increasing, till a thought struck her. She saw the men come to fetch the kegs. If she really did see that, the kegs would be gone. The proof was easy. If the brandy and silk were gone, the door of the vault would be open. If the things were not fetched away, it would be locked up; and if she tapped on the door with her knuckles, there would be a dull sound instead of a hollow, echoing noise. She ran quickly down, and the door was locked. She tapped with her knuckles, and the sound indicated that the place was full, for all was dull and heavy and no reverberation in the place. “I must have dreamed it all,” she cried joyously. “I have thought so much about it that I have fancied all this, and made myself ill. Why, of course he could not have got in there to watch or the men would have seen him come.” It is very easy to place faith in that which you wish to believe. <hr> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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