586 The Winter Cruise. ‘[Dec. 
« Well,” said the old woman, “ it was just such a night as this——” 
«‘ Susan !” cried a voice at the door, in that tone which implies haste, 
and a fear of being heard—“ Susan! open the door.” BES 
“« Good God!” shrieked Susan, “ that voice !”—and all the women 
rose at one moment, and stood staring at the door, which Susan was 
unlocking. ‘“ The key won't turn the lock—'tis rusty ;—-who’s there ?” 
she breathlessly exclaimed, as in the agony of suspense she tried to turn 
the key, while the big drops stood quivering on her brow. She trem- 
bled from head to foot—her companions stood like statues—the lock flew 
back, the door opened—nothing was seen but the black night, and the 
large drops of rain which sparkled in the beams of the candle on the 
table.-—“ There is no one,” said she, panting for breath ; “ but, as I stand 
here a living woman, ’twas his voice.—James! James!” she cried, and 
put out her head to listen. She heard quick, heavy footsteps hastily 
advancing at the end of the street: presently a party of six or seven’ 
blockade-men rushed by the door, dashing the wet from the pavement in 
Susan’s face. They passed with no other sound than that made by their 
feet, and were quickly out of hearing. 
“I wish I may die,” said old Margery, “ but the blockade-men are 
chasing some poor fellow who has been obliged to drop his tubs ; for I 
saw the blade of a cutlass flash in my eyes, though I couldn’t see the 
hand that held it.” ‘ 
“ My bonnet! my bonnet!” cried Susan; “ there has more befallen 
this night than any here can tell. ”Twas his voice—stay in the house till 
I come back—’twas his voice !””—and she ran out through the still driving 
rain, in the direction of the party that had just passed. They took the 
street that led to the cliffs ; not a light was to be seen—lamps in a smug- 
gling town being considered a very obnoxious accommodation; and, 
though there may be a rate for watching, the inhabitants take especial 
care there shall be none for lighting, inasmuch as a lamplighter never yet 
breathed the air of Folkstone. Susan reached the cliffs ; the wind blew 
fresh and strong off the sea, and the rain appeared abating. She thought 
she saw figures descend the heights; and quickening her pace, stood 
on the edge, straining her sight to distinguish the objects flitting to and 
fro on the beach. She heard a faint “ hallo !”—the sound thrilled through 
every nerve—it was the voice she had heard at her door. She returned 
the salute ; but the buffeting of the wind choaked her timid cry. The 
halloo was repeated ; Susan listened with her very eyes. Her distended 
fingers seemed grasping to catch at sound. A sound did rise above the 
roar of the breakers and the rushing of the wind: it was the report of a 
volley of carbines fired on the beach. Susan screamed, and sunk on the 
edge of the cliff, overpowered with terror and anxiety. Quickly there 
was seen a flashing of Jights along the coast, and men running from the 
Martello-towers to the beach in disorder. Then was heard the curse for 
curse, the clashing of cutlasses and discharge of arms, and the hoarse 
shout of some of the smugglers, who had succeeded in putting their boat 
off from the shore with part of her cargo, which it appeared they had 
been attempting to work. . 
Susan well understood the import of these dreadful sounds, and reco- 
vering from her fright, was striving to ascertain from her station the 
position of the parties, when a hard breathing of some one, apparent 
exhausted, arrested her attention. It seemed to issue from beneath, ar 
looking over the summit of the cliff, she perceived the shadow of a man 
