THE SMUGGLER. 1 89 



servant for the note which he had brought. "I will tell you 

 more in a minute," and breaking open the seal, he read Mr. 

 Croyland's epistle, which was to the following effect: 



"Mr. Croyland presents his compliments to Captain Os- 

 born, and has had the honour of receiving his letter, although 

 he cannot conceive why Captain Osborn should wish to speak 

 with him at Woodchurch, when he could so easily speak with 

 him in his own house; yet Mr. Croyland is Captain Osborn's 

 very humble servant, and will do as he bids him. As it is 

 now past one o'clock, as it would take half-an-hour to get Mr. 

 Croyland's carriage ready, and an hour to reach Woodchurch; 

 and as it is some years since Mr. Croyland has got upon the 

 back of anything but an ass or a hobby-horse, having more- 

 over no asses at hand with the proper proportion of legs, 

 though many deficient in number, it is impossible for him to 

 reach Woodchurch by the time stated to-day. He will be over 

 at that place, however, by two o'clock to-morrow, and hopes 

 that Captain Osborn will be able to return with him, and 

 spend a few days in an old bachelor's house." 



The young officer's face was grave as he read the first part 

 of the letter, but it relaxed into a smile towards the end. He 

 then gave, perhaps, ten seconds to thought; after which, rous- 

 ing himself abruptly, he turned to the dusty messenger from 

 Hythe, and fixing a somewhat searching glance upon the 

 man's face, he said, "Tell Mr. Mowle that I will be over with 

 him directly, and as the troops, it seems, will be required on 

 the side of Folkestone, he must have everything prepared on 

 his part, for we shall have no time to spare." 



The man bowed with a stolid look, and withdrew; and after 

 he had left the room, the officer remained silent for a moment 

 or two, looking out of the window till he saw him mount his 

 horse and depart. Then, descending in haste to the inn door, 

 he gave various orders to the dragoons who were there wait- 

 ing. To one they were, "Ride off to Folkestone as fast as 

 you can go, and tell Captain Irby to march immediately with 

 his troop to Bilsington, which place he must reach before two 

 o'clock in the morning." To another: "You gallop off to 

 Appledore, and bid the sergeant there bring his party down 

 to Brenzet Corner in the Marsh, and put himself under the 



