When Susan recovered from the long swoon, caused by her distress at witnessing what she imagined to be her lover’s death at the hands of her father, the chill, cold, grey light of morning was just appearing over the old sea-board. All around was quiet at the grave; not a sound was heard to tell of the terrible scenes she had so lately witnessed, and she might have fancied the whole a phantasm of the brain but for the acuteness of the feeling at her heart. Slowly her scattered senses were recalled, and she rose to her feet, moving with painful effort – for she was much bruised by the sudden fall – towards the place where she believed her lover had fallen. He was not there, however, nor could she find the bodies of any of the others. The ground around was trampled, and marked in all directions with impressions of confused footsteps, as might be expected after such a struggle, and here and there were a few dark stains of blood and fragments of town wearing apparel, with the partly consumed remains of two or three barrels; but otherwise nothing was visible to confirm her belief in the reality of what she had seen. Eagerly she scanned the ocean, over which the dawn was slowly breaking, until at last, far away on the horizon to the eastward, and appearing no larger than a distant sea bird, she fancied she could discern the white sails of a ship. It might be the smugglers’ boat escaping, and , with this one poor item of comfort, she turned her pale and tear-bedewed face towards the old mill, wondering and fearing what might have happened there during her absence. She found, however, everything there was as it was left the previous night; therefore, after removing all traces from her person of her night expedition, and lighting the kitchen fire, she sat down to rest, and to calmly review the incidents of the last twelve hours. It was evident that whatever had been the fate of her relatives, they had not yet been at home, and she must, therefore, prepare herself to meet them, should they return, without such a conscious look as that which she saw reflected in her looking glass, and this could only be acquired by accustoming herself for think calmly of the affair.
The hours dragged slowly along until near noon, without anything to break the dull monotony of her vigil. She felt no inclination to partake of food, being too heartsick. Turning over in her mind the occurrences of the preceding night, she could find no consolation. Looking at the affair from whatever side appeared to be the best it could not but prove disastrous to her lover’s hopes; for even though her father might have made good his escape, Hardisty’s hand had been lifted against him, and her father had always exhibited a most unforgiving and revengeful spirit. Thus his escape would not be an unmitigated blessing. Harassed and tormented by alternate hopes and fears she was beginning to feel weak and ill, when, about noon, and imperative knocking summoned her to the door, where stood an officer of the Preventative Service, whilst the premises seemed to be surrounded by a party of his men, and in the distance appeared the red coats and white cross-belts of a small party of soldiers or marines
. All were well armed, and it was evidently supposed the mission on which they were engaged might prove slightly difficult.
“Where is your father, my girl? For I suppose you are old Nettleby’s daughter.” inquired the officer as Susan appeared.
“Yes, sir, I’m his daughter; but he’s not at home at present,” was the reply, given with a timid curtsey.
“Not at home, eh? Anyhow I intend to search the house; perhaps you are not as innocent as you look. When did you see him last, girl?”
“Not since last night, sir. I was out very early this morning, and he had gone out when I returned. But oh! Sir, tell me, has anything happened to him?” Susan was quite ready to weep.
“Something may happen to him very soon, my girl, but as for you, I can’t tell whether you are very simple or very cunning.” Then assuming a sterner demeanour, the officer suddenly turned upon her and asked uickly “Do you know William Hardisty, one of my men?”
“Will Hardisty!” tremulously repeated Susan.
“Yes, Will Hardisty! Do you know what has become of him since last night, or rather early this morning?”
“No, sir, I’m sure I do not. Oh, Will! Will! What has happened?” she exclaimed, becoming overpowered by a flood of hysterical tears.
The officer’s heart was evidently touched by this display of genuine heartfelt distress, and he said in a much softer tone, “Nay, nay, my girl! You must not give way to tears; perhaps things are not so very bad after all.”
“Oh! Please tell me all about it, sir,” sobbed Susan, “I would do anything for Will.”
“You must tell the truth, then, about your father and brothers,” the officer replied, “for they are suspected of being concerned in his disappearance.”
He then proceeded to relate how they had received information of the intended “run” and acting with great caution, had surprised the smugglers in the very act of landing the cargo; that a fight had occurred, which ended in the dispersion of the smugglers, and the capture of two or three of their accomplices. He then told her how, when the muster roll of his men was called, the only one absent who could not be accounted for was William Hardisty, and that one of his comrades asserted that he saw him killed by a tall man, in whom he recognised the miller, who had been most active during the whole of the fight. However, all their endeavours to discover his body had proved useless and it was supposed to have been thrown in the sea by his destroyers.
“Now I know,” said the officer in conclusion, “how hard it is for a daughter to be compelled to give evidence against a parent; but when justice calls, it is her bounden duty to submit. I must, therefore, ask you again what you know of your father’s whereabouts?”
“Ideally, sir,” replied the still weeping girl, “I can tell you nothing more; for as I have said, he was absent when I returned from my walk early this morning.”
“Tell me, why did you leave the house so early in the morning – if it was early?”
Susan hesitated, but at length answered, “I only went out, as I frequently do, to look across the sea, and for the walk.”
“Indeed!” exclaimed her questioner, drawing the word out slowly, as though to give himself time to calculate the amount of credence he should give the excuse, and then, continuing: “And may I ask if your bright eyes discerned any vessels off the coast?”
“Yes,” she said, knowing it would be a safe reply now, “I think there was a small ship, or boat, nearly out of sight.”
“Then, by Heaven! I have it,” ejaculated the officer; “the crew escaped in their boat after all, and have taken your relatives with them.”
“Thank God, if they have!” was the response; then, fearing she had made an admission, she added, “that is, if you are correct, and they had anything to do with it.”
“There can be no doubt of that, and they are fortunate if they have so escaped.” (Evidently the officer was being softened towards poor Susan on account of her trouble.)
“But, under any circumstances, I consider it my duty to make an investigation of the premises. This shall be done,” he added, “in such a manner as to cause you the least possible annoyance.”
Going to the door he called two or three of the men to his assistance, and together they went from room to room, searching in all likely and unlikely places. Every corner, nook and closet was diligently investigated to no purpose; nothing could be found in any way to justify their suspicions as to Nettleby’s complicity with the smugglers, and they were compelled at last to discontinue the search, and retire in the order in which they arrived.