"Have no fear, miss. This here oneasiness 'll soon pass. I know the yarn--his honour spun it to me. What's been done, and what's yet to do is right and proper, and if it worn't--" his pause was more significant than had he proceeded. Until we reached the harbour we did not encounter a living creature. I could never have imagined of the old town of Boulogne that its streets, late even as the hour was, would be so utterly deserted as we found them. I was satisfied with my judgment in not having ordered a carriage. The rattling of the wheels of a vehicle amid the vault-like stillness of those thoroughfares would have been heart-subduing to my mood of passionately nervous anxiety to get on board and away. I should have figured windows flung open and night-capped heads projected, and heard in imagination the clanking sabre of a gendarme trotting in our wake. I did not breathe freely till the harbour lay before us. Caudel said as we crossed to where the flight of steps fell to the water's edge: "I believe there's a little air of wind amoving." "I feel it," I answered; "what's its quarter?" "Seems to be off the land," said he. "There is a man!" cried Grace, arresting me by a drag at my arm. A figure stood at the head of the steps, and I believed it one of our men until a few strides brought us near enough to witness the gleam of uniform buttons, showing by the pale light of a lamp at a short distance from him. "A _douanier_," said I. "Nothing to be afraid of, my pet." "But if he should stop us, Herbert?" cried she, halting. "Sooner than that should happen," rumbled Caudel, "I'd chuck him overboard. But why should he stop us, miss? We ain't smugglers." "I would rather throw myself into the water than be taken back," exclaimed my sweetheart. I gently induced her to walk, whilst my captain advancing to the edge of the quay and looking down, sang out: "Below there! Are ye awake?" "Ay, wide awake," was the answer, floating up in hearty English accents from the cold, dark surface on which the boat lay. The _douanier_ drew back a few steps; it was impossible to see his face, but his steadfast suspicious regard was to be imagined. I have no doubt he understood exactly what was happening. He asked us the name of our vessel. I answered in French. "The small yacht _Spitfire_ lying astern of the Folkestone steamer." Nothing more passed and we descended the steps.