The next morning, after a comfortable night in bed; I asked Marah how he had escaped. He told me that when the lugger drove ashore, one or two smugglers who had hidden in the dunes, crept down to her and carried him ashore. The two others, the drunkards, were too noisy to bring off. They were captured, and condemned to serve in the Navy. Marah's wound was not very severe; but he had had a great shock, and would not be able to exert himself for many weeks. An old smuggler (the one-legged man) had dressed his wound for him, and had then disguised him as I saw him, with a beard and naval clothes. One of the many Captains Sharp had advanced money for the journey home; but to avoid suspicion they had rigged up their donkey-cart; and worked their way as poor sea-ballad singers. "And now," said Marah, "I heard tell in Kent that you'd written home by the mail-coach, a full five days ago. Well, Jim, we're near the coach-road here. I reckon your friends'll be coming to see you by to-day's coach. If we go out into the road, to the 'Bold Sawyer' yonder, where they change horses and wait, I reckon you'll be able to save them some of their journey. Hey, Sally," he cried to the waitress, "what time does the Plymouth mail pass by?" "At eleven o'clock," said Sally. "At six bells, Jim," said Marah, "you'll see your folk again. On that I'll wager my best new silver buttons." The clock struck ten. It was a fair sunny summer's day, with a brisk wind blowing, when we ranged ourselves across the road outside the "Bold Sawyer." The coach-horn, sounding in the distance, was drawing rapidly nearer; we could hear the rhythm of the sixteen hoofs. Presently the horses swung round the corner; we saw the coachman flick his leaders so that he might dash up to the inn in style. Then as they galloped up I saw two well-known figures sitting outside, well muffled up. They were Hugh and Mrs Cottier. We had flags in our hands, so we waved them and shouted. The one-legged man roared out his doings at the battle of Belle Isle. I heard Hugh shouting at the top of his voice, "Look, Mother. It's Jim. It's Jim." We had a great dinner at the "Bold Sawyer" at one o'clock that day. We had hardly finished at half-past three, when the mail-coach stopped for us, to take us on our first stage home. I need only add a few words. Hugh became a "parson fellow," as Marah had put it; while I, in time, went to Jamaica as a planter. Marah and the one-legged man took the Gara Mill together, and did very well at it. Mr Cottier is now a Captain in the Portuguese Navy. Mrs Cottier keeps house for me here on the Gara. We are all a good deal older; but we keep well. Marah and I are planning a new adventure; for old Van Horn's treasure is still among the coral, and some day we are going to try for it. THE END