The storm was blowing still, but more westerly, so that the water was quieter, and we could use the wind fairly to the point of the shoals. After that it would be hard work to make my father's cabin. I handed the sheet to his honour, and curled myself up in the bows. Maurice Gorman was no great seaman, as I knew. But it was not for me to thrust myself forward when he took the helm. Yet I confess I felt a secret pleasure as I looked at the breakers ahead, and wondered how soon he would call me aft to steer him through them. To-night, as it seemed to me, he hugged the eastern shore more than usual, thereby laying up for himself all the harder task when the time came to cross in the face of the wind. "Begging your honour's pardon," said I at last, "luff her, sir." He paid no heed, but held on as we went till the shoals were long distanced, and the black cliff of Kilgorman rose above us. The day was now dawning, and the terrors of the place were somewhat diminished. Yet I confess I looked up at the gaunt walls and chimneys with uneasiness. Now, as we came nearer, the mystery of the moving lights of the night before suddenly cleared itself. For snugly berthed in a narrow creek of the shore lay the strange cutter whose daring entry into the lough I had yesterday witnessed. At the sight of her the curiosity I had felt, but which my poor mother's message had driven from my head, revived. Who and what was she? and what was she doing in Lough Swilly? Then I recalled the strange words his honour had spoken last night in my hearing, about the arms being landed and stowed. And I remembered hearing some talk among the fisher folk of foreign weapons being smuggled into Ireland against the king's law, and of foreign soldiers coming, to help the people to tight against his Majesty. I was too young to understand what it all meant, or why his Majesty was to be fought with; for we were comfortable enough in our little cabin, what with the sheep and my mother's savings, and my father's fish, and the little that Tim and I could earn ferrying passengers over the lough. I was too young, I say, to know what wanted altering, but the sight of this queer-looking craft set me thinking about it. "Get out your oar," said his honour suddenly, letting the sheet fly, and running the boat into the creek. My heart sank, for I hoped we were going across to where my poor mother lay. I got out the oar, and paddled the boat into the creek till we came up to the stern of the cutter. _Cigale_--that was her name, painted on the stern-board; but there was nothing to show her port or the flag she flew.