A murmur of approval broke from them. Dick at once lifted Penwarden, with Sam’s help, from the pool of water in which he was lying. It was difficult to keep him on his feet, for he was as yet only partially conscious. Without either assistance or interference from the smugglers they led him slowly to the foot of the path, and, one on each side of him, began to carry, rather than walk, him up the cliff. One of the smugglers dogged them throughout the toilsome ascent. When they came to the place where the man had fallen, after a shrewd thrust from Penwarden’s cutlass, they found that he had disappeared, having no doubt made his way homeward. "Thank ’ee for this, Maister Dick," murmured Penwarden when they paused to rest at the cliff-top. "I’ll have the law of those tidesmen for not comin’ when they was called." "No doubt they didn’t see your light. And look here, Joe, I promised not to split on the men, so I want you to promise too." "Daze me if I could split if I tried. I didn’t see one of ’em plain, nor hear their voices, and I got this crack on the head afore I could tell one from t’other." "Do it hurt much, maister?" asked Sam. "More’n you’d care about, young Sam. But ’tis nawthin’ at all to the cracks and wounds we got when we served wi’ Lord Admiral Rodney. Have I telled ’ee what ’a said to me purticler one day on Plymouth Hoe?" "Yes, yes," said Dick, quickly. "The sooner you are in bed the better." They took him slowly to his cottage, where Dick put him to bed, gave him some brandy, and bathed his wounded head. "You’ll stop with him to-night, Sam," he said. "Don’t leave him until Gammer Oliver comes in the morning." "What’ll ’ee say to Feyther, Maister Dick? I’m afeard he’ll be in a terrible rage wi’ poor me." "I’ll make that right. Now, lock the door when I’ve gone, and give Mr. Penwarden anything he wants during the night. I’ll come over in the morning." It was nearly two o’clock before Dick got to bed, and day was breaking before he slept. Meanwhile the smugglers finished their work unmolested, and before morning eighty tubs of good French spirits lay in the capacious cellars beneath the Dower House. CHAPTER THE SEVENTH The Breach Widens Next morning John Trevanion, fresh and ruddy, dressed in white breeches and a blue coat with shining buttons, rode gaily down to the Five Pilchards and summoned Doubledick to the door. "Well, you did the business, I see," he said jovially. "A small beginning: I wish my cellars held more." "Iss, fay, a little small haul, to be sure; little and good. Hee! hee! But, Maister Trevanion, I’ve summat plaguey awk’ard to tell ’ee." "What’s that?" said Trevanion, with an uneasy look.