"Can we be of any service to you, young man?" said the lady. "We are anxious to prove ourselves grateful to you: and in any way that you may claim our future service, you will find us ready to repay you. As an immediate help, Mr. Cobbold sends you this guinea, an earnest of some future recompense." "Thank you, ma'am! Let Margaret have the guinea, and the thanks too; for she first discovered the young gentleman." This was spoken by Laud without looking at the lady, or once lifting up his eyes. Was it timidity, or was it shame? Perhaps Laud had never been interrogated in the presence of a lady before that time. He was truly relieved, when Mrs. Cobbold, hoping, as she said, that he had been well taken care of, and again thanking him for his assistance, wished him a good night's rest, and took her departure. The opinion of the parlour was not so favourable to Laud as that of the kitchen, as the character of the bold smuggler was estimated very differently in each place. Mr. and Mrs. Cobbold, however, were not aware that Laud was in the British navy, having been seized in his boat by a pressgang, and been bound to serve his majesty three years on board the _Briton_ man-of-war, then cruising off the coast of Holland. Such was the want of British seamen just at this period of the breaking-out of the long war, that many smugglers received not only their pardon, but good pay for joining the navy; and even those taken by the pressgang were only punished, if it may be termed so, by a three-years' well-paid service. Laud had been thus taken, and had been so well received on board, that his captain, on the night in question, had granted him permission to come up to Ipswich. He had offered him a crew, but Laud said he knew the river, and would rather go alone, if the captain would only lend him one of the small boats and a pair of oars. He had promised to be on board again the next day. The request was granted; for the captain was pleased with Laud's confession of his object in undertaking to go alone--so, in spite of wind and weather, ice and snow, he had rowed himself up the river Orwell as far as Nacton Creek. These facts Will had already communicated to Margaret, who, rejoicing in his present honourable position, overlooked the dangers of a three-years' service in defence of his country. She felt more proud of his presence that night at the Cliff than she had ever before done since the day of his first entrance into her father's cottage. She did not indeed experience that thrilling warmth of devotion which she once felt when he visited her on the shores of Downham Reach; but love, through all its shocks, was much more firm and really hopeful than even at that enthusiastic period.