Bill Stacy lived in a lonely house situated between Brighton and Shoreham, and there practised all sorts of illicit trades. Rumour reported Bill to have been a pirate in his younger days, but if any one wished his legacy of six feet of earth, he had only to inquire from Bill the antecedents of his mysterious life. Old Stacy had a reputed daughter named Antonia, quite a belle in the Spanish way. She had an arch, gipsy look in her large black eye; and her jetty hair, white teeth, and the damask colour which tinged her olive cheek made her quite irresistible. Many an eye had paid the homage of speechless admiration to the dark-eyed beauty, many a heartache had she caused to the dashing young officers of the 7th, but few had the hardiness to do more than glance at her face for fear of her father, the old dragon who guarded her bower, and since the day Bill had nigh murdered a young Viscount who had dared kiss her hand, her admirers stood afar off, nor tempted another volley of his ire. Perhaps my readers may wonder how L'Estrange had become acquainted with such a wild, bad character as Bill. It is enough to say for the present that he had become acquainted, and that a peculiar tie seemed to exist between them. In fact, old Stacy had told L'Estrange as much as to lead him to suppose he, and he only, could unravel some of the mystery that clung to his early life. But he knew Bill's desperate character too well to pry into any of his secrets, and, since he had been threatened with strangulation for once trying to sift matters, thought it best to allow the old sinner to take his own time. Stacy supplied him, in common with others, with tobacco and spirits never christened in a custom-house, duty-free,--indeed he made no secret of his trade, and it was thought the excise officers winked at these illegal practices, and the old man made it worth their while to hold their information secret. Late as it was--now past midnight--L'Estrange prepared to look up this villain, generally easiest found at his own hour of darkness. He therefore ordered his servant to saddle a horse, and accompany him to within a short distance of the smuggler's nest. Pat Malony, his orderly, proceeded to do so, wondering what his master was up to at such a late hour. In those days the discipline of the cavalry was less rigorous than now, and L'Estrange passed unchallenged through the gates, and proceeded at a slow trot along the frozen road westward towards Hove, which he passed, and then quickened his pace till he came within a mile of the Nest, as Stacy's house was called. Here he dismounted, ordered Pat to take care of his horse, and wait till he came back again. Pat lit his pipe, inwardly cursing the freak that left him a sentinel on such a night, and wondering "what the divil dacent folk wanted at this hour of night in a place, if report said true, anything but honest!" Meanwhile L'Estrange ran downwards to the shore over a wild bleak common, till he