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am going to London,’ replied Eustacie.
    ‘Oh!’ said the young man, rather doubtfully. ‘It’s no concern of mine, of course, but it’s a plaguey queer time to be going to London, isn’t it?’
    ‘No, because I am going to catch the night mail at Hand Cross. You must instantly let me go, or I shall be too late.’
    The other man, who had been listening in scowling silence, muttered: ‘She’ll have the pack of them down on us!’
    ‘Be damned to you, don’t croak so!’ said the young man. ‘Tether that nag of hers!’
    ‘If you let her go –’
    ‘I’m not going to let her go. You keep a look-out for Abel, and stop spoiling sport!’
    ‘But certainly you are going to let me go!’ interposed Eustacie in an urgent undertone. ‘I must go!’
    The young man said apologetically: ‘The devil’s in it that I can’t let you go. I would if I could, but to tell you the truth –’
    ‘There’s no call to do that!’ growled his companion. ‘Dang me, master, if I don’t think you’re unaccountable crazed!’
    Eustacie, who had had time by now to take stock of her surroundings, discovered that the darker shadows a little way off were not shadows at all, but ponies. There seemed to be about a dozen of them, and as she peered at them she was gradually able to descry what they were carrying. She had been living in Sussex for two years, and she was perfectly familiar with the appearance of a keg of brandy. She exclaimed: ‘You are smugglers, then!’
    ‘Free-traders, my dear, free-traders!’ replied the young man cheerfully. ‘At least, I am. Ned here is only what we call a land smuggler. You need not heed him.’
    Eustacie was so intrigued that for the moment she forgot all about the mail-coach. She had heard a great deal about smugglers, but although she knew that they were in general a desperate, cut-throat set of outlaws, she was so accustomed to her grandfather and most of his neighbours having dealings with them that she did not think their illicit trade in the least shocking. She said: ‘Well, you need not be afraid of me, I assure you. I do not at all mind that you are smug – free-traders.’
    ‘Are you French?’ asked the young man.
    ‘Yes. But tell me, why are you hiding here?’
    ‘Excisemen,’ he replied. ‘They’re on the watch. You know, the more I think of it the more it seems a very odd thing to me that you should be riding about by yourself in the middle of the night.’
    ‘I have told you: I am going to London.’
    ‘Well, it still seems very odd to me.’
    ‘Yes, but, you see, I am running away,’ explained Eustacie. ‘That is why I have to catch the night mail. I am going to London to be a governess.’
    She had the impression that he was laughing, but he said quite gravely: ‘You’ll never do for a governess. You don’t look like one. Besides, you’re not old enough.’
    ‘Yes, I am, and I shall look just like a governess.’
    ‘You can’t know anything about governesses if that’s what you think.’
    ‘Well, I don’t, but I thought it would be a very good thing to become.’
    ‘I dare say you know best, but to my mind you’re making a mistake. From all I’ve heard, they have a devilish poor time of it.’
    ‘I wish I could be a smuggler,’ said Eustacie wistfully. ‘I think I should like that.’
    ‘You wouldn’t do for a smuggler,’ he replied, shaking his head. ‘We don’t encourage females in the trade. It’s too dangerous.’
    ‘Well, I do not think it is fair that just because one is a female one should never be allowed to have any adventures!’
    ‘You seem to me to be having a deal of adventure,’ he pointed out. ‘I might easily have choked the life out of you – in fact, I may still if you don’t behave yourself. You’re in a mighty tight corner.’
    ‘Yes, I know I am having an adventure now,’ agreed Eustacie, ‘and, of course, I am enjoying it, but I should like to continue having adventures, which is a thing not at all easy to