habits of his wandering life and settle down. His better nature told him that smuggling was wrong, but he was so accustomed to regard it as a legitimate and honest trade that his judgment was distorted and biassed, and he regarded the movements of the Government as almost unjust at such times, when war had raised prices upon every article.

Anty was never married. Once or twice he had visited some hamlet very often, until the neighbours began to smile, but if these feelings for a time asserted their influence he invariably overcame them, as if he feared that settling down as a married man would prevent the freedom of his wanderings. He was also shrewd enough to know that an unmarried man, goodlooking and cheery, and still far from being old, was always a welcome guest. Fabulous reports of his wealth, which he never cared to deny, added to the interest with which he was regarded, for if there is any place in the world where it is true, 'If thou doest well unto thyself men will speak good of thee,' that place is Hillsland. Having sold his pack until it was nearly empty, he determined to go down to Troutbeck and hear the real truth of the many reports he had helped to circulate. In Dingrose he had a friend he much regarded. The men mutually liked each other. Each secretly wondered that the other did not retire from all connection with the smugglers, each supposing that the other had already saved a competency to retire on. When Anty was about five miles from

Troutbeck, he suddenly met his friend riding on his roan pony, and from him he heard the full account of all that had passed, and of his fixed purpose to retire altogether from all connection with the smuggling; but not one word did Dingrose say as to his reason for this step, which filled his friend's mind with no astonishment. He thought that Dingrose had realised a competency, and was going to sail into harbour before the coming storm.

CHAPTER XIX.

HE next day, however, after they had been hospitably entertained at a farmhouse, the inmates of which considered it

quite an honour to receive Dingrose, the latter suddenly determined to lay his whole case and present difficulties before Anty. He therefore told him the whole of his discoveries concerning Latimer's identity, and how this was confirmed by his mother's recognition of the likeness. He told him all that Bridget had told him about the marriage of Lord Darske, and the birth of the child, and likewise the death of the unfortunate mother. He dwelt long upon the matter, often repeating over and over again some parts that most convinced himself, and concluded his story by showing that this revelation of the son of his own foster-brother being the leader of the soldiers was the cause why he had retired from the leadership of the smugglers. He said he could not fight against him; it was against nature; he could not fight against the heir of the family,—no

good would come of it. The affection for the family overruled in his mind all other considerations. Anty promised to be as silent as death, and secret as a dead man's grave. He was exceedingly interested by the information, and like his friend, he saw no reason to fear serious consequences to himself from all cessation of smuggling. Not that he regarded the matter merely selfishly, but his better nature always made him partly alive to the many evil consequences of 'the trade,' as it was called by them all. And had he needed another inducement to fall in with the ideas and intentions of Dingrose, he might have found one in the very house in which they were.

The occupier of the farm was a widow; in her husband's time it had been a model of tidiness and prosperity. Everything was in order and 'mensful,' as the term is in their common language of these parts. The farm without was in keeping with the homestead within and with the house. Not so now; the farmer had been dead a few years, and two tall sons worked the farm, when they were at home, but this was a rare event. Everything was neglected and in ruin, the whole place was lost, and looked miserable. The mother had piteously bewailed her condition the night before. Her cry was,

'The smuggling has ruined my sons; they will think of nothing else, and when they have a little money, they go off to horse races. They spend every evening in the nearest public-house.

They

are not badly disposed lads, and they are not unkind to their mother, but the moment my back is turned they are off, and nothing is done on the farm. I have a little lad and a lass, but what can they do? I often have to see to the horses myself, or the poor brutes would be hungered to death. They talk about the good smuggling has done to us all, but it has ruined us. My husband did as others did, and lent his horses, as ye know, but he never neglected his farm. And in those days the boys worked well and we were happy. It's all altered now, and we shall all soon be to the door. use my talking to the bairns. They say, "Yes, mother, we'll give it up," but they don't. They are just now set up about young Maxwell a-joining in with them like. And they were somewhere with those that took the Captain, and they seem now more determined to go on, and fight with the rest against the soldiers. They will kill their mother if they do.'

It's no

This and much more of the same sort coming upon the minds of Dingrose and Anty in their present mood had a great effect upon them, and induced Dingrose to open his mind to his friend, and further induced Anty to acquiesce. When the poor widow was told of their intention to withdraw from the smuggling she was not a little comforted. She felt that when her sons returned-they were away as usual now-she would have powerful advocates on