CHAPTER EIGHT.
Archy was some little distance ahead of his men, and he had just stepped into the patch of woodland which surrounded the Hoze, when he heard a pleasant little voice singing a snatch of a Jacobite song.
He stopped short to listen, it sounded so bird-like and sweet, and half-laughingly he sang the last line over aloud, thinking the while how disloyal he was.
Hardly had he finished, when there was a burst of barking, a rush, and a dog came hurrying toward him, followed by a voice crying-- "Grip, Grip, come here!" The dog seemed to pay no heed to the call, and at a turn of the track, Archy saw him coming open-mouthed.
It was not a pleasant sight, and the youth felt disposed to take to his heels, and run for protection to his men.
But there were drawbacks to such a proceeding.
If he ran it would look cowardly, and he knew for certain that the dog would come after him, and take him at a disadvantage; so, making a virtue of necessity, he whipped out his dirk and ran hard at the dog, who checked his pace, hesitated, stopped, barked more furiously than ever, and then turned round, and was chased by the midshipman, who drew up on finding himself face to face with Sir Risdon's daughter, out for her daily walk.
The girl turned white, and was in the act of turning to run away, when Archy's words arrested her.
"No, no," he cried, "don't run away." She stopped, and looked from his face to his dirk, and back.
"Oh, I see," he said, "that alarmed you.

There," he continued, sheathing the little weapon, "I only drew it because your dog looked so fierce.

Does he bite ?" "Sometimes, I'm afraid.

But were you coming to see my father?
Who are you ?" she added uneasily, as she glanced at the lad's uniform.
"I am Archibald Raystoke, of His Majesty's cutter _White Hawk_." "And you want to see my father ?" cried the girl, beginning to tremble.
"Well, yes, I ought to see him.

The fact is, we have landed to search for a quantity of smuggled things, and to make a capture of the smugglers if we can." Celia looked at him wildly, and her face grew more and more white.
"Will you show me the way to the house?
The Hoze you call it, do you not ?" Celia gave a quick, almost imperceptible nod, as she recalled how she had lain in her clothes, and listened to the busy coming and going of footsteps, for the greater part of the night.
As all this came to her mind, she felt at first as if she must run to warn her father.