This very night, when the wind fell at sundown, and we were hung
up with sails flapping, three miles out, and waited for the dark to get
the sweeps, I took my glass to scan the coast-line, and lo, here on the
tomb-top sits Master Trenchard. I could not see his face, but knew him by
his cut, and fear the boy sits there to play the spy and then tells
Maskew.' 'You're right,' said Greening of Ringstave, for I knew his
slow drawl; 'and many a time when I have sat in The Wood, and watched the
Manor to see Maskew safe at home before we ran a cargo, I have seen this
boy too go round about the place with a hangdog look, scanning the house
as if his life depended on't.'
'Twas very true what Greening said; for of a summer evening I would take
the path that led up Weatherbeech Hill, behind the Manor; both because
'twas a walk that had a good prospect in itself, and also a sweet charm
for me, namely, the hope of seeing Grace Maskew. And there I often sat
upon the stile that ends the path and opens on the down, and watched the
old half-ruined house below; and sometimes saw white-frocked Gracie
walking on the terrace in the evening sun, and sometimes in returning
passed her window near enough to wave a greeting. And once, when she had
the fever, and Dr. Hawkins came twice a day to see her, I had no heart
for school, but sat on that stile the livelong day, looking at the gabled
house where she was lying ill.
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