"No, you won't. I shan't let you, and you wouldn't be such a sneak, Master Lance."
"It isn't the act of a sneak."
"Yes, it is. Your cousin would, but you wouldn't get poor men into trouble."
That hit hard, and Lance hesitated.
"Why, it must be your father's and your brother's doing. And just under our noses too! Oh, what a disgraceful shame! There, Hezz, I've done with you."
"I didn't know about it, Master Lance."
"You must have known."
"Wish I may die if I did. There!"
"Take the oars, Hezz," said Lance coldly.
"But, Master Lance——"
"Take the oars," said Lance sternly. " I want to go home."
"To tell Squire Penwith what you've seen? O Master Lance! you don't know what you're going to do."
"No," said Lance sternly, as the lad took the oars and began to row back, "I don't."
"You make me feel as if I'd sooner kill you than you should do this. It means having my poor father took up and sent out of the country, and p'raps he didn't know the kegs was hid like that."
"Go on rowing, I tell you," cried Lance sharply, "make haste. Pull! do you hear? Pull!"
Hezz uttered a low sound something like a gulp, and dragged away at the oars with all his might till he ran the boat on to the sands, where Lance was perfectly aware, though he would not look up, that the four big fishermen were still leaning over the rail and looking out to sea, and he expected to hear a cheery question as to sport as he hurried up over the sands and began to climb the zigzag.
But no hail came, for the men's eyes were bent upon the revenue cutter, a mile away, watching every movement of that and the chasse-marée.