“You would do what, Mac?”

“I’d peach; that is, I’d tell all about your lordship’s doings.”

“Be d—d, you would?”

“Yes.”

“But who would believe you, you scoundrel?”

“Me they may not, my lord of Dunraven; but they’d believe the evidence of others.”

“But can you or your friends, you vagabond, bear any evil testimony against me?  I live in my own castle, and never mix with the world.  It is well known to all around, that my life and my time is devoted to study, to the practice of virtue, and to acts of piety.  Me they know as a model citizen and a Christian man and a gentleman.  Therefore, my character would be proof against insinuations, or charges patched up by you or your hellish crew.  You and your criminal companions might say, and even swear—you are capable of anything bad—you saw me in the act of committing a crime, but neither your word nor your oath would have any weight with those who know you, were the life of a dog only involved.”

“Dinna you be too sure of that, my lord,” rejoined Mac; “I ken, and Squire Jones knows too, the sad fate of the ship Bristol, of the Elizabeth of Swansea, and of the City of Paris.  He and I know also by whose hands the false light was hung out on Dunraven Head, and by whose hands the captains and the crews were murdered—who afterwards seized the wrecks, who sent them to market to be sold, and who received the money.  If I may be so bold, I could tell further that, within this castle, and in a cell beneath this room, there is a poor unfortunate man, who was put into an iron cage, and locked there by you,—the lord of Dunraven castle,—and that he is daily fed by crumbs from your table.  If this man were free, he could tell a tale at which humanity would shudder.  You, my lord, think I sleep with my eyes shut, that I tremble at sight of the sea, that I’m afraid of the darkness and the tempests; and you knew not that when those vessels went down, and when all the hands on board perished, except this poor man in the cage, I was near you, my lord,—even close by your side, though unperceived.  Knowing these facts, I now dare you, my lord, to molest me or breathe a word injurious to my character.  If you do so, I’ll peach, and I’ll take care that the lord of Dunraven shall be my fellow-prisoner.  You have called me a scoundrel.  Doesn’t that foul term apply equally to you, my lord?  But your sin will yet find you out.”

For these terrible revelations Mr. Vaughan was wholly unprepared.  During their recital he shook as a man having the palsy.  He uttered, too, the most awful imprecations, and cursed and swore like a man possessed of the devil.  These, however, had no influence over the mind of the hard-headed and hard-hearted Scotchman, who continued his tale heedless of the foaming rage of Mr. Vaughan.  He never dreamt that his crimes were known to mortal, beyond the circle of his demoniac companions.  He had so cautiously arranged his plans, and had carried them out so stealthily, that he fancied the knowledge of his rascality was confined to those desperadoes whom he had specially hired to carry out his nefarious designs.  Now, however, his deeds were known not only to Mac, but to his great enemy, Squire Jones; thus the man whom he sought to rob of his rightful possessions was also cognizant of those deeds.  Mr. Vaughan’s first thought, when Mac had finished his tale, was to take away, there and then, either his life or his liberty.  But a moment’s reflection compelled him to hesitate in adopting so dangerous a course, as it was known in the village of Southerndown that Mac had been summoned to the castle.  Considering the matter more seriously, he came to the conclusion that there was only one course open to him: namely, to take Mac into his service, and make him captain of the crew.  By pursuing this course, he would completely shut the mouths of Mac’s friends, and by securing the services of so skilful and so daring a wrecker, richer and more abundant harvests might yet be reaped.  Drawing himself to his full height, he said to his defiant visitor,—

“I do not, Mac, admit your charges, and I say further that they are incapable of proof; but as I sustained so heavy a loss by law, and as drowning men will not stand on ceremony, but will accept the assistance of their bitterest foe when they feel themselves sinking beneath the devouring waves, I am therefore prepared to take you into my employ, and if you prove faithful to my interests and obedient to my orders, you may rise to wealth and to honour.”

“But in what way, my lord, do you intend me to serve you?”

“You know, Mac, your special calling, and not wholly unknown to me,—don’t be alarmed,—is the success which has followed your labours.  Being under my protection, by being in my service, you may well look forward to still greater results.  I need not say you are well aware that your present position is fraught with danger, and that one word from me would put a stop to your career.  If your words be true, our interests clash.  Besides, Mac, the stealthy and criminal vagabond, prowling about in search of prey, is in a very different position to Mac, the servant of the lord of Dunraven.  With that sentiment you agree, do you not?”

“I must admit, my lord, you have put the case very clearly, and your reasons in favour of my accepting your offer are strong.  I can’t withstand them, so I’ll say Aye to your proposal.”

“You have acted like a man of sense, Mac, as I always took you to be.  To-night, work will have to be done; so go home and tell Molly, your wife, of your engagement, and don’t fail to meet me at the Watch Tower at four o’clock.”

No sooner had Mac left the castle to pay a visit to his wife, with a view to apprise her of his engagement, than Mr. Vaughan also took his departure, and immediately afterwards joined the watcher at the Tower, which was situate on the highest point of the promontory.  On entering the observatory, he inquired for the result of the day’s observations, which, on being put into his hand, made him remark that matters did not look very bright.

“When things are at the worst,” replied the watcher, “they generally mend.  I think we shall have some work to do before to-morrow morning.”

“Your reason for that opinion, my faithful Duncan.”

“You see yonder flag hoisted on St. Donat’s Watch Tower?  That flag has never yet deceived me.  Depend upon it, it is the harbinger of good news.  The wind, too, blows hard from the south, and, if I’m not mistaken, there will be a fearful gale before midnight, and the ships coming down channel must necessarily be driven towards our coast.”

“Your information, my Duncan, is cheering: I, too, am bearer of good news to you.  I have just engaged Mac the Devil, and shall appoint him to the office of captain of the beach and boatmen.”

“I’m so glad you’ve taken my cousin into your service.  Mac is a smart man, he is well up in the trade, he is fearless, and, what is still more important, will not stick at trifles in obtaining his end.”

“You approve then, Duncan, of my arrangement?”

“Most certainly, sir.  In our line of business Mac has no equal.  He has the strength of a giant, while he is a stranger to fear, and fortunately has no conscience.  I never heard of his failure in accomplishing