Marjorie Bowen

“ Of all the Jacobites, nobles, captains and gentlemen, spies and common rufflers who had used her father's hut in their passage to and from France, this man was the most at ease, the most arrogant of manner, as if his life was in no danger, nor his cause in any fear of failure; yet at the same time she had seen none with eyes that held such excited wildness or who kept his hand so continually on his sword. ”

“ The man gazed round him, then made slowly toward the sea. The sodden earth and wide logs impeded him; he trod cautiously, but for all his ease sank now and then to his ankles in mud or half-fell over the broke stones and boulders.
Slowly he made painful progress to the edge of the fen where it dipped in a sudden slope of clay straight onto the beach. ”

“ He made steadily toward it; the snow stinging in his face, and saw it grow larger till he could discern the snowflakes drifting swiftly through the faint halo it cast upon the dark.
The ground grew firmer under foot; he had gained a tongue of dry land, and in front of him, barely visible, was the black outline of the smuggler's hut with the lamp flaring yellow in the square window; with this aid he found his way to the door and, using the hilt of his sword, knocked heavily. ”

“ He wore no peruke and his short hair was black as his heavy brows; he was of a pale complexion naturally, and now his eyes showed dark in a face markedly pale.
"Ye are the messenger from St. Germains?" asked Celia Hunt.
"Have I not said so?" demanded Mr. Wedderburn with a curl of his short upper lip. "Why do you stare so, wench? I am not used to wait for my welcome." ”

“ Cursed—always blood—and witchery—you cannot get rid of it—the thought of Hell—and the faces of your dead who died foully—your disfigured dead—and your child slaying your child—both damned—and singeing in Hell! ”

“ Who think you is the better man? Will you try issues with me?"
The King's messenger an instant studied his opponent; he saw a man of regal height and make, whose face was hidden by his drooping beaver and whose figure was shrouded in a heavy traveling cloak; a hopeless look crossed his face ”

“ Having spread the remains of the Duke of Berwick's breakfast on a cloth of smuggled lace and having set beside them some bottles of the wine brought secretly from France, the girl turned to Mr. Wedderburn.
"Your supper," she said curtly.
He rose, flung himself before the table and began to eat absently.
"You had a rough passage," remarked Celia, eying him. "Yes," he barely looked at her as he spoke.
"You are often employed by His Majesty?" ”