TREASON.

NO one who saw Davey Coleman when he arrived in Tenby fresh from his perilous voyage round the headland, and saw him again three days after Mr. Leo Mendoza had engaged his services, would have known him for the same lad. He was dressed in a neat suit, with good boots and a jaunty cap; his curly locks had been cut and trimmed, and he looked as bright and smart an assistant as even so handsome and spruce a tamer could desire.

A very good understanding, moreover, had been established between Davey and his young master, though the boy had been very reticent with Leo, and had told him far less of his past than he had confided to Captain Smythe and Johnnie Grey. He had not even said what his name was, but frankly explained to his master that he had been in a scrape at Bristol while the circus troupe was performing there, and in a number of scrapes of various kinds ever since. And that until he had by his conduct redeemed to some extent his lost character, he felt he did not wish to be called by a name of which he had had reason to be ashamed.

"So, sir," said Davey, "call me anything you please, but I'd rather not tell you my name till you've come to know me well enough, for it does not matter what I'm called."

"All right, my lad," said Leo, laughing, "it's nothing to me, and none of my business. You might be called the Knight of the Burning Brand, but that such a name is a trifle long, and sounds rather fairy-tale-ish. I think I shall call you Waif, because that's what you were when I picked you up, you know."

So Davey was called Waif, and no one in the troupe imagined that this was not his right name.

The lad's duties were simple enough. He had to help his master to feed the animals, and to keep the cages clean, to watch by the big performing cage at night, while waiting for the tamer's turn in the ring, and to be on hand to run errands or do any odds and ends of work that needed doing. The service was easy, and not at all unpleasant, and Davey's master was more than good to him. Indeed, a curiously sudden attachment seemed to have sprung up between these two, and a comprehending sympathy which hardly needed words for its expression.

The boy looked up to and admired his young master, who, in his turn, took to the lad as he had never taken before to any boy in his service; while still and ever he was haunted by the feeling that he had known Davey's face, or one very like it, long ago, though whether in a dream or in reality he could not be sure.

But it must not be thought that the Waif, in this new life of his, had lost his yearning for home. On the contrary, it was as strong in him as ever, but he was waiting now until he had earned money enough to carry him back in respectable fashion, or until—as Leo told him was more than probable—the circus troupe again passed through Bristol, in which case the lad might get home without any expense at all. Meanwhile, he wrote to his uncle and aunt to tell them that he was safe and in good hands, and that he hoped to be with them ere long, if indeed they were willing to forgive him and receive him at home once more.

Late one afternoon, as Davey was returning from an errand on which his master had sent him, and was about to enter the house where Leo and he had apartments, he caught sight of two familiar figures, walking along, side by side, on the opposite pavement.

Could he be mistaken? The thing really seemed almost incredible. And yet no—that stunted, squat, crooked form could be none other than Tom Hughes, and his companion as certainly was Spankle.

Sure that the presence of these two in Tenby must be wholly unknown to Captain Smythe, and fearing, too, that their being here boded no good to the rest of the gang, the lad determined to find out if possible upon what errand they were bound. Accordingly, he crossed the dimly-lighted street and began to follow them.

On they went, till at last they stopped in front of the watch house. Here they stayed talking together very earnestly for a minute or two, then entered the building.

"Here's a pretty kettle of fish!" muttered Davey under his breath. "The traitors! They've made up their minds, out of spite or revenge or something, to betray the band, and that means to give up the Captain, and Ben, and Red Beard, and my dear old Johnnie, and the rest. And if once the secret of Hoyle's Mouth gets known, there's an end to everything. They'll be nabbed, and p'raps hanged, for aught I know. Oh dear! That can't, mustn't be! It shan't be either, if I can prevent it. Why, didn't they feed, and clothe, and keep me? I can never forget all that. And besides, don't I love Johnnie like a brother? Now what can I do for them all?" And leaning up against a wall in the deep shadow, Davey set his wits to work, and at last he made up his mind.

"They must be warned," he said to himself, "and there's no one to carry the warning but me. And they must have it at once, too, or they won't get a chance to clear out and sail off."

Davey rightly concluded that Spankle and Tom would be detained at the police station some time, and he was thankful for this, as every minute was precious to him now.

He hurried home and begged his master to give him leave of absence for a couple of hours, promising to be back by the time he was wanted at his place near the performing cage. Leo could see that the lad was greatly disturbed and much excited, and also that he dared not explain the nature of his errand, so he considerately asked no questions, but gave him leave to go, on condition that he returned to his post in good time for the evening performance.

By this time, Davey's plan of action was formed. His first idea had been to go out to the schooner, then riding at anchor outside the harbour under shelter of the north shore, and warn those on board. But he thought better of this, since he could not be sure whom he should find in charge of the "Dart," and it was of the utmost importance that he should see at least one of the three men whom he knew best, Captain Smythe, Ben Rait, or Johnnie Grey. He knew that the two former had their homes at Penally, and it was thither he resolved to run that evening.

Should he find either of the men at home, well and good; his warning would be given, and the responsibility shifted. If no one was in, he must somehow manage to make his way into the cave, and trust to the chance of finding some of the gang there.

So off he started at a quick pace across the Downs, this being a short cut which lessened the distance by a mile or more.

He had no difficulty in finding the captain's house, but was told by Mrs. Smythe that her husband was not in. A visit to Ben's cottage proved equally fruitless.

"Then there's nothing for it but to go to the cave," said Davey to himself.

So he started again to run, and in about twenty minutes, he found himself at the dark, wood-shadowed entrance to Hoyle's Mouth.

Full of the purpose he had at heart, and having no longer any fears of possible ghosts to trouble or detain him, he groped his way into the cavern, and thence, as quickly as he might, to the narrow corridor, and so on through the winding ways till he reached the great rock which filled up the doorway of the dwelling cave. During his dark and difficult journey he had been thankful to hear once more the horrible noises which had so terrified him when he first heard them echoing through those ghostly caves, for they told him that some of the gang were there, and gave him the assurance that, the object of his errand would be accomplished.

He picked up a fragment of stone against which his foot had struck, and tapped the rock-door sharply thrice, in a way peculiar to the members of the smugglers' band.

"Halloa! What's that?" he heard the deep voice of the captain say.