By this time, the churchyard was crowded with spectators, some of whom dispersed in different directions in quest of the other robber. Sir Rowland, who had continued absorbed in thought, with his eyes fixed upon the sloop, as she made her way slowly down the river, disembarked more leisurely. Standing on tiptoe, on a joint-stool, placed upon the bench, with his back to the door, and a clasp-knife in his hand, this youngster, instead of executing his appointed task, was occupied in carving his name upon a beam, overhead. As soon as she noticed the stranger, she honoured him with an extremely impudent stare, and scarcely endeavoured to disguise the admiration with which his good looks impressed her. With an open hand, he slapped her face. It was in her eyes—the big thing that comes but once. Only her ungloved fingers, and the arms in their long tight sleeves as she held the heavy gun aloft, bore any sign of stiffness.
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