The two villains looked very happy—­which villains have no right to be, but often are, meseemeth; they were sitting in a niche of rock, with the lantern in the corner, quaffing something from glass measures, and playing at pushpin, or shepherd’s chess, or basset, or some trivial game of that sort.  Each was smoking a long clay pipe, quite of new London shape, I could see, for the shadow was thrown out clearly; and each would laugh from time to time as he fancied he got the better of it.  One was sitting with his knees up, and left hand on his thigh; and this one had his back to me, and seemed to be the stouter.  The other leaned more against the rock, half sitting and half astraddle, and wearing leathern overalls, as if newly come from riding.  I could see his face quite clearly by the light of the open lantern, and a handsomer or a bolder face I had seldom if ever set eyes upon; insomuch that it made me very unhappy to think of his being so near my Lorna.

“How long am I to stay crouching here?” I asked of myself at last, being tired of hearing them cry, “Score one,” “Score two,” “No, by ——­, Charlie!” “By ——­, I say it is, Phelps.”

And yet my only chance of slipping by them unperceived was to wait till they quarreled more, and came to blows about it.  Presently, as I made up my mind to steal along towards them (for the cavern was pretty wide just there), Charlie, or Charleworth Doone, the younger and taller man, reached forth his hand to seize the money, which he swore he had won that time.  Upon this the other jerked his arm, vowing that he had no right to do it; whereupon Charlie flung at his face the contents of the glass he was sipping, but missed him and hit the candle, which sputtered with a flare of blue flame (from the strength, perhaps, of the spirit), and then went out completely.  At this one swore and the other laughed; and before they had settled what to do, I was past them and round the corner.

And then, like a giddy fool as I was, I needs must give them a startler—­the whoop of an owl, done so exactly, as John Fry had taught me, and echoed by the roof so fearfully, that one of them dropped the tinder-box, and the other caught up his gun and cocked it—­at least as I judged by the sounds they made.  And then, too late, I knew my madness:  for if either of them had fired, no doubt but what all the village would have risen and rushed upon me.  However, as the luck of the matter went, it proved for my advantage; for I heard one say to the other:—­

“Curse it, Charlie, what was that?  It scared me so, I have dropped my box; my flint is gone, and everything.  Will the brimstone catch from your pipe, my lad?”

“My pipe is out, Phelps, ever so long.  D—­n it, I am not afraid of an owl, man.  Give me the lantern, and stay here.  I’m not half done with you yet, my friend.”

“Well said, my boy, well said!  Go straight to Carver’s, mind you.  The other sleepy-heads be snoring, as there is nothing up to-night.  No dallying now under captain’s window:  Queen will have naught to say to you, and Carver will punch your head into a new wick for your lantern.”