Master Charlie went down the village, and I followed him carefully, keeping as much as possible in the shadowy places, and watching the windows of every house, lest any light should be burning.  As I passed Sir Ensor’s house, my heart leaped up, for I spied a window, higher than the rest above the ground, and with a faint light moving.  This could hardly fail to be the room wherein my darling lay; for here that impudent young fellow had gazed while he was whistling.  And here my courage grew tenfold, and my spirit feared no evil; for lo! if Lorna had been surrendered to that scoundrel Carver, she would not have been at her grandfather’s house, but in Carver’s accursed dwelling.

Warm with this idea, I hurried after Charleworth Doone, being resolved not to harm him now, unless my own life required it.  And while I watched from behind a tree, the door of the furthest house was opened; and, sure enough, it was Carver’s self, who stood bareheaded, and half undressed, in the doorway.  I could see his great black chest and arms, by the light of the lamp he bore.

“Who wants me this time of night?” he grumbled, in a deep, gruff voice; “any young scamp prowling after the maids shall have sore bones for his trouble.”

“All the fair maids are for thee, are they, Master Carver?” Charlie answered, laughing; “we young scamps must be well content with coarser stuff than thou wouldst have.”

“Would have?  Ay, and will have,” the great beast muttered, angrily.  “I bide my time; but not very long.  Only one word for thy good, Charlie.  I will fling thee senseless into the river if ever I catch thy girl-face here again.”

“Mayhap, Master Carver, it is more than thou couldst do.  But I will not keep thee; thou art not pleasant company to-night.  All I want is a light for my lantern, and a glass of schnapps, if thou hast it.”

“What is become of thy light, then?  Good for thee I am not on duty.”

“A great owl flew between me and Phelps as we watched beside the culverin, and so scared was he at our fierce bright eyes that he fell and knocked the light out.”

“Likely tale, or likely lie, Charles!  We will have the truth to-morrow.  Here, take thy light, and be gone with thee.  All virtuous men are in bed now.”

“Then so will I be; and why art thou not?  Ha! have I earned my schnapps now?”

“If thou hast, thou hast paid a bad debt! there is too much in thee already.  Be off! my patience is done with.”

Then he slammed the door in the young man’s face, having kindled his lantern by this time; and Charlie went up the watch-place again, muttering, as he passed me, “Bad lookout for all of us when that surly old beast is captain.  No gentle blood in him, no hospitality, not even pleasant language, nor a good new oath in his frowzy pate!  I’ve a mind to cut the whole of it; and but for the girls I would do so.”