"What is any one sailing about the river at this time of night for?"
"I don't know," added Sandy, who did not seem to be at all alarmed at the appearance of the boat.
"I think I have seen her before to-night," continued Richard.
"If you are afraid, we will both back out, and then neither can twit the other."
"I'm not afraid; come along. I've no notion of backing out." And Richard moved on, followed by his reluctant associate.
When they had ascended the hill, they carefully walked all over the grounds to satisfy themselves that the farmer and his man were not keeping vigil over the melons; but they could neither see nor hear any thing that betokened the presence of a human being. Satisfied with this survey of the ground, Richard led the way to the barn, where he had received his terrible flagellation. The memories of the place were not pleasant, and they intensified the hatred he bore the owner of the premises, and fanned the flame of vengeance that was burning in his soul.
The barn was an old building, and very much out of repair. It contained the farmer's horses and oxen, his wagons, his hay, and other produce. On the side nearest to the river, some of the boards had been forced partly off by the pressure of the hay; and against one of these places Richard sat down upon the ground.
"Pull out some of the hay, Sandy," whispered Richard, as he drew from his pocket the bottle which he had taken from the locker of the boat.
Sandy hinted something about backing out again; but a sneer from Richard silenced him, and he obeyed the order. While he was doing so, Richard walked round the barn to satisfy himself that no one was near. They were alone, and the wicked work proceeded.