Joe, you got what you deserve richly. Not another word.' No other
word was spoken; but the robber glared upon the victor like a foiled
beast.

As for the robber himself whose appearance I have not sought to
describe so far, his stature was certainly a splendid one. He stood
not less than six feet two inches high; his chest was full, and his
neck and limbs such as a sculptor might take as a model for a
Hercules. His face was not unhandsome, but it was marred by an
all-prevading expression of cruelty. In his eye there was no room for
pity or remorse; nor was there a feature in his face that could
harbour a generous or kindly impulse; or one of honour. His hair was
dark, but tinged with grey; and the cruelties of the man's career had
left wide and horrible furrows extending from the corners of his
mouth into his cheek. It would be too generous to say that the man
had been born under an evil star; that some great cross had come to
him and turned his being to evil. For there was no trace of any good;
the face, the voice, the _tout ensemble_ of the man were evil.
Roland simply shuddered as he looked upon him; and he shuddered too
when he reflected that the monster had set his heart to turning him
into a highwayman.

The gang lighted their pipes when the supper was ended, and the
girls cleared the board. Poor Roland, with the cold heavy hand of
Despair squeezing his heart, walked a few paces away from the camp
fire, and sat upon a tree-bole. In a little while the fire had grown
so low that no light came from it save the scarlet glow from the
smouldering embers. A deep gloom was everywhere; but it was not
darker than the shadow that had fallen upon his life. Suddenly the
gates of the dusk seemed to open, and a flood of silvery light fell