So audacious had the doings of these “free-traders” become, that a brigade of cavalry was sent down into the old town of Rye, for the purpose of overawing them, while, at the same time, a smart revenue cutter, under the command of a young lieutenant of noted courage and efficiency, was despatched to cruise about the coast, to act in concert with the soldiers. It was on a windy night in early autumn, when the sea was roaring sullenly as it dashed against the sandstone cliffs, and echoed in the caves and hollows worn by the waves, that a sharp knocking at the door of Hurst Parsonage, a mile or two from the sea-coast, made Parson Langney look up from the writing of his Sunday sermon, and glance inquiringly at his daughter. “Now, who will that be, Joan?” said he as he tilted his wig on to one side of his head, and pursed up his jolly, round, red face with an air of some anxiety. “Nay, father, you have as many visitors that come for the ills of the body as for the health of the soul!” cried Joan. “I can but hope you han’t another long trudge across the marsh before you, like your journey of a week back.” At that moment there came another thundering knock at the little front door, and a handful of stones and earth was flung against the window, followed the next moment by a rattling of the panes. Father and daughter, genial, portly parson, and creamy-skinned, black-eyed maiden, sprang to their feet, and looked once at each other. There were wild folk in these parts, and lonesome errands to be run sometimes by Parson Langney, who had begun life as a surgeon, and who had been lucky enough to be pitch-forked into a living which exactly suited his adventurous habits, his love of fox-hunting, and his liking for good wine and well-hung game. Before the importunate summons could be repeated, Parson Langney had come out of the little dining-parlor, and drawn the bolt of the front door. For Nance, the solitary housemaid of the modest establishment, was getting into years, and inclined to regard a late visitor as a person to be thwarted by being kept as long as possible waiting at the door. “Hast no better manners than to do thy best to drive the glass from out the panes?” asked he, as soon as he found himself face to face with the intruder, who proved to be a sailor, in open jacket, loose shirt and slops, and flat, three-cornered hat.