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THOMAS HARDY. 
 
WES SEX TALES 
 
 Strange, Ctmljj, anir Commonplace 
 
 BY THOMAS HAEDY^ i< 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 "THE ROMANTIC ADVENTURES ov A MILKMAID" "A LAODICEAN" 
 
 " FELLOW TOWNSMEN " " THE WOODLANDERS " ETC. 
 
 WITH PORTRAIT 
 
 NEW YORK 
 HARPER & BROTHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE 
 
 1888 
 
X' 
 
.-.-. ' " ' 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PACK 
 
 THE THREE STRANGERS 1 
 
 THE WITHERED ARM ... 26 
 
 FELLOW-TOWNSMEN 59 
 
 INTERLOPERS AT THE KNAP 116 
 
 THE DISTRACTED PREACHER . .151 
 
THE THREE STRANGERS. 
 
 AMONG the few features of agricultural England which 
 retain an appearance but little modified by the lapse of 
 centuries, may be reckoned the high, grassy, and furzy 
 downs, coombs, or ewe -leases, as they are indifferently 
 called, that fill a large area of certain counties in the 
 south and south-west. If any mark of human occupation 
 is met with hereon it usually takes the form of the soli 
 tary cottage of some shepherd. 
 
 Fifty years ago such a lonely cottage stood on such a 
 down, and may possibly be standing there now. In spite 
 of its loneliness, however, the spot, by actual measure 
 ment, was not more than five miles from a county-town. 
 Yet that affected it little. Five miles of irregular upland, 
 during the long inimical seasons, with their sleets, snows, 
 rains, and mists, afford withdrawing space enough to iso 
 late a Timon or a Nebuchadnezzar; much less, in fair 
 weather, to please that less repellent tribe, the poets, phi 
 losophers, artists, and others who " conceive and meditate 
 of pleasant things." 
 
 Some old earthen camp or barrow, some clump of trees, 
 at least some starved fragment of ancient hedge, is usually 
 taken advantage of in the erection of these forlorn dwell 
 ings. But, in the present case, such a kind of shelter had 
 been disregarded. Higher Crowstairs, as the house was 
 called, stood quite detached and undefended. The only 
 reason for its precise situation seemed to be the crossing 
 of two foot-paths at right angles hard by, which may have 
 crossed there a,nd thus for a good five hundred years. 
 
2 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 Hence the house was exposed to the elements on all sides. 
 But, though the wind up here blew unmistakably when it 
 did blow, and the rain hit hard whenever it fell, the vari 
 ous weathers of the winter season were not quite so for 
 midable on the coomb as they were imagined to be by 
 dwellers on low ground. The raw rimes were not so per 
 nicious as in the hollows, and the frosts were scarcely so 
 severe. When the shepherd and his family who tenanted 
 the house were pitied for their sufferings from the expos 
 ure, they said that upon the whole they were less incon 
 venienced by " wuzzes and flames " (hoarses and phlegms) 
 than when they had lived by the stream of a snug neigh 
 boring valley. 
 
 The night of March 28, 182-, was precisely one of the 
 nights that were wont to call forth these expressions of 
 commiseration. The level rain-storm smote \valls, slopes, 
 and hedges like the clothyard shafts of Senlac and Crecy. 
 Such sheep and out-door animals as had no shelter stood 
 with their buttocks to the winds ; while the tails of little 
 birds trying to roost on some scraggy thorn were blown 
 inside out like umbrellas. The gable end of the cottage 
 was stained with wet, and the eavesdropping flapped 
 against the wall. Yet never was commiseration for the 
 shepherd more misplaced, for that cheerful rustic was 
 entertaining a large party in glorification of the christen 
 ing of his second girl. 
 
 The guests had arrived before the rain began to fall, 
 and they were all now assembled in the chief, or living, 
 room of the dwelling. A glance into the apartment at 
 eight o'clock on this eventful evening would have resulted 
 in the opinion that it was as cosey and comfortable a nook 
 as could be wished for in boisterous weather. The calling 
 of its inhabitant was proclaimed by a number of highly 
 polished sheep-crooks without stems that were hung orna 
 mentally over the fireplace, the curl of each shining crook 
 varying from the antiquated type engraved in the patri 
 archal pictures of old family Bibles to the most approved 
 fashion of the last local sheep-fair. The room was lighted 
 
THE THKEE STKANGEKS. 3 
 
 by half a dozen candles, having wicks only a trifle smaller 
 than the grease which enveloped them, in candlesticks 
 that were never used but at high-days, holy-days, and 
 family feasts. The lights were scattered about the room, 
 two of them standing on the chimney-piece. This posi 
 tion of candles was in itself significant. Candles on the 
 chimney-piece always meant a party. 
 
 On the hearth, in front of a back-brand to give sub 
 stance, blazed a fire of thorns, that crackled " like the 
 laughter of the fool." 
 
 Nineteen persons were gathered here. Of these, five 
 women, wearing gowns of various bright hues, sat in chairs 
 along the wall ; girls shy and not shy filled the window- 
 bench ; four men, including Charley Jake, the hedge-car 
 penter, Elijah New, the parish-clerk, and John Pitcher, a 
 neighboring dairy-man, the shepherd's father-in-law, lolled 
 in the settle ; a young man and maid, who were blushing 
 over tentative pourparlers on a life-companionship, sat 
 beneath the corner cupboard ; and an elderly engaged 
 man of fifty or upwards moved restlessly about from spots 
 where his betrothed was not to the spot where she was. 
 Enjoyment was pretty general, and so much the more pre 
 vailed in being unhampered by conventional restrictions. 
 Absolute confidence in one another's good opinion begat 
 perfect ease, while the finishing stroke Of manner, amount 
 ing to a truly princely serenity, was lent to the majority 
 by the absence of any expression or trait denoting that 
 they wished to get on in the world, enlarge their minds, 
 or do any eclipsing thing whatever which nowadays so 
 generally nips the bloom and bonhomie of all except the 
 two extremes of the social scale. 
 
 Shepherd Fennel had married well, his wife being a 
 dairy-man's daughter from the valley below, who brought 
 fifty guineas in her pocket and kept them there till they 
 should be required for ministering to the needs of a com 
 ing family. This frugal woman had been somewhat ex 
 ercised as to the character that should be given to the 
 gathering. A sit-still party had its advantages; but an 
 
4 WES SEX TALES. 
 
 undisturbed position of ease in chairs and settles was apt 
 to lead on the men to such an unconscionable deal of top 
 ing that they would sometimes fairly drink the house dry. 
 A dancing-party was the alternative ; but this, while avoid 
 ing the foregoing objection on the score of good drink, 
 had a counterbalancing disadvantage in the matter of 
 good victuals, the ravenous appetites engendered by the 
 exercise causing immense havoc in the buttery. Shep 
 herdess Fennel fell back upon the intermediate plan of 
 mingling short dances with short periods of talk and sing 
 ing, so as to hinder any ungovernable rage in either. But 
 this scheme was entirely confined to her own gentle mind ; 
 the shepherd himself was in the mood to exhibit the most 
 reckless phases of hospitality. 
 
 The fiddler was a boy of those parts, about twelve years 
 of age, who had a wonderful dexterity in jigs and reels, 
 though his fingers were so small and short as to necessi 
 tate a constant shifting for the high notes, from which he 
 scrambled back to the first position with sounds riot of 
 unmixed purity of tone. At seven the shrill tweedle-dee 
 of this youngster had begun, accompanied by a booming 
 ground-bass from Elijah New, the parish-clerk, who had 
 thoughtfully brought with him his favorite musical in 
 strument, the serpent. Dancing was instantaneous, Mrs. 
 Fennel privately enjoining the players on no account to 
 let the dance exceed the length of a quarter of an hour. 
 
 But Elijah and the boy, in the excitement of their posi 
 tion, quite forgot the injunction. Moreover, Oliver Giles, 
 a man of seventeen, one of the dancers, who was enam 
 oured of his partner, a fair girl of thirty-three rolling years, 
 had recklessly handed a new crown-piece to the musicians, 
 as a bribe to keep going as long as they had muscle and 
 wind. Mrs. Fennel, seeing the steam begin to generate 
 on the countenances of her guests, crossed over and touch 
 ed the fiddler's elbow and put her hand on the serpent's 
 mouth. But they took no notice, and fearing she might 
 lose her character of genial hostess if she were to inter 
 fere too markedly, she retired and sat down helpless. 
 
THE THREE STRANGERS. 5 
 
 And so the dance whizzed on with cumulative fury, the 
 performers moving in their planet-like courses, direct and 
 retrograde, from apogee to perigee, till the hand of the 
 well-kicked clock at the bottom of the room had travelled 
 over the circumference of an hour. 
 
 While these cheerful events were in course of enact 
 ment within Fennel's pastoral dwelling, an incident hav 
 ing considerable bearing on the party had occurred in the 
 gloomy night without. Mrs. Fennel's concern about the 
 growing fierceness of the dance corresponded in point of 
 time with the ascent of a human figure to the solitary hill 
 of Higher Crowstairs from the direction of the distant 
 town. This personage strode on through the rain with 
 out a pause, following the little-worn path which, farther 
 on in its course, skirted the shepherd's cottage. 
 
 It was nearly the time of full moon, and on this account, 
 though the sky was lined with a uniform sheet of drip 
 ping cloud, ordinary objects out-of-doors were readily vis 
 ible. The sad, wan light revealed the lonely pedestrian 
 to be a man of supple frame; his gait suggested that he 
 had somewhat passed the period of perfect and instinctive 
 agility, though not so far as to be otherwise than rapid of 
 motion when occasion required. In point of fact, he might 
 have been about forty years of age. He appeared tall, 
 but a recruiting sergeant, or other person accustomed to 
 the judging of men's heights by the eye, would have dis 
 cerned that this was chiefly owing to his gauntness, and 
 that he was not more than five feet eight or nine. 
 
 Notwithstanding the regularity of his tread there was 
 caution in it, as in that of one who mentally feels his way ; 
 and despite the fact that it was not a black coat nor a dark 
 garment of any sort that he wore, there was something 
 about him which suggested that he naturally belonged to 
 the black-coated tribes of men. His clothes were of fust 
 ian, and his boots hobnailed, yet in his progress he showed 
 not the mud-accustomed bearing of hobnailed and fust 
 ian ed peasantry. 
 
 By the time that he had arrived abreast of the shep- 
 
WESSEX TALES. 
 
 herd's premises the rain came down, or rather came along, 
 with yet more determined violence. The outskirts of the 
 little settlement partially broke the force of wind and rain, 
 and this induced him to stand still. The most salient of 
 the shepherd's domestic erections was an empty sty at the 
 forward corner of his hedgeless garden, for in these lati 
 tudes the principle of masking the homelier features of 
 your establishment by a conventional frontage was un 
 known. The traveller's eye was attracted to this small 
 building by the pallid shine of the wet slates that covered 
 it. He turned aside, and, finding it empty, stood under 
 the pent-roof for shelter. 
 
 While he stood, the boom of the serpent within the ad 
 jacent house, and the lesser strains of the fiddler, reached 
 the spot as an accompaniment to the surging hiss of the 
 Hying rain on the sod, its louder beating on the cabbage- 
 leaves of the garden, on the eight or ten beehives just 
 discernible by the path, and its dripping from the eaves 
 into a row of buckets and pans that had been placed un 
 der the walls of the cottage. For at Higher Crowstairs, 
 as at all such elevated domiciles, the grand difficulty of 
 house-keeping was an insufficiency of water ; and a casual 
 rainfall was utilized by turning out, as catchers, every uten 
 sil that the house contained. Some queer stories might 
 be told of the contrivances for economy in suds and dish 
 waters that are absolutely necessitated in upland habita 
 tions during the droughts of summer. But at this season 
 there were no such exigencies : a mere acceptance of what 
 the skies bestowed was sufficient for an abundant store. 
 
 At last the notes of the serpent ceased, and the house 
 was silent. This cessation of activity aroused the solitary 
 pedestrian from the reverie into which he had lapsed, and, 
 emerging from the shed, with an apparently new inten 
 tion, he walked up the path to the house door. Arrived 
 here, his first act was to kneel down on a large stone be 
 side the row of vessels, and to drink a copious draught 
 from one of them. Having quenched his thirst he rose 
 and lifted his hand to knock, but paused with his eye 
 
THE THREE STRANGERS. 7 
 
 upon the panel. Since the dark surface of the wood re 
 vealed absolutely nothing, it was evident that he must be 
 mentally looking through the door, as if he wished to 
 measure thereby all the possibilities that a house of this 
 sort might include, and how they might bear upon the 
 question of his entry. 
 
 In his indecision he turned and surveyed the scene 
 around. Not a soul was anywhere visible. The garden 
 path stretched downward from his feet, gleaming like the 
 track of a snail; the roof of the little well (mostly dry), 
 the well-cover, the top rail of the garden gate, were var 
 nished with the same dull liquid glaze; while, far away 
 in the vale, a faint whiteness of more than usual extent 
 showed that the rivers were high in the meads. Beyond 
 all this winked a few bleared lamplights through the beat 
 ing drops, lights that denoted the situation of the county- 
 town from which he had appeared to come. The absence 
 of all notes of life in that direction seemed to clinch his 
 intentions, and he knocked at the door. 
 
 Within, a desultory chat had taken the place of move 
 ment and musical sound. The hedge-carpenter was sug 
 gesting a song to the company, which nobody just then 
 was inclined to undertake, so that the knock afforded a 
 not unwelcome diversion. 
 
 " Walk in," said the shepherd, promptly. 
 
 The latch clicked upward, and out of the night our 
 pedestrian appeared upon the door -mat. The shepherd 
 arose, snuffed two of the nearest candles, and turned to 
 look at him. 
 
 Their light disclosed that the stranger was dark in com 
 plexion and not unprepossessing as to feature. His hat, 
 which for a moment he did not remove, hung low over 
 his eyes, without concealing that they were large, open, 
 and determined, moving with a flash rather than a glance 
 round the room. He seemed pleased with the survey, 
 and, baring his shaggy head, said, in a rich deep voice, 
 " The rain is so heavy, friends, that I ask leave to come 
 in and rest a while." 
 
8 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 " To be sure, stranger," said the shepherd. " And faith, 
 you've been lucky in choosing your time, for we are hav 
 ing a bit of a fling for a glad cause though, to be sure, 
 a man could hardly wish that glad cause to happen more 
 than once a year." 
 
 "Nor less," spoke up a woman. " For 'tis best to get 
 your family over and done with, as soon as you can, so as 
 to be all the earlier out of the fag o't." 
 
 "And what may be this glad cause?" asked the stran 
 ger. 
 
 " A birth and christening," said the shepherd. 
 
 The stranger hoped his host might not be made unhap 
 py either by too many or too few of such episodes, and 
 being invited by a gesture to a pull at the mug, he readily 
 acquiesced. His manner, which, before entering, had been 
 so dubious, was now altogether that of a careless and can 
 did man. 
 
 "Late to be traipsing athwart this coomb hey?" said 
 the engaged man of fifty. 
 
 " Late it is, master, as you say. I'll take a seat in the 
 chimney-corner, if you have nothing to urge against it, 
 ma'am, for I am a little moist on the side that was next 
 the rain." 
 
 Mrs. Shepherd Fennel assented, and made room for the 
 self-invited coiner, who, having got completely inside the 
 chimney-corner, stretched out his legs arid his arms with 
 the expansiveness of a person quite at home. 
 
 " Yes, I am rather thin in the vamp," he said, freely, 
 seeing that the eyes of the shepherd's wife fell upon his 
 boots, " and I am not well fitted, either. I have had some 
 rough times lately, and have been forced to pick up what 
 I can get in the way of wearing, but I must find a suit 
 better fit for working-days when I reach home." 
 
 " One of hereabouts ?" she inquired. 
 
 "Not quite that farther up the country." 
 
 " I thought so. And so am I ; and by your tongue you 
 come from my neighborhood." 
 
 "But you would hardly have heard of me," he said, 
 
THE THREE STRANGERS. 9 
 
 quickly. " My time would be long before yours, ma'am, 
 you see." 
 
 This testimony to the youthfulness of his hostess had 
 the effect of stopping her cross-examination. 
 
 " There is only one thing more wanted to make me 
 happy," continued the new-comer, "and that is a little 
 baccy, which I am sorry to say I am out of." 
 
 " I'll till your pipe," said the shepherd. 
 
 "I must ask you to lend me a pipe likewise." 
 
 " A smoker, and no pipe about ye ?" 
 
 " I have dropped it somewhere on the road." 
 
 The shepherd filled and handed him a new clay pipe, 
 saying, as he did so, " Hand me your baccy-box I'll till 
 that too, now I am about it." 
 
 The man went through the movement of searching his 
 pockets. 
 
 "Lost that too?" said his entertainer, with some surprise. 
 
 "I am afraid so," said the man, with some confusion. 
 " Give it to me in a screw of paper." Lighting his pipe 
 at the candle with a suction that drew the whole flame 
 into the bowl, he resettled himself in the corner, and bent 
 his looks upon the faint steam from his damp legs, as if 
 he wished to say no more. 
 
 Meanwhile the general body of guests had been taking 
 little notice of this visitor by reason of an absorbing dis 
 cussion in which they were engaged with the band about 
 a tune for the next dance. The matter being settled, 
 they were about to stand up, when an interruption came 
 in the shape of another knock at the door. 
 
 At sound of the same the man in the chimney-corner 
 took up the poker and began stirring the tire as if doing 
 it thoroughly were the one aim of his existence; and a 
 second" time the shepherd said " Walk in !" In a moment 
 another man stood upon the straw-woven door-mat. He, 
 too, was a stranger. 
 
 This individual was one of a type radically different 
 from the first. There was more of the commonplace in 
 his manner, and a certain jovial cosmopolitanism sat upon 
 
10 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 his features. He was several years older than the first ar 
 rival, his hair being slightly frosted, his eyebrows bristly, 
 and his whiskers cut back from his cheeks. His face was 
 rather full and flabby, and yet it was not altogether a face 
 without power. A few grog-blossoms marked the neigh 
 borhood of his nose. He flung back his long drab great 
 coat, revealing that beneath it he wore a suit of cinder- 
 gray shade throughout ; large, heavy seals of some metal 
 or other that would take a polish, dangling from his fob, 
 as his only personal ornament. Shaking the water-drops 
 from his low-crowned glazed hat, he said, " I must ask for 
 a few minutes' shelter, comrades, or I shall be wetted to 
 my skin before I get to Casterbridge." 
 
 "Make yourself at home, master," said the shepherd, 
 perhaps a trifle less heartily than on the first occasion. 
 Not that Fennel had the least tinge of niggardliness in 
 his composition ; but the room was far from large, spare 
 chairs were not numerous, and damp companions, were 
 not altogether desirable at close quarters for the women 
 and girls in their bright-colored gowns. 
 
 However, the second comer, after taking off his great 
 coat, and hanging his hat on a nail in one of the ceiling- 
 beams as if he had been specially invited to put it there, 
 advanced and sat down at the table. This had been 
 pushed so closely into the chimney-corner, to give all 
 available room to the dancers, that its inner edge grazed 
 the elbow of the man who had ensconced himself by the 
 fire; and thus the two strangers were brought into close 
 companionship. They nodded to each other by way of 
 breaking the ice of unacquaintance, and the first stranger 
 handed his neighbor the family mug a huge vessel of 
 brown ware, having its upper edge worn away like a 
 threshold by the rub of whole generations of thirsty lips 
 that had gone the way of all flesh, and bearing the follow 
 ing inscription burned upon its rotund side in yellow 
 letters : 
 
 THERE is NO FUN 
 UNTiLL 1 CUM. 
 
THE THREE STRANGERS. 11 
 
 The other man, nothing loath, raised the mug to his lips, 
 and drank on, and on, and on till a curious blueness 
 overspread the countenance of the shepherd's wife, who 
 had regarded with no little surprise the first stranger's 
 free offer to the second of what did not belong to him to 
 dispense. 
 
 " I knew it !" said the toper to the shepherd, with much 
 satisfaction. "When I walked up your garden before 
 coming in, and saw the hives all of a row, I said to my 
 self, ' Where there's bees there's honey, and where there's 
 honey there's mead.' But mead of such a truly comfort 
 able sort as this I really didn't expect to meet in my older 
 days." He took yet another pull at the mug, till it as 
 sumed an ominous elevation. 
 
 " Glad you enjoy it !" said the shepherd, warmly. 
 
 " It is goodish mead," assented Mrs. Fennel, with an 
 absence of enthusiasm which seemed to say that it was 
 possible to buy praise for one's cellar at too heavy a price. 
 " It is trouble enough to make, and really I hardly think 
 we shall make any more. For honey sells well, and we 
 ourselves can make shift with a drop o' small mead and 
 metheglin for common use from the comb-washings." 
 
 " Oh, but you'll never have the heart!" reproachfully 
 cried the stranger in cinder-gray, after taking up the mug 
 a third time and setting it down empty. " I love mead 
 when 'tis old like this, as I love to go to church o' Sun 
 days, or to relieve the needy any day of the week." 
 
 "Ha, ha, ha!" said the man in the chimney-corner, 
 who, in spite of the taciturnity induced by the pipe of 
 tobacco, could not or would not refrain from this slight 
 testimony to his comrade's humor. 
 
 Now, the old mead of those days, brewed of the purest 
 first-year or maiden honey four pounds to the gallon, 
 with its due complement of white of eggs, cinnamon, gin 
 ger, cloves, mace, rosemary, yeast, and processes of work 
 ing, bottling, and cellaring tasted remarkably strong; 
 but it did not taste so strong as it actually was. Hence, 
 presently the stranger in cinder-gray at the table, moved 
 
12 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 by its creeping influence, unbuttoned his waistcoat, threw 
 himself back in his chair, spread his legs, and made his 
 presence felt in various ways. 
 
 " Well, well, as I say," he resumed, " I am going to Cas- 
 terbridge, and to Casterbridge I must go. I should have 
 been almost there by this time; but the rain drove me 
 into your dwelling, and I'm not sorry for it." 
 
 " You don't live in Casterbridge ?" said the shep 
 herd. 
 
 "Not as yet, though I shortly mean to move there." 
 
 " Going to set up in trade, perhaps ?" 
 
 " No, no," said the shepherd's wife. " It is easy to see 
 that the gentleman is rich, and don't want to work at 
 anything." 
 
 The cinder -gray stranger paused, as if to consider 
 whether he would accept that definition of himself. He 
 presently rejected it by answering, " Rich is not quite the 
 word for me, dame. I do work, and I must work. And 
 even if I only get to Casterbridge by midnight I must 
 begin work there at eight to-morrow morning. Yes, het 
 or wet, blow or snow, famine or sword, my day's work 
 to-morrow must be done." 
 
 " Poor man ! Then, in spite o' seeming, you be worse 
 off than we," replied the shepherd's wife. 
 
 " 'Tis the nature of my trade, men and maidens. 'Tis 
 the nature of my trade more than my poverty. . . . But 
 really and truly I must be up and off, or I sha'n't get a 
 lodging in the town." However, the speaker did not 
 move, and directly added, " There's time for one more 
 draught of friendship before I go, and I'd perform it at 
 once if the mug were not dry." 
 
 " Here's a mug o' small," said Mrs. Fennel. " Small, 
 we call it, though to be sure 'tis only the first wash o' the 
 combs." 
 
 " No," said the stranger, disdainfully. " I won't spoil 
 your first kindness by partaking o' your second." 
 
 " Certainly not," broke in Fennel. " We don't increase 
 and multiply every day, and I'll fill the mug again." He 
 
THE THREE STRANGERS. 13 
 
 went away to the dark place under the stairs where the 
 barrel stood. The shepherdess followed him. 
 
 " Why should you do this ?" she said, reproachfully, as 
 soon as they were alone. " He's emptied it once, though 
 it held enough for ten people; and now he's not contented 
 wi' the small, but must needs call for more o' the strong! 
 And a stranger unbeknown to any of us. For my part, I 
 don't like the look o' the man at all." 
 
 " But he's in the house, my honey ; and 'tis a wet 
 night, and a christening. Daze it, what's a cup of mead 
 more or less ? there'll be plenty more next bee-burning." 
 
 "Yery well this time, then," she answered, looking 
 wistfully at the barrel. " But what is the man's calling, 
 and where is he one of, that he should come in and join 
 us like this ?" 
 
 "I don't know. I'll ask him again." 
 
 The catastrophe of having the mug drained dry at one 
 pull by the stranger in cinder-gray was effectually guarded 
 against this time by Mrs. Fennel. She poured out his 
 allowance in a small cup, keeping the large one at a dis 
 creet distance from him. When he had tossed off his 
 portion the shepherd renewed his inquiry about the stran 
 ger's occupation. 
 
 The latter did not immediately reply, and the man in 
 the chimney-corner, with sudden demonstrativeness, said, 
 " Anybody may know my trade I'm a wheelwright." 
 
 " A very good trade for these parts," said the shep 
 herd. 
 
 "And anybody may know mine if they've the sense 
 to find it out," said the stranger in cinder-gray. 
 
 " You may generally tell what a man is by his claws," 
 observed the hedge-carpenter, looking at his own hands. 
 "My fingers be as full of thorns as an old pincushion is 
 of pins." 
 
 The hands of the man in the chimney-corner instinc 
 tively sought the shade, and he gazed into the fire as he 
 resumed his pipe. The man at the table took up the 
 hedge-carpenter's remark, and added, smartly, " True ; but 
 
WESSEX TALES. 
 
 the oddity of my trade is that, instead of setting a mark 
 upon me it sets a mark upon my customers." 
 
 No observation being offered by anybody in elucidation 
 of this enigma, the shepherd's wife once more called for a 
 song. The same obstacles presented themselves as at the 
 former time one had no voice, another had forgotten the 
 first verse. The stranger at the table, whose soul had now 
 risen to a good working temperature, relieved the difficul 
 ty by exclaiming that, to start the company, he would sing 
 himself. Thrusting one thumb into the arm-hole of his 
 waistcoat, he waved the other hand in the air, and, with 
 an extemporizing gaze at the shining sheep-crooks above 
 the mantle-piece, began : 
 
 " Oh, my trade it is the rarest one, 
 
 Simple shepherds all > 
 My trade is a sight to see ; 
 
 For my customers I tie, and take them up on high, 
 And waft 'em to a far countree!" 
 
 The room was silent when he had finished the verse 
 with one exception, that of the man in the chimney-corner, 
 who, at the singer's word, " Chorus !" joined him in a deep 
 bass voice of musical relish 
 
 " And waft 'em to a far countree!" 
 
 Oliver Giles, John Pitcher the dairy-man, the parish-clerk, 
 the engaged man of fifty, the row of young women against 
 the wall, seemed lost in thought not of the gayest kind. 
 The shepherd looked meditatively on the ground, the 
 shepherdess gazed keenly at the singer, and with some 
 suspicion ; she was doubting whether this stranger were 
 merely singing an old song from recollection, or was com 
 posing one there and then for the occasion. All were as 
 perplexed at the obscure revelation as the guests at Bel- 
 shazzar's Feast, except the man in the chimney-corner, 
 who quietly said, " Second verse, stranger," and smoked 
 on. 
 
 The singer thoroughly moistened himself from his lips 
 inward, and went on with the next stanza as requested : 
 
THE THREE STRANGERS. 15 
 
 " My tools are but common ones, 
 
 Simple shepherds all 
 My tools are no sight to see ; 
 
 A little hempen string, and a post whereon to swing, 
 Are implements enough for me !" 
 
 Shepherd Fennel glanced round. There was no longer 
 any doubt that the stranger was answering his question 
 rhythmically. The guests one and all started back with 
 suppressed exclamations. The young woman engaged to 
 the man of fifty fainted half-way, and would have pro 
 ceeded, but finding him wanting in alacrity for catching 
 her, she sat down trembling. 
 
 " Oh, he's the !" whispered the people in the back 
 ground, mentioning the name of an ominous public offi 
 cer. " He's come to do it. 'Tis to be at Casterbridge jail 
 to-morrow the man for sheep-stealing the poor clock- 
 maker we heard of, who used to live away at Shottsford 
 and had no work to do Timothy Sommers, whose family 
 were a-starving, and so he went out of Shottsford by the 
 high-road, and took a sheep in open daylight, defying the 
 farmer and the farmer's wife and the farmer's lad, and 
 every man jack among 'em. He" (and they nodded tow 
 ards the stranger of the deadly trade) "is come from up 
 the country to do it because there's not enough to do in 
 his own county-town, and he's got the place here now our 
 own county-man's dead ; he's going to live in the same 
 cottage under the prison wall." 
 
 The stranger in cinder-gray took no notice of this whis 
 pered string of observations, but again wetted his lips. 
 Seeing that his friend in the chimney-corner was the only 
 one who reciprocated his joviality in any way, he held out 
 his cup towards that appreciative comrade, who also held 
 out his own. They clinked together, the eyes of the rest 
 of the room hanging upon the singer's actions. He parted 
 his lips for the third verse, but at that moment another 
 knock was audible upon the door. This time the knock 
 was faint and hesitating. 
 
 The company seemed scared ; the shepherd looked with 
 
16 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 consternation towards the entrance, and it was with some 
 effort that he resisted his alarmed wife's deprecatory glance, 
 and uttered for the third time the welcoming words, " Walk 
 in!" 
 
 The door was gently opened, and another man stood 
 upon the mat. He, like those who had preceded him, 
 was a stranger. This time it was a short, small person 
 age, of fair complexion, and dressed in a decent suit of 
 dark clothes. 
 
 " Can you tell me the way to - - ?" he began ; when, 
 gazing round the room to observe the nature of the com 
 pany among whom he had fallen, his eyes lighted on the 
 stranger in cinder-gray. It was just at the instant when 
 the latter, who had thrown his mind into his song with 
 such a will that he scarcely heeded the interruption, si 
 lenced all whispers and inquiries by bursting into his third 
 verse : 
 
 "To-morrow is my working day, 
 
 Simple shepherds all 
 To-morrow is a working day for me: 
 
 For the farmer's sheep is slain, and the lad who did it ta'en, 
 And on his soul may God ha' merc-y!" 
 
 The stranger in the chimney-corner, waving cups with 
 the singer so heartily that his mead splashed over on the 
 hearth, repeated in his bass voice as before : 
 
 "And on his soul may God ha' merc-y!" 
 
 All this time the third stranger had been standing in the 
 door-way. Finding now that he did not come forward 
 or go on speaking, the guests particularly regarded him. 
 They noticed, to their surprise, that he stood before them 
 the picture of abject terror his knees trembling, his hand 
 shaking so violently that the door-latch by which he sup 
 ported himself rattled audibly ; his white lips were parted, 
 and his eyes fixed on the merry officer of justice in the 
 middle of the room. A moment more and he had turned, 
 closed the door, and fled. 
 
 " What a man can it be ?" said the shepherd. 
 
THE THREE STRANGERS. 17 
 
 The rest, between the awfulness of their late discovery 
 and the odd conduct of this third visitor, looked as if they 
 knew not what to think, and said nothing. Instinctively 
 they withdrew farther and farther from the grim gentle 
 man in their midst, whom some of them seemed to take 
 for the Prince of Darkness himself, till they formed a re 
 mote circle, an empty space of floor being left between 
 them and him 
 
 "... circulus, cujus centrum diabolus." 
 
 The room was so silent though there were more than 
 twenty people in it that nothing could be heard but the 
 patter of the rain against the window -shutters, accompa 
 nied by the occasional hiss of a stray drop that fell down 
 the chimney into the tire, and the steady puffing of the 
 man in the corner, who had now resumed his pipe of long 
 clay. 
 
 The stillness was unexpectedly broken. The distant 
 sound of a gun reverberated through the air apparently 
 from the direction of the county-town. 
 
 " Be jiggered !" cried the stranger who had sung the 
 song, jumping up. 
 
 " What does that mean ?" asked several. 
 
 " A prisoner escaped from the jail that's what it 
 means." 
 
 All listened. The sound was repeated, and none of 
 them spoke but the man in the chimney-corner, who 
 said, quietly, "I've often been told that in this county 
 they tire a gun at such times ; but I never heard it till 
 now." 
 
 " I wonder if it is my man ?" murmured the personage 
 in cinder-gray. 
 
 " Surely it is !" said the shepherd, involuntarily. " And 
 surely we've seen him ! That little man who looked in at 
 the door by now, and quivered like a leaf when he seed ye 
 and heard your song." 
 
 " His teeth chattered, and the breath went out of his 
 body," said the dairy-man. 
 
18 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 "And his heart seemed to sink within him like a stone," 
 said Oliver Giles. 
 
 "And he bolted as if he'd been shot at," said the hedge- 
 carpenter. 
 
 "True his teeth chattered, and his heart seemed to 
 sink ; and he bolted as if he'd been shot at," slowly sum 
 med up the man in the chimney-corner. 
 
 " I didn't notice it," remarked the hangman. 
 
 "We were all a-wondering what made him run off in 
 such a fright," faltered one of the women against the wall, 
 " and now 'tis explained." 
 
 The firing of the alarm -gun went on at intervals, low 
 and sullenly, and their suspicions became a certainty. The 
 sinister gentleman in cinder-gray roused himself. "Is there 
 a constable here?" he asked, in thick tones. "If so, let 
 him step forward." 
 
 The engaged man of fifty stepped quavering out of the 
 corner, his betrothed beginning to sob on the back of the 
 chair. 
 
 " You are a sworn constable ?" 
 
 "I be, sir." 
 
 " Then pursue the criminal at once, with assistance, and 
 bring him back here. He can't have gone far." 
 
 " I will, sir, I will when I've got my staff. I'll go home 
 and get it, and come sharp here, and start in a body." 
 
 " Staff! never mind your staff; the man '11 be gone!" 
 
 " But I can't do nothing without my staff can I, Will 
 iam, and John, and Charles Jake? No; for there's the 
 King's royal crown a-painted on en in yaller and gold, and 
 the lion and the unicorn, so as when I raise en up and hit 
 my prisoner, 'tis made a lawful blow thereby. I wouldn't 
 'tempt to take a man without my staff no, not I. If I 
 hadn't the law to gie me courage, why, instead o' my tak 
 ing up him he might take up me !" 
 
 " Now, I'm a King's man myself, and can give you au 
 thority enough for this," said the formidable officer in 
 gray. " Now then, all of ye, be ready. Have ye any 
 lanterns?" 
 
THE THREE STRANGERS. 19 
 
 " Yes have ye any lanterns ? I demand it !" said the 
 constable. 
 
 " And the rest of you able-bodied " 
 
 " Able-bodied men yes the rest of ye 1" said the con 
 stable. 
 
 "Have you some good stout staves and pitchforks " 
 
 " Staves and pitchforks in the name o' the law ! And 
 take 'em in yer hands and go in quest, and do as we in 
 authority tell ye !" 
 
 Thus aroused, the men prepared to give chase. The 
 evidence was, indeed, though circumstantial, so convinc 
 ing, that but little argument was needed to show the 
 shepherd's guests that after what they had seen it would 
 look very much like connivance if they did not instantly 
 pursue the unhappy third stranger, who could not as yet 
 have gone more than a few hundred yards over such un 
 even country. 
 
 A shepherd is always well provided with lanterns ; and, 
 lighting these hastily, and with hurdle - staves in their 
 hands, they poured out of the door, taking a direction 
 along the crest of the hill, away from the town, the rain 
 having fortunately a little abated. 
 
 Disturbed by the noise, or possibly by unpleasant 
 dreams of her baptism, the child who had been christened 
 began to cry heart-brokenly in the room overhead. These 
 notes of grief came down through the chinks of the floor 
 to the ears of the women below, who jumped up one by 
 one, and seemed glad of the excuse to ascend and comfort 
 the baby, for the incidents of the last half-hour greatly 
 oppressed them. Thus in the space of two or three min 
 utes the room on the ground-floor was deserted quite. 
 
 But it was not for long. Hardly had the sound of foot 
 steps died away when a man returned round the corner 
 of the house from the direction the pursuers had taken. 
 Peeping in at the door, and seeing nobody there, he entered 
 leisurely. It was the stranger of the chimney-corner, who 
 had gone out with the rest. The motive of his return 
 was shown by his helping himself to a cut piece of skim- 
 
20 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 mer-cake that lay on a ledge beside where he had sat, and 
 which he had apparently forgotten to take with him. He 
 also poured out half a cup more mead from the quantity 
 that remained, ravenously eating and drinking these as he 
 stood. He had not finished when another figure came in 
 just as quietly his friend in cinder-gray. 
 
 Oh you here?" said the latter, smiling. "I thought 
 you had gone to help in the capture." And this speaker 
 also revealed the object of his return by looking solici 
 tously round for the fascinating mug of old mead. 
 
 " And I thought you had gone," said the other, contin 
 uing his skimmer-cake with some effort. 
 
 " Well, on second thoughts, I felt there were enough 
 without me," said the first, confidentially, "and such a 
 night as it is, too. Besides, 'tis the business o' the Gov 
 ernment to take care of its criminals not mine." 
 
 " True ; so it is. And I felt as you did, that there 
 were enough without me." 
 
 "I don't want to break my limbs running over the 
 humps and hollows of this wild country." 
 
 "Nor I neither, between you and me." 
 
 " These shepherd people are used to it simple-minded 
 souls, you know, stirred up to anything in a moment. 
 They'll have him ready for me before the morning, and 
 no trouble to me at all." 
 
 " They'll have him, and we shall have saved ourselves 
 all labor in the matter." 
 
 " True, true. Well, my way is to Casterbridge ; and 
 'tis as much as my legs will do to take me that far. Go 
 ing the same way ?" 
 
 " No, I am sorry to say ! I have to get home over 
 there" (he nodded indefinitely to the right), "and I feel 
 as you do, that it is quite enough for my legs to do before 
 bedtime." 
 
 The other had by this time finished the mead in the 
 mug, after which, shaking hands heartily at the door, and 
 wishing each other well, they went their several ways. 
 
 In the mean time the company of pursuers had reached 
 
THE THREE STRANGERS. 21 
 
 the end of the hog's-back elevation which dominated this 
 part of the cooinb. They had decided on no particular 
 plan of action ; and, finding that the man of the baleful 
 trade was no longer in their company, they seemed quite 
 unable to form any such plan now. They descended in 
 all directions down the hill, and straightway several of 
 the party fell into the snare set by Nature for all mis 
 guided midnight ramblers over this part of the cretaceous 
 formation. The " lynchets," or flint slopes, which belted 
 the escarpment at intervals of a dozen yards, took the less 
 cautious ones unawares, and losing their footing on the 
 rubbly steep, they slid sharply downward, the lanterns 
 rolling from their hands to the bottom, and there lying 
 on their sides till the horn was scorched through. 
 
 When they had again gathered themselves together, the 
 shepherd, as the man who knew the country best, took the 
 lead, and guided them round these treacherous inclines. 
 The lanterns, which seemed rather to dazzle their eyes and 
 warn the fugitive than to assist them in the exploration, 
 were extinguished, due silence was observed; and in this 
 more rational order they plunged into the vale. It was a 
 grassy, briery, moist defile, affording some shelter to any 
 person who had sought it ; but the party perambulated it 
 in vain, and ascended on the other side. Here they wan 
 dered apart, and after an interval closed together again to 
 report progress. At the second time of closing in they 
 found themselves near a lonely ash, the single tree on this 
 part of the upland, probably sown there by a passing bird 
 some fifty years before. And here, standing a little to 
 one side of the trunk, as motionless as the trunk itself, ap 
 peared the man they were in quest of, his outline being 
 well defined against the sky beyond. The band noise 
 lessly drew up and faced him. 
 
 " Your money or your life !" said the constable, sternly 
 to the still figure. 
 
 " No, no," whispered John Pitcher. " 'Tisn't our side 
 ought to say that. That's the doctrine of vagabonds like 
 him, and we be on the side of the law." 
 
22 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 " Well, well," replied the constable, impatiently ; " I 
 must say something, mustn't I ? and if you had all the 
 weight o' this undertaking upon your mind, perhaps you'd 
 say the wrong thing too ! Prisoner at the bar, surrender, 
 in the name of the Father the Crown, I mane !" 
 
 The man under the tree seemed now to notice them 
 for the first time, and giving them no opportunity what 
 ever for exhibiting their courage, he strolled slowly tow 
 ards them. He was, indeed, the little man, the third 
 stranger; but his trepidation had in a great measure gone. 
 
 " Well, travellers," he said, " did I hear ye speak to 
 me?" 
 
 "You did; you've got to come and be our prisoner at 
 once," said the constable. " We arrest ye on the charge 
 of not biding in Casterbridge jail in a decent proper man 
 ner to be hung to-morrow morning. Neighbors, do your 
 duty, and seize the culpet !" 
 
 On hearing the charge, the man seemed enlightened, 
 and, saying not another word, resigned himself with pre 
 ternatural civility to the search-party, who, with their 
 staves in their hands, surrounded him on all sides, and 
 marched him back towards the shepherd's cottage. 
 
 It was eleven o'clock by the time they arrived. The 
 light shining from the open door, a sound of men's voices 
 within, proclaimed to them as they approached the house 
 that some new events had arisen in their absence. On 
 entering they discovered the shepherd's living-room to be 
 invaded by two officers from Casterbridge jail, and a well- 
 known magistrate who lived at the nearest country-seat, 
 intelligence of the escape having become generally circu 
 lated. 
 
 " Gentlemen," said the constable, " I have brought back 
 your man not without risk and danger; but everyone 
 must do his duty ! He is inside this circle of able-bodied 
 persons, who have lent rne useful aid, considering their 
 ignorance of Crown work. Men, bring forward your pris 
 oner !" And the third stranger was led to the light. 
 
 " Who is this ?" said one of the officials. 
 
THE THKEE STRANGERS. 23 
 
 " The man," said the constable. 
 
 " Certainly riot," said the turnkey ; and the first corrob 
 orated his statement. 
 
 " But how can it be otherwise ?" asked the constable. 
 " Or why was he so terrified at sight o' the singing instru 
 ment of the law who sat there?" Here he related the 
 strange behavior of the third stranger on entering the 
 house during the hangman's song. 
 
 " Can't understand it," said the officer, coolly. " All I 
 know is that it is not the condemned man. He's quite a 
 different character from this one; a gauntish fellow, with 
 dark hair and eyes, rather good-looking, and with a mu 
 sical bass voice that if you heard it once you'd never mis 
 take as long as you lived." 
 
 " Why, souls 'twas the man in the chimney-corner !" 
 
 "Hey what?" said the magistrate, coming forward 
 after inquiring particulars from the shepherd in the back 
 ground. " Haven't you got the man after all ?" 
 
 " Well, sir," said the constable, " he's the man we were 
 in search of, that's true ; and yet he's not the man we 
 were in search of. For the man we were in search of was 
 not the man we wanted, sir, if you understand my every 
 day way; for 'twas the man in the chimney-corner!" 
 
 "A pretty kettle of fish altogether!" said the magis 
 trate. " You had better start for the other man at once." 
 
 The prisoner now spoke for the first time. The men 
 tion of the man in the chimney-corner seemed to have 
 moved him as nothing else could do. " Sir," he said, 
 stepping forward to the magistrate, " take no more trou 
 ble about me. The time is come when I may as well 
 speak. I have done nothing; my crime is that the con 
 demned man is my brother. Early this afternoon I left 
 home at Shottsford to tramp it all the way to Casterbridge 
 jail to bid him farewell. I was benighted, and called here 
 to rest and ask the way. When I opened the door I saw 
 before me the very man, my brother, that I thought to 
 see in the condemned cell at Casterbridge. He was in this 
 chimney-corner; and jammed close to him, so that he 
 
24 WES SEX TALES. 
 
 could not have got out if he had tried, was the execu 
 tioner who'd come to take his life, singing a song about 
 it, and not knowing that it was his victim who was close 
 by, joining in to save appearances. My brother looked a 
 glance of agony at me, and I knew he meant, " Don't re 
 veal what you see ; my life depends on it." I was so ter 
 ror-struck that I could hardly stand, and, not knowing 
 what I did, I turned and hurried away." 
 
 The narrator's manner and tone had the stamp of truth, 
 and his story made a great impression on all around. 
 "And do you know where your brother is at the present 
 time ?" asked the magistrate. 
 
 " I do not. I have never seen him since I closed this 
 door." 
 
 " I can testify to that, for we've been between ye ever 
 since," said the constable. 
 
 "Where does he think to fly to? what is his occupa 
 tion ?" 
 
 " He's a watch and clock maker, sir." 
 
 "A said a was a wheelwright a wicked rogue," said 
 the constable. 
 
 " The wheels of clocks and watches he meant, no doubt," 
 said Shepherd Fennel. " I thought his hands were palish 
 for 's trade." 
 
 " Well, it appears to me that nothing can be gained by 
 retaining this poor man in custody," said the magistrate. 
 " Your business lies with the other, unquestionably." 
 
 And so the little man was released off-hand ; but he 
 looked nothing the less sad on that account, it being be 
 yond the power of magistrate or constable to raze out 
 the written troubles in his brain, for they concerned an 
 other whom he regarded with more solicitude than him 
 self. When this was done, and the man had gone his 
 way, the night was found to be so far advanced that it 
 was deemed useless to renew the search before the next 
 morning. 
 
 Next day, accordingly, the quest for the clever sheep- 
 stealer became general and keen, to all appearance at 
 
THE THREE STRANGERS. 25 
 
 least. But the intended punishment was cruelly dispro- 
 portioned to the transgression, and the sympathy of a 
 great many country folk in that district was strongly on 
 the side of the fugitive. Moreover, his marvellous cool 
 ness and daring in hob-and-nobbing with the hangman, 
 under the unprecedented circumstances of the shepherd's 
 party, won their admiration. So that it may be questioned 
 if all those who ostensibly made themselves so busy in 
 exploring woods and fields and lanes were quite so thor 
 ough when it came to the private examination of their 
 own lofts and out-houses. Stories were afloat of a mys 
 terious figure being occasionally seen in some old over 
 grown track-way or other, remote from turnpike-roads; 
 but when a search was instituted in any of these suspected 
 quarters nobody was found. Thus the days and weeks 
 passed without tidings. 
 
 In brief, the bass-voiced man of the chimney-corner 
 was never recaptured. Some said that he went across the 
 sea, others that he did not, but buried himself in the 
 depths of a populous city. At any rate, the gentleman in 
 cinder-gray never did his morning's work at Casterbridge, 
 nor met anywhere at all, for business purposes, the genial 
 comrade with whom he had passed an hour of relaxation 
 in the lonely house on the coomb. 
 
 The grass has long been green on the graves of Shep 
 herd Fennel and his frugal wife; the guests who made 
 up the christening-party have mainly followed their enter 
 tainers to the tomb ; the baby in whose honor they all 
 had met is a matron in the sear and yellow leaf. But the 
 arrival of the three strangers at the shepherd's that night, 
 and the details connected therewith, is a story as well 
 known as ever in the country about Higher Crowstairs. 
 
THE WITHERED ARM. 
 
 i. 
 
 A LORN MILKMAID. 
 
 IT was an eighty-cow dairy, and the troop of milkers, 
 regular and supernumerary, were all at work ; for, though 
 the time of the year was as yet but early April, the feed 
 lay entirely in water-meadows, and the cows were " in full 
 pail." The hour was about six in the evening, and three- 
 fourths of the large, red, rectangular animals having been 
 finished oif, there was opportunity for a little conversa 
 tion. 
 
 " He brings home his bride to-morrow, I hear. They've 
 come as far as Anglebury to-day." 
 
 The voice seemed to proceed from the belly of the cow 
 called Cherry, but the speaker was a milking- woman, 
 whose face was buried in the flank of that motionless 
 beast. 
 
 " Has anybody seen her ?" said another. 
 
 There was a negative response from the first. " Though 
 they say she's a rosy - cheeked, tisty-tosty little body 
 enough," she added; and as the milkmaid spoke she 
 turned her face so that she could glance past her cow's 
 tail to the other side of the barton, where a thin, faded 
 woman of thirty milked somewhat apart from the rest. 
 
 " Years younger than he, they say," continued the sec 
 ond, with also a glance f of reflectiveness in the same direc 
 tion. 
 
 " How old do you call him, then ?" 
 
THE WITHERED ARM. 27 
 
 " Thirty or so." 
 
 " More like forty," broke in an old milkman near, in a 
 long white pinafore or " wropper," and with the brim of 
 his hat tied down so that he looked like a woman. "A 
 was born before our Great Weir was builded, and I hadn't 
 man's wages when I laved water there." 
 
 The discussion waxed so warm that the purr of the 
 milk-streams became jerky, till a voice from another cow's 
 belly cried with authority, " Now then, what the Turk do 
 it matter to us about Farmer Lodge's age, or Farmer 
 Lodge's new mis'ess ! I shall have to pay him nine pound 
 a year for the rent of every one of these milehers, what 
 ever his age or hers. Get on with your work, or 'twill 
 be dark before we have done. The evening is pinking in 
 a'ready." This speaker was the dairy-man himself, by 
 whom the milkmaids and men were employed. 
 
 Nothing more was said publicly about Farmer Lodge's 
 wedding, but the first woman murmured under her cow 
 to her next neighbor, " 'Tis hard for she" signifying the 
 thin, worn milkmaid aforesaid. 
 
 " Oh no," said the second. " He hasn't spoke to Rhoda 
 Brook for years." 
 
 When the milking was done they washed their pails 
 and hung them on a many-forked stand made of the peeled 
 limb of an oak-tree, set upright in the earth, and resem 
 bling a colossal antlered horn. The majority then dis 
 persed in various directions homeward. The thin woman 
 who had not spoken was joined by a 'boy of twelve or 
 thereabout, and the twain went away up the field also. 
 
 Their course lay apart from that of the others, to a 
 lonely spot high above the water-meads, and not far from 
 the border of Egdon Heath, whose dark countenance was 
 visible in the distance as they drew nigh to their home. 
 
 "They've just been saying down in barton that your 
 father brings his young wife home from Anglebury to 
 morrow," the woman observed. "I shall want to send 
 you for a few things to market, and you'll be pretty sure 
 to meet 'em." 
 
28 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 "Yes, mother," said the boy. "Is father married, 
 then?" 
 
 " Yes. . . . You can give her a look, and tell me what 
 she's like, if you do see her." 
 
 "Yes, mother." 
 
 "If she's dark or fair, and if she's tall as tall as I. 
 And if she seems like a woman who has ever worked for 
 a living, or one that has been always well off, and has 
 never done anything, and shows marks of the lady on her, 
 as I expect she do." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 They crept up the hill in the twilight, and entered the 
 cottage. It was thatched, and built of mud-walls, the sur 
 face of which had been washed by many rains into chan 
 nels and depressions that left none of the original flat face 
 visible ; while here and there a rafter showed like a bone 
 protruding through the skin. 
 
 She was kneeling down in the chimney-corner, before 
 two pieces of turf laid together with the heather inward, 
 blowing at the red-hot ashes with her breath till the turfs 
 flamed. The radiance lit her pale cheek, and made her 
 dark eyes, that had once been handsome, seem handsome 
 anew. "Yes," she resumed, "see if she is dark or fair; 
 and if you can, notice if her hands are white ; if not, see 
 if they look as though she had ever done housework, or 
 are milker's hands like mine." 
 
 The boy again promised, inattentively this time, his 
 mother not observing that he was cutting a notch with 
 his pocket-knife in the beech-backed chair. 
 
THE WITHERED ARM. 29 
 
 II. 
 
 THE YOUNG WIFE. 
 
 THE road from Anglebury to Holmstoke is in general 
 level ; but there is one place where a sharp ascent breaks 
 its monotony. Farmers homeward-bound from the for 
 mer market-town, who trot all the rest of the way, walk 
 their horses up this short incline. 
 
 The next evening, while the sun was yet bright, a hand 
 some new gig, with a lemon-colored body and red wheels, 
 w r as spinning westward along the level highway at the 
 heels of a powerful mare. The driver was a yeoman in 
 the prime of life, cleanly shaven like an actor, his face 
 being toned to that bluish-vermilion hue which so often 
 graces a thriving farmer's features when returning home 
 after successful dealings in the town. Beside him sat a 
 w r oman, many years his junior almost, indeed, a girl. 
 Her face, too, was fresh in color, but it was of a totally 
 different quality soft and evanescent, like the light un 
 der a heap of rose-petals. 
 
 Few people travelled this way, for it was not a turn 
 pike-road; and the long white ribbon of gravel that 
 stretched before them was empty, save of one small scarce- 
 moving speck, which presently resolved itself into the fig 
 ure of a boy, who was creeping on at a snail's pace, and 
 continually looking behind him the heavy bundle he 
 carried being some excuse for, if not the reason of, his 
 dilatoriness. When the bouncing gig-party slowed at the 
 bottom of the incline before mentioned, the pedestrian 
 was only a few yards in front. Supporting the large bun 
 dle by putting one hand on his hip, he turned and looked 
 straight at the farmer's wife as though he would read her 
 through and through, pacing along abreast of the horse. 
 
 The low sun was full in her face, rendering every feat- 
 
30 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 ure, shade, and contour distinct, from the curve of her 
 little nostril to the color of her eyes. The farmer, though 
 he seemed annoyed at the boy's persistent presence, did 
 not order him to get out of the way ; and thus the lad 
 preceded them, his hard gaze never leaving her, till they 
 reached the top of the ascent, when the farmer trotted on 
 with relief in his lineaments having taken no outward 
 notice of the boy whatever. 
 
 "How that poor lad stared at me!" said the young 
 wife. 
 
 " Yes, dear ; I saw that he did." 
 
 " He is one of the village, I suppose ?" 
 
 "One of the neighborhood. I think he lives with his 
 mother a mile or two off." 
 
 " He knows who we are, no doubt ?" 
 
 " Oh yes. You must expect to be stared at just at first, 
 my pretty Gertrude." 
 
 "I do though I think the poor boy may have looked 
 at us in the hope that we might relieve him of his heavy 
 load, rather than from curiosity." 
 
 " Oh no," said her husband, off-handedly. " These coun 
 try lads will carry a hundred-weight once they get it on 
 their backs; besides, his pack had more size than weight 
 in it. Now, then, another mile and I shall be able to 
 show you our house in the distance if it is not too dark 
 before we get there." The wheels spun round, and par 
 ticles flew from their periphery as before, till a white 
 house of ample dimensions revealed itself, with farin- 
 buildings and ricks at the back. 
 
 Meanwhile the boy had quickened his pace, and turn 
 ing up a by-lane some mile and a half short of the white 
 farmstead, ascended towards the leaner pastures, and so 
 on to the cottage of his mother. 
 
 She had reached home after her day's milking at the 
 outlying dairy, and was washing cabbage at the door-way 
 in the declining light. "Hold up the net a moment," 
 she said, without preface, as the boy came up. 
 
 He flung down his bundle, held the edge of the cab- 
 
THE WITHERED ARM. 31 
 
 bage-net, and as she tilled its meshes with the dripping 
 leaves she went on : " Well, did you see her?" 
 
 " Yes ; quite plain." 
 
 "Is she lady-like?" 
 
 " Yes ; and more. A lady complete." 
 
 "Is she young?" 
 
 " Well, she's growed up, and her ways are quite a 
 woman's." 
 
 " Of course. What color is her hair and face ?" 
 
 " Her hair is lightish, and her face as comely as a live 
 doll's." 
 
 " Her eyes, then, are not dark like mine ?" 
 
 "No of a bluish turn; and her mouth is very nice and 
 red, and when she smiles her teeth show white." 
 
 "Is she tall?" said the woman, sharply. 
 
 "I couldn't see. She was sitting down." 
 
 " Then do you go to Holmstoke Church to-morrow 
 morning she's sure to be there. Go early and notice 
 her walking in, and come home and tell me if she's taller 
 than I." 
 
 " Very well, mother. But why don't you go and see 
 for yourself ?" 
 
 "/go to see her! I wouldn't look up at her if she 
 were to pass my window this instant. She was with Mr. 
 Lodge, of course ? What did he say or do ?" 
 
 " Just the same as usual." 
 
 " Took no notice of you ?" 
 
 "None." 
 
 Next day the mother put a clean shirt on the boy, and 
 started him off for Holmstoke Church. He reached the 
 ancient little pile, when the door was just being opened, 
 and he was the first to enter. Taking his seat by the 
 font, he watched all the parishioners file in. The well- 
 to-do Farmer Lodge came nearly last; and his young 
 wife, who accompanied him, walked up the aisle with the 
 shyness natural to a modest woman who had appeared 
 thus for the first time. As all other eyes were fixed upon 
 her, the youth's stare was not noticed now. 
 
32 W ESSEX TALES. 
 
 When he reached home his mother said " Well?" before 
 he had entered the room. 
 
 " She is not tall. She is rather short," he replied. 
 
 " Ah !" said his mother, with satisfaction. 
 
 " But she's very pretty very. In fact, she's lovely." 
 The youthful freshness of the yeoman's wife had evident 
 ly made an impression even on the somewhat hard nature 
 of the boy. 
 
 " That's all I want to hear," said his mother, quickly. 
 "Now spread the table-cloth. The hare you caught is 
 very tender; but mind that nobody catches you. You've 
 never told me what sort of hands she had." 
 
 "I have never seen 'em. She never took off her 
 gloves." 
 
 " What did she wear this morning ?" 
 
 "A white bonnet and a silver -colored gownd. It 
 whewed and whistled so loud when it rubbed against the 
 pews that the lady colored up more than ever for very 
 shame at the noise, and pulled it in to keep it from touch 
 ing; but when she pushed into her seat it whewed more 
 than ever. Mr. Lodge, he seemed pleased, and his waist 
 coat stuck out, and his great golden seals hung like a 
 lord's; but she seemed to wish her noisy gownd anywhere 
 but on her." 
 
 "Not she ! However, that will do now." 
 
 These descriptions of the newly married couple were 
 continued from time to time by the boy at his mother's 
 request, after any chance encounter he had had with 
 them. But Rhoda Brook, though she might easily have 
 seen young Mrs. Lodge for herself by walking a couple 
 of miles, would never attempt an excursion towards the 
 quarter where the farm-house lay. Neither did she, at the 
 daily milking in the dairy-man's yard on Lodge's outlying 
 second farm, ever speak on the subject of the recent mar 
 riage. The dairy-man, who rented the cows of Lodge, and 
 knew perfectly the tall milkmaid's history, with manly 
 kindliness always kept the gossip in the cow-barton from 
 annoying Rhoda. But the atmosphere thereabout was 
 
THE WITHERED ARM. 33 
 
 full of the subject during the first days of Mrs. Lodge's 
 arrival ; and from her boy's description and the casual 
 words of the other milkers, Rhoda Brook could raise a 
 mental image of the unconscious Mrs. Lodge that was 
 realistic as a photograph. 
 
 III. 
 
 A VISION. 
 
 ONE night, two or three weeks after the bridal return, 
 when the boy was gone to bed, Khoda sat a long time 
 over the turf-ashes that she had raked out in front of her 
 to extinguish them. She contemplated so intently the 
 new wife, as presented to her in her mind's eye over the 
 embers, that she forgot the lapse of time. At last, wearied 
 with her day's work, she too retired. 
 
 But the figure which had occupied her so much during 
 this and the previous days was not to be banished at night. 
 For the first time Gertrude Lodge visited the supplanted 
 woman in her dreams. lihoda Brook dreamed since her 
 assertion that she really saw, before falling asleep, was not 
 to be believed that the young wife, in the pale silk dress 
 and white bonnet, but'with features shockingly distorted, 
 and wrinkled as by age, was sitting upon her chest as she 
 lay. The pressure of Mrs. Lodge's person grew heavier ; 
 the blue eyes peered cruelly into her face ; and then the 
 figure thrust forward its left hand mockingly, so as to 
 make the wedding-ring it wore glitter in Ehoda's eyes. 
 Maddened mentally, and nearly suffocated by pressure, the 
 sleeper struggled ; the incubus, still regarding her, with 
 drew to the foot of the bed, only, however, to come for 
 ward by degrees, resume her seat, and flash her left hand 
 as before. 
 
 Gasping for breath, Rhoda, in a last desperate effort, 
 swung out her right hand, seized the confronting spectre 
 3 
 
34: WESSEX TALES. 
 
 by its obtrusive left arm, and whirled it backward to the 
 floor, starting up herself, as she did so, with a low cry. 
 
 "Oh, merciful Heaven !" she cried, sitting on the edge 
 of the bed in a cold sweat, "that was not a dream she 
 was here !" 
 
 She could feel her antagonist's arm within her grasp 
 even now the very flesh and bone of it, as it seemed. 
 She looked on the floor whither she had whirled the spec 
 tre, but there was nothing to be seen. 
 
 Rhoda Brook slept no more that night, and when she 
 went milking at the next dawn they noticed how pale 
 and haggard she looked. The milk that she drew quiv 
 ered into the pail; her hand had not calmed even yet, 
 and still retained the feel of the arm. She came home 
 to breakfast as wearily as if it had been supper-time. 
 
 "What was that noise in your chimrner, mother, last 
 night?" said her son. "You fell off the bed, surely?" 
 
 " Did you hear anything fall ? At what time?" 
 
 " Just when the clock struck two." 
 
 She could not explain, and when the meal was done 
 went silently about her household work, the boy assisting 
 her, for he hated going afield on the farms, and she in 
 dulged his reluctance. Between eleven and twelve the 
 garden gate clicked, and she lifted her eyes to the window. 
 At the bottom of the garden, within the gate, stood the 
 woman of her vision. Rhoda seemed transfixed. 
 
 "Ah, she said she would come !" exclaimed the boy, also 
 observing her. 
 
 "Said so when ? How does she know us?" 
 
 " I have seen and spoken to her, I talked to her yes 
 terday." 
 
 " I told you," said the mother, flushing indignantly, 
 " never to speak to anybody in that house, or go near the 
 place." 
 
 "I did not speak to her till she spoke to me. And I 
 did not go near the place. I met her in the road." 
 
 "What did you tell her?" 
 
 "Nothing. She said, 'Are you the poor boy who had 
 
THE WITHERED ARM. 35 
 
 to bring the heavy load from market ?' And she looked 
 at my boots, and said they would not keep my feet dry 
 if it came on wet, because they were so cracked. I told 
 her I lived with my mother, and we had enough to do 
 to keep ourselves, and that's how it was; and she said then, 
 ' I'll come and bring you some better boots, and see your 
 mother.' She gives away things to other folks in the 
 meads besides us." 
 
 Mrs. Lodge was by this time close to the door not in 
 her silk, as Rhoda had seen her in the bedchamber, but 
 in a morning hat, and gown of common light material, 
 which became her better than silk. On her arm she car 
 ried a basket. 
 
 The impression remaining from the night's experience 
 was still strong. Brook had almost expected to see the 
 wrinkles, the scorn, and the cruelty on her visitor's face. 
 She would have escaped an interview, had escape been 
 possible. There was, however, no back door to the cottage, 
 and in an instant the boy had lifted the latch to Mrs. 
 Lodge's gentle knock. 
 
 " I see I have come to the right house," said she, glanc 
 ing at the lad, and smiling. " But I was not sure till you 
 opened the door." 
 
 The figure and action were those of the phantom ; but 
 her voice was so indescribably sweet, her glance so win 
 ning, her smile so tender, so unlike that of Rhoda's mid 
 night visitant, that the latter could hardly believe the 
 evidence of her senses. She was truly glad that she had 
 not hidden away in sheer aversion, as she had been in 
 clined to do. In her basket Mrs. Lodge brought the pair 
 of boots that she had promised to the boy, and other use 
 ful articles. 
 
 At these proofs of a kindly feeling towards her and 
 hers, Ehoda's heart reproached her bitterly. This inno 
 cent young thing should have her blessing and not her 
 curse. When she left them, a light seemed gone from the 
 dwelling. Two days later she came again to know if the 
 boots fitted; and less than a fortnight after that paid 
 
36 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 Rhoda another call. On this occasion the boy was ab 
 sent. 
 
 " I walk a good deal," said Mrs. Lodge, " and your house 
 is the nearest outside our own parish. I hope you are 
 well. You don't look quite well." 
 
 Rhoda said she was well enough; and indeed, though 
 the paler of the two, there was more of the strength that 
 endures in her well-defined features and large frame than 
 in the soft-cheeked young woman before her. The con 
 versation became quite confidential as regarded their pow 
 ers and weaknesses ; and when Mrs. Lodge was leaving, 
 Rhoda said, " I hope you will find this air agree with you, 
 ma'am, and not suffer from the damp of the water-meads." 
 
 The younger one replied that there was not much doubt 
 of it, her general health being usually good. " Though, 
 now you remind me," she added, " I have one little ail 
 ment which puzzles me. It is nothing serious, but I can 
 not make it out." 
 
 She uncovered her left hand and arm; and their out 
 line confronted Rhoda's gaze as the exact original of the 
 limb she had beheld and seized in her dream. Upon the 
 pink round surface of the arm were faint marks of an 
 unhealthy color, as if produced by a rough grasp. Rhoda's 
 eyes became riveted on the discolorations ; she fancied 
 that she discerned in them the shape of her own four 
 fingers. 
 
 " How did it happen ?" she said, mechanically. 
 
 " I cannot tell," replied Mrs. Lodge, shaking her head. 
 " One night when I was sound asleep, dreaming I was 
 away in some strange place, a pain suddenly shot into my 
 arm there, and was so keen as to awaken me. I must 
 have struck it in the daytime, I suppose, though I don't 
 remember doing so." She added, laughing, " I tell my 
 dear husband that it looks just as if he had flown into a 
 rage and struck me there. Oh, I dare say it will soon 
 disappear." 
 
 " Ha, ha ! Yes ! On what night did it come ?" 
 
 Mrs. Lodge considered, and said it would be a fortnight 
 
THE WITHERED ARM. 37 
 
 ago on the morrow. " When I awoke I could not remem 
 ber where I was," she added, "till the clock striking two 
 reminded me." 
 
 She had named the night and the hour of Rhoda's spec 
 tral encounter, and Brook felt like a guilty thing. The 
 artless disclosure startled her; she did not reason on the 
 freaks of coincidence ; and all the scenery of that ghastly 
 night returned with double vividness to her mind. 
 
 " Oh, can it be," she said to herself, when her visitor 
 had departed, "that I exercise a malignant power over 
 people against my own will ?" She knew that she had 
 been slyly called a witch since her fall ; but never having 
 understood why that particular stigma had been attached 
 to her, it had passed disregarded. Could this be the ex 
 planation, and had such things as this ever happened be 
 fore ? 
 
 IV. 
 
 A SUGGESTION. 
 
 THE summer drew on, and Rhoda Brook almost dreaded 
 to meet Mrs. Lodge again, notwithstanding that her feel 
 ing for the young wife amounted wellnigh to affection. 
 Something in her own individuality seemed to convict 
 Rhoda of crime. Yet a fatality sometimes would direct 
 the steps of the latter to the outskirts of Holmstoke when 
 ever she left her house for any other purpose than her 
 daily work ; and hence it happened that their next en 
 counter was out-of-doors. Rhoda could not avoid the 
 subject which had so mystified her, and after the first 
 few words she stammered, "I hope your arm is well 
 again, ma'am ?" She had perceived with consternation 
 that Gertrude Lodge carried her left arm stiffly. 
 
 "No; it is not quite well. Indeed it is no better at 
 all ; it is rather worse. It pains me dreadfully some 
 times." 
 
 " Perhaps you had better go to a doctor, ma'am." 
 
38 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 She replied that she had already seen a doctor. Her 
 husband had insisted upon her going to one. But the 
 surgeon had not seemed to understand the afflicted limb 
 at all ; he had told her to bathe it in hot water, and she 
 had bathed it, but the treatment had done no good. 
 
 " Will you let me see it?" said the milk wo man. 
 
 Mrs. Lodge pushed up her sleeve and disclosed the 
 place, which was a few inches above the wrist. As soon 
 as Ehoda Brook saw it she could hardly preserve her 
 composure. There was nothing of the nature of a wound, 
 but the arm at that point had a shrivelled look, and the 
 outline of the four fingers appeared more distinct than at 
 the former time. Moreover, she fancied that they were 
 imprinted in precisely the relative position of her clutch 
 upon the arm in the trance ; the first finger towards Ger 
 trude's wrist, and the fourth towards her elbow. 
 
 What the impress resembled seemed to have struck 
 Gertrude herself since their last meeting. "It looks al 
 most like finger-marks," she said; adding, with a faint 
 laugh. " My husband says it is as if some witch, or the 
 devil himself, had taken hold of me there, and blasted the 
 flesh." 
 
 Rhoda shivered. " That's fancy," she said, hurriedly. 
 " I wouldn't mind it, if I were you." 
 
 "I shouldn't so much mind it," said the younger, with 
 hesitation, " if if I hadn't a notion that it makes my hus 
 band dislike me no, love me less. Men think so much 
 of personal appearance." 
 
 " Some do he for one." 
 
 " Yes ; and he was very proud of mine, at first." 
 
 "Keep your arm covered from his sight." 
 
 " Ah, he knows the disfigurement is there !" She tried 
 to hide the tears that filled her eyes. 
 
 " Well, ma'am, I earnestly hope it will go away soon." 
 
 And so the milkwoman's mind was chained anew to 
 the subject by a horrid sort of spell as she returned home. 
 The sense of having been guilty of an act of malignity 
 increased, affect as she might to ridicule her superstition. 
 
THE WITHERED ARM. 39 
 
 In her secret heart Rhoda did not altogether object to a 
 slight diminution of her successor's beauty, by whatever 
 means it had come about ; but she did not wish to inflict 
 upon her physical pain. For though this pretty young 
 woman had rendered impossible any reparation which 
 Lodge might have made Rhoda for his past conduct, 
 everything like resentment at the unconscious usurpation 
 had quite passed away from the elder's mind. 
 
 If the sweet and kindly Gertrude Lodge only knew 
 of the scene in the bedchamber, what would she think ? 
 Not to inform her of it seemed treachery in the presence 
 of her friendliness ; but tell she could not of her own 
 accord, neither could she devise a remedy. 
 
 She mused upon the matter the greater part of the 
 night ; and the next day, after the morning milking, set 
 out to obtain another glimpse of Gertrude Lodge if she 
 could, being held to her by a grewsome fascination. T$y 
 watching the house from a distance the milkmaid was 
 presently able to discern the farmer's wife in a ride she 
 was taking alone probably to join her husband in some 
 distant field. Mrs. Lodge perceived her, and cantered in 
 her direction. 
 
 " Good-morning, Rhoda !" Gertrude said, when she had 
 come up. " I was going to call." 
 
 Rhoda noticed that Mrs. Lodge held the reins with 
 some difficulty. 
 
 " I hope the bad arm," said Rhoda. 
 
 " They tell me there is possibly one way by which I 
 might be able to find out the cause, and so perhaps the 
 cure of it," replied the other, anxiously. "It is by going 
 to some clever man over in Egdon Heath. They did not 
 know if he was still alive and I cannot remember his 
 name at this moment ; but they said that you knew more 
 of his movements than anybody else hereabout, and could 
 tell me if he were still to be consulted. Dear me what 
 was his name? But you know." 
 
 "Not Conjurer Trendle?" said her thin companion, 
 turning pale. 
 
4:0 WES SEX TALES. 
 
 "Trendle yes. Is he alive?" 
 
 " I believe so," said Rhoda, with reluctance. 
 
 " Why do you call him conjurer?" 
 
 "Well they say they used to say he was a he had 
 powers other folks have not." 
 
 " Oh, how could my people be so superstitious as to 
 recommend a man of that sort! I thought they meant 
 some medical man. I shall think no more of him." 
 
 Rhoda looked relieved, and Mrs. Lodge rode on. The 
 milkwoman had inwardly seen, from the moment she 
 heard of her having been mentioned as a reference for 
 this man, that there must exist a sarcastic feeling among 
 the work-folk that a sorceress would know the where 
 abouts of the exorcist. They suspected her, then. A 
 short time ago this would have given no concern to a 
 woman of her common-sense. But she had a haunting 
 reason to be superstitious now ; and she had been seized 
 with sudden dread that this Conjurer Trendle might 
 name her as the malignant influence which was blasting 
 the fair person of Gertrude, and so lead her friend to hate 
 her forever, and to treat her as some fiend in human shape. 
 
 But all was not over. Two days after, a shadow intrud 
 ed into the window-pattern thrown on Rhoda Brook's 
 floor by the afternoon sun. The woman opened the door 
 at once, almost breathlessly. 
 
 " Are you alone ?" said Gertrude. She seemed to be 
 no less harassed and anxious than Brook herself. 
 
 " Yes," said Rhoda. 
 
 "The place on my arm seems worse, and troubles me!" 
 the farmer's young wife went on. " It is so mysterious! 
 I do hope it will not be a permanent blemish. I have 
 again been thinking of what they said about Conjurer 
 Trendle. I don't really believe in such men, but I should 
 not mind just visiting him, from curiosity though on no 
 account must my husband know. Is it far to where he 
 lives?" 
 
 "Yes five miles," said Rhoda, backwardly. "In the 
 heart of Egdon." 
 
THE WITHERED ARM. 41 
 
 " Well, I should have to walk. Could not you go with 
 me to show me the way say to-morrow afternoon ?" 
 
 " Oh, not I that is," the milkwoman murmured, with 
 a start of dismay. Again the dread seized her that some 
 thing to do with her fierce act in the dream might be re 
 vealed, and her character in the eyes of the most useful 
 friend she had ever had be ruined irretrievably. 
 
 Mrs. Lodge urged, and Rhoda finally assented, though 
 with much misgiving. Sad as the journey would be to 
 her, she could not conscientiously stand in the way of a 
 possible remedy for her patron's strange affliction. It 
 was agreed that, to escape suspicion of their mystic intent, 
 they should meet at the edge of the heath, at the corner 
 of a plantation which was visible from the spot where 
 they now stood. 
 
 V. 
 
 CONJURER TRENDLE. 
 
 BY the next afternoon Rhoda would have done any 
 thing to escape this inquiry. But she had promised to go. 
 Moreover, there was a horrid fascination at times in be 
 coming instrumental in throwing such possible light on 
 her own character as would reveal her to be something 
 greater in the occult world than she had ever herself sus 
 pected. 
 
 She started just before the time of day mentioned be 
 tween them, and half an hour's brisk walking brought her 
 to the south-eastern extension of the Egdon tract of coun 
 try, where the fir plantation was. A slight figure, cloaked 
 and veiled, was already there. Rhoda recognized, almost 
 with a shudder, that Mrs. Lodge bore her left arm in a 
 sling. 
 
 They hardly spoke to each other, and immediately set 
 out on their climb into the interior of this solemn coun 
 try, which stood high above the rich alluvial soil they 
 
42 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 Lad left half an hour before. It was a long walk ; thick 
 clouds made the atmosphere dark, though it was as yet 
 only early afternoon ; and the wind howled dismally over 
 the hills of the heath not improbably the same heath 
 which had witnessed the agony of the Wessex King Ina, 
 presented to after-ages as Lear. Gertrude Lodge talked 
 most, Rhpda replying with monosyllabic preoccupation. 
 She had a strange dislike to walking on the side of her 
 companion where hung the afflicted arm, moving round 
 to the other when inadvertently near it. Much heather 
 had been brushed by their feet when they descended upon 
 a cart-track, beside which stood the house of the man they 
 sought. 
 
 He did not profess his remedial practices openly, or care 
 anything about their continuance, his direct interests being 
 those of a dealer in furze, turf, "sharp sand," and other 
 local products. Indeed, lie affected not to believe largely 
 in his own powers, and when warts that had been shown 
 him for cure miraculously disappeared which it must be 
 owned they infallibly did he would say lightly, "Oh, 
 I only drink a glass of grog upon 'em perhaps it's all 
 chance," and immediately turn the subject. 
 
 He was at home when they arrived, having, in fact, seen 
 them descending into his valley. He was a gray-bearded 
 man, with a reddish face, and he looked singularly at 
 Ehoda the first moment he beheld her. Mrs. Lodge told 
 him her errand, and then with words of self-disparage 
 ment he examined her arm. 
 
 "Medicine can't cure it," he said, promptly. "'Tis the 
 work of an enemy." 
 
 Rhoda shrank into herself and drew back. 
 
 " An enemy ? What enemy ?" asked Mrs. Lodge. 
 
 He shook his head. "That's best known to yourself," 
 he said. " If you like I can show the person to yon, though 
 I shall not myself know who it is. I can do no more, and 
 don't wish to do that." 
 
 She pressed him ; on which he told Ehoda to wait out 
 side where she stood, and took Mrs. Lodge into the room. 
 
THE WITHERED ARM. 43 
 
 It opened immediately from the door ; and, as the latter 
 remained ajar, Rhoda Brook could see the proceedings 
 without taking part in them. He brought a tumbler from 
 the dresser, nearly filled it with water, and fetching an 
 egg, prepared it in some private way ; after which he 
 broke it on the edge of the glass, so that the white went 
 in and the yolk remained. As it was getting gloomy, he 
 took the glass and its contents to the window, and told 
 Gertrude to watch them closely. They leaned over the 
 table together, and the milkwoman could see the opaline 
 hue of the egg-fluid changing form as it sank in the wa 
 ter, but she was not near enough to define the shape that 
 it assumed. 
 
 " Do you catch the likeness of any face or figure as you 
 look?" demanded the conjurer of the young woman. 
 
 She murmured a reply, in tones so low as to be inaudi 
 ble to Rhoda, and continued to gaze intently into the 
 glass. Rhoda turned, and walked a few steps away. 
 
 When Mrs. Lodge came out, and her face was met by 
 the light, it appeared exceedingly pale as pale as Rhoda's 
 against the sad dun shades of the upland's garniture. 
 Trendle shut the door behind her, and they at once start 
 ed homeward together. But Rhoda perceived that her 
 companion had quite changed. 
 
 "Did he charge much?" she asked, tentatively. 
 
 "Oh no nothing. He would not take a farthing," 
 said Gertrude. 
 
 "And what did you see?" inquired Rhoda. 
 
 " Nothing I care to speak of." The constraint in her 
 manner was remarkable; her face was so rigid as to wear 
 an oldened aspect, faintly suggestive of the face in Rhoda's 
 bedchamber. 
 
 " Was it you who first proposed coining here ?" Mrs. 
 Lodge suddenly inquired, after a long pause. " How very 
 odd, if you did !" 
 
 " No. But I am not sorry we have come, all things 
 considered," she replied. For the first time a sense of 
 triumph possessed her, and she did not altogether deplore 
 
44 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 that the young thing at her side should learn that their 
 lives had been antagonized by other influences than their 
 own. 
 
 The subject was no more alluded to during the long and 
 dreary walk home. But in some way or other a story was 
 whispered about the many-dairied Swenn Valley that win 
 ter that Mrs. Lodge's gradual loss of the use of her left 
 arm was owing to her being "overlooked" by Rhoda 
 Brook. The latter kept her own counsel about the incu 
 bus, but her face grew sadder and thinner ; and in the 
 spring she and her boy disappeared from the neighbor 
 hood of Holmstoke. 
 
 VI. 
 
 A SECOND ATTEMPT. 
 
 HALF a dozen years passed away, and Mr. and Mrs. 
 Lodge's married experience sank into prosiness, and worse. 
 The farmer was usually gloomy and silent: the woman 
 whom he had wooed for her grace and beauty was con 
 torted and disfigured in the left limb ; moreover, she had 
 brought him no child, which rendered it likely that he 
 would be the last of a family who had occupied that val 
 ley for some two hundred years. He thought of Rhoda 
 Brook and her son, and feared this might be a judgment 
 from Heaven upon him. 
 
 The once blithe-hearted and enlightened Gertrude was 
 changing into an irritable, superstitious woman, whose 
 whole time was given to experimenting upon her ailment 
 with every quack remedy she came across. She was hon 
 estly attached to her husband, and was ever secretly hoping 
 against hope to win back his heart again by regaining 
 some at least of her personal beauty. Hence it arose that 
 her closet was lined with bottles, packets, and ointment- 
 pots of every description nay, bunches of mystic herbs, 
 
THE WITHERED ARM. 45 
 
 charms, and books of necromancy, which in her school 
 girl time she would have ridiculed as folly. 
 
 " D d if you won't poison yourself with these 
 
 apothecary messes and witch mixtures some time or oth 
 er," said her husband, when his eye chanced to fall upon 
 the multitudinous array. 
 
 She did not reply, but turned her sad, soft glance upon 
 him in such heart-swollen reproach that he looked sorry 
 for his words, and added, " I only meant it for your good, 
 you know, Gertrude." 
 
 " I'll clear out the whole lot, and destroy them," said 
 she, huskily, " and attempt such remedies no more !" 
 
 " You want somebody to cheer you," he observed. " I 
 once thought of adopting a boy ; but he is too old now. 
 And he is gone away I don't know where." 
 
 She guessed to whom he alluded; for Rhoda Brook's 
 story had in the course of years become known to her ; 
 though not a word had ever passed between her husband 
 and herself on the subject. Neither had she ever spoken 
 to him of her visit to Conjurer Trendle, and of what was 
 revealed to her, or she thought was revealed to her, by 
 that solitary heath-man. 
 
 She was now five-and-twenty ; but she seemed older. 
 " Six years of marriage, and only a few months of love," 
 she sometimes whispered to herself. And then she thought 
 of the apparent cause, and said, with a tragic glance at her 
 withering limb, " If I could only again be as I was when 
 he first saw me !" 
 
 She obediently destroyed her nostrums and charms ; 
 but there remained a hankering wish to try something 
 else some other sort of cure altogether. She had never 
 revisited Trendle since she had been conducted to the 
 house of the solitary by Rhoda against her will ; but it 
 now suddenly occurred to Gertrude that she would, in a 
 last desperate effort at deliverance from this seeming 
 curse, again seek out the man, if he yet lived. He was 
 entitled to a certain credence, for the indistinct form lie 
 had raised in the glass had undoubtedly resembled the 
 
46 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 only woman in the world who as she now knew, though 
 not then could have a reason for bearing her ill-will. 
 The visit should he paid. 
 
 This time she went alone, though she nearly got lost on 
 the heath, and roamed a considerable distance out of her 
 way. Trend le's house was reached at last, however ; he 
 was not in-doors, and instead of waiting at the cottage she 
 went to where his bent figure was pointed out to her at 
 work a long way off. Trendle remembered her, and lay 
 ing down the handful of furze-roots which he was gather 
 ing and throwing into a heap, he offered to accompany 
 her in her homeward direction, as the distance was con 
 siderable and the days were short. So they walked to 
 gether, his head bowed nearly to the earth, and his form 
 of a color with it. 
 
 "You can send away warts and other excrescences, I 
 know," she said ; " why can't you send away this ?" And 
 the arm was uncovered. 
 
 " You think too much of my powers !" said Trendle ; 
 "and I am old and weak now, too. No, no; it is too 
 much for me to attempt in my own person. What have 
 ye tried ?" 
 
 She named to him some of the hundred medicaments 
 and counter-spells which she had adopted from time to 
 time. He shook his head. 
 
 "Some were good enough," he said, approvingly; "but 
 not many of them for such as this. This is of the nature 
 of a blight, not of the nature of a wound ; and if you ever 
 do throw it off, it will be all at once." 
 
 " If I only could !" 
 
 " There is only one chance of doing it known to me. 
 It has never failed in kindred afflictions that I can de 
 clare. But it is hard to carry out, and especially for a 
 woman." 
 
 " Tell me I" said she. 
 
 "You must touch with the limb the neck of a man 
 who's been hanged." 
 
 She started a little at the image he had raised. 
 
THE WITHERED ARM. 47 
 
 " Before he's cold just after he's cnt down," continued 
 the conjurer, impassively. 
 
 "How can that do good?" 
 
 " It will turn the blood and change the constitution. 
 But, as I say, to do it is hard. You must get into jail, 
 and wait for him when he's brought off the gallows. Lots 
 have done it, though perhaps not such pretty women as 
 you. I used to send dozens for skin complaints. But 
 that was in former times. The last I sent was in '13 
 near twenty years ago." 
 
 He had no more to tell her; and, when he had put her 
 into a straight track homeward, turned and left her, re 
 fusing all money, as at first. 
 
 VII. 
 
 A RIDE. 
 
 THE communication sank deep into Gertrude's mind. 
 Her nature was rather a timid one; and probably of all 
 remedies that the white wizard could have suggested there 
 was not one which would have filled her with so much 
 aversion as this, riot to speak of the immense obstacles in 
 the way of its adoption. 
 
 Casterbridge, the county-town, was a dozen or fifteen 
 miles off ; and though in those days, when men were exe 
 cuted for horse-stealing, arson, and burglary, an assize sel 
 dom passed without a hanging, it was not likely that she 
 could get access to the body of the criminal unaided. And 
 the fear of her husband's anger made her reluctant to 
 breathe a word of Trendle's suggestion to him or to any 
 body about him. 
 
 She did nothing for months, and patiently bore her dis 
 figurement as before. But her woman's nature, craving 
 for renewed love, through the medium of renewed beauty 
 (she was but twenty-five), was ever stimulating her to try 
 
4.8 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 what, at any rate, could hardly do her any harm. " What 
 came by a spell will go by a spell surely," she would say. 
 Whenever her imagination pictured the act she shrank in 
 terror from the possibility of it; then the words of the 
 conjurer, "It will turn your blood," were seen to be capa 
 ble of a scientific no less than a ghastly interpretation ; 
 the mastering desire returned, and urged her on again. 
 
 There was at this time but one county-paper, and that 
 her husband only occasionally borrowed. Bat old-fash 
 ioned days had old-fashioned means, and news was exten 
 sively conveyed by word of mouth from market to mar 
 ket or from fair to fair ; so that, whenever such an event 
 as an execution was about to take place, few within a ra 
 dius of twenty miles were ignorant of the coming sight; 
 and, so far as Holmstoke was concerned, some enthusiasts 
 had been known to walk all the way to Casterbridge and 
 back in one day, solely to witness the spectacle. The next 
 assizes were in March ; and when Gertrude Lodge heard 
 that they had been held, she inquired stealthily at the inn 
 as to the result, as soon as she could find opportunity. 
 
 She was, however, too late. The time at which the 
 sentences were to be carried out had arrived, and to make 
 the journey and obtain admission at such short notice re 
 quired at least her husband's assistance. She dared not 
 tell him, for she had found by delicate experiment that 
 these smouldering village beliefs made him furious if 
 mentioned, partly because he half entertained them him 
 self. It was therefore necessary to wait for another op 
 portunity. 
 
 Her determination received a fillip from learning that 
 two epileptic children had attended from this very village 
 of Holmstoke many years before with beneficial results, 
 though the experiment had been strongly condemned by 
 the neighboring clergy. April, May, June passed; and 
 it is no overstatement to say that by the end of the last- 
 named month Gertrude wellnigh longed for the death of 
 a fellow-creature. 
 
 Instead of her formal prayers each night, her uncon- 
 
THE WITHERED ARM. 49 
 
 scions prayer was, " O Lord, bang some guilty or innocent 
 person soon ! This time she made earlier inquiries, and 
 was altogether more systematic in her proceedings. More 
 over, the season was summer, between the haymaking and 
 the harvest, and in the leisure thus afforded her husband 
 had been holiday-taking away from home. 
 
 The assizes were in July, and she went to the inn as 
 before. There was to be one execution only one, for 
 arson. 
 
 Her greatest problem was not how to get to Caster- 
 bridge, but what means she should adopt for obtaining 
 admission to the jail. Though access for such purposes 
 had formerly never been denied, the custom had fallen 
 into desuetude ; and in contemplating her possible difficul 
 ties, she was again almost driven to fall back upon her 
 husband. But, on sounding him about the assizes, he was 
 so uncommunicative, so more than usually cold, that she 
 did not proceed, and decided that whatever she did she 
 would do alone. 
 
 Fortune, obdurate hitherto, showed her unexpected fa 
 vor. On the Thursday before the Saturday fixed for the 
 execution, Lodge remarked to her that he was going away 
 from home for another day or two on business at a fair, 
 and that he was sorry he could not take her with him. 
 
 She exhibited on this occasion so much readiness to stay 
 at home that he looked at her in surprise. Time had been 
 when she would have shown deep disappointment at the 
 loss of such a jaunt. However, he lapsed into his usual 
 taciturnity, and on the day named left Holmstoke. 
 
 It was now her turn. She at first had thought of driv 
 ing, but on reflection held that driving would not do, 
 since it would necessitate her keeping to the turnpike- 
 road, and so increase by tenfold the risk of her ghastly 
 errand being found out. She decided to ride, and avoid 
 the beaten track, notwithstanding that in her husband's 
 stables there was no animal just at present which by any 
 stretch of imagination could be considered a lady's mount, 
 in spite of his promise before marriage to always keep a 
 
50 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 mare for her. He had, however, many horses, fine ones 
 of their kind ; and among the rest was a serviceable creat 
 ure, an equine Amazon, with a back as broad as a sofa, on 
 which Gertrude had occasionally taken an airing when 
 unwell. This horse she chose. 
 
 On Friday afternoon one of the men brought it round. 
 She was dressed, and before going down looked at her 
 shrivelled arm. " Ah !" she said to it, " if it had not been 
 for you this terrible ordeal would have been saved me !" 
 
 When strapping up the bundle in which she carried a 
 few articles of clothing, she took occasion to say to the 
 servant, "I take these in case I should not get back to 
 night from the person I am going to visit. Don't be 
 alarmed if I am not in by ten, and close up the house as 
 usual. I shall be at home to-morrow for certain." She 
 meant then to privately tell her husband ; the deed ac 
 complished was not like the deed projected. He would 
 almost certainly forgive her. 
 
 And then the pretty palpitating Gertrude Lodge went 
 from her husband's homestead ; but though her goal was 
 Casterbridge, she did not take the direct route thither 
 through Stickleford. Her cunning course at first was in 
 precisely the opposite direction. As soon as she was out 
 of sight, however, she turned to the left, by a road which 
 led into Egdon, and on entering the heath wheeled round, 
 and set out in the true course, due westerly. A more 
 private way down the county could not be imagined ; and 
 as to direction, she had merely to keep her horse's head 
 to a point a little to the right of the sun. She knew that 
 she would light upon a furze-cutter or cottager of some 
 sort from time to time, from whom she might correct her 
 bearing. 
 
 Though the date was comparatively recent, Egdon was 
 much less fragmentary in character than now. The at 
 tempts successful and otherwise at cultivation on the 
 lower slopes, which intrude and break up the original 
 heath into small detached heaths, had not been carried 
 far; Enclosure Acts had not taken effect, and the banks 
 
THE WITHERED ARM. 51 
 
 and fences which now exclude the cattle of those villagers 
 who formerly enjoyed rights of commonage thereon, and 
 the carts of those who had turbary privileges which kept 
 them in firing all the year round, were riot erected. Ger 
 trude therefore rode along with no other obstacles than 
 the prickly furze-bushes, the mats of heather, the white 
 watercourses, and the natural steeps and declivities of the 
 ground. 
 
 Her horse was sure, if heavy-footed and slow, and 
 though a draught animal, was easy- paced; had it been 
 otherwise, she was not a woman who could have ventured 
 to ride over such a bit of country with a half-dead arm. 
 It was therefore nearly eight o'clock when she drew rein 
 to breathe the mare on the last outlying high point of 
 heath-land towards Casterbridge, previous to leaving Eg- 
 don for the cultivated valleys. 
 
 She halted before a pond flanked by the ends of two 
 hedges ; a railing ran through the centre of the pond, 
 dividing it in half. Over the railing she saw the low 
 green country ; over the green trees the roofs of the town ; 
 over the roofs a white, flat facade, denoting the entrance 
 to the county-jail. On the roof of this front specks were 
 moving about ; they seemed to be workmen erecting some 
 thing. Her flesh crept. She descended slowly, and was 
 soon amid cornfields and pastures. In another half-hour, 
 when it was almost dusk, Gertrude reached the White 
 Hart, the first inn of the town on that side. 
 
 Little surprise was excited by her arrival : farmers' 
 wives rode on horseback then more than they do now 
 though, for that matter, Mrs. Lodge was not imagined to 
 be a wife at all ; the inn-keeper supposed her some harum- 
 scarum young woman who had come to attend " hang-fair" 
 next day. Neither her husband nor herself ever dealt in 
 Casterbridge market, so that she was unknown. While 
 dismounting she beheld a crowd of boys standing at the 
 door of a harness-maker's shop just above the inn, looking 
 inside it with deep interest. 
 
 " What is going on there ?" she asked of the hostler. 
 
52 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 " Making the rope for to-morrow." 
 
 She throbbed responsively, and contracted her arm. 
 
 "'Tis sold by the inch afterwards," the man continued. 
 "I could get you a bit, miss, for nothing, if you'd like?" 
 
 She hastily repudiated any such wish, all the more from 
 a curious creeping feeling that the condemned wretch's 
 destiny was becoming interwoven with her own ; and 
 having engaged a room for the night, sat down to think. 
 
 Up to this time she had formed but the vaguest notions 
 about her means of obtaining access to the prison. The 
 words of the cunning man returned to her mind. He had 
 implied that she should use her beauty, impaired though 
 it was, as a pass-key. In her inexperience she knew little 
 about jail functionaries; she had heard of a high-sheriff 
 and an under-sheriff, but dimly only. She knew, how 
 ever, that there must be a hangman, and to the hangman 
 she determined to apply. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 A WATER-SIDE HERMIT. 
 
 AT this date, and for several years after, there was a 
 hangman to almost every jail. Gertrude found, on in 
 quiry, that the Casterbridge official dwelt in a lonely cot 
 tage by a deep, slow river flowing under the cliff on which 
 the prison buildings were situate the stream being the 
 self-same one, though she did not know it, which watered 
 the Stickleford and Holmstoke meads lower down in its 
 course. 
 
 Having changed her dress, and before she had eaten or 
 drunk for she could not take her ease till she had ascer 
 tained some particulars Gertrude pursued her way by a 
 path along the water-side to the cottage indicated. Pass 
 ing thus the outskirts of the jail, she discerned on the 
 level roof over the gate-way three rectangular lines against 
 
THE WITHERED ARM. 53 
 
 the sky, where the specks had been moving in her distant 
 view ; she recognized what the erection was, and passed 
 quickly on. Another hundred yards brought her to the 
 executioner's house, which a boy pointed out. It stood 
 close to the same stream, and was hard by a weir, the 
 waters of which emitted a steady roar. 
 
 While she stood hesitating, the door opened and an old 
 man came forth, shading a candle with one hand. Lock 
 ing the door on the outside, he turned to a flight of 
 wooden steps fixed against the end of the cottage, and 
 began to ascend them, this being evidently the staircase 
 to his bedroom. Gertrude hastened forward, but by the 
 time she reached the foot of the ladder lie was at the top. 
 She called to him loudly enough to be heard above the 
 roar of the weir; he looked down and said, "What d'ye 
 want here?" 
 
 " To speak to you a minute." 
 
 The candlelight, such as it was, fell upon her implor 
 ing, pale, upturned face, and Davies (as the hangman was 
 called) backed down the ladder. "I was just going to 
 bed," he said; "'Early to bed and early to rise,' but I 
 don't mind stopping a minute for such a one as you. 
 Come into the house." He reopened the door, and pre 
 ceded her to the room within. 
 
 The implements of his daily work, which was that of a 
 jobbing gardener, stood in a corner, and seeing probably 
 that she looked rural, he said, " If you want me to under 
 take country work I can't come, for I never leave Caster- 
 bridge for gentle nor simple not I. Though sometimes 
 I make others leave," he added, formally. 
 
 " Yes, yes ! That's it ! To-morrow !" 
 
 "Ah! I thought so. Well, what's the matter about 
 that? 'Tis no use to come here about the knot folks do 
 come continually, but I tell 'em one knot is as merciful as 
 another if ye keep it under the ear. Is the unfortunate 
 man a relation ; or, I should say, perhaps " (looking at her 
 dress), " a person who's been in your employ ?" 
 
 "No. What time is the execution?" 
 
54 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 " The same as usual twelve o'clock, or as soon after as 
 the London mail-coach gets in. We always wait for that, 
 in case of a reprieve." 
 
 "Oh a reprieve I hope not!" she said, involuntarily. 
 
 " Well he, he ! as a matter of business, so do I ! But 
 still, if ever a young fellow deserved to be let off, this 
 one does; only just turned eighteen, and only present by 
 chance when the rick was fired. Howsomever, there's not 
 much risk of it, as they are obliged to make an example 
 of him, there having been so much destruction of property 
 that way lately." 
 
 "I mean," she explained, " that I want to touch him 
 for a charm, a cure of an affliction, by the advice of a man 
 who has proved the virtue of the remedy." 
 
 "Oh yes, miss! Now I understand. I've had such 
 people come in past years. But it didn't strike me that 
 you looked of a sort to require blood-turning. What's 
 the complaint? The wrong kind for this, I'll be bound." 
 
 "My arm." She reluctantly showed the withered skin. 
 
 "Ah! 'tis all a -scram!" said the hangman, examin 
 ing it. 
 
 " Yes," said she. 
 
 "Well," he continued, with interest, " that is the class 
 o' subject, I'm bound to admit! I like the look of the 
 place; it is truly as suitable for the cure as any I ever 
 saw. 'Twas a knowing man that sent 'ee, whoever he was." 
 
 " You can contrive for me all that's necessary ?" she 
 said, breathlessly. 
 
 " You should really have gone to the governor of the 
 jail, and your doctor with 'ee, and given your name and 
 address that's how it used to be done, if I recollect. 
 Still, perhaps I can manage it for a trifling fee." 
 
 " Oh, thank you ! I would rather do it this way, as I 
 should like it kept private." 
 
 " Lover not to know, eh ?" 
 
 "No husband." 
 
 "Aha! Yery well. I'll get 'ee a touch of the corpse." 
 
 " Where is it now ?" she said, shuddering. 
 
THE WITHERED ARM. 55 
 
 " It ? he, you mean ; he's living yet. Just inside that 
 little small winder up there in the glum." He signified 
 the jail on the cliff above. 
 
 She thought of her husband and her friends. "Yes, 
 of course," she said ; " and how am I to proceed ?" 
 
 He took her to the door. "Now, do you be waiting at 
 the little wicket in the wall, that you'll find up there in 
 the lane, not later than one o'clock. I will open it from 
 the inside, as I sha'n't come home to dinner till he's cut 
 down. Good-night. Be punctual ; and if you don't want 
 anybody to know 'ee, wear a veil. Ah, once I had such a 
 daughter as you !" 
 
 She went away, and climbed the path above, to assure 
 herself that she would be able to find the wicket next 
 tlay. Its outline was soon visible to her a narrow open 
 ing in the outer wall of the prison precincts. The steep 
 was so great that, having reached the wicket, she stopped 
 a moment to breathe ; and looking back upon the water 
 side cot, saw the hangman again ascending his out-door 
 staircase. He entered the loft, or chamber, to which it led, 
 and in a few minutes extinguished his light. 
 
 The town clock struck ten, and she returned to the 
 White Hart as she had come. 
 
 IX. 
 
 A RENCOUNTER. 
 
 IT was one o'clock on Saturday. Gertrude Lodge, hav 
 ing been admitted to the jail as above described, was sit 
 ting in a waiting-room within the second gate, which stood 
 under a classic archway of ashler, then comparatively mod 
 ern, and bearing the inscription, "COVNTY JAIL: 1793." 
 This had been the fagade she saw from the heath the day 
 before. Near at hand was a passage to the roof on which 
 the gallows stood. 
 
 The town was thronged, and the market suspended; 
 
56 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 but Gertrude had seen scarcely a soul. Having kept her 
 room till the hour of the appointment, she had proceeded 
 to the spot by a way which avoided the open space below 
 the cliff where the spectators had gathered ; but she could, 
 even now, hear the multitudinous babble of their voices, 
 out of which rose at intervals the hoarse croak of a single 
 voice, uttering the words, " Last dying speech and confes 
 sion !" There had been no reprieve, and the execution 
 was over; but the crowd still waited to see the body taken 
 down. 
 
 Soon the persistent girl heard a trampling overhead, 
 then a hand beckoned to her, and, following directions, 
 she went out and crossed the inner paved court beyond 
 the gate -house, her knees trembling so that she could 
 scarcely walk. One of her arms was out of its sleeve, 
 and only covered by her shawl. 
 
 On the spot to which she had now arrived were two 
 trestles, and before she could think of their purpose she 
 heard heavy feet descending stairs somewhere at her back. 
 Turn her head she would not, or could not, and, rigid in 
 this position, she was conscious of a rough coffin passing 
 her shoulder, borne by four men. It was open, and in it 
 lay the body of a young man, wearing the smock-frock of 
 a rustic, and fustian breeches. It had been thrown into 
 the coffin so hastily that the skirt of the smock-frock was 
 hanging over. The burden was temporarily deposited on 
 the trestles. 
 
 By this time the young woman's state was such that a 
 gray mist seemed to float before her eyes, on account of 
 which, and the veil she wore, she could scarcely discern 
 anything; it was as though she had died but was held up 
 by a sort of galvanism. 
 
 "Now," said a voice close at hand, and she was just 
 conscious that it had been addressed to her. 
 
 By a last strenuous effort she advanced, at the same 
 time hearing persons approaching behind her. She bared 
 her poor cursed arm ; and Davies, uncovering the dead 
 man's face, took her hand, and held it so that the arm lay 
 
THE WITHERED ARM. 57 
 
 across the neck of the corpse, upon a lino the color of an 
 unripe blackberry which surrounded it. 
 
 Gertrude shrieked ; " the turn o' the blood," predicted 
 by the conjurer, had taken place. But at that moment a 
 second shriek rent the air of the enclosure: it was not 
 Gertrude's, and its effect upon her was to make her start 
 round. 
 
 Immediately behind her stood Rhoda Brook, her face 
 drawn, and her ej r es red with weeping. Behind Rhoda 
 stood her own husband ; his countenance lined, his eyes 
 dim, but without a tear. 
 
 " D n you ! what are you doing here ?" he said, 
 
 hoarsely. 
 
 " Hussy to come between us and our child now !" cried 
 Rhoda. " This is the meaning of what Satan showed me 
 in the vision! You are like her at last!" And clutch 
 ing the bare arm of the younger woman, she pulled her 
 unresistingly back against the wall. Immediately Brook 
 had loosened her hold the fragile young Gertrude slid 
 down against the feet of her husband. When he lifted 
 her up she was unconscious. 
 
 The mere sight of the twain had been enough to sug 
 gest to her that the dead young man was Rhoda' s son. 
 At that time the relatives of an executed convict had the 
 privilege of claiming the body for burial, if they chose to 
 do so ; and it was for this purpose that Lodge was await 
 ing the inquest with Rhoda. He had been summoned 
 by her as soon as the young man was taken in the crime, 
 and at different times since ; and he had attended in court 
 during the trial. This was the "holiday" he had been 
 indulging in of late. The two wretched parents had 
 wished to avoid exposure ; and hence had come them 
 selves for the body, a wagon- and a sheet for its convey 
 ance and covering being in waiting outside. 
 
 Gertrude's case was so serious that it was deemed ad 
 visable to call to her the surgeon who was at hand. She 
 was taken out of the jail into the town ; but she never 
 reached home alive. Her delicate vitality, sapped per- 
 
58 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 haps by the paralyzed arm, collapsed under the double 
 shock that followed the severe strain, physical and mental, 
 to which she had subjected herself during the previous 
 twenty -four hours. Her blood had been "turned "in 
 deed too far. Her death took place in the town three 
 days after. 
 
 Her husband was never seen in Casterbridge again ; 
 once only in the old market -place at Anglebury, which 
 he had so much frequented, and very seldom in public 
 anywhere. Burdened at first with rnoodiness and re 
 morse, he eventually changed for the better, and appeared 
 as a chastened and thoughtful man. Soon after attend 
 ing the funeral of his poor young wife, lie took steps tow 
 ards giving up the farms in Holrnstoke and the adjoining 
 parish, and, having sold every head of his stock, he went 
 away to Port-Bred} 7 , at the other end of the county, living 
 there in solitary lodgings till his death, two years later, 
 of a painless decline. It was then found that he had 
 bequeathed the whole of his not inconsiderable property 
 to a reformatory for boys, subject to the payment of a 
 small annuity to Ehoda Brook, if she could be found to 
 claim it. 
 
 For some time she could not be found ; but eventually 
 she reappeared in her old parish absolutely refusing, how 
 ever, to have anything to do with the provision made for 
 her. Her monotonous milking at the dairy was resumed, 
 , and followed for many long years, till her form became 
 bent, and her once abundant dark hair white and worn 
 away at the forehead perhaps by long pressure against 
 the cows. Here, sometimes, those who knew her expe 
 riences would stand and observe her, and wonder what 
 sombre thoughts were beating inside that impassive, wrin 
 kled brow, to the rhythm of the alternating milk-streams. 
 
FELLOW-TOWNSMEN. 
 
 i. 
 
 THE shepherd on the east hill could shout out lambing 
 intelligence to the shepherd on the west hill, over the 
 intervening town chimneys, without great inconvenience 
 to his voice, so nearly did the steep pastures encroach 
 upon the burghers' back-yards. And at night it was pos 
 sible to stand in the very midst of the town and hear 
 from their native paddocks on the lower levels of green 
 sward the mild lowing of the farmers' heifers, and the 
 profound, warm blowings of breath in which those creat 
 ures indulge. But the community which had jammed 
 itself in the valley thus flanked formed a veritable town, 
 with a real mayor and corporation, and a staple manu 
 facture. 
 
 During a certain damp evening five-and-thirty years 
 ago, before the twilight was far advanced, a pedestrian of 
 professional appearance, carrying a small bag in his hand 
 and an elevated umbrella, was descending one of these 
 hills by the turnpike-road when he was overtaken by a 
 phaeton. 
 
 "Holloa, Downe ! is that you?" said the driver of the 
 vehicle, a young man of pale and refined appearance. 
 "Jump up here with me, and ride down to your door." 
 
 The other turned a plump, cheery, rather self-indulgent 
 face over his shoulder towards the hailer. 
 
 "Oh, good-evening, Mr. Barnet ! thanks," he said, and 
 mounted beside his acquaintance. 
 
60 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 They were fellow-bnrgesses of the town which lay be 
 neath them, but though old and very good friends, they 
 were differently circumstanced. Barnet was a richer man 
 than the struggling young lawyer Downe a fact which 
 was to some extent perceptible in Downe's manner tow 
 ards his companion, though nothing of it ever showed in 
 Barnet's manner towards the solicitor. Barnet's position 
 in the town was none of his own making ; his father had 
 been a very successful flax merchant in the same place, 
 where the trade was still carried on as briskly as the 
 small capacities of its quarters would allow. Having ac 
 quired a fair fortune, old Mr. Barnet had retired from 
 business, bringing up his son as a gentleman-burgher, and, 
 it must be added, as a well-educated, liberal-minded young 
 man. 
 
 " How is Mrs. Barnet ?" asked Downe. 
 
 " Mrs. Barnet was very well when I left home," the 
 other answered, constrainedly, exchanging his meditative 
 regard of the horse for one of self-consciousness. 
 
 Mr. Downe seemed to regret his inquiry, and imme 
 diately took up another thread of conversation. He con 
 gratulated his friend on his election as a councilman ; he 
 thought he had not seen him since that event took place; 
 Mrs. Downe had meant to call and congratulate Mrs. Bar- 
 net, but he feared that she had failed to do so as yet. 
 
 Barnet seemed hampered in his replies. " We should 
 have been glad to see you. I my wife would welcome 
 Mrs. Downe at any time, as you know. . '. . Yes, I am a 
 member of the corporation rather an inexperienced 
 member, some of them say. It is quite true ; and I should 
 have declined the honor as premature having other things 
 on my hands just now, too if it had not been pressed 
 upon me so very heartily." 
 
 " There is one thing you have on your hands which I 
 can never quite see the necessity for," said Downe, with 
 good-humored freedom. "What the deuce do you want 
 to build that new mansion for, when you have already got 
 such an excellent house as the one you live in ?" 
 
FELLOW-TOWNSMEN. 61 
 
 Barnet's face acquired a warmer shade of color ; but as 
 the question had been idly asked by the solicitor while 
 regarding the surrounding flocks and fields, he answered 
 after a moment, with no apparent embarrassment, 
 
 " Well, we wanted to get out of the town, you know ; 
 the house I am living in is rather old and inconvenient." 
 
 Mr. Downe declared that he had chosen a pretty site 
 for the new building. They would be able to see for 
 miles and miles from the windows. Was he going to give 
 it a name? he supposed so. 
 
 Barnet thought not. There was no other house near 
 that was likely to be mistaken for it. And he did not 
 care for a name. 
 
 " But I think it has a name !" Downe observed. " I 
 went past when was it ? this morning ; and I saw some 
 thing ' Chateau Ringdale,' I think it was, stuck up on a 
 board !" 
 
 "It was an idea she we had for a short time," said 
 Barnet, hastily. " But we have decided finally to do with 
 out a name at any rate, such a name as that. It must 
 have been a week ago that you saw it. It was taken down 
 last Saturday. Upon that matter I am firm !" he added, 
 grimly. 
 
 Downe murmured in an unconvinced tone that he 
 thought he had seen it yesterday. 
 
 Talking thus, they drove into the town. The street 
 was unusually still for the hour of seven in the evening; 
 an increasing drizzle had prevailed since the afternoon, 
 and now formed a gauze across the yellow lamps, and 
 trickled with a gentle rattle down the heavy roofs of 
 stone tile, that bent the house-ridges hollow-backed with 
 its weight, and in some instances caused the walls to bulge 
 outward in the upper story. Their route took them past 
 the little town-hall, the Black Bull Hotel, and onward to 
 the junction of a small street on the right, consisting of a 
 row of those two-and-two brick residences of no particular 
 age, which are exactly alike wherever found, except in the 
 people they contain. 
 
62 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 " Wait I'll drive you up to your door," said Barnet, 
 when Downe prepared to alight at the corner. He there 
 upon turned into the narrow street, when the faces of 
 three little girls could be discerned close to the panes of a 
 lighted window a few yards ahead, surmounted by that of 
 a young matron, the gaze of all four being directed eager 
 ly up the empty street. "You are a fortunate fellow, 
 Downe," Barnet continued, as mother and children disap 
 peared from the window to run to the door. " You must 
 be happy if any man is. I would give a hundred such 
 houses as my new one to have a home like yours." 
 
 " Well, yes, we get along pretty comfortably," replied 
 Downe, complacently. 
 
 " That house, Downe, is none of my ordering," Barnet 
 broke out, revealing a bitterness hitherto suppressed, and 
 checking the horse a moment to finish his speech before 
 delivering up his passenger. " The house I have already is 
 good enough for me, as you supposed. It is my own free 
 hold ; it was built by my grandfather, and is stout enough 
 for a castle. My father was born there, lived there, and 
 died there. I was born there, and have always lived there ; 
 yet I must needs build a new one." 
 
 " Why do you ?" said Downe. 
 
 " Why do I ? To preserve peace in the household. I 
 do anything for that ; but I don't succeed. I was firm in 
 resisting 'Chateau Eingdale,' however; not that I would 
 not have put up with the absurdity of the name, but it 
 was too much to have your house christened after Lord 
 Ringdale, because your wife once had a fancy for him. 
 If you only knew everything, you would think all attempt 
 at reconciliation hopeless. In your happy home you have 
 had no such experiences; and God forbid that you ever 
 should. See, here they are all ready to receive you !" 
 
 " Of course ! And so will your wife be waiting to 
 receive you," said Downe. "Take my word for it, she 
 will ! And with a dinner prepared for you far better than 
 mine." 
 
 " I hope so," Barnet replied, dubiously. 
 
FELLOW-TOWNSMEN. 63 
 
 He moved on to Downe's door, which the solicitor's 
 family had already opened. Downe descended, but being 
 encumbered with his bag and umbrella, his foot slipped, 
 and he fell upon his knees in the gutter. 
 
 " Oh, my dear Charles !" said his wife, running down 
 the steps ; and, quite ignoring the presence of Barnet, 
 she seized hold of her husband, pulled him to his feet, 
 and kissed him, exclaiming, "I hope you are not hurt, 
 darling!" The children crowded round, chiming in pite- 
 ouslj 7 , " Poor papa !" 
 
 " He's all right," said Barnet, perceiving that Downe 
 was only a little muddy, and looking more at the wife 
 than at the husband. Almost at any other time cer 
 tainly during his fastidious bachelor years he would 
 have thought her a too demonstrative woman ; but those 
 recent circumstances of his own life to which he had just 
 alluded made Mrs. Downe's solicitude so affecting that his 
 eye grew damp as he witnessed it. Bidding the lawyer 
 and his family good-night, he left them, arid drove slowly 
 into the main street towards his own house. 
 
 The heart of Barnet was sufficiently impressionable to 
 be influenced by Downe's parting prophecy that he might 
 not be so unwelcome home as he imagined; the dreary 
 night might, at least on this one occasion, make Downe's 
 forecast true. Hence it was in a suspense that he could 
 hardly have believed possible that he halted at his door. 
 On entering, his wife was nowhere to be seen, and he in 
 quired for her. The servant informed him that her mis 
 tress had the dress-maker with her, and would be engaged 
 for some time. 
 
 " Dress-maker at this time of day !"" 
 
 " She dined early, sir, and hopes you will excuse her 
 joining you this evening." 
 
 " But she knew I was coming to-night?" 
 
 "Oh yes, sir." 
 
 " Go up and tell her I am come." 
 
 The servant did so ; but the mistress of the house 
 merely repeated her former words. 
 
64: WESSEX TALES. 
 
 Barnet Said nothing more, and presently sat down to 
 his lonely meal, which was eaten abstractedly, the domestic 
 scene he had lately witnessed still impressing him by its 
 contrast with the situation here. His mind fell back into 
 past years upon a certain pleasing and gentle being whose 
 face would loom out of their shades at such times as these. 
 Barnet turned in his chair, and looked with unfocused 
 eyes in a direction southward from where he sat, as if he 
 saw not the room, but a long way beyond. "I wonder if 
 she lives there still !" he said. 
 
 II. 
 
 HE rose with a sudden rebelliousness, put on his hat 
 and coat, and went out of the house, pursuing his way 
 along the glistening pavement while eight o'clock was 
 striking from St. Mary's tower, and the apprentices and 
 shopmen were slamming up the shutters from end to end 
 of the town. In two minutes only those shops which 
 could boast of no attendant save the master or the mis 
 tress remained with open eyes. These were ever some 
 what less prompt to exclude customers than the others; 
 for their owners' ears the closing-hour had scarcely the 
 cheerfulness that it possessed for the hired servants of 
 the rest. Yet, the night being dreary, the delay was not 
 for long, and their windows, too, blinked together one by 
 one. 
 
 During this time Barnet had proceeded with decided 
 step in a direction at right angles to the broad main thor 
 oughfare of the town, by a long street leading due south 
 ward. Here, though his family had no more to do with 
 the flax manufacture, his own name occasionally greeted 
 him on gates and warehouses, being used allusively by 
 small rising tradesmen as a recommendation, in such 
 words as "Smith, from Barnet & Co." "Kobinson, late 
 manager at Barnet's." The sight led him to reflect upon 
 
FELLOW-TOWNSMEN. 65 
 
 his father's busy life, and he questioned if it had not been 
 far happier than his own. 
 
 The houses along the road became fewer, and presently 
 open ground appeared between them on either side, the 
 tract on the right hand rising to a higher level till it 
 merged in a knoll. On the summit a row of builders' 
 scaffold-poles probed the indistinct sky like spears, and at 
 their bases could be discerned the lower courses of a build 
 ing lately begun. Barnet slackened his pace and stood 
 for a few moments without leaving the centre of the road, 
 apparently not much interested in the sight, till suddenly 
 his eye was caught by a post in the fore part of the 
 ground, bearing a white board at the top. He went to 
 the rails, vaulted over, and walked in far enough to dis 
 cern painted upon the board, " Chateau Kingdale." 
 
 A dismal irony seemed to lie in the words, and its effect 
 was to irritate him. Downe, then, had spoken truly. He 
 stuck his umbrella into the sod, and seized the post with 
 both hands, as if intending to loosen and throw it down. 
 Then, like one bewildered by an opposition which would 
 exist none the less though its manifestations were re 
 moved, he allowed his arms to sink to his side. 
 
 "Let it be," he said to himself. "I have declared there 
 shall be peace if possible." 
 
 Taking up his umbrella, he quietly left the enclosure, 
 and went on his way, still keeping his back to the town. 
 He had advanced with more decision since passing the 
 new building, and soon a hoarse murmur rose upon the 
 gloom ; it was the sound of the sea. The road led to the 
 harbor, at a distance of a mile from the town, from which 
 the trade of the district was fed. After seeing the ob 
 noxious name-board, Barnet had forgotten to open his 
 umbrella, and the rain tapped smartly on his hat, and oc 
 casionally stroked his face as he went on. 
 
 Though the lamps were still continued at the road-side, 
 they stood at wider intervals than before, and the pave 
 ment had given place to common road. Every time he 
 came to a lamp an increasing shine made itself visible 
 5 
 
66 W ESSEX TALES. 
 
 upon his shoulders, till at last they quite glistened with 
 wet. The murmur from the shore grew stronger, but it 
 was still some distance off when he paused before one of 
 the smallest of the detached houses by the way-side, stand 
 ing in its own garden, the latter being divided from the 
 road by a row of wooden palings. Scrutinizing the spot 
 to insure that he was not mistaken, he opened the gate 
 and gently knocked at the cottage door. 
 
 When he had patiently waited minutes enough to lead 
 any man in ordinary cases to knock again, the door was 
 heard to open ; though it was impossible to see by whose 
 hand, there being no light in the passage. Barnet said at 
 random, "Does Miss Savile live here?" 
 
 A youthful voice assured him that she did live there, 
 and by a sudden after-thought asked him to come in. It 
 would soon get a light, it said ; but the night being wet, 
 mother had not thought it worth while to trim the passage 
 lamp. 
 
 "Don't trouble yourself to get a light for me," said 
 Barnet, hastily ; " it is not necessary at all. Which is 
 Miss Savile's sitting-room ?" 
 
 The young person, whose white pinafore could just be 
 discerned, signified a door in the side of the passage, and 
 Barnet went forward at the same moment, so that no light 
 should fall upon his face. On entering the room he closed 
 the door behind him, pausing till he heard the retreating 
 footsteps of the child. 
 
 He found himself in an apartment which was simply 
 and neatly, though not poorly furnished; everything, 
 from the miniature chiffonier to the shining -little daguer 
 reotype which formed the central ornament of the man 
 tle-piece, being in scrupulous order. The picture was en 
 closed by a frame of embroidered card-board evidently 
 the work of feminine hands and it represented a thin- 
 faced, elderly lieutenant in the navy. From behind the 
 lamp on the table a female form now rose into view : it 
 was that of a young girl, and a resemblance between her 
 and the portrait was early discoverable. She had been so 
 
FELLOW-TOWNSMEN. 67 
 
 absorbed in some occupation on the other side of the lamp 
 as to have barely found time to realize her visitor's pres 
 ence. 
 
 They both remained standing for a few seconds with 
 out speaking. The face that confronted Barnet had a 
 beautiful outline; the Kaphaelesque oval of its contour 
 was remarkable for an English countenance, and that 
 countenance housed in a remote country-road to an un 
 heard-of harbor. But her features did not do justice to 
 this splendid beginning : Nature had recollected that she 
 was not in Italy ; and the young lady's lineaments, though 
 not so inconsistent as to make her plain, would have been 
 accepted rather as pleasing than as correct. The preoccu 
 pied expression which, like images on the retina, remained 
 with her for a moment after the state that caused it had 
 ceased, now changed into a reserved, half-proud, and slight 
 ly indignant look, in which the blood diffused itself quick 
 ly across her cheek, and additional brightness broke the 
 shade of her rather heavy eyes. 
 
 " I know I have no business here," he said, answering 
 the look ; " but I had a great wish to see you, and inquire 
 how you were. You can give your hand to me, seeing 
 how often I have held it in past days ?" 
 
 " I would rather forget than remember all that, Mr. 
 Barnet," she answered, as she coldly complied with the 
 request. " When I think of the circumstances of our last 
 meeting I can hardly consider it kind of you to allude to 
 such a thing as our past, or, indeed, to come here at all." 
 
 "There was no harm in it surely? I don't trouble you 
 often, Lucy." 
 
 " I have not had the honor of a visit from you for a 
 very long time, certainly, and I did not expect it now," 
 she said, with the same stiffness in her air. " I hope Mrs. 
 Barnet is very well ?" 
 
 " Yes, yes !" he impatiently returned. " At least I sup 
 pose so though I only speak from inference." 
 
 " But she is your wife, sir," said the young girl, tremu 
 lously. 
 
68 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 The unwonted tones of a man's voice in that feminine 
 chamber had startled a canary that was roosting in its 
 cage by the window ; the bird awoke hastily, and fluttered 
 against the bars. She went and stilled it by laying her 
 face against the cage and murmuring a coaxing sound. 
 It might partly have been done to still herself. 
 
 " I didn't come to talk of Mrs. Barnet," he pursued ; 
 " I came to talk of you, of yourself alone ; to inquire how 
 you are getting on since your great loss." And he turned 
 towards the portrait of her father. 
 
 "lam getting on fairly well, thank you." 
 
 The force of her utterance was scarcely borne out by 
 her look ; but Barnet courteously reproached himself for 
 not having guessed a thing so natural; and to dissipate 
 all embarrassment, added as he bent over the table, " What 
 were you doing when I came ? painting flowers, and by 
 candlelight ?" 
 
 " Oh no," she said, " not painting them only sketching 
 the outlines. I do that at night to save time I have to 
 get three dozen done by the end of the month." 
 
 Barnet looked as if he regretted it deeply. " You will 
 wear your poor eyes out," he said, with more sentiment 
 than he had hitherto shown. " You ought not to do it. 
 There was a time when I should have said you must not. 
 Well I almost wish I had never seen light with my own 
 eyes when I think of that !" 
 
 "Is this a time or place for recalling such matters?" 
 she asked, with dignity. " You used to have a gentle 
 manly respect for me, and for yourself. Don't speak any 
 more as you have spoken, and don't come again. I can 
 not think that this visit is serious, or was closely consid 
 ered by you." 
 
 " Considered ! Well, I came to see you as an old and 
 good friend ; riot to mince matters, to visit a woman I 
 loved. Don't be angry ! I could not help doing it, so 
 many things brought you into my mind. . . . This even 
 ing I fell in with an acquaintance, and when I saw how 
 happy he was with his wife and family welcoming him 
 
FELLOW-TOWNSMEN. 69 
 
 home, though with only one-tenth of ray income and 
 chances, and thought what might have been in my case, 
 it fairly broke down my discretion, and off I came here. 
 Now I am here I feel that I an; wrong to some extent. 
 But the feeling that I should like to see you, and talk of 
 those we used to know in common, was very strong." 
 
 " Before that can be the case, a little more time must 
 pass," said Miss Savile, quietly ; "a time long enough for 
 me to regard with some calmness what at present I re 
 member far too impatiently though it may be you almost 
 forget it. Indeed you must have forgotten it long before 
 you acted as you did." Her voice grew stronger and 
 more vivacious as she added, "But I am doing my best 
 to forget it too ; and I know I shall succeed, from the 
 progress I have made already !" 
 
 She had remained standing till now, when she turned 
 and sat down, facing half away from him. 
 
 Barnet watched her moodily. " Yes, it is only what I 
 deserve," he said. " Ambition pricked me on no, it was 
 not ambition, it was wrongheadedness ! Had I but reflect 
 ed. . . ." He broke out vehemently, " But always remem 
 ber this, Lucy : if you had written to me only one little 
 line after that misunderstanding, I declare I should have 
 come back to you. That ruined me !" He slowly walked 
 as far as the little room would allow him to go, and re 
 mained with his eyes on the skirting. 
 
 " But, Mr. Barnet, how could I write to you ? There 
 was no opening for my doing so." 
 
 " Then there ought to have been," said Barnet, turning. 
 "That was my fault!" 
 
 " Well, I don't know anything about that ; but as there 
 had been nothing said by me which required any expla 
 nation by letter, I did not send one. Everything was so 
 indefinite, and feeling your position to be so much wealth 
 ier than mine, I fancied I might have mistaken your 
 meaning. And when I heard of the other lady a woman 
 of whose family even you might be proud I thought how 
 foolish I had been, and said nothing." 
 
70 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 "Then, I suppose it was destiny accident I don't 
 know what, that separated us, dear Lucy. Anyhow, yon 
 were the woman I ought to have made my wife and I 
 let you slip, like the foolish man that I was !" 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Barnet," she said, almost in tears, " don't re 
 vive the subject to me; I am the wrong one to console 
 you. Think, sir. You should not be here it would be 
 so bad for me if it were known !" 
 
 "It would it would indeed," he said, hastily. "I am 
 not right in doing this, and I won't do it again." 
 
 "It is a very common folly of human nature, you know, 
 to think the course you did not adopt must have been the 
 best," she continued, with gentle solicitude, as she follow 
 ed him to the door of the room. " And you don't know 
 that I should have accepted you, even if you had asked 
 me to be your wife." At this his eye met hers, and she 
 dropped her gaze. She knew that her voice belied her. 
 There was a silence till she looked up to add, in a voice 
 of soothing playfulness, "My family was so much poorer 
 than yours, even before I lost my dear father, that per 
 haps your companions would have made it unpleasant for 
 us on account of my deficiencies." 
 
 " Your disposition would soon have won them round," 
 said Barnet. 
 
 She archly expostulated, "Now, never mind my dis 
 position ; try to make it up with your wife. Those are 
 my commands to you. And now you are to leave me at 
 once." 
 
 " I will. I must make the best of it all, I suppose," he 
 replied, more cheerfully than he had as yet spoken. " But 
 I shall never again meet with such a dear girl as you !" 
 And lie suddenly opened the door, and left her alone. 
 When his glance again fell on the lamps that were sparse 
 ly ranged along the dreary level road, his eyes were in a 
 state which showed straw-like motes of light radiating 
 from each flame into the surrounding air. 
 
 On the other side of the way Barnet observed a man 
 under an umbrella, walking parallel with himself. Pres- 
 
FELLOW-TOWNSMEN. 7l 
 
 ently this man left the foot-way, and gradually converged 
 on Barnet's course. The latter then saw that it was 
 Charlson, a surgeon of the town, who owed him money. 
 Charlson was a man not without ability ; yet he did not 
 prosper. Sundry circumstances stood in his way as a 
 medical practitioner ; he was needy ; he was not a coddle ; 
 he gossiped with men instead of with women ; he had 
 married a stranger instead of one of the town young 
 ladies; and he was given to conversational buffoonery. 
 Moreover, his look was quite erroneous. Those only proper 
 features in the family doctor, the quiet eye, and the thin, 
 straight, passionless lips which never curl in public either 
 for laughter or for scorn, were not his ; he had a full 
 curved mouth, and a bold black eye that made timid peo 
 ple nervous. His companions were what in old times 
 would have been called boon companions an expression 
 which, though of irreproachable root, suggests fraterniza 
 tion carried to the point of unscrupulousness. All this 
 was against him in the little town of his adoption. 
 
 Charlson had been in difficulties, and to oblige him 
 Barnet had put his name to a bill ; and, as he had ex 
 pected, was called upon to meet it when it fell due. It 
 had been a matter of only fifty pounds, which Barnet 
 could well afford to lose, and he bore no ill-will to the 
 thriftless surgeon on account of it. But Charlson had a 
 little too much brazen indifferentism in his composition 
 to be altogether a desirable acquaintance. 
 
 "I hope to be able to make that little bill-business 
 right with you in the course of three weeks, Mr. Barnet," 
 said Charlson, with hail-fellow friendliness. 
 
 Barnet replied good-naturedly that there was no hurry. 
 
 This particular three weeks had moved on in advance 
 of Charlson's present with the precision of a shadow for 
 some considerable time. 
 
 "I've had a dream," Charlson continued. Barnet knew 
 from his tone that the surgeon was going to begin his 
 characteristic nonsense, and did not encourage him. " I've 
 had a dream," repeated Charlson, who required no encour- 
 
72 WESSEX TALES* 
 
 agement. " I dreamed that a gentleman, who has been 
 very kind to me, married a haughty lady in haste, before 
 he had quite forgotten a nice little girl he knew before, 
 and that one wet evening, like the present, as I was walk 
 ing up the harbor-road, I saw him come out of that dear 
 little girl's present abode." 
 
 Barnet glanced towards the speaker. The rays from a 
 neighboring lamp struck through the drizzle under Charl- 
 son's umbrella, so as just to illumine his face against the 
 shade behind, and show that his eye was turned up under 
 the outer corner of its lid, whence it leered with impish 
 jocoseness as he thrust his tongue into his cheek. 
 
 " Come," said Barnet, gravely, " we'll have no more of 
 that." 
 
 "No, no of course not," Charlson hastily answered, 
 seeing that his humor had carried him too far, as it had 
 done many times before. He was profuse in his apolo 
 gies, but Barnet did not reply. Of one thing he was cer 
 tainthat scandal was a plant of quick root, and that he 
 was bound to obey Lucy's injunction for Lucy's own sake. 
 
 III. 
 
 HE did so to the letter ; and though, as the crocus fol 
 lowed the snow-drop and the daffodil the crocus in Lucy's 
 garden, the harbor -road was a not unpleasant place to 
 walk in, Barnet's feet never trod its stones, much less 
 approached her door. He avoided a saunter that way as 
 he would have avoided a dangerous dram, and took his 
 airings a long distance northward, among severely square 
 and brown ploughed fields, where no other townsman 
 came. Sometimes he went round by the lower lanes of 
 the borough, where the rope-walks stretched in which his 
 family formerly had share, and looked at the rope-makers 
 walking backward, overhung by apple-trees and bushes, 
 
FELLOW-TOWNSMEN. 73 
 
 and intruded on by cows and calves, as if trade had estab 
 lished itself there at considerable inconvenience to nature. 
 
 One morning, when the sun was so warm as to raise a 
 steam from the south-eastern slopes of those flanking hills 
 that looked so lovely above the old roofs, but made every 
 low-chimneyed house in the town as smoky as Tophet, 
 Barnet glanced from the windows of the town-council 
 room for lack of interest in what was proceeding within. 
 Several members of the corporation were present, but 
 there was not much business doing, and in a few minutes 
 Downe came leisurely across to him, saying that he sel 
 dom saw Barnet now. 
 
 Barnet owned that he was not often present. 
 
 Downe looked at the crimson curtain which hung down 
 beside the panes, reflecting its hot hues into their faces, 
 and then out of the window. At that moment there pass 
 ed along the street a tall, commanding lady, in whom the 
 solicitor recognized Barnet's wife. Barnet had done the 
 same thing, and turned away. 
 
 "It will be all right some day," said Downe, with cheer 
 ing sympathy. 
 
 " You have heard, then, of her last outbreak ?" 
 
 Downe depressed his cheerfulness to its very reverse 
 in a moment. "No, I have not heard of anything seri 
 ous," he said, with as long a face as one naturally round 
 could be turned into at short notice. " I only hear vague 
 reports of such things." 
 
 " You may think it will be all right," said Barnet, dryly; 
 " but I have a different opinion. . . . No, Downe, we must 
 look the thing in the face. Not poppy nor mandragora 
 however, how are your wife and children ?" 
 
 Downe said that they were all well, thanks ; they were 
 out that morning somewhere; he was just looking to see 
 if they were walking that way. Ah, there they were, just 
 coming down the street, and Downe pointed to the figures 
 of two children with a nurse-maid, and a lady walking be 
 hind them. 
 
 "You will come out and speak to her?" he asked. 
 
74 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 "Not this morning. The fact is, I don't care to speak 
 to anybody just now." 
 
 " You are too sensitive, Mr. Barnet. At school I re 
 member you used to get as red as a rose if anybody ut 
 tered a word that hurt your feelings." 
 
 Barnet mused. " Yes," he admitted, " there is a grain 
 of truth in that. It is because of that I often try to make 
 peace at home. Life would be tolerable then at any rate, 
 even if not particularly bright." 
 
 "I- have thought more than once of proposing a little 
 plan to you," said Downe, with some hesitation. " I don't 
 know whether it will meet your views; but take it or leave 
 it, as you choose. In fact, it was my wife who suggested 
 it; that she would be very glad to call on Mrs. Barnet and 
 get into her confidence. She seems to think that Mrs. 
 Barnet is rather alone in the town, and without advisers. 
 Her impression is that your wife will listen to reason. 
 Emily has a wonderful way of winning the hearts of peo 
 ple of her own sex." 
 
 "And of the other sex too, I think. She is a charming 
 woman, and you were a lucky fellow to find her." 
 
 " Well, perhaps I was," simpered Downe, trying to wear 
 an aspect of being the last man in the world to feel pride. 
 " However, she will be likely to find out what ruffles Mrs. 
 Barnet. Perhaps it is some misunderstanding, you know 
 something that she is too proud to ask you to explain, 
 or some little thing in your conduct that irritates her be 
 cause she does not fully comprehend you. The truth is, 
 Emily would have been more ready to make advances if 
 she had been quite sure of her fitness for Mrs. Barnet's 
 society, who has of course been accustomed to London 
 people of good position, which made Emily fearful of in 
 truding." 
 
 Barnet expressed his warmest thanks for the well-in 
 tentioned proposition. There was reason in Mrs. Downe's 
 fear that he owned. " But do let her call," he said. 
 "There is no woman in England I would so soon trust on 
 such an errand. I am afraid there will not be any brill- 
 
FELLOW-TOWNSMEN. 75 
 
 iant result; still, I shall take it as the kindest and nicest 
 thing if she will try it, and not be frightened at a re 
 pulse." 
 
 When Barnet and Downe had parted, the former went 
 to the town savings-bank, of which he was a trustee, 
 and endeavored to forget his troubles in the contempla 
 tion of low sums of money, and figures in a net-work of 
 red and blue lines. He sat and watched the working- 
 people making their deposits, to which at intervals he 
 signed his name. Before he left in the afternoon Downe 
 put his head inside the door. 
 
 " Emily has seen Mrs. Barnet," he said, in a low voice. 
 " She has got Mrs. Barnet's promise to take her for a 
 drive down to the shore to-morrow, if it is fine. Good- 
 afternoon !" 
 
 Barnet shook Downe by the hand without speaking, 
 and Downe went away. 
 
 IV. 
 
 THE next day was as fine as the arrangement could 
 possibly require. As the sun passed the meridian and 
 declined westward, the tall shadows from the scaffold- 
 poles of Barnet's rising residence streaked the ground as 
 far as to the middle of the highway. Barnet himself was 
 there inspecting the progress of the works for the first 
 time during several weeks. A building in an old-fashion 
 ed town five-and-thirty years ago did not, as in the mod 
 ern fashion, rise from the sod like a booth at a fair. The 
 foundations and lower courses were put in and allowed 
 to settle for many weeks before the superstructure was 
 built up, and a whole summer of drying was hardly suffi 
 cient to do justice to the important issues involved. Bar- 
 net stood within a window-niche which had as yet re 
 ceived no frame, and thence looked down a slope into the 
 road. The wheels of a chaise were heard, and then his 
 
76 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 handsome Xanthippe, in the company of Mrs. Downe, 
 drove past on her way to the shore. They were driving 
 slowly ; there was a pleasing light in Mrs. Downe's face, 
 which seemed faintly to reflect itself upon the coun 
 tenance of her companion that politesse du cceur which 
 was so natural to her having possibly begun already to 
 work results. But whatever the situation, Barnet resolved 
 not to interfere, or do anything to hazard the glory of the 
 day. Pie might well afford to trust the issue to another 
 when he could never direct it but to ill himself. His 
 wife's clinched rein-hand in its lemon-colored glove, her 
 stiff erect figure, clad in velvet and lace, and her boldly 
 outlined face, passed on, exhibiting their owner as one 
 fixed forever above the level of her companion socially 
 by her early breeding, and materially by her higher 
 cushion. 
 
 Barnet decided to allow them a proper time to them 
 selves, and then stroll down to the shore and drive them 
 home. After lingering on at the house for another hour, 
 he started with this intention. A few hundred yards be 
 low " Chateau Eingdale " stood the cottage in which the 
 late lieutenant's daughter had her lodging. Barnet had 
 not been so far that way for a long time, and as he ap 
 proached the forbidden ground a curious warmth passed 
 into him, which led him to perceive that, unless he were 
 careful, he might have to fight the battle with himself 
 about Lucy over again. A tenth of his present excuse 
 would, however, have justified him in travelling by that 
 road to-day. 
 
 He came opposite the dwelling, and turned his eyes for 
 a momentary glance into the little garden that stretched 
 from the palings to the door. Lucy was in the enclosure; 
 she was walking and stooping to gather some flowers, pos 
 sibly for the purpose of painting them, for she moved 
 about quickly, as if anxious to save time. She did not 
 see him ; he might have passed unnoticed ; but a sensa 
 tion which was not in strict unison with his previous sen 
 timents that day led him to pause in his walk and watch 
 
FELLOW-TOWNSMEN. f7 
 
 her. She went nimbly round and round the beds of anemo 
 nes, tulips, jonquils, polyanthuses, and other old-fashioned 
 flowers, looking a very charming figure in her half-mourn 
 ing bonnet, and with an incomplete nosegay in her left 
 hand. Raising herself to pull down a lilac-blossom, she 
 observed him. 
 
 " Mr. Barnet !" she said, innocently smiling. " Why, I 
 have been thinking of you many times since your pony- 
 carriage went by, and now here you are !" 
 
 " Yes, Lucy," he said. 
 
 Then she seemed to recall particulars of their last meet 
 ing, and he believed that she flushed, though it might 
 have been only the fancy of his own supersensitiveness. 
 
 " I am going to the harbor," he added. 
 
 "Are you?" Lucy remarked, simply. "A great many 
 people begin to go there, now the summer is drawing on." 
 
 Her face had come more into his view as she spoke, and 
 he noticed how much thinner and paler it was than when 
 he had seen it last. " Lucy, how weary you look ! tell me, 
 can I help you ?" he was going to cry out. " If I do," he 
 thought, " it will be the ruin of us both." He merely said 
 that the afternoon was fine, and went on his way. 
 
 As he went, a sudden blast of air came over the hill as 
 if in contradiction to his words, and spoiled the previous 
 quiet of the scene. The wind had already shifted violent 
 ly, and now smelled of the sea. 
 
 The harbor-road soon began to justify its name. A gap 
 appeared in the rampart of hills which shut out the sea, 
 and on the left of the opening rose a vertical cliff, colored 
 a burning orange by the sunlight, the companion cliff on 
 the right being livid in shade. Between these cliffs, like 
 the Libyan bay which sheltered the shipwrecked Trojans, 
 was a little haven, seemingly a beginning made by Nature 
 herself of a perfect harbor, which appealed to the passer 
 by as only requiring a little human industry to finish it 
 and make it famous, the ground on each side as far back 
 as the daisied slopes that bounded the interior valley be 
 ing a mere layer of blown sand. But the Port-Bredy bur- 
 
78 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 gesses a mile inland had, in the course of ten centuries, 
 responded many times to that mute appeal, with the re 
 sult that the tides had invariably choked up their works 
 with sand and shingle as soon as completed. There were 
 but few houses here : a rough pier, a few boats, some stores, 
 an inn, a residence or two, a ketch unloading in the harbor, 
 were the chief features of the settlement. On the open 
 ground by the shore stood his wife's pony-carriage, empty, 
 the boy in attendance holding the horse. 
 
 When Barnet drew nearer he saw an indigo -colored 
 spot moving swiftly along beneath the radiant base of the 
 eastern cliff, which proved to be a man in a jersey, run 
 ning with all his might. He held up his hand to Barnet, 
 as it seemed, and they approached each other. The man 
 was local, but a stranger to him. 
 
 " What is it, my man ?" said Barnet. 
 
 "A terrible calamity!" the boatman hastily explained. 
 Two ladies had been capsized in a boat they were Mrs. 
 Downe and Mrs. Barnet, of the old town ; they had driv 
 en down there that afternoon; they had alighted, and it 
 was so fine that, after walking about a little while, they 
 had been tempted to go out for a short sail round the cliff. 
 Just as they were putting into the shore the wind shifted 
 with a sudden gust, the boat listed over, and it was thought 
 they were both drowned. How it could have happened 
 was beyond his mind to fathom, for John Green knew 
 how to sail a boat as well as any man there. 
 
 " Which is the way to the place ?" said Barnet. 
 
 It was just round the cliff. 
 
 "Run to the carriage, and tell the boy to bring it to the 
 place as soon as you can. Then go to the Harbor Inn and 
 tell them to ride to town for a doctor. Have they been 
 got out of the water ?" 
 
 " One lady has." 
 
 "Which?" 
 
 " Mrs. Barnet. Mrs. Downe, it is feared, has fleeted out 
 to sea." 
 
 Barnet ran on to that part of the shore which the cliff 
 
FELLOW-TOWNSMEN. 79 
 
 had hitherto obscured from his view, and there discerned, 
 a long way ahead, a group of fishermen standing. As soon 
 as he came up one or two recognized him, and, not liking 
 to meet his eye, turned aside with misgiving. He went 
 amid them and saw a small sailing-boat lying draggled at 
 the water's edge ; and, on the sloping shingle beside it, a 
 soaked and sandy woman's form in the velvet dress and 
 yellow gloves of his wife. 
 
 V. 
 
 ALL had been done that could be done. Mrs. Barnet 
 was in her own house under medical hands, but the result 
 was still uncertain. Barnet had acted as if devotion to his 
 wife were the dominant passion of his existence. There 
 had been much to decide whether to attempt restoration 
 of the apparently lifeless body as it lay on the shore, 
 whether to carry her to the Harbor Inn, whether to drive 
 with her at once to his own house. The first course, with 
 no skilled help or appliances near at hand, had seemed 
 hopeless. The second course would have occupied nearly 
 as much time as a drive to the town, owing to the inter 
 vening ridges of shingle, and the necessity of crossing the 
 harbor by boat to get to the house, added to which much 
 time must have elapsed before a doctor could have arrived 
 down there. By bringing her home in the carriage some 
 precious moments had slipped by ; but she had been laid 
 in her own bed in seven minutes, a doctor called to her 
 side, and every possible restorative brought to bear upon 
 her. 
 
 At what a tearing pace he had driven up that road, 
 through the yellow evening sunlight, the shadows flapping 
 irksomely into his eyes as each way-side object rushed past 
 between him and the west! Tired workmen with their 
 baskets at their backs had turned on their homeward 
 journey to wonder at his speed. Half-way between the 
 
80 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 ^ 
 
 shore and Port-Bredy town he had met Charlson, who had 
 been the first surgeon to hear of the accident. He was 
 accompanied by his assistant in a gig. Barnet had sent 
 on the latter to the coast in case that Downe's poor wife 
 should by that time have been reclaimed from the waves, 
 and had brought Charlson back with him to the house. 
 
 Barnet's presence was not needed here, and he felt it to 
 be his next duty to set off at once and find Downe, that 
 no other than himself might break the news to him. 
 
 He was quite sure that no chance had been lost for 
 Mrs. Downe by his leaving the shore. By the time that 
 Mrs. Barnet had been laid in the carriage, a much larger 
 group had assembled to lend assistance in finding her 
 friend, rendering his own help superfluous. But the duty 
 of breaking the news was made doubly painful by the 
 circumstance that the catastrophe which had befallen 
 Mrs. Downe was solely the result of her own and her 
 husband's loving-kindness towards himself. 
 
 He found Downe in his office. When the solicitor 
 comprehended the intelligence he turned pale, stood up, 
 and remained for a moment perfectly still, as if bereft of 
 his faculties; then his shoulders heaved, he pulled out his 
 handkerchief and began to cry like a child. His sobs 
 might have been heard in the next room. He seemed to 
 have no idea of going to the shore, or of doing anything; 
 but when Barnet took him gently by the hand, and pro 
 posed to start at once, he quietly acquiesced, neither utter 
 ing any further word nor making any effort to repress his 
 tears. 
 
 Barnet accompanied him to the shore, where, finding 
 that no trace had as yet been seen of Mrs. Downe, and 
 that his stay would be of no avail, he left Downe with his 
 friends and the young doctor, and once more hastened 
 back to his own house. 
 
 At the door he met Charlson. " Well ?" Barnet said. 
 
 "I have just come down," said the doctor; "we have 
 done everything, but without result. I sympathize with 
 you in your bereavement" 
 
FELLOW-TOWNSMEN. 81 
 
 Barnet did not much appreciate Charlson's sympathy, 
 which sounded to his ears as something of a mockery 
 from the lips of a man who knew what Charlson knew 
 about their domestic relations. Indeed there seemed an 
 odd spark in Charlson's full black eye as he said the 
 words ; but that might have been imaginary. 
 
 " And, Mr. Barnet," Charlson resumed, " that little mat 
 ter between us I hope to settle it finally in three weeks 
 at least." 
 
 " Never mind that now," said Barnet, abruptly. He 
 directed the surgeon to go to the harbor in case his serv-- 
 ices might even now be necessary there; and himself 
 entered the house. 
 
 The servants were coming from his wife's chamber, 
 looking helplessly at one another and at him. He passed 
 them by and entered the room, where he stood mutely 
 regarding the bed for a few minutes, after which he 
 walked into his own dressing-room adjoining, and there 
 paced up and down. In a minute or two he noticed what 
 a strange and total silence had come over the upper part 
 of the house ; his own movements, muffled as they were 
 by the carpet, seemed noisy; and his thoughts to disturb 
 the air like articulate utterances. His eye glanced through 
 the window. Far down the road to the harbor a roof de 
 tained his gaze; out of it rose a red chimney, and out of 
 the red chimney a curl of smoke, as from a fire newly 
 kindled. He had often seen such a sight before. In that 
 house lived Lucy Savile, and the smoke was from the 
 fire which was regularly lighted at this time to make her 
 tea. 
 
 After that he went back to the bedroom, and stood 
 there some time regarding his wife's silent form. She 
 was a woman some years older than himself, but had not 
 by any means overpassed the maturity of good looks and 
 vigor. Her passionate features, well-defined, firm, and 
 statuesque in life, were doubly so now ; her mouth and 
 brow, beneath her purplish black hair, showed only too 
 clearly that the turbulency of character which had made 
 
 a 
 
82 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 a bear-garden of his house had been no temporary phase 
 of her existence. While he reflected, he suddenly said to 
 himself. I wonder if all has been done ? 
 
 The thought was led up to by his having fancied that 
 his wife's features lacked in complete form the expres 
 sion which he had been accustomed to associate with the 
 faces of those whose spirits have fled forever. The efface- 
 ment of life was not so marked but that, entering unin 
 formed, he might have supposed her sleeping. Her com 
 plexion was that seen in the numerous faded portraits by 
 Sir Joshua Reynolds; it was pallid in comparison with 
 life, but there was visible on a close inspection the rem 
 nant of what had once been a flush ; the keeping between 
 the cheeks and the hollows of the face being thus pre 
 served, although positive color was gone. Long orange 
 rays of evening sun stole in through chinks in the blind, 
 striking on the large mirror, and being thence reflected 
 upon the crimson hangings and wood- work of the heavy 
 bedstead, so that the general tone of light was remarkably 
 warm ; and it was probable that something might be due 
 to this circumstance. Still the fact impressed him as 
 strange. Charlson had been gone more than a quarter of 
 an hour; could it be possible that he had left too soon, 
 and that his attempts to restore her had operated so slug 
 gishly as only now to have made themselves felt ? Barnet 
 laid his hand upon her chest, and fancied that ever and 
 anon a faint flutter of palpitation, gentle as that of a but 
 terfly's wing, disturbed the stillness there ceasing for a 
 time, then struggling to go on, then breaking down in 
 weakness and ceasing again. 
 
 Barnet's mother had been an active practitioner of the 
 healing art among her poorer neighbors, and her inspira 
 tions had all been derived from an octavo volume of Do 
 mestic Medicine, which at this moment was lying, as it 
 had lain for many years, on a shelf in Barnet's dressing- 
 room. He hastily fetched it, and there read, under the 
 head "Drowning:" 
 
 " Exertions for the recovery of any person who has not 
 
FELLOW-TOWNSMEN. 83 
 
 been immersed for a longer period than half an hour 
 should be continued for at least four hours, as there have 
 been many cases in which returning life has made itself 
 visible even after a longer interval. 
 
 " Should, however, a weak action of any of the organs 
 show itself when the case seems almost hopeless, our 
 efforts must be redoubled ; the feeble spark in this case 
 requires to be solicited ; it will certainly disappear under 
 a relaxation of labor." 
 
 Barnet looked at his watch ; it was now barely two 
 hours and a half from the time when he had first heard 
 of the accident. He threw aside the book, and turned 
 quickly to reach a stimulant which had previously been 
 used. Pulling up the blind for more light, his eye 
 glanced out of the window. There he saw that red 
 chimney still smoking cheerily, and that roof, and through 
 the roof that somebody. His mechanical movements 
 stopped, his hand remained on the blind-cord, and he 
 seemed to become breathless, as if he had suddenly found 
 himself treading a high rope. 
 
 While he stood a sparrow lighted on the window-sill, 
 saw him, and flew away. Next a man and a dog walked 
 over one of the green hills which bulged above the roofs 
 of the town. But Barnet took no notice. 
 
 We may wonder what were the exact images that passed 
 through his mind during those minutes of gazing upon 
 Lucy Savile's house, the sparrow, the man and the dog, 
 and Lucy Savile's house again. There are honest men 
 who will not admit to their thoughts, even as idle hypoth 
 eses, views of the future that assume as done a deed which 
 they would recoil from doing; and there are other honest 
 men for whom morality ends at the surface of their own 
 heads, who will deliberate what the first will not so much 
 as suppose. Barnet had a wife whose presence distracted 
 his home ; she now lay as in death ; by merely doing noth 
 ing by letting the intelligence which had gone forth to 
 the world lie undisturbed he would effect such a deliv 
 erance for himself as he had never hoped for, and open 
 
84: WESSEX TALES. 
 
 up an opportunity of which till now he had never dreamed. 
 Whether the conjuncture had arisen through any unscru 
 pulous, ill-considered impulse of Charlson to help out of 
 a strait the friend who was so kind as never to press him 
 for what was due could not be told ; there was nothing 
 to prove it; and it was a question which could never be 
 asked. The triangular situation himself, his wife, Lucy 
 Savile was the one clear thing. 
 
 From Barnet's actions we may infer that he supposed 
 such and such a result for a moment, but did not deliber 
 ate. He withdrew his hazel eyes from the scene without, 
 calmly turned, rang the bell for assistance, and vigorously 
 exerted himself to learn if life still lingered in that mo 
 tionless frame. In a short time another surgeon was in 
 attendance, and then Barnet's surmise proved to be true. 
 The slow life timidly heaved again ; but much care and 
 patience were needed to catch and retain it, and a consid 
 erable period elapsed before it could be said with certainty 
 that Mrs. Barnet lived. When this was the case, and 
 there was no further room for doubt, Barnet left the 
 chamber. The blue evening smoke from Lucy's chim 
 ney had died down to an imperceptible stream, and as he 
 walked about down-stairs he murmured to himself, "My 
 wife was dead, and she is alive again." 
 
 It was not so with Downe. After three hours' immer 
 sion his wife's body had been recovered, life, of course, 
 being quite extinct. Barnet, on descending, went straight 
 to his friend's house, and there learned the result. Downe 
 was helpless in his wild grief, occasionally even hysterical. 
 Barnet said little, but finding that some guiding hand was 
 necessary in the sorrow-stricken household, took upon him 
 to supervise and manage till Downe should be in a state 
 of mind to do so for himself. 
 
FELLOW-TOWNSMEN. 85 
 
 VI. 
 
 ONE September evening, four months later, when Mrs. 
 Barnet was in perfect health, and Mrs. Downe but a weak 
 ening memory, an errand-boy paused to rest himself in 
 front of Mr. Barnet's old house, depositing his basket on 
 one of the window-sills. The street was not yet lighted, 
 but there were lights in the house, and at intervals a flit 
 ting shadow fell upon the blind at his elbow. Words, 
 also, were audible from the same apartment, and they 
 seemed to be those of persons in violent altercation. But 
 the boy could not gather their purport, and he went on 
 his way. 
 
 Ten minutes afterwards the door of Barnet's house 
 opened, and a tall, closely veiled lady in a travelling-dress 
 came out and descended the freestone steps. The servant 
 stood in the door-way watching her as she went with a 
 measured tread down the street. When she had been 
 out of sight for some minutes Barnet appeared at the 
 door from within. 
 
 "Did your mistress leave word where she was going?" 
 he asked. 
 
 "No, sir." 
 
 "Is the carriage ordered to meet her anywhere?" 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 "Did she take a latch-key?" 
 
 "No, sir." 
 
 Barnet went in again, sat down in his chair, and leaned 
 back. Then in solitude and silence he brooded over the 
 bitter emotions that filled his heart. It was for this that 
 he had gratuitously restored her to life, and made his 
 union with another impossible! The evening drew on, 
 and nobody came to disturb him. At bedtime he told 
 the servants to retire, that he would sit up for Mrs. Bar- 
 
86 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 net himself ; and when they were gone he leaned his head 
 upon his hand and mused for hours. 
 
 The clock struck one, two ; still his wife came not, and, 
 with impatience added to depression, he went from room 
 to room till another weary hour had passed. This was 
 not altogether a new experience for Barnet ; but she had 
 never before so prolonged her absence. At last he sat 
 down again and fell asleep. 
 
 He awoke at six o'clock to find that she had not re 
 turned. In searching about the rooms he discovered that 
 she had taken a case of jewels which had been hers before 
 her marriage. At eight a note was brought him ; it was 
 from his wife, in which she stated that she had gone by 
 the coach to the house of a distant relative near London, 
 and expressed a wish that certain boxes, articles of cloth 
 ing, and so on, might be sent to her forthwith. The note 
 was brought to him by a waiter at the Black Bull Hotel, 
 and had been written by Mrs. Barnet immediately before 
 she took her place in the stage. 
 
 By the evening this order was carried out, and Barnet, 
 with a sense of relief, walked out into the town. A fair 
 had been held during the day, and the large clear moon 
 which rose over the most prominent hill flung its light 
 upon the booths and standings that still remained in 
 the street, mixing its rays curiously with those from the 
 flaring naphtha lamps. The town was full of country- 
 people who had come in to enjoy themselves, and on this 
 account Barnet strolled through the streets unobserved. 
 With a certain recklessness he made for the harbor-road, 
 and presently found himself by the shore, where he walked 
 on till he came to the spot near which his friend the 
 kindly Mrs. Downe had lost her life, and his own wife's 
 life had been preserved. A tremulous path-way of bright 
 moonshine now stretched over the water, which had in 
 gulfed them, and not a living soul wa,s near. 
 
 Here he ruminated on their characters, and next on the 
 young girl in whom he now took a more sensitive interest 
 than at the time when he had been free to marry her. 
 
FELLOW-TOWNSMEN. 87 
 
 Nothing, so far as he was aware,, had ever appeared in his 
 own conduct to show that such an interest existed. He 
 had made it a point of the utmost strictness to hinder that 
 feeling from influencing in the faintest degree his attitude 
 towards his wife ; and this was made all the more easy 
 for him by the small demand Mrs. Barnet made upon 
 his attentions, for which she ever evinced the greatest 
 contempt; thus unwittingly giving him the satisfaction 
 of knowing that their severance owed nothing to jealousy, 
 or, indeed, to any personal behavior of his at all. Her 
 concern was not with him or his feelings, as she frequent 
 ly told him ; but that she had, in a moment of weakness, 
 thrown herself away upon a common burgher when she 
 might have aimed at, and possibly brought down, a peer 
 of the realm. Her frequent depreciation of Barnet in 
 these terms had at times been so intense that he was sore 
 ly tempted to retaliate on her egotism by owning that he 
 loved at the same low level on which he lived ; but pru 
 dence had prevailed, for which he was now thankful. 
 
 Something seemed to sound upon the shingle behind 
 him over and* above the raking of the wave. He looked 
 round, and a slight girlish shape appeared quite close to 
 him. He could not see her face because it was in the di 
 rection of the moon. 
 
 " Mr. Barnet ?" the rambler said, in timid surprise. The 
 voice was the voice of Lucy Savile. 
 
 " Yes," said Barnet. " How can I repay you for this 
 pleasure ?" 
 
 "I only came because the night was so clear. I am 
 now on my way home." 
 
 " I am glad we have met. I want to know if you will 
 let me do something for you, to give me an occupation, 
 as an idle man ? I am sure I ought to help you, for I 
 know you are almost without friends." 
 
 She hesitated. " Why should you tell me that ?" she 
 said. 
 
 " In the hope that you will be frank with me." 
 
 " I am not altogether without friends here. But I am 
 
88 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 going to make a little change in my life to go out as a 
 teacher of free-hand drawing and practical perspective, of 
 course I mean on a comparatively humble scale, because I 
 have not been specially educated for that profession. But 
 I am sure I shall like it much." 
 
 " You have an opening ?" 
 
 "I have not exactly got it, but I have advertised for 
 one." 
 
 " Lucy, you must let me help you !" 
 
 "Not at all." 
 
 " You need not think it would compromise you, or that 
 I am indifferent to delicacy. I bear in mind how we 
 stand. It is very unlikely that you will succeed as teach 
 er of the class you mention, so let me do something of a 
 different kind for you. Say what you would like, and it 
 shall be done." 
 
 "No ; if I can't be a drawing-mistress or governess, or 
 something of that sort, I shall go to India and join my 
 brother." 
 
 " I wish I could go abroad, anywhere, everywhere with 
 you, Lucy, and leave this place and its associations forever!" 
 
 She played with the end of her bonnet- string, and 
 hastily turned aside. " Don't ever touch upon that kind 
 of topic again," she said, with a quick severity not free 
 from anger. "It simply makes it impossible for me to 
 see yon, much less receive any guidance from you. No, 
 thank you, Mr. Bar net ; you can do nothing for me at 
 present ; and as I suppose my uncertainty will end in my 
 leaving for India, I fear you never will. If ever I think 
 you can do anything, I will take tne trouble to ask you. 
 Till then, good-by." 
 
 The tone of her latter words was equivocal, and while 
 he remained in doubt whether a gentle irony was or was 
 not inwrought with their sound, she swept lightly round 
 and left him alone. He saw her form get smaller and 
 smaller along the damp belt of sea-sand between ebb and 
 flood ; and when she had vanished round the cliff into the 
 harbor-road, he himself followed in the same direction. 
 
FELLOW-TOWNSMEN. 89 
 
 That her hopes from an advertisement should be the 
 single thread which held Lucy Savile in England was too 
 much for Barnet. On reaching the town he went straight 
 to the residence of Downe, now a widower with four chil 
 dren. The young motherless brood had been sent to bed 
 about a quarter of an hour earlier, and when Barnet 
 entered he found Downe sitting alone. It was the same 
 room as that from which the family had been looking out 
 for Downe at the beginning of the year, when Downe 
 had slipped into the gutter and his wife had been so 
 enviably tender towards him. The old neatness had 
 gone from the house ; articles lay in places which could 
 show no reason for their presence, as if momentarily de 
 posited there some months ago, and forgotten ever since ; 
 there were no flowers ; things were jumbled together on 
 the furniture which should have been in cupboards; and 
 the place in general had that stagnant, unrenovated air 
 which usually pervades the maimed home of the widower. 
 
 Downe soon renewed his customary full-worded lament 
 over his wife, and even when he had worked himself up 
 to tears, went on volubly, as if a listener were a luxury 
 to be enjoyed whenever he could be caught. 
 
 "She was a treasure beyond compare, Mr. Barnet! I 
 shall never see such another. Nobody now to nurse me 
 nobody to console me in those daily troubles, you know, 
 Barnet, which make consolation so necessary to a nature 
 like mine. It would be unbecoming to repine, for her 
 spirit's home was elsewhere the tender light in her eyes 
 always showed it ; but Jt is a long dreary time that I 
 have before me, and nobody else can ever fill the void 
 left in my heart by her loss nobody nobody !" And 
 Downe wiped his eyes again. 
 
 " She was a good woman in the highest sense," gravely 
 answered Barnet, who, though Downe's words drew gen 
 uine compassion from his heart, could not help feeling 
 that a tender reticence would have been a finer tribute to 
 Mrs. Downe's really sterling virtues than such a second- 
 class lament as this. 
 
90 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 "I have something to show you," Downe resumed, 
 producing from a drawer a sheet of paper on which was 
 an elaborate design for a canopied tomb. " This has 
 been sent me by the architect, but it is not exactly what I 
 want." 
 
 "You have got Jones to do it, I see, the man who is 
 carrying out my house," said Barnet, as he glanced at the 
 signature to the drawing. 
 
 " Yes, but it is not quite what I want. I want some 
 thing more striking more like a tomb I have seen in St. 
 Paul's Cathedral. Nothing less will do justice to my 
 feelings, and how far short of them that will fall !" 
 
 Barnet privately thought the design a sufficiently im 
 posing one as it stood, even extravagantly ornate ; but, 
 feeling that he had no right to criticise, he said, gently, 
 "Downe, should you not live more in your children's 
 lives at the present time, and soften the sharpness of re 
 gret for your own past by thinking of their future?" 
 
 "Yes, yes; but what can I do more?" asked Downe, 
 wrinkling his forehead hopelessly. 
 
 It was with anxious slowness that Barnet produced his 
 reply the secret object of his visit to-night. " Did you 
 not say one day that you ought by rights to get a gover 
 ness for the children ?" 
 
 Downe admitted that he had said so, but that he could 
 not see his way to it. "The kind of woman I should 
 like to have," he said, " would be rather beyond my 
 means. No; I think I shall send them to school in the 
 town when they are old enough to go out alone." 
 
 " Now I know of something better than that. The late 
 Lieutenant Savile's daughter, Lucy, wants to do some 
 thing for herself in the way of teaching. She would be 
 inexpensive, and would answer your purpose as well as 
 anybody for six or twelve months. She would probably 
 come daily if you were to ask her, and so your house 
 keeping arrangements would not be much affected." 
 
 " I thought she had gone away," said the solicitor, 
 musing. " Where does she live ?" 
 
FELLOW-TOWNSMEN. 91 
 
 Barnet tojd him, and added that, if Downe should 
 think of her as suitable, he would do well to call as soon 
 as possible or she might be on the wing. "If you do 
 see her," he said, " it would be advisable not to mention 
 my name. She is rather stiff in her ideas of me, and it 
 might prejudice her against a course if she knew that I 
 recommended it." 
 
 Downe promised to give the subject his consideration, 
 and nothing more was said about it just then. But when 
 Barnet rose to go, which was not till nearly bedtime, he 
 reminded Downe of the suggestion, and went up the 
 street to his own solitary home with a sense of satisfac 
 tion at his promising diplomacy in a charitable cause. 
 
 VII. 
 
 THE walls of his new house were carried up nearly to 
 their full height. By a curious though not infrequent re 
 action, Barnet's feelings about that unnecessary structure 
 had undergone a change ; he took considerable interest in 
 its progress as a long-neglected thing, his wife before her 
 departure having grown quite weary of it as a hobby. 
 Moreover, it was an excellent distraction for a man in the 
 unhappy position of having to live in a provincial town 
 with nothing to do. He was probably the first of his line 
 who had ever passed a day without toil, and perhaps some 
 thing like an inherited instinct disqualifies such men for 
 a life of pleasant inaction, such as lies in the power. of 
 those whose leisure is not a personal accident, but a vast 
 historical accretion which has become part of their nat 
 ures. 
 
 Thus Barnet got into a way of spending many of his 
 leisure hours on the site of the new building, and he might 
 have been seen on most days at this time trying the tem 
 per of the mortar by punching the joints with his stick, 
 looking at the grain of a floor-board, and meditating where 
 
92 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 it grew, or picturing under what circumstances the last 
 lire would be kindled in the at present sootless chimney. 
 One day when thus occupied he saw three children pass 
 by in the company of a fair young woman, whose sudden 
 appearance caused him to flush perceptibly. 
 
 "Ah, she is there," he thought. "That's a blessed 
 thing." 
 
 Casting an interested glance over the rising building 
 and the busy workmen, Lucy Savile and the little Dowries 
 passed by ; and after that time it became a regular though 
 almost unconscious custom of Barnet to stand in the half- 
 completed house and look from the ungarnished windows 
 at the governess as she tripped towards the sea-shore with 
 her young charges, which she was in the habit of doing 
 on most fine afternoons. It was on one of these occa 
 sions, when he had been loitering on the first-floor land 
 ing, near the hole left for the staircase, not yet erected, 
 that there appeared above the edge of the floor a little 
 hat, followed by a little head. 
 
 Barnet withdrew through a door-way, and the child 
 came to the top of the ladder, stepping on to the floor and 
 crying to her sisters and Miss Savile to follow. Another 
 head rose above the floor, and another, and then Lucy her 
 self came into view. The troop ran hither and thither 
 through the empty, shaving -strewn rooms, and Barnet 
 came forward. 
 
 Lucy uttered a small exclamation ; she was very sorry 
 that she had intruded ; she had not the least idea that Mr. 
 Barnet was there ; the children had come up, and she had 
 followed. 
 
 Barnet replied that he was only too glad to see them 
 there. "And now, let me show you the rooms," he 
 said. 
 
 She passively assented, and he took her round. There 
 was not much to show in such a bare skeleton of a house, 
 but he made the most of it, and explained the different 
 ornamental fittings that were soon to be fixed here and 
 there. Lucy made but few remarks in reply, though she 
 
FELLOW-TOWNSMEN. 93 
 
 seemed pleased with her visit, and stole away down .the 
 ladder, followed by her companions. 
 
 After this the new residence became yet more of a hob 
 by for Barnet. Downe's children did not forget their 
 iirst visit, and when the windows were glazed, and the 
 handsome staircase spread its broad low steps into the 
 hall, they came again, prancing in unwearied succession 
 through every room from ground -floor to attics, while 
 Lucy stood waiting for them at the door. Barnet, who 
 rarely missed a day in coming to inspect progress, stepped 
 out from the drawing-room. 
 
 " I could not keep them out," she said, with an apolo 
 getic blush. "I tried to do so very much; but they are 
 rather wilful, and we are directed to walk this way for 
 the sea air." 
 
 " Do let them make the house their regular play -ground, 
 and you yours," said Barnet. " There is no better place 
 for children to romp and take their exercise in than an 
 empty house, particularly in muddy or damp weather, 
 such as we shall get a good deal of now ; and this place 
 will not be furnished for a long, long time perhaps never. 
 I am riot at all decided about it." 
 
 " Oh, but it must !" replied Lucy, looking round at the 
 hall. "The rooms are excellent, twice as high as ours; 
 and the views from the windows are so lovely." 
 
 " I dare say I dare say," he said, absently. 
 
 " Will all the furniture be new ?" she asked. 
 
 " AJ1 the furniture be new that's a thing I have not 
 thought of. In fact, I only come here and look on. My 
 father's house would have been large enough for me, but 
 another person had a voice in the matter, and it was set 
 tled that we should build. However, the place grows 
 upon me; its recent associations are cheerful, and I am 
 getting to like it fast." 
 
 A certain uneasiness in Lucy's manner showed that the 
 conversation was taking too personal a turn for her. " Still, 
 as modern tastes develop, people require more room to 
 gratify them in," she said, withdrawing to call the chil- 
 
 
94 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 dren ; and serenely bidding him good-afternoon, she went 
 on her way. 
 
 Barnet's life at this period was singularly lonely, and 
 yet he was happier than he could have expected. His 
 wife's estrangement and absence, which promised to be 
 permanent, left him free as a boy in his movements, and 
 the solitary walks that he took gave him ample oppor 
 tunity for chastened reflection on what might have been 
 his lot if he had only shown wisdom enough to claim Lucy 
 Savile when there was no bar between their lives, and she 
 was to be had for the asking. He would occasionally call 
 at the house of his friend Downe ; but there was scarcely 
 enough in common between their two natures to make 
 them more than friends of that excellent sort whose per 
 sonal knowledge of each other's history and character is 
 always in excess of intimacy, whereby they are not so 
 likely to be severed by a clash of sentiment as in cases 
 where intimacy springs up in excess of knowledge. Lucy 
 was never visible at these times, being either engaged in 
 the school-room, or in taking an airing out-of-doors; but, 
 knowing that she was now comfortable, and had given up 
 the, to him, depressing idea of going off to the other side 
 of the globe, he was quite content. 
 
 The new house had so far progressed that the gardeners 
 were beginning to grass down the front. During an after 
 noon which he was passing in marking the curve for the 
 carriage-drive, he beheld her coming in boldly towards 
 him from the road. Hitherto Barnet had only caught 
 her on the premises by stealth, and this advance seemed 
 to show that at last her reserve had broken down. 
 
 A smile gained strength upon her face as she approached, 
 and it was quite radiant when she came up, and said, with 
 out a trace of embarrassment, " I find I owe you a hun 
 dred thanks and it comes to me quite as a surprise ! It 
 was through your kindness that I was engaged by Mr. 
 Downe. Believe me, Mr. Barnet, I did not know it until 
 yesterday, or I should have thanked you long and long 
 ago!" 
 
FELLOW-TOWNSMEN. 95 
 
 "I had offended yon just a trifle at the time, I think?" 
 said Barnet, smiling, " and it was best that you should not 
 know." 
 
 " Yes, yes," she returned, hastily. " Don't allude to that ; 
 it is past and over, and we will let it be. The house is 
 finished almost, is it not? How beautiful it will look 
 when the evergreens are grown ! Do you call the style 
 Palladian, Mr. Barnet?" 
 
 " I really don't quite know what it is. Yes, it must be 
 Palladian, certainly. But I'll ask Jones, the architect ; for, 
 to tell the truth, I had not thought much about the style ; 
 I had nothing to do with choosing it, I am sorry to say." 
 
 She would not let him harp on this gloomy refrain, and 
 talked on bright matters till she said, producing a small 
 roll of paper which he had noticed in her hand all the 
 while, "Mr. Downe wished me to bring you this revised 
 drawing of the late Mrs. Downe's tomb, which the archi 
 tect has just sent him. He would like you to look it 
 over." 
 
 The children came up with their hoops, and she went 
 off with them down the harbor-road as usual. Barnet had 
 been glad to get those words of thanks; he had been 
 thinking for many months that he would like her to 
 know of his share in finding her a home, such as it was; 
 and what he could not do for himself Downe had now 
 kindly done for him. He returned to his desolate house 
 with a lighter tread ; though in reason he hardly knew 
 why his tread should be light. 
 
 On examining the drawing, Barnet found that, instead 
 of the vast altar-tomb and canopy Downe had determined 
 on at their last meeting, it was to be a more modest me 
 morial even than had been suggested by the architect; a 
 coped tomb of good solid construction, with no useless 
 elaboration at all. Barnet was truly glad to see that 
 Downe had come to reason of his own accord ; and he re 
 turned the drawing with a note of approval. 
 
 He followed up the house-work as before, and as he 
 walked up and down the rooms, occasionally gazing from 
 
96 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 the windows over the bulging green hills and the quiet 
 harbor that lay between them, he murmured words and 
 fragments of words which, if listened to, would have re* 
 vealed all the secrets of his existence. Whatever his 
 reason in going there, Lucy did not call again ; the walk 
 to the shore seemed to be abandoned ; he must have 
 thought it as well for both that it should be so, for he did 
 not go anywhere out of his accustomed ways to endeavor 
 to discover her. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 THE winter and the spring had passed, and the house 
 was complete. It was a fine morning in the early part of 
 June, and Barnet, though not in the habit of rising early, 
 had taken a long walk before breakfast, returning by way 
 of the new building. A sufficiently exciting cause of his 
 restlessness to-day might have been the intelligence which 
 had reached him the night before, that Lucy Savile was 
 going to India after all, and notwithstanding the repre 
 sentations of her friends that such a journey was unadvis- 
 able in many wa} 7 s for an unpractised girl, unless some 
 more definite advantage lay at the end of it than she 
 could show to be the case. Barnet's walk up the slope to 
 the building betrayed that he was in a dissatisfied mood. 
 He hardly saw that the dewy time of day lent an unusual 
 freshness to the bushes and trees which had so recently 
 put on their summer habit of heavy leafage, and made his 
 newly-laid lawn look as well established as an old manorial 
 meadow. The house had been so adroitly placed between 
 six tall elms, which were growing on the site beforehand, 
 that they seemed like real ancestral trees ; and the rooks, 
 young and old, cawed melodiously to their visitor. 
 
 The door was not locked, and he entered. ~No work 
 men appeared to be present, and he walked from sunny 
 window to sunny window of the empty rooms, with a 
 sense of seclusion which might have been very pleasant 
 
FELLOW-TOWNSMEN. 97 
 
 but for the antecedent knowledge that his almost paternal 
 care of Lucy Savile was to be thrown away by her wilful- 
 ness. Footsteps echoed through an adjoining room ; and 
 bending his eyes in that direction, he perceived Mr. Jones, 
 the architect. He had come to look over the building 
 before giving the contractor his final certificate. They 
 walked over the house together. Everything was finished 
 except the papering ; there were the latest improvements 
 of the period in bell -hanging, ventilating, smoke -jacks, 
 fire-grates, and French windows. The business was soon 
 ended, and Jones, having directed Barnet's attention to a 
 roll of wall-paper patterns which lay on a bench for his 
 choice, was leaving to keep another engagement, when 
 Barnet said, "Is the tomb finished yet for Mrs. Downa?" 
 
 " Well, yes ; it is at last," said the architect, coming 
 back and speaking as if he were in a mood to make a con 
 fidence. "I have had no end of trouble in the matter, 
 and, to tell the truth, I am heartily glad it is over." 
 
 Barnet expressed his surprise. " I thought poor Downe 
 had given up those extravagant notions of his ? Then he 
 has gone back to the altar and canopy after all ? Well, 
 he is to be excused, poor fellow !" 
 
 " Oh no, he has not at all gone back to them quite the 
 reverse," Jones hastened to say. "He has so reduced de 
 sign after design, that the whole thing has been nothing 
 but waste labor for me ; till in the end it has become a 
 common head-stone, which a mason put up in half a day." 
 
 "A common head-stone?" said Barnet. 
 
 " Yes. I held out for some time for the addition of a 
 foot-stone at least. But he said, < Oh no, he couldn't af 
 ford it.' " 
 
 " Ah, well, his family is growing up, poor fellow, and 
 his expenses are getting serious." 
 
 " Yes, exactly," said Jones, as if the subject were none 
 of his. And again directing Barnet's attention to the 
 wall-papers, the bustling architect left him to keep some 
 other engagement. 
 
 " A common head-stone," murmured Barnet, left again 
 7 
 
98 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 to himself* He mused a minute or two, and next began 
 looking over and selecting from the patterns ; but had 
 not long been engaged in the work when he heard an 
 other footstep on the gravel without, and somebody enter 
 the open porch. 
 
 Barnet went to the door it was his man-servant in 
 search of him. 
 
 "I have been trying for some time to find you, sir," he 
 said. " This letter has come by the post, and it is marked 
 immediate. And there's this one from Mr. Downe, who 
 called just now wanting to see you." He searched his 
 pocket for the second. 
 
 Barnet took the first letter ; it had a black border, and 
 bore the London postmark. It was not in his wife's hand 
 writing, or in that of any person he knew ; but conjecture 
 soon ceased as he read the page, wherein he was briefly 
 informed that Mrs. Barnet had died suddenly on the pre 
 vious day, at the furnished villa she had occupied near 
 London. 
 
 Barnet looked vaguely round the empty hall, at the 
 blank walls, out of the door-way. Drawing a long, pal 
 pitating breath, and with eyes downcast, he turned and 
 climbed the stairs slowly, like a man who doubted their 
 stability. The fact of his wife having, as it w r ere, died 
 once already, and lived on again, had entirely dislodged 
 the possibility of her actual death from his conjecture. 
 He went to the landing, leaned over the balusters, and 
 after a reverie, of whose duration he had but the faintest 
 notion, turned to the window and stretched his gaze to 
 the cottage farther down the road, which was visible from 
 his landing, and from which Lucy still walked to the so 
 licitor's house by a cross path. The faint words that came 
 from his moving lips were simply, "At last!" 
 
 Then, almost involuntarily, Barnet fell down on his 
 knees and murmured some incoherent words of thanks 
 giving. Surely his virtue in restoring his wife to life 
 had been rewarded ! But, as if the impulse struck un 
 easily on his conscience, he quickly rose, brushed the dust 
 
FELLOW-TOWNSMEN. 99 
 
 from his trousers, and set himself to think of his next 
 movements. lie could not start for London for some 
 hours ; and as he had no preparations to make that could 
 not be made in half an hour, he mechanically descended 
 and resumed his occupation of turning over the wall-pa 
 pers. They had all got brighter for him, those papers. 
 It was all changed ; who would sit in the rooms that they 
 were to line? He went on to muse upon Lucy's conduct 
 in so frequently coming to the house with the children ; 
 her occasional blush in speaking to him; her evident in 
 terest in him. What woman can in the long run avoid 
 being interested in a man whom she knows to be devoted 
 to her ? If human solicitation could ever effect anything, 
 there should be no going to India for Lucy now. All the 
 papers previously chosen seemed wrong in their shades, 
 and he began from the beginning to choose again. 
 
 While entering on the task he heard a forced "Ahem !" 
 from without the porch, evidently uttered to attract his 
 attention, and footsteps again advancing to the door. His 
 man, whom he had quite forgotten in his mental turmoil, 
 was still waiting there. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, sir," the man said from round the 
 door-way, " but here's the note from Mr. Downe that you 
 didn't take. He called just after you went out, and as he 
 couldn't wait, he wrote this on your study table." 
 
 He handed in the letter no black-bordered one now, 
 but a practical-looking note in the well-known writing of 
 the solicitor. 
 
 " DEAR BARNET " it ran " Perhaps you will be pre 
 pared for the information I am about to give that Lucy 
 Savile and myself are going to be married this morning. 
 I have hitherto said nothing as to my intention to any of 
 my friends, for reasons which I am sure you will fully 
 appreciate. The crisis has been brought about by her ex 
 pressing her intention to join her brother in India. I then 
 discovered that I could not do without her. 
 
 "It is to be quite a private wedding; but it is my par- 
 
100 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 ticular wish that you come down here quietly at ten, and 
 go to church with us ; it will add greatly to the pleas 
 ure I shall experience in the ceremony, and, I believe, to 
 Lucy's also. I have called on you very early to make the 
 request, in the belief that I should find you at home, but 
 you are beforehand with me in your early rising. 
 " Yours sincerely, 
 
 " C. DOWNE." 
 
 " Need I wait, sir ?" said the servant, after a dead si 
 lence. 
 
 "That will do, William. No answer," said Barnet, 
 calmly. 
 
 When the man had gone, Barnet reread the letter. 
 Turning eventually to the wall-papers, which he had been 
 at such pains to select,' he deliberately tore them into 
 halves and quarters, and threw them into the empty, fire 
 place. Then he went out of the house, locked the door, 
 and stood in the front a while. Instead of returning into 
 the town, he went down the harbor-road and thoughtfully 
 lingered about by the sea, near the spot where the body 
 of Downe's late wife had been found and brought ashore. 
 
 Barnet was a man with a rich capacity for misery, and 
 there is no doubt that he exercised it to its fullest extent 
 now. The events that had, as it were, dashed themselves 
 together into one half-hour of this day showed that curi 
 ous refinement of cruelty in their arrangement which 
 often proceeds from the bosom of the whimsical god at 
 other times known as blind Circumstance. That his few 
 minutes of hope between the reading of the first and sec 
 ond letters had carried him to extraordinary heights of 
 rapture was proved by the immensity of his suffering 
 now. The sun blazing into his face would have showed 
 a close watcher that a horizontal line, which he had never 
 noticed before, but which was never to be gone thereafter, 
 was somehow gradually forming itself in the smooth of 
 his forehead. His eyes, of a light hazel, had a curious 
 look which can only be described by the word bruised ; 
 
FELLOW-TOWNSMEN. 101 
 
 the sorrow that looked from them being largely mixed 
 with the surprise of a man taken unawares. 
 
 The secondary particulars of his present position, too, 
 were odd enough, though for some time they appeared to 
 engage little of his attention. Not a soul in the town 
 knew, as yet, of his wife's death, and he almost owed 
 Downe the kindness of not publishing it till the day was 
 over the conjuncture, taken with that which had accom 
 panied the death of Mrs. Downe, being so singular as to 
 be quite sufficient to darken the pleasure of the impressi 
 ble solicitor to a cruel extent, if made known to him. 
 But as Barnet could not set out on his journey to London, 
 where his wife lay, for some hours (there being at this 
 date no railway within a distance of eighty miles), no great 
 reason existed why he should leave the town. 
 
 Impulse in all its forms characterized Barnet, and when 
 he heard the distant clock strike the hour of ten, his feet 
 began to carry him up the harbor-road with the manner 
 of a man who must do something to bring himself to life. 
 He passed Lucy Savile's old house, his own new one, and 
 came in view of the church. Now he gave a perceptible 
 start, and his mechanical condition went away. Before 
 the church-gate were a couple of carriages, and Barnet 
 then could perceive that the marriage between Downe 
 and Lucy was at that moment being solemnized within. 
 A feeling of sudden, proud self-confidence, an indocile 
 wish to walk unmoved in spite of grim environments, 
 plainly possessed him, and when he reached the wicket- 
 gate he turned in without apparent effort. Pacing up 
 the paved foot-way, he entered the church and stood for 
 a while in the nave passage. A group of people was stand 
 ing round the vestry door ; Barnet advanced through these 
 and stepped into the vestry. 
 
 There they were busily signing their names. Seeing 
 Downe about to look round, Barnet averted his somewhat 
 disturbed face for a second or two ; when he turned again 
 front to front he was calm and quite smiling : it was a 
 creditable triumph over himself, and deserved to be re- 
 
102 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 membercd in his native town. He greeted Downe hearti 
 ly, offering his congratulations. 
 
 It seemed as if Barnet expected a half-guilty look upon 
 Lucy's face; but no, save the natural flush and flurry en 
 gendered by the service just performed, there was nothing 
 whatever in her bearing which showed a disturbed mind ; 
 her gray-brown eyes carried in them now as at other times 
 the well-known expression of common-sensed rectitude 
 which never went so far as to touch on hardness. She 
 shook hands with him, and Downe said, warmly, "I wish 
 you could have come sooner; I called on purpose to ask 
 you. You'll drive back with us now?" 
 
 "No, no," said Barnet; "I am not at all prepared ; but 
 I thought I would look in upon you for a .moment, even 
 though I had not time to go home and dress. I'll stand 
 back and see you pass out, and observe the effect of the 
 spectacle upon myself as one of the public." 
 
 Then Lucy and her husband laughed, and Barnet laugh 
 ed and retired ; and the quiet little party went gliding 
 down the nave and towards the porch, Lucy's new silk 
 dress sweeping with a smart rustle round the base-mould 
 ings of the ancient font, and Downe's little daughters fol 
 lowing in a state of round-eyed interest in their position, 
 and that of Lucy, their teacher and friend. 
 
 So Downe was comforted after his Emily's death, which 
 had taken place twelve months, two weeks, and three days 
 before that time. 
 
 When the two flys had driven off and the spectators 
 had vanished, Barnet followed to the door and went out 
 into the sun. He took no more trouble to preserve a 
 spruce exterior; his step was unequal, hesitating, almost 
 convulsive; and the slight changes of color which went 
 on in his face seemed refracted from some inward flame. 
 In the church-yard he became pale as a summer cloud, 
 and finding it not easy to proceed, he sat down on one of 
 the tombstones and supported his head with his hand. 
 
 Hard by was a sexton filling up a grave which he had 
 not found time to finish on the previous evening. Ob- 
 
FALLOW-TOWNSMEN. 103 
 
 serving Barnet, he went up to him, and recognizing him, 
 said, " Shall I help you home, sir ?" 
 
 " Oh no, thank you," said Barnet, rousing himself and 
 standing up. The sexton returned to his grave, followed by 
 Barnet, who, after watching him a while, stepped into the 
 grave, now nearly filled, and helped to tread in the earth. 
 
 The sexton apparently thought his conduct a little sin 
 gular, but he made no observation, and when the grave 
 was full, Barnet suddenly stopped, looked far away, and 
 with a decided step proceeded to the gate and vanished. 
 The sexton rested on his shovel and looked after him for 
 a few moments, and then began banking up the mound. 
 
 In those short minutes of treading in the dead man 
 Barnet had formed a design, but what it was the inhabi 
 tants of that town did not for some long time imagine. 
 He went home, wrote several letters of business, called on 
 his lawyer, an old man of the same place who had been 
 the legal adviser of Barnet's father before him, and dur 
 ing the evening overhauled a large quantity of letters and 
 other documents in his possession. By eleven o'clock the 
 heap of papers in and before Barnet's grate had reached 
 formidable dimensions, and he began to burn them. This, 
 owing to their quantity, it was not so easy to do as he 
 had expected, and he sat long into the night to complete 
 the task. 
 
 The next morning Barnet departed for London, leaving 
 a note for Downe to inform him of Mrs. Barnet's sudden 
 death, and that he was gone to bury her; but when a 
 thrice sufficient time for that purpose had elapsed, he was 
 not seen again in his accustomed walks, or in his new 
 house, or in his old one. He was gone for good, nobody 
 knew whither. It was soon discovered that he had em 
 powered his lawyer to dispose of all his property, real and 
 personal, in the borough, and pay in the proceeds to the 
 account of an unknown person at one of the large London 
 banks. The person was by some supposed to be himself 
 under an assumed name ; but few, if any, had certain 
 knowledge of that fact. 
 
104 WESSEX 'TALES. 
 
 The elegant new residence was sold with the rest of his 
 possessions ; and its purchaser was no other than Downe, 
 now a thriving man in the borough, and one whose grow 
 ing family and new wife required more roomy accommo 
 dation than was afforded by the little house up the narrow 
 side street. Barnet's old habitation was bought by the 
 trustees of the Congregational Baptist body in that town, 
 who pulled down the time-honored dwelling and built a 
 new chapel on its site. By the time the last hour of 
 that, to Barnet, eventful year had chimed, every vestige of 
 him had disappeared from the precincts of his native 
 place, and the name became extinct in the borough of 
 Port-Bredy, after having been a living force therein for 
 more than two hundred years. 
 
 IX. 
 
 TWENTY-ONE years and six months do riot pass without 
 setting a mark even upon durable stone and triple brass ; 
 upon humanity such a period works nothing less than 
 transformation. In Barnet's old birthplace vivacious 
 young children with bones like India-rubber had grown 
 up to be stable men and women, men and women had 
 dried in the skin, stiffened, withered, and sunk into decrep 
 itude ; while selections from every class had been con 
 signed to the outlying cemetery. Of inorganic differences 
 the greatest was that a railway had invaded the town, 
 tying it on to a main line at a junction a dozen miles off. 
 Barnet's house on the harbor -road, once so insistently 
 new, had acquired a respectable mellowness, with ivy, Vir 
 ginia creepers, lichens, damp patches, and even constitu 
 tional infirmities of its own like its elder fellows. Its 
 architecture, once so very improved and modern, had al 
 ready become stale in style, without having reached the 
 dignity of being old-fashioned. Trees about the harbor- 
 road had increased in circumference or disappeared under 
 
FELLOW-TOWNSMEN. 105 
 
 the saw; while the church had had such a tremendous prac 
 tical joke played upon it by some facetious restorer or other 
 as to be scarce recognizable by its dearest old friends. 
 
 During this long interval George Barnet had never 
 once been seen or heard of in the town of his fathers. 
 
 It was the evening of a market-day, and some half-dozen 
 middle-aged farmers and dairy-men were lounging round 
 the bar of the Black Bull Hotel, occasionally dropping 
 a remark to one another, and less frequently to the two 
 barmaids who stood within the pewter-topped counter in 
 a perfunctory attitude of attention, these latter sighing 
 and making a private observation to each other at odd 
 intervals, on more interesting experiences than the present. 
 " Days get shorter," said one of the dairy-men, as lie 
 looked towards the street, and noticed that the lamplighter 
 was passing by. 
 
 The farmers merely acknowledged by their counte 
 nances the propriety of this remark, and finding that no 
 body else spoke, one of the barmaids said " yes," in a tone 
 of painful duty. 
 
 " Come fair-day we shall have to light" up before we 
 start for home along." 
 
 " That's true," his neighbor conceded, with a gaze of 
 blankness. 
 
 "And after that we sha'n't see much further difference 
 all's winter." 
 
 The rest were not unwilling to go even so far as this. 
 The barmaid sighed again, and raised one of her hands 
 from the counter on which they rested to scratch the 
 smallest surface of her face with the smallest of her fin 
 gers. She looked towards the door, and presently re 
 marked, " I think I hear the 'bus coming in from station." 
 The eyes of the dairy-men and farmers turned to the 
 glass door dividing the hall from the porch, and in a min 
 ute or two the omnibus drew up outside. Then there was 
 a lumbering down of luggage, and then a man came into 
 the hall, followed by a porter with a portmanteau on his 
 poll, which he deposited on a bench. 
 
106 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 The stranger was an elderly person, with curly ashen- 
 white hair, a deeply creviced outer corner to each eyelid, 
 and a countenance baked by innumerable suns to the color 
 of terra-cotta, its hue and that of his hair contrasting like 
 heat and cold respectively. He walked meditatively and 
 gently, like one who was fearful of disturbing his own 
 mental equilibrium. But whatever lay at the bottom of 
 his breast had evidently made him co accustomed to its 
 situation there that it caused him little practical incon 
 venience. 
 
 He paused in silence while, with his dubious eyes fixed 
 on the barmaids, he seemed to consider himself. In a 
 moment or two he addressed them, and asked to be ac 
 commodated for the night. As he waited he looked curi 
 ously round the hall, but said nothing. As soon as invited 
 he disappeared up the staircase, preceded by a chamber 
 maid and candle, and followed by a lad with his trunk. 
 Not a soul had recognized him. 
 
 A quarter of an hour later, when the farmers and dairy 
 men had driven off to their homesteads in the country, 
 he carne down-stairs, took a biscuit and one glass of wine, 
 and walked out into the town, where the radiance from 
 the shop-windows had grown so in volume of late years 
 as to flood with cheerfulness every standing cart, barrow, 
 stall, and idler that occupied the way-side, whether shabby 
 or genteel. His chief interest at present seemed to lie in 
 the names painted over the shop-fronts and on door-ways, 
 as far as they were visible; these now differed to an 
 ominous extent from what they had been one-and-twenty 
 years before. 
 
 The traveller passed on till he came to the bookseller's, 
 where he looked in through the glass door. A fresh-faced 
 young man was standing behind the counter; otherwise 
 the shop was empty. The gray-haired observer entered, 
 asked for some periodical by way of paying for his stand 
 ing, and with his elbow on the counter began to turn over 
 the pages he had bought, though that he read nothing was 
 obvious. 
 
FELLOW-TOWNSMEN. 107 
 
 At length he said, " Is old Mr. Watkins still alive?" in a 
 voice which had a curious youthful cadence in it even now. 
 
 " My father is dead, sir," said the young man. 
 
 " Ah, I am sorry to hear it," said the stranger. " But 
 it is so many years since I last visited this town that I 
 could hardly expect it should be otherwise." After a 
 short silence he continued, " And is the firm of Barnet, 
 Browse & Co. still in existence ? they used to be large 
 flax merchants and twine-spinners here ?" 
 
 " The firm is still going on, sir, but they have dropped 
 the name of Barnet. I believe that was a sort of fancy 
 name at least, I never knew of any living Barnet. 'Tis 
 now Browse & Co." 
 
 "And does Andrew Jones still keep on as architect?" 
 
 "He's dead, sir." 
 
 "And the vicar of St. Mary's Mr. Mel rose ?" 
 
 " He's been dead a great many years." 
 
 " Dear me !" He paused yet longer, and cleared his 
 voice. " Is Mr. Downe, the solicitor, still in practice ?" 
 
 "No, sir, he's dead. He died about seven years ago." 
 
 Here it was a longer silence still ; and an attentive ob 
 server would have noticed that the paper in the stranger's 
 hand increased its imperceptible tremor to a visible shake. 
 The gray-haired gentleman noticed it himself, and rested 
 the paper on the counter. " Is Mrs. Downe still alive ?" 
 he asked, closing his lips firmly as soon as the words were 
 out of his mouth, and dropping his eyes. 
 
 " Yes, sir, she's alive and well. She's living at the old 
 place." 
 
 "In East Street?" 
 
 " Oh no ; at Chateau Ringdale. I believe it has been 
 in the family for some generations." 
 
 " She lives with her children, perhaps ?" 
 
 "No; she has no children of her own. There were 
 some Miss Downes; I think they were Mr. Downe's 
 daughters by a former wife ; but they are married and 
 living in other parts of the town. Mrs. Downe lives 
 alone." 
 
108 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 " Quite alone ?" 
 
 "Yes, sir; quite alone." 
 
 The newly arrived gentleman went back to the hotel 
 and dined ; after which he made some change in his dress, 
 shaved back his beard to the fashion that had prevailed 
 twenty years earlier, when he was young and interesting, 
 and once more emerging, bent his steps in the direction 
 of the harbor- road. Just before getting to the point 
 where the pavement ceased and the houses isolated them 
 selves, he overtook a shambling, stooping, unshaven man, 
 who at first sight appeared like a professional tramp, his 
 shoulders having a perceptible greasiness as they passed 
 under the gaslight. Each pedestrian momentarily turned 
 and regarded the other, and the tramp -like gentleman 
 started back. 
 
 "Good why is that Mr. Barnet? 'Tis Mr. Barnet, 
 surely !" 
 
 " Yes ; and you are Charlson ?" 
 
 " Yes ah you notice my appearance. The Fates have 
 rather ill-used me. By-the-bye, that fifty pounds. I never 
 paid it, did I ? . . . But I was not ungrateful !" Here the 
 stooping man laid one hand emphatically in the palm of 
 the other. " I gave you a chance, Mr. George Barnet, 
 which many men would have thought full value received 
 the chance to marry your Lucy. As far as the world 
 was concerned, your wife was a drowned woman, hey ?" 
 
 " Heaven forbid all that, Charlson !" 
 
 "Well, well, 'twas a wrong way of showing gratitude, 
 I suppose. And now a drop of something to drink for 
 old acquaintance sake ! And Mr. Barnet, she's again free 
 there's a chance now if you care for it ha, ha !" And 
 the speaker pushed his tongue into his hollow cheek and 
 slanted his eye in the old fashion. 
 
 "I know all," said Barnet, quickly; and slipping a 
 small present into the hands of the needy, saddening man, 
 he stepped ahead and was soon in the outskirts of the 
 town. 
 
 He reached the harbor-road, and paused before the en- 
 
FELLOW-TOWNSMEN. 109 
 
 trance to a well-known house. It was so highly bosomed 
 in trees and shrubs planted since the erection of the build 
 ing that one would scarcely have recognized the spot as 
 that which had been a mere neglected slope till chosen as 
 a site for a dwelling. He opened the swing-gate, closed 
 it noiselessly, and gently moved into the semicircular 
 drive, which remained exactly as it had been marked out 
 by Barnet on the morning when Lucy Savile ran in to 
 thank him for procuring her the post of governess to 
 Downe's children. But the growth of trees and bushes 
 which revealed itself at every step was beyond all ex 
 pectation ; sunproof and moon proof bowers vaulted the 
 walks, and the walls of the house were uniformly bearded 
 with creeping plants as high as the first-floor windows. 
 
 After lingering for a few minutes in the dusk of the 
 bending boughs, the visitor rang the door-bell, and on the 
 servant appearing he announced himself as "an old friend 
 of Mrs. Downe's." 
 
 The hall was lighted, but not brightly, the gas being 
 turned low, as if visitors were rare. There was a stagna 
 tion in the dwelling : it seemed to be waiting. Could it 
 really be waiting for him ? The partitions which had 
 been probed by Barnet's walking-stick when the mortar 
 was green, were now quite brown with the antiquity of 
 their varnish, and the ornamental wood-work of the stair 
 case, which had glistened with a pale yellow newness 
 when first erected, was now of a rich wine-color. During 
 the servant's absence the following colloquy could be dim 
 ly heard through the nearly closed door of the drawing- 
 room. 
 
 " He didn't give his name ?" 
 
 " He only said < An old friend,' ma'am." 
 
 "What kind of gentleman is he?" 
 
 " A staidish gentleman, with gray hair." 
 
 The voice of the second speaker seemed to affect the 
 listener greatly. After a pause, the lady said, "Very 
 well, I will see him." 
 
 And the stranger was shown in face to face with the 
 
110 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 Lucy who had once been Lucy Savile. The round cheek 
 of that formerly young lady had, of course, alarmingly 
 flattened its curve in her modern representative; a perva 
 sive grayness overspread her once dark brown hair, like 
 morning rime on heather. The parting down the middle 
 was wide and jagged ; once it had been a thin white line, 
 a narrow crevice between two high banks of shade. But 
 there was still enough left to form a handsome knob be 
 hind ; and some curls beneath, inwrought with a few hairs 
 like silver wires, were very becoming. In her eyes the 
 only modification was that their originally mild rectitude 
 of expression had become a little more stringent than 
 heretofore. Yet she was still girlish a girl who had been 
 gratuitously weighted by destiny with a burden of five- 
 and-forty years instead of her proper twenty. 
 
 " Lucy, don't you know me ?" he said, when the servant 
 had closed the door. 
 
 " I knew you the instant I saw you !" she returned, 
 cheerfully. "I don't know why, but I always thought 
 you would come back to your old town again." 
 
 She gave him her hand, and then they sat down. " They 
 said you were dead," continued Lucy, " but I never thought 
 so. We should have heard of it for certain if you had 
 been." 
 
 "It is a very long time since we met." 
 
 "Yes; what you must have seen, Mr. Barnet, in all 
 these roving years, in comparison with what I have seen 
 in this quiet place !" Her face grew more serious. " You 
 know my husband has been dead a long time? I am a 
 lonely old woman now, considering what I have been ; 
 though Mr. Downe's daughters all married manage to 
 keep me pretty cheerful." 
 
 " And I am a lonely old man, and have been all these 
 twenty years." 
 
 "But where have you kept yourself? And why did 
 you go off so mysteriously ?" 
 
 "Well, Lucy, I have kept myself a little in America, 
 and a little in Australia, a little in India, a little at the 
 
FELLO W-TO WNSM EN. Ill 
 
 Cape, and so on ; I have not stayed in any place for a 
 long time, as it seems to me, and yet more than twenty 
 years have flown. But when people get to my age two 
 years go like one ! Your second question, why did I 
 go away so mysteriously, is surely not necessary. You 
 guessed why, didn't you ?" 
 
 " No, I never once guessed," she said, simply ; " nor did 
 Charles, nor did anybody, as far as I know." 
 
 " Well, indeed ! Now think it over again, and then 
 look at me, and say if you can't guess ?" 
 
 She looked him in the face with an inquiring smile. 
 "Surely not because of me?" she said, pausing at the 
 commencement of surprise. 
 
 Barnet nodded, and smiled back again ; but his smile 
 was sadder than hers. 
 
 " Because I married Charles ?" she asked. 
 
 " Yes ; solely because you married him on the day I 
 was free to ask you to marry me. My wife died four- 
 and-twenty hours before you went to church with Dowrie. 
 The fixing of my journey at that particular moment was 
 because of her funeral ; but once away, I knew I should 
 have no inducement to come back, and took my steps ac 
 cordingly." 
 
 Her face assumed an aspect of gentle reflection, and 
 she looked up and down his form with great interest in 
 her eyes. " I never thought of it !" she said. " I knew, 
 of course, that you had once implied some warmth of 
 feeling towards me, but I concluded that it passed off. 
 And I have always been under the impression that your 
 wife was alive at the time of my marriage. Was it not 
 stupid of me ! But you will have some tea or something? 
 I have never dined late, you know, since my husband's 
 death. I have got into the way of making a regular 
 meal of tea. You will have some tea with me, will you 
 not?" 
 
 The travelled man assented quite readily, and*tea was 
 brought in. They sat and chatted over the meal, regard 
 less of the flying hour. " Well, well !" said Barnet, pres- 
 
112 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 ently, as for the first time he leisurely jsurveyed the room; 
 "how like it all is, and yet how different! Just where 
 your piano stands was a board on a couple of trestles, 
 bearing the patterns of wall-papers, when I was last here. 
 I was choosing them standing in this way, as it might 
 be. Then my servant came in at the door, and handed 
 me a note, so. It was from Downe, and announced that 
 you were just going to be married to him. I chose no 
 more wall-papers tore up all those I had selected, and 
 left the house. I never entered it again till now." 
 
 " Ah, at last I understand it all," she murmured. 
 
 They had both risen and gone to the fireplace. The 
 mantle came almost on a level with her shoulder, which 
 gently rested against it, and Barnet laid his hand upon 
 the shelf close beside her shoulder. "Lucy," he said, 
 " better late than never. Will you marry me now ?" 
 
 She started back, and the surprise which was so obvious 
 in her wrought even greater surprise in him that it should 
 be so. It was difficult to believe that she had been quite 
 blind to the situation, and yet all reason and common- 
 sense went to prove that she was not acting. 
 
 " You take me quite unawares by such a question !" she 
 said, with a feverish laugh of uneasiness. It was the first 
 time she had shown any embarrassment at all. " Why," 
 she added, " I couldn't marry you for the world." 
 
 " Not after all this ! Why not P 
 
 "It is I would I really think I may say it I would 
 upon the whole rather marry you, Mr. Barnet, than any 
 other man I have ever met, if I ever dreamed of marriage 
 again. But I don't dream of it it is quite out of my 
 thoughts; I have not the least intention of marrying 
 again." 
 
 "But on my account couldn't you alter your plans 
 a little? Come!" 
 
 " Dear Mr. Barnet," she said, with a little flutter, " I 
 would on your account if on anybody's in existence. But 
 you don't know in the least what it is you are asking 
 such an impracticable thing I won't say ridiculous, of 
 
FELLOW-TOWNSMEN. 113 
 
 course, because I see that you are really in earnest, and 
 earnestness is never ridiculous to my mind." 
 
 " Well, yes," said Barnet, more slowly, dropping her 
 hand, which he had taken at the moment of pleading, "I 
 am in earnest. The resolve, two months ago, at the Cape, 
 to come back once more was, it is true, rather sudden, and 
 as I see now, not well considered. But I am in earnest 
 in asking." 
 
 "And I in declining. With all good feeling and all 
 kindness, let me say that I am quite opposed to the idea 
 of marrying a second time." 
 
 " Well, no harm has been done," he answered, with the 
 same subdued and tender humorousness that he had 
 shown on such occasions in early life. " If you really 
 won't accept me, I must put up with it, I suppose." His 
 eye fell on the clock as he spoke. " Had you any notion 
 that it was so late ?" he asked. " How absorbed I have 
 been !" 
 
 She accompanied him to the hall, helped him to put 
 on his overcoat, and let him out of the house herself. 
 
 " Good - night," said Barnet, on the door - step, as the 
 lamp shone in his face. " You are not offended with 
 me 3" 
 
 "Certainly not. Nor you with me?" 
 
 "I'll consider whether I am or not," he pleasantly re 
 plied. " Good-night." 
 
 She watched him safely through the gate; and when 
 his footsteps had died away upon the road, closed the 
 door softly and returned to the room. Here the modest 
 widow long pondered his speeches, with eyes dropped to 
 an unusually low level. Barnet's urbanity under the 
 blow of her refusal greatly impressed her. After having 
 his long period of probation rendered useless by her de 
 cision, he had shown no anger, and philosophically taken 
 her words as if he deserved no better ones. It was very 
 gentlemanly of him, certainly; it was more than gentle 
 manly : it was heroic and grand. The more she medi 
 tated, the more she questioned the virtue of her conduct 
 
114 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 in checking him so peremptorily, and went to her bed 
 room in a mood of dissatisfaction. On looking in the 
 glass she was reminded that there was not so much re 
 maining of her former beauty as to make his frank decla 
 ration an impulsive natural homage to her cheeks and 
 eyes ; it must have undoubtedly arisen from an old 
 stanch feeling of his, deserving tenderest consideration. 
 She recalled to her mind with much pleasure that he had 
 told her he was staying at the Black Bull Hotel ; so that 
 if, after waiting a day or two, he should not, in his mod 
 esty, call again, she might then send him a nice little 
 note. To alter her views for the present was far from 
 her intention ; but she would allow herself to be in 
 duced to reconsider the case, as any generous woman 
 ought to do. 
 
 The morrow came and passed, and Mr. Barnet did not 
 drop in. At every knock, light youthful hues flew across 
 her cheek ; and she was abstracted in the presence of her 
 other visitors. In the evening she walked about the 
 house, not knowing what to do with herself ; the condi 
 tions of existence seemed totalty different from those 
 which ruled only four-and-twenty short hours ago. What 
 had been at first a tantalizing elusive sentiment was get 
 ting acclimatized within her as a definite hope, and her 
 person was so informed by that emotion that she might 
 almost have stood as its emblematical representative by 
 the time the clock struck ten. In short, an interest in 
 Barnet precisely resembling that of her earl} 7 youth led 
 her present heart to belie her yesterday's words to him, 
 and she longed to see him again. 
 
 The next day she walked out early, thinking she might 
 meet him in the street. The growing beauty of her ro 
 mance absorbed her, and she went from the street to the 
 fields, and from the fields to the shore without any con 
 sciousness of distance, till reminded by her weariness that 
 she could go no farther. He had nowhere appeared. In 
 the evening she took a step which under the circumstances 
 seemed justifiable; she wrote a note to him at the hotel, 
 
FELLOW-TOWNSMEN". 115 
 
 inviting him to tea with her at seven precisely, and sign 
 ing her note " Lucy." 
 
 In a quarter of an hour the messenger carne back. Mr. 
 Barnet had left the hotel early in the morning of the day 
 before, but he had stated that he would probably return 
 in the course of the week. 
 
 The note was sent back to be given to him immediately 
 on his arrival. 
 
 There was no sign from the inn that this desired event 
 had occurred, either the next day or the day following. 
 On both nights she had been restless, and had scarcely 
 slept an hour. 
 
 On the Saturday, putting off all diffidence, Lucy went 
 herself to the Black Bull, and questioned the staff closely. 
 
 Mr. Barnet had cursorily remarked when leaving that 
 he might return on the Thursday or Friday, but they were 
 directed not to reserve a room for him unless he should 
 write. 
 
 He had left no address. 
 
 Lucy sorrowfully took back her note, went home, and 
 resolved to wait. 
 
 She did wait years and years but Barnet never reap 
 peared. 
 
INTERLOPERS AT THE KNAP. 
 
 i. 
 
 THE north road from Casterbridge is tedious and lonely, 
 especially in winter-time. Along a part of its course it 
 connects with Holloway Lane, a monotonous track without 
 a village or hamlet for many miles, and with very seldom 
 a turning. Unapprised wayfarers who are too old, or too 
 young, or in other respects too weak for the distance to 
 be traversed, but who, nevertheless, have to walk it, say, 
 as they look wistfully ahead, " Once at the top of that hill, 
 and I must surely see the end of Holloway Lane !" But 
 they reach the hill-top, and Holloway Lane stretches in 
 front as mercilessly as before. 
 
 Some few years ago a certain farmer was riding through 
 this lane in the gloom of a winter evening. The farmer's 
 friend, a dairy-man, was riding beside him. A few paces 
 in the rear rode the farmer's man. All three were well 
 horsed on strong, round-barrelled cobs; and to be well 
 horsed was to be in better spirits about Holloway Lane 
 than poor pedestrians could attain to during its passage. 
 
 But the farmer did not talk much to his friend as he 
 rode along. The enterprise which had brought him there 
 filled his mind ; for in truth it was important. Not alto 
 gether so important was it, perhaps, when estimated by 
 its value to society at large; but if the true measure of a 
 deed be proportionate to the space it occupies in the heart 
 of him who undertakes it, Farmer Charles Barton's busi 
 ness to-night could hold its own with the business of 
 kings. 
 
INTERLOPERS AT THE KNAP. 11 7 
 
 He was a large farmer. His turnover, as it is called, 
 was probably thirty thousand pounds a year. He had a 
 great many draught-horses, a great many milch cows, and 
 of sheep a multitude. This comfortable position was, 
 however, none of his own making. It had been created 
 by his father, a man of a very different stamp from the 
 present representative of the line. 
 
 Darton the father had been a one-ideaed character, 
 with a buttoned-up pocket and a chink-like eye brimming 
 with commercial subtlety. In Darton the son this trade 
 subtlety had become transmuted into emotional, and the 
 harshness had disappeared ; he would have been called a 
 sad man but for his constant care not to divide himself 
 from lively friends by piping notes out of harmony with 
 theirs. Contemplative, he allowed his mind to be a quiet 
 meeting-place for memories and hopes. So that, naturally 
 enough, since succeeding to the agricultural calling, and 
 up to his present age of thirty- two, he had neither ad 
 vanced nor receded as a capitalist a stationary result 
 which did not agitate one of his unambitious, unstrategic 
 nature, since he had all that he desired. The motive of 
 his expedition to-night showed the same absence of anx 
 ious regard for Number One. 
 
 The party rode on in the slow, safe trot proper to night 
 time and bad roads, Farmer Darton's head jigging rather 
 unromantically up and down against the sky, and his mo 
 tions being repeated with bolder emphasis by his friend 
 Japheth Johns ; while those of the latter were travestied 
 in jerks still less softened by art in the person of the lad 
 who attended them. A pair of whitish objects hung one 
 on each side of the latter, bumping against him at each 
 step, and still further spoiling the grace of his seat. On 
 close inspection they might have been perceived to be 
 open rush baskets one containing a turkey, and the other 
 some bottles of wine. 
 
 " D'ye feel ye can meet your fate like a man, neighbor 
 Darton ?" asked Johns, breaking a silence which had lasted 
 while five-and-twenty hedge-row trees had glided by. 
 
118 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 Mr. Darton, with a half-laugh, murmured, "Ay, call it 
 my fate! Hanging and wiving go by destiny." And 
 then they were silent again. 
 
 The darkness thickened rapidly, at intervals shutting 
 down on the land in a perceptible flap like the wave of a 
 wing. The customary close of day was accelerated by a 
 simultaneous blurring of the air. With the fall of night 
 had come a mist just damp enough to incommode, but not 
 sufficient to saturate them. Countrymen as they were 
 born, as may be said, with only an open door between 
 them and the four seasons they regarded the mist but as 
 an added obscuration, and ignored its humid quality. 
 
 They were travelling in a direction that was enlivened 
 by no modern current of traffic, the place of Darton's pil 
 grimage being an old-fashioned village one of the Hin- 
 tocks (several of which lay thereabout) where the people 
 make the best cider and cider -wine in all Wessex, and 
 where the dunghills smell of pomace instead of stable 
 refuse as elsewhere. The lane was sometimes so narrow 
 that the brambles of the hedge, which hung forward like 
 anglers' rods over a stream, scratched their hats and curry- 
 combed their whiskers as they passed. Yet this neglected 
 lane had been a highway to Queen Elizabeth's court and 
 other cavalcades of the past. Its day was over now, and 
 its history as a national artery done forever. 
 
 "Why I have decided to marry her," resumed Darton 
 (in a measured, musical voice of confidence which revealed 
 a good deal of his composition) as he glanced round to see 
 that the lad was not too near, " is not only that I like her, 
 but that I can do no better, even from a fairly practical 
 point of view. That I might ha' looked higher is possi 
 bly true, though it is really all nonsense. I have had ex 
 perience enough in looking above me. *!N"o more superior 
 women for me,' said I you know when. Sally is a come 
 ly, independent, simple character, with no make-up about 
 her, who'll think me as much a superior to her as I used 
 to think you know who I mean was to me." 
 
 "Ay," said Johns. "However, I shouldn't call Sally 
 
INTERLOPERS AT THE SNAP. 119 
 
 Hall simple. Primary, because no Sally is; secondary, 
 because if some could be, this one wouldn't. 'Tis a wrong 
 denomination to apply to a woman, Charles, and affects me, 
 as your best man, like cold water. 'Tis like recommend 
 ing a stage-play by saying there's neither murder, villany, 
 nor harm of any sort in it, when that's what you've paid 
 your half-crown to see." 
 
 " Well, may your opinion do you good. Mine's a dif 
 ferent one." And turning the conversation from the phil 
 osophical to the practical, Darton expressed a hope that 
 the said Sally had received what he'd sent on by the car 
 rier that day. 
 
 Johns wanted to know what that was. 
 
 " It is a dress," said Darton. " Not exactly a wedding- 
 dress, though she may use it as one if she likes. It is 
 rather serviceable than showy suitable for the winter 
 weather." 
 
 " Good !" said Johns. " Serviceable is a wise word in a 
 bridegroom. I commend ye, Charles." 
 
 " For," said Darton, " why should a woman dress up like 
 a rope-dancer because she's going to do the most solemn 
 deed of her life except dying ?" 
 
 " Faith, why ? But she will, because she will, I sup 
 pose," said Dairy-man Johns. 
 
 " H'm," said Darton. 
 
 The lane they followed had been nearly straight for 
 several miles, but it now took a turn, and, winding un 
 certainly for some distance, forked into two. By night, 
 country roads are apt to reveal ungainly qualities which 
 pass without observation during day ; and though Darton 
 had travelled this way before, he had not done so fre 
 quently, Sally having been wooed at the house of a rela 
 tive near his own. He never remembered seeing at this 
 spot a pair of alternative ways looking so equally proba 
 ble as these two did now. Johns rode on a few steps. 
 
 " Don't be out of heart, sonny," he cried. " Here's a 
 hand-post. Enoch, come and climb this post, and tell us 
 the way." 
 
120 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 The lad dismounted, and jumped into the hedge where 
 the post stood under a tree. 
 
 "Unstrap the baskets, or you'll smash up that wine!" 
 cried Darton, as the young man began spasmodically to 
 climb the post, baskets and all. 
 
 " Was there ever less head in a brainless world ?" said 
 Johns. " Here, simple Nocky, I'll do it." He leaped off, 
 and with much puffing climbed the post, striking a match 
 when he reached the top, and moving the light along the 
 arm, the lad standing and gazing at the spectacle. 
 
 "I have faced tantalization these twenty years with a 
 temper as mild as milk," said Japheth, "but such things 
 as this don't come short of deviltry !" and flinging the 
 match away, he slipped down to the ground. 
 
 "What's the matter?" asked Darton. 
 
 " Not a letter, sacred or heathen not so much as would 
 tell us the way to the great fireplace, ever I should sin to 
 say it! Either the moss and mildew have eaten away the 
 words, or we have arrived in a land where the natives 
 have lost the art of writing, and should have brought our 
 compass, like Christopher Columbus." 
 
 "Let us take the straightest road," said Darton, placid 
 ly; "I sha'n't be sorry to get there 'tis a tiresome ride. 
 I would have driven if I had known." 
 
 " Nor I neither, sir," said Enoch. " These straps plough 
 my shoulder like a zull. If 'tis much farther to your lady's 
 home, Maister Darton, I shall ask to be let carry half of 
 these good things in my innerds hee ! hee !" 
 
 "Don't you be such a reforming radical, Enoch!" said 
 Johns, sternly. " Here, I'll take the turkey." 
 
 This being done, they went forward by the right-hand 
 lane, whftxh ascended a hill, the left winding away under 
 a plantation. The pit-a-pat of their horses' hoofs lessened 
 up the slope ; and the ironical directing-post stood in soli 
 tude as before, holding out its blank arms to the raw 
 breeze, which brought a snore from the wood as if Skrymir 
 the Giant were sleeping there. 
 
INTERLOPERS AT THE KNAP. 121 
 
 II. 
 
 THREE miles to the left of the travellers, along the road 
 they had not followed, rose an old house with mullioned 
 windows of Ham-hill stone, and chimneys of lavish solid 
 ity. It stood at the top of a slope beside Hintock village- 
 street; and immediately in front of it grew a large syca 
 more-tree, whose bared roots formed a convenient staircase 
 from the road below to the front door of the dwelling. 
 Its situation gave the house what little distinctive name 
 it possessed, namely, " The Knap." Some forty yards off 
 a brook dribbled past, which, for its size, made a great deal 
 of noise. At the back was a dairy barton, accessible for 
 vehicles and live-stock by a side"drong." Thus much 
 only of the character of the homestead could be divined 
 out-of-doors at this shady evening-time. 
 
 But within there was plenty of light to see by, as 
 plenty was construed at Hintock. Beside a Tudor fire 
 place, whose moulded four-centred arch was nearly hid 
 den by a figured blue -cloth blower, were seated two 
 women mother and daughter Mrs. Hall, and Sarah, or 
 Sally; for this was a part of the world where the latter 
 modification had not as yet been effaced as a vulgarity 
 by the inarch of intellect. The owner of the name was 
 the young woman by whose means Mr. Darton purposed 
 to put an end to his bachelor condition on the approach 
 ing day. 
 
 The mother's bereavement had been so long ago as not 
 to leave much mark of its occurrence upon her now, 
 either in face or clothes. She had resumed the mob-cap 
 of her early married life, enlivening its whiteness by a 
 few rose-du-Barry ribbons. Sally required no such aids 
 to pinkness. Koseate good-nature lit up her gaze ; her 
 features showed curves of decision and judgment; and 
 
122 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 she might have been regarded without much mistake as 
 a warm-hearted, quick-spirited, handsome girl. 
 
 She did most of the talking, her mother listening with 
 a half-absent air, as she picked up fragments of red-hot 
 wood ember with the tongs, and piled them upon the 
 brands. But the number of speeches that passed was 
 very small in proportion to the meanings exchanged. 
 Long experience together often enabled them to see the 
 course of thought in each other's minds without a word 
 being spoken. Behind them, in the centre of the room, 
 the table was spread for supper, certain whiffs of air laden 
 with fat vapors, which ever and anon entered from the 
 kitchen, denoting its preparation there. 
 
 " The new gown he was going to send you stays about 
 on the way like himself," Sally's mother was saying. 
 
 " Yes, not finished, I dare say," cried Sally, independ 
 ently. "Lord, I shouldn't be amazed if it didn't come at 
 all ! Young men make such kind promises when they 
 are near you, and forget 'em when they go away. But 
 he doesn't intend it as a wedding-gown he gives it to 
 me merely as a gown to wear when I like a travelling- 
 dress is what it would be called by some. Come rathe or 
 come late, it don't much matter, as I have a dress of my 
 own to fall back upon. But what time is it?" 
 
 She went to the family clock and opened the glass, for 
 the hour was not otherwise discernible by night, and 
 indeed at all times was rather a thing to be investigated 
 than beheld, so much more wall than window was there 
 in the apartment. " It is nearly eight," said she. 
 
 " Eight o'clock, and neither dress nor man !" said Mrs. 
 Hall. 
 
 " Mother, if you think to tantalize me by talking like 
 that, you are much mistaken ! Let him be as late as he 
 will or stay away altogether I don't care," said Sally. 
 But a tender, minute quaver in the negation showed that 
 there was something forced in that statement. 
 
 Mrs. Hall perceived it, and dryly observed that she was 
 not so sure about Sally not caring. " But perhaps you 
 
INTERLOPERS AT THE KNAP. 123 
 
 don't care so much as I do, after all," she said. "For I 
 see what yon don't, that it is a good and flourishing 
 match for you ; a very honorable offer in Mr. Darton. 
 And I think I see a kind husband in him. So pray God 
 'twill go smooth, and wind up well." 
 
 Sally would not listen to misgivings. Of course it 
 would go smoothly, she asserted. " How you are up and 
 down, mother!" she went on. "At this moment, what 
 ever hinders him, we are not so anxious to see him as he 
 is to be here, and his thought runs on before him, and 
 settles down upon us like the star in the east. Hark !" 
 she exclaimed, with a breath of relief, her eyes sparkling; 
 "I heard something. Yes, here they are !" 
 
 The next moment her mother's slower ear also distin 
 guished the familiar reverberation occasioned by footsteps 
 clambering up the roots of the sycamore. 
 
 " Yes, it sounds like them at last," she said. " Well, 
 it is not so very late after all, considering the dis 
 tance." 
 
 The footfall ceased, and they arose, expecting a knock. 
 They began to think it might have been, after all, some 
 neighboring villager under Bacchic influence, giving the 
 centre of the road a wide berth, when their doubts were 
 dispelled by the new-comer's entry into the passage. The 
 door of the room was gently opened, and there appeared, 
 not the pair of travellers with whom we have already 
 made acquaintance, but a pale-faced man in the garb of 
 extreme poverty almost in rags. 
 
 " Oh, it's a tramp gracious me !" said Sally, starting 
 back. 
 
 His cheeks and eye-orbits were deep concaves rather, 
 it might be, from natural weakness of constitution than 
 from irregular living, though there were indications that 
 he had led no careful life. He gazed at the two women 
 fixedly for a moment; then with an abashed, humiliated 
 demeanor, dropped his glance to the floor, and sank into 
 a chair without uttering a word. 
 
 Sally was in advance of her mother, who had remained 
 
124 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 standing by the fire. She now tried to discern the visitor 
 across the candles. 
 
 " Why, mother," said Sally, faintly, turning back to 
 Mrs. Hall, "it is Phil, from Australia!" 
 
 Mrs. Hall started, and grew pale, and a fit of coughing 
 seized the man with the ragged clothes. "To come home 
 like this," she said. " Oh, Philip, are you ill ?" 
 
 " No, no, mother," replied he, impatiently, as soon as he 
 could speak. 
 
 "But for God's sake how do you come here and just 
 now too ?" 
 
 " Well, I am here," said the man. " How it is I hardly 
 know. I've come home, mother, because I was driven to 
 it. Things were against me out there, and went from bad 
 to worse." 
 
 "Then why didn't you let us know? you've not writ 
 a line for the last two or three years." 
 
 The son admitted sadly that he had not. He said that 
 he had hoped and thought he might fetch up again, and 
 be able to send good news. Then he had been obliged 
 to abandon that hope, and had finally come home from 
 sheer necessity previous to making a new start. "Yes, 
 things are very bad with me," he repeated, perceiving 
 their commiserating glances at his clothes. 
 
 They brought him nearer the fire, took his hat from 
 his thin hand, which was so small and smooth as to show 
 that his attempts to fetch up again had not been in a 
 manual direction. His mother resumed her inquiries, 
 and dubiously asked if he had chosen to come that par 
 ticular night for any special reason. 
 
 For no reason, he told her. His arrival had been quite 
 at random. Then Philip Hall looked round the room, 
 and saw for the first time that the table was laid some 
 what luxuriously, and for a larger number than them 
 selves; and that an air of festivity pervaded their dress. 
 He asked quickly what was going on. 
 
 " Sally is going to be married in a day or two," replied 
 the mother; and she explained how Mr. Darton, Sally's 
 
INTERLOPERS AT THE KNAP. 125 
 
 intended husband, was coming there that night with the 
 bridesman, Mr. Johns, and other details. " We thought 
 it must be their step when we heard you," said Mrs. 
 Hall. 
 
 The needy wanderer looked again on the floor. " I see 
 I see," he murmured. " Why, indeed, should I have 
 come to-night! Such folk as I are not wanted here at 
 these times, naturally. And I have no business here 
 spoiling other people's happiness." 
 
 " Phil," said his mother, with a tear in her eye, but 
 with a thinness of lip and severity of manner which were 
 presumably not more than past events justified, "since 
 you speak like that to me, I'll speak honestly to you. 
 For these three years you have taken no thought for us. 
 You left home with a good supply of money, and strength 
 and education, and you ought to have made good use of 
 it all. But you come back like a beggar; and that you 
 come in a very awkward time for us cannot be denied. 
 Your return to-night may do us much harm. But mind 
 you are welcome to this home as long as it is mine. I 
 don't wish to turn you adrift. We will make the best of 
 a bad job, and I hope you are not seriously ill ?" 
 
 " Oh no. I have only this infernal cough." 
 
 She looked at him anxiously. "I think you had better 
 go to bed at once," she said. 
 
 "Well, I shall be out of the way there," said the son, 
 wearily. " Having ruined myself, don't let me ruin you 
 by being seen in these togs, for Heaven's sake! Whom 
 do you say Sally is going to be married to a Farmer 
 Barton ?" 
 
 "Yes, a gentleman-farmer quite a wealthy man. Far 
 better in station than she could have expected. It is a 
 good thing, altogether." 
 
 "Well done, little Sal!" said her brother, brightening 
 and looking up at her with a smile. " I ought to have 
 written ; but perhaps I have thought of you all the more. 
 But let me get out of sight. I would rather go and jump 
 into the river than be seen here. But have you anything 
 
126 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 I can drink ? I am confoundedly thirsty with my long 
 tramp." 
 
 "Yes, yes; we will bring something up-stairs to you," 
 said Sally, with grief in her face. 
 
 " Ay, that will do nicely. But, Sally and mother " 
 He stopped, and they waited. "Mother, I have not told 
 you all," he resumed, slowly, still looking on the floor be 
 tween his knees. " Sad as what you see of me is, there's 
 worse behind." 
 
 His mother gazed upon him in grieved suspense, and 
 Sally w r ent and leaned upon the bureau, listening for 
 every sound, and sighing. Suddenly she turned round, 
 saying, "Let them come, I don't care! Philip, tell the 
 worst, and take your time." 
 
 " Well, then," said the unhappy Phil, " I am not the 
 only one in this mess. Would to Heaven I were! 
 But" 
 
 " Oh, Phil !" 
 
 " I have a wife as destitute as I." 
 
 " A wife ?" said his mother. 
 
 " Unhappily." 
 
 " A wife ! Yes, that is the way with sons !" 
 
 " And besides " said he. 
 
 " Besides ! Oh, Philip, surely" 
 
 " I have two little children." 
 
 " Wife and children !" whispered Mrs. Hall, sinking 
 down confounded. 
 
 "Poor little things!" said Sally, involuntarily. 
 
 His mother turned again to him. "I suppose these 
 helpless beings are left in Australia?" 
 
 "No. They are in England." 
 
 "Well, I can only hope you've left them in a respecta 
 ble place." 
 
 " I have not left them at all. They are here within 
 a few yards of us. In short, they are in the stable." 
 
 " Where ?" 
 
 " In the stable. I did not like to bring them in-doors 
 till I had seen you, mother, and broken the bad news a 
 
INTERLOPERS AT THE KNAP. 127 
 
 bit to you. They were very tired, and are resting out 
 there on some straw." 
 
 Mrs. Hall's fortitude visibly broke down. She had 
 been brought up not without refinement, and was even 
 more moved by such a collapse of genteel aims as this 
 than a substantial dairy-man's widow would in ordinary 
 have been moved. " Well, it must be borne," she said, 
 in a low voice, with her hands tightly joined. " A starv 
 ing son, a starving wife, starving children ! Let it be. 
 But why is this come to us now, to-day, to-night? Could 
 no other misfortune happen to helpless women than this, 
 which will quite upset my poor girl's chance of a happy 
 life ? Why have you done us this wrong, Philip ? What 
 respectable man will come here, and marry open-eyed into 
 a family of vagabonds ?" 
 
 "Nonsense, mother!" said Sally, vehemently, while her 
 face flushed. " Charley isn't the man to desert me. But 
 if he should be, and won't marry me because Phil's come, 
 let him go and marry elsewhere. I won't be ashamed of 
 my own flesh and blood for any man in England not 
 I !" And then Sally turned away and burst into tears. 
 
 "Wait till you are twenty years older and you will tell 
 a different tale," replied her mother. 
 
 The son stood up. " Mother," he said, bitterly, " as I 
 have come, so I will go. All I ask of you is that you will 
 allow me and mine to lie in your stable to-night. I give 
 you my word that we'll be gone by break of day, and 
 trouble you no further !" 
 
 Mrs. Hall, the mother, changed at that. " Oh no," she 
 answered, hastily, " never shall it be said that I sent any 
 of my own family from my door. Bring 'em in, Philip, 
 or take me out to them." 
 
 "We will put 'em all into the large bedroom," said 
 Sally, brightening, " and make up a large fire. Let's go 
 and help them in, and call Susannah." (Susannah was 
 the woman who assisted at the dairy and house work ; she 
 lived in a cottage hard by, with her husband, who attended 
 to the cows.) 
 
128 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 Sally went to fetch a lantern from the back-kitchen, 
 but her brother said, "You won't want a light. I lit the 
 lantern that was hanging there." 
 
 " What must we call your wife ?" asked Mrs. Hall. 
 
 " Helena," said Philip. 
 
 With shawls over their heads they proceeded towards 
 the back door. 
 
 "One minute before you go," interrupted Philip. "I 
 I haven't confessed all." 
 
 " Then Heaven help us !" said Mrs. Hall, pushing to the 
 door and clasping her hands in calm despair. 
 
 " We passed through Yerton as we came," he continued, 
 " and I just looked in at the ' Dog' to see if old Mike still 
 kept on there as usual. The carrier had come in from 
 Sherton Abbas at that moment, and guessing that I was 
 bound for this place for I think he knew me he asked 
 me to bring on a dress-maker's parcel for Sally that was 
 marked ' immediate.' My wife had walked on with the 
 children. 'Twas a flimsy parcel, and the paper was torn, 
 and I found on looking at it that it was a thick warm 
 gown. I didn't wish you to see poor Helena in a shabby 
 state. I was ashamed that you should 'twas not what 
 she was born to. I untied the parcel in the road, took it 
 on to her where she was waiting in the lower barn, and 
 told her I had managed to get it for her, and that she was 
 to ask no question. She, poor thing, must have supposed 
 I obtained it on trust, through having reached a place 
 where I was known, for she put it on gladly enough. She 
 has it on now. Sally has other gowns, I dare say." 
 
 Sally looked at her mother speechless. 
 
 " You have others, I dare say !" repeated Phil, with a 
 sick man's impatience. " I thought to myself, ' Better 
 Sally cry than Helena freeze.' Well, is the dress of great 
 consequence? 'Twas nothing very ornamental, as far as 
 I could see." 
 
 " No, no ; not of consequence," returned Sally, sadly, 
 adding, in a gentle voice, " You will not mind if I lend 
 her another instead of that one, will you ?" 
 
INTERLOPERS AT THE KNAP. 129 
 
 Philip's agitation at the confession had brought on 
 another attack of the cough which seemed to shake him 
 to pieces. He was so obviously unfit to sit in a chair that 
 they helped him up-stairs at once ; and having hastily 
 given him a cordial and kindled the bedroom fire, they 
 descended to fetch their unhappy new relations. 
 
 III. 
 
 IT was with strange feelings that the girl and her 
 mother, lately so cheerful, passed out of the back door 
 into the open air of the barton, laden with hay scents and 
 the herby breath of cows. A fine sleet had begun to fall, 
 and they trotted across the yard quickly. The stable door 
 was open ; a light shone from it from the lantern which 
 always hung there, and which Philip had lit, as he said. 
 Softly nearing the door, Mrs. Hall pronounced the name 
 " Helena." 
 
 There was no answer for the moment. Looking in, she 
 was taken by surprise. Two people appeared before her. 
 For one, instead of the drabbish woman she had expected, 
 Mrs. Hall saw a pale, dark-eyed, lady-like creature, whose 
 personality ruled her attire rather than was ruled by it. 
 She was in a new and handsome dress, of course, and an 
 old bonnet. She was standing up, agitated; her hand was 
 held by her companion none else than Sally's affianced, 
 Farmer Charles Darton, upon whose fine figure the pale 
 stranger's eyes were fixed, as his were fixed upon her. 
 His other hand held the rein of his horse, which was stand 
 ing saddled as if just led in. 
 
 At sight of Mrs. Hall they both turned, looking at her 
 in a way neither quite conscious nor unconscious, and 
 without seeming to recollect that words were necessary as 
 a solution to the scene. In another moment Sally entered 
 also, when Mr. Darton dropped his companion's hand, led 
 9 
 
130 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 tlie horse aside, and came to greet his betrothed and Mrs. 
 Hall. 
 
 " Ah !" he said, smiling, with something like forced com 
 posure, " this is a roundabout way of arriving, you will 
 say, my dear Mrs. Hall. But we lost our way, which 
 made us late. I saw a light here, and led in my horse at 
 once iny friend Johns and my man have gone on to the 
 4 Sheaf of Arrows' with theirs, not to crowd you too 
 much. No sooner had I entered than I saw that this lady 
 had taken temporary shelter here, and found I was in 
 truding." 
 
 " She is my daughter-in-law," said Mrs. Hall, calmly. 
 " My son, too, is in the house, but he has gone to bed 
 unwell." 
 
 Sally had stood staring wonderingly at the scene until 
 this moment, hardly recognizing Darton's shake of the 
 hand. The spell that bound her was broken by her per 
 ceiving the two little children seated on a heap of hay. 
 She suddenly went forward, spoke to them, and took one 
 on her arm and the other in her hand. 
 
 "And two children?" said Mr. Darton, showing thus 
 that he had not been there long enough as yet to under 
 stand the situation. 
 
 "My grandchildren," said Mrs. Hall, with as much af 
 fected ease as before. 
 
 Philip Hall's wife, in spite of this interruption to her 
 first rencounter, seemed scarcely so much affected by it 
 as to feel any one's presence in addition to Mr. Darton's. 
 However, arousing herself by a quick reflection, she threw 
 a sudden critical glance of her sad eyes upon Mrs. Hall ; 
 and, apparently finding her satisfactory, advanced to her 
 in a meek initiative. Then Sally and the stranger spoke 
 some friendly words to each other, and Sally went on with 
 the children into the house. Mrs. Hall and Helena fol 
 lowed, and Mr. Darton followed these, looking at Helena's 
 dress and outline, and listening to her voice like a man 
 in a dream. 
 
 By the time the others reached the house Sally had al- 
 
INTERLOPERS AT THE KNAP. 131 
 
 ready gone up-stairs with the tired children. She rapped 
 against the wall for Susannah to come in and help to at 
 tend to them, Susannah's house being a little "spit-and- 
 dab " cabin leaning against the substantial stone-work of 
 Mrs. Hall's taller erection. When she came a bed was 
 made up for the little ones, and some supper given to 
 them. On descending the stairs after seeing this done 
 Sally went to the sitting-room. Young Mrs. Hall entered 
 it just in advance of her, having in the interim retired 
 with her mother-in-law to take off her bonnet, and other 
 wise make herself presentable. Hence it was evident that 
 no further communication could have passed between her 
 and Mr. Darton since their brief interview in the stable. 
 
 Mr. Japheth Johns now opportunely arrived, and broke 
 up the restraint of the company, after a few orthodox 
 meteorological commentaries had passed between him and 
 Mrs. Hall by way of introduction. They at once sat down 
 to supper, the present of wine and turkey not being pro 
 duced for consumption to-night, lest the premature dis 
 play of these gifts should seem to throw doubt on Mrs. 
 Hall's capacities as a provider. 
 
 " Drink bold, Mr. Johns drink bold," said that matron, 
 magnanimously. " Such as it is there's plenty of it. But 
 perhaps cider-wine is not to your taste though there's 
 body in it." 
 
 " Quite the contrary, ma'am quite the contrary," said 
 the dairy-man. "For though I inherit the malt-liquor 
 principle from my father, I am a cider- drinker on my 
 mother's side. She came from these parts, you know. 
 And there's this to be said for't 'tis a more peaceful 
 liquor, and don't lie about a man like your hotter drinks. 
 With care, one may live on it a twelvemonth without 
 knocking down a neighbor, or getting a black eye from 
 an old acquaintance." 
 
 The general conversation thus begun was continued 
 briskly, though it was in the main restricted to Mrs. Hall 
 and Japheth, who in truth required but little help from 
 anybody. There being slight call upon Sally's tongue, 
 
132 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 she bad ample leisure to do what her heart most desired, 
 namelj 7 , watch her intended husband and her sister-in-law 
 with a view of elucidating the strange momentary scene 
 in which her mother and herself had surprised them in 
 the stable. If that scene meant anything, it meant, at 
 least, that they had met before. That there had been no 
 time for explanation Sally could see, for their manner was 
 still one of suppressed amazement at each other's presence 
 there. Darton's eyes, too, fell continually on the dress 
 worn by Helena, as if this were an added riddle to his 
 perplexity ; though to Sally it was the one feature in the 
 case which was no mystery. He seemed to feel that fate 
 had impishly changed his vis-d-vis in the lover's jig he 
 was about to tread ; that while the gown had been ex 
 pected to enclose a Sally, a Helena's face looked out from 
 the bodice; that some long-lost hand met his own from 
 the sleeves. 
 
 Sally could see that whatever Helena might know of 
 Darton, she knew nothing of how the dress entered into 
 his embarrassment. And at moments the young girl 
 would have persuaded herself that Darton's looks at her 
 sister-in-law were entirely the fruit of the clothes query. 
 But surely at other times a more extensive range of spec 
 ulation and sentiment was expressed by her lover's eye 
 than that which the changed dress would account for. 
 
 Sally's independence made her one of the least jealous 
 of women. But there was something in the relations of 
 these two visitors which ought to be explained. 
 
 Japheth Johns continued to converse in his well-known 
 style, interspersing his talk with some private reflections 
 on the position of Darton and Sally, which, though the 
 sparkle in his eye showed them to be highly entertaining 
 to himself, were apparently not quite communicable to 
 the company. At last he withdrew for the night, going 
 off to the " Sheaf of Arrows," whither Darton promised 
 to follow him in a few minutes. 
 
 Half an hour passed, and then Mr. Darton also rose to 
 leave, Sally and her sister-in-law simultaneously wishing 
 
INTERLOPERS AT THE KNAP. 133 
 
 him good-night as they retired np-stairs to their rooms. 
 But on his arriving at the front door with Mrs. Hall a 
 sharp shower of rain began to come down, when the wid 
 ow suggested that he should return to the fireside till the 
 storm ceased. 
 
 Darton accepted her proposal, but insisted that, as it 
 was getting late, and she was obviously tired, she should 
 not sit up on his account, since he could let himself out 
 of the house, and would quite enjoy smoking a pipe by 
 the hearth alone. Mrs. Hall assented ; and Darton was 
 left by himself. He spread his knees to the brands, lit 
 up his tobacco as he had said, and sat gazing into the fire, 
 and at the notches of the chimney- crook which hung 
 above. 
 
 An occasional drop of rain rolled down the chimney 
 with a hiss, and still he smoked on ; but not like a man 
 whose mind was at rest. In the long run, however, de 
 spite his meditations, early hours afield and a long ride in 
 the open air produced their natural result. He began to 
 doze. 
 
 How long he remained in this half-unconscious state he 
 did not know. He suddenly opened his eyes. The back- 
 brand had burned itself in two, and ceased to flame ; the 
 light which he had placed on the mantle-piece had nearly 
 gone out. But in spite of these deficiencies there was a 
 light in the apartment, and it came from elsewhere. Turn 
 ing his head, he saw Philip Hall's wife standing at the en 
 trance of the room with a bed-candle in one hand, a small 
 brass tea-kettle in the other, and his gown, as it certainly 
 seemed, still upon her. 
 
 " Helena !" said Darton, starting up. 
 
 Her countenance expressed dismay, and her first words 
 were an apology. " I did not know you were here, Mr. 
 Darton," she said, while a blush flashed to her cheek. "I 
 thought every one had retired I was coming to make a 
 little water boil ; my husband seems to be worse. But 
 perhaps the kitchen fire can be lighted up again." 
 
 " Don't go on my account. By all means put it on 
 
134: WESSEX TALES. 
 
 here as you intended," said Darton. " Allow me to help 
 you." He went forward to take the kettle from her hand, 
 but she did not allow him, and placed it on the fire her 
 self. 
 
 They stood some distance apart, one on each side of 
 the fireplace, waiting till the water should boil, the candle 
 on the mantle between them, and Helena with her eyes 
 on the kettle. Darton was the first to break the silence. 
 "Shall I call Sally ?" he said. 
 
 " Oh no," she quickly returned. " We have given 
 trouble enough already. We have no right here. But 
 we are the sport of fate, and were obliged to come." 
 
 " No right here !" said he, in surprise. 
 
 "None. I can't explain it now," answered Helena. 
 " This kettle is very slow." 
 
 There was another pause ; the proverbial dilatoriness of 
 watched pots was never more clearly exemplified. 
 
 Helena's face was of that sort which seems to ask for 
 assistance without the owner's knowledge the very antip 
 odes of Sally's, which was self-reliance expressed. Dar- 
 ton's eyes travelled from the kettle to Helena's face, then 
 back to the kettle, then to the face for rather a longer 
 time. " So I am not to know anything of the mystery 
 that has distracted me all the evening ?" he said. " How 
 is it that a woman who refused me because (as I supposed) 
 my position was not good enough for her taste is found 
 to be the wife of a man who certainly seems to be worse 
 off than I ?" 
 
 " He had the prior claim," said she. 
 
 "What ! you knew him at that time?" 
 
 " Yes, yes. Please say no more," she implored. " What 
 ever my errors, I have paid for them during the last five 
 years !" 
 
 The heart of Darton was subject to sudden overflow 
 ings. He was kind to a fault. "I am sorry from my 
 soul," he said, involuntarily approaching her. Helena 
 withdrew a step or two, at which he became conscious of 
 his movement, and quickly took his former place. Here 
 
INTERLOPERS AT THE KNAP. 135 
 
 he stood without speaking, and the little kettle began to 
 sing. 
 
 " Well, you'might have been my wife if you had chosen," 
 he said at last. " But that's all past and gone. However, 
 if you are in any trouble or poverty I shall be glad to be 
 of service, and as your relative by marriage I shall have a 
 right to be. Does your uncle know of your distress?" 
 
 " My uncle is dead. He left rue without a farthing. 
 And now we have two children to maintain." 
 
 " What, left you nothing ? How could he be so cruel as 
 that?" 
 
 " I disgraced myself in his eyes." 
 
 "Now," said Darton, earnestly, " let me take care of 
 the children, at least while you are so unsettled. You 
 belong to another, so I cannot take care of you." 
 
 " Yes you can," said a voice ; and suddenly a third fig 
 ure stood beside them. It was Sally. "You can, since 
 you seem to wish to !" she repeated. " She no longer be 
 longs to another. My poor brother is dead !" 
 
 Her face was red, her eyes sparkled, and all the woman 
 came to the front. "I have heard it!" she went on to 
 him, passionately. "You can protect her now as well as 
 the children !" She turned then to her agitated sister-in- 
 law. " I heard something," said Sally, in a gentle mur 
 mur, differing much from her previous passionate words, 
 " and I went into his room. It must have been the mo 
 ment you left. He went off so quickly, and weakly, and 
 it was so unexpected, that I couldn't leave even to call 
 you." 
 
 Darton was just able to gather from the confused dis 
 course which followed that, during his sleep by the fire, 
 this brother whom he had never seen had become worse, 
 and that during Helena's absence for water the end had 
 unexpectedly come. The two young women hastened up 
 stairs, and he was again left alone. 
 
 After standing there a short time he went to the front 
 door and looked out, till, softly closing it behind him, he 
 
136 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 advanced and stood under the lai'ge sycamore-tree. The 
 stars were flickering coldly, and the dampness which had 
 just descended upon the earth in rain now sent up a chill 
 from it. Darton was in a strange position, and he felt it. 
 The unexpected appearance, in deep poverty, of Helena 
 a young lady, daughter of a deceased naval officer, who had 
 been brought up by her uncle, a solicitor, and had refused 
 Darton in marriage years ago; the passionate, almost angry 
 demeanor of Sally at discovering them ; the abrupt an 
 nouncement that Helena was a widow all this coming to 
 gether was a conjuncture difficult to cope with in a mo 
 ment, and made him question whether he ought to leave 
 the house or offer assistance. But for Sally's manner he 
 would unhesitatingly have done the latter. 
 
 He was still standing under the tree when the door in 
 front of him opened, and Mrs. Hall came out. She went 
 round to the garden gate at the side without seeing him. 
 Darton followed her, intending to speak. Pausing outside, 
 as if in thought, she proceeded to a spot where the sun 
 came earliest in spring-time, and where the north wind 
 never blew ; it was where the row of beehives stood under 
 the wall. Discerning her object, he waited till she had 
 accomplished it. 
 
 It was the universal custom thereabouts to wake the 
 bees by tapping at their hives whenever a death occurred 
 in the household, under the belief that if this were not 
 done the bees themselves would pine away and perish dur 
 ing the ensuing year. As soon as an interior buzzing re 
 sponded to her tap at the first hive, Mrs. Hall went on to 
 the second, and thus passed down the row. As soon as 
 she came back he met her. 
 
 "What can I do in this trouble, Mrs. Hall?" he said. 
 
 "Oh, nothing, thank you, nothing," she said, in a tear 
 ful voice, now just perceiving him. ""We have called Su 
 sannah and her husband, and they will do everything nec 
 essary." She told him in a few words the particulars of 
 her son's arrival, broken in health indeed, at death's very 
 door, though they did not suspect it and suggested, as 
 
INTERLOPERS AT THE KNAP. 137 
 
 the result of a conversation between her and her daughter, 
 that the wedding should be postponed. 
 
 "Yes, of course," said Darton. "I think now to go 
 straight to the inn and tell Johns what has happened." It 
 was not till after he had shaken hands with her that he 
 turned hesitatingly and added, "Will you tell the mother 
 of his children that, as they are now left fatherless, I shall 
 be glad to take the eldest of them, if it would be any con- 
 "venience to her and to you ?" 
 
 Mrs. Hall promised that her son's widow should be told 
 of the offer, and they parted. He retired down the rooty 
 slope and disappeared in the direction of the " Sheaf of 
 Arrows," where he informed Johns of the circumstances. 
 Meanwhile Mrs. Hall had entered the house. Sally was 
 down-stairs in the sitting-room alone, and her mother ex 
 plained to her that Darton had readily assented to the 
 postponement. 
 
 "No doubt he has," said Sally, with sad emphasis. "It 
 is not put off for a week, or a month, or a year. I shall 
 never marry him, and she will." 
 
 IV. 
 
 TIME passed, and the household on the Knap became 
 again serene under the composing influences of daily 
 routine. A desultory, very desultory, correspondence 
 dragged on between Sally Hall and Darton, who, not 
 quite knowing how to take her petulant words on the 
 night of her brother's death, had remained passive thus 
 long. Helena and her children remained at the dairy- 
 house, almost of necessity, and Darton therefore deemed 
 it advisable to stay away. 
 
 One day, seven months later on, when Mr. Darton was 
 as usual at his farm, twenty miles from Hintock, a note 
 reached him from Helena. She thanked him for his kind 
 offer about her children, which her mother-in-law had 
 
138 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 duly communicated, and stated that she would be glad to 
 accept it as regarded the eldest, the boy. Helena had, in 
 truth, good need to do so, for her uncle had left her pen 
 niless, and all application to some relatives in the north 
 had failed. There was, besides, as she said, no good school 
 near Hintock to which she could send the child. 
 
 On a fine summer day the boy came. He was accom 
 panied half-way by Sally and his mother to the " Pack- 
 horse," a road-side inn where he was handed over to' 
 Darton's bailiff in a shining spring-cart, who met them 
 there. 
 
 He was entered as a day-scholar at a popular school at 
 Casterbridge, three or four miles from Barton's, having 
 first been taught by Darton to ride a forest -pony, on 
 which he cantered to and from the aforesaid fount of 
 knowledge, and (as Darton hoped) brought away a prom 
 ising headful of the same at each diurnal expedition. 
 The thoughtful taciturnity into which Darton had lat 
 terly fallen was quite dissipated by the presence of this 
 boy. 
 
 When the Christmas holidays came it was arranged that 
 he should spend them with his mother. The journey was, 
 for some reason or other, performed in two stages, as at 
 his coming, except that Darton in person took the place 
 of the bailiff, and that the boy and himself rode on horse 
 back. 
 
 Beaching the renowned " Pack-horse," Darton inquired 
 if Miss and young Mrs. Hall were there to meet little 
 Philip (as they had agreed to be). He was answered by 
 the appearance of Helena alone at the door. 
 
 " At the last moment Sally would not come," she fal 
 tered. 
 
 That meeting practically settled the point towards which 
 these long-severed persons were converging. But nothing 
 was broached about it for some time yet. Sally Hall had, 
 in fact, imparted the first decisive motion to events by 
 refusing to accompany Helena. She soon gave them a 
 second move by writing the following note : 
 
INTERLOPERS AT THE KNAP. 139 
 
 " [Private.] 
 
 " DEAK CHARLES, Living here so long and intimately 
 with Helena, I have naturally learned her history, espe 
 cially that of it which refers to you. I am sure she would 
 accept you as a husband at the proper time, and I think 
 you ought to give her the opportunity. You inquire in 
 an old note if I am sorry that I showed temper (which it 
 wasn't) that night when I heard you talking to her. No, 
 Charles, I am not sorry at all for what I said then. 
 
 " Yours sincerely, 
 
 "SALLY HALL." 
 
 Thus set in train, the transfer of Darton's heart back to 
 its original quarters proceeded by mere lapse of time. In 
 the following July Darton went to his friend Japheth to 
 ask him at last to fulfil the bridal office which had been 
 in abeyance since the previous January twelvemonths. 
 
 " With all my heart, man o' constancy !" said Dairy-man 
 Johns, warmly. " I've lost most of my genteel fair com 
 plexion haymaking this hot weather, 'tis true, but I'll do 
 your business as well as them that look better. There be 
 scents and good hair-oil in the world yet, thank God, and 
 they'll take off the roughest o' my edge. I'll compliment 
 her. 'Better late than" never, Sally Hall,' I'll say." 
 
 " It is not Sally," said Darton, hurriedly. " It is young 
 Mrs. Hall." 
 
 Japheth's face, as soon as he really comprehended, be 
 came a picture of reproachful dismay. "Not Sally?" he 
 said. "Why not Sally ? I can't believe it ! Young Mrs. 
 Hall ! Well, well where's your wisdom !" 
 
 Darton shortly explained particulars ; but Johns would 
 not be reconciled. " She was a woman worth having if 
 ever a woman was," he cried. "And now to let her go !" 
 
 " But I suppose I can marry where I like," said Dar 
 ton. 
 
 " H'm," replied the dairy-man, lifting his eyebrows ex 
 pressively. "This don't become you, Charles it really 
 do not. If I had done such a thing you would have sworn 
 
14:0 WESSEX. TALES. 
 
 I was a d d No' them fool to be drawn off the scent 
 
 by such a red-herring doll-oll-oll." 
 
 Farmer Darton responded in such sharp terms to this 
 laconic opinion that the two friends finally parted in a 
 way they had never parted before. Johns was to be no 
 groomsman to Darton after all. He had flatly declined. 
 Darton went off sorry, and even unhappy, particularly as 
 Japheth was about to leave that side of the county, so 
 that the words which had divided them were not likely to 
 be explained away or softened down. 
 
 A short time after the interview, Darton was united to 
 Helena at a simple matter-of-fact wedding, and she and 
 her little girl joined the boy, who had already grown to 
 look on Darton's house as home. 
 
 For some months the farmer experienced an unprece 
 dented happiness and satisfaction. There had been a flaw 
 in his life, and it was as neatly mended as was hn manly 
 possible. But after a season the stream of events followed 
 less clearly, and there were shades in his reveries, Helena 
 was a fragile woman of little staying power, physically or 
 morally, and since the time that he had originally known 
 her eight or ten years before she had been severely 
 tried. She had loved herself out, in short, and was now 
 occasionally given to moping. Sometimes she spoke re 
 gretfully of the gentilities of her early life, and instead of 
 comparing her present state with her condition as the wife 
 of the unlucky Hall, she mused rather on what it had been 
 before she took the first fatal step of clandestinely mar 
 rying him. She did not care to please such people as 
 those with whom she was thrown as a thriving farmer's 
 wife. She allowed the pretty trifles of agricultural do 
 mesticity to glide by her as sorry details, and had it not 
 been for the children, Darton's house would have seemed 
 but little brighter than it had been before. 
 
 This led to occasional unpleasantness, until Darton 
 sometimes declared to himself that such endeavors as his 
 to rectify early deviations of the heart by harking back 
 to the old point mostly failed of success. " Perhaps Johns 
 
INTERLOPERS AT THE KNAP. 141 
 
 was right," he would say. " I should have gone on with 
 Sally. Better go with the tide and make the best of its 
 course than stem it at the risk of a capsize." But he kept 
 these unmelodious thoughts to himself, and was outward 
 ly considerate and kind. 
 
 This somewhat barren tract of his life had extended to 
 less than a year and a half when his ponderings were cut 
 short by the loss of the woman they concerned. When 
 she was in her grave he thought better of her than when 
 she had been alive ; the farm was a worse place without 
 her than with her, after all. "No woman short of divine 
 could have gone through such an experience as hers with 
 her first husband without becoming a little soured. Her 
 stagnant sympathies, her sometimes unreasonable manner, 
 had covered a heart frank and well meaning, and original 
 ly hopeful and warm. She left him a tiny red infant in 
 white wrappings. To make life as easy as possible to this 
 touching object became at once his care. 
 
 As this child learned to walk and talk, Darton learned 
 to see feasibility in a scheme which pleased him. Re 
 volving the experiment which he had hitherto made upon 
 life, he fancied he had gained wisdom from his mistakes 
 and caution from his miscarriages. 
 
 What the scheme was needs no penetration to discover. 
 Once more he had opportunity to recast and rectify his 
 ill-wrought situations by returning to Sally Hall, who still 
 lived quietly on under her mother's roof at Hintock. He 
 lena had been a woman to lend pathos and refinement to 
 a home ; Sally was the woman to brighten it. She would 
 not, as Helena did, despise the rural simplicities of a farm 
 er's fireside. Moreover, she had a pre-eminent qualifica 
 tion for Barton's household ; no other woman could make 
 so desirable a mother to her brother's two children and 
 Darton's one as Sally while Darton, now that Helena 
 had gone, was a more promising husband for Sally than 
 he had ever been when liable to reminders from an un- 
 cured sentimental wound. 
 
 Darton was not a man to act rapidly, and the working 
 
142 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 out of his reparative designs might have been delayed for 
 some time. But there came a winter evening precisely 
 like the one which had darkened over that former ride to 
 Hintock, and he asked himself why he should postpone 
 longer, when the very landscape called for a repetition of 
 that attempt. 
 
 He told his man to saddle the mare, booted and spurred 
 himself with a younger horseman's nicety, kissed the two 
 youngest children, and rode off. To make the journey a 
 complete parallel to the first, he would fain have had his 
 old acquaintance Japheth Johns with him. But Johns, 
 alas ! was missing. His removal to the other side of the 
 county had left unrepaired the breach which had arisen 
 between him and Dartori; and though Darton had for 
 given him a hundred times, as Johns had probably for 
 given Darton, the effort of reunion in present circum 
 stances was one not likely to be made. 
 
 He screwed himself up to as cheerful a pitch as he 
 could without nis former crony, and became content with 
 his own thoughts as he rode, instead of the words of a 
 companion. The sun went down ; the boughs appeared 
 scratched in like an etching against the sky ; old crooked 
 men with fagots at their backs said " Good-night, sir," and 
 Darton replied " Good-night " right heartily. 
 
 By the time he reached the forking roads it was getting 
 as dark as it had been on the occasion when Johns climbed 
 the directing-post. Darton made no mistake this time. 
 "Nor shall I be able to mistake, thank Heaven, when I 
 arrive," he murmured. It gave him peculiar satisfaction 
 to think that the proposed marriage, like his first, was of 
 the nature of setting in order things long awry, and not a 
 momentary freak of fancy. 
 
 Nothing hindered the smoothness of his journey, which 
 seemed not half its former length. Though dark, it was 
 only between five and six o'clock when the bulky chim 
 neys of Mrs. Hall's residence appeared in view behind the 
 sycamore-tree. He put up at the " Sheaf of Arrows " as 
 in former time; and when he had plumed himself before 
 
INTERLOPERS AT THE KNAP. 143 
 
 the inn mirror, called for a glass of negus, and smoothed 
 out the incipient wrinkles of care, he walked on to the 
 Knap with a quick step. 
 
 V. 
 
 THAT evening Sally was making "pinners" for the 
 milkers, which were now increased by two, for her moth 
 er and herself no longer joined in milking the cows them 
 selves. But upon the whole there was little change in 
 the household economy, and not much in its appearance, 
 beyond such minor particulars as that the crack over the 
 window, which had been a hundred years coming, was a 
 trifle wider; that the beams were a shade blacker; that 
 the influence of modernism had supplanted the open chim 
 ney-corner by a grate ; that Susannah, who had worn a cap 
 when she had plenty of hair, had left, it jjf. now she had 
 scarce any, because it was reported that caps were not 
 fashionable; and that Sally's face had naturally assumed 
 a more womanly and experienced cast. 
 
 Mrs. Hall was actually lifting coals with the tongs, as 
 she used to do. 
 
 " Five years ago this very night, if I am not mistaken " 
 she said, laying on an ember. 
 
 "Not this very night though 'twas one night this 
 week," said the correct Sally. 
 
 " Well, 'tis near enough. Five years ago Mr. Darton 
 came to marry you, and my poor boy Phil came home to 
 die." She sighed. "Ah, Sail} 7 ," she presently said, "if 
 you had managed well Mr. Darton would have had you, 
 Helena or none." 
 
 "Don't be sentimental about that, mother," begged 
 Sally. "I didn't care to manage well in such a case. 
 Though I liked him, I wasn't so anxious. I would never 
 have married the man in the midst of such a hitch as that 
 was," she added, with decision; "and I 4on't think I 
 would if he were to ask me now," 
 
144 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 " I am not sure about that, unless you have another in 
 your eye." 
 
 " I wouldn't; and I'll tell you why. I could hardly mar 
 ry him for love at this time o' day. And as we've quite 
 enough to live on if we give up the dairy to-morrow, I 
 should have no need to marry for any meaner reason. . . . 
 I am quite happy enough as I am, and there's an end o't." 
 
 Now, it was not long after this dialogue that there came 
 a mild rap at the door, and in a moment there entered 
 Susannah, looking as though a ghost had arrived. The 
 fact was that that accomplished skimmer and churner 
 (now a resident in the house) had overheard the desultory 
 observations between mother and daughter, and on open 
 ing the door to Mr. Darton thought the coincidence must 
 have a grisly meaning in it. Mrs. Hall welcomed the 
 farmer with warm surprise, as did Sally, and for a mo 
 ment they rather wanted words. 
 
 " Can you push up the chimney-crook for me, Mr. Dar 
 ton ? the notches hitch," said the matron. He did it, and 
 the homely little act bridged over the awkward conscious 
 ness that he had been a stranger for four years. 
 
 Mrs. Hall soon saw what he had come for, and left the 
 principals together while she went to prepare him a late 
 tea, smiling at Sally's late hasty assertions of indifference, 
 when she saw how civil Sally was. When tea was ready 
 she joined them. She fancied that Darton did not look 
 so confident as when he had arrived ; but Sally was quite 
 light-hearted, and the meal passed pleasantly. 
 
 About seven he took his leave of them. Mrs. Hall 
 went as far as the door to light him down the slope. On 
 the door-step he said, frankly, 
 
 " I came to ask your daughter to marry me ; chose the 
 night and everything, with an eye to a favorable answer. 
 But she won't." 
 
 " Then she's a very ungrateful girl !" emphatically said 
 Mrs. Hall. 
 
 Darton paused to shape his sentence, and asked, " I I 
 suppose there's nobody else more favored ?" 
 
INTERLOPERS AT THE KNAP. 145 
 
 " I can't say that there is, or that there isn't," answered 
 Mrs. Hall. " She's private in some things. I'm on your 
 side, however, Mr. Darton, and I'll talk to her." 
 
 " Thank ye, thank ye !" said the farmer, in a gayer ac 
 cent; and with this assurance the not very satisfactory 
 visit came to an end. Darton descended the roots of the 
 sycamore, the light was withdrawn, and the door closed. 
 At the bottom of the slope he nearly ran against a man 
 about to ascend. 
 
 u Can a jack-o'-lent believe his few senses on such a dark 
 night, or can't he?" exclaimed one whose utterance Dar 
 ton recognized in a moment, despite its unexpectedness. 
 " I dare not swear he can, though I fain would !" The 
 speaker was Johns. 
 
 Darton said he was glad of this opportunity, bad as it 
 was, of putting an end to the silence of years, and asked 
 the dairy-man what he was travelling that way for. 
 
 Japheth showed the old jovial confidence in a moment. 
 " I'm going to see your relations as they always seem 
 to me," he said " Mrs. Hall and Sally. Well, Charles, 
 the fact is I find the natural barbarousness of man is much 
 increased by a bachelor life, and, as your leavings were 
 always good enough for me, I'm trying civilization here." 
 He nodded towards the house. 
 
 "Not with Sally to marry her?" said Darton, feeling 
 something like a rill of ice-water between his shoulders. 
 
 " Yes, by the help of Providence and my personal 
 charms. And I think I shall get her. I am on this road 
 every week my present dairy is only four miles off, you 
 know and I see her through the window. 'Tis rather 
 odd that I was going to speak practical to-night to her 
 for the first time. You've just called?" 
 
 "Yes, for a short while. But she didn't say a word 
 about you." 
 
 " A good sign, a good sign. Now, that decides me. 
 I'll swing the mallet and get her answer this very night, 
 as I planned." 
 
 A few more remarks and Darton, wishing his friend 
 10 
 
146 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 joy of Sally in a slightly hollow tone of jocularity, bade 
 him good-by. Johns promised to write particulars, and 
 ascended and was lost in the shade of the house and tree. 
 A rectangle of light appeared when Johns was admitted, 
 and all was dark again. 
 
 " Happy Japheth!" said Darton. "This, then, is the 
 explanation !" 
 
 He determined to return home that night. In a quar 
 ter of an hour he passed out of the village, and the next 
 day went about his swede-lifting and storing as if nothing 
 had occurred. 
 
 He waited and waited to hear from Johns whether the 
 wedding-day was fixed ; but no letter came. He learned 
 not a single particular till, meeting Johns one day at a 
 horse -auction, Darton exclaimed, genially rather more 
 genially than he felt " When is the joyful day to be ?" 
 
 To his great surprise, a reciprocity of gladness was not 
 conspicuous in Johns. "Not at all," he said, in a very 
 subdued tone. " 'Tis a bad job ; she won't have me." 
 
 Darton held his breath till he said, with treacherous 
 solicitude, " Try again ; 'tis coyness." 
 
 "Oh no," said Johns, decisively. "There's been none 
 of that. We talked it over dozens of times in the most 
 fair and square way. She tells me plainly I don't suit 
 her. 'Twould be simply annoying her to ask her again. 
 Ah, Charles, you threw a prize away when you let her slip 
 five years ago." 
 
 " I did I did," said Darton. 
 
 He returned from that auction with a new set of feel 
 ings in play. He had certainly made a surprising mistake 
 in thinking Johns his successful rival. It really seemed 
 as if he might hope for Sally after all. 
 
 This time, being rather pressed by business, Darton 
 had recourse to pen and ink, and wrote her as manly and 
 straightforward a proposal as any woman could wish to 
 receive. The reply came promptly : 
 
 " DEAR ME. DARTON, I am as sensible as any woman 
 
INTERLOPERS AT THE KNAP. 14:7 
 
 can be of the goodness that leads you to make me this 
 offer a second time. Better women than I would be 
 proud of the honor; for when I read your nice long 
 speeches on mangel-wurzel and such-like topics at the 
 Casterbridge Farmers' Club, I do feel it an honor, I assure 
 you. But my answer is just the same as before. I will 
 not try to explain what, in truth, I cannot explain my 
 reasons ; I will simply say that I must decline to be mar 
 ried to you. With good wishes as in former times, I am, 
 your faithful friend, SALLY HALL." 
 
 Darton dropped the letter hopelessly. Beyond the 
 negative, there was just a possibility of sarcasm in it 
 "nice long speeches on mangel-wurzel" had a suspi 
 cious sound. However, sarcasm or none, there was the 
 answer, and he had to be content. 
 
 He proceeded to seek relief in a business which at this 
 time engrossed much of his attention that of clearing 
 up a curious mistake just current in the county that he 
 had been nearly ruined by the recent failure of a local 
 bank. A farmer named Darton had lost heavily, and the 
 similarity of name had probably led to the error. Belief 
 in it was so persistent that it demanded several days of let 
 ter-writing to set matters straight and persuade the world 
 that he was as solvent as ever he had been in his life. 
 He had hardly concluded this worrying task when, to his 
 delight, another letter arrived in the handwriting of Sally. 
 
 Darton tore it open ; it was very short. 
 
 " DEAR ME. DARTON, We have been so alarmed these 
 last few days by the report that you were ruined by the 
 
 stoppage of 's Bank, that, now it is contradicted, I 
 
 hasten, by my mother's wish, to say how truly glad we 
 are to find there is no foundation for the report. After 
 your kindness to my poor brother's children, I can do no 
 less than write at such a moment. We had a letter from 
 each of them a few days ago. Your faithful friend, 
 
 "SALLY HALL." 
 
148 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 "Mercenary little woman!" said Darton to himself, 
 with a smile. " Then that was the secret of her refusal 
 this time she thought I was ruined." 
 
 Now, such was Darton, that as hours went on he could 
 not help feeling too generously towards Sally to condemn 
 her in this. What did he want in a wife, he asked him 
 self. Love and integrity. What next? Worldly wis 
 dom. And was there really more than worldly wisdom 
 in her refusal to go aboard a sinking ship? She now 
 knew it was otherwise. " Begad," he said, " I'll try her 
 again." 
 
 The fact was he had so set his heart upon Sally, and 
 Sally alone, that nothing was to be allowed to balk him ; 
 and his reasoning was purely formal. 
 
 Anniversaries having been un propitious, he waited on 
 till a bright day late in May a day when all animate nat 
 ure was fancying, in its trusting, foolish way, that it was 
 going to bask out-of-doors for evermore. As he rode 
 through Holloway Lane it was scarce recognizable as the 
 track of his two winter journeys. No mistake could be 
 made now, even with his eyes shut. The cuckoo's note 
 was at its best, between April tentativeness arid midsum 
 mer decrepitude, and the reptiles in the sun behaved as 
 winningly as kittens on a hearth. Though afternoon, 
 and about the same time as on the last occasion, it was 
 broad day and sunshine when he entered Hintock, and 
 the details of the Knap dairy-house were visible far up 
 the road. He saw Sally in the garden, and was set vibrat 
 ing. He had first intended to go on to the inn ; but 
 " No," he said ; " I'll tie my horse to the garden gate. If 
 all goes well it can soon be taken round ; if not, I mount 
 and ride away." 
 
 The tall shade of the horseman darkened the room in 
 which Mrs. Hall sat, and made her start, for he had ridden 
 by a side path to the top of the slope, where riders seldom 
 came. In a few seconds he was in the garden with Sally. 
 
 Five ay, three minutes did the business at the back 
 of that row of bees. Though spring had come, and heav- 
 
INTERLOPERS AT THE KNAP. 149 
 
 enly blue consecrated the scene, Darton succeeded not. 
 "-ZT0," said Sally, firmly. "I will never, never marry 
 you, Mr. Darton. I would have done it once; but now 
 I never can." 
 
 "But," implored Mr. Darton. And with a burst of 
 real eloquence he went on to declare all sorts of things 
 that he would do for her. He would drive her to see her 
 mother every week take her to London settle so much 
 money upon her Heaven knows what he did not prom 
 ise, suggest, and tempt her with. But it availed nothing. 
 She interposed with a stout negative, which closed the 
 course of his argument like an iron gate across a highway. 
 Darton paused. 
 
 " Then," said he, simply, "you hadn't heard of my sup 
 posed failure when you declined last time?" 
 
 "I had not," she said. "But if I had 'twould have 
 been all the same." 
 
 "And 'tis not because of any soreness from my slight 
 ing you years ago ?" 
 
 " No. That soreness is long past." 
 
 "Ah, then you despise me, Sally !" 
 
 "No," she slowly answered. "I don't altogether de 
 spise yoji. I don't think you quite such a hero as I once 
 did that's all. The truth is, I am happy enough as I 
 am ; and I don't mean to marry at all. Now, may _/ ask 
 a favor, sir?" She spoke with an ineffable charm, which, 
 whenever he thought of it, made him curse his loss of her 
 as long as he lived. 
 
 " To any extent." 
 
 "Please do not put this question to me any more. 
 Friends as long as you like, but lovers and married 
 never." 
 
 "I never will," said Darton. "Not if I live a hundred 
 years." 
 
 And he never did. That he had worn out his welcome 
 in her heart was only too plain. 
 
 When his step-children had grown up, and were placed 
 out in life, all communication between Darton and the 
 
150 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 Hall family ceased. It was only by chance that, years 
 after, he learned that Sally, notwithstanding the solicita 
 tions her attractions drew down upon her, had refused 
 several offers of marriage, and steadily adhered to her 
 purpose of leading a single life. 
 
THE DISTRACTED PREACHER. 
 
 i. 
 
 HOW HIS COLD WAS CURED. 
 
 SOMETHING delayed the arrival of the Wesley an min 
 ister, and a young man came temporarily in his stead. 
 It was on the thirteenth of January, 183-, that Mr. Stock- 
 dale, the young man in question, made his humble entry 
 into the village, unknown, and almost unseen. But when 
 those of the inhabitants who styled themselves of his 
 connection became acquainted with him, they were rather 
 pleased with the substitute than otherwise, though he had 
 scarcely as yet acquired ballast of character sufficient to 
 steady the consciences of the hundred and forty Metho 
 dists of pure blood who, at this time, lived in Nether- 
 Mynton, and to give in addition supplementary support 
 to the mixed race which went to church in the morning 
 and chapel in the evening, or when there was a tea as 
 many as a hundred and ten people more, all told, and in 
 cluding the parish-clerk in the winter-time, when it was 
 too dark for the vicar to observe who passed up the street 
 at seven o'clock which, to be just to him, he was never 
 anxious to do. 
 
 It was owing to this overlapping of creeds that the 
 celebrated population-puzzle arose among the denser gen 
 try of the district around Nether-Mynton ; how could it 
 be that a parish containing fifteen score of strong, full- 
 grown Episcopalians, and nearly thirteen score of well- 
 matured Dissenters, numbered barely two - and - twenty 
 score adults in all ? 
 
152 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 The young man being personally interesting, those with 
 whom he came in contact were content to waive for a 
 while the graver question of his sufficiency. It is said 
 that at this time of his life his eyes were affectionate, 
 though without a ray of levity ; that his hair was curly, 
 and his figure tall ; that he was, in short, a very lovable 
 youth, who won upon his female hearers as soon as they 
 saw and heard him, and caused them to say, " Why didn't 
 we know of this before he came, that we might have gied 
 him a warmer welcome !" 
 
 The fact was that, knowing him to be only provision 
 ally selected, and expecting nothing remarkable in his 
 person or doctrine, they and the rest of his flock in Neth- 
 er-Myriton had felt almost as indifferent about his advent 
 as if they had been the soundest church-going parishion 
 ers in the country, and he their true and appointed par 
 son. Thus when Stockdale set foot in the place nobody 
 had secured a lodging for him, and though his journey had 
 given him a bad cold in the head, he was forced to attend 
 to that business himself. On inquiry he found that the 
 only possible accommodation in the village would be 
 found at the house of one Mrs. Lizzy New berry, at the 
 upper end of the street. 
 
 It was a youth who gave this information, and Stock- 
 dale asked him who Mrs. Newberry might be. 
 
 The boy said that she was a widow-woman, who had 
 got no husband, because he was dead. Mr. dewberry, he 
 added, had been a well-to-do man enough, as the saying 
 was, and a farmer ; but he had gone off in a decline. As 
 regarded Mrs. Newberry's serious side, Stockdale gathered 
 that she was one of the trimmers who went to church and 
 chapel both. 
 
 " I'll go there," said Stockdale, feeling that, in the ab 
 sence of purely sectarian lodgings, he could do no better. 
 
 " She's a little particular, and won't hae gover'ment 
 folks, or curates, or the pa'son's friends, or such like," said 
 the lad, dubiously. 
 
 " Ah, that may be a promising sign. I'll call. Or no ; 
 
THE DISTRACTED PREACHER. 153 
 
 jnst yon go up and ask first if she can find room for me. 
 I have to see one or two persons on another matter. You 
 will find me down at the carrier's." 
 
 In a quarter of an hour the lad came back, and said 
 that Mrs. Newberry would have no objection to accommo 
 date him, whereupon Stockdale called at the house. It 
 stood within a garden hedge, and seemed to be roomy and 
 comfortable. He saw an elderly woman, with whom he 
 made arrangements to come the same night, since there 
 was no inn in the place, and he wished to house himself 
 as soon as possible ; the village being a local centre from 
 which he was to radiate at once to the different small 
 chapels in the neighborhood. He forthwith sent his lug 
 gage to Mrs. dewberry's from the carrier's, where he had 
 taken shelter, and in the evening walked up to his tem 
 porary home. 
 
 As he now lived there, Stockdale felt it unnecessary to 
 knock at the door ; and entering quietly, he had the pleas 
 ure of hearing footsteps scudding away like mice into the 
 back quarters. He advanced to the parlor, as the front 
 room was called, though its stone floor was scarcely dis 
 guised by the carpet, which overlaid only the trodden 
 areas, leaving sandy deserts under the furniture. But the 
 room looked snug and cheerful. The firelight shone out 
 brightly, trembling on the bulging mouldings of the table- 
 legs, playing with brass knobs and handles, and lurking 
 in great strength on the under surface of the chimney- 
 piece. A deep arm-chair, covered with horse -hair, and 
 studded with a countless throng of brass nails, was pulled 
 up on one side of the fireplace. The tea-things were on 
 the table, the teapot cover was open, and a little hand-bell 
 had been laid at that precise point towards which a person 
 seated in the great chair might be expected instinctively 
 to stretch his hand. 
 
 Stockdale sat down, not objecting to his experience of 
 the room thus far, and began his residence by tinkling the 
 bell. A little girl crept in at the summons, and made tea 
 for him. Her name, she said, was Marther Sarer, and she 
 
154 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 lived out there, nodding towards the road and village gen 
 erally. Before Stockdale had got far with his meal a tap 
 sounded on the door behind him, and on his telling the 
 inquirer to come in, a rustle of garments caused him to 
 turn his head. He saw before him a fine and extremely 
 well-made young woman, with dark hair, a wide, sensible, 
 beautiful forehead, eyes that warmed him before he knew 
 it, and a mouth that was in itself a picture to all appre 
 ciative souls. 
 
 " Can I get you anything else for tea ?" she said, com 
 ing forward a step or two, an expression of liveliness on 
 her features, and her hand waving the door by its edge. 
 
 " Nothing, thank you," said Stockdale, thinking less of 
 what he replied than of what might be her relation to the 
 household. 
 
 "You are quite sure?" said the young woman, appar 
 ently aware that he had not considered his answer. 
 
 He conscientiously examined the tea-things, and found 
 them all there. " Quite sure, Miss Newberry," he said. 
 
 "It is Mrs. Newberry," said she. "Lizzy Newberry. 
 I used to be Lizzy Simpkins." 
 
 " Oh, I beg your pardon, Mrs. Newberry." And before 
 he had occasion to say more she left the room. 
 
 Stockdale remained in some doubt till Martha Sarah 
 came to clear the table. " Whose house is this, my little 
 woman ?" said he. 
 
 " Mrs. Lizzy Newberry's, sir." 
 
 " Then Mrs. Newberry is not the old lady I saw this 
 afternoon ?" 
 
 "No. That's Mrs. dewberry's mother. It was Mrs. 
 Newberry who corned in to you just by now, because she 
 wanted to see if you was good-looking." 
 
 Later in the evening, when Stockdale was about to be 
 gin supper, she came again. "I have come myself, Mr. 
 Stockdale," she said. The minister stood up in acknowl 
 edgment of the honor. " I am afraid little Marther might 
 not make you understand. What will you have for sup 
 per ? There's cold rabbit, and there's a ham uncut." 
 
THE DISTRACTED PREACHER. 155 
 
 Stockdale said he could get on nicely with those viands, 
 and supper was laid. He had no more than cut a slice 
 when tap-tap came to the door again. The minister had 
 already learned that this particular rhythm in taps de 
 noted the fingers of his enkindling landlady, and the 
 doomed young fellow buried his first mouthful under a 
 look of receptive blandness. 
 
 a We have a chicken in the house, Mr. Stockdale; I 
 quite forgot to mention it just now. Perhaps you would 
 like Marther Sarer to bring it up?" 
 
 Stockdale had advanced far enough in the art of being 
 a young man to say that he did not want the chicken, 
 unless she brought it up herself ; but when it was uttered 
 he blushed at the daring gallantry of the speech, perhaps 
 a shade too strong for a serious man and a minister. In 
 three minutes the chicken appeared, but, to his great 
 surprise, only in the hands of Martha Sarah. Stockdale 
 was disappointed, which perhaps it was intended that he 
 should be. 
 
 He had finished supper, and was not in the least antici 
 pating Mrs. Newberry again that night, when she tapped 
 and entered as before. Stockdale's gratified look told that 
 she had lost nothing by not appearing when expected. 
 It happened that the cold in the head from which the 
 young man suffered had increased with the approach of 
 night, and before she had spoken he was seized with a 
 violent fit of sneezing, which he could not anyhow re 
 press. 
 
 Mrs. Newberry looked full of pity. " Your cold is very 
 bad to-night, Mr. gtockdale." 
 
 Stockdale replied that it was rather troublesome. 
 
 "And I've a good mind " she added, archly, looking 
 at the cheerless glass of water on the table, which the 
 abstemious young minister was going to drink. 
 
 " Yes, Mrs. dewberry ?" 
 
 "I've a good mind that you should have something 
 more likely to cure it than that cold stuff." 
 
 " Well," said Stockdale, looking down at the glass, " as 
 
156 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 there is no inn here, and nothing better to be got in the 
 village, of course it will do." 
 
 To this she replied, "There is something better, not 
 far off, though not in the house. I really think you must 
 try it, or you may be ill. Yes, Mr. Stockdale, you shall." 
 She held up her finger, seeing that he was about to speak. 
 " Don't ask what it is; wait, and you shall see." 
 
 Lizzy went away, and Stockdale waited in a pleasant 
 mood. Presently she returned with her bonnet and cloak 
 on, saying, "I am so sorry, but you must help me to get 
 it. Mother has gone to bed. Will you wrap yourself up, 
 and come this way, and please bring that cup with you ?" 
 
 Stockdale, a lonely young fellow, who had for weeks 
 felt a great craving for somebody on whom to throw 
 away superfluous interest, and even tenderness, was not 
 sorry to join her, and followed his guide through the 
 back door, across the garden to the bottom, where the 
 boundary was a wall. This wall was low, and beyond it 
 Stockdale discerned in the night-shades several gray head 
 stones, and the outlines of the church roof or tower. 
 
 " It is easy to get up this way," she said, stepping upon 
 a bank which abutted on the wall ; then putting her foot 
 on the top of the stone-work, and descending by a spring 
 inside, where the ground was much higher, as is the man 
 ner of grave-yards to be. Stockdale did the same, and 
 followed her in the dusk across the irregular ground till 
 they came to the tower door, which, when they had en 
 tered, she softly closed behind them. 
 
 "You can keep a secret?" she said, in a musical voice. 
 
 " Like an iron chest !" said he, fervently. 
 
 Then from under her cloak she produced a small lighted 
 lantern, which the minister had not noticed that she car 
 ried at all. The light showed them to be close to the 
 singing -gallery stairs, under which lay a heap of lumber 
 of all sorts, but consisting mostly of decayed framework, 
 pews, panels, and pieces of flooring, that from time to time 
 had been removed from their original fixings in the body 
 of the edifice and replaced by new. 
 
THE DISTRACTED PKEACHER. 157 
 
 " Perhaps you will drag some of those boards aside ?" 
 she said, holding the lantern over her head to light him 
 better. " Or will you take the lantern while I move 
 them?" 
 
 " I can manage it," said the young man ; and acting as 
 she ordered, he uncovered, to his surprise, a row of little 
 barrels bound with wood hoops, each barrel being about 
 as large as the nave of a common wagon-wheel. When 
 they were laid open Lizzy fixed her eyes on him, as if she 
 wondered what he would say. 
 
 " You know what they are?" she asked, finding that he 
 did not speak. 
 
 "Yes, barrels," said Stockdale 3 simply. He was an 
 inland man, the son of highly respectable parents, and 
 brought up with a single eye to the ministry, and the 
 sight suggested nothing beyond the fact that such articles 
 were there. 
 
 " You are quite right ; they are barrels/' she said, in an 
 emphatic tone of candor that was not without a touch of 
 irony. 
 
 Stockdale looked at her with an eye of sudden misgiv 
 ing. " Not smugglers' liquor ?" he said. 
 
 " Yes," said she. " They are tubs of spirits that have 
 accidentally come over in the dark from France." 
 
 In Nether-Mynton and its vicinity at this date people 
 always smiled at the sort of sin called in the outside world 
 illicit trading, and these little tubs of gin and brandy were 
 as well known to the inhabitants as turnips. So that 
 Stockdale's innocent ignorance, and his look of alarm 
 when he guessed the sinister mystery, seemed to strike 
 Lizzy first as ludicrous, and then as very awkward for the 
 good impression that she wished to produce upon him. 
 
 " Smuggling is carried on here by some of the people," 
 she said, in a gentle, apologetic voice. " It has been their 
 practice for generations, and they think it no harm. Now, 
 will you roll out one of the tubs ?" 
 
 " What to d.o with it?" said the minister. 
 
 " To draw a little from it to cure your cold," she an- 
 
158 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 swered. "It is so burning strong that it drives away 
 that sort of thing in a jiffy. Oh, it is all right about our 
 taking it. I may have what I like ; the owner of the 
 tubs says so. I ought to have had some in the house, and 
 then I shouldn't ha' been put to this trouble ; but I drink 
 none myself, and so I often forget to keep it in-doors." 
 
 " You are allowed to help yourself, I suppose, that you 
 may not inform where their hiding-place is?" 
 
 "Well, no, not that particularly, but I may take some 
 if I want it. So help yourself." 
 
 "I will, to oblige you, since you have a right to it," 
 murmured the minister; and though he was not quite 
 satisfied with his part in the performance, he rolled one 
 of the tubs out from the corner into the middle of the 
 tower floor. " How do you wish me to get it out with 
 a gimlet, I suppose?" 
 
 "No; I'll show you," said his interesting companion. 
 And she held up with her other hand a shoemaker's awl 
 and a hammer. " You must never do these things with 
 a gimlet, because the wood-dust gets in ; and when the 
 buyers pour out the brandy, that would tell them that the 
 tub had been broached. An awl makes no dust, and the 
 hole nearly closes up again. Now tap one of the hoops 
 forward." 
 
 Stockdale took the hammer and did so. 
 
 "Now make the hole in the part that was covered by 
 the hoop." 
 
 He made the hole as directed. " It won't run out," he 
 said. 
 
 " Oh yes, it will," said she. " Take the tub between 
 your knees and squeeze the heads, and I'll hold the cup." 
 
 Stockdale obeyed ; and the pressure taking effect upon 
 the tub, which seemed to be thin, the spirits spurted out 
 in a stream. When the cup was full he ceased pressing, 
 and the flow immediately stopped. "Now we must fill 
 up the keg with water," said Lizzy, " or it will cluck like 
 forty hens when it is handled, and show that 'tis not full." 
 
 " But they tell you you may take it ?" 
 
THE DISTRACTED PKEACHER. 159 
 
 "Yes, the smugglers; but the buyers must not know 
 that the smugglers have been kind to me at their expense." 
 
 " I see," said Stockdale, doubtfully. " I much question 
 the honesty of this proceeding." 
 
 By her direction he held the tub with the hole upward, 
 and while he went through the process of alternately press 
 ing and ceasing to press she produced a bottle of water, 
 from which she took mouthfuls, then putting her pretty 
 lips to the hole, where it was sucked in at each recovery 
 of the cask from pressure. When it was again full he 
 plugged the hole, knocked the hoop down to its place, 
 and buried the tub in the lumber as before. 
 
 "Aren't the smugglers afraid that you will tell?" he 
 asked as they recrossed the church-yard. 
 
 " Oh no ; they are not afraid of that. I couldn't do 
 such a thing." 
 
 " They have put you into a very awkward corner," said 
 Stockdale, emphatically. "You must, of course, as an 
 honest person, sometimes feel that it is your duty to in 
 form really, you must." 
 
 " Well, I have never particularly felt it as a duty ; and, 
 besides, my first husband She stopped, and there was 
 some confusion in her voice. Stockdale was so honest 
 and unsophisticated that he did not at once discern why 
 she paused ; but at last he did perceive that the words 
 were a slip, and that no woman would have uttered "first 
 husband" by accident unless she had thought pretty fre 
 quently of a second. He felt for her confusion, and al 
 lowed her time to recover and proceed. "My husband," 
 she said, in a self -corrected tone, " used to know of their 
 doings, and so did my father, and kept the secret. I can 
 not inform, in fact, against anybody." 
 
 " I see the hardness of it," he continued, like a man 
 who looked far into the moral of things. "And it is very 
 cruel that you should be tossed and tantalized between 
 your memories and your conscience. I do hope, Mrs. 
 ISTewberry, that you will soon see your way out of this un 
 pleasant position." 
 
160 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 " Well, I don't just now," she murmured. 
 
 By this time they had passed over the wall and entered 
 the house, where she brought him a glass and hot water, 
 and left him to his own reflections. He looked after her 
 vanishing form, asking himself whether he, as a respect 
 able man, and a minister, and a shining light, even though 
 as yet only of the halfpenny-candle sort, were quite justi 
 fied in doing this thing. A sneeze settled the question ; 
 and he found that when the fiery liquor was lowered by 
 the addition of twice or thrice the quantity of water, it 
 was one of the prettiest cures for a cold in the head that 
 he had ever known, particularly at this chilly time of the 
 year. 
 
 Stockdale sat in the deep chair about twenty minutes 
 sipping and meditating, till he at length took warmer 
 views of things, and longed for the morrow, when he 
 would see Mrs. Newberry again. He then felt that, 
 though chronologically at a short distance, it would, in an 
 emotional sense, be very long before to-morrow came, and 
 walked restlessly round the room. His eye was attracted 
 by a framed and glazed sampler in which a running orna 
 ment of fir-trees and peacocks surrounded the following 
 pretty bit of sentiment: 
 
 "Rose-leaves smell when roses thrive, 
 Here's my work while I'm alive; 
 Rose-leaves smell when shrunk and shed, 
 Here's my work when I am dead. 
 
 " Lizzy Simpkins. Fear God. Honor the King. Aged 11 years." 
 
 " 'Tis hers," he said to himself. " Heavens, how I like 
 that name !" 
 
 Before he had done thinking that no other name from 
 Abigail to Zenobia would have suited his young landlady 
 so well, tap-tap came again upon the door; and the min 
 ister started as her face appeared yet another time, look 
 ing so disinterested that the most ingenious would have 
 refrained from asserting that she had come to affect his 
 feelings by her seductive eyes. 
 
THE DISTRACTED PREACHER. 161 
 
 " Would you like a fire in your room, Mr. Stockdale, on 
 account of your cold?" 
 
 The minister, being still a little pricked in the con 
 science for countenancing her in watering the spirits, saw 
 here a way to self-chastisement. " No, I thank you," he 
 said, firmly; "it is not necessary. I have never been used 
 to one in my life, and it would be giving way to luxury 
 too far." 
 
 " Then I won't insist," she said, and disconcerted him 
 by vanishing instantly. 
 
 Wondering if she was vexed by his refusal, he wished 
 that he had chosen to have a fire, even though it should 
 have scorched him out of bed and endangered his self-dis 
 cipline for a dozen days. However, he consoled himself 
 with what was in truth a rare consolation for a budding 
 lover, that he was under the same roof with Lizzy her 
 guest, in fact, to take a poetical view of the term lodger ; 
 and that he would certainly see her on the morrow. 
 
 The morrow came, and Stockdale rose early, his cold 
 quite gone. He had never in his life so longed for the 
 breakfast-hour as he did that day, and punctually at eight 
 o'clock, after a short walk, to reconnoitre the premises, he 
 re-entered the door of his dwelling. Breakfast passed, 
 and Martha Sarah attended, but nobody came voluntarily 
 as on the night before to inquire if there were other 
 wants which he had not mentioned, and which she would 
 attempt to gratify. He was disappointed, and went out, 
 hoping to see her at dinner. Dinner-time came ; he sat 
 down to the meal, finished it, lingered on for a whole 
 hour, although two new teachers were at that moment 
 waiting at the chapel door to speak to him by appoint 
 ment. It was useless to wait longer, and he slowly went 
 his way down the lane, cheered by the thought that, after 
 all, he would see her in the evening, and perhaps engage 
 again in the delightful tub-broaching in the neighboring 
 church tower, which proceeding he resolved to render 
 more moral by steadfastly insisting that no water should 
 be introduced to fill up, though the tub should cluck like 
 11 
 
102 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 all the hens in Christendom. But nothing could disguise 
 the fact that it was a queer business; and his countenance 
 fell when he thought how much more his mind was in 
 terested in that matter than in his serious duties. 
 
 However, compunction vanished with the decline of 
 day. Night came, and his tea and supper; but no Lizzy 
 Newberry, and no sweet temptations. At last the min 
 ister could bear it no longer, and said to his quaint little 
 attendant, " Where is Mrs. Newberry to-day ?" judiciously 
 handing a penny as he spoke. 
 
 "She's busy," said Martha. 
 
 "Anything serious happened?" he asked, handing an 
 other penny, and revealing yet additional pennies in the 
 background. 
 
 "Oh no, nothing at all!" said she, with breathless con 
 fidence. "Nothing ever happens to her. She's only 
 biding lip-stairs in bed, because 'tis her way sometimes." 
 
 Being a young man of some honor, he would not ques 
 tion further, and assuming that Lizzy must have a bad 
 headache, or other slight ailment, in spite of what the 
 girl had said, he went to bed dissatisfied, not even setting 
 eyes on old Mrs. Simpkins. "I said last night that I 
 should see her to-morrow," he reflected ; " but that was 
 not to be." 
 
 Next day he had better fortune, or worse, meeting her 
 at the foot of the stairs in the morning, and being favor 
 ed by a visit or two from her during the day once for 
 the purpose of making kindly inquiries about his com 
 fort, as on the first evening, and at another time to place 
 a bunch of winter-violets on his table, with a promise to 
 renew them when they drooped. On these occasions 
 there was something in her smile which showed how con 
 scious she was of the effect she produced, though it must 
 be said that it was rather a humorous than a designing 
 consciousness, and savored more of pride than of vanity. 
 
 As for Stockdale, he clearly perceived that he possessed 
 unlimited capacity for backsliding, and wished that tute 
 lary saints were not denied to Dissenters, He set a watch 
 
THE DISTRACTED PREACHER. 163 
 
 upon his tongue and eyes for the space of one hour and a 
 half, after which he found it was useless to struggle fur 
 ther, and gave himself up to the situation. " The other 
 minister will be here in a month," he said to himself when 
 sitting over the fire. " Then I shall be off, and she will 
 distract my mind no more! . . . And then, shall I go on 
 living by myself forever? No; when my two years of 
 probation are finished, I shall have a furnished house to 
 live in, with a varnished door and a brass knocker; and 
 I'll march straight back to her, and ask her flat, as soon as 
 the last plate is on the dresser!" 
 
 Thus a titillative fortnight was passed by young Stock- 
 dale, during which time things proceeded much as such 
 matters have done ever since the beginning of history. 
 He saw the object of attachment several times one day ? 
 did not see her at all the next, met her when he least ex 
 pected to do so, missed her when hints and signs as to 
 where she should be at a given hour almost amounted to 
 an appointment. This mild coquetry was perhaps fair 
 enough under the circumstances of their being so closely 
 lodged, and Stockdale put up with it as philosophically as 
 he was able. Being in her own house, she could, after 
 vexing or disappointing him of her presence, easily win 
 him back by suddenly surrounding him with those little 
 attentions which her position as his landlady put it in her 
 power to bestow. When he had waited in-doors half the 
 day to see her, and on finding that she would not be seen, 
 had gone off in a huff to the dreariest and dampest walk 
 he could discover, she would restore equilibrium in the 
 evening with " Mr. Stockdale, I have fancied you must 
 feel draught o' nights from your bedroom window, and so 
 I have been putting up thicker curtains this afternoon 
 while you were out ;" or " I noticed that you sneezed 
 twice again this morning, Mr. Stockdale. Depend upon 
 it, that cold is hanging about you yet; I am sure it is I 
 have thought of it continually ; and you must let me make 
 a posset for you." 
 
 Sometimes in coming home he found his sitting-room 
 
164 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 rearranged, chairs placed where the table had stood, and 
 the table ornamented with the few fresh flowers arid 
 leaves that could be obtained at this season, so as to add a 
 novelty to the room. At times she would be standing in 
 a chair outside the house, trying to nail up a branch of 
 the monthly rose which the winter wind had blown down ; 
 and of course he stepped forward to assist her, when their 
 hands got mixed in passing the shreds and nails. Thus 
 they became friends again after a disagreement. She 
 would utter on these occasions some pretty and depreca 
 tory remark on the necessity of her troubling him anew ; 
 and he would straightway say that he would do a hun 
 dred times as much for her if she should so require. 
 
 II. 
 
 HOW HE SAW TWO OTHER MEN. 
 
 MATTERS being in this advanced state, Stockdale was 
 rather surprised one cloudy evening, while sitting in his 
 room, at hearing her speak in low tones of expostulation 
 to some one at the door. It was nearly dark, but the 
 shutters were not yet closed, nor the candles lighted ; and 
 Stockdale was tempted to stretch his head towards the 
 window. He saw outside the door a young man in clothes 
 of a whitish color, and upon reflection judged their wear 
 er to be the well-built and rather handsome miller who 
 lived below. The miller's voice was alternately low and 
 firm, and sometimes it reached the level of positive en 
 treaty ; but what the words were Stockdale could in no way 
 hear. 
 
 Before the colloquy had ended, the minister's attention 
 was attracted by a second incident. Opposite Lizzy's 
 home grew a clump of laurels, forming a thick and per 
 manent shade. One of the laurel boughs now quivered 
 against the light background of sky, and in a moment the 
 
THE DISTRACTED PREACHER. 165 
 
 head of a man peered out, and remained still. He seemed 
 to be also much interested in the conversation at the door, 
 and was plainly lingering there to watch and listen. Had 
 Stockdale stood in any other relation to Lizzy than that 
 of a lover, he might have gone out and examined into the 
 meaning of this ; but being as yet but an unprivileged ally, 
 he did nothing more than stand up and show himself in 
 the lighted room, whereupon the listener disappeared, and 
 Lizzy and the miller spoke in lower tones. 
 
 Stockdale was made so uneasy by the circumstance that 
 as soon as the miller was gone, he said, " Mrs. Newberry, 
 are you aware that you were watched just now, and your 
 conversation heard?" 
 
 " When F she said 
 
 "When you were talking to that miller. A man was 
 looking from the laurel-tree as jealously as if he could 
 have eaten you." 
 
 She showed more concern than the trifling event seemed 
 to demand t and he added, " Perhaps you were talking of 
 things you did not wish to be overheard ?" 
 
 " I was talking only on business," she said. 
 
 " Lizzy, be frank !" said the young man. " If it was only 
 on business, why should anybody wish to listen to you F 
 
 She looked curiously at him. "What else do you 
 think it could be, then F 
 
 " Well, the only talk between a young woman and man 
 that is likely to amuse an eavesdropper." 
 
 " Ah yes," she said, smiling in spite of her preoccupa 
 tion. " Well, Cousin Owlett has spoken to me about mat 
 rimony, every now and then, that's true ; but he was not 
 speaking of it then. I wish he had been speaking of it, 
 with all my heart. It would have been much less seri 
 ous for me." 
 
 " Oh, Mrs. Newberry !" 
 
 " It would. Not that I should ha' chimed in with him, 
 of course. I wish it for other reasons. I am glad, Mr. 
 Stockdale, that you have told me of that listener. It is a 
 timely warning, and I must see my cousin again." 
 
160 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 " But don't go away till I have spoken," said the min 
 ister. " I'll out with it at once, and make no more ado. 
 Let it be Yes or No between us. Lizzy, please do!" 
 And he held out his hand, in which she freely allowed 
 her own to rest, but without speaking. 
 
 " You mean Yes by that ?" he asked, after waiting a 
 while. 
 
 " You may be my sweetheart, if you will." 
 
 "Why not say at once you will wait for me until I 
 have a house and can come back to marry you ?" 
 
 " Because I am thinking thinking of something else," 
 she said, with embarrassment. " It all comes upon me at 
 once, and I must settle one thing at a time." 
 
 "At any rate, dear Lizzy, you can assure me that the 
 miller shall not be allowed to speak to you except on busi 
 ness? You have never directly encouraged him?" 
 
 She parried the question by saying, " You see, he and 
 his party have been in the habit of leaving things on my 
 premises sometimes, and as I have not denied him, it 
 makes him rather forward." 
 
 " Things what things ?" 
 
 " Tubs they are called things here." 
 
 " But why don't you deny him, my dear Lizzy ?" 
 
 " I cannot well." 
 
 " You are too timid. It is unfair of him to impose so 
 upon you, and get your good name into danger by his 
 smuggling tricks. Promise me that the next time he 
 wants to leave his tubs here you will let me roll them into 
 the street ?" 
 
 She shook her head. "I would not venture to offend 
 the neighbors so much as that," said she, "or do anything 
 that would be so likely to put poor Owlett into the hands 
 of the exciseman." 
 
 Stockdale sighed, and said that he thought hers a mis 
 taken generosity when it extended to assisting those who 
 cheated the King of his dues. "At any rate, you will let 
 me make him keep his distance as your lover, and tell him 
 flatly that you are not for him ?" 
 
THE DISTRACTED PREACHER. 167 
 
 "Please not, at present," she said. "I don't wish to 
 offend my old neighbors. It is not only Owlett who is 
 concerned." 
 
 " This is too bad," said Stockdale, impatiently. 
 
 " On my honor, I won't encourage him as my lover," 
 Lizzy answered, earnestly. "A reasonable man will be 
 satisfied with that." 
 
 "Well, so I am," said Stockdale, his countenance clear- 
 
 Ill. 
 
 THE MYSTERIOUS GREAT-COAT. 
 
 STOCKDALE now began to notice more particularly a 
 feature in the life of his fair landlady which he had 
 casually observed, but scarcely ever thought of before. 
 It was that she was markedly irregular in her hours of 
 rising. For a week or two she would be tolerably punct 
 ual, reaching the ground-floor within a few minutes of 
 half- past seven ; then suddenly she would not be visible 
 till twelve at noon, perhaps for three or four days in suc 
 cession ; and twice he had certain proof that she did not 
 leave her room till half-past three in the afternoon. The 
 second time that this extreme lateness came under his 
 notice was on a day when he had particularly wished to 
 consult with her about his future movements ; and he 
 concluded, as he always had done, that she had a cold, 
 headache, or other ailment, unless she had kept herself 
 invisible to avoid meeting and talking to him, which he 
 could hardly believe. The former supposition was dis 
 proved, however, by her innocently saying, some days 
 later, when they were speaking on a question of health, 
 that she had never had a moment's heaviness, headache, 
 or illness of any kind since the previous January twelve 
 month. 
 
168 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 "I am glad to hear it," said he. "I thought quite 
 otherwise." 
 
 " What, do I look sickly ?" she asked, turning up her 
 face to show the impossibility of his gazing on it and 
 holding such a belief for a moment. 
 
 "Not at all; I merely thought so from your being 
 sometimes obliged to keep your room through the best 
 part of the day." 
 
 " Oh, as for that, it means nothing," she murmured, 
 with a look which some might have called cold, and 
 which was the look that he worst liked to see upon her. 
 " It is pure sleepiness, Mr. Stockdale." 
 
 "Never!" 
 
 " It is, I tell you. When I stay in my room till half- 
 past three in the afternoon, you may always be sure that I 
 slept soundly till three, or I shouldn't have stayed there." 
 
 " It is dreadful," said Stockdale, thinking of the disas 
 trous effects of such indulgence upon the household of a 
 minister, should it become a habit of every-day occur 
 rence. 
 
 "But then," she said, divining his good and prescient 
 thoughts, " it happens only when I stay awake all night. 
 I don't go to sleep till five or six in the morning some 
 times." 
 
 " Ah, that's another matter," said Stockdale. " Sleep 
 lessness to such an alarming extent is real illness. Have 
 you spoken to a doctor ?" 
 
 " Oh no, there is no need for doing that ; it is all natu 
 ral to me." And she went away without further remark. 
 
 Stockdale might have waited a long time to know the 
 real cause of her sleeplessness, had it not happened that 
 one dark night he was sitting in his bedroom jotting down 
 notes for a sermon, which unintentionally occupied him 
 for a considerable time after the other members of the 
 household had retired. He did not get to bed till one 
 o'clock. Before he had fallen asleep he heard a knocking 
 at the door, first rather timidly performed, and then loud 
 er. Nobody answered it, and the person knocked again, 
 
THE DISTRACTED PREACHER. 169 
 
 As the house still remained undisturbed, Stockdale got 
 out of bed, went to his window, which overlooked the 
 door, and opening it, asked who was there. 
 
 A young woman's voice replied that Susan Wallis was 
 there, and that she had come to ask if Mrs. Newberry 
 could give her some mustard to make a plaster with, as 
 her father was taken very ill on the chest. 
 
 The minister, having neither bell nor servant, was com 
 pelled to act in person. "I will call Mrs. Newberry," he 
 said. Partly dressing himself, he went along the passage 
 and tapped at Lizzy's door. She did not answer, and, 
 thinking of her erratic habits in the matter of sleep, he 
 thumped the door persistently, when he discovered, by its 
 moving ajar under his knocking, that it had only been 
 gently pushed to. As there was now a sufficient entry 
 for the voice, he knocked no longer, but said in firm tones, 
 " Mrs. Kewberry, you are wanted." 
 
 The room was quite silent; not a breathing, not a rus 
 tle, came from any part of it. Stockdale now seat a posi 
 tive shout through the open space of the door: "Mrs. 
 Newberry !" still no answer, or movement of any kind 
 within. Then he heard sounds from the opposite room, 
 that of Lizzy's mother, as if she had been aroused by his 
 uproar though Lizzy had not, and was dressing herself 
 hastily. Stockdale softly closed the younger woman's 
 door and went on to the other, which was opened by Mrs. 
 Simpkins before he could reach it. She was in her ordi 
 nary clothes, and had a light in her hand. 
 
 " What's the person calling about ?" she said, in alarm. 
 
 Stockdale told the girl's errand, adding seriously, " I 
 cannot wake Mrs. Newberry." 
 
 " It is no matter," said her mother. " I can let the girl 
 have what she wants as well as my daughter." And she 
 came out of the room and went down-stairs. 
 
 Stockdale retired towards his own apartment, saying, 
 however, to Mrs. Simpkins from the landing, as if on sec 
 ond thoughts, " I suppose there is nothing the matter with 
 Mrs. Newberry, that I could not wake her ?" 
 
170 W ESSEX TALES. 
 
 " Oh no," said the old lady, hastily. " Nothing at all." 
 
 Still the minister was not satisfied. " Will you go in 
 and see?" he said. "I should be much more at ease." 
 
 Mrs. Simpkins returned up the staircase, went to her 
 daughter's room, and came out again almost instantly. 
 " There is nothing at all the matter with Lizzy," she said, 
 and descended again to attend to the applicant, who, hav 
 ing seen the light, had remained quiet during this in 
 terval. 
 
 Stockdale went into his room and lay down as before. 
 He heard Lizzy's mother open the front door, admit the 
 girl, and then the murmured discourse of both as they 
 went to the store-cupboard for the medicament required. 
 The girl departed, the door was fastened, Mrs. Simpkins 
 came up-stairs, and the house was again in silence. Still 
 the minister did not fall asleep. He could riot get rid 
 of a singular suspicion, which was all the more harassing, 
 in being, if true, the most unaccountable thing within his 
 experience. That Lizzy Ne wherry was in her bedroom 
 when he made such a clamor at her door he could not 
 possibly convince himself, notwithstanding that he had 
 heard her come up-stairs at the usual time, go into her 
 chamber, and shut herself up in the usual way. Yet all 
 reason was so much against her being elsewhere that he 
 was constrained to go back again to the unlikely theory 
 of a heavy sleep, though he had heard neither breath nor 
 movement during a shouting and knocking loud enough 
 to rouse the Seven Sleepers. 
 
 Before coming to any positive conclusion he fell asleep 
 himself, and did not awake till day. He saw nothing of 
 Mrs. Newberry in the morning, before he went out to 
 meet the rising sun, as he liked to do when the weather 
 was fine; but as this was by no means unusual, he took 
 no notice of it. At breakfast-time he knew that she was 
 not far off by hearing her in the kitchen, and though he 
 saw nothing of her person, that back apartment being rig 
 orously closed against his eyes, she seemed to be talking, 
 ordering, and bustling about among the pots and skim- 
 
THE DISTRACTED PREACHER. 171 
 
 mers in so ordinary a manner that there was no reason 
 for his wasting more time in fruitless surmise. 
 
 The minister suffered from these distractions, and his 
 extemporized sermons were not improved thereby. Al 
 ready he often said Romans for Corinthians in the pulpit, 
 and gave out hymns in strange cramped metres that hith 
 erto had always been skipped because the congregation 
 could not raise a tune to tit them. He fully resolved that 
 as soon as his few weeks of stay approached their end 
 he would cut the matter short, and commit himself by 
 proposing a definite engagement, repenting at leisure if 
 necessary. 
 
 With this end in view, he suggested to her on the even 
 ing after her mysterious sleep that they should take a 
 walk together just before dark, the latter part of the 
 proposition being introduced that they might return home 
 unseen. She consented to go ; and away they went over 
 a stile, to a shrouded foot-path suited for the occasion. 
 But, iu spite of attempts on both sides, they were un 
 able to infuse much spirit into the ramble. She looked 
 rather paler than usual, and sometimes turned her head 
 away. 
 
 " Lizzy," said Stockdale, reproachfully, when they had 
 walked in silence a long distance. 
 
 " Yes," said she. 
 
 " You yawned much my company is to you !" He 
 put it in that way, but he was really wondering whether 
 her yawn could possibly have more to do with physical 
 weariness from the night before than mental weariness of 
 that present moment. Lizzy apologized, and owned that 
 she was rather tired, which gave him an opening for a, 
 direct question on the point; but his modesty would not 
 allow him to put it to her, and he uncomfortably resolved 
 to wait. 
 
 The month of February passed with alternations of mud 
 and frost, rain and sleet, east winds and north-westerly 
 gales. The hollow places in the ploughed fields showed 
 themselves as pools of water, which had settled there from 
 
172 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 the higher levels, and had not yet found time to soak 
 away. The birds began to get lively, and a single thrush 
 came just before sunset each evening, and sang hopefully 
 on the large elm-tree which stood nearest to Mrs. New- 
 berry's house. Cold blasts and brittle earth had given 
 place to an oozing dampness more unpleasant in itself 
 than frost ; but it suggested coming spring, and its un 
 pleasantness was of a bearable kind. 
 
 Stockdale had been going to bring about a practical un 
 derstanding with Lizzy at least half a dozen times ; but 
 what with the mystery of her apparent absence on the 
 night of the neighbor's call, and her curious way of lying 
 in bed at unaccountable times, he felt a check within him 
 whenever he wanted to speak out. Thus they still lived 
 on as indefinitely affianced lovers, each of whom hardly 
 acknowledged the other's claim to the name of chosen 
 one. Stockdale persuaded himself that his hesitation was 
 owing to the postponement of the ordained minister's ar 
 rival, and the consequent delay in his own departure, 
 which did away with all necessity for haste in his court 
 ship ; but perhaps it was only that his discretion was re 
 asserting itself, and telling him that he had better get 
 clearer ideas of Lizzy before arranging for the grand con 
 tract of his life with her. She, on her part, always seemed 
 ready to be urged further on that question than he had 
 hitherto attempted to go ; but she was none the less inde 
 pendent, and to a degree which would have kept from 
 flagging the passion of a far more mutable man. 
 
 On the evening of the first of March he went casually 
 into his bedroom about dusk, and noticed lying on a chair 
 a great-coat, hat, and breeches. Having no recollection of 
 leaving any clothes of his own in that spot, he went and 
 examined them as well as he could in the twilight, and 
 found that they did not belong to him. He paused for a 
 moment to consider how they might have got there. He 
 was the only man living in the house ; and yet these were 
 not his garments, unless he had made a mistake. No, 
 they were not his. He called up Martha Sarah. 
 
THE DISTRACTED PREACHER. 173 
 
 " How did these things come in my room ?" he said, 
 flinging the objectionable articles to the floor. 
 
 Martha said that Mrs. Newberry had given them to her 
 to brush, and that she had brought them up there think 
 ing they must be Mr. Stockdale's, as there was no other 
 gentleman a-lodging there. 
 
 " Of course you did," said Stockdale. " No\v take them 
 down to your mis'ess, and say they are some clothes I 
 have found here and know nothing about." 
 
 As the door was left open he heard the conversation 
 down-stairs. " How stupid !" said Mrs. Newberry, in a 
 tone of confusion. " Why, Marther Barer, I did not tell 
 you to take 'em to Mr. Stockdale's room !" 
 
 " I thought they must be his as they was so muddy," 
 said Martha, humbly. 
 
 "You should have left 'em on the clothes-horse," said 
 the young mistress, severely ; and she came up-stairs with 
 the garments on her arm, quickly passed Stockdale's room, 
 and threw them forcibly into a closet at the end of a 
 passage. With this the incident ended, and the house 
 was silent again. 
 
 There would have been nothing remarkable in finding 
 such clothes in a widow's house had they been clean, or 
 moth-eaten, or creased, or mouldy from long lying by ; 
 but that they should be splashed with recent mud both 
 ered Stockdale a good deal. When a young pastor is in 
 the aspen stage of attachment, and open to agitation at 
 the merest trifles, a really substantial incongruity of this 
 complexion is a disturbing thing. However, nothing fur 
 ther occurred at that time ; but he became watchful and 
 given to conjecture, and was unable to forget the circum 
 stance. 
 
 One morning, on looking from his window, he saw Mrs. 
 Newberry herself brushing the tails of a long drab great 
 coat, which, if he mistook not, was the very same garment 
 as the one that had adorned the chair of his room. It 
 was densely splashed up to the hollow of the back with 
 neighboring Nether-Mynton mud, to judge by its color, 
 
174 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 the spots being distinctly visible to him in the sunlight. 
 The previous day or two having been wet, the inference 
 was irresistible that the wearer had quite recently been 
 walking some considerable distance about the lanes and 
 fields. Stockdale opened the window and looked out, and 
 Mrs. Newberry turned her head. Her face became slowly 
 red ; she never had looked prettier, or more incompre 
 hensible. He waved his hand affectionately, and said 
 good-morning; she answered with embarrassment, having 
 ceased her occupation on the instant that she saw him, 
 and rolled up the coat half cleaned. 
 
 Stockdale shut the window. Some simple explanation 
 of her proceeding was doubtless within the bounds of pos 
 sibility ; but he himself could not think of one ; and he 
 wished that she had placed the matter beyond conjecture 
 by voluntarily saying something about it there and then. 
 
 But, though Lizzy had not offered an explanation at the 
 moment, the subject was brought forward by her at the 
 next time of their meeting. She was chatting to him con 
 cerning some other event, and remarked that it happened 
 about the time when she was dusting some old clothes that 
 had belonged to her poor husband. 
 
 " You keep them clean out of respect to his memory 3" 
 said Stockdale, tentatively. 
 
 "I air and dust them sometimes," she said, with the 
 most charming innocence in the world. 
 
 " Do dead men come out of their graves and walk in 
 mud?" murmured the minister, in a cold sweat at the de 
 ception that she was practising. 
 
 " What did you say ?" asked Lizzy. 
 
 " Nothing, nothing," said he, mournfully. " Mere words 
 a phrase that will do for my sermon next Sunday." It 
 was too plain that Lizzy was unaware that he had seen 
 actual pedestrian splashes upon the skirts of the telltale 
 overcoat, and that she imagined him to believe it had 
 come direct from some chest or drawer. 
 
 The aspect of the case was now considerably darker. 
 Stockdale was so much depressed by it that he did not 
 
THE DISTRACTED PREACHER. 175 
 
 challenge her explanation, or threaten to go off as a mis 
 sionary to benighted islanders, or reproach her in any way 
 whatever. He simply parted from her when she had done 
 talking, and lived on in perplexity, till by degrees his nat 
 ural manner became sad and constrained. 
 
 IV. 
 
 AT THE TIME OF THE NEW MOON. 
 
 THE following Thursday was changeable, damp, and 
 gloomy, and the night threatened to be windy and un 
 pleasant. Stockdale had gone away to Knollsea in the 
 morning, to be present at some commemoration service 
 there, and on his return he was met by the attractive 
 Lizzy in the passage. Whether influenced by the tide of 
 cheerfulness which had attended him that day, or by the 
 drive through the open air, or whether from a natural dis 
 position to let by-gones alone, he allowed himself to be 
 fascinated into forgetfulness of the great -coat incident, 
 and, upon the whole, passed a pleasant evening; not so 
 much in her society as within sound of her voice, as she 
 sat talking in the back parlor to her mother, till the latter 
 went to bed. Shortly after this Mrs. Newberry retired, 
 and then Stockdale prepared to go up-stairs himself. But 
 before he left the room he remained standing by the dy 
 ing embers a while, thinking long of one thing and an 
 other, and was only aroused by the flickering of his candle 
 in the socket as it suddenly declined and went out. Know 
 ing that there were a tinder-box, matches, and another 
 candle in his bedroom, he felt his way up-stairs without a 
 light. On reaching his chamber he laid his hand on every 
 possible ledge and corner for the tinder-box, but for a long 
 time in vain. Discovering it at length, Stockdale pro 
 duced a spark, and was kindling the brimstone, when he 
 fancied that he heard a movement in the passage. He 
 blew harder at the lint, the match flared up, and looking 
 
176 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 by aid of the blue light through the door, which had been 
 standing open all this time, he was surprised to see a male 
 figure vanishing round the top of the staircase with the 
 evident intention of escaping unobserved. The person 
 age wore the clothes which Lizzy had been brushing, and 
 something in the outline and gait suggested to the minis 
 ter that the wearer was Lizzy herself. 
 
 But he was not sure of this ; and, greatly excited, Stock- 
 dale determined to investigate the mystery, and to adopt 
 his own way for doing it. He blew out the match with 
 out lighting the candle, went into the passage, and pro 
 ceeded on tiptoe towards Lizzy's room. A faint gray 
 square of light in the direction of the chamber window as 
 he approached told him that the door was open, and at 
 once suggested that the occupant was gone. He turned 
 and brought down his fist upon the hand-rail of the stair 
 case : " It was she, in her late husband's coat and hat !" 
 
 Somewhat relieved to find that there was no intruder 
 in the case, yet none the less surprised, the minister crept 
 down the stairs, softly put on his boots, overcoat, and hat, 
 and tried the front door. It was fastened as usual; he 
 went to the back door, found this unlocked, and emerged 
 into the garden. The night was mild and moonless, and 
 rain had lately been falling, though for the present it had 
 ceased. There was a sudden dropping from the trees and 
 bushes every now and then, as each passing wind shook 
 their boughs. Among these sounds Stockdale heard the 
 faint fall of feet upon the road outside, and he guessed 
 from the step that it was Lizzy's. He followed the sound, 
 and, helped by the circumstance of the wind blowing from 
 the direction in which the pedestrian moved, he got nearly 
 close to her, and kept there, without risk of being over 
 heard. While he thus followed her up the street or lane, 
 as it might indifferently be called, there being more hedge 
 than houses on either side, a figure came forward to her 
 from one of the cottage doors. Lizzy stopped ; the min 
 ister stepped upon the grass and stopped also. 
 
 " Is that Mrs, Kewberry ?" said the man who had come 
 
THE DISTRACTED PREACHER. 177 
 
 out, whose voice Stockdale recognized as that of one of 
 the most devout members of his congregation. 
 
 " It is," said Lizzy. 
 
 "I be quite ready I've been here this quarter-hour." 
 
 "Ah, John," said she, "I have bad news; there is dan 
 ger to-night for our venture." 
 
 "And d'ye tell o't! I dreamed there might be." 
 
 " Yes," she said, hurriedly ; " and you must go at once 
 round to where the chaps are waiting, and tell them they 
 will not be wanted till to-morrow night at the same time. 
 I go to burn the lugger off." 
 
 "I will," he said, and instantly went off through a gate, 
 Lizzy continuing her way. 
 
 On she tripped at a quickening pace till the lane turned 
 into the turnpike-road, which she crossed, and got into the 
 track for Rings worth. Here she ascended the hill with 
 out the least hesitation, passed the lonely hamlet of Hoi- 
 worth, and went down the vale on the other side. Stock- 
 dale had never taken any extensive walks in this direction, 
 but he was aware that if she persisted in her course much 
 longer she would draw near to the coast, which was here 
 between two and three miles distant from Kether-Mynton; 
 and as it had been about a quarter-past eleven o'clock 
 when they set out, her intention seemed to be to reach 
 the shore about midnight. 
 
 Lizzy soon ascended a small mound, which Stockdale at 
 the same time adroitly skirted on the left; and a dull 
 monotonous roar burst upon his ear. The hillock was 
 about fifty yards from the top of the cliffs, and by day it 
 apparently commanded a full view of the bay. There 
 was light enough in the sky to show her disguised figure 
 against it when she reached the top, where she paused, and 
 afterwards sat down. Stockdale, not wishing on any ac 
 count to alarm her at this moment, yet desirous of being 
 near her, sank upon his hands and knees, crept a little 
 higher up, and there stayed still. 
 
 The wind was chilly, the ground damp, and his position 
 one in which he did not care to remain long. However, 
 
178 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 before he had decided to leave it, the young man heard 
 voices behind him. What they signified he did not know; 
 but, fearing that Lizzy was in danger, he was about to run 
 forward and warn her that she might be seen, when she 
 crept to the shelter of a little bush which maintained a 
 precarious existence in that exposed spot ; and her form 
 was absorbed in its dark and stunted outline as if she had 
 become part of it. She had evidently heard the men as 
 well as he. They passed near him, talking in loud and 
 careless tones, which could be heard above the uninter 
 rupted washings of the sea, and which suggested that they 
 were not engaged in any business at their own risk. This 
 proved to be the fact ; some of their words floated across 
 to him, and caused him to forget at once the coldness of 
 his situation. 
 
 " What's the vessel ?" 
 
 " A lugger, about fifty tons." 
 
 " From Cherbourg, I suppose ?" 
 
 "Yes, a b'lieve." 
 
 "But it don't all belong to Owlett?" 
 
 " Oh no. He's only got a share. There's another or 
 two in it a farmer and such-like, but the names I don't 
 know." 
 
 The voices died away, and the heads and shoulders of 
 the men diminished towards the cliff, and dropped out of 
 sight. 
 
 "My darling has been tempted to buy a share by that 
 unbeliever Owlett," groaned the minister, his honest af 
 fection for Lizzy having quickened to its intensest point 
 during these moments of risk to her person and name. 
 " That's why she's here," he said to himself. " Oh, it will 
 be the ruin of her." 
 
 His perturbation was interrupted by the sudden burst 
 ing out of a bright and increasing light from the spot 
 where Lizzy was in hiding. A few seconds later, and be 
 fore it had reached the height of a blaze, he heard her 
 rush past him down the hollow like a stone from a sling, 
 in the direction of home, The light now flared high and 
 
THE DISTRACTED PREACHER. 179 
 
 wide, and showed its position clearly. She had kindled a 
 bough of furze and stuck it into the bush under which 
 she had been crouching; the wind fanned the flame, which 
 crackled fiercely, and threatened to consume the bush as 
 well as the bough. Stockdale paused just long enough to 
 notice thus much, and then followed rapidly the route 
 taken by the young woman. His intention was to over 
 take her, and reveal himself as a friend ; but run as he 
 would he could see nothing of her. Thus he flew across 
 the open country about Hoi worth, twisting his legs and 
 ankles in unexpected fissures and descents, till, on coming 
 to the gate between the downs and the road, he was forced 
 to pause to get breath. There was no audible movement 
 either in front or behind him, and he now concluded that 
 she had not outrun him, but that, hearing him at her heels, 
 and believing him one of the excise party, she had hidden 
 herself somewhere on the way, and let him pass by. 
 
 He went on at a more leisurely pace towards the village. 
 On reaching the house he found his surmise to be correct, 
 for the gate was on the latch, and the door unfastened, 
 just as he had left them. Stockdale closed the door be 
 hind him, and waited silently in the passage. In about 
 ten minutes he heard the same light footstep that he had 
 heard in going out ; it paused at the gate, which opened 
 and shut softly, and then the door-latch was lifted, and 
 Lizzy came in. 
 
 Stockdale went forward and said at once, " Lizzy, don't 
 be frightened. I have been waiting up for you." 
 
 She started, though she had recognized the voice. "It 
 is Mr. Stockdale, isn't it?" she said. 
 
 "Yes," he answered, becoming angry now that she was 
 safe in-doors, and not alarmed. "And a nice game I've 
 found you out in to-night. You are in man's clothes, and 
 I am ashamed of you !" 
 
 Lizzy could hardly find a voice to answer this unex 
 pected reproach. 
 
 "I am only partly in man's clothes," she faltered, 
 shrinking back to the wall. " It is only his great-coat and 
 
180 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 hat and breeches that I've got on, which is no harm, as he 
 was my own husband ; and I do it only because a cloak 
 blows about so, and you can't use your arms. I have got 
 my own dress under just the same it is only tucked in. 
 Will you go away up-stairs and let me pass? I didn't 
 want you to see me at such a time as this." 
 
 " But I have a right to see you. How do you think 
 there can be anything between us now?" Lizzy was si 
 lent. " You are a smuggler," he continued, sadly. 
 
 "I have only a share in the run," she said. 
 
 " That makes no difference. Whatever did you engage 
 in such a trade as that for, and keep it such a secret from 
 me all this time ?" 
 
 "I don't do it always. I do it only in winter -time 
 when 'tis new moon." 
 
 " Well, I suppose that's because it can't be done any- 
 wheu else. You have regularly upset me, Lizzy." 
 
 " I am sorry for that," Lizzy meekly replied. 
 
 "Well now," said he, more tenderly, " no harm is done 
 as yet. Won't you for the sake of me give up this blam- 
 able and dangerous practice altogether?" 
 
 " I must do my best to save this run," said she, getting 
 rather husky in the throat. "I don't want to give you 
 up you know that ; but I don't want to lose my venture. 
 I don't know what to do now! Why I have kept it so 
 secret from you is that I was afraid you would be angry 
 if you knew." 
 
 "I should think so. I suppose if I had married you 
 without finding this out you'd have gone on with it just 
 the same ?" 
 
 " I don't know. I did not think so far ahead. I only 
 went to-riight to burn the folks off, because we found that 
 the excisemen knew where the tubs were to be landed." 
 
 "It is a pretty mess to be in altogether, is this," said 
 the distracted young minister. " Well, what will you do 
 now ?" 
 
 Lizzy slowly murmured the particulars of their plan, 
 the chief of which were that they meant to try their luck 
 
THE DISTRACTED PREACHER. 181 
 
 at some other point of the shore the next night; that 
 three landing-places were always agreed upon before the 
 run was attempted, with the understanding that, if the 
 vessel was burned off from the first point, which was 
 Ringsworth, as it had been by her to-night, the crew 
 should attempt to make the second, which was Lullstead, 
 on the second night ; and if there, too, danger threatened, 
 they should on the third night try the third place, which 
 was behind a headland farther west. 
 
 " Suppose the officers hinder them landing there too ?" 
 he said, his attention to this interesting programme dis 
 placing for a moment his concern at her share in it. 
 
 " Then we shaVt try anywhere else all this dark that's 
 what we call the time between moon and moon and per 
 haps they'll string the tubs to a stray-line, and sink 'em a 
 little ways from shore, and take the bearings; and then 
 when they have a chance they'll go to creep for 'em." 
 
 "What's that?" 
 
 " Oh, they'll go out in a boat and drag a creeper that's 
 a grapnel along the bottom till it catch hold of the stray- 
 line." 
 
 The minister stood thinking; and there was no sound 
 within-doors but the tick of the clock on the stairs, and 
 the quick breathing of Lizzy, partly from her walk and 
 partly from agitation, as she stood close to the wall, not 
 in such complete darkness but that he could discern against 
 its whitewashed surface the great-coat and broad hat which 
 covered her. 
 
 " Lizzy, all this is very wrong," he said. " Don't you 
 remember the lesson of the tribute-money ' Render unto 
 Caesar the things that are Caesar's?' Surely you have 
 heard that read times enough in your growing up ?" 
 
 " He's dead," she pouted. 
 
 " But the spirit of the text is in force just the same." 
 
 " My father did it, and so did my grandfather, and al 
 most everybody in Nether-Mynton lives by it; and life 
 would be so dull if it wasn't for that, that I should not 
 care to live at all." 
 
182 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 " I am nothing to live for, of course," he replied, bit 
 terly. "You would not think it worth while to give up 
 this wild business and live for me alone?" 
 
 " I have never looked at it like that." 
 
 " And you won't promise, and wait till I am ready ?" 
 
 "I cannot give you my word to-night." And, looking 
 thoughtfully down, she gradually moved and moved away, 
 going into the adjoining room, and closing the door be 
 tween them. She remained there in the dark till he was 
 tired of waiting, and had gone up to his own chamber. 
 
 Poor Stockdale was dreadfully depressed all the next 
 day by the discoveries of the night before. Lizzy was 
 unmistakably a fascinating young woman, but as a minis 
 ter's wife she was hardly to be contemplated. " If I had 
 only stuck to father's little grocery business, instead of 
 going in for the ministry, she would have suited me beau 
 tifully!" he said, sadly, until he remembered that in that 
 case he would never have come from his distant home to 
 Nether-Mynton, and never have known her. 
 
 The estrangement between them was not complete, but 
 it was sufficient to keep them out of each other's compa 
 ny. Once during the day he met her in the garden path, 
 and said, turning a reproachful eye upon her, " Do you 
 promise, Lizzy ?" But she did not reply. The evening 
 drew on, and he knew well enough that Lizzy would re 
 peat her excursion at night her half-offended manner 
 had shown that she had not the slightest intention of al 
 tering her plans at present. He did not wish to repeat 
 his own share of the adventure ; but, act as he would, his 
 uneasiness on her account increased with the decline of 
 day. Supposing that an accident should befall her, he 
 would never forgive himself for not being there to help, 
 much as he disliked the idea of seeming to countenance 
 such unlawful escapades/ 
 
THE DISTRACTED PREACHER. 183 
 
 V. 
 
 HOW THEY WENT TO LULLSTEAD AND BACK. 
 
 As he had expected, she left the house at the same hour 
 at night, this time passing his door without stealth, as if 
 she knew very well that he would be watching, and were 
 resolved to brave his displeasure. He was quite ready, 
 opened the door quickly, and reached the back door almost 
 as soon as she. 
 
 " Then you will go, Lizzy ?" he said, as he stood on the 
 step beside her, who now again appeared as a little man 
 with a face altogether unsuited to his clothes. 
 
 " I must," she said, repressed by his stern manner. 
 
 " Then I shall go too," said he. 
 
 "And I am sure you will enjoy it!" she exclaimed, in 
 more buoyant tones, " Everybody does who tries it." 
 
 "God forbid that I should," he said. "But I must 
 look after you." 
 
 They opened the wicket and went up the road abreast 
 of each other, but at some distance apart, scarcely a word 
 passing between them. The evening was rather less fa 
 vorable to smuggling enterprise than the last had been, 
 the wind being lower, and the sky somewhat clear towards 
 the north. 
 
 " It is rather lighter," said Stockdale. 
 
 " 'Tis, unfortunately," said she. " But it is only from 
 those few stars over there. The moon was new to-day at 
 four o'clock, and I expected clouds. I hope we shall be 
 able to do it this dark, for when we have to sink 'em for 
 long it makes the stuff taste bleachy, and folks don't like 
 it so well." 
 
 Her course was different from that of the preceding 
 night, branching off to the left over Lord's Barrow as 
 soon as they had got out of the lane and crossed the 
 
184 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 highway. By the time they reached Chaldon Down, 
 Stockdale, who had been in perplexed thought as to what 
 he should say to her, decided that he would not attempt 
 expostulation now, while she was excited by the advent 
 ure, but wait till it was over, and endeavor to keep her 
 from such practices in future. It occurred to him once 
 or twice, as they rambled on, that should they be sur 
 prised by the excisemen, his situation would be more awk 
 ward than hers, for it would be difficult to prove his true 
 motive in coming to the spot ; but the risk was a slight 
 consideration beside his wish to be with her. 
 
 They now arrived at a ravine which lay on the outskirts 
 of Chaldon, a village two miles on their way towards the 
 point of the shore they sought. Lizzy broke the silence 
 this time : " I have to wait here to meet the carriers. I 
 don't know if they have come yet. As I told you, we 
 go to Lullstead to-night, and it is two miles farther than 
 Ringsworth." 
 
 It turned out that the men had already come ; for while 
 she spoke two or three dozen heads broke the line of the 
 slope, and a company of men at once descended from the 
 bushes where they had been lying in wait. These carriers 
 were men whom Lizzy and other proprietors regularly 
 employed to bring the tubs from the boat to a hiding- 
 place inland. They were all young fellows of Nether- 
 Mynton, Chaldon, and the neighborhood, quiet and inof 
 fensive persons, who simply engaged to carry the cargo 
 for Lizzy and her cousin Owlett, as they would have en 
 gaged in any other labor for which they were fairly well 
 paid. 
 
 At a word from her, they closed in together. "You 
 had better take it now," she said to them, and handed to 
 each a packet. It contained six shillings, their remunera 
 tion for the night's undertaking, which was paid before 
 hand without reference to success or failure ; but, besides 
 this, they had the privilege of selling as agents when the 
 run was successfully made. As soon as it was done, she 
 said to them, " The place is the old one at Lullstead ;" 
 
THE DISTRACTED PREACHER. 185 
 
 the men till that moment not having been told whither 
 they were bound, for obvious reasons. " Owlett will meet 
 you there," added Lizzy. " I shall follow behind, to see 
 that we are not watched." 
 
 The carriers went on, and Stockdale and Mrs. Newberry 
 followed at the distance of a stone's-throw. " What do 
 these men do by day ?" he said. 
 
 "Twelve or fourteen of them are laboring men. Some 
 are brickmakers, some carpenters, some masons, some 
 thatchers. They are all known to me very well. Nine 
 of 'em are of your own congregation." 
 
 "I can't help that," said Stockdale. 
 
 " Oh, I know you can't. I only told you. The others 
 are more church-inclined, because they supply the pa'son 
 with all the spirits he requires, and they don't wish to 
 show unfriendliness to a customer." 
 
 "How do you choose them?" said Stockdale. 
 
 " We choose 'em for their closeness, and because they 
 are strong and sure-footed, and able to carry a heavy load 
 a long way without being tired." 
 
 Stockdale sighed as she enumerated each particular, for 
 it proved how far involved in the business a woman must 
 be who was so well acquainted with its conditions and 
 needs. And yet he felt more tenderly towards her at 
 this moment than he had felt all the foregoing day. 
 Perhaps it was that her experienced manner and bold 
 indifference stirred his admiration in spite of himself. 
 
 " Take my arm, Lizzy," he murmured. 
 
 "I don't want it," she said. "Besides, we may never 
 be to each other again what we once have been." 
 
 " That depends upon you," said he, and they went on 
 again as before. 
 
 The hired carriers paced along over Chaldon Down 
 with as little hesitation as if it had been day, avoiding 
 the cart-way, and leaving the village of East Chaldon on 
 the left, so as to reach the crest of the hill at a lonely, 
 trackless place not far from the ancient earthwork called 
 Konnd Pound. An hour's brisk walking brought them 
 
186 \VESSEX TALES. 
 
 within sound of the sea, not many hundred yards from 
 Lullstead Cove. Here they paused, and Lizzy and Stock- 
 dale came up with them, when they went on together to 
 the verge of the cliff. One of the men now produced an 
 iron bar, which he drove firmly into the soil a yard from 
 the edge, and attached to it a rope that he had uncoiled 
 from his body. They all began to descend, partly step 
 ping, partly sliding down the incline, as the rope slipped 
 through their hands. 
 
 "You will not go to the bottom, Lizzy ?" said Stockdale, 
 anxiously. 
 
 "No; I stay here to watch," she said. "Owlett is 
 down there." 
 
 The men remained quite silent when they reached the 
 shore ; and the next thing audible to the two at the top 
 was the dip of heavy oars, and the dashing of waves 
 against a boat's bow. In a moment the keel gently 
 touched the shingle, and Stockdale heard the footsteps of 
 the thirty-six carriers running forward over the pebbles 
 towards the point of landing. 
 
 There was a sousing in the water as of a brood of ducks 
 plunging in, showing that the men had not been particu 
 lar about keeping their legs, or even their waists, dry from 
 the brine; but it was impossible to see what they were 
 doing, and in a few minutes the shingle was trampled 
 again. The iron bar sustaining the rope, on which Stock- 
 dale's hand rested, began to swerve a little, and the carri 
 ers one by one appeared climbing up the sloping cliff, 
 dripping audibly as they came, and sustaining themselves 
 by the guide-rope. Each man on reaching the top was 
 seen to be carrying a pair of tubs, one on his back and 
 one on his chest, the two being slung together by cords 
 passing round the chine hoops, and resting on the carrier's 
 shoulders. Some of the stronger men carried three by 
 putting an extra one on the top behind, but the customary 
 load was a pair, these being quite weighty enough to give 
 their bearer the sensation of having chest and backbone 
 in contact after a walk of four or five miles. 
 
THE DISTRACTED lKEACttEtt. 1ST 
 
 " Where is Owlett?" said Lizzy to one of them. 
 
 "He will not come up this way," said the carrier. 
 " He's to bide on shore till we be safe off." Then, with 
 out waiting for the rest, the foremost men plunged across 
 the down ; and when the last had ascended, Lizzy pulled 
 up the rope, wound it round her arm, wriggled the bar 
 from the sod, and turned to follow the carriers. 
 
 " You are very anxious about Owlett's safety," said the 
 minister. 
 
 " Was there ever such a man !" said Lizzy. " Why, 
 isn't he my cousin ?" 
 
 " Yes. Well, it is a bad night's work," said Stockdale, 
 heavily. " But I'll carry the bar and rope for you." 
 
 " Thank God, the tubs have got so far all right," said 
 she. 
 
 Stockdale shook his head, and taking the bar, walked 
 by her side towards the down, and the moan of the sea 
 was heard no more. 
 
 " Is this what you meant the other day when you spoke 
 of having business with Owlett?" the young man asked. 
 
 " This is it," she replied. " I never see him on any 
 other matter." 
 
 " A partnership of that kind with a young man is very 
 odd." 
 
 " It was begun by my father and his, who were brother- 
 laws." 
 
 Her companion could riot blind himself to the fact that 
 where tastes and pursuits were so akin as Lizzy's and 
 Owlett's, and where risks were shared, as with them, in 
 every undertaking, there would be a peculiar appropriate 
 ness in her answering Owlett's standing question on mat 
 rimony in the affirmative. This did not soothe Stockdale.. 
 its tendency being rather to stimulate in him an effort to. 
 make the pair as inappropriate as possible, and win her 
 away from this nocturnal crew to correctness of conduct 
 and a minister's parlor in some far-removed inland county. 
 
 They had been walking near enough to the file of car 
 riers for Stockdale to perceive that, when they got into 
 
188 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 the road to the village, they split up into two companies 
 of unequal size, each of which made off in a direction of 
 its own. One company, the smaller of the two, went 
 towards the church, and by the time that Lizzy and Stock- 
 dale reached their own house these men had scaled the 
 church-yard wall, and were proceeding noiselessly over 
 the grass within. 
 
 "I see that Owlett has arranged for one batch to be 
 put in the church again," observed Lizzy. "Do you re 
 member my taking you there the first night you came ?" 
 
 " Yes, of course," said Stockdale. " No wonder you 
 had permission to broach the tubs they were his, I sup 
 pose?" 
 
 " No, they were not they were mine ; I had permis 
 sion from myself. The day after that they went several 
 miles inland in a wagon-load of manure, and sold very 
 well." 
 
 At this moment the group of men who had made off to 
 the left some time before began leaping one by one from 
 the hedge opposite Lizzy's house, and the first man, who 
 had no tubs upon his shoulders, came forward. 
 
 "Mrs. Newberry, isn't it?" he said, hastily. 
 
 " Yes, Jim," said she. " What's the matter ?" 
 
 "I find that we can't put any in Badger's Clump to 
 night, Lizzy," said Owlett. " The place is watched. We 
 must sling the apple-tree in the orchet if there's time. 
 We can't put any more under the church lumber than I 
 have sent on there, and my mixen hev already more in 
 en than is safe." 
 
 "Very well," she said. " Be quick about it that's all. 
 What can I do?" 
 
 " Nothing at all, please. Ah, it is the minister ! you 
 two that can't do anything had better get in-doors and not 
 be seed." 
 
 While Owlett thus conversed, in a tone so full of con 
 traband anxiety and so free from lover's jealousy, the 
 men who followed him had been descending one by one 
 from the hedge; and it unfortunately happened that 
 
THE DISTKACTED PREACHER. 189 
 
 when the hindmost took his leap, the cord which sustained 
 his tubs slipped ; the result was that both the kegs fell 
 into the road, one of them being stove in by the blow. 
 
 " 'Od drown it all !" said Owlett, rushing back. 
 
 " It is worth a good deal, I suppose ?" said Stockdale. 
 
 " Oh no about two guineas and half to us now," said 
 Lizzy, excitedly. " It isn't that it is the smell ! It is so 
 blazing strong before it has been lowered by water that 
 it smells dreadfully when spilled in the road like that ! 
 I do hope Latimer won't pass by till it is gone off." 
 
 Owlett and one or two others picked up the burst tub 
 and began to scrape and trample over the spot, to dis 
 perse the liquor as much as possible; and then they all 
 entered the gate of Owlett's orchard, which adjoined 
 Lizzy's garden on the right. Stockdale did not care to 
 follow them, for several on recognizing him had looked 
 wonderingly at his presence, though they said nothing. 
 Lizzy left his side and went to the bottom of the garden, 
 looking over the hedge into the orchard, where the men 
 could be dimly seen bustling about, and apparently hid 
 ing the tubs. All was done noiselessly, and without a 
 light ; and when it was over they dispersed in different 
 directions, those who had taken their cargoes to the 
 church having already gone off to their homes. 
 
 Lizzy returned to the garden gate, over which Stock- 
 dale was still abstractedly leaning. " It is all finished ; 
 I am going in-doors now," she said, gently. " I will leave 
 the door ajar for you." 
 
 " Oh no, you needn't," said Stockdale ; " I am coming 
 too." 
 
 But before either of them had moved, the faint clatter 
 of horses' hoofs broke upon the ear, and it seemed to 
 come from the point where the track across the down 
 joined the hard road. 
 
 " They are just too late !" cried Lizzy, exultingly. 
 
 " Who ?" said Stockdale. 
 
 "Latimer, the riding-officer, and some assistant of his. 
 We had better go in-doors." 
 
190 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 They entered the house, and Lizzy bolted the door. 
 "Please don't get a light, Mr. Stockdale," she said. 
 
 " Of course I will not," said he. 
 
 " I thought you might be on the side of the King," said 
 Lizzy, with faintest sarcasm. 
 
 " I am," said Stockdale. " But, Lizzy Newberry, I love 
 you, and you know it perfectly well ; and you ought to 
 know, if you do not, what I have suffered in my con 
 science on your account these last few days !" 
 
 " I guess very well," she said, hurriedly. " Yet I don't 
 see why. Ah, you are better than I !" 
 
 The trotting of the horses seemed to have again died 
 away, and the pair of listeners touched each other's fingers 
 in the cold "good -night" of those whom something 
 seriously divided. They were on the landing, but before 
 they had taken three steps apart the tramp of the horse 
 men suddenly revived, almost close to the house. Lizzy 
 turned to the staircase window, opened the casement 
 about an inch, and put her face close to the aperture. 
 " Yes, one of 'em is Latimer," she whispered. "He al 
 ways rides a white horse. One would think it was the 
 last color for a man in that line." 
 
 Stockdale looked, and saw the white shape of the ani 
 mal as it passed by ; but before the riders had gone an 
 other ten yards Latimer reined in his horse, and said 
 something to his companion which neither Stockdale nor 
 Lizzy could hear. Its drift was, however, soon made evi 
 dent, for the other man stopped also; and sharply turn 
 ing the horses' heads they cautiously retraced their steps. 
 When they were again opposite Mrs. dewberry's garden, 
 Latimer dismounted, and the man on the dark horse did 
 the same. 
 
 Lizzy and Stockdale, intently listening and observing 
 the proceedings, naturally put their heads as close as pos 
 sible to the slit formed by the slightly opened casement; 
 and thus it occurred that at last their cheeks came posi 
 tively into contact. They went on listening, as if they 
 did not know of the singular circumstance which had 
 
THE DISTRACTED PREACHER. 191 
 
 happened to their faces, and the pressure of eacli to each 
 rather increased than lessened with the lapse of time. 
 
 They could hear the excisemen sniffing the air like 
 hounds as they paced slowly along. When they reached 
 the spot where the tub had burst, both stopped on the in 
 stant. 
 
 " Ay, ay, 'tis quite strong here," said the second officer. 
 "Shall we knock at the door?" 
 
 "Well, no," said Latimer. "Maybe this is only a trick 
 to put us off the scent. They wouldn't kick up this stink 
 anywhere near their hiding-place. I have known such 
 things before." 
 
 "Anyhow, the things, or some of 'em, must have been 
 brought this way," said the other. 
 
 " Yes," said Latimer, musingly. " Unless 'tis all done 
 to tole us the wrong way. I have a mind that we go home 
 for to-night without saying a word, and come the first 
 thing in the morning with more hands. I know they 
 have storages about here, but we can do nothing by this 
 owl's light. We will look round the parish and see if 
 everybody is in bed, John ; and if all is quiet, we will do 
 as I say." 
 
 They went on, and the two inside the window could 
 hear them passing leisurely through the whole village, the 
 street of which curved round at the bottom and entered 
 the turnpike-road at another junction. This way the ex 
 cisemen followed, and the amble of their horses died quite 
 away. 
 
 " What will you do?" said Stockdale, withdrawing from 
 his position. 
 
 She knew that he alluded to the coming search by the 
 officers, to divert her attention from their own tender in 
 cident by the casement, which he wished to be passed 
 over as a thing rather dreamed of than done. "Oh, noth 
 ing," she replied, with as much coolness as she could com 
 mand under her disappointment at his manner. "We 
 often have such storms as this. You would not be fright 
 ened if you knew what fools they are. Fancy riding o' 
 
192 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 horseback through the place ; of course they will hear and 
 see nobody while they make that noise ; but they are al 
 ways afraid to get off, in case some of our fellows should 
 burst out upon 'em, and tie them up to the gate-post, as 
 they have done before now. Good-night, Mr. Stockdale." 
 She closed the window and went to her room, where a 
 tear fell from her eyes ; and that not because of the alert 
 ness of the riding-officers. 
 
 VI. 
 
 THE GREAT SEARCH AT NETHER-MYNTON. 
 
 STOCKDALE was so excited by the events of the evening, 
 and the dilemma that he was placed in between conscience 
 and love, that he did not sleep, or even doze, but remained 
 as broadly awake as at noonday. As soon as the gray 
 light began to touch ever so faintly the whiter objects in 
 his bedroom, he arose, dressed himself, and went down 
 stairs into the road. 
 
 The village was already astir. Several of the carriers 
 had heard the well-known tramp of Latimer's horse while 
 they were undressing in the dark that night, and had al 
 ready communicated with one another and Owlett on the 
 subject. The only doubt seemed to be about the safety 
 of those tubs which had been left under the church gal 
 lery stairs, and after a short discussion at the corner of the 
 mill, it was agreed that these should be removed before it 
 got lighter, and hidden in the middle of a double hedge 
 bordering the adjoining field. However, before anything 
 could be carried into effect, the footsteps of many men 
 were heard coming down the lane from the highway. 
 
 "D it, here they be," said Owlett, who, having al 
 ready drawn the hatch and started his mill for the day, 
 stood stolidly at the mill door covered with flour, as if the 
 interest of his whole soul was bound up in the shaking 
 walls around him. 
 
THE DISTRACTED PREACHER. 193 
 
 The two or three with whom he had been talking dis 
 persed to their usual work, and when the excise officers 
 and the formidable body of men they had hired reached 
 the village cross, between the mill and Mrs. Newberry's 
 house, the village wore the natural aspect of a place begin 
 ning its morning labors. 
 
 "JSTow," said Latimer to his associates, who numbered 
 thirteen men in all, " what I know is that the things are 
 somewhere in this here place. We have got the day be 
 fore us, and 'tis hard if we can't light upon 'em and get 
 'em to Budmouth Custom-house before night. First we 
 will try the fuel-houses, and then we'll work our way into 
 the chimmers, and then to the ricks and stables, and so 
 creep round. You have nothing but your noses to guide 
 ye, mind, so use 'em to-day if you never did in your lives 
 before." 
 
 Then the search began. Owlett, during the early part, 
 watched from his mill window, Lizzy from the door of her 
 house, with the greatest self-possession. A farmer down 
 below, who also had a share in the run, rode about with 
 one eye on his fields and the other on Latimer and his 
 myrmidons, prepared to put them off the scent if he should 
 be asked a question. Stockdale, who was no smuggler at 
 all, felt more anxiety than the worst of them, and went 
 about his studies with a heavy heart, coming frequently 
 to the door to ask Lizzy some question or other on the 
 consequences to her of the tubs being found. 
 
 " The consequences," she said, quietly, " are simply 
 that I shall lose 'em. As I have none in the house or 
 garden, they can't touch me personally." 
 
 " But you have some in the orchard ?" 
 
 " Owlett rents that of me, and he lends it to others. So 
 it will be hard to say who put any tubs there if they 
 should be found." 
 
 There was never such a tremendous sniffing known as 
 
 that which took place in Nether-Mynton parish and its 
 
 vicinity this day. All was done methodically, and mostly 
 
 on hands and knees. At different hours of the day they 
 
 13 
 
194 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 had different plans. From daybreak to breakfast-time the 
 officers used their sense of smell in a direct and straight 
 forward manner only, pausing nowhere but at such places 
 as the tubs might be supposed to be secreted in at that 
 very moment, pending their removal on the following 
 night. Among the places tested and examined were : 
 
 Hollow trees. Cupboards. Culverts. 
 
 Potato-graves. Clock-cases. Hedge-rows. 
 
 Fuel-houses. Chimney-flues. Fagot-ricks. 
 
 Bedrooms. Rain-water butts. Haystacks. 
 
 Apple-lofts. Pigsties. Coppers and ovens. 
 
 After breakfast they recommenced with renewed vigor, 
 taking a new line ; that is to say, directing their attention 
 to clothes that might be supposed to have come in contact 
 with the tubs in their removal from the , shore, such gar 
 ments being usually tainted with the spirits, owing to its 
 oozing between the staves. They now sniffed at 
 
 Smock-frocks. Smiths' and shoemakers' aprons. 
 
 Old shirts and waistcoats. Knee-naps and hedging-gloves. 
 Coats and hats. Tarpaulins. 
 
 Breeches and leggings. Market-cloaks. 
 Women's shawls and gowns. Scarecrows. 
 
 And, as soon as the mid-day meal was over, they pushed 
 their search into places where the spirits might have been 
 thrown away in alarm : 
 
 Horse-ponds. Mixens. Sinks in yards. 
 
 Stable-drains. "Wet ditches. Eoad-scrapings. 
 Cinder-heaps. Cesspools. Back-door gutters. 
 
 But still these indefatigable excisemen discovered noth 
 ing more than the original telltale smell in the road op 
 posite Lizzy's house, which even yet had not passed 
 off. 
 
 "I'll tell ye what it is, men," said Latimer, about three 
 o'clock in the afternoon, "we must begin over again. 
 Find them tubs I will" 
 
THE DISTRACTED PREACHER. 195 
 
 The men, who had been hired for the day, looked at 
 their hands and knees, muddy with creeping on all fours 
 so frequently, and rubbed their noses, as if they had had 
 almost enough of it; for the quantity of bad air which 
 had passed into each one's nostril had rendered it nearly 
 as insensible as a flue. However, after a moment's hesi 
 tation, they prepared to start anew, except three, whose 
 power of smell had quite succumbed under the excessive 
 wear and tear of the day. 
 
 By this time not a male villager was to be seen in the 
 parish. Owlett was not at his mill, the farmers were not 
 in their fields, the parson was not in his garden, the smith 
 had left his forge, and the wheelwright's shop was silent. 
 
 " Where the divil are the folk gone ?" said Latimer, 
 waking up to the fact of their absence, and looking round. 
 "I'll have 'em up for this! Why don't they come and 
 help us ? There's not a man about the place but the 
 Methodist parson, and he's an old woman. I demand as 
 sistance in the King's name !" 
 
 " We must find the jineral public afore we can demand 
 that," said his lieutenant. 
 
 " Well, well, we shall do better without 'em," said Lati 
 mer, who changed his moods at a moment's notice. " But 
 there's great cause of suspicion in this silence and this 
 keeping out of sight, and I'll bear it in mind. Now we 
 will go across to Owlett's orchard, and see what we can 
 find there." 
 
 Stockdale, who heard this discussion from the garden 
 gate, over which he had been leaning, was rather alarmed, 
 and thought it a mistake of the villagers to keep so com 
 pletely out of the way. He himself, like the excisemen, 
 had been wondering for the last half -hour what could 
 have become of them. Some laborers were of necessity 
 engaged in distant fields, but the master-workmen should 
 have been at home ; though one and all, after just show 
 ing themselves at their shops, had apparently gone off for 
 the day. He went in to Lizzy, who sat at a back window 
 sewing, and said, " Lizzy, where are the men ?" 
 
196 WES SEX TALES. 
 
 Lizzy laughed. "Where they mostly are when they 
 are run so hard as this." She cast her eyes to heaven. 
 " Up there," she said. 
 
 Stockdale looked up. " What on the top of the church 
 tower ?" he asked, seeing the direction of her glance. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Well, I expect they will soon have to come down," 
 said he, gravely. " I have been listening to the officers, 
 and they are going to search the orchard over again, and 
 then every nook in the church." 
 
 Lizzy looked alarmed for the first time. " Will you go 
 and tell our folk?" she said. "They ought to be let 
 know." Seeing his conscience struggling within him like 
 a boiling pot, she added, " No, never mind, I'll go my 
 self." 
 
 She went out, descended the garden, and climbed over 
 the church-yard wall at the same time that the preventive- 
 men were ascending the road to the orchard. Stockdale 
 could do no less than follow her. By the time that she 
 reached the tower entrance he was at her side, and they 
 entered together. 
 
 Nether-Mynton church tower was, as in many villages, 
 without a turret, and the only way to the top was by go 
 ing up to the singers' gallery, and thence ascending by a 
 ladder to a square trap-door in the floor of the bell-loft, 
 above which a permanent ladder was fixed, passing through 
 the bells to a hole in the roof. When Lizzy and Stockdale 
 reached the gallery and looked up, nothing but the trap 
 door and the five holes for the bell-ropes appeared. The 
 ladder was gone. 
 
 " There's no getting up," said Stockdale. 
 
 " Oh yes, there is," said she. " There's an eye looking 
 at us at this moment through a knot-hole in that trap 
 door." 
 
 And as she spoke the trap opened, and the dark line of 
 the ladder was seen descending against the whitewashed 
 wall. When it touched the bottom Lizzy dragged it to 
 its place, and said, " If you'll go up, I'll follow." 
 
THE DISTKACTED PREACHER. 197 
 
 The young man ascended, and presently found himself 
 among consecrated bells for the first time in his life, non 
 conformity having been in the Stockdale blood for some 
 generations. He eyed them uneasily, and looked round 
 for Lizzy. Owlett stood here, holding the top of the lad 
 der. " What, be you really one of us ?" said the miller, 
 
 " It seems so," said Stockdale, sadly. 
 
 " He's not," said Lizzy, who overheard. " He's neither 
 for nor against us. He'll do us no harm." 
 
 She stepped up beside them, and then they went on to 
 the next stage, which, when they had clambered over the 
 dusty bell-carriages, was of easy ascent, leading towards 
 the hole through which the pale sky appeared, and into 
 the open air. Owlett remained behind for a moment to 
 pull up the lower ladder. 
 
 " Keep down your heads," said a voice, as soon as they 
 set foot on the flat. 
 
 Stockdale here beheld all the missing parishioners, lying 
 on their stomachs on the tower roof, except a few who, 
 elevated on their hands and knees, were peeping through 
 the embrasures of the parapet. Stockdale did the same, 
 and saw the village lying like a map below him, over 
 which moved the figures of the excisemen, each foreshort 
 ened to a crab-like object, the crown of his hat forming a 
 circular disk in the centre of him. Some of the men had 
 turned their heads when the young preacher's figure arose 
 among them. 
 
 " What, Mr. Stockdale ?" said Matt Grey, in a tone of 
 surprise. 
 
 " I'd as lief that it hadn't been," said Jim Clarke. " If 
 the pa'son should see him a trespassing here in his tower, 
 'twould be none the better for we, seeing how a do hate 
 chapel members. He'd never buy a tub of us again, and he's 
 as good a customer as we have got this side o' Warm'll." 
 
 " Where is the pa'son ?" said Lizzy. 
 
 " In his house, to be sure, that he may see nothing of 
 what's going on where all good folks ought to be, and 
 this young man likewise." 
 
198 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 " Well, he has brought some news," said Lizzy. " They 
 are going to search the orchet and church ; can we do 
 anything if they should find ?" 
 
 "Yes," said her cousin Owlett. "That's what we've 
 been talking o', and we have settled our line. Well, be 
 dazed !" 
 
 The exclamation was caused by his perceiving that 
 some of the searchers, having got into the orchard, and 
 begun stooping and creeping hither and thither, were 
 pausing in the middle, where a tree smaller than the rest 
 was growing, They drew closer, and bent lower than 
 ever upon the ground. 
 
 " Oh, my tubs !" said Lizzy, faintly, as she peered 
 through the parapet at them. 
 
 "They have got 'em, a b'lieve," said Owlett. 
 
 The interest in the movements of the officers was so 
 keen that not a single eye was looking in any other direc 
 tion ; but at that moment a shout from the church be 
 neath them attracted the attention of the smugglers, as it 
 did also of the party in the orchard, who sprang to their 
 feet and went towards the church-yard wall. At the same 
 time those of the Government men who had entered the 
 church unperceived by the smugglers cried aloud, "Here 
 be some of 'em at last." 
 
 The smugglers remained in a blank silence, uncertain 
 whether " some of 'em " meant tubs or men ; but again 
 peeping cautiously over the edge of the tower they learned 
 that tubs were the things descried ; and soon these fated 
 articles were brought one by one into the middle of the 
 church -yard from their hiding-place under the gallery 
 stairs. 
 
 " They are going to put 'em on Hinton's vault till they 
 find the rest," said Lizzy, hopelessly. The excisemen 
 had, in fact, begun to pile up the tubs on a large stone 
 slab which was fixed there ; and when all were brought 
 out from the tower, two or three of the men were left 
 standing by them, the rest of the party again proceeding 
 to the orchard. 
 
DISTRACTED PREACHER. 199 
 
 The interest of the smugglers in the next manoeuvres 
 of their enemies became painfully intense. Only about 
 thirty tubs had been secreted in the lumber of the tower, 
 but seventy were hidden in the orchard, making up all 
 that they had brought ashore as yet, the remainder of the 
 cargo having been tied to a sinker and dropped overboard 
 for another night's operations. The excisemen, having 
 re-entered the orchard, acted as if they were positive that 
 here lay hidden the rest of the tubs, which they were de 
 termined to find before nightfall. They spread them 
 selves out round the field, and advancing on all fours as 
 before, went anew round every apple-tree in the enclosure. 
 The young tree in the middle again led them to pause, 
 and at length the whole company gathered there in a way 
 which signified that a second chain of reasoning had led 
 to the same results as the first. 
 
 When they had examined the sod hereabouts for some 
 minutes, one of the men rose, ran to a disused porch of 
 the church where tools were kept, and returned with the 
 sexton's pickaxe and shovel, with which they set to work. 
 
 "Are they really buried there?" said the minister, for 
 the grass was so green and uninjured that it was difficult 
 to believe it had been disturbed. The smugglers were too 
 interested to reply, and presently they saw, to their cha 
 grin, the officers stand two on each side of the tree ; and, 
 stooping and applying their hands to the soil, they bodily 
 lifted the tree and the turf around it. The apple-tree 
 now showed itself to be growing in a shallow box, with 
 handles for lifting at each of the four sides. Under the 
 site of the tree a square hole was revealed, and an excise 
 man went and looked down. 
 
 " It is all up now," said Owlett, quietly. " And now all 
 of ye get down before they notice we are here ; and be 
 ready for our next move. I had better bide here till dark, 
 or they may take me on suspicion, as 'tis on my ground. 
 I'll be with ye as soon as daylight begins to pink in." 
 
 " And I ?" said Lizzy. 
 
 "You please look to the linchpins and screws; then 
 
200 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 go in-doors and know nothing at all. The chaps will do 
 the rest." 
 
 The ladder was replaced, and all but Owlett descended, 
 the men passing off one by one at the back of the church, 
 and vanishing on their respective errands. Lizzy walked 
 boldly along the street, followed closely by the min 
 ister. 
 
 "You are going in-doors, Mrs. dewberry ?" he said. 
 
 She knew from the words " Mrs. Newberry " that the 
 division between them had widened yet another degree. 
 
 "I am not going home," she said. "I have a little 
 thing to do before I go in. Martha Sarah will get your 
 tea." 
 
 " Oh, I don't mean on that account," said Stockdale. 
 "What can you have to do further in this unhallowed 
 affair?" 
 
 " Only a little," she said. 
 
 " What is that ? I'll go with you." 
 
 " No, I shall go by myself. Will you please go in 
 doors ? I shall be there in less than an hour." 
 
 " You are not going to run any danger, Lizzy ?" said 
 the young man, his tenderness reasserting itself. 
 
 "None whatever worth mentioning," answered she, 
 and went down towards the cross. 
 
 Stockdale entered the garden gate, and stood behind it 
 looking on. The excisemen were still busy in the or 
 chard, and at last he was tempted to enter, and watch 
 their proceedings. When he came closer he found that 
 the secret cellar, of whose existence he had been totally 
 unaware, was formed by timbers placed across from side 
 to side about a foot under the ground, and grassed over. 
 
 The excisemen looked up at Stockdale's fair and downy 
 countenance, and evidently thinking him above suspicion, 
 went on with their work again. As soon as all the tubs 
 were taken out, they began tearing up the turf, pulling 
 out the timbers, and breaking in the sides, till the cellar 
 was wholly dismantled and shapeless, the apple-tree lying 
 with its roots high to the air. But the hole which had 
 
THE DISTRACTED PREACHER. 201 
 
 in its time held so much contraband merchandise was 
 never completely filled up, either then or afterwards, a 
 depression in the greensward marking the spot to this 
 day. 
 
 VII. 
 
 THE WALK TO WARM'ELL CROSS ; AND AFTERWARDS. 
 
 As the goods had all to be carried to Budmouth that 
 night, the excisemen's next object was to find horses and 
 carts for the journey, and they went about the village for 
 that purpose. Latimer strode hither and thither with a 
 lump of chalk in his hand, marking broad arrows so vig 
 orously on every vehicle and set of harness that he came 
 across that it seemed as if he would chalk broad arrows 
 on the very hedges and roads. The owner of every con 
 veyance so marked was bound to give it up for Govern 
 ment purposes. Stockdale, who had had enough of the 
 scene, turned in-doors, thoughtful and depressed. Lizzy 
 was already there, having corne in at the back, though she 
 had not yet taken off her bonnet. She looked tired, and 
 her mood was not much brighter than his own. They 
 had but little to say to each other ; and the minister went 
 away and attempted to read; but at this he could not 
 succeed, and he shook the little bell for tea. 
 
 Lizzy herself brought in the tray, the girl having run 
 off into the village during the afternoon, too full of ex 
 citement at the proceedings to remember her state of life. 
 However, almost before the sad lovers had said anything 
 to each other, Martha came in in a steaming state. 
 
 " Oh, there's such a stoor, Mrs. Newberry and Mr. Stock- 
 dale ! The King's excisemen can't get the carts ready no 
 how at all ! They pulled Thomas Ballam's, and William 
 Eogers's, and Stephen Sprake's carts into the road, and 
 off came the wheels, and down fell the x carts; and they 
 found there was no linchpins in the arms ; and then they 
 tried Samuel Shane's wagon, and found that the screws 
 
202 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 were gone from he, and at last they looked at the dairy 
 man's cart, and he's got none neither ! They have gone 
 now to the blacksmith's to get some made, but he's no 
 where to be found !" 
 
 Stockdale looked at Lizzy, who blushed very slightly, 
 and went out of the room, followed by Martha Sarah ; 
 but before they had got through the passage there was a 
 rap at the front door, and Stockdale recognized Latimer's 
 voice addressing Mrs. Newberry, who had turned back. 
 
 " For God's sake, Mrs. Newberry, have you seen Hard- 
 man the blacksmith up this way ? If we could get hold 
 of him, we'd e'en a'most drag him by the hair of his head 
 to his anvil, where he ought to be." 
 
 " He's an idle man, Mr. Latimer," said Lizzy, archly. 
 " What do you want him for ?" 
 
 "Why, there isn't a horse in the place that has got 
 more than three shoes on, and some have only two. The 
 wagon-wheels be without strakes, and there's no linch 
 pins to the carts. What with that, and the bother about 
 every set of harness being out of order, we sha'n't be off 
 before nightfall upon my soul we sha'n't. 'Tis a rough 
 lot, Mrs. Newberry, that you've got about you here; but 
 they'll play at this game once too often, mark my words 
 they will ! There's not a man in the parish that don't 
 deserve to be whipped." 
 
 It happened that Hardman was at that moment a little 
 farther up the lane, smoking his pipe behind a holly-bush. 
 When Latimer had done speaking he went on in this di 
 rection, and Hardman, hearing the exciseman's steps, found 
 curiosity too strong for prudence. He peeped out from 
 the bush at the very moment that Latimer's glance was 
 on it. There was nothing left for him to do but to come 
 forward with unconcern. 
 
 "I've been looking for you for the last hour!" said 
 Latimer, with a glare in his eye. 
 
 "Sorry to hear that," said Hardman. "I've been out 
 for a stroll, to look for more hid tubs, to deliver 'em up 
 to Gover'ment." 
 
THE DISTRACTED PREACHER. 203 
 
 " Oh yes, Hard man, we know it," said Latimer, with 
 withering sarcasm. " We know that you'll deliver 'em 
 up to Gover'ment. We know that all the parish is help 
 ing us, and have been all day ! Now, you please walk 
 along with me down to your shop, and kindly let me hire 
 ye in the King's name." 
 
 They went down the lane together, and presently there 
 resounded from the smithy the ring of a hammer not very 
 briskly swung. However, the carts and horses were got 
 into some sort of travelling condition, but it was not until 
 after the clock had struck six, when the muddy roads were 
 glistening under the horizontal light of the fading day. 
 The smuggled tubs were soon packed into the vehicles, 
 and Latimer, with three of his assistants, drove slowly out 
 of the village in the direction of the port of Budmouth, 
 some considerable number of miles distant, the other ex 
 cisemen being left to watch for the remainder of the car 
 go, which they knew to have been sunk somewhere be 
 tween Ringsworth and Lullstead Cove, and to unearth 
 Owlett, the only person clearly implicated by the discov 
 ery of the cave. 
 
 Women and children stood at the doors as the carts, 
 each chalked with the Government pitchfork, passed in 
 the increasing twilight; and as they stood they looked at 
 the confiscated property with a melancholy expression 
 that told only too plainly the relation which they bore to 
 the trade. 
 
 " Well, Lizzy," said Stockdale, when the crackle of the 
 wheels had nearly died away, " this is a fit finish to your 
 adventure. I am truly thankful that you have got off 
 without suspicion, and the loss only of the liquor. Will 
 you sit down and let me talk to you ?" 
 
 "By-and-by," she said. "But I must go out now.'' 
 
 " Not to that horrid shore again ?" he said, blankly. 
 
 " No, not there. I am only going to see the end of 
 this day's business." 
 
 He did not answer to this, and she moved towards the 
 door slowly, as if waiting for him to say something more. 
 
204 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 " You don't offer to come with me," she added, at last. 
 " I suppose that's because you hate me after all this ?" 
 
 " Can you say it, Lizzy, when you know I only want to 
 save you from such practices? Come with you? Of 
 course I will, if it is only to take care of you. But why 
 will you go out again ?" 
 
 " Because I cannot rest in-doors. Something is happen 
 ing, and I must know what. Now come!" And they 
 went into the dusk together. 
 
 When they reached the turnpike-road she turned to the 
 right, and he soon perceived that they were following the 
 direction of the excisemen and their loads. He had given 
 her his arm, and every now and then she suddenly pulled 
 it back, to signify that he was to halt a moment and lis 
 ten. They had walked rather quickly along the first quar 
 ter of a mile, and on the second or third time of standing 
 still she said, " I hear them ahead don't you ?" 
 
 " Yes," he said ; " I hear the wheels. But what of 
 that?" 
 
 " I only want to know if they get clear away from the 
 neighborhood." 
 
 "Ah," said he, a light breaking upon him. "Some 
 thing desperate is to be attempted and now I remember, 
 there was not a man about the village when we left." 
 
 " Hark !" she murmured. The noise of the cart-wheels 
 had stopped, and given place to another sort of sound. 
 
 "'Tis a scuffle," said Stockdale. " There'll be murder ! 
 Lizzy, let go my arm ; I am going on. On my conscience, 
 I must not stay here and do nothing !" 
 
 "There'll be no murder, and not even a broken head," 
 she said. " Our men are thirty to four of them ; no harm 
 will be done at all." 
 
 "Then there is an attack!" exclaimed Stockdale; "and 
 you knew it was to be. Why should you side with men 
 who break the laws like this ?" 
 
 " Why should you side with men who take from coun 
 try traders what they have honestly bought wi' their own 
 money in France ?" said she, firmly. 
 
THE DISTRACTED PREACHER. 205 
 
 " They are not honestly bought," said he. 
 
 " They are," she contradicted. " I and Owlett and the 
 others paid thirty shillings for every one of the tubs be 
 fore they were put on board at Cherbourg, and if a king 
 who is nothing to us sends his people to steal our prop 
 erty, we have a right to steal it back again." 
 
 Stockdale did not stop to argue the matter, but went 
 quickly in the direction of the noise, Lizzy keeping at his 
 side. " Don't you interfere, will you, dear Richard ?" she 
 said, anxiously, as they drew near. " Don't let us go any 
 closer; 'tis at Warm'ell Cross where they are seizing 'em. 
 You can do no good, and you may meet with a hard 
 blow !" 
 
 " Let us see first what is going on," he said. But before 
 they had got much farther the noise of the cart-wheels 
 began again, and Stockdale soon found that they were 
 coming towards him. In another minute the three carts 
 came up, and Stockdale and Lizzy stood in the ditch to 
 let them pass. 
 
 Instead of being conducted by four men, as had hap 
 pened when they went out of the village, the horses and 
 carts were now accompanied by a body of from twenty 
 to thirty, all of whom, as Stockdale perceived to his aston 
 ishment, had blackened faces. Among them walked six 
 or eight huge female figures, whom, from their wide 
 strides, Stockdale guessed to be men in disguise. As soon 
 as the party discerned Lizzy and her companion four or 
 five fell back, and when the carts had passed came close 
 to the pair. 
 
 " There is no walking up this way for the present," 
 said one of the gaunt women, who wore curls a foot long, 
 dangling down the sides of her face, in the fashion of the 
 time. Stockdale recognized this lady's voice as Ow- 
 lett's. 
 
 " Why not 2" said Stockdale. " This is the public high 
 way." 
 
 "Now, look here, youngster," said Owlett "oh, 'tis 
 the Methodist parson ! what, and Mrs. Newberry ! Well, 
 
206 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 you'd better not go up that way, Lizzy. They've all run 
 off, and folks have got their own again." 
 
 The miller then hastened on and joined his comrades. 
 Stockdale and Lizzy also turned back. "I wish all tin's 
 hadn't been forced upon us," she said, regretfully. " But 
 if those excisemen had got off with the tubs, half the peo 
 ple in the parish would have been in want for the next 
 month or two." 
 
 Stockdale was not paying much attention to her words, 
 and he said, "I don't think I can go back like this. 
 Those four poor excisemen may be murdered, for all I 
 know." 
 
 " Murdered !" said Lizzy, impatiently. " We don't do 
 murder here." 
 
 " Well, I shall go as far as Warm'ell Cross to see," said 
 Stockdale, decisively ; and without wishing her safe home 
 or anything else, the minister turned back. Lizzy stood 
 looking at him till his form was absorbed in the shades; 
 and then, with sadness, she went in the direction of Neth- 
 er-Mynton. 
 
 The road was lonely, and after nightfall at this time of 
 the year there was often not a passer for hours. Stock- 
 dale pursued his way without hearing a sound beyond 
 that of his own footsteps, and in due time he passed be 
 neath the trees of the plantation which surrounded the 
 Warm'ell Cross-road. Before he had reached the point 
 of intersection he heard voices from the thicket. 
 
 "Hoi-hoi-hoi! Help! help!" 
 
 The voices were not at all feeble or despairing, but 
 they were unmistakably anxious. Stockdale had no 
 weapon, and before plunging into the pitchy darkness of 
 the plantation he pulled a stake from the hedge to use in 
 case of need. When he got among the trees he shouted, 
 " What's the matter where are you ?" 
 
 "Here!" answered the voices; and pushing through 
 the brambles in that direction, he came near the objects 
 of his search. 
 
 " Why don't you corne forward ?" said Stockdale. 
 
THE DISTRACTED PREACHER. 207 
 
 " We be tied to the trees." 
 
 " Who are you ?" 
 
 " Poor Will Latimer the exciseman !" said one, plaint 
 ively. u Just come and cut these cords, there's a good 
 man ! We were afraid nobody would pass by to-night." 
 
 Stockdale soon loosened them, upon which they stretch 
 ed their limbs and stood at their ease. 
 
 " The rascals !" said Latimer, getting now into a rage, 
 though he had seemed quite meek when Stockdale first 
 came up. "'Tis the same set of fellows. I know they 
 were Mynton chaps to a man." 
 
 "But we can't swear to 'em," said another. "Not one 
 of 'em spoke." 
 
 " What are you going to do ?" said Stockdale. 
 
 "I'd fain go back to Mynton, and have at 'em again," 
 said Latimer. 
 
 " So would we !" said his comrades. 
 
 "Fight till we die!" said Latimer. 
 
 " We will, we will !" said his men. 
 
 " But," said Latimer, more frigidly, as they came out 
 of the plantation, " we don't know that these chaps with 
 black faces were Mynton men. And proof is a hard 
 thing." 
 
 " So it is," said the rest. 
 
 "And therefore we won't do nothing at all," said Lati 
 mer, with complete dispassionateness. " For my part, 
 I'd sooner be them than we. The ditches of my arms 
 are burning like fire from the cords those two strapping 
 women tied round 'em. My opinion is, now I have had 
 time to think o't, that you may serve your gover'ment 
 at too high a price. For these two nights and days I 
 have not had an hour's rest; and, please God, here's for 
 home-along." Bft&croH LjbfH7 
 
 The other officers agreed heartily to this course, and 
 thanking Stockdale for his timely assistance, they parted 
 from him at the cross, taking themselves the western 
 road and Stockdale going back to Nether-Mynton. 
 
 During that walk the minister was lost in reverie of the. 
 
208 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 most painful kind. As soon as he got into the house, and 
 before entering his own rooms, he advanced to the door 
 of the little back parlor in which Lizzy usually sat with 
 her mother. He found her there alone. Stockdale went 
 forward, and, like a man in a dream, looked down upon the 
 table that stood between him and the young woman, who 
 had her bonnet and cloak still on. As he did not speak, 
 she looked up from her chair at him, with misgiving in 
 her eye. 
 
 " Where are they gone ?" he then said, listlessly. 
 
 "Who? I don't know. I have seen nothing of them 
 since. I came straight in here." 
 
 " If your men can manage to get off with those tubs it 
 will be a great profit to you, I suppose ?" 
 
 "A share will be mine, a share my cousin Owlett's, a 
 share to each of the two farmers, and a share divided 
 among the men who helped us." 
 
 " And you still think," he went on slowly, " that you 
 will not give this business up ?" 
 
 Lizzy rose, and put her hand upon his shoulder. " Don't 
 ask that," she whispered. " You don't know what you 
 are asking. I must tell you, though I meant not to do it. 
 What I make by that trade is all I have to keep my 
 mother and myself with." 
 
 He was astonished. " I did not dream of such a thing," 
 he said. " I would rather have swept the streets, had I 
 been you. What is money compared with a clear con 
 science ?" 
 
 " My conscience is clear. I know my mother, but the 
 King I have never seen. His dues are nothing to me. But 
 it is a great deal to me that my mother and I should live." 
 
 " Marry me, and promise to give it up. I will keep 
 your mother." 
 
 "It is good of you," she said, trembling a little. " Let 
 me think of it by myself. I would rather not answer 
 now." 
 
 She reserved her answer till the next day, and came 
 into his room with a solemn face. " I cannot do what 
 
THE DISTRACTED PREACHER. 209 
 
 you wished !" she said, passionately. " It is too much to 
 ask. My whole life ha' been passed in this way." Her 
 words and manner showed that before entering she had 
 been struggling with herself in private, and that the con 
 tention had been strong. 
 
 Stockdale turned pale, but he spoke quietly. " Then, 
 Lizzy, we must part. I cannot go against my principles 
 in this matter, and I cannot make my profession a mock 
 ery. You know how I love you, and what I would do 
 for you ; but this one thing I cannot do." 
 
 " But why should you belong to that profession ?" she 
 burst out. " I have got this large house ; why can't you 
 marry me, and live here with us, and not be a Methodist 
 preacher any more ? I assure you, Richard, it is no harm, 
 and I wish you could only see it as I do ! We only carry 
 it on in winter; in summer it is never done at all. It 
 stirs up one's dull life at this time o' the year, and gives 
 excitement, which I have got so used to now that I should 
 hardly know how to do 'ithout it. At nights, when the 
 wind blows, instead of being dull and stupid, and not 
 noticing whether it do blow or not, your mind is afield, 
 even if you are not afield yourself ; and you are wonder 
 ing how the chaps are getting on ; and you walk up and 
 down the room, and look out o' window, and then you go 
 out yourself, and know your way about as well by night 
 as by day, and have hair-breadth escapes from old Latimer 
 and his fellows, who are too stupid ever to really frighten 
 us, and only make us a bit nimble." 
 
 " He frightened you a little last night, anyhow ; and I 
 would advise you to drop it before it is worse." 
 
 She shook her head. " No, I must go on as I have be 
 gun. I was born to it. It is in my blood, and I can't be 
 cured. Oh, Richard, you cannot think what a hard thing 
 you have asked, and how sharp you try me when you put 
 me between this and my love for 'ee !" 
 
 Stockdale was leaning with his elbow on the mantle- 
 piece, his hands over his eyes. " We ought never to have 
 met, Lizzy," he said. " It was an ill day for us. I little 
 
 14: 
 
210 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 thought there was anything so hopeless and impossible in 
 our engagement as this. Well, it is too late now to re 
 gret consequences in this way. I have had the happiness 
 of seeing you and knowing you at least." 
 
 " You dissent from Church, and I dissent from State," 
 she said, "and I don't see why we are not well matched." 
 
 He smiled sadly, while Lizzy remained looking down, 
 her eyes beginning to overflow. 
 
 That was an unhappy evening for both of them, and the 
 days that followed were unhappy days. Both she and he 
 went mechanically about their employments, and his de 
 pression was marked in the village by more than one of 
 his denomination with whom he came in contact. But 
 Lizzy, who passed her days in-doors, was unsuspected of 
 being the cause; for it was generally understood that a 
 quiet engagement to marry existed between her and her 
 cousin Owlett, and had existed for some time. 
 
 Thus uncertainly the week passed on, till one morning 
 Stockdale said to her, " I have had a letter, Lizzy. I must 
 call you that till I am gone." 
 
 " G.one ?" said she, blankly. 
 
 " Yes," he said. " I arn going from this place. I felt it 
 would be better for us both that I should not stay after 
 what has happened. In fact, I couldn't stay here, and look 
 on you from day to day, without becoming weak and fal 
 tering in my course. I have just heard of an arrangement 
 by which the other minister can arrive here in about a 
 week, and let me go elsewhere." 
 
 That he had all this time continued so firmly fixed in 
 his resolution came upon her as a grievous surprise. " You 
 never loved me !" she said, bitterly. 
 
 " I might say the same," he returned, " but I will not. 
 Grant me one favor. Come and hear my last sermon on 
 the day before I go." 
 
 Lizzy, who was a church-goer on Sunday mornings, 
 frequently attended Stockdale's chapel in the evening 
 with the rest of the double-minded, and she promised. 
 
 It became known that Stockdale was going to leave, 
 
THE DISTRACTED PREACHER. 211 
 
 and a good many people outside his own sect were sorry 
 to bear it. The intervening days flew rapidly away, and 
 on the evening of the Sunday which preceded the morn 
 ing of his departure Lizzy sat in the chapel to hear him 
 for the last time. The little building was full to over 
 flowing, and he took up the subject which all had expect 
 ed, that of the contraband trade so extensively practised 
 among them. His hearers, in laying his words to their 
 own hearts, did not perceive that they were most particu 
 larly directed against Lizzy, till the sermon waxed warm 
 and Stockdale nearly broke down with emotion. In truth, 
 his own earnestness, and her sad eyes looking up at him, 
 were too much for the young man's equanimity. He 
 hardly knew how he ended. He saw Lizzy, as through a 
 mist, turn and go away with the rest of the congregation, 
 and shortly afterwards followed her home. 
 
 She invited him to supper, and they sat down alone, 
 her mother having, as was usual with her on Sunday 
 nights, gone to bed early. 
 
 "We will part friends, won't we?" said Lizzy, with 
 forced gayety, and never alluding to the sermon a reti 
 cence which rather disappointed him. 
 
 " We will," he said, with a forced smile on his part ; 
 and they sat down. 
 
 It was the first rneal that they had ever shared together 
 in their lives, and probably the last that they would so 
 share. When it was over, and the indifferent conversa 
 tion could no longer be continued, he arose and took her 
 hand. "Lizzy," he said, "do you say we must part do 
 you?" 
 
 "You do," she said, solemnly. "I can say no more." 
 
 " ISTor I," said he. " If that is your answer, good- 
 by!" 
 
 Stockdale bent over her and kissed her, and she invol 
 untarily returned his kiss. "I shall go early," he said, 
 hurriedly,, " I shall not see you again." 
 
 And he did leave early. He fancied, when stepping 
 
212 WESSEX TALES. 
 
 forth into the gray morning light, to mount the van which 
 was to carry him away, that he saw a face between the 
 parted curtains of Lizzy's window; but the light was 
 faint, and the panes glistened with wet ; so he could not 
 be sure. Stockdale mounted the vehicle, and was gone ; 
 and on the following Sunday the new minister preached 
 in the chapel of the Mynton Wesleyans. 
 
 One day, two years after the parting, Stockdale, now 
 settled in a midland town, came into Nether-Mynton by 
 carrier in the original way. Jogging along in the van 
 that afternoon, he had put questions to the driver, and the 
 answers that he received interested the minister deeply. 
 The result of them was that he went without the least 
 hesitation to the door of his former lodging. It was 
 about six o'clock in the evening, and the same time of 
 year as when he had left ; now, too, the ground was damp 
 and glistening, the west was bright, and Lizzy's snow-drops 
 were raising their heads in the border under the wall. 
 
 Lizzy must have caught sight of him from the window, 
 for by the time that he reached the door she was there 
 holding it open; and then, as if she had not sufficiently 
 considered her act of coming out, she drew herself back, 
 saying, with some constraint, " Mr. Stockdale !" 
 
 "You knew it was," said Stockdale, taking her hand. 
 "I wrote to say I should call." 
 
 " Yes, but you did not say when," she answered. 
 
 "I did not. I was not quite sure when my business 
 would lead me to these parts." 
 
 " You only came because business brought you near ?" 
 
 " Well, that is the fact ; but I have often thought I 
 should like to come on purpose to see you. But what's 
 all this that has happened ? I told you how it would be, 
 Lizzy, and you would not listen to me." 
 
 " I would not," she said, sadly. " But I had been 
 brought up to that life, and it was second nature to me. 
 However, it is all over now. The officers have blood- 
 
THE DISTRACTED PREACHER. 213 
 
 money for taking a man dead or alive, and the trade is 
 going to nothing. We were hunted down like rats." 
 
 " Owlett is quite gone, I hear." 
 
 " Yes, he is in America. We had a dreadful struggle 
 that last time, when they tried to take him. It is a per 
 fect miracle that he lived through it ; and it is a wonder 
 that I was not killed. I was shot in the hand. It was 
 not by aim ; the shot was really meant for my cousin ; 
 but I was behind, looking on as usual, and the bullet came 
 to me. It bled terribly, but I got home without fainting, 
 and it healed after a time. You know how he suffered ?" 
 
 "."No," said Stockdale. "I only heard that he just es 
 caped with his life." 
 
 " He was shot in the back, but a rib turned the ball. 
 He was badly hurt. We would not let him be took. The 
 men carried him all night across the meads to Bere, and 
 hid him in a barn, dressing his wound as well as they 
 could, till he was so far recovered as to be able to get 
 about. He had gied up his mill for some time, and at 
 last he got to Bristol, and took a passage to America, and 
 he's settled in Wisconsin." 
 
 " What do you think of smuggling now ?" said the 
 minister, gravely. 
 
 "I own that we were wrong," said she. "But I have 
 suffered for it. I am very poor now, and my mother has 
 been dead these twelve months. But won't you come in, 
 Mr. Stockdale?" 
 
 Stockdale went in ; and it is to be presumed that they 
 came to an understanding, for a fortnight later there was 
 a sale of Lizzy's furniture, and after that a wedding at a 
 chapel in a neighboring town. 
 
 He took her away from her old haunts to the home that 
 he had made for himself in his native county, where she 
 studied her duties as a minister's wife with praiseworthy 
 assiduity. It is said that in after-years she wrote an ex 
 cellent tract called " Kender unto Caesar ; or, The Eepent- 
 ant Villagers," in which her own experience was anony- 
 
214: WESSEX TALES. 
 
 mously used as the introductory story. Stockdale got it 
 printed, after making some corrections, and putting in a 
 few powerful sentences of his own ; and many hundreds 
 of copies were distributed by the couple in the course of 
 their married life. 
 
 THE END. 
 
THOMAS HARDY'S NOVELS. 
 
 There is a quality in the work of Mr. Thomas Hardy which defies analysis 
 and definition a charm which pervades all that he writes. There is a fresh 
 and wild flavor in his delineation of rustic life and manners, and an original 
 ity in his method of portraiture, which shows the hand of a master. There is 
 not another man in England who could have drawn such a sweet, frank, win 
 some, womanly creature as Margery, the milk-maid, and such an honest, 
 hearty, manly fellow as Jim, the lime-burner. It is a rare and beautiful gift 
 which Mr. Hardy possesses the power of creating such live people as these, 
 and the idyllic scenes which surround them. N. Y. Mail and Express. 
 
 Mr. Hardy is always fresh and quaint, and the talk of his country folks 
 agreeable to listen to by any one with a philological turn. N. Y. Times. 
 
 Hardy is considered George Eliot's successor in style and matter, and his 
 books are always worth reading. Irrespective of the story, they contain 
 much of that instructive comment and philosophy for which the great 
 Englishwoman was famous. Democrat and Chronicle, Rochester. 
 
 WESSEX TALES. With Portrait. 8vo, Paper, 30 
 cents. 
 
 A LAODICEAN. Profusely Illustrated. 4to, Paper, 
 20 cents. 
 
 THE WOODLANDEKS. 4to, Paper, 20 cents. 16mo, 
 Half Bound, 75 cents. 
 
 FELLOW -TOWNSMEN. 32mo, Paper, 20 cents; 
 Cloth, 35 cents. 
 
 THE KOMANTIC ADVENTUKES OF A MILK 
 MAID. 4to, Paper, 10 cents. 
 
 PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. 
 
 The above works ivill be sent by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the United 
 States or Canada, on receipt of the price. 
 
W. D. HOWELLS'S NEW NOVEL 
 
 "ANNIE KILBURN," 
 
 BEGUN IN 
 
 HARPER'S MAGAZINE FOR JUNE, 1888. 
 
 Mr. Howells's new novel, "Annie Kilburn," the first chapters of which 
 will appear in HARPER'S MAGAZINE for June, will be not only the most popu 
 lar of his stories, but also the most earnest in purpose. No one can read 
 " Annie Kilburn " without being touched by its profound human interest. 
 It is not didactic or analytic. We see only the play of social activities, im 
 pulses, prejudices, in a New England town of to-day as this play impresses 
 the fine sensibility of Annie Kilburn a high-bred, noble-hearted, and aspir 
 ing New England girl. We cannot promise the reader that he will find in 
 her an angel. She has her limitations, prejudices of her own, wayward im 
 pulses characteristic of her sex and of her own especial individuality. But 
 she is as interesting a heroine as Mr. Howells has ever embodied confront 
 ing at once the painful riddle of her social world and the more perplexing 
 riddle of her own heart. The novel abounds in significant dramatic situa 
 tions, and is replete with the finest humor. 
 
 "A WAR-TIME WOOING." 
 
 A SERIAL STORY, 
 
 By CAPTAIN CHAELES KING, U.S.A., 
 
 ILLUSTRATED BY R. F. ZOGBAUM. 
 
 BEGUN IN HARPER'S WEEKLY FOR MAY 19. 
 
 " A War-time Wooing," by Captain Charles King, the well-known author 
 of " Captain Santa Glaus " and other popular stories, is an exciting tale of 
 love and war. The incidents are grouped around the movements of the 
 Army of the Potomac in the fall of 1862, and are interspersed with spirited 
 and life-like details of the progress of the great struggle after the battle of 
 Antietam. The illustrations, by R. F. Zogbaum, are careful reproductions 
 of war-time scenes, and faithfully reflect the spirit of the original. i \