She was on her feet. “Cicely!” he cried, but she was gone. He half rose as if to follow her, then he sank back again. The going down of the sun found him still on the bank of the dried-up stream. The very trade of the town was at a standstill on account of the new trial. It was fixed for the seventh, a Friday, and loungers in the market-place exchanged odd guilty looks and glanced at the grimy cactus-pattern of chimney-flues on the end of the “Cross Pipes”--for with the fixing of the date it had been impossible to keep the news any longer from Sally, and she had broken down and taken to her bed, where Cicely tended her. Another man was sent off to York to see what had become of John Raikes, and a number of Back o’ th’ Mooiners remained in Horwick to see what might befall. The door of the loom-loft at the “Fullers’ Arms,” within which Ellah had shut himself, had been forced, and Ellah had been discovered cowering in a corner and swallowing a guinea; and it was passed about that Ellah had guineas. They had locked him in the loft again and barred the window; but a bright flame had shone out into the Fullergate towards evening, and they had hastily entered again. He had collected a quantity of rubbish under the loom and had tried to set fire to it. They removed all that was loose and combustible. Friday morning broke; it might have been a Sabbath for all the work men offered to do; and they moved silently about the market-place, waiting, scarce entering their houses for their meals. The day wore to evening. That evening a noble sunset flooded Wadsworth Scout with golden light. Groups of men stood about the small square, walking from the “Gooise” to the church, and returning again. The parson had locked himself in the church, and Pim o’ Cuddy had retired to his chamber. They watched the declining sun. As it dipped, the ridges and wrinkles of the Scout started out suddenly into strong relief, dramatic as if a scene had been changed at a playhouse; and suddenly a pigeon was seen to rise over James Eastwood’s roof and to wheel and circle as he neared his home. From every throat there issued an eager cry. “Whose is it?” “’Tis Pim’s!” “Ho’d on--shoo’ll coit in a minute!” “Where’s Pim? Run for Pim!” Some dashed off for the verger. The bird was wheeling in the golden light over the belfry of the church, the belfry with the new louver-boards. They recognised the bird--it was from John Raikes; and Pim o’ Cuddy was haled from his agonies of repentance. He stood peering up at the pigeon. “Shoo’s trying to get into th’ owd coit--sitha!--shoo’s flinging hersen ageean th’ boards--th’ other coit, th’ other coit, ye----!” “Is shoo from John?” a voice demanded. “Ay--ay--it’s on her leg, look! Oh, coit, ye----!” “Fotch a gun.”