He dozed as he talked. They tolled the church bells of Horwick and Wadsworth the next day. In the collection of records among which Matthew Moon’s accounts--those of the crown-pieces and guineas and Portugals--have been preserved, you may read also of the home-coming of Jim Northrop and Will Haigh. It was two days later, on a Thursday, and no market was held that day. But every man for miles round assembled as never market-day had seen them, and they had put black crape on their arms and hats, and the women sobbed in one another’s kitchens. Every blind in Horwick was drawn. The “Cross Pipes” was closed, but Sally knew nothing of what happened, for before the Piece Hall bell had begun to toll she had been given a heavy draught, and it was said that she breathed but thrice in a minute. The day was hot and brilliant; the hills and moors were magnificent under the August sun; and the larks sang as if there was no care or anguish or death in the world. They were aware of the approach of the procession while it was yet miles away. Men preceded it at a trot, dusty, breathless, eager as if they brought joyful news. One footsore fellow--he had walked from York--carried some of the pamphlets of which the man who had ridden in at midnight had spoken. They were seized by Matthew Moon, who plunged a shaking hand into his breeches-pockets for silver and told off lads to buy up all of that sort that appeared. Folk began to come in in a dense stream, gaping about them, curious to see the place that had become so suddenly famous; but their holiday humour soon passed. You can’t be light-hearted in a town of mourning. They asked which was “his” inn, and gazed foolishly at the sooty flue-branchings of the “Pipes.” “Right to his own door!” they said; and some asked where the other had lived, and went away to see the place, where they stood, lugubriously contented. The bell of the Piece Hall continued to toll; the Fullergate became packed; and Arthur Monjoy, who had sought unavailingly to see Cicely, could scarce get to his own house.