A quarter of an hour later, whilst she was sitting in a partially recovered, half-dozing state in an arm-chair, Edward beside her waiting anxiously till Graye should arrive, they saw a spring-cart pass the door. Old and dry mud-splashes from long-forgotten rains disfigured its wheels and sides; the varnish and paint had been scratched and dimmed; ornament had long been forgotten in a restless contemplation of use. Three men sat on the seat, the middle one being Manston. His hands were bound in front of him, his eyes were set directly forward, his countenance pallid, hard, and fixed. Springrove had told Cytherea of Manston’s crime in a few short words. He now said solemnly, ‘He is to die.’ ‘And I cannot mourn for him,’ she replied with a shudder, leaning back and covering her face with her hands. In the silence that followed the two short remarks, Springrove watched the cart round the corner, and heard the rattle of its wheels gradually dying away as it rolled in the direction of the county-town. XXI. THE EVENTS OF EIGHTEEN HOURS 1. MARCH THE TWENTY-NINTH. NOON Exactly seven days after Edward Springrove had seen the man with the bundle of straw walking down the streets of Casterbridge, old Farmer Springrove was standing on the edge of the same pavement, talking to his friend, Farmer Baker. There was a pause in their discourse. Mr. Springrove was looking down the street at some object which had attracted his attention. ‘Ah, ‘tis what we shall all come to!’ he murmured. The other looked in the same direction. ‘True, neighbour Springrove; true.’ Two men, advancing one behind the other in the middle of the road, were what the farmers referred to. They were carpenters, and bore on their shoulders an empty coffin, covered by a thin black cloth. ‘I always feel a satisfaction at being breasted by such a sight as that,’ said Springrove, still regarding the men’s sad burden. ‘I call it a sort of medicine.’ ‘And it is medicine.... I have not heard of any body being ill up this way lately? D’seem as if the person died suddenly.’ ‘May be so. Ah, Baker, we say sudden death, don’t we? But there’s no difference in their nature between sudden death and death of any other sort. There’s no such thing as a random snapping off of what was laid down to last longer. We only suddenly light upon an end--thoughtfully formed as any other--which has been existing at that very same point from the beginning, though unseen by us to be so soon.’ ‘It is just a discovery to your own mind, and not an alteration in the Lord’s.’ ‘That’s it. Unexpected is not as to the thing, but as to our sight.’