JUDITH: Soft, did you say? I’ve seen him hike a man, And a heftier man than you, over a dyke, For yarking a lame beast. That drover’ll mind-- Ay, to his dying day, he’ll not forget He once ran into something hard. JIM: Ay--ay ... He’s that sort, is he? My luck is out again. I want a quiet life, to be let alone: And Krindlesyke won’t be a bed of roses, With that sort ramping round. (_Starting uneasily._) What’s that? I thought ... There’s no one in the other room, is there? I’ve a feeling in my bones somebody’s listening. You’ve not deceived me, Judith? You’ve not trapped ... I’m all a-swither, sweating like a brock. I little dreamt you’d turn against me, Judith: But even here I don’t feel safe now. JUDITH: Safe? JIM: So you don’t know? I fancied everyone kenned. Else why the devil should they stare like that? And when you, too, looked ... Nay, how could you learn? I’m davered, surely: Seppy Shank’s rum Has gone to my noddle: drink’s the very devil On an empty waim: and I never had a head. What have I done? Ay, wouldn’t you like to ken, To holler on the hounds? JUDITH: Jim! JIM: But what matter Whether you ken or not? You’ve done for me Already, dang you, with your hettle-tongue: You’ve put the notion in my head, the curs Are on my scent: and now, I cannot rest. Happen, they’re slinking now up Bloodysyke, Like adders through the bent ... Nay, they don’t yelp, The hounds that sleuth me: it’s only in my head I hear the yapping: they’re too cunning to yelp. The sleichers slither after me on their bellies, As dumb and slick as adders ... But I’m doitered, And doting like a dobby. I want to sleep ... A good night’s rest would pull my wits together. I swore I’d sleep ... but I couldn’t close an eye, now Since ... JUDITH: Jim, what ails you? Tell me what you’ve done. I’m sorry, Jim ... JIM: I swear I never set out To do it, Judith; and the thing was done, Before I came to my senses: that’s God’s truth: And may hell blast ... You’re sorry? Nay, but Jim’s Too old a bird to be caught with chaff. You’re fly: But, Jim’s fly, too. No: mum’s the word. JUDITH: O Jim, You, surely, never think I’d ... JIM: I don’t know. A man in my case can’t tell who to trust, When every mongrel’s yowling for his carcase. Mum’s my best friend, the only one ... though, whiles, It’s seemed even he had blabbered out my secrets, And hollered them to rouse the countryside, And draw all eyes on me. But, I must mizzle. JUDITH: You’re going, Jim?