England -- Fiction; English fiction -- 19th century; Short stories, English
Thus aroused, the men prepared to give chase. The evidence
was, indeed, though circumstantial, so convincing 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 uneven 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 heartbrokenly
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 minutes the room on the
ground floor was deserted quite.
But it was not for long. Hardly had the sound of footsteps 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 skimmer-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--the stranger 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 solicitously round for the fascinating
mug of old mead.
"And I thought you had gone," said the other, continuing 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, 't is the business o' the government to take care of its
criminals, not mine."
"True, so it is; and I felt as you did--that were enough without
me."
"I don't want to break my limbs running over the humps and hollows
of this wild country."
"Nor I, either, between you and me."
"These shepherd people are used to it--simpleminded souls, you
know, stirred up to anything 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 labour in
the matter."
"True, true. Well, my way is to Casterbridge, and't is as much as
my legs will do to take me that far. Going the same way?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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