XX. THE EVENTS OF THREE HOURS
1. MARCH THE TWENTY-THIRD. MIDDAY
Thirty-six hours had elapsed since Manston's escape.
It was market-day at the county-town. The farmers outside and insidethe corn-exchange looked at their samples of wheat, and poured themcritically as usual from one palm to another, but they thought and spokeof Manston. Grocers serving behind their counters, instead of usingtheir constant phrase, 'The next article, please?' substituted, 'Haveyou heard if he's caught?' Dairymen and drovers standing beside thesheep and cattle pens, spread their legs firmly, readjusted their hats,thrust their hands into the lowest depths of their pockets, regarded theanimals with the utmost keenness of which the eye was capable, and said,'Ay, ay, so's: they'll have him avore night.'
Later in the day Edward Springrove passed along the street hurriedly andanxiously. 'Well, have you heard any more?' he said to an acquaintancewho accosted him.
'They tracked him in this way,' said the other young man. 'A vagrantfirst told them that Manston had passed a rick at daybreak, underwhich this man was lying. They followed the track he pointed outand ultimately came to a stile. On the other side was a heap ofhalf-hardened mud, scraped from the road. On the surface of the heap,where it had been smoothed by the shovel, was distinctly imprinted theform of a man's hand, the buttons of his waistcoat, and his watch-chain,showing that he had stumbled in hurrying over the stile, and fallenthere. The pattern of the chain proved the man to have been Manston.They followed on till they reached a ford crossed by stepping-stones--onthe further bank were the same footmarks that had shown themselvesbeside the stile. The whole of this course had been in the directionof Budmouth. On they went, and the next clue was furnished them by ashepherd. He said that wherever a clear space three or four yards wideran in a line through a flock of sheep lying about a ewe-lease, it was aproof that somebody had passed there not more than half-an-hour earlier.At twelve o'clock that day he had noticed such a feature in his flock.Nothing more could be heard of him, and they got into Budmouth. Thesteam-packet to the Channel Islands was to start at eleven last night,and they at once concluded that his hope was to get to France by wayof Jersey and St. Malo--his only chance, all the railway-stations beingwatched.
'Well, they went to the boat: he was not on board then. They went againat half-past ten: he had not come. Two men now placed themselves underthe lamp immediately beside the gangway. Another stayed by the officedoor, and one or two more up Mary Street--the straight cut to the quay.At a quarter to eleven the mail-bags were put on board. Whilst theattention of the idlers was directed to the mails, down Mary Streetcame a man as boldly as possible. The gait was Manston's, but not theclothes. He passed over to the shaded part of the street: heads wereturned. I suppose this warned him, for he never emerged from the shadow.They watched and waited, but the steward did not reappear. The alarmwas raised--they searched the town high and low--no Manston. Allthis morning they have been searching, but there's not a sign of himanywhere. However, he has lost his last chance of getting acrossthe Channel. It is reported that he has since changed clothes with alabourer.'
During this narration, Edward, lost in thought, had let his eyes followa shabby man in a smock-frock, but wearing light boots--who was stalkingdown the street under a bundle of straw which overhung and concealedhis head. It was a very ordinary circumstance for a man with a bundleof straw on his shoulders and overhanging his head, to go down the HighStreet. Edward saw him cross the bridge which divided the town from thecountry, place his shaggy encumbrance by the side of the road, and leaveit there.
Springrove now parted from his acquaintance, and went also in thedirection of the bridge, and some way beyond it. As far as he could seestretched the turnpike road, and, while he was looking, he noticed a manto leap from the hedge at a point two hundred, or two hundred and fiftyyards ahead, cross the road, and go through a wicket on the other side.This figure seemed like that of the man who had been carrying the bundleof straw. He looked at the straw: it still stood alone.
The subjoined facts sprang, as it were, into juxtaposition in hisbrain:--
Manston had been seen wearing the clothes of a labouring man--a brownsmock-frock. So had this man, who seemed other than a labourer, onsecond thoughts: and he had concealed his face by his bundle of strawwith the greatest ease and naturalness.
The path the man had taken led, among other places, to Tolchurch, whereCytherea was living.
If Mrs. Manston was murdered, as some said, on the night of the fire,Cytherea was the steward's lawful wife. Manston at bay, and reckless ofresults, might rush to his wife and harm her.
It was a horrible supposition for a man who loved Cytherea to entertain;but Springrove could not resist its influence. He started off forTolchurch.
2. ONE TO TWO O'CLOCK P.M.
On that self-same mid-day, whilst Edward was proceeding to Tolchurch bythe footpath across the fields, Owen Graye had left the village andwas riding along the turnpike road to the county-town, that he mightascertain the exact truth of the strange rumour which had reached himconcerning Manston. Not to disquiet his sister, he had said nothing toher of the matter.
She sat by the window reading. From her position she could see up thelane for a distance of at least a hundred yards. Passers-by were so rarein this retired nook, that the eyes of those who dwelt by the waysidewere invariably lifted to every one on the road, great and small, as toa novelty.
A man in a brown smock-frock turned the corner and came towards thehouse. It being market-day at Casterbridge, the village was nearlydeserted, and more than this, the old farm-house in which Owen and hissister were staying, stood, as has been stated, apart from the body ofcottages. The man did not look respectable; Cytherea arose and boltedthe door.
Unfortunately he was near enough to see her cross the room. He advancedto the door, knocked, and, receiving no answer, came to the window; henext pressed his face against the glass, peering in.
Cytherea's experience at that moment was probably as trying a one asever fell to the lot of a gentlewoman to endure. She recognized in thepeering face that of the man she had married.
But not a movement was made by her, not a sound escaped her. Her fearwas great; but had she known the truth--that the man outside, feelinghe had nothing on earth to lose by any act, was in the last stage ofrecklessness, terrified nature must have given way.
'Cytherea,' he said, 'let me come in: I am your husband.'
'No,' she replied, still not realizing the magnitude of her peril. 'Ifyou want to speak to us, wait till my brother comes.'
'O, he's not at home? Cytherea, I can't live without you! All my sin hasbeen because I love you so! Will you fly with me? I have money enoughfor us both--only come with me.'
'Not now--not now.'
'I am your husband, I tell you, and I must come in.'
'You cannot,' she said faintly. His words began to terrify her.
'I will, I say!' he exclaimed. 'Will you let me in, I ask once more?'
'No--I will not,' said Cytherea.
'Then I will let myself in!' he answered resolutely. 'I will, if I diefor it!'
The windows were glazed in lattice panes of leadwork, hung in casements.He broke one of the panes with a stone, thrust his hand through thehole, unfastened the latch which held the casement close, and beganopening the window.
Instantly the shutters flew together with a slam, and were barred withdesperate quickness by Cytherea on the inside.
'Damn you!' he exclaimed.
He ran round to the back of the house. His impatience was greater now:he thrust his fist through the pantry window at one blow, and openedit in the same way as the former one had been opened, before theterror-stricken girl was aware that he had gone round. In an instanthe stood in the pantry, advanced to the front room where she was, flungback the shutters, and held out his arms to embrace her.
In extremely trying moments of bodily or mental pain, Cytherea eitherflushed hot or faded pale, according to the state of her consti
tutionat the moment. Now she burned like fire from head to foot, and thispreserved her consciousness.
Never before had the poor child's natural agility served her in suchgood stead as now. A heavy oblong table stood in the middle of the room.Round this table she flew, keeping it between herself and Manston, herlarge eyes wide open with terror, their dilated pupils constantly fixedupon Manston's, to read by his expression whether his next intention wasto dart to the right or the left.
Even he, at that heated moment, could not endure the expression ofunutterable agony which shone from that extraordinary gaze of hers.It had surely been given her by God as a means of defence. Manstoncontinued his pursuit with a lowered eye.
The panting and maddened desperado--blind to everything but the captureof his wife--went with a rush under the table: she went over it likea bird. He went heavily over it: she flew under it, and was out at theother side.
'One on her youth and pliant limbs relies, One on his sinews and his giant size.'
But his superior strength was sure to tire her down in the long-run.She felt her weakness increasing with the quickness of her breath; sheuttered a wild scream, which in its heartrending intensity seemed toecho for miles.
At the same juncture her hair became unfastened, and rolled down abouther shoulders. The least accident at such critical periods is sufficientto confuse the overwrought intelligence. She lost sight of his intendeddirection for one instant, and he immediately outmanoeuvred her.
'At last! my Cytherea!' he cried, overturning the table, springing overit, seizing one of the long brown tresses, pulling her towards him, andclasping her round. She writhed downwards between his arms and breast,and fell fainting on the floor. For the first time his action wasleisurely. He lifted her upon the sofa, exclaiming, 'Rest there for awhile, my frightened little bird!'
And then there was an end of his triumph. He felt himself clutched bythe collar, and whizzed backwards with the force of a battering-ramagainst the fireplace. Springrove, wild, red, and breathless, had sprungin at the open window, and stood once more between man and wife.
Manston was on his legs again in an instant. A fiery glance on the oneside, a glance of pitiless justice on the other, passed between them.It was again the meeting in the vineyard of Naboth the Jezreelite: 'Hastthou found me, O mine enemy? And he answered, I have found thee: becausethou hast sold thyself to work evil in the sight of the Lord.'
A desperate wrestle now began between the two men. Manston was thetaller, but there was in Edward much hard tough muscle which thedelicate flesh of the steward lacked. They flew together like the jawsof a gin. In a minute they were both on the floor, rolling over andover, locked in each other's grasp as tightly as if they had been oneorganic being at war with itself--Edward trying to secure Manston's armswith a small thong he had drawn from his pocket, Manston trying to reachhis knife.
Two characteristic noises pervaded the apartment through this momentousspace of time. One was the sharp panting of the two combatants, sosimilar in each as to be undistinguishable; the other was the strokeof their heels and toes, as they smote the floor at every contortion ofbody or limbs.
Cytherea had not lost consciousness for more than half-a-minute. Shehad then leapt up without recognizing that Edward was her deliverer,unfastened the door, and rushed out, screaming wildly, 'Come! Help! O,help!'
Three men stood not twenty yards off, looking perplexed. They dashedforward at her words. 'Have you seen a shabby man with a smock-frock onlately?' they inquired. She pointed to the door, and ran on the same asbefore.
Manston, who had just loosened himself from Edward's grasp, seemedat this moment to renounce his intention of pushing the conflict to adesperate end. 'I give it all up for life--dear life!' he cried, with ahoarse laugh. 'A reckless man has a dozen lives--see how I'll baffle youall yet!'
He rushed out of the house, but no further. The boast was his last. Inone half-minute more he was helpless in the hands of his pursuers.
Edward staggered to his feet, and paused to recover breath. His thoughtshad never forsaken Cytherea, and his first act now was to hasten up thelane after her. She had not gone far. He found her leaning upon a bankby the roadside, where she had flung herself down in sheer exhaustion.He ran up and lifted her in his arms, and thus aided she was enabledto stand upright--clinging to him. What would Springrove have given toimprint a kiss upon her lips then!
They walked slowly towards the house. The distressing sensation of whosewife she was could not entirely quench the resuscitated pleasure he feltat her grateful recognition of him, and her confiding seizure of his armfor support. He conveyed her carefully into the house.
A quarter of an hour later, whilst she was sitting in a partiallyrecovered, half-dozing state in an arm-chair, Edward beside her waitinganxiously till Graye should arrive, they saw a spring-cart pass thedoor. Old and dry mud-splashes from long-forgotten rains disfigured itswheels 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 handswere bound in front of him, his eyes were set directly forward, hiscountenance pallid, hard, and fixed.
Springrove had told Cytherea of Manston's crime in a few short words. Henow said solemnly, 'He is to die.'
'And I cannot mourn for him,' she replied with a shudder, leaning backand covering her face with her hands.
In the silence that followed the two short remarks, Springrove watchedthe cart round the corner, and heard the rattle of its wheels graduallydying away as it rolled in the direction of the county-town.