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Updated: June 24, 2025
He told the men to light lanterns, and headed by himself they started, Creedle following at the last moment with quite a burden of grapnels and ropes, which he could not be persuaded to leave behind, and the company being joined by the hollow-turner and the man who kept the cider-house as they went along. They explored the precincts of the village, and in a short time lighted upon the man-trap.
A kindly pity of his household management, which Winterborne saw in her eyes whenever he caught them, depressed him much more than her contempt would have done. Creedle met Giles at the pump after a while, when each of the others was absorbed in the difficulties of a cuisine based on utensils, cupboards, and provisions that were strange to them.
Fitzpiers and his young wife were in the hotel, after which news Creedle kept shaking his head and saying to himself, "Ah!" very audibly, between his thrusts at the screw of the cider-press. "Why the deuce do you sigh like that, Robert?" asked Winterborne, at last.
Accompanied by Winterborne, he now turned towards the door of the spar-house, when his footsteps were heard by the men as aforesaid. "Well, John, and Lot," he said, nodding as he entered. "A rimy morning." "'Tis, sir!" said Creedle, energetically; for, not having as yet been able to summon force sufficient to go away and begin work, he felt the necessity of throwing some into his speech.
At that same hour, and almost at that same minute, there was a conversation about Winterborne in progress in the village street, opposite Mr. Melbury's gates, where Timothy Tangs the elder and Robert Creedle had accidentally met.
She knew from this that Creedle had just come from Sherton, and had called as usual at the post-office for anything that had arrived by the afternoon post, of which there was no delivery at Hintock. She pondered on what the letter might contain particularly whether it were a second refresher for Winterborne from her father, like her own of the morning.
The sawyer was asking Creedle if he had heard what was all over the parish, the skin of his face being drawn two ways on the matter towards brightness in respect of it as news, and towards concern in respect of it as circumstance. "Why, that poor little lonesome thing, Marty South, is likely to lose her father. He was almost well, but is much worse again.
And there they sat, one on each side of that chimney-corner, and were found by their neighbors sound asleep in their chairs, not having known what to talk about at all." "Well, I don't care who the man is," said Creedle, "they required a good deal to talk about, and that's true. It won't be the same with these." "No. He is such a projick, you see. And she is a wonderful scholar too!"
"Did she do it in her husband's time?" "That I don't know hardly, I should think, considering his temper. Ah!" Here Creedle threw grieved remembrance into physical form by slowly resigning his head to obliquity and letting his eyes water. "That man!
Creedle looked at him with a face of seven sorrows, saying, "Ah, 'twas that sperrit that lost 'em for ye, maister!" Winterborne subdued his feelings, and from that hour, whatever they were, kept them entirely to himself. There could be no doubt that, up to this last moment, he had nourished a feeble hope of regaining Grace in the event of this negotiation turning out a success.
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