 The Three Strangers, by Thomas Hardy. This is a LibriVox recording or LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Three Strangers Among the few features of agricultural England which retain an appearance but little modified by the laps of centuries, may be reckoned the high, grassy and fuzzy downs, coons or eulises, as they are indifferently called, that fill a large area of certain counties in the south and southwest. If any mark of human occupation is met with hereon, it usually takes the form of the solitary cottage of some shepherd. Fifty years ago such a lonely cottage stood on such a down, and may possibly be standing there now, in spite of its loneliness, however, the spot, by actual measurement, was not more than five miles from a county town. Yet that affected it little. Five miles of irregular upland, during the long inimical seasons, with their sleets, snows, rains and mists, afford withdrawing space enough to isolate a Timon or a Nebuchadnezzar, much less in fair weather, to please that less repellent tribe, the poets, philosophers, artists and others who conceive a meditative pleasant things. Some old earthen camp or barrow, some clump of trees, at least some starved fragment of ancient hedge, is usually taken advantage of in the erection of these forlorn dwellings, but in the present case such a kind of shelter had been disregarded. Higher crow stares, as the house was called, stood quite detached and undefended. The only reason for its precise situation seemed to be the crossing of two footpaths at right angles, hard by, which may have crossed there and thus for a good five hundred years. Hence the house was exposed to the elements on all sides, but though the wind up here blew unmistakably when it did blow, and the rain hit hard whenever it fell, the various weathers of the winter season were not quite so formidable, on the coom as they were imagined to be by the dwellers on low ground. The raw rhymes were not so pernicious as in the hollows, and the frosts were scarcely so severe. When the shepherd and his family who tenanted the house were pitted for their sufferings, from the exposure, they said that upon the whole they were less inconvenienced by was-is and flames, horses and flams, than when they had lived by the stream of a snug neighbouring valley. The night of March 28, 1820 Blank, was precisely one of the nights that were wanted to call forth these expressions of commiseration. The level rainstorm smote walls, slopes and hedges like the cloth-yard sharps of Semlac and Cressy. Such sheep and outdoor animals as had no shelter stood with their buttocks to the winds, whilst the tales of little birds trying to roost on some scraggie thorn were blown inside out like umbrellas. The gable ends of the cottage were stained with wet, and the eavesdroppings flapped against the wall. Yet never was commiseration for the shepherd more misplaced, for that cheerful rustic was entertaining a large party in glorification of the christening of his second girl. The guests had arrived before the rain began to fall, and they were all now assembled in the chief or living-room of the dwelling. A glance into the apartment at eight o'clock on the eventful evening would have resulted in the opinion that it was as cosy and comfortable a nook as could be wished for in boisterous weather. The calling of its inhabitant was proclaimed by a number of highly polished sheep crooks without stems that were hung ornamentally over the fireplace. The curl of each shining crook varying from the antiquated type engraved in the patriarchal pictures of old family bibles to the most approved fashion of the last local sheep fair. The room was lighted by a half a dozen candles having wicks only a trifle smaller than the grease switch enveloped them. In candlesticks that were never used but at high days, holy days, and family feasts. The lights were scattered about the room, two of them standing on the chimney-piece. The position of candles was in itself significant. Candles on the chimney-piece always meant a party. On the half in front of a back-brand to give substance blazed a fire of thorns that crackled like the laughter of the fool. Nineteen persons were gathered there of these five women wearing gowns of various bright hues sat in chairs along the wall. Girls shy and not shy filled the window-bench, four men including Charlie Jake, the hedge carpenter, Elijah New, the parish clerk, and John Pitcher, a neighbouring dairyman, the shepherd's father-in-law, lulled in the settle. A young man and maid who were blashing over tentative poor Parley on a life-companionship sat beneath the corner cupboard and an elderly engaged man of fifty or upward, moved restlessly about from the spots where his betrothed was not to the spot where she was. Enjoyment was pretty general and so much the more prevailed in being unhampered by conventional restrictions. Absolute confidence in each other's good opinion begat perfect ease, while the finishing stroke of manner amounting to a truly princely serenity was lent to the majority by the absence of any expression or trait denoting that they wished to get on in the world, enlarge their minds, or do any eclipsing thing, whatever, which nowadays so genuinely nips the bloom and bonomie of all except the two extremes of the social scale. Shepherd Fennell had married well his wife being a dairyman's daughter from a veil at a distance who brought fifty guineas in her pocket and kept them there till they should be required for ministering to the needs of a coming family. This frugal woman had been somewhat exercised as to the character that should be given to the gathering. A sit-still party had its advantages, but an undisturbed position of ease in chairs and settles was apt to lead on the men to such an unconscionable deal of toping that they would sometimes fairly drink the house dry. A dancing party was the alternative, but this, while avoiding the foregoing objection on the score of good drink, had a counterbalancing disadvantage in the manner of good vitals. The ravenous appetites engendered by the exercise causing immense havoc in the buttery. Shepherd Fennell fell back upon the intermediate plan of mingling short dances with short periods of talk and singing, so as to hinder any ungovernable rage in either. But this scheme was entirely confined to her own gentle mind. The shepherd himself was in the mood to exhibit the most reckless phases of hospitality. The fiddler was a boy of those parts about twelve years of age who had a wonderful dexterity in jigs and reels, though his fingers were so small and short as to necessitate a constant shifting for the high notes, from which he scrambled back to the first position with sounds not of unmixed purity of tone. At seven the shrill tweedle-deave of this youngster had begun, accompanied by a boomy, ground bass from Elijah knew the parish clerk who had thoughtfully brought with him his favourite musical instrument, the serpent. Dancing was instantaneous, with his Fennell privately enjoining the players on no account to let the dance exceed the length of a quarter of an hour. But Elijah and the boy, in the excitement of their position, quite forgot the injunction. Moreover Oliver Giles, a man of seventeen, one of the dancers, who was enamoured of his partner, a fair girl of thirty-three rolling years, had recklessly handed a new crown piece to the musician as a bride to keep going as long as they had muscle and wind. Mrs. Fennell, seeing the stream begin to generate on the countenance of her guests, crossed over and touched the fiddler's elbow and put her hand on the serpent's mouth. But they took no notice, and fearing she might lose her character of genial hostess if she were to interfere too markedly, she retired and sat down helpless. And so the dance whizzed on with the cumulative fury, the performers moving in their planet-like courses, direct and retrograde, from apogee to perigee, till the hand of the well kicked clock at the bottom of the room had travelled over the circumference of an hour. While these cheerful events were in cause of enactment within Fennell's pastoral dwelling, an incident having considerable bearing on the party, had occurred in the gloomy night without. Mrs. Fennell's concern about the growing fierceness of the dance corresponded in point of time with the ascent of a human figure to the solitary hill of higher crow stares, from the direction of the distant town. This personage strode on through the rain without a pause following the little warm path which, further on in its course, skirted the shepherd's cottage. It was nearly the time of full moon, and on this account, though the sky was lined with a uniform sheet of dripping cloud, ordinary objects out of doors were readily visible. The sad one light revealed the lonely pedestrian to be a man of supple frame. His gate suggested that he had somewhat passed the period of perfect and instinctive agility, though not so far as to be otherwise unwrapped of motion when occasion required. At a rough guess he might have been about forty years of age. He appeared tall, but a recruiting sergeant, or other person accustomed to judging of men's heights by the eye, would have discerned that this was chiefly owing to his gauntness, and that he was not more than five feet eight or nine. Notwithstanding the regularity of his tread there was caution in it, as in that of one who mentally feels his way, and despite the fact that it was not a black coat nor a dark garment of any sort that he wore, there was something about him which suggested that he naturally belonged to the black-coated tribes of men. His clothes were of fustion, and his boots hobnailed, yet in his progress he showed not the mud-accustomed bearing of hobnailed and fustioned peasantry. By the time that he had arrived abreast of the shepherd's premises the rain came down, or rather came along, with yet more determined violence. The outskirts of the little settlement partially broke the force of the wind and rain, and this induced him to stand still. The most salient of the shepherd's domestic erections was an empty stye at the forward corner of his headless garden, for in these latitudes the principle of masking the homier features of your establishment by a conventional frontage was unknown. The traveller's eye was attracted to this small building, by the pallid shine of the wet slates that covered it. He turned aside and, finding it empty, stood under the pent roof for shelter. While he stood the boom of the serpent within the adjacent house and the lesser strains of the fiddler, reached the spot-surging hiss of the flying rain on the sod, it's louder beating on the cabbage-leaves of the garden, and the eight or ten beehives just discernible by the path, and it's dripping from the eaves into a row of buckets and pans that have been placed under the walls of the cottage. For at higher crow-stairs, as at all such elevated domiciles, the ground difficulty of housekeeping was an insufficiency of water, and as casual rainfall was utilised by turning out, as catchers, every utensil that the house contained. Some queer stories might be told of the contrivances for economy in suds and dishwaters that are absolutely necessitated in up-planned habitations during the droughts of summer. But at this season there were no such exigencies, a mere acceptance of what the skies bestowed was sufficient for an abundant store. At last the notes of the serpent ceased and the house was silent. The cessation of activity aroused a solitary pedestrian into the reverie, into which he had elapsed, and emerging from the shed, with an apparently new intention, he walked up the path to the house-door. Arrived here his first act was to kneel down on a large stone beside the row of vessels, and to drink a copious draught from one of them. Having quenched his thirst he rose and lifted his hand to knock, but paused with his eye upon the panel. Since the dark surface of the wood revealed absolutely nothing, it was evident that he must be mentally looking through the door, as if he wished to measure whereby all the possibilities that a house of this sort might include, and how they might bear upon the question of his entry. In his indecision he turned and surveyed the scene around. Not a soul was anywhere visible. The garden path stretched downward from his feet, gleaming like the track of a snail. The roof of the little well, mostly dry, the well cover, the top rail of the garden gate were varnished with the same dull liquid glaze, while far away in the veil a faint whiteness of more than usual extent showed that the rivers were high in the meads. Beyond all this winked a few bleared lump lights through the beating drops, lights that denoted the situation of the county town from which he had appeared to come. The absence of all notes of life in that direction seemed to clinch his intentions, and he knocked at the door. Within, a desultory chapter taken the place of movement and musical sound, the hedge carpenter was suggesting a song to the company which nobody just then was inclined to undertake, so that the knock afforded a not unwelcome diversion. Walk in, said the shepherd promptly. The latch clicked upward, and out of the night our pedestrian appeared upon the door-mat. The shepherd arose, snuffed two of the nearest candles, and turned to look at him. The light disclosed that the stranger was dark in complexion, and not unpre-possessing as to feature. His hat, which for a moment he did not remove, hung low over his eyes, without concealing that they were large, open, and determined, moving with a flash rather than a glance round the room. He seemed pleased with his survey, and, bearing his shaggy head, said in a rich deep voice, The rain is so heavy, friend, that I ask leave to come in and rest awhile. To be sure, stranger, said the shepherd, and faith, you've been lucky in choosing your time, for we are having a bit of a fling for a glad cause, though to be sure a man could hardly wish that glad cause to happen more than once a year. Nor less spoke up a woman, but is best to get your family over and done with as soon as you can, so as to be all the earlier out of the faggot. And what may be this glad cause? asked the stranger. A berth and christening, said the shepherd, the stranger hoped his host might not be made unhappy either by too many or too few of such episodes, and being invited by the gesture to a pull at the mug, he readily acquiesced. His manner, which before entering had been so dubious, was now altogether that of a careless and candid man. Late to be traipse in a thought this gourmet, said the engaged man of fifty. Late it is, master, as you say, I'll take a seat in the chimney-corner if you have nothing to urge against it, ma'am, for I am a little moist on the side that was next to the rain. Mrs. Shepherd Fennell assented and made room for the self-invited comer, who, having got completely inside the chimney-corner, stretched out his legs and arms with the expansiveness of a person quite at home. Yes, I am rather cracked in the vamp, he said freely, seeing that the eyes of the shepherd's wife fell upon his boots, and I am not well fitted either. I have had some rough times lately and have been forced to pick up what I can in the way of wearing, but I must find a suit better fit for working days when I reach home. What of hereabouts, she inquired, not quite that, further up the country. I thought so, and so be I, and by your tongue you come from my neighbourhood. But you would hardly have heard of me, he said quickly, my time would be long before yours, ma'am, you see. The testimony to the youthfulness of his hostess had the effect of stopping her cross-examination. There is only one thing more wanted to make me happy, said the newcomer, and that is a little backie, which I am sorry to say I am out of. I'll fill your pipe, said the shepherd. I must ask you to lend me a pipe likewise. A smoker and no pike about him? I have dropped it somewhere on the road. The shepherd filled and handed him a new clay pipe, saying, as he did so, hand me your backie-box, I'll fill that too, now I am about it. The man went through the movement of searching his pockets. Lost that too, said his entertainer, with some surprise. I'm afraid so, said the man with some confusion. Give it to me in a screw of paper. Lighting his pipe at the candle, with a suction that drew the whole flame into the bowl, he settled himself in the corner, and bent his looks upon the faint stream from his damp legs as if he wished to say more. Meanwhile the general body of guests had been taking little notice of this visitor by reason of an absorbing discussion on which they were engaged with the band about a tune for the next dance. The matter being settled, they were about to stand up when an interruption came in the shape of another knock at the door. At sound of the same, the man at the chimney-corner took up the poker and began stirring the brand as if doing it thoroughly were the aim of his existence. And a second time the shepherd said, Walk in! In a moment another man stood upon the straw-woven door-mat. He too was a stranger. This individual was one of a type radically different from the first. There was more of the commonplace in his manner and a certain jovial cosmopolitanism sat upon his features. He was several years older than the first arrival, his hair being slightly frosted, his eyebrows bristly and his whiskers cut back from his cheeks. His face was rather full and flabby and yet it was not altogether a face without power. A few grog blossoms marked the neighbourhood of his nose. He flung back his long drab greatcoat, revealing that beneath it he wore a suit of cindergrey shade throughout, large heavy seals of some metal or other that would take a polish dangling from his fob as his only personal ornament. Shaking the water-drops from his low-crowned glazed hat, he said, I must ask for a few minutes, shelter comrades, or I shall be wetted to my skin before I get to Casterbridge. Make yourself at home, master, said the shepherd, perhaps a trifle less heartily than on the first occasion. Not the fennel had the least tinge of niggardliness in his composition, but the room was far from large. Spare chairs were not numerous, and damp companions were not altogether desirable at close quarters for the women and girls in their bright-coloured gowns. However, the second-comer, after taking off his great coat and hanging his hat on the nail in one of the ceiling beams, as if he had been specially invited to put it there, advanced and sat down at the table. This had been pushed so closely into the chimney-corner to give all available room to the dancers, that its inner edge grazed the elbow of the man who had ensconced himself by the fire, and thus the two strangers were brought into close companionship. They nodded to each other by way of breaking the ice of unacquaintance, and the first stranger handed his neighbour the family mug, a huge vessel of brown wear, having its upper edge worn away, like a threshold by the rub of whole generations of thirsty lips that had gone the way of all flesh, and bearing the following inscription burnt upon its rotund side in yellow letters. There is no fun until I come. The other man, nothing loath, raised the mug to his lips and drank on, and on, and on, till a curious blueness overspread the countenance of the shepherd's wife, who had regarded with no little surprise the first stranger's free offer to the second of what did not belong to him to dispense. I knew it, said the topper, to the shepherd, with much satisfaction, when I walked up your garden before coming in and saw the hives all in a row, I said to myself, where there's bees, there's honey, and where there's honey, there's mead. But mead of such a truly comfortable sort as this I really did not expect to meet in my older days. He took yet another pull at the mug till it assumed an ominous elevation. Glad you enjoy it, said the shepherd warmly. It is goodish mead, assented Mrs. Fennell, with an absence of the enthusiasm which seemed to say that it was possible to buy praise for one seller at too heavy a price. It is trouble enough to make, and really I hardly think we shall make any more. For honey sells well, and we ourselves can make shift with a drop of small mead, and methagland for common use from the comb-washings. Oh, but you'll never have the heart, reproachfully cried the stranger in the cinder-grey, after taking up the mug a third time and setting it down empty. I love mead, went his old like this, as I love to go to church on Sundays or to relieve the needy any day of the week. Ha, ha, ha, said the man in the chimney-corner who, in spite of the taciturny induced by the pipe of tobacco, could not or would not refrain from the slight testimony to his comrade's humour. Now the old mead of those days brewed of the purest first year or maiden honey, four pounds to the gallon, with its due complement of white of eggs, cinnamon, ginger, cloves, mace, rosemary, yeast, and processes of working, bottling and cellaring. It tasted remarkably strong, but it did not taste so strong as it actually was. Hence presently the stranger in cinder-grey at the table, moved by its creeping influence, unbuttoned his waistcoat, threw himself back in his chair, spread his legs, and made his presence felt in various ways. Well, well, as I say, he resumed, I'm going to Casterbridge, and to Casterbridge I must go. I should have been almost there by this time, but the rain drove me into your dwelling, and I'm not sorry for it. You don't live in Casterbridge, said the shepherd. Not as yet, though I shortly mean to move there. Going to set up in trade, perhaps? No, no, said the shepherd's wife. It is easy to see that the gentleman is rich and don't want to work at anything. The cinder-grey stranger paused as if to consider whether he would accept that definition of himself. He presently rejected it by answering, Which is not quite the word for me, Dame. I do work, and I must work, and even if I only get to Casterbridge by midnight, I must begin work there at eight tomorrow morning. Yes, het o' wet, blow o' snow, famine o' sword, my days work tomorrow must be done. Poor man, then in spite of see me, you be off them, we, replied the shepherd's wife. Tis the nature of my trade men and maidens, tis the nature of my trade more than my poverty, but really and truly I must up and off, or I shan't get a lodging in the town. However, the speaker did not move and directly added, There's time for one more draught of friendship before I go, and I'd perform it at once if the mug were not dry. Here's a mug as small, said Mrs. Fennell, small we call it, though to be sure tis only the first wash o' the combs. No, said the stranger disdainfully, I won't spoil your first kindness by partaking a year's second. Certainly not, broken Fennell, we don't increase and multiply every day, and I'll fill the mug again. He went away to the dark place under the stairs where the barrel stood. The shepherdess followed him. Why should you do this? She said reproachfully, as soon as they were alone. He's emptied it once, though it's held enough for ten people, and now he's not contented with the small, but must need call for more of the strong, and a stranger unbeknown to any of us. For my part, I don't like to look at a man at all. But he's in the house, my honey, and it's a wet night and a christening. Daze it, what's a cup of mead more or less? There'll be plenty more next be burning. Very well, this time, then, she answered, looking wistfully at the barrel. But what is the man's calling, and where is he of, that he should come in and join us like this? I don't know, I'll ask him again. The catastrophe of having the mud drained dry at one pull by the stranger in Cinder Gray was effectually guarded against this time by Mrs. Fennell. She poured out his allowance in a small cup, keeping the large one at a discrete distance from him. When he had tossed off his portion, the shepherd renewed his inquiry about the stranger's occupation. The latter did not immediately reply, and the man in the chimney corner, with sudden demonstrativeness, said, Anybody may know my trade, I'm a real right. A very good trade for these parts, said the shepherd. And anybody may know mine, if they've the sense to find it out, said the stranger in Cinder Gray. You may generally tell what a man is by his claws. Observe the hedge carpenter, looking at his own hands. My fingers be as full of thorns as an old pincushion of pins. The hands of the man in the chimney corner instinctively sought the shade, and he gazed into the fire as he resumed his pipe. The man at the table took up the hedge carpenter's remark, and added smartly, True, but the oddity of my trade is that, instead of setting a mark upon me, it sets a mark upon my customers. No observation being offered by anybody in elucidation of this enigma, the shepherd's wife once more called for a song. The same obstacles presented themselves, as in the former time. One had no voice, another had forgotten the first verse. The stranger at the table, whose soul had now risen to a good working temperature, relieved the difficulty by exclaiming that, to start the company, he would sing himself. Thrusting one thumb into the armhole of his waistcoat, he waved the other hand in the air, and with an extemporizing gaze at the shining sheep-cook above the mantelpiece began, Oh, my trade, it is the rarest one, simple shepherd's all, my trade is a sight to see for my customers I tie, and to take them upon high, and waft them to a fair country. The room was silent when he had finished the verse, with one exception, that of the man in the chimney-corner who, at the singer's word, chorus, joined him in a deep bass voice of musical relish, and waft him to a fair country. Oliver Giles, John Picture, the dairyman, the parish clerk, the engaged man of fifty, the row of young women against the wall, seemed lost in thought, not of the gazed kind. The shepherd looked meditatively on the ground, and the shepherdess gazed keenly at the singer, and with some suspicion she was doubting whether this stranger were merely singing an old song from recollection, or was composing one there and then to the occasion. All were as perplexed at the obscure revelation as the guest at Belchazar's feast except the man in the chimney-corner who quietly said, Second verse, stranger, and smoked on. The singer thoroughly moistened himself from his lips inward, and went on with the next stanza as requested. My tools about common ones, simple shepherds all, my tools on no sight to see, a little hemp and string and a post were on to swing, are implements enough for me. Shepherd Fennell glanced round. There was no longer any doubt that the stranger was answering his question rhythmically. The guests, one and all, started back with suppressed exclamations. The young woman engaged to the man of fifty fainted half away and would have proceeded, but finding him wanting inelacrity for catching her, she sat down trembling. Oh, he's there! whispered the people in the background, mentioning the name of an ominous public officer. He's come to do it. It is to be at Carsterbridge jail tomorrow. The man for sheep-stealing. The poor clock-maker we heard of, who used to live away at Shotsford and had no work to do. Timothy Summers, whose family were starving, and so he went out of Shotsford by the high road and took a sheep in open daylight, defying the farmer and the farmer's wife and the farmer's lad, and every man jack among them. He, and they nodded toward the stranger of the deadly trade, is come up from the country to do it because there's not enough to do in his own county town. And he's got the place here now, our own county man's dead. He's going to live in the same cottage under the prison wall. The stranger in Cinder Gray took no notice of this whispered string of observations, but again what it is lips. Seeing that his friend in the chimney-corner was the only man who reciprocated his joviality in any way, he held out his cup towards that appreciative comrade, who also held out his own. They clinked together the eyes of the rest of the room hanging upon the singer's actions. He parted his lips for the third verse, but at that moment another knock was audible upon the door. This time the knock was faint and hesitating. The company seemed scared. The shepherd looked with consternation toward the entrance and it was with some effort that he resisted his alarmed wife's deprecatory glance and uttered for the third time the welcoming words, Walk in! The door was gently opened and another man stood upon the map. He, like those who had preceded him, was a stranger. This time it was a short, small personage, a fair complexion, and dressed in a decent suit of dark clothes. Can you tell me the way to? He began when gazing round the room to observe the nature of the company among whom he had fallen. His eyes lighted on the stranger in Cinder Gray. It was just at the instant when the latter, who had thrown his mind into his song, with such a will that he scarcely heeded the interruption, silenced all whispers and inquiries by bursting into a third verse. Tomorrow is my working day, simple shepherds all. Tomorrow is a working day for me, for the farmer's sheep is slain and the lad who did it tame. And on his soul may God have mercy. The stranger in the chimney-corner, waving cups with the singer so heartily that his mead splashed over the hearth, repeated in his bass-voices before, and on his soul may God have mercy. All this time the third stranger had been standing in the doorway, finding now that he did not come forward or go on speaking. The guest particularly regarded him. They noticed to their surprise that he stood before them the picture of abject terror, his knees trembling, his hands shaking so violently that the door latch by which he supported himself rattled audibly. His white lips were parted, and his eyes fixed on the merry officer of justice in the middle of the room. A moment more, and he had turned, closed the door, and fled. What a man can it be! said the shepherd. The rest, between the awfulness of their late discovery and the odd conduct of the third visitor, looked as if they knew not what to think and said nothing. Instinctively they withdrew further and further from the grim gentleman in their midst, whom some of them seemed to take for the Prince of Darkness himself, till they formed a remote circle, an empty space of floor being left between them and him. Circulus Cugius Centrum Diabolus The room was so silent, though there were more than twenty people in it, that nothing could be heard but the patter of the rain against the window-shutters, accompanied by the occasional hiss of a stray drop that fell down the chimney into the fire, and the steady puffing of the man in the corner who had now resumed his pipe of long clay. The stillness was unexpectedly broken. The distant sound of a gun reverberated through the air, apparently from the direction of the county town. The jiggered, quite the stranger who had sung the song, jumping up. What does that mean? asked several. A prisoner escaped from the jail, that's what it means. All listened. The sound was repeated and none of them spoke but the man in the chimney-corner who said quietly, I've often been told that in this county they fire a gun at such times, but I never heard it till now. I wonder if it's my man, murmured the person in grey cinder. Surely it is, said the shepherd, involuntarily, and surely we've seen him, that little man who looked in the door by now, and quivered like a leaf when he zed you and heard your song. His teeth chattered and the breath went out of his body, said the dairyman. And his heart seemed to sink within him like a stone, said Oliver Giles. And he bolted as if he'd been shot at, said the hedge carpenter. True, his teeth chattered and his heart seemed to sink and he bolted as if he'd been shot at, slowly summed up the man in the chimney-corner. I didn't notice it, remarked the hangman. We were all wondering what made him run off in such a fright, bolted one of the women against the wall, and now, disexplained. The firing of the alarm gun went on at intervals low and sullenly, and their suspicions became a certainty. The sinister gentleman in Cindy Grey roused himself. Is there a constable here? he asked in thick turns. If so, let him step forward. The engaged man of fifty stepped quavering out from the wall, his betrothed beginning to sub on the back of the chair. You are a sworn constable? I be, sir. Then pursue the criminal at once with assistance and bring him back here. He can't have gone far. I will, sir, I will, when I've got my staff. I'll go home and get it and come sharp here and start in a body. Staff? Never mind your staff, the man will be gone. But I can't do nothing without my staff. Can I, William and John and Charles Jake? No, for there's a king's royal crown. I painted on it in yellow and gold, on the lion and the unicorn, so as when I raised it up and hit my prisoner, which has made a lawful blow thereby, I wouldn't attempt to take up a man without my staff. No, not I. If I hadn't the law to give me courage, why instead of my taking him up, he might take me up. Now I'm a king's man myself and can give you authority enough for this, said the formidable officer in grey. Now then, all of you, be ready. Have you any lanterns? Yes, have you any lanterns? I demand it, said the constable. And the rest of you able-bodied? Able-bodied men, yes, the rest of you, said the constable. Have you some good stout staves and pitchforks? Staves and pitchforks, in the name of their law, take them in your hands and go in quest and do as we in authority tell you. Thus arouse 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 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 and through the chinks of the women below, who jumped up one by one and seemed glad of the excuse to ascend to 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 again. 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. He was a 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-cape that lay on the ledge beside where he had sat, and which he had apparently forgotten to take with him. He also poured out half a cup more meat 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, his friend in Cindergway. 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-cape with some effort. Well, on second thoughts I felt there were enough without me, said the first, confidentially, and such a knight as it is, too. Besides, says the business of the government to take care of its criminals, not mine. True, so it is, and I felt as you did, that there were enough without me. I don't want to break my limbs running over the lumps and hollows of this wild country, nor I neither, between you and me. These shepherd-people are used to it, simple-minded souls, you know, stirred up to anything in 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 it is as much as my legs will do to take me that far. Going the same way? No, I am sorry to say, I have to get home over there. He nodded indefinitely to the right, and I feel as you do, that it is quite enough for my legs to do before bedtime. The other had by this time finished the mead in the mug, after which, shaking hands heartily at the door and wishing each other well, they went their several ways. In the meantime the company of pursuers had reached the end of the Hogsback Elevation, which dominated this part of the down. They had decided on no particular plan of action, and finding that the man at the baleful trade was no longer in their company, they seemed quite unable to form any such plan now. They descended in all directions down the hill and straight way, several of the party fell into the snare set by nature, for all misguided midnight ramblers over this part of the cretaceous formation. The luncheats or firm slopes which belted the escarpment at intervals of a dozen yards took the less cautious ones unawares, and losing their footing on the rubbly steep. They slid sharply downward, the lanterns rolling from their hands to the bottom, and there lying on their sides till the horn was scorched through. When they had again gathered themselves together the shepherd as the man who knew the country best took the lead and guided them round these treacherous inclines. The lanterns which seemed rather to dazzle their eyes and warm the fugitive, then to assist them in their exploration, was extinguished. Due silence was observed and in this more rational order they plunged into the bale. It was a grassy, briary, moist defile, affording some shelter to any person who had sorted, but the party perambulated it in vain, and ascended on the other side. Here they wandered apart and after an interval closed together again to report progress. At the second time of closing in they found themselves near a lonely ash, the single tree on this part of the coom, probably so near by a passing bird some fifty years before. And here standing a little to one side of the trunk as motionless as the trunk itself appeared the man they were in quest of, his outline being well defined against the sky beyond. The band noiselessly drew up and faced him. Your money or your life said the constable sternly to the still figure. No, no, whispered John Pitcher, it isn't our side ought to say that, that's the doctrine of vagabonds like him, and we be on the side of the law. Well, well, replied the constable impatiently, I must say something mustn't I, and if you had all the way to this undertaking upon your mind perhaps you'd say the wrong thing too. Prisoner at the bar, surrender in the name of the father, the crown remain. The man under the tree seemed now to notice him for the first time, and giving them no opportunity whatever for exhibiting their courage, he strolled slowly toward them. He was indeed the little man, the third stranger, but his trepidation had in great measure gone. Well, travellers, he said, did I hear you speak to me? You did. You've got to come and be our prisoner at once, said the constable. We arrest thee on the charge of not biding in cast the bridge jail in a decent proper manner to be hung tomorrow morning. Neighbours, do your duty and sieve the culpit. On hearing the charge, the man seemed enlightened, and, saying not another word, resigned himself with preternatural civility to the search-party, who, with their staves in their hands, surrounded him on all sides and marched him back towards the shepherd's cottage. It was eleven o'clock by the time they arrived. The light shining from the open door, the sound of men's voices within, proclaimed to them as they approached the house that some new events had arisen in their absence. On entering they discovered the shepherd's living-room to be invaded by two officers from cast the bridge jail and a well-known magistrate who lived at the nearest country seat, intelligence of the escape having become genuinely circulated. Gentlemen, said the constable, I have brought back your man, not without risk and danger, but everyone must do his duty. He is inside this circle of able-bodied persons who have lent me useful aid, considering their ignorance of crown work. Men, bring forward your prisoner. And the third stranger was led to the light. Who is this? said one of the officials. The man, said the constable, certainly not, said the turnkey, and the first corroborated his statement. But how can it be otherwise, after constable, or why was he so terrified at sight of the singing instrument of the law who sat there? Here he related the strange behaviour of the third stranger on entering the house during the hangman's song. God understand it, said the officer Cooley, all I know is that it is not the condemned man. He is quite a different character from this one, a gauntish fellow with dark hair and eyes, rather good-looking, and with a musical-based voice that if you heard it once you'd never mistake as long as you lived. Why, souls, was the man in the chimney-corner? Hey, what? said the magistrate coming forward after inquiring particulars from the shepherd in the background. Haven't you got the man after all? Well, sir, said the constable, he's the man we were in search of, that's true, and yet he's not the man we were in search of. For the man we were in search of was not the man we wanted, sir, if you understand my everyday way, but was the man in the chimney-corner. Pretty kettle of fish altogether, said the magistrate. You have better start for the other man at once. The prisoner now spoke for the first time. The mention of the man in the chimney-corner seemed to have moved him as nothing else could do. Sir, he said, stepping forward to the magistrate, take no more trouble about me. The time is come when I may as well speak. I have done nothing. My crime is that the condemned man is my brother. Early this afternoon I left home in Shotsford to tramp it all the way to Casterbridge jail to bid him farewell. I was benighted and called here to rest and ask the way. When I opened the door I saw before me the very man, my brother, that I thought to see in the condemned cell at Casterbridge. He was in this chimney-corner and jammed close to him, so that he could not have got out if he had tried, was the executioner who had come to take his life, singing a song about it and not knowing that it was his victim who was close by, joining in to save appearances. My brother looked a glance of agony at me and I know he meant, don't reveal what you see, my life depends upon it. I was so terrestric that I could hardly stand and not knowing what I did I turned and hurried away. The narrator's manner and tone had the stamp of truth and his story made a great impression on all around. And do you know where your brother is at the present time? asked the magistrate. I do not. I have never seen him since I closed this door. I can testify to that for we've been between ye ever since, said the Constable. Where does he think to fly to? What is his occupation? He's a watch and clock-maker, sir. He said, was a real right, a wicked rogue, said the Constable. The wheels of clocks and watches he meant no doubt, said Shepherd Fennell. I thought his hands were palest, first trade. Well it appears to me that nothing can be gained by retaining this poor man in custody, said the magistrate. Your business lies with the other, unquestionably. And so the little man was released offhand, but he looked nothing the less sad on that account, it being beyond the power of magistrate or constable to raise out the written troubles in his brain, for they concerned another whom he regarded with more solicitude than himself. When this was done and the man had gone his way, the night was found to be so far advanced that it was deemed useless to renew the search before the next morning. Next day accordingly the quest for the clever sheep-stealer became general and keen, to all appearance at least, but the intended punishment was cruelly disproportionate to the transgression and the sympathy of a great many country-folk in that district was strongly on the side of the fugitive. Moreover his marvellous coolness and daring in hobnobbing with the hangman under the unprecedented circumstances of the shepherd's party won their admiration so that it may be questioned if all those who ostensibly made themselves so busy in exploring woods and fields and lanes were quite so thorough when it came to the private examination of their own lofts and outhouses. Stories were afloat of a mysterious figure being occasionally seen in some old overgrown trackway or other remote from Turnpike roads, but when a search was instituted in every of these suspected quarters nobody was found. Thus the days and weeks passed without tidings. In brief the base-voice man of the chimney-corner was never recaptured. Some said that he went across the sea, others that he did not but buried himself in the depths of a popular city. At any rate, the gentleman in Cindergrey never did his morning's work at Casterbridge, nor met anywhere at all for business purposes, the genial comrade with whom he had passed an hour of relaxation in a lonely house on the coon. The grass has long been green on the graves of Shepherd Fennell and his frugal wife. The guests who made up the christening party have mainly followed their entertainers to the tomb. The baby in whose honour they had all met is a matron in the seer and yellow leaf, but the arrival of the three strangers at the shepherds that night and the details connected therewith is a story as well known as ever in the country about higher crow stares. End of The Three Strangers by Thomas Hardy The Voice of Science by Arthur Conan Doyle This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Riley McGuire. The Voice of Science by Arthur Conan Doyle Mrs. Esdale of the Linden's Birchespool was a lady of quite remarkable scientific attainments. As honorary secretary of the ladies branch of the local eclectic society, she shone with a never-failing brilliance. It was even whispered that on the occasion of the delivery of Professor Tomlinson's suggestive lecture on the paragenesis of the Plastidule, she was the only woman in the room who could follow the lecturer even as far as the end of his title. In the seclusion of the Linden's, she supported Darwin, laughed at Miverre, doubted Hegel, and shook her head at Weissman with a familiarity which made her the admiration of the university professors and the terror of the few students who ventured to cross her learned but hospitable threshold. Mrs. Esdale had, of course, detractors. It is the privilege of exceptional merit. There were bitter feminine whispers as to the cramming from encyclopedias and textbooks, which preceded each learned meeting, and as to the care with which in her own house the conversation was artfully confined to those particular channels with which the hostess was familiar. Tales there were, too, of brilliant speeches written out in some masculine hand which had been committed to memory by the ambitious lady and had afterwards flashed out as extemporary elucidations of some dark, half-explored corner of modern science. It was even said that these little blocks of information got jumbled up occasionally in their bearer's mind so that after an entomological lecture she would burst into a geological harangue, or vice versa, to the great confusion of her audience. So ran the gossip of the malicious, but those who knew her best were agreed that she was a very charming and clever little person. It would have been a strange thing had Mrs. Esdale not been popular among local scientists, for her pretty house, her charming grounds, and all the hospitality which an income of 2,000 a year will admit of were always at their command. On her pleasant lawns in the summer and round her drying room fire in the winter such high talk of microbes and leukocytes and sterilized bacteria were thin, acidic materialists from the university upheld the importance of this life against round, comfortable champions of orthodoxy from the cathedral clothes. And in the heat of thrust and parry when scientific proof ran full tilt against inflexible faith a word from the clever widow or an opportune rattle over the keys by her pretty daughter Rose would bring all back to harmony once more. Rose Esdale had just passed her 20th year and was looked upon as one of the beauties of Birchespool. Her face was perhaps a trifle long for perfect symmetry but her eyes were fine, her expression kindly, and her complexion beautiful. It was an open secret too that she had under her father's will 500 a year in her own right. With such advantages a far planer girl than Rose Esdale might create a stir in the society of a provincial town. A scientific conversatzone in a private house is an onerous thing to organize yet mother and daughter had not shrunk from the task. On the morning of which I write they sat together surveying their accomplished labours with the pleasant feeling that nothing remained to be done save to receive the congratulations of their friends. With the assistance of Rupert, the son of the house they had assembled from all parts of Birchespool objects of scientific interest which now adorned the long tables in the drawing room. Indeed the full tide of curiosities of every sort which had swelled into the house had overflowed the rooms devoted to the meeting and had surged down the broad stairs to invade the dining room and the passage. The whole villa had become a museum. Specimens of the flora and fauna of the Philippine islands a 10 foot turtle carapace from the Galapagos the Os Frontos of the Boss Montos as shot by Captain Charles Beasley in the Tibetan Himalayas the Basilis of Kosh cultivated on Gelatine these and a thousand other such trophies adorned the tables upon which the two ladies gazed that morning. You've really managed it splendidly Ma said the young lady craning her neck up to give her mother a congratulatory kiss it was so brave of you to undertake it I think that it will do purred Mrs. Esdale complacently but I do hope that the phonograph will work without a hitch you know at the last meeting of the British Association I got Professor Standerton to repeat into it his remarks on the live history of the Medusa form Ganifor how funny it seems exclaimed Rose glancing at the square box like apparatus which stood in the post of honour on the central table to think that this wood and metal will begin to speak just like a human being hardly that dear of course the poor thing can say nothing except what is said to it you always know exactly what is coming but I do hope that it will work all right Rupert will see to it when he comes up from the garden he understands all about them oh Ma I feel so nervous Mrs. Esdale looked anxiously down at her daughter and passed her hand caressingly over her rich brown hair I understand she said in her soothing, cooing voice I understand he will expect an answer tonight Ma follow your heart child I am sure that I have every confidence in your good sense and discretion I would not dictate to you upon such a matter you are so good Ma of course as Rupert says we really know very little of Charles of Captain Beasley but then Ma all that we do know is in his favour so dear he is musical and well informed and good humoured and certainly extremely handsome it is clear too from what he says that he has moved in the very highest circles the best in India Ma he was an intimate friend of the Governor Generals you heard yourself what he said yesterday about the Darcy's and Lady Gwendolyn Fairfax and Lord Montague Grovesner well dear said Mrs. Esdale kindly you are old enough to know your own mind I shall not attempt to dictate to you I own that my own hopes were set upon Professor stairs oh Ma think how dreadfully ugly he is but think of his reputation dear little more than 30 and a member of the Royal Society I couldn't Ma I don't think I could if there was not another man in the world but oh I do feel so nervous for you can't think how earnest he is I must give him an answer tonight but they will be here in an hour don't you think that we had better go to our rooms the two ladies had risen when there came a quick masculine step upon the stairs and a brisk young fellow with curly black hair dashed into the room already he asked running his eyes over the lines of relic strewn tables already dear and he answered his mother oh I am glad to catch you together said he with his hands buried deeply in his trouser pockets and an easy expression on his face there's one thing that I want it to speak to you about look here Rosie a bit of fun is all very well but you wouldn't be such a little donkey to think seriously of this fellow Beasley my dear Rupert do try to be a little less abrupt said Mrs. Esdale with a depreciating hand outstretched I don't want to be on kind Rosie but I can't stand by and see you wreck your life for a man who is nothing to recommend him but his eyes and his mustache do be a sensible girl Rosie and have nothing to say to him it is surely a point Rupert upon which I am more fitted to decide than you can be remarked Mrs. Esdale with dignity no matter for I have been able to make some inquiries to the young chuffington of the Gunners knew him in India he says but his sister broke in upon his revelations I won't stay here ma to hear him slandered behind his back she cried with spirit he has never said anything that was not kind of you Rupert and I don't know why you should attack him so it is cruel on brotherly with a sweep and a whisk she was at the door her cheek flushed with this little spurt of indignation while close at her heels walked her mother with soothing words and an angry glance thrown back over her shoulder Rupert Esdale stood with his hands burrowing deeper and deeper into his pockets and his shoulders rising higher and higher to his ears feeling intensely guilty and yet not certain whether he should blame himself for having said too much or for not having said enough just in front of him stood the table on which the phonograph with wires, batteries and all complete stood ready for the guests whom it was to amuse slowly his hands emerged from his pockets as his eye fell upon the apparatus and with languid curiosity he completed the connection and started the machine a pompous husky sound as of a man clearing his throat proceeded from the instrument and then in high piping tones thin but distinct a commencement of the celebrated scientist's lecture of all the interesting problems remarked the box which are offered to us by recent researches into the lower orders of marine life there is none to exceed the retrograde metamorphosis which characterizes the common barnacle the differentiation of an amorphous protoplasmic mass here Rupert Asdale broke the connection again and the funny little tinkling voice ceased as suddenly as it began the young man stood smiling looking down at the garrulous piece of wood and metal when suddenly the smile broadened and a light of mischief danced up into his eyes he slapped his thigh and danced round in the ecstasy of one who was stumbled on a brand new brilliant idea very carefully he drew forth the slips of metal which recorded the learned professor's remarks and laid them aside for future use into the slots he thrust virgin plates all ready to receive an impression and then bearing the phonograph under his arm he vanished into his own sanctum five minutes before the first guests had arrived the machine was back upon the table and all ready for use was the creation of the success of mrs. Asdale's conversat sonne from first to last everything went admirably people stared through microscopes and linked hands for electric shocks and marveled at the galapagos turtle the os frontos of the boss mantis and all the other curiosities which mrs. Asdale had taken such pains to collect groups formed and chattered around the various cases the dean of birches pool took a sip while professor maunders held forth upon a square of triassic rock with side thrusts occasionally at the six days of orthodox creation a nod of specialist disputed over a stuff on a thurinkus in a corner while mrs. Asdale swept from group to group introducing, congratulating, laughing with the ready graceful tact of a clever woman of the world by the window set the heavily moustached captain under of the house and they discussed a problem of their own as old as the triassic rock and perhaps as little understood but I must really go and help my mother to entertain captain beesley said rose at last with a little movement as if to rise don't go rose and don't call me captain beesley call me charles do now well then charles how prettily it sounds from your lips don't go I can't bear to be away from you I had heard of love rose but how strange it seems that I after spending my life amid all that is sparkling and gay should only find out now in this little provincial town what love really is you say so but it is only a passing fancy no indeed I shall never leave you rose never unless you drive me away from your side break my heart he had very plaintive blue eyes and there was such a depth of sorrow in them as he spoke that rose could have wept for sympathy I should be very sorry to cause you grief in any way she said in a faltering tone then promise no no we cannot speak of it just now and they are collecting around the phonograph do come and listen to it it is so funny it will amuse you immensely and I'm sure that you would never guess what it is going to talk about what then oh I won't tell you you shall hear let us have these chairs by the open door it is so nice and cool the company had formed an expectant circle around the instrument there was a subdued hush as Rupert Esdale made the connection while his mother waved her white hand slowly from left to right to mark the cadence how about Lucy Araminta penny feather cried a squeaky little voice there was a rustle and a titter among the audience Rupert glanced across a Captain Beasley he saw a drooping jaw two protruding eyes and a face the color of cheese how about little Martha Hove Dean of the Kennzel Choir Union cried the piping voice louder still rose the titters Mrs. Esdale stared about her in bewilderment rose burst out laughing and the Captain's jaw drooped lower still with a tinge of green upon the cheese like face who was it who hid the ace in the artillery card room at Peshawar who was it who was broke in consequence who was it good gracious cried Mrs. Esdale the machine is out of order stop it Rupert these are not the professor's remarks but dear me where is our friend Captain Beasley gone I'm afraid that he's not very well ma said rose he rushed out of the room there can't be much the matter quoth Rupert there he goes cutting down the avenue as fast as his legs will carry him I do not think somehow I apologize I put in the wrong slips these I fancy are those which belong to professor standards lecture Rose Esdale has become rose stares now and her husband is one of the most rising scientists in the provinces no doubt she's proud of his intellect and of his growing fame but there are times when she still gives a thought to the blue eyed captain in a sudden manner in which he deserted her end of the voice of science by Arthur Conan Doyle recording by Riley McQuire