‘But t’ press-gang had law on their side, and were doing nought but what they’d warrant for.’

‘Th’ tender’s gone away, as if she were ashamed o’ what she’d done,’ said Sylvia, ‘and t’ flag’s down fra’ o’er the Randyvowse.  There ’ll be no more press-ganging here awhile.’

‘No; feyther says,’ continued Molly, ‘as they’ve made t’ place too hot t’ hold ’em, coming so strong afore people had getten used to their ways o’ catchin’ up poor lads just come fra’ t’ Greenland seas.  T’ folks ha’ their blood so up they’d think no harm o’ fighting ’em i’ t’ streets—­ay, and o’ killing ’em, too, if they were for using fire-arms, as t’ Aurora’s men did.’

‘Women is so fond o’ bloodshed,’ said Philip; ‘for t’ hear you talk, who’d ha’ thought you’d just come fra’ crying ower the grave of a man who was killed by violence?  I should ha’ thought you’d seen enough of what sorrow comes o’ fighting.  Why, them lads o’ t’ Aurora as they say Kinraid shot down had fathers and mothers, maybe, a looking out for them to come home.’

‘I don’t think he could ha’ killed them,’ said Sylvia; ’he looked so gentle.’

But Molly did not like this half-and-half view of the case.

’A dare say he did kill ’em dead; he’s not one to do things by halves.  And a think he served ’em reet, that’s what a do.’

‘Is na’ this Hester, as serves in Foster’s shop?’ asked Sylvia, in a low voice, as a young woman came through a stile in the stone wall by the roadside, and suddenly appeared before them.

‘Yes,’ said Philip.  ‘Why, Hester, where have you been?’ he asked, as they drew near.

Hester reddened a little, and then replied, in her slow, quiet way—­

’I’ve been sitting with Betsy Darley—­her that is bed-ridden.  It were lonesome for her when the others were away at the burying.’

And she made as though she would have passed; but Sylvia, all her sympathies alive for the relations of the murdered man, wanted to ask more questions, and put her hand on Hester’s arm to detain her a moment.  Hester suddenly drew back a little, reddened still more, and then replied fully and quietly to all Sylvia asked.

In the agricultural counties, and among the class to which these four persons belonged, there is little analysis of motive or comparison of characters and actions, even at this present day of enlightenment.  Sixty or seventy years ago there was still less.  I do not mean that amongst thoughtful and serious people there was not much reading of such books as Mason on Self-Knowledge and Law’s Serious Call, or that there were not the experiences of the Wesleyans, that were related at class-meeting for the edification of the hearers.  But, taken as a general ride, it may be said that few knew what manner of men they were, compared to the numbers now who are fully conscious of their virtues, qualities, failings, and weaknesses, and who go about comparing others with themselves—­not in a spirit of Pharisaism and arrogance, but with a vivid self-consciousness that more than anything else deprives characters of freshness and originality.