Free The Distracted Preacher by Thomas Hardy Page B

body of from twenty to thirty, all of whom, as Stockdale perceived to his astonishment, had blackened faces. Among them walked six or eight huge female figures, whom, from their wide strides, Stockdale guessed to be men in disguise. As soon as the party discerned Lizzy and her companion four or five fell back, and when the carts had passed came close to the pair.
    â€œThere is no walking up this way for the present,” said one of the gaunt women, who wore curls a foot long, dangling down the sides of her face, in the fashion of the time. Stockdale recognized this lady’s voice as Owlett’s.
    â€œWhy not?” said Stockdale. “This is the public highway.”
    â€œNow look here, youngster,” said Owlett—“oh, ’tis the Methodist parson!—what, and Mrs. Newberry! Well, you’d better not go up that way, Lizzy. They’ve all run off, and folks have got their own again.”
    The miller then hastened on and joined his comrades. Stockdale and Lizzy also turned back. “I wish all this hadn’t been forced upon us,” she said, regretfully. “But if those excisemen had got off with the tubs, half the people in the parish would have been in want for the next month or two.”
    Stockdale was not paying much attention to her words, and he said, “I don’t think I can go back like this. Those four poor excisemen may be murdered, for all I know.”
    â€œMurdered!” said Lizzy, impatiently. “We don’t do murder here.”
    â€œWell, I shall go as far as Warm’ell Cross to see,” said Stockdale, decisively; and without wishing her safe home or anything else, the minister turned back. Lizzy stood looking at him till his form was absorbed in the shades; and then, with sadness, she went in the direction of Nether-Moynton.
    The road was lonely, and after nightfall at this time of the year there was often not a passer for hours. Stockdale pursued his way without hearing a sound beyond that of his own footsteps, and in due time he passed beneath the trees of the plantation which surrounded the Warm’ell Cross-road. Before he had reached the point of intersection he heard voices from the thicket.
    â€œHoi-hoi-hoi! Help! Help!”
    The voices were not at all feeble or despairing, but they were unmistakably anxious. Stockdale had no weapon, and before plunging into the pitchy darkness of the plantation he pulled a stake from the hedge to use in case of need. When he got among the trees he shouted, “What’s the matter—where are you?”
    â€œHere!” answered the voices; and pushing through the brambles in that direction, he came near the objects of his search.
    â€œWhy don’t you come forward?” said Stockdale.
    â€œWe be tied to the trees.”
    â€œWho are you?”
    â€œPoor Will Latimer the exciseman!” said one, plaintively. “Just come and cut these cords, there’s a good man! We were afraid nobody would pass by to-night.”
    Stockdale soon loosened them, upon which they stretched their limbs and stood at their ease.
    â€œThe rascals!” said Latimer, getting now into a rage, though he had seemed quite meek when Stockdale first came up. “’Tis the same set of fellows. I know they were Moynton chaps to a man.”
    â€œBut we can’t swear to ’em,” said another. “Not one of ’em spoke.”
    â€œWhat are you going to do?” said Stockdale.
    â€œI’d fain go back to Moynton, and have at ’em again!” said Latimer.
    â€œSo would we!” said his comrades.
    â€œFight till we die!” said Latimer.
    â€œWe will, we will!” said his men.
    â€œBut,” said Latimer, more frigidly, as they came out of the plantation, “we don’t know that these chaps with black faces were Moynton men. And proof is a hard thing.”
    â€œSo it is,” said the rest.
    â€œAnd therefore we won’t do nothing at