er before today, though perhaps it would have been
better if I had not. But she's nothing to me, and I am nothing to
her; and she wouldn't have been in my van if any better carriage had
been there to take her."

"Where, may I ask?"

"At Anglebury."

"I know the town well. What was she doing there?"

"Oh, not much--to gossip about. However, she's tired to death now,
and not at all well, and that's what makes her so restless. She
dropped off into a nap about an hour ago, and 'twill do her good."

"A nice-looking girl, no doubt?"

"You would say so."

The other traveller turned his eyes with interest towards the van
window, and, without withdrawing them, said, "I presume I might look
in upon her?"

"No," said the reddleman abruptly. "It is getting too dark for you to
see much of her; and, more than that, I have no right to allow you.
Thank God she sleeps so well: I hope she won't wake till she's home."

"Who is she? One of the neighbourhood?"

"'Tis no matter who, excuse me."

"It is not that girl of Blooms-End, who has been talked about more or
less lately? If so, I know her; and I can guess what has happened."

"'Tis no matter... Now, sir, I am sorry to say that we shall soon have
to part company. My ponies are tired, and I have further to go, and I
am going to rest them under this bank for an hour."

The elder traveller nodded his head indifferently, and the reddleman
turned his horses and van in upon the turf, saying, "Good night." The
old man replied, and proceeded on his way as before.

The reddleman watched his form as it diminished to a speck on the road
and became absorbed in the thickening films of night. He then took
some hay from a truss which was slung up under the van, and, throwing
a portion of it in front of the horses, made a pad of the rest,
which he laid on the ground beside his vehicle. Upon this he sat
down, leaning his back against the wheel. From the interior a low
soft breathing came to his ear. It appeared to satisfy him, and he
musingly surveyed the scene, as if considering the next step that he
should take.

To do things musingly, and by small degrees, seemed, indeed, to be
a duty in the Egdon valleys at this transitional hour, for there
was that in the condition of the heath itself which resembled
protracted and halting dubiousness. It was the quality of the repose
appertaining to the scene. This was not the repose of actual
stagnation, but the apparent repose of incredible s