he
mud, was a new misfortune to him. What are five miles of a walk to
a young man, even though the rain be falling and the ways be dirty?
what, though they may come after some other ten that he has already
traversed on his feet? His sister Kate would have thought nothing
of the distance. But George stopped on his way from time to time,
leaning on the loose walls, and cursing the misfortune that had
brought him to such a pass. He cursed his grandfather, his uncle, his
sister, his cousin, and himself. He cursed the place in which his
forefathers had lived, and he cursed the whole county. He cursed the
rain, and the wind, and his town-made boots, which would not keep out
the wet slush. He cursed the light as it faded, and the darkness as
it came. Over and over again he cursed the will that had robbed him,
and the attorney that had made it. He cursed the mother that had
borne him and the father that had left him poor. He thought of
Scruby, and cursed him, thinking how that money would be again
required of him by that stern agent. He cursed the House of Commons,
which had cost him so much, and the greedy electors who would not
send him there without his paying for it. He cursed John Grey, as he
thought of those two thousand pounds, with double curses. He cursed
this world, and all worlds beyond; and thus, cursing everything, he
made his way at last up to the inn at Shap.

It was nearly nine when he got there. He had wasted over an hour at
Bampton in his endeavour to get John Applethwaite's cart to carry him
on, and he had been two hours on his walk from Bampton to Shap,--two
hours amidst his cursing. He ordered supper and brandy-and-water,
and, as we know, sent off a Mercury for his clothes. But the
Mercuries of Westmoreland do not move on quick wings, and it was past
midnight before he got his possessions. During all this time he had,
by no means, ceased from cursing, but continued it over his broiled
ham and while he swallowed his brandy-and-water. He swore aloud, so
that the red-armed servant at the inn could not but hear him, that
those thieves at the Hall intended to rob him of his clothes;--that
they would not send him his property. He could not restrain himself,
though he knew that every word he uttered would injure his cause, as
regarded the property in Westmoreland, if ever he could make a cause.
He knew that he had been mad to strike his sister, and cursed himself
for his madness. Yet he could not restrain himself