"It is his day to go,--the garrison can't live without
provision,--if he don't go to-day, we must skulk another twenty-four
hours,--we must not venture with him, there will be murder!" then
followed several sentences in such broad slang, as Tamar could not
comprehend, though she thought she understood the tendency of these
words, which were mixed with oaths and terms so brutal, that her blood
ran cold in thinking of them; "Caught in his own snare,--he will sink
in his own dyke,--we have him now, pelf and all." After this, Tamar
heard parting steps, and various low rumbling noises as if proceeding
from under ground; then all was still, and no farther sound was heard by
her, but the rustling of leaves, the chirping of birds, and the cropping
of the herb by the incisors of Brindle. In the mean time the morning
broke, the light of day was restored, and Tamar creeping gently from her
hiding-place, left Brindle, whilst she ran back to the cottage.
She had not gone far, before she met the labourer who was accustomed to
assist her in the care of the garden. She told him that the cow had
strayed to the knoll, and that she had seen her enter among the trees;
and he undertook, with his dog, to drive her back to the glen, though,
he said, he would on no account go up on the knoll, but his dog would
drive her down, and he would see her home.
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