At sun-set Tamar and Mrs. Margaret again visited this post of
observation, and again after they had supped at eight o'clock. They then
returned and shut their doors; they made up their fires; and whilst
Tamar plied her needle, Mrs. Margaret told many ancient tales and dismal
predictions of secret murders, corpse-candles, and visions of
second-sight, after which, as midnight approached, they became more
restless and anxious respecting their friends, wondering what they would
do, and expressing their hopes, or their fears, in dark sentences, such
as these:--"We trust no blood may be shed!--if there should be
blood!--if Dymock or poor Shanty should be hurt!" Again, they turned to
form many conjectures, and put many things together:--"Was Mr. Salmon
connected with the gipsies who had brought Tamar to the moor?--Was it
this gang that proposed robbing him?--Was the young blacksmith called
Harefoot connected with the gipsy?--Had he persuaded Salmon to bring
his treasures there, in order that he might pilfer them?--And lastly,
wherefore was Mr. Salmon so affected both times he had seen Tamar?"
Here, indeed, was a subject for conjecture, which lasted some hours, and
beguiled the sense of anxiety. At length the morning began to dawn on
that long night, and Tamar went out to milk Brindle, whose caprices had,
in fact, the day before, been the first mover in all this confusion.
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