'Where's your money, John?' said a younger man suddenly, staring hard at
the returned wanderer.

John started.

'Don't you talk your nonsense!' he said, fretfully; 'an I must be gettin
on, afore dark.'

He went his way, but as he turned a corner of the road, he saw them
still standing where he had left them. They seemed to be watching his
progress, which astonished him.

A light of windy sunset lay spread over the white valley, and the
freshening gusts drove the powdery snow before them, and sent little
stabs of pain through John's shrinking body. Yet how glad he was to find
himself again between those familiar hedges, to see the church-tower in
front of him, the long hill to his right! His heart swelled at once with
longing and satisfaction. During his Frampton job, and in the infirmary,
he had suffered much, physically and mentally. He had missed Eliza and
the tendance of years more than he had ever imagined he could; and he
had found himself too old for new faces and a new society. When he fell
ill he had been sorely tempted to send for some of his money, and get
himself nursed and cared for at the respectable lodging where he had put
up. But no; in the end he set his teeth and went into the infirmary. He
had planned not to touch his hoard till he had done with the Frampton
job, and returned to Clinton for good.

His peasant obstinacy could not endure to be beaten; nor, indeed, could
he bring himself to part with his keys, to trust the opening of the
hoard even to Isaac.