farmyard.

Drawing her shawl tightly round her, she stepped out into the darkness.
Once she fancied that she heard the farmer muttering to himself in the
croft below and the harrowing thought crossed her mind that this was all
some cunning plan on his part to lure her out of the house and slip the
halter round her neck under cover of night. Her fears counselled her to
return to the house and seek shelter from his mad frenzy behind lock and
key, but the thought that Learoyd, if seized with a fit while exposed to
the chill night air, would certainly meet his death overcame her fears
and urged her on.

After more than two hours of fruitless search she returned to the farm,
cherishing the hope that her stepfather might have returned too. But the
house was empty and the door still stood ajar. Realising that further
search in the darkness was unavailing, she waited for the dawn and
determined that, as soon as the clock struck four, she would wake up the
farm labourer at his cottage and get him to search the moors while she
made her way down to Holmton to engage her husband and his son in the
task of tracking the fugitive. The dreary night passed at last, the
larks burst into song above her head, and the cry of the curlew was
heard on the moors. She closed the farm door behind her, roused the
hind, and then made her way as swiftly as possible to the town. Here
everybody was still asleep, and her footfalls waked echoes in the
stone-paved streets. Her nearest way to the weaver's cottage lay through
the market-place, and for a moment she hesitated whether she should pass
that way or take the more circuitous route by the beck-side. Realising
that there was no time to lose, she summoned up all her courage, and,
making her way past the church, entered the market-place. Her eyes were
fixed on the ground, as though to avoid beholding the scene of her