nobody was found. Thus the days and weeks passed without tidings.

In brief, the bass-voiced man of the chimney-corner was never
recaptured. Some said that he went across the sea, others that he
did not, but buried himself in the depths of a populous city.

At any rate, the gentleman in cinder gray never did his morning's
work at Casterbridge, nor met anywhere at all for business purposes
the comrade with whom he had passed an hour of relaxation in the
lonely house on the coomb.

The grass has long been green on the graves of Shepherd Fennel and
his frugal wife; the guests who made up the christening-party have
mainly followed their entertainers to the tomb; the baby in whose
honour they all had met is a matron in the sear and yellow leaf;
but the arrival of the three strangers at the shepherd's that night,
and the details connected therewith, is a story as well known as
ever in the country about Higher Crowstairs.






MR. LISMORE AND THE WIDOW

BY WILKIE COLLINS