“But I must and will know what’s the matter.”
“Measter Philip be murdered!”
At these words the farmer stepped back several paces.
“Murdered!” he repeated. “And by whom?”
“I dunno. But I will afore long. By the heaven above, I swear never to rest night or day till I hunt down the infamous wretch who ha’ done this foul deed,” exclaimed Joe Doughty, raising his right hand above his head. “I ha’ said it, and I mean it, as God is my judge.”
“I must look upon my son,” cried Jamblin. “So don’t ’e seek to detain me, Joe. Leave go!”
“If it’s to be so, I’ll go wi’ ’e, measter,” replied the latter.
And so the two walked on together towards the fatal spot, for Joe Doughty would not trust his master to go alone.
When they arrived at that part of the road where the dead body of the young farmer lay, the men with the lanterns were more affected by sight of their master than they had been by looking at the stark form of his son.
The agony expressed on the countenance of the elder Mr. Jamblin was painful to behold.