Andy took his friend's hand mechanically, but gripped it hard.
“Now, Andy, I'll tell you straight: It's Gorstruth about Lizzie Porter!”
They stood as they were for a full minute, hands clasped; Andy with his jaw dropped and staring in a dazed sort of way at Dave. He raised his disengaged hand helplessly to his thatch, gulped suspiciously, and asked in a broken voice:
“How—how do you know it, Dave?”
“Know it? Andy, I SEEN 'EM MESELF!”
“You did, Dave?” in a tone that suggested sorrow more than anger at Dave's part in the seeing of them.
“Gorstruth, Andy!”
. . . . .
“Tell me, Dave, who was the feller? That's all I want to know.”
“I can't tell you that. I only seen them when I was canterin' past in the dusk.”