‘That’s the married man and wife—there, I’ve illustrated my story by rale liven specimens,’ the clerk whispered.
‘To be sure, how close together they do stand! You couldn’ slip a penny-piece between ‘em—that you couldn’! Beautiful to see it, isn’t it—beautiful!... But this is a private path, and we won’t let ‘em see us, as all the ringers be goen there to a supper and dance to-morrow night.’
The speaker and his companion softly moved on, passed through the wicket, and into the coach-road. Arrived at the clerk’s house at the further boundary of the park, they paused to part.
‘Now for your half o’ the bargain,’ said Clerk Crickett. ‘What’s your line o’ life, and what d’ye come here for?’
‘I’m the reporter to the Casterbridge Chronicle, and I come to pick up the news. Good-night.’
Meanwhile Edward and Cytherea, after lingering on the steps for several minutes, slowly descended the slope to the lake. The skiff was lying alongside.
‘O, Edward,’ said Cytherea, ‘you must do something that has just come into my head!’
‘Well, dearest—I know.’
‘Yes—give me one half-minute’s row on the lake here now, just as you did on Budmouth Bay three years ago.’
He handed her into the boat, and almost noiselessly pulled off from shore. When they were half-way between the two margins of the lake, he paused and looked at her.