"The less I see
of her the better--especially about the waist," he said to himself, as
he hobbled downstairs with the help of the banisters.
The cart was standing in the back yard when they reached the lower
regions of the house, and Dawkes (otherwise the farm-bailiff's man) was
fastening the last buckle of the horse's harness. The hoar-frost of
the morning was still white in the shade. The sparkling points of it
glistened brightly on the shaggy coats of Brutus and Cassius, as they
idled about the yard, waiting, with steaming mouths and slowly wagging
tails, to see the cart drive off. Old Mazey went out alone and used his
influence with Dawkes, who, staring in stolid amazement, put a leather
cushion on the cart-seat for his fellow-traveler. Shivering in the sharp
morning air, Magdalen waited, while the preliminaries of departure were
in progress, conscious of nothing but a giddy bewilderment of thought,
and a helpless suspension of feeling. The events of the night confused
themselves hideously with the trivial circumstances passing before her
eyes in the courtyard. She started with the sudden terror of the night
when old Mazey re-appeared to summon her out to the cart.
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