CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION

THE THREE STRANGERS

1 The first stranger

2 The second stranger

3 The third stranger

WHAUXHESHEPHERDSAW

1 First night

2 Second night

3 Third night

4 Fourth night

A MOMENT OF MADNESS

1 A wedding is arranged

2 A chance meeting

3 Baptista gets married

4 The honeymoon

5_Secr.ets_discoy_ered

GLOSSARY

a c t iv it ie s : Before Reading
a c t iv it ie s : While Reading

a c t iv it ie s : After Reading

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

ABOUT THE BOOKWORMS LIBRARY

 The Three Strangers

1
The first stranger

In the south-west o f England there are many long, low,

grassy hills, which have not changed their appearance for
centuries. Farmers still keep their sheep on them, and the
only buildings are lonely cottages, where shepherds live.

Fifty years ago there was a shepherd’s cottage on one o f

these hills. It was only three miles from the market town o f
Casterbridge, but it was unusual for travellers to pass this
way. There was no road, just tw o footpaths which crossed in
front o f the cottage door. During the long winters, snow and
rain fell heavily here, which made travelling difficult.

The night o f March 28th, 1825, was one o f the coldest and
wettest that winter, but inside the cottage all was warm and
cheerful. Shepherd Fennel had invited family and friends to
drink to the health o f his youngest child, a recent arrival in
the family. Nineteen people were at the party: married
women and single girls, shepherds and farm workers, young
people talking o f love, and old friends talking o f the past.

Shepherd Fennel had chosen his w ife well. She was a

farmer’s daughter from one o f the valleys, and when she
married, she brought fifty pounds w ith her in her pocket -
and kept it there, for the needs o f a coming family. She did
not like to spend money unnecessarily, and had worried
about the kind o f party to give that evening. ‘At a sit-still
party,’ she thought, ‘the men’ll get too comfortable and drink
the house dry. But at a dancing-party people get hungry and
then they’ll eat all our food! W e’ll have both sitting and
dancing - that’s the best w ay.’ And secretly she told the
fiddler to play for no more than fifteen minutes at a time.

But when the dancing began, nobody wanted to stop. The

fiddler refused to catch Mrs Fennel’s eye, and played on. The
music got louder and louder, and the excited dancers stepped
faster and faster. Mrs Fennel could do nothing about it, so
she sat helplessly in a corner, as the minutes became an hour.

W hile this was happening indoors, outside in the heavy

rain and darkness a figure was climbing up the hill from
Casterbridge. It was a tall, thin man, about forty years old,
dressed all in black and wearing thick, heavy boots.

When he reached the shepherd’s cottage, the rain came

down harder than ever. The man left the footpath and went
up to the door. He listened carefully, but the music inside
had now stopped, and the man seemed unsure what to do.
He looked around, but could see no one on the footpath
behind him, and no other houses anywhere near.

At last he decided to knock on the door.

‘Come in!’ called Shepherd Fennel. All eyes turned towards

the stranger, as he entered the warm room.
 He kept his hat on, low over his face. ‘The rain is heavy,
friends,’ he said in a rich, deep voice. ‘ May I come in and rest
here for a w hile?’

‘O’ course, stranger,’ replied the shepherd. ‘You’ve chosen

your moment well, because w e ’re having a party tonight.
There’s a new baby in the family, you see.’

‘I hope you and your fine w ife’ll have many more,

shepherd,’ the man answered, smiling politely at Mrs Fennel.
He looked quickly round the room, and seemed happy with
what he saw. He took his hat off, and shook the water from
his shoulders.

‘W ill you have a drink with us, stranger?’ asked Fennel. He

passed a mug o f his w ife’s home-made mead to the
newcomer, who drank deeply from it and held it out for
more.

‘I’ll take a seat in the chimney corner, if you don’t mind,’

said the man, ‘ to dry my clothes a bit.’ He moved closer to
the fire, and began to look very much at home.

‘There’s only one more thing that I need to make me

happy,’ he added, ‘and that’s a little tobacco.’

‘I’ll fill your pipe,’ said the shepherd kindly.

‘Can you lend me one?’

‘You’re a smoker, and you’ve no pipe?’ said Fennel.

‘I dropped it somewhere on the road.’ The man lit the pipe

that Fennel gave him, and seemed to want to talk no more.
 2
The second stranger

During this conversation the other visitors had not taken

much notice o f the stranger, because they were discussing
what the fiddler should play next. They were just getting up
to start another dance when there was a second knock at the
door. At this sound, the stranger turned his back to the door,
and seemed very busy trying to light his pipe.

‘Come in!’ called Shepherd Fennel a second time. In a

moment another man entered. He too was a stranger.

This one was very different from the first. There was a
more cheerful look about him. He was several years older,
with greying hair and a full, reddish face. Under his long wet
coat he was wearing a dark grey suit.

‘I must ask to rest here for a few minutes, friends,’ he said,

‘or I shall be w et to the skin before I reach Casterbridge.’

‘Make yourself at home, sir,’ replied Fennel, a little less

warmly than when welcoming the first stranger. The cottage
was not large, there were not many chairs, and these
newcomers brought cold, w et air into the room.

The second visitor took o ff his coat and hat, and sat down
heavily at the table, which the dancers had pushed into the
chimney corner. He found himself sitting next to the first
stranger, w ho smiled politely at him and passed him the mug
o f mead. The second man took it, lifted it to his mouth, and
drank without stopping, watched by Mrs Fennel, who was
not pleased at this free drinking o f her best mead.

At last die man in the grey suit put down the mug with a
happy sigh. ‘That’s wonderful mead, shepherd!’ he said. ‘I
haven’t tasted anything as good as that for many years.’

T’m pleased you enjoy it, sir!’ replied Shepherd Fennel.

‘It’s goodish mead,’ agreed his wife, a little coldly. ‘Made

from our own honey, o ’ course, and it is trouble enough to
make, I can tell ye. But w e may not make any more - honey
sells well, and w e don’t need much mead for ourselves.’

‘Oh, but you can’t stop making this!’ cried the man in grey.
He took the mug again and drank the last drop. ‘I love mead,
as much as I love going to church on Sundays, or giving
money to the poor!’
 ‘ That's wonJarful mead!’ said the nun in (be grey sutr.

‘Ha, ha, ha!1said the man by the fire, who seemed to enjoy
the stranger’s little joke.

The old mead o f those days, made with the best honey and
the freshest eggs, tasted very strong, but it did not taste as
strong as it actually was. Before long, the stranger in grey
became very cheerful and red in the face. He made himself
comfortable in his chair, and continued the conversation.

‘W ell, as I say, I’m on m y w ay to Casterbridge,1he said.

‘You don’t live there then?’ said Shepherd Fennel.

‘Not yet, although I plan to m ove there soon.’

 ‘Going to start a business, perhaps?’ asked the shepherd.

‘No, no,’ said his wife. ‘It is easy to see that the gentleman
is rich, and doesn’t need to work at any tiling.’

‘Rich is not the word for me, madam,’ replied the man in
grey. ‘ I have to work, and I do work. And even if I only get to
Casterbridge by midnight tonight, I must begin w ork there at
eight o ’clock tomorrow morning. Yes, hot or cold, rain or
snow, I must do m y day’s work tomorrow.’

‘Poor man! So, although you look rich and comfortable,

your life is harder than ours, is it?’ said the shepherd’s wife.

‘Well, it’s the work that I have to do, that’s all. Now I must
leave you, friends. But before I go, there’s time for one more
drink to your baby’s health. Only, the mug is empty.’

‘Here’s some small mead, sir,’ offered Mrs Fennel. ‘W e call

it small, but it’s still made from good honey.’

‘No,’ said the stranger. ‘I prefer to remember the taste o f

your best mead, thank you.’

‘O f course you do,’ said Shepherd Fennel quickly. He went

to the dark place under the stairs where the best mead was
kept, and filled the mug. His w ife follow ed him and spoke
worriedly to him in a low voice.

‘I don’t like the look o’ the man at all! He’s drunk enough
for ten men already! Don’t give him any more o ’ the best!’

‘But he’s in our house, m y love, and 'tis a miserable wet

night. What’s a mug o f mead more or less?’

‘Very well, just this time then,’ she said, looking sadly at
the mead. ‘But w ho is he, and what kind o f w ork does he
do?’

‘I don’t know. I’ll ask him again.’

While the man in grey drank his mead, Fennel asked him
again about his work, but the man did not reply at once.
Suddenly the first stranger spoke from his seat by the fire.

‘Anybody may know what / do - I work with wheels.’

‘And anybody may know what / do,’ said the man in the
grey suit, ‘if they’re clever enough to find it out.’

There was a short silence, which the shepherd’s w ife broke

by calling for a song. The second mug o f mead had made the
stranger’s face even redder and more cheerful than before,
and he offered to sing the first song. This is what he sang:

M y jo b is the strangest one,

Honest shepherds all -

Work that all the world can see;

M y customers I tie, and I take them up so high,

A nd send 'em to a fa r country!

No one spoke, except the man near the fire, who joined in
the last part, with a deep, musical voice:

A nd send 'em to a fa r country!

None o f the people in the room understood what the singer

meant, except the man near the fire, who continued smoking,
and said calmly, ‘Go on, stranger! Sing on!’

The man in grey drank again from his mug, and sang:

There isn’t much I need,

Honest shepherds all -

 To set the criminals free.

A little piece o f rope, and a tall hanging post.

A nd that'll be enough f o r me!

Now it was clear to everybody in the room that the

stranger was answering the shepherd’s question in song. They
all looked at him, their eyes and mouths wide open in horror.

Everyone looked at the stranger, their eyes

and mouths n-ide open in horror.

‘Oh, he’s the hangman!’ they whispered to each other. ‘H e’s

come to hang that poor clockmaker tomorrow in
Casterbridge prison - the clockmaker w ho had no work, and
whose children had no food, so he stole a sheep, and now
he’s going to hang for it!’
 3
The third stranger

Just then, there was another knock on the door. People

seemed frightened, and Shepherd Fennel was slow to call out,
for the third time, the welcoming words, 'Come in!’

The door was gently opened, and another stranger stood in

the doorway. He was a little man, with fair hair, and was
tidily dressed. ‘Can you tell me the way to— ?’ he began, but
stopped speaking when his eyes fell on the stranger in grey,
who, at that moment, started singing again.

Tomorrow is my working day,

Honest shepherds all -

W orking with the little piece o f rope.

A sheep has lost its life, and the th ief must pay the price.

H e'll fin d some peace with God, we hope!

The man by the fire repeated cheerfully in his deep voice:

He’ll find some peace with God, we hope!

A ll this time the third stranger had stood in the doorway,

and now everyone turned to look at him. They saw to their
surprise that his face was white, his hands were shaking, and
his eyes were fixed in horror on the man in grey. A moment
later he turned, and ran away into the darkness and the rain.

‘W ho can that be?’ asked Shepherd Fennel.

 No one answered. The room was silent, although there
were more than twenty people in it, and nothing could be
heard except the rain beating on the windows.

The stillness was broken by a bang. It was the sound o f a

gun, and it came from Casterbridge.

1he third stranger ran away into the ilarkness and the rain.

‘What does that mean?’ cried several people at once.

‘A prisoner’s escaped from Casterbridge prison - that’s

what it means,’ replied the man in grey, jumping up from his
chair. ‘I wonder if it’s my man?’

‘It must be!’ said the shepherd. ‘And I think w e ’ve seen
him! The little man w ho looked in at the door just now, and
shook like a lea f when he saw ye and heard your song!’

‘His face was as white as a sheet,’ said the fiddler.

‘His hands shook like an old man’s,’ said a farm worker.

‘His heart seemed as heavy as a stone,’ said Mrs Fennel.

‘True,’ said the man by the fire. ‘His face was white, his
hands shook, and he ran like the wind - it’s all true.’

‘We were all wondering what made him run o ff like that,’
said one o f the women, ‘and now 'tis explained.’

‘Is there a policeman here?’ asked the hangman.

One o f the men came slowly forward, pushed by his

friends. ‘I’m one o ’ the king’s officers, sir,’ he said.

‘Then take some o f these men at once, follow the criminal,

and bring him back here. He hasn’t gone far, I ’m sure.’

‘I will, sir, I w ill, when I ’ve got my uniform. I’ll go home

and put it on, and come back here immediately!’

‘Uniform! Never mind about your uniform! The man’ll be

far away by that tim e!’

‘But I must have my uniform! There’s the king’s name on it

in gold - I can’t arrest a man without m y uniform on.’

‘I’m a king’s man myself,’ said the man in grey coldly, ‘and
I order you to find and arrest this man at once! Now then, all
the men in the house must come with us. Are you ready?’

The men left the cottage to start their search, and the
women ran upstairs to see the new baby, who had begun to
cry loudly. But the living room did not stay empty for long. A
few minutes later the first stranger came quietly back into
the house. He cut himself a large piece o f cake, and drank
another mug o f mead. He was still eating when another man
came in just as quietly. It was the man in grey.

‘Oh, you here?’ said the hangman, smiling. ‘I thought you

had gone to help look for the prisoner.’

‘And I thought you had gone too,’ replied the other.

‘W ell, I felt that there were enough people without me,’

said the man in grey, helping himself to the mead.

‘I felt the same as you.’

‘These shepherd-people can easily find the man because

they know this hilly country. They’ll have him ready for me
by the morning, and it’ll be no trouble to me at all.’

‘Yes, they’ll find him. W e’ll save ourselves all that trouble.’

‘True, true. W ell, I’m going to Casterbridge. Are you going

the same way? We could walk together.’

‘No, I’m sorry to say I’m going the other w ay.’ And after
finishing their mead, the two men shook hands warmly, said
goodbye to each other, and went their different ways.

Out on the hills, the shepherd and his friends were getting
cold and w et in their search for the prisoner. They had no
luck at all until they reached the top o f a hill, where a single
tree stood. Suddenly they saw the man who they were
looking for, standing next to the tree.

‘Your money or your life !’ cried the policeman loudly.

 Suddenly they »iiu the Hutu they were looking for.

‘No, no,’ whispered the shepherd. ‘That’s what robbers say,

not good, honest people like us!’

‘W ell, I must say something, mustn’t I? Ye don’ t realize

how difficult it is to remember what to say!’

The little man now seemed to notice them for the first
time. ‘W ell, travellers, did I hear ye speak to me?’ he asked.
 ‘You did,’ replied the policeman. ‘We arrest ye for not
waiting in Casterbridge prison for your hanging tom orrow !’

The little man did not seem at all afraid, and to everyone’s
surprise agreed with great politeness to go back to the
shepherd’s cottage. When they arrived there, they discovered
that two officers from Casterbridge prison, and a judge who
lived nearby, were waiting for them.

‘Gentlemen,’ said the policeman, ‘I’ve brought back your

prisoner - here he is!’

‘But this is not our man!’ cried one o f the prison officers.

‘What?’ said the judge. ‘Haven’t you got the right man?’

‘But then w ho can this man be?’ asked the policeman.

‘I don’t know,’ said the prison officer. ‘But our prisoner is

very different. He’s tall and thin, with a deep, musical voice.’

‘That was the stranger w ho sat by the fire!’ cried Fennel.

The little man now spoke to the judge for the first time.
‘Sir,’ he said, ‘I must explain. I’ve done nothing wrong - my
only crime is that the prisoner is my brother. Today I was on
my way to visit him in Casterbridge prison for the last time,
when I got lost in the dark. I stopped here to ask the way,
and when I opened the door, I saw m y brother sitting by the
fire. Right next to him was the hangman w ho’d come to take
his life! M y brother looked at me, and I knew he meant,
“ Don’t tell them who I am, or I’ll die!” I was too frightened to
do anything except turn and run away.’

‘And do you know where your brother is now?’

‘No, sir. I haven’t seen him since I left the cottage.’

 ‘And what’s his job ?’

‘He’s a clockmaker, sir.’

‘He said he worked with wheels,’ said Shepherd Fennel.

‘He meant the wheels o f clocks and watches, I suppose.’

‘Well, we must let this poor man go,’ said the judge.
‘Clearly, it’s his brother who is the wanted man.’

And so the little man left the cottage with a sad, slow step.

The next morning, men were out on the hills again,

searching for the clever thief. But the shepherds and farm
workers did not look very carefully. They did not think the
man should hang, just for stealing a sheep, and they liked the
wonderful coolness that he showed, when sitting next to the
hangman at the shepherd’s party. So the prisoner was never
found, and the man in grey never did his morning’s work in
Casterbridge, nor ever met again the friendly stranger who
had sung the hangman’s song with him by the shepherd’s
fire.

The grass has long been green on the graves o f Shepherd

Fennel and his wife, and the baby whose health was drunk
that night is now an old lady. But the arrival o f the three
strangers at the shepherd’s cottage, and all that happened
afterwards, is a story as w ell known as ever in the hills and
valleys around Casterbridge.
 What the Shepherd Saw
A Story o f Four Moonlight Nights

1
First night

The Christmas moon was showing her cold face to the low
hills called the Marlbury Downs, in the south-western part o f
England known as Mid-Wessex. Here sheep were kept out on
the hills all year round, and lambs were born as early as
December. Shepherds needed to be on the hills day and night
at this time o f year, and often used small wheeled huts where
they could rest and keep warm, while keeping a careful eye
on the sheep.

On a high piece o f land one o f these huts stood inside a

little circle o f trees, which kept it out o f the icy wind and
also hidden from any passers-by. The hut was made o f wood,
and had a door and two windows. The north one looked out
on the eight hundred sheep which were in the shepherd’s
care, and the south window gave a view o f three ancient
stones, built in the shape o f a doorway. These great stones,
which village people called the D evil’s Door, had been there
for over two thousand years. They were worn and weather­
beaten, but tonight looked almost new in the silver light o f
the moon.

Inside the hut a young shepherd boy was waiting for his
master, who entered at that moment.

‘Are ye sleepy?’ asked the old man crossly.

‘N-no, master,’ replied the boy, who was a little frightened

o f the shepherd and his heavy stick.

‘The sheep should be all right until the morning now,’ said
the shepherd, ‘but one o f us must stay here, so I’ll leave ye,
do ye hear? I ’ll go home and sleep for a few hours. Run down
to my cottage and fetch me if anything happens. Ye can have
a bit o f a sleep in the chair by the stove - but only for a few
minutes, mind! Make sure ye stay awake the rest o f the time,
and don’t let that fire go out!’

The old man closed the door, and disappeared. The boy
went out to check on the sheep and new-born lambs, then
came back into the hut and sat down by the warm stove.
Soon his eyes closed, his head dropped, and he was asleep.

When he woke up, he could hear down in the valley the

clock at Shakeforest Towers striking eleven. The sound
carried w ell in the cold night air. He looked out o f the north
window and saw the sheep, lying on the grass as quietly as
before. He next looked out o f the opposite window, towards
the stones o f the D evil’s Door, white and ghostly in the
moonlight. And in front o f them stood a man.

It was clear that he was not a farm worker, because he was

wearing a dark suit, and carried himself like a gentleman.
The boy was still wondering, in great surprise, w hy the man
was visiting the Devil’s Door at this hour, when suddenly
another figure appeared. This second figure was a woman,
and when the stranger saw her, he hurried towards her. He
met her near the trees, and took her into his arms.

lYou have come, Harriet! Thank you!’ he cried warmly.

‘But not for this,’ replied the lady, pulling away from him.
She added more kindly, T have come, Fred, because you
begged me! W hy did you ask to see me?’

‘Harriet, I have seen many lands and faces since I last

walked these hills, but I have only thought o f you.’

‘Was it only to tell me this that you begged me to meet

you, out here on the hills, so late at night?’

‘Harriet, be honest with me! I have heard that the Duke is

unkind to you.’
 'W hy did you ask to see m et' Harriet said.

‘He sometimes gets angry, but he is a good husband.’

‘Harriet, dearest, is that really true? Doesn’t everybody

know that your life with him is a sad one? I have come to
find out what I can do. You are a Duchess, and I’m only Fred
Ogbourne, but it’s still possible that I can help you. By God!
The sweetness o f your voice should keep him pleasant,
especially when the sweetness o f your face is added to it!’

‘Captain Ogbourne!’ she cried, h alf afraid, half playful.

‘You’re an old friend - how can you speak to me in this way?
Remember I’m a married woman! I was wrong to come, I see
that now.’

‘You call me Captain Ogbourne,’ he replied unhappily, ‘but

I was always Fred to you before. I think you no longer have
any feeling for me. My love for you, Harriet, has not changed
at all, but you are a different woman now. I must accept it. I
can never see you again.’

‘You needn’t talk like that, you stupid man. You can see me
again - w hy not? But o f course, not like this. It was a mistake
o f mine to come tonight, and I only did it because the Duke
is away at the moment.’

'When does he return?’

T h e day after tomorrow, or the day after that.’

T h en meet me again tomorrow night.’

‘No, Fred, I cannot.’

‘I f you cannot tomorrow night, you can the night after.

Please let me have one more meeting before he returns, to
say goodbye! Now, promise m e!’ He took the Duchess’s hand.

‘No, Fred, let go o f my hand! It’s not kind o f you to make

me feel sorry for you, and then to keep me here like this!’

‘But see me once more! I have come two thousand miles to

see you.’

‘Oh, I must not! People w ill talk. Don’t ask it o f m e!’

T h en confess two tilings to me; that you did love me once,

and that your husband is unkind to you often enough to
make you think o f the time when you loved me.’

‘Yes, I confess them both,’ she answered quietly.

‘Come once m ore!’ He still held her hand, and had his arm
around her waist.

‘Very well, then,’ she said finally. ‘ I agree. I’ll meet you
tomorrow night or the night after. Now let me go.’

He set her free, and watched her hurry down the hill
towards her home, Shakeforest Towers. Then he turned and
walked away. In a few minutes all was silent and empty
again.

But only for a moment. Suddenly, a third figure appeared,

from behind the stones. He was a man o f heavier build than
the Captain, and was wearing riding boots. It was clear that
he had watched the meeting between the Captain and the
Duchess. He had been too far away to hear their conversation
and the lady’s reluctant words, so to him they had the
appearance o f lovers. But several more years passed before
the boy was old enough to understand this.

This third figure stood still for a moment, thinking. Then

he went back into the trees, and came out again with his
horse. He rode off, and the sound o f the horse’s feet on the
hard ground was heard for several minutes, until it died
away.

The boy stayed in the hut, his eyes still on the stones, but
nobody else appeared there. Suddenly he felt a heavy hand
on his shoulder, which made him jump.
 Suddenly, </ third figure jfrpeitred, front behind the stones.

‘Now look here, young Bill Mills, ye’ve let the fire in the
stove go out! Well, what’s happened, ye bad boy?’

‘Nothing, master.’

‘Sheep and lambs all safe and w ell?’

‘Yes, master.’

The old shepherd spoke angrily. ‘W ell, that’s where y e ’re

wrong. There are tw o new lambs out there, born just this
minute, and one o f the mothers is h alf dead! I told ye to stay
awake, boy, and fetch me if I was needed! W ell, what have
you got to say for yourself?’

‘You said that I could have a bit o f a sleep! In the chair by

the stove, you said!’

‘Don’t you speak to your elders and betters like that, young
man, or you’ll end up hanging from a rope at the prison!
W ell, ye can go home now, and come back again by breakfast
time. I’m an old man, but there’s no rest for m e!’

The old shepherd then lay down inside the hut, and the
boy went down the hill to his home in the village.
 2
Second night

The next evening the old shepherd left the boy alone in the
hut again, with repeated orders to keep a careful eye on the
sheep. But young Bill was only interested in the view from
the south window. He watched and waited, w hile the
moonlight shone on the ancient stones, but neither Captain
nor Duchess appeared.

When he heard the Shakeforest Towers clock strike eleven,

he saw the third figure appear. As the man came towards the
hut, the moonlight shone full on his face, and the boy
realized in horror that it was the Duke. All the villagers lived
in fear o f the Duke. He owned every farm and every house
for miles around, and anybody who made him angry could
lose their home and their job in a moment. The boy closed
the stove, and quickly hid himself in a com er o f the hut.

The Duke came close to the place where his w ife and the
Captain had stood the night before. He looked around,
perhaps for a hiding-place. When he discovered the hut
among the trees, he entered, and stood at the south window,
looking out at the Devil’s Door.

Only a minute or two later the Captain arrived, to w ait for

the Duchess. But a terrible surprise was waiting for him
tonight, as w ell as for die frightened boy hidden in the hut.
At the Captain’s appearance, die Duke became very angry.
He opened the door o f the hut and stepped out.

‘You have dishonoured her, and for that you shall die!’ he
cried. In the hut, die boy left his hiding-place and ran to the
window. He could not see die two men, but he heard
something falling on the grass, and then silence.

Three minutes later he saw the Duke going up the hill

towards the stones, pulling the Captain’s body along the
ground. The boy knew that behind die D evil’s Door diere was
a deep hole, covered by long grass and other plants. The
Duke made his way slowly to the shadows behind die stones,
and when he came out, he was pulling nothing behind him.

‘Now for the second!’ the boy heard him say. This time the
Duke waited outside the hut. It was clear that he expected his
wife, die Duchess, to arrive next at the meeting-place.

Inside the hut young Bill shook w id i fear. ‘What w ill he do

if she comes?’ he thought. ‘W ill he kill her too? He looks
angry enough! And he can do what he likes - he’s the Duke.
Nobody can stop him !’

The jealous watcher waited for some time, but she never
came. Sometimes he looked at his watch in surprise. He
seemed almost disappointed that she did not appear. At half­
past eleven he turned away to find his horse, and rode slowly
down the hill.

The young boy thought o f what lay in the hole behind the
stones, and was too frightened to stay alone in the hut. He
preferred to be with someone who was alive, even die Duke,
than w id i someone w ho was dead, so he ran after the
horseman. He followed the Duke all the way down into the
valley, feeling more comfortable when the lonely hills were
left behind him. Soon he could see the high walls and roofs
o f die Duke’s home, Shakeforest Towers.

I le saw the Duke pulling the ('apt.tin's body along the ground.

When the Duke got close to the great house, a small door
in a side wall opened, and a woman came out. She ran into
the moonlight to meet the Duke.

‘Ah, my dear, is it you?’ she said. T heard your horse’s step

on the road, and knew it must be you.’
 ‘Happy to see me, are you?’

‘H ow can you ask that?’

‘Well, it is a lovely night for meetings.’

‘Yes, it is a lovely night.’

The Duke got down from his horse and stood by her side.
‘Why were you listening for me at this time o f night?’ he
asked.

‘There is a strange story, which I must tell you at once. But

w hy did you come a night sooner than you said? I am sorry, I
really am !’ (shaking her head playfully), ‘because I had
ordered a special dinner for your arrival tomorrow, and now
it won’t be a surprise at all.’

The Duke did not look at his wife. ‘What is this strange
story that you wish to tell me?’ he asked quietly.

‘It is this. You know my cousin Fred Ogboume? W e used to

play together when we were children, and he - well, he loved
me, I think. I told you about it, you know.’

‘You have never told me o f it before.’

 ‘ A h, m y Je tir, if it you? the w o rn,in $vUi.

‘Oh, then it was your sister - yes, I told her about it. W ell, I
haven’t seen him for many years, and o f course I’d forgotten
all about his feeling for me. So I was surprised to receive a
letter from him yesterday. I can remember what he wrote.

‘M y dear cousin Harriet, the letter said. I f my life and future

mean anything to you at all, I beg you to do what I ask. Meet me
at eleven o'clock , tonight by the ancient stones on Marlbury
,
Downs. I cannot say more except to beg you to come. I will
explain everything when I see you. Come alone. You have all my
happiness in your hands. Yours Fred ,
‘That was his letter. Now I realize that it was a mistake to
go, but at the time I only thought he must be in trouble, and
with not a friend in the world to help him. So I went to
Marlbury Downs at eleven o’clock. Wasn’t it brave o f me?’

‘Very,’ replied the Duke coldly.

‘When I got there, I saw he was no longer the boy that I

remembered, but a full-grown man and an officer. I was sorry
I had come. What he wanted, I don’t know - perhaps just a
meeting with me. He held me by the hand and waist, and
refused to let me go until I promised to meet him again. And
in the end I did, because he spoke very warm ly to me and I
was afraid o f him in that lonely place. Then I escaped - I ran
home - and that’s all. O f course, I never meant to meet him
there again. But this evening I thought, “ Perhaps he’ll come
to the house when he realizes I’m not coming to meet him,”
and that’s w hy I couldn’t sleep. But you are so silent!’

T have had a long journey.’

They moved on towards the front entrance o f the house. 4I

have thought o f something, but perhaps you won’t like it,’
she said. 41 think he w ill w ait there again tomorrow night.
Shall w e go to the hill tomorrow together - just to see i f he is
there? And tell him he must not try to meet me like this?’

4Why should w e see if he is there?’ asked her unsmiling

husband.

‘Because I think we should try to help him. Poor Fred! He

w ill listen to you, if you talk to him. It is wrong o f him to
think o f me in that way, but he is clearly very miserable.’

By this time they had reached the front entrance and rung
the bell. A man came to take the horse away, and the Duke
and Duchess entered the house.
 3
Third night

The next night Bill Mills was left alone again to take care o f
the sheep. He tried bravely not to think o f what lay behind
the D evil’s Door, but without much success. So he was almost
pleased as w ell as surprised when the Duke and Duchess
appeared near the hut at about eleven o’clock. He watched
and listened through the little window in his hut.

T tell you, he did not think it was worth coming again!’ the
Duke said, reluctant to walk further. ‘ He is not here, so turn
round and come home.’

‘He doesn’t seem to be here, it’s true. Perhaps something

has happened to him? Oh poor Fred! I do hope he is all
right!’

The Duke said quickly, ‘ Oh, he probably has some other

meeting to go to.’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Or perhaps he has found it too far to come.’

‘Nor is that probable.’

‘Then perhaps he thought it was better not to come.’

‘Yes, perhaps. Or he may be here all the time, hiding

behind the Devil’s Door. Let’s go and see - and surprise him !’

‘Oh, he’s not there.’

 ‘Perhaps he’s lying very quietly in the grass there, because
o f you,’ she said, smiling.

‘Oh, no - not because o f m e!’

‘Come, then. Dearest, you’re as reluctant as a schoolboy

tonight! I know you’re jealous o f poor Fred, but you have no
reason to be!’

‘I’ll come! I’ll come! Say no more, Harriet!’ And together

they crossed the grass towards the stones.

The boy came out o f the hut to see what happened next,
but the Duchess saw him m oving in the darkness.

‘Ah, I see him at last!’ she said.

‘See him !’ cried the Duke. ‘W here?’

‘By the D evil’s Door. Don’t you see him?’ She laughed. ‘Ah,
my poor lover-cousin, you’ll be in trouble n ow !’

‘It’s not him!’ said the Duke in horror. ‘It can’t be him !’

‘No, it isn’t. It’s too small for him. It’s a boy.’

‘Ah, I thought so! Boy, come here.’

Fearfully, young Bill came closer.

‘What are you doing here?’ asked the Duke.

‘Taking care o f the sheep, your Grace.’

‘Ah, you know me! Do you keep sheep here every night?’

‘Most nights in winter, your Grace.’

‘And what have you seen here tonight or last night?’ asked
the Duchess. ‘Anyone waiting or walking about?’

The boy was silent.

 ‘He has seen nothing,’ said her husband quickly, staring
angrily at the boy. ‘Come, let us go. The air is cold.’

When they had gone, young Bill went back to the sheep.
But he was not alone for long. H alf an hour later the Duke’s
heavy steps were heard again. His w ife was not with him.

‘Listen, boy,’ he said. ‘The Duchess asked you a question,

and I want you to answer it. Have you seen any tiling strange
these nights, when you’ve been watching your sheep?’

‘Your Grace, I’m just a poor, stupid boy, and what I see, I
don’t remember.’

‘I ask you again,’ said the Duke, holding the boy’s shoulder
with a strong hand and staring down into his frightened face.
‘Did you see any tiling strange here last night?’

‘Oh, your Grace, don’t kill m e!’ cried the boy, falling to the
ground. ‘ I’ve never seen you walking here, or riding here, or
waiting for a man, or pulling a dead body along!’

‘A h !’ said the Duke coldly. ‘It is good to know that you

have never seen those things. Now, which do you prefer - to
see me do those things now , or to keep a secret all your life?’

‘Keep a secret, your Grace!’

‘You are sure you can do it?’

‘Oh, try me, your Grace!’

‘Very well. And now, do you like being a shepherd?’

‘Not at all. 'Tis lonely work for a boy like me, who sees
ghosts everywhere. And m y master sometimes beats me.’

‘I’ll give you new clothes, and send you to school, and
make a man o f you. But you must never say you’ve been a
shepherd boy. The moment that you forget yourself, and
speak o f what you’ve seen on the hills - this year, next year,
or twenty years from now - I w ill stop helping you, and
you’ll come down to being a poor shepherd again.’

T’ll never speak o f it, your Grace!’

‘Come here.’ The Duke took the boy to the Devil’s Door.
‘ Now make a promise in front o f these ancient stones. The
ghosts that live in this place w ill find you and punish you if
you ever speak o f your life as a shepherd boy or what you
saw then. Promise to keep this secret!’

‘O h, your Grace, don't k ill n iff'crie d the boy.

 His face as white as a sheet, the boy promised.

Then they went down into the valley, the Duke holding the
boy’s hand. That night the boy slept at Shakeforest Towers,
and the next day he was sent away to school.
 4
Fourth night

On a winter evening many years later, a well-dressed man o f

business sat in his office at Shakeforest Towers. He had come
a long way from the shepherd boy that he once was, but he
did not seem happy with his comfortable life. He appeared
older than his age, and he looked about him restlessly.

He stood up and left the office, and went to a room in

another part o f the house, where he knocked, and entered.
The Duchess had been dead for some years, and the Duke
was now a thin old man with white hair.

‘Oh - Mills?’ he said. ‘Sit down. What is it?’

‘Old times have come to life again, your Grace.’

‘Which old times are they?’

‘That Christmas week twenty-two years ago, when the

Duchess’s cousin asked her to meet him on Marlbury Downs.
I saw the meeting, and I saw much more than that.’

‘Do you remember a promise made by a shepherd boy?’

‘I do. That boy has kept the promise all his life.’

‘Then I wish to hear no more about it.’

‘Very well. But the secret may soon come out. Not from
me, because I’m grateful for what you’ve done for me. There
was great excitement when Captain Ogbourne disappeared,
but I spoke not a word, and his body was never found. For
twenty-two years I’ve wondered what you did with him. Now
I know. This afternoon I went up on the hill, and did some
digging. I saw enough to know that something still lies there
in a hole behind the stones.’

‘Mills, do you think the Duchess guessed?’

‘She never did, I’m sure, to the day o f her death.’

‘What made you think o f going there this afternoon?’

‘Something that happened today, your Grace. The oldest

man in the village has died - the old shepherd.’

‘Dead at last - how old was he?’

‘Ninety-four.’

‘And I ’m only seventy. I have twenty-four more years!’

‘He was my master when I was a shepherd boy, your

Grace. And he was on the hill the second night. He was there
all the time, but none o f us knew that.’

‘Ah!’ said the Duke, looking fixedly at Mills. ‘Go on!’

‘When I heard he was dying, it made me think o f the past,

and that’s w hy I went up on the hills. N ow the villagers are
saying that before he died, he confessed a secret to the vicar
- a secret that he’d kept for your Grace, about a crime on
Marlbury Downs more than twenty years ago.’

‘That’s enough, Mills. I’ll see the vicar early tomorrow.’

‘What w ill you do, your Grace?’

‘Stop his tongue for twenty-four years, until I am dead at

ninety-four, like the old shepherd. Go home now, Mills.’
 Mills left the room and walked to his own house, where he
lived a lonely, friendless life. But he could not sleep, and at
midnight he looked out at the colourless moon, and decided
to walk up to Marlbury Downs again. Once on the hill, he
placed himself where the shepherd’s hut had stood. No sheep
or lambs were there that winter, but the Devil’s Door stood
high and white as ever, with dark shadows behind it.
 The Duke went to the covered hole, and dug
with his hands like an animal.

Suddenly he realized he was not alone. A figure in white

was m oving silently towards the stones. It was the Duke
himself, in his long nightshirt, walking in his sleep. He went
straight to the covered hole, and dug with his hands like an
animal. Then he got up, sighed, and went back down the hill.
Mills followed him and saw him enter Shakeforest Towers.
 The next morning, when Mills arrived at the great house,
the housekeeper came to the door to meet him.

‘Oh, sir,’ she said, ‘the Duke is dead! He left his room in
the night and went walking around somewhere. And on his
way back to his room, he fell downstairs and broke his neck.’

* * *

At last Mills was able to tell the secret that had lain so
heavily on his heart for twenty-two years, and he died, at
peace with himself, a few years later.

There are still fine sheep and lambs on the Marlbury

Downs, but shepherds do not like spending the nights close
to the D evil’s Door. They say that during Christmas week
ghostly white shapes are often seen there. Something made o f
bright metal shines in the moonlight, and there is the shadow
o f a man pulling something heavy across the grass. But no
one can be sure that these tilings are true.
 A Moment o f Madness

1
A wedding is arranged

Most people who knew Baptista Trewthen agreed that there

was nothing in her to love, and nothing in her to hate. She
did not seem to feel very strongly about anything. But still
waters run deep, and nothing had yet happened to make her
show what lay hidden inside her, like gold underground.

Since her birth she had lived on St Maria’s, an island o ff

the south-west coast o f England. Her father, a farmer, had
spent a lot o f money on sending her to school on the
mainland. At nineteen she studied at a training college for
teachers, and at twenty-one she found a teaching job in a
town called Tor-upon-Sea, on the mainland coast.

Baptista taught the children as w ell as she could, but after

a year had passed she seemed worried about something. Mrs
Wace, her landlady, noticed the change in the young woman
and asked her what the matter was.

‘It has nothing to do with the town, or you,’ replied Miss

Trewthen. She seemed reluctant to say more.

‘Then is it the pay?’

‘No, it isn’t the pay.’

to do, Mrs Wace. I like him better than teaching, but I don’t
like him enough to marry him.’

These conversations were continued from day to day, until

at last the landlady decided to agree with Baptista’s parents.

‘Life w ill be much easier for you, my dear,’ she told her
young friend, ‘if you marry this rich neighbour.’

In April Baptista went home to St Maria’s for a short

holiday, and when she returned, she seemed calmer.

‘I have agreed to have him as m y husband, so that’s the

end o f it,’ she told Mrs Wace.

In the next few months letters passed between Baptista and

Mr Heddegan, but the girl preferred not to discuss her
engagement with Mrs Wace. Later, she told her that she was
leaving her job at the end o f July, and the wedding was
arranged for the first Wednesday in August.
 2
A chance meeting

When the end o f July arrived, Baptista was in no hurry to

return home to the island. She was not planning to buy any
special clothes for the wedding, and her parents were making
all the other arrangements. So she did not leave Tor-upon-
Sea until the Saturday before her wedding. She travelled by
train to the town o f Pen-zephyr, but when she arrived, she
found that the boat to St Maria’s had left early, and there was
no other boat until Tuesday. ‘ I’ll have to stay here until then,’
she thought. ‘ It’s too far to go back to Mrs Wace’s.’ She did
not seem to mind this - in fact, she was almost happy to wait
another three nights before seeing her future husband.

She found a room in a small hotel, took her luggage there,

then went out for a walk round the town.
 •Ob. is ii really you, Charlest' Baptista said.

‘Baptista? Yes, Baptista it is!’

The words came from behind her. Turning round, she gave
a jump, and stared. ‘Oh, is it really you, Charles?’ she said.

W ith a half-smile the newcomer looked her up and down.

He appeared almost angry with her, but he said nothing.

‘I’m going home,’ she continued, ‘but I’ve missed the boat.’

He did not seem interested in this news. ‘Still teaching?’ he

said. ‘What a fine teacher you make, Baptista, I’m sure!’

She knew that was not his real meaning. ‘I know I’m not
very good at teaching,’ she replied. ‘That’s w hy I’ve stopped.’

‘Oh, you’ve stopped? You surprise me.’

‘I hate teaching.’
to make an honest engagement o f it.’

T h a t’s just it! You girls expect a man to talk about

marrying after the first look! But I did mean to get engaged to
you, you know.’

‘But you never said so, and a woman can’t w ait for ever!’

‘Baptista, I promise you that I was planning to ask you to

marry me in six months’ time.’

She appeared very uncomfortable, and they walked along

in silence. Soon he said, 'Did you want to marry me then?’

And she whispered sadly back, ‘Yes!’

As they walked on, away from the town and into the fields,
her shoulder and his were close together. He held her arm
with a strong hand. This seemed to say, ‘Now I hold you, and
you must do what I want.’

‘H ow strange that we should meet like this!’ said the young

man. ‘You and I could be husband and w ife, going on our
honeymoon together. But instead o f that, w e ’ll say goodbye
in half an hour, perhaps for ever. Yes, life is strange!’

She stopped walking. ‘I must go back. This is too painful,

Charley! You’re not being kind today.’

‘I don’t want to hurt you - you know I don’t,’ he answered

more gently. ‘But it makes me angry - what you’re going to
do. I don’t think you should marry him.’

‘I must do it, now that I ’ve agreed.’

‘W hy?’ he asked, speaking more seriously now. ‘It’s never

too late to stop a wedding if you’re not happy with it. N ow -
'Y ou could n u riy me, Instead o f h im ,' said Charles.
 3
Baptista gets married

That same afternoon Charles Stow and Baptista Trewthen

travelled by train to the town o f Trufal. Charles was,
surprisingly, very careful o f appearances, and found a room
for Baptista in a different house from where he was staying.
On Sunday they went to church and then walked around the
town, on Monday Charles made the arrangements, and by
nine o’clock on Tuesday morning they were husband and
wife.

For the first time in her life Baptista had gone against her
parents’ wishes. She went cold with fear when she thought o f
their first meeting with her new husband. But she felt she
had to tell them as soon as possible, and now the most
important thing was to get home to St Maria’s. So, in a great
hurry, they packed their bags and caught the train to Pen-
zephyr.

They arrived two hours before the boat left, so to pass the
time they decided to walk along the cliffs a little way. It was
a hot summer day, and Charles wanted to have a swim in the
sea. Baptista did not like the idea o f sitting alone while he
swam. ‘But I’ll only be a quarter o f an hour,’ Charles said,
and Baptista passively accepted this.
 She sat high up on the cliffs, and watched him go down a
footpath, disappear, appear again, and run across the beach
to the sea. She watched him for a moment, then stared out to
sea, thinking about her family. They were probably not
worried about her, because she had sometimes missed the
boat before, but they were expecting her to arrive today -
and to marry David Heddegan tomorrow. ‘H ow angry father
w ill be!’ she thought miserably. ‘And mother w ill say I’ve
made a terrible mistake! I almost wish I hadn’t married
Charles, in that moment o f madness! Oh dear, what have I
done!’

This made her think o f her new husband, and she turned to
look for him. He did not appear to be in the sea any more,
and she could not see him on the beach. By this time she was
frightened, and she climbed down the path as quickly as her
shaking legs could manage. On the beach she called two men
to help her, but they said they could see nothing at all in the
water. Soon she found the place where Charles had left his
clothes, but by now the sea had carried them away.

For a few minutes she stood there without moving. There

was only one w ay to explain this sudden disappearance - her
husband had drowned. And as she stood there, it began to
seem like a terrible dream, and the last three days o f her life
with Charles seemed to disappear. She even had difficulty in
remembering his face. ‘ How unexpected it was, meeting him
that day!’ she thought. ‘And the wedding - did I really agree
to it? Are w e really married? It all happened so fast!’

She began to cry, still standing there on the beach. She did
not know what to do, or even what to think. Finally, she
remembered the boat, and catching the boat home seemed
the easiest thing to do. So she walked to the station, arranged
for someone to carry her luggage, and went down to the
boat. She did all this automatically, in a kind o f dream.

Just before the boat left, she heard part o f a conversation

which made her sure that Charles was dead. One passenger
said to another, lA man drowned here earlier today, you
know. He swam out too far, they say. A stranger, I think.
Some people in a boat saw him, but they couldn’t get to him
in time.’

The boat was a long w ay out to sea before Baptista realized

that Mr Heddegan was on the boat with her. She saw him
walking towards her and quickly took the wedding ring o ff
her left hand.
 T m sorry,’ said the landlady, ‘there’s a gentleman in that
room.’ Then, seeing Heddegan’s disappointed face, and not
wishing to lose a customer, she added quickly, ‘But perhaps
the gentleman w ill agree to m ove to another room, and then
you can have the one that you want.’

‘Well, if he doesn’t want a view ...’ said Mr Heddegan.

‘Oh no, I’m sure he doesn’t. And if you don’t mind going
for a little walk, I’ll have the room ready when you return.’

During their walk, Baptista was careful to choose different

streets from those that she had walked down with Charles,
and her white face showed how difficult this visit was for
her. At last they returned to the hotel, and were shown into
the best bedroom. They sat at the window, drinking tea.
Although Heddegan had arranged for a sea view , to please
Baptista, she did not look out o f the w indow once, but kept
her eyes on the floor and walls o f the room.

Suddenly she noticed a hat on the back o f the door. It was

just like the hat that Charles had worn. She stared harder;
yes, it was the actual hat! She fell back in her chair.

Her husband jumped up, saying worriedly, ‘You’re not

w ell! What can I get ye?’

‘Smelling salts!’ she said quickly, her voice shaking a little.

‘From the shop near the station!’

He ran out o f the room. Baptista rang the bell, and when a
young girl came, whispered to her, ‘That hat! Whose is it?’

‘Oh, I’m sorry, I’ll take it away,’ said the girl hurriedly. She
took the hat o ff the door. ‘It belongs to the other gentleman.’
 5
Secrets discovered

Mr and Mrs Heddegan both felt the honeymoon was not a

success. They were happy to return to the island and start
married life together in David Heddegan’s large house.
Baptista soon became as calm and passive as she had been
before. She even smiled when neighbours called her Mrs
Heddegan, and she began to enjoy the comfortable life that a
rich husband could offer her. She did nothing at all to stop
people finding out about her first marriage to Charles Stow,
although there was always a danger o f that happening.

One evening in September, when she was standing in her

garden, a workman walked past along the road. He seemed
to recognize her, and spoke to her in friendly surprise.

‘What! Don’t you know me?’ he asked.

‘I’m afraid I don’t,’ said Baptista.

‘I was your witness, madam. I was mending the church

window when you and your young man came to get married.
Don’t you remember? The vicar called me, to be a witness.’

Baptista looked quickly around. Heddegan was at the other

end o f the garden but unluckily, just at that moment, he
turned and walked towards the house. ‘Are you coming in,
my dear?’ he called out to Baptista.
 The workman stared at him. ‘That’s not your— ’ he began,
then he saw Baptista’s face and stopped. Baptista was unable
to speak, and the workman began to realize that there was a
little mystery here. T’ve been unlucky since then,’ he
continued, still staring at Baptista’s white face. ‘It’s hard
finding enough work to buy food for my w ife and myself.
Perhaps you could help me, because I once helped you?’

Baptista gave him some money, and hoped never to see

him again. But he was cleverer than he looked. By asking
questions on the island and the mainland, he soon realized
that Baptista had married one man on Tuesday, and another
man on Wednesday. He visited her again two days later.

‘It was a mystery to me, madam!’ he said, when she

opened the door. ‘But now I understand it all. I want to tell
you, madam, that I’m not a man to make trouble between
husband and w ife. But I’m going back to the mainland again,
and I need a little more money. I f your old man finds out
about your first husband, I’m sure he won’t like it, w ill he?’