Two men
on the top of the stairs stood aside to let them pass; the street door
was open, and Barbara turned to the right, walking alone, the soldier
close behind her.
It was a narrow street, and dark, only a light gleaming out here and
there from an unshuttered window; but there were many people abroad,
whispering together, and Barbara heard sobbing, once coming through an
open window, once from a woman who passed her quickly.
"Twenty-nine," she heard one man say in hoarse tones, "the first fruits
of this bloody vengeance."
"Curse him! May hell reward him," said his companion.
Barbara shuddered as she passed on, although she did not realise what
the words meant.
Then a man stood in her path for a moment.
"A fine night, mistress," he cried. "Twenty-nine of them by the
roadside, the chains creaking and the moonlight touching the white
faces. Never such a thing in Dorchester before. A damned judge, but what
a show!" And then, with a laugh, he ran past her. The voice and the
laughter were those of a maniac.
Barbara knew now. Judge Jeffreys had commenced his work. Must she pass
those hideous signs of it?
"Turn to the right," said Watson behind her.
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