when, on their way home in the dusk, they saw him motionless by some
rushy bank, unobservant of the decline of day.

Why did he come to fish near Silverthorn? That was never explained.
As far as was known he had no relatives near; the fishing there was
not exceptionally good; the society thereabout was decidedly meagre.
That he had committed some folly or hasty act, that he had been
wrongfully accused of some crime, thus rendering his seclusion from
the world desirable for a while, squared very well with his frequent
melancholy. But such as he was there he lived, well supplied with
fishing-tackle, and tenant of a furnished house, just suited to the
requirements of such an eccentric being as he.


Margery's father, having privately ascertained that she was living
with her grandmother, and getting into no harm, refrained from
communicating with her, in the hope of seeing her contrite at his
door. It had, of course, become known about Silverthorn that at the
last moment Margery refused to wed Hayward, by absenting herself from
the house. Jim was pitied, yet not pitied much, for it was said that
he ought not to have been so eager for a woman who had shown no
anxiety for him.

And where was Jim himself? It must not be supposed that that
tactician had all this while withdrawn from mortal eye to tear his
hair in silent indignation and despair. He had, in truth, merely
retired up the lonesome defile between the downs to his smouldering
kiln, and the ancient ramparts above it; and there, after his first
hours of natural discomposure, he quietly waited for overtures from
the possibly repentant Margery. But no overtures arrived, and then