So he went on till evening shadows and ruddy evening lights came out
upon the wild fells.
He had crossed roads and lanes, with a bitter avoidance of men's
tracks; but now the strong instinct of self-preservation came out,
and his aching limbs, his weary heart, giving great pants and beats
for a time, and then ceasing altogether till a mist swam and
quivered before his aching eyes, warned him that he must find some
shelter and food, or lie down to die. He fell down now, often;
stumbling over the slightest obstacle. He had passed the cattle
pastures; he was among the black-faced sheep; and they, too, ceased
nibbling, and looked after him, and somehow, in his poor wandering
imagination, their silly faces turned to likenesses of Monkshaven
people--people who ought to be far, far away.
'Thou'll be belated on these fells, if thou doesn't tak' heed,'
shouted some one.
Philip looked abroad to see whence the voice proceeded.
An old stiff-legged shepherd, in a smock-frock, was within a couple
of hundred yards. Philip did not answer, but staggered and stumbled
towards him.
'Good lork!' said the man, 'wheere hast ta been? Thou's seen Oud
Harry, I think, thou looks so scared.' Philip rallied himself, and tried to speak up to the old standard of
respectability; but the effort was pitiful to see, had any one been
by, who could have understood the pain it caused to restrain cries
of bodily and mental agony.
'I've lost my way, that's all.' ''Twould ha' been enough, too, I'm thinkin', if I hadn't come out
after t' ewes. There's t' Three Griffins near at hand: a sup o'
Hollands 'll set thee to reeghts.' Philip followed faintly. He could not see before him, and was guided
by the sound of footsteps rather than by the sight of the figure
moving onwards. He kept stumbling; and he knew that the old shepherd
swore at him; but he also knew such curses proceeded from no
ill-will, only from annoyance at the delay in going and 'seem' after
t' ewes.' But had the man's words conveyed the utmost expression of
hatred, Philip would neither have wondered at them, nor resented
them.
They came into a wild mountain road, unfenced from the fells. A
hundred yards off, and there was a small public-house, with a broad
ruddy oblong of firelight shining across the tract.
'Theere!' said the old man. 'Thee cannot well miss that. A dunno
tho', thee bees sich a gawby.' So he went on, and delivered Philip safely up to the landlord.
'Here's a felly as a fund on t' fell side, just as one as if he were
drunk; but he's sober enough, a reckon, only summat's wrong i' his
head, a'm thinkin'.' 'No!' said Philip, sitting down on the first chair he came to. 'I'm
right enough; just fairly wearied out: lost my way,' and he fainted.