I tied my boat up to the stairs, and went
at once to my lodgings. There was no
one about, and even if there had been I
think the strange sensation I felt would
prevented my saying anything about
the events of the night. All night I tossed
and turned uneasily in my bed. Whenever
I closed my eyes, I saw again the
livid scar-marked face, the straining wild
eyes, the bloody hands. The recollection
of that one brief moment terrified me more
than I can express. I felt as if it would
be impossible to forget it; and indeed I
feel so still. Towards morning I fell into
an uneasy sleep, in which the occurrences of
my night row repeated themselves over
and over again, and when I awoke I was
feverish and unrefreshed.

It was a bright, clear, fresh morning
after the storm, and although I felt by no
means well, I thought the row to Cookham
would do me good. So I held to my
purpose (which I had when I first awoke for
a moment thought of abandoning) and
started. As I neared the island I felt a
strange inexplicable dread of meeting the
man I had seen last night, but although I
felt as if my doing so would increase the
chance of a meeting, I rowed along the
Bucks shore where I had missed the punt.
There was nothing to be seen near the
island, nothing all the way to the lock, but
as I rowed along that piece of water I felt
creeping over me the cold shuddering feeling
that I had felt as I left Dalrymple the
previous evening. Nothing appeared to
have occurred in the neighbourhood out
of the usual course. The lock-keeper
returned my " good morning " without
entering into conversation, as I felt sure he
would have done if any strange
occurrence had happened during the night.
Once through the lock the chill feeling of
terror which had oppressed me,
disappeared gradually, and I began to persuade
myself that I had exaggerated what I had
seen; but I could not shake off the memory
of the face.

By the time I reached Marlow I felt so
tired and ill, that I gave up the idea of
going any further that day. Not to lose
time, however, I determined to take some
sketches of Bisham, and as I felt
indisposed for any more rowing, I took old Tom
Peacock, the fisherman, with me to scull.
Tom was, as you know, a garrulous old
fellow, and he soon began to talk. He
rambled on for some time with his fishing
stories and his poaching adventures, all of
which I had heard before, and to which,
consequently, I paid but little attention,
Presently, when the stream of his loquacity
had run a little dry, I asked him, more for
the sake of saying something than because
I feIt any interest in the question, whether
the storm had been bad last night at
Marlow.

"Bad?" said old Tom; "ay, that it
were. I dunno as ever I see a badder,
excep' one, three year ago, and just about
this time that were, too. Why, what day
of the month were yesterday?"

"The twenty-first."

"The twenty-first of June, " said the old
man, lowering his voice; "why, that were
the very day it was done, three year;

"It was done? what was done? What
do you mean?" The cold chill came over
me again, and I almost fancied I could see
the face again.

"Didn't ye hear of it afore?" asked Tom.
"Ah, no, I remember, you haven't been
this way for some time, and p'raps you
missed it in Lunnon papers. Well, you see,
sir, this was the way of it. You didn't know
old Kit Garth, the fisherman, up
Hambledon way, maybe? No? Ah, it wasn't
over much he was on the river! He lived
best part of his time drinking at the public,
and I don't think he was over-particular as
to how he got his money. However, that's
no business of mine, you know. Old Kit
was a terrible old rascal, surely, and a
pretty life he and his son, who was a'most
as big a blackguard as his father, led poor
old Mrs. Garth. She was a decent sort of
body enough, too good for the likes of Kit;
and although he used to beat her, and well-
nigh starve her sometimes, she never
complained. I believe she was fond of 'em
both somehow, and certainly the young 'un
used to be a bit kind to her by times, and
protected her against the old man now and
then; but you see, sir, it wasn't often as he
could do that, for in general, as sure as old
Kit was drunk, young Kit was drunk too.
Well, they went on at this sort o' life for
some time, sometimes in prison for assaults,
sometimes for poaching and that (though
there ain't much in that, I think), until one
day it came to a regular blow up. The two
men had been drinking hard, and the old
'un, so soon as ever he got home, begun a
bullyragging and a punching the missus.
Well, the young 'un he interfered, and the
upshot of it was as there was a reg'lar
fight. What happened exactly nobody
never rightly knowed; except one thing,
and that was, that in the morning old Kit
had got a awful cut right across the cheek,