Yet there the voices sounded, one sharp and peevish with anger, the other low and rough.

I could not hear what was said.

At last, a figure came from the door and went quickly down the hillside.

Who, think thee, was it?
Even "neighbour Eglington." I knew the walk and the forward thrust of the head.

Inside the hut all was still.
I drew near with a kind of fear, but yet I came to the door and looked in.
As I looked into the dusk, my limbs trembled under me, for who should be sitting there, a half-finished chair between his knees, but Soolsby the old chair-maker! Yes, it was he.