I to spend half the night thinking of my discovery, since which, for some reason, I had no doubt of the guilt of Amos, but I spoke not of it to any one and the secret worried me.
Next morning on my way to school I passed a scene more strange and memorable than any in my long experience.

I saw the shabby figure of old Benjamin Grimshaw walking in the side path.

His hands were in his pockets, his eyes bent upon the ground, his lips moving as if he were in deep thought.

Roving Kate, the ragged, silent woman who, for the fortune of Amos, had drawn a gibbet, the shadow of which was now upon him, walked slowly behind the money-lender pointing at him with her bony forefinger.

Her stern eyes watched him as the cat watches when its prey is near it.