The frost was the same as on the night before, except perhaps that it was a little more severe.  The moon shone as usual, except that it was three-quarters of an hour later in its course; and the boy’s condition was much the same, except that he felt no sleepiness whatever.  He felt, too, rather afraid; but upon the whole he preferred witnessing an assignation of strangers to running the risk of being discovered absent by the old shepherd.

 

It was before the distant clock of Shakeforest Towers had struck eleven that he observed the opening of the second act of this midnight drama.  It consisted in the appearance of neither lover nor Duchess, but of the third figure—the stout² man, booted and spurred—who came up from the easterly direction in which he had retreated the night before.  He walked once round the trilithon, and next advanced towards the clump³ concealing⁴ the hut, the moonlight shining full upon his face and revealing him to be the Duke.  Fear seized upon the shepherd-boy: the Duke was Jove himself to the rural population, whom to offend was starvation, homelessness, and death, and whom to look at was to be mentally scathed⁵ and dumbfoundered.  He closed the stove, so that not a spark of light appeared, and hastily buried himself in the straw that lay in a corner.

 

The Duke came close to the clump of furze and stood by the spot where his wife and the Captain had held their dialogue; he examined the furze as if searching for a hiding-place, and in doing so discovered the hut.  The latter he walked round and then looked inside; finding it to all seeming empty, he entered, closing the door behind him and taking his place at the little circular window against which the boy’s face had been pressed just before.

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