I even counted the buttons, the
horn buttons, on the rustics' coats--one was missing from the man's,
two from the boy's; and I even noted the sweat-stains under the
armpits of Matthew's shirt, and the dents and tears in Tammas's soft
wideawake. I observed all these trivialities and more besides. I saw
the abrupt rising and falling of the man's chest as his breath came in
sharp jerks; the stream of dirty saliva that oozed from between his
blackberry-stained lips and dribbled down his chin; I saw their
hands--the man's, square-fingered, black-nailed, big-veined, shining
with perspiration and clutching grimly at the reins; the boy's,
smaller, and if anything rather more grimy--the one pressed flat down
on the hay, the other extended in front of him, the palm stretched
outwards and all the fingers widely apart.
And while these minute particulars were being driven into my soul, the
cause of it all--the indefinable, esoteric column--stood silent and
motionless over-against the hedge, a baleful glow emanating from it.
The horse suddenly broke the spell. Dashing its head forward, it broke
off at a gallop, and, tearing frantically past the phantasm, went
helter-skelter down the road to my left. I then saw Tammas turning a
somersault, miraculously saved from falling head first on to the
road, by rebounding from the pitchfork which had been wedged upright
in the hay, whilst the figure, which followed in their wake with
prodigious bounds, was apparently trying to get at him with its
spidery arms.
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