88 The Confessions of a 'Poacher. 



Just at dawn the poacher's wife emerged 

 from a poor cottage at the junction of the 

 roads, and after looking about her as a hunted 

 animal might look, made quietly off over the 

 land. Creeping closely by the fences she 

 covered a couple of miles, and then entered a 

 disused, barn-like building. Soon she emerged 

 under a heavy load, her basket, as of old, 

 covered with crisp, green cresses. These she 

 had kept from last evening, when she plucked 

 them in readiness, from the spring. After two or 

 three journeys she had removed the " plant," 

 and as she eyed the game her eyes glistened, 

 and she waited now only for him. As yet she 

 knew not that he would never more come 

 that soon she would be a lone and heart-broken 

 creature. For, although his life was one long 

 warfare against the Game Laws, he had always 

 been good and kind to her. His end had 

 come as it almost inevitably must. The sound 

 of a heavy unknown footstep on his way home, 

 had turned him from his path. He had then 

 made back for the lime-kiln to obtain warmth 

 and to dry his sodden clothes. Once on the 



