At most,
'Twould be manslaughter with the likes of him.
I've some respect for murderers: they, at least,
Take things into their own hands, and don't wait
On lucky chances, like the rest of us--
Murderers and suicides ...

JUDITH:
But Jim?

BELL:
I'd back
Cain against Abel, ay, and hairy Esau
Against that smooth sneak Jacob. Jim? He's likely
Done in some doxy in a drunken sleep:
'Twould be about his measure.

JUDITH:
Jim--O Jim!

BELL:
Nay: he'll not dangle in a hempen noose.

JUDITH:
And yet you saw his body ...

BELL:
Dead men's knuckles!
You didn't swallow that gammon? Why should I
Be sleeping under Winter's Stob? But Jim--
I doubt if he'd the guts to stick a porker:
You needn't fear for him. But I must go.

JUDITH:
Go? You'll not go without a sup of tea,
After you've traiked so far? Michael and Ruth ...

BELL:
Ay, Judith: I just caught a squint of them
Among the cluther outside the circus-tent:
But I was full-tilt on Jim's track, then: and so,
I couldn't daunder: or I'd have stopped to have
A closer look: yet I saw that each was carrying
A little image of a Barrasford:

(_Looking into the cradle._)

And here's the reckling image, seemingly--
The sleeping spit of Michael at the age.

JUDITH:
You never saw such laleeking lads: and they
All fashion after their father.

BELL:
I'm glad I came.
Even if I'd not struck Jim, I'd meant to come,
And have a prowl round the old gaol, and see
How Michael throve: although I hadn't ettled
To cross the doorstone--just to come and go,
And not a soul the wiser. But it turns out
I was fated to get here in the nick of time:
It seems the old witch drew me here once more
To serve her turn and save the happy home.
I judged you'd lost your hold on me, Eliza:
But, once a ghost has got a grip of you,
It won't let go its clutch on your life until
It's dragged you into the grave with it: even then ...
Although my ghost should prove a match for any,
I'd fancy, with a fair field, and no favour.
But ghosts and graves! I'm down-in-the-mouth to-day:
I must have supped off toadstools on a tombstone,
Or happen the droppy weather makes me dyvous:
I never could thole the mooth and muggy mizzle,
Seeping me sodden: I'd liefer it teemed wholewater,
A sousing, drooking downpour, any time.
I