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Dagworthy in these days could scarcely be deemed a man, with humanity's plenitude of interacting motives, of contrasting impulses, of varying affections. He was become one passion, a personified appetite. He went through his routine, at the mill and elsewhere, in a mechanical way; all the time his instincts and habits subjugated themselves to the frenzy which chafed at the centres of his life.
Jenkins, of the Done tongue, ruled in the household, and had but brief interviews with her master; provided that his meals were served at the proper time, Dagworthy cared to inquire into nothing that went on outside his kennels and even those he visited in a sullen way. His child he scarcely saw; Mrs.
Jenkins discovered that to bring the 'bairn' into its father's presence was a sure occasion of wrath, so the son and heir took lessons in his native tongue from the housekeeper and her dependents, and profited by their instruction. Dagworthy never inquired about the boy's health. Once when Mrs.
Once the coachman had been five minutes late on an evening when Dagworthy happened to be ill-tempered. He bade the man wait at the door, and the waiting lasted through several hours. The room was growing dusk. 'Aren't you very lonely here? Jessie asked, an indescribable change in her voice. 'Yes, I suppose I am. You won't make it any better by telling me so. 'I feel sorry. 'I dare say you do.
One person there was who had special reason for observing him closely that evening, and even for inducing him to converse on certain subjects; this was Mrs. Baxendale. A day or two previously she had heard a singular story from a friend of hers, which occupied her thought not a little. It interested her to discover how Dagworthy would speak of the Hood family, if led to that topic.
'That's nothing of what I wanted to say; it sounds as if I wasn't man enough to know my own mind. I know it well enough, and I must say all I have to say, whilst you're here to listen to me. After all, you're only a girl; but if you'd come here straight from heaven, I couldn't find it harder to speak to you. 'Mr. Dagworthy, don't speak like this don't say more I beg you not to!
She looked about her with a hasty fear, then resumed her walk to the upper part of the Heath. Beaching the smooth sward, she made straight across it for Dagworthy's house. Crossing the garden, she was just at the front door, when it was opened, and by Dagworthy himself. His eyes fell before her. 'Will you come this way? he said, indistinctly.
As far as Dagworthy was concerned, the money had long since become the property of nobody; Dagworthy did not even know that this sum existed; if ever missed, it must have been put out of mind long ago. And very possibly it had never belonged to Dagworthy; some cashier or other clerk might just as well have lost it. Hood played with these speculations.
The words 'Father' and 'Wilfrid' broke from her lips several times. Was there red-hot metal poured upon her forehead? It cost her a great effort to rise and walk homewards. The rain streamed down, but she could no longer hasten. Still she reached the house before her mother's return from church, and she was glad of that. For the final failure of his plot Dagworthy was in no wise prepared.
'There are others in the house, she exclaimed, her wild, fearful eyes seeking other exit than that which he stopped. 'I must call for their help. Can you not see that I am suffering ill? Are you pitiless? But no no for you have spared him! Dagworthy mastered himself, though it cost him something, and spoke with an effort at gentleness. 'What thanks have you to give me, Emily?
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