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Then a sort of spasm seemed to convulse his face. "Megan don' want yu." A rush of jealousy, of contempt, and anger with this thick, loud-breathing rustic got the better of Ashurst's self-possession; he jumped up, and pushed back his chair. "You can go to the devil!" And as he said those simple words, he saw Megan in the doorway with a tiny brown spaniel puppy in her arms.
They had walked that day from Brent, intending to make Chagford, but Ashurst's football knee had given out, and according to their map they had still some seven miles to go. They were sitting on a bank beside the-road, where a track crossed alongside a wood, resting the knee and talking of the universe, as young men will.
Some natures are coarsened by love bestowed on them; others, like Ashurst's, are swayed and drawn, warmed and softened, almost exalted, by what they feel to be a sort of miracle. And up there among the tors he was racked between the passionate desire to revel in this new sensation of spring fulfilled within him, and a vague but very real uneasiness.
If you can find an honest lawyer I would advise you to put the matter into his hands Langton and your other companions on the raft can prove Ashurst's death, and I can give evidence of the extraordinary animosity he always exhibited towards you." "I hope that it will not be necessary to mention that subject," said Owen. "I would rather not have to refer to the poor fellow's ill-treatment of me.
He was greatly puzzled whenever he thought the matter over, to account for Ashurst's manner. As far as Owen could judge, Ashurst did not treat any of his other young messmates in the same way, although he might have been somewhat supercilious in his manner towards them, as if he considered himself a being of a superior order.
I have no other fear for the present, unless the weather should change." "We can put our trust in God; we know that He orders everything for the best," said Owen. They ate a little more biscuit, which was divided in equal shares. Each took a small portion of fruit. Owen and Langton were looking towards Ashurst's body.
"We shall not get in in time to bury it after all," observed Langton; "we must give him a sailor's grave." It was time, indeed, to do so. "Before we launch the poor fellow overboard let us see what things he has about him," said Langton. He took a ring off Ashurst's finger as he spoke. His watch and several smaller articles were found in his pockets.
Such were Ashurst's memories, sitting against the wall among the gorse, on his silver-wedding day. At this very spot, where he had laid out the lunch, Megan must have stood outlined against the sky when he had first caught sight of her. Of all queer coincidences! And there moved in him a longing to go down and see again the farm and the orchard, and the meadow of the gipsy bogle.
His bed, too, was hard, and this preserved him from fever. He lay, sniffing the scent of the night which drifted into the low room through the open casement close to his head. Except for a definite irritation with his friend, natural when you have tramped with a man for three days, Ashurst's memories and visions that sleepless night were kindly and wistful and exciting.
It was about the period of the Celtic awakening, and the discovery that there was Celtic blood about this family had excited one who believed that he was a Celt himself. Sprawling on a horse hair chair, with a hand-made cigarette dribbling from the corner of his curly lips, he had been plunging his cold pin-points of eyes into Ashurst's and praising the refinement of the Welsh.
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