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From the Helleston road that morning he and his troop had turned aside and galloped across the moors to the outskirts of the village where Mrs. Stephen lodged. No man dared to oppose them, if any man wished to. They had dragged her from the house, hoisted her on horseback and headed for home unpursued.
During his mother's lifetime, and because she could not do without him, he had slept at Steens and walked to and from his shop in Helleston; but on the day after the funeral he packed and left home, taking with him old Malachi, a family retainer whom Humphrey had long ago lamed for life by flinging a crowbar at him in a fit of passion.
She descended only when the throng had taken leave. The room, indeed, when she entered, was empty but for three persons. Roger and the family attorney Mr. Jose, of Helleston stood by one of the windows in friendly converse, somewhat impatiently eyeing a single belated guest who was helping himself to more sherry. "What the devil is he doing here?" asked Mr. Jose, who knew the man.
Early in the morning of New Year's Day Trevarthen suggested riding into Helleston to purchase fresh meat, their stock of which had run low with the Christmas feasting.
"Go back and tell him that if he's well and wants to talk, he knows where to find me." And he turned back to his work. Next day old Humphrey Stephen rode down into Helleston in a towering rage, reined up before his son's shop, and dismounted. "You're a pretty dutiful kind of son," he snarled. "But I've a word that concerns you belike. I'm going to marry again."
But she had long ago made it her business to see him; had, in fact, put on bonnet and shawl one day and visited Helleston on pretence of shopping, and had, across the width of Coinagehall Street, been struck with terrified admiration of his stern face and great stature, recognising at a glance that here was a stronger man and better worth respecting than old Humphrey a very dangerous man indeed for an enemy.
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