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Updated: May 9, 2025
"Well, if you brought the top of Ben Lomond to the bottom of a coal-mine breath to the breathless that's it. "You've been doing that to Mr. Claridge, my lord?" "A little oxygen more or less makes all the difference to a man it probably will to neighbour Claridge, Soolsby; and so I've done him a good turn." A grim look passed over Soolsby's face.
In spite of himself his eyes fixed themselves on Soolsby's hand. It was but a hair's breadth from the wire. The end would come now. Suddenly a voice was heard outside the door. "Eglington!" it called. Soolsby started, his hand drew spasmodically away from the wire, and he stepped back quickly. The door opened, and Hylda entered. "Mr. Claridge is dead, Eglington," she said. Destiny had decided.
He shrank back, and sat rigid, his brows drawing over the eyes, till they seemed sunk in caverns of the head. Suddenly Soolsby's voice rose angrily. Luke Claridge seemed so remorseless and unyielding, so set in his vanity and self-will! Soolsby misread the rigid look in the face, the pale sternness.
He did not know, but within the past hour Hylda knew; and now out of the night Soolsby came to tell him. He was roused from his reverie by Soolsby's voice saying: "Hast nowt to say to me, Egyptian?" It startled him, sounded ghostly in the moonlight; for why should he hear Soolsby's voice on the confines of Egypt?
"I ought never have comeback here," he added. "It was no place for me. But it drew me. I didn't belong; but it drew me." "Thee belongs to Hamley. Thee is an honour to Hamley, Soolsby." Soolsby's eyes widened; the blurred look of rage and self-reproach in them began to fade away. "Thee has made a fight, Soolsby, to conquer a thing that has had thee by the throat. There's no fighting like it.
"I ought never have comeback here," he added. "It was no place for me. But it drew me. I didn't belong; but it drew me." "Thee belongs to Hamley. Thee is an honour to Hamley, Soolsby." Soolsby's eyes widened; the blurred look of rage and self-reproach in them began to fade away. "Thee has made a fight, Soolsby, to conquer a thing that has had thee by the throat. There's no fighting like it.
With no apparent relevancy, and laying his hand on Faith's shoulder, he said: "We have done according to our conscience by Davy God is our witness, so!" She leaned her cheek against his hand, but did not speak. In Soolsby's hut upon the hill David sat talking to the old chair-maker. Since his return he had visited the place several times, only to find Soolsby absent.
It was as though, fully armed for his battle of life, he had suddenly been stripped of armour and every weapon, and left naked on the field. But he had the mind of the gamester, and the true gamester's self-control. He had taken chances so often that the tornado of ill-luck left him standing. "What proof have you?" he asked quietly. Soolsby's explicit answer left no ground for doubt.
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