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Tyrrel drew back, horrorstruck, and penitent at his own intrusion at such a critical moment. But, strange to say, Trevennack took no overt notice. Had his wife only known she would have sunk in her seat in her agony of fear. But happily she didn't know. Trevennack went through the ceremony, all outwardly calm; he gave no sign of what he had seen, even to his wife herself.
From a dozen lips there rose an answering shout. The pair on the crag half heard its last echoes. Eustace put his hands to his mouth and cried aloud once more, in stentorian tones, "All right. Cleer's here. We can hold out till morning." Trevennack alone heard the words. But he repeated them so instantly that his wife felt sure it was true hearing, not insane hallucination.
There was some undercurrent in the tone in which he spoke that suggested far more than the mere words themselves might perhaps have conveyed to him. "What do you mean?" he asked, all eager, in a quick, low voice. "You've met Miss Trevennack before? You've seen her? You've spoken to her?" For a second Tyrrel hesitated; then, with a burst, he spoke out.
Fight him down in your own heart when he suggests hateful thoughts to you. For I know what you felt when it came over you instinctively that that young man had done it. You wanted to fly straight at his throat, dear Michael you wanted to fly at his throat, and fling him over the precipice." "I did," Trevennack answered, making no pretense of denial. "But for Cleer's sake I refrained.
Trevennack himself was so perfectly sane in every ordinary relation of life, so able a business head, so dignified and courtly an English gentleman, that Eustace never even for a moment suspected any undercurrent of madness in that sound practical intelligence.
It's the finest point on all our Cornish coast, this point we stand on. It has the widest view, the purest air, the hardest rock, the highest and most fantastic tor of any of them." "My husband's quite an enthusiast for this particular place," Mrs. Trevennack interposed, watching his face as she spoke with a certain anxious and ill-disguised wifely solicitude. "He's come here for years.
But nobody couldn't live in such a sea as that not Tim o' Truro. The waves 'u'd dash him up afore he knowed where he was, and smash him all to pieces on the side o' the island." Trevennack tried to break from them, but the men held him hard. Their resistance angered him. He chafed under their restraint.
Trevennack sighed deep she would almost count herself a happy woman! On the day of Cleer's wedding, however, Walter Tyrrel came to town. He came on purpose.
Trevennack had dashed him against the crag time after time like a log, till he too was torn and hurt and bleeding. His flesh was like pulp. He could endure the unequal fight no longer. He staggered and gave way. A great joy rose up tremulous in Trevennack's heart. Even without his celestial sword, then, he had vanquished his enemy.
Walter Tyrrel cried, looking up at him, on tenterhooks. It's so dangerous up there! You might tumble any minute." "I never tumble," Trevennack made answer with solemn gravity, spreading one hand on either side as if to balance himself like an acrobat. But he descended as he spoke and took his place beside them. Tyrrel looked at the view and looked at the pretty girl.
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