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Updated: June 7, 2025
In a minute or two Thurnall opens the street-door and slips out to him. "Ah, Major! Overslept myself at last; that sofa is wonderfully comfortable. No time to go down and bathe. Ill get my header somewhere up the stream." "How is he?" "He? sleeping like a babe, and getting well as fast as his soul will allow his body. He has something on his mind.
"And, Mary, a pen and ink to write the message," says Tom. "Oh! cannot I be of any use?" says Mary. "No, you angel." "You must not call me an angel, Mr. Thurnall. After all, what can I do which you have not done already?" Tom started. Grace had once used to him the very same words. By the by, what was it in the two women which made them so like? Certainly, neither face nor fortune.
And none of them having any better answer to give, they all three went into the church, to see if one could be found there. And so Tom Thurnall, too, went Eastward-Ho, to take, like all the rest, what God might send. And how was poor Grace Harvey prospering the while?
Willis dead; Thurnall gone; her mother estranged; and, like a child lost upon a great moor, she looked round all heaven and earth, and there was none to counsel, none to guide perhaps not even God. For would He help her as long as she lived in sin? And was she not living in sin, deadly sin, as long as she knew what she was sure she knew, and left the wrong unrighted?
"Put away that trash!" cried Tom; "you've had too much already." "Oh, Mr. Thurnall, she's dying, and I shall die too!" "You! you were all right this morning." "But I shall die; I know I shall, and go to hell!" "You'll go where you ought; and if you give way to this miserable cowardice, you'll go soon enough. Walk out, sir! Make yourself of some use, and forget your fear! Leave Mrs. Heale to me."
Peter looked at Tom, and then wrung his hands in despair. "Dirty work beastly work!" muttered Trebooze. "Nothing but slugs and evats! Toads, too, hang the toads! What a plague brings all this vermin? Curse it!" shrieked he, springing back, "there's an adder! and he's gone up my sleeve! Help me! Doctor! Thurnall! or I'm a dead man!"
Tardrew's wrath, of course, knew no bounds; and meeting Thurnall standing at Willis's door, with Frank and Mellot, he fell upon him open-mouthed. "Well, sir! I've a crow to pick with you." "Pick away!" quoth Tom. "What business have you meddling between his lordship and me?" "That is my concern," quoth Tom, who evidently was not disinclined to quarrel.
"Very pretty prospect indeed. You're sure you understand that revolver thoroughly?" The Bursch mutters to himself something about English nonchalance, and assures Thurnall that he is competently acquainted with the weapon; as indeed he ought to be; for having never seen one before, he has been talking and thinking of nothing else since they left Bertrich.
It was natural enough that that conversation should come back to him just then; for, in his jealousy, he was thinking of Tom Thurnall often enough every day; and in spite of his enmity, he could not help suspecting more and more that Thurnall had had some right on his side of the quarrel.
"Those hounds ain't right!" with an oath. "Not right, sir?" "Didn't I tell you? five couple and a half no, five couple no, six. Hang it! I can't see, I think! How many hounds did I tell you to bring out?" "Five couple, sir." "Then ... why did you bring out that other?" "Which other?" shouts Peter, while Thurnall eyes Trebooze keenly. "Why that! He's none o' mine!
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