CHAPTER LXX.
THE FATE OF THE PUDDLEHAMITES.
Fenwick and Gilmore breakfasted together on the morning that the former left London for Bullhampton; and by that time the Vicar had assured himself that it would be quite impossible to induce his friend to go back to his home. "I shall turn up after some years if I live," said the Squire; "and I suppose I shan't think so much about it then; but for the present I will not go to the place."
He authorised Fenwick to do what he pleased about the house and the gardens, and promised to give instructions as to the sale of his horses. If the whole place were not let, the bailiff might, he suggested, carry on the farm himself. When he was urged as to his duty, he again answered by his illustration of the man without a leg. "It may be all very true," he said, "that a man ought to walk, but if you cut off his leg he can't walk." Fenwick at last found that there was nothing more to be said, and he was constrained to take his leave.
"May I tell her that you forgive her?" the Vicar asked, as they were walking together up and down the station in the Waterloo Road.
"She will not care a brass farthing for my forgiveness," said Gilmore.
"You wrong her there. I am sure that nothing would give her so much comfort as such a message."
Gilmore walked half the length of the platform before he replied. "What is the good of telling a lie about it?"—he said, at last.
"I certainly would not tell a lie."