"Man, I feel sure o't." His ugly earnest face became almost grand in the flame of the sunset. "Turn aside, here, an' kneel down; I will wrestle wi' the Lord for thee till comfort comes, if it take the long night."
"You'm a strange chap. Can such things happen i' these days?"
"Kneel and try."
"No, no, no," Zeb flung out his hands. "It's too late, I tell 'ee.
No man's words will I hear but the words of Lamech—'I ha' slain a man
to my wounding, an' a young man to my hurt.' Let me go—'tis too late.
Let me go, I say—"
As the hollibubber still clung to his arm, he gave a push and broke loose. The old man tumbled beside the path with his head against the potato fence. Zeb with a curse took to his heels and ran; nor for a hundred yards did he glance behind.
When at last he flung a look over his shoulder, the hollibubber had picked himself up and was kneeling in the pathway. His hands were clasped and lifted.
"Too late!" shouted Zeb again, and dashed on without a second look.
CHAPTER IX.
YOUNG ZEB WINS HIS SOUL BACK.
At half-past nine, next morning, the stranger sat in the front room of the cottage vacated by the Lewarnes. On a rough table, pushed into a corner, lay the remains of his breakfast. A plum-coloured coat with silver buttons hung over the back of a chair by his side, and a waist-coat and silver-laced hat to match rested on the seat. For the wedding was to take place in an hour and a half.