"From the man?"
Mrs. Tregenza grew frightened at the thought of mentioning the money, and now adroitly changed the first letter from Barron, which was in her mind when she spoke, to the second, which Joan had received from him on the night of her death.
"Iss, from him; an' Mary Chirgwin found it 'pon the dead frame o' the poor gal, but 'twas partly pulp, along o' the water; an' Mary burned it wi'out readin' a word—so she said, at least, though that's difficult to credit, human nature bein' as 'tis."
"Then my work's the harder; but I'll find en, s'elp me God, even if us be grawed gray afore we meet."
"Think twice, Joe; you caan't bring back your lass, nor wash her sins white. 'Tis tu late."
"No, not that, but I can—I'm in God's hand for this. Us be tools, an' He uses all for His awn ends. I sees whereto I was born now, an' the future be writ clear afore my eyes. Thicky madman theer said the word; an' I lay the Lard put it in en for my better light. Er said 'Let'n come home an' call the devil as did it to account.' He was thinkin' o' me when he said it, though he dedn' knaw me."
"Iss fay, 'tis generally allowed he be the lips o' God A'mighty now. But you, Joe—doan't 'e waste life an' hard-won money huntin' down a damned man. Leave en to his deserts."
"'Tis I that be his deserts, wummon—'tis I, in the hand o' the God o' Vengeance. That's my duty now standin' stark ahead o' me. The Lard's pleased to pay all my prayers an' good livin' like this here. His will be done, an' so it shall to the dregs of it; an' if I be for the pit arter all, theer's wan livin' as gaws along wi' me."
"That's worse than a fool's thot. Bide till you'm grawed cool anyways. 'Tis very hard this fallin' 'pon a virtuous member like what you be; but 'tedn' a straange tale 'tall. The man was like other men, I doubt; the maid was like other maids. You thot differ'nt. You was wrong; an' you'll be wrong again to break your heart now. Let en go—'tis best."
"Let en go! Blast en—I'll let heaven go fust! Us'll see what a wronged sawl's patience can do now. Us'll see what the end of the road'll shaw! O God o' the Righteous, fester this here man's bones in his body, an' eat his life out of en wi' fiery worms! Tear his heartstrings, God o' Hosts, rob en of all he loves, stamp his foul mind wi' memories till he shrieks for death an' judgment; punish his seed forever; turn his prayers into swearin'; torture en, rot en sawl an' body till you brings me to en. Shaw no mercy, God o' Heaven, but pile agony 'pon agony mountains high for en; an' let mine be the hand to send his cussed sawl to hell, for Christ's sake, Amen!"