"'The world's an inn, and death the journey's end.'
Dryden again.
"There he lay in his life's blood—extinct and cold as ice. He had chosen to destroy himself within a hollow worked by the old-time miners. Great deliberation and forethought clearly marked his actions. Yet I am thankful that they brought it in as insanity; and, for my part, I am positive that the dear gentleman's mind had given way under his misfortunes. But there is no marrying nor giving in marriage where he is now."
Mrs. Malherb wept silently as Peter finished his story. Then her husband spoke.
"He was a coward, and a coward is better out of the way. No human tribulations can justify the evasion of suicide. The man's duty had been to follow them, find his false lady, and, with proper formality, blow her lover's brains out, not his own. Go to the piano, Grace."
CHAPTER VII
THE SEVEN FAIL
That night the weather changed from fair to foul. Dense vapours descended upon the Moor, driving mists wrapped hill and valley; scarce a mountain thrust its crown above the gloom. For two days the rain prevailed and Grace was in some fear that the change would delay Peter Norcot and lengthen his stay at Fox Tor Farm; but when she whispered that belief to Kekewich in the breakfast parlour on the morning of their visitor's departure, the old man showed no fear.
"He'll go. He'm not the sort to change his plans for a scat o' rain. You'll be rids of him by noon."
"Oh Kek, when shall I be rids of him altogether?"