"Must have him up here a lot next summer when the weather's good," he said.
He seemed easier presently, and his daughter had leisure to think of herself. She loved him dearly, and, since marriage, the gentleness and simplicity of his character had more impressed her than formerly. Before, she had no experience by which to measure his virtues. Now, with a larger knowledge of men and life, she could appreciate the single-hearted Gregory, sympathize with him and perceive the pathos of his life and futile hope.
She talked to him now very openly of her own secret tribulations and the difficulties of late forced upon her by her husband's master.
"He's lifted Daniel up, father; and Daniel have thanked God ever since; but—but 'tis me he ought to thank."
Then she proceeded, told her father of the scene at Kit's Steps, and asked him to help her.
"Do nothing to anger Daniel," he said. "You're playing with death and worse. This can't come to good, and I only hope to God you haven't gone too far already. That man Brendon as—as—build me up another hot poultice, will 'e, while I talk?—Brendon is a lion of the Lord; and he'd be a lion on his own account if anything happened to cross him in his den. Have 'e ever marked his eyes, Sarah Jane? But of course you have. They glow sometimes in the dimpsy light, like a dog's do glow. When you see that in a human's eyes, it means that, down under, there's a large share of burning fire in 'em. If Dan thought that he'd been wronged, not heaven or earth would stand between him and payment."
He began to cough and held his hands to his head.
"'Tis like red-hot wires going through the brain," he said. "But 'twill be better presently. I'm in a proper heat now. I've been praying to God to fetch out the sweat on me. Now the peat have done it."
"Don't talk no more, dear father. Bide quiet a bit an' try an' see if you can't sleep."
"So I will, then; but there's two things I must say first. One is that you must go away from Ruddyford. Mark me, 'tis life or death if the wind's in that quarter and Woodrow's after you. He's a desperate sort of man because he've got nobody to think of but himself—no family to consider—no wife or child—nothing. You must go—go—far ways off, where he can't come at you."