Mr. Norseman pulled his black beard and began to get annoyed.
"This isn't at all the way that Brendon would speak," he said—from the door.
"No," she answered. "He's a man, and strong in the arm. He wouldn't speak: he'd do. He'd take you by the neck and fling you back into Lydford—and your horse after you."
"You'll be sorry for this disgraceful behaviour," said the churchwarden. "'Tisn't a nice way to treat a religious person who rides four miles out of his way to comfort the sick."
"Rides four mile out of his way to bring hell-fire to a better man than himself," she retorted hotly; then Mr. Norseman turned his back and went to his horse.
Gregory chid Sarah Jane, but she would not let him talk, renewed his poultices and strove to make him eat and drink. He could, however, do neither, and he was wandering in his speech and partly unconscious before another hour had passed.
Time stretched interminably, and not until the evening of the day did a medical man arrive on horseback.
He had guessed from Daniel's description of the case what was amiss, and had directed Brendon to bring certain things to the peat-works as quickly as possible.
Sarah Jane watched while the physician made his examination. Then he took her into the other room, and told her that her father was dying.