“For what?” he exclaimed
“For a hospital,” brusquely “I can give them one thing, at least—shelter.”
“It is a very remarkable thing to think of doing,” Mr. Penzance said.
“It is not so remarkable as that labourers on my land should die at my gate because I cannot give them decent roofs to cover them. There is a roof that will shield them from the weather. They shall be brought to the Mount.”
The vicar was silent a moment, and a flush of sympathy warmed his face.
“You are quite right, Fergus,” he said, “entirely right.”
“Let us go to your study and plan how it shall be done,” Mount Dunstan said.
As they walked towards the vicarage, he went on talking.
“When I lie awake at night, there is one thread which always winds itself through my thoughts whatsoever they are. I don't find that I can disentangle it. It connects itself with Reuben S. Vanderpoel's daughter. You would know that without my telling you. If you had ever struggled with an insane passion——”
“It is not insane, I repeat,” put in Penzance unflinchingly.