“Now,” whispered Chris, “go and sleep off your drunken fit. Another time, when you can act and think like a man, we may both have something more to say.”
He loosened his grip of Glyddyr’s arm.
“Here, my lads,” he said, “get your master aboard; he is not fit to be alone.”
“Drunk or mad,” said Chris to himself, as he strode quickly along the pier to get back to his own room, and try to grow calm.
“I suppose a man must feel like I did to-night,” he thought, after a time, “when the devil comes into him, and he kills his enemy. If he had known what was in me then, he wouldn’t have dared to say all that. But I’m better now.”
Volume Three—Chapter Two.
At the Grave.
All Danmouth gathered to see the funeral procession wind down the granite-paved path to the cliff, and then along by the harbour to the little church on the rock shelf at the entrance of the glen.