The old man shrank back in his chair, trembling now like a leaf, his jaw dropped, and his eyes staring.
“And I should have murdered her,” he gasped. “But you jumped in and saved her?”
Geoffrey nodded.
“Thank God!” cried the old man, fervently. “Thank God!”
“Poor girl! it was a narrow escape,” continued Geoffrey. “She has suffered cruelly, and you must forgive her, Mr Paul, and take her back.”
“Yes, yes,” said the old man, “we’ll talk about that. But shake hands, Trethick. You’re a brave fellow, after all. That wipes off a great deal. Poor Madge: poor child!”
The old man held out his hand, but Geoffrey did not offer to take it.
“You saved the poor girl then, Trethick. We felt that you must be with her. Where is she now? Why didn’t you bring her back?”
“She would sooner have gone back into the sea,” said Geoffrey, sternly. “I took her on to Prawle’s cottage, at Gwennas.”
“And she is there now?”