The former found his bad character seemed to have but little effect upon the poorer people of Carnac, even though Miss Pavey in her visiting said that he was a terrible wretch, and ought to be excommunicated by the church. His worst failing in the eyes of the people was his going to lodge at Prawle’s, and unwittingly in this he had done poor Madge an ill turn, for the news reached the cottage just at a time when old Paul had settled that Mrs Mullion should fetch her daughter home. When this news came he bade her wait.
So time went on, and from the poorer folk there was always a shake or a nod as Geoffrey passed, and now and then an offering of fish from Tom Jennen or some other rough fellow with whom he had spent a night out in the bay.
He was passing along the road one day, in a very morose humour, when he came full upon the Reverend Edward Lee, and was about to pass him with a short nod, but the vicar stopped.
“How are you?” said Geoffrey, shortly.
“Not well, Trethick,” said the vicar, holding out his hand, to the other’s great surprise.
“Sorry for it,” said Geoffrey, grimly, shaking hands. “What is it—bile?”
The vicar looked at him with a pained expression of countenance.
“No,” he said, “I am sick at heart. We don’t see one another often, Trethick. May I walk with you?”
“Oh, if you like,” said Geoffrey, as the vicar turned and walked by his side. “I was going over the hill yonder by Horton mine, to let the wind blow some of my bad temper out of me.”
“I should like to go with you, Trethick,” said the vicar, eagerly.