“No.”
“Have you tried to lead her to a better way—helped her, and guided others to help her in her sore distress?”
The vicar shook his head.
“And yet you say, How am I to win the hearts of these people?”
The vicar wiped the perspiration from his brow as Geoffrey went on.
“Not one soul of all who knew her came to the poor wretch’s help. Cast off by the man who robbed her of her fame, I found her maddened with despair. Rejected by her own people, I found her ready to die. Ready to die? I found her dying, for she had said to herself—‘My people—my love—the whole world turn their backs upon me. What is there for me to do but die?’ What should you say to the man who, finding the poor girl drowning, leaps into the sea, drags her out, and, like some poor beggarly imitation of a Samaritan, takes her to a home, and gives her help and shelter, in defiance of the world? What would you say to such a man as that?” cried Geoffrey.
“That he was a hero,” cried the vicar.
“You lie,” cried Geoffrey, leaping up in his excitement. “You lie to my face, for you come and tell me I am a villain; that I wrecked the poor girl’s happiness; that the world scorns me; and you bid me, for what I have done, to marry the girl and give her the shelter of my name.”
“But, Trethick—Geoffrey, did you do this?”
“Did I do this? Yes, but—damnation! there was a devil of pride rose up within me, when, on top of my reverses with the mine, I found every one turn against me, and my accusers would not let me speak. Even she who should have been the first to take my part, turned from me and made me more bitter still.”