“But, Trethick,” cried the vicar, excitedly, “is this true?”
“True,” cried Geoffrey, throwing up his arms towards heaven, as he stood there now with the veins starting in his brow, and the passion working within him bringing him to such a pitch of excitement, that his companion could see his temples throb. “I scarcely spoke word about it before; but I swear by the God above us I never felt love, thought love, or dreamed of love but for one woman, and, Heaven help me, she has cast me off.”
He turned away and rushed headlong down the hill, but the paroxysm of rage was over, the excitement gone; and he returned directly to throw himself upon the turf.
“Did you ever see such a madman?” he cried, bitterly. “There, go on with your lecture; I’ll hear you to the end.”
“Trethick,” said the vicar, quietly; and Geoffrey turned slowly towards him, to find that his companion was kneeling there with outstretched hands.
“Well?” was the harsh response.
“I asked you to let me be your friend. I ask you again, Geoffrey, as I ask you now, to forgive my doubts.”
Geoffrey caught his outstretched hands.
“You believe me?”
“Believe you? Yes, every word. Forgive me for wronging you so cruelly. I’ll try and make amends.”