The back-thrust from his sense of failing purpose made him beat noisily on the door with his fists. From within they heard a man's shout—
"He's here! I knew he'd come."
The preacher leaned heavily against the door-post. It was Griff's voice—Griff's, who was lying at the bottom of Whins Quarry. But Greta was quicker to hope than he, and she guessed the truth.
"You are later than I expected; come in, old fellow," said the figure on the doorstep. "What! you're not alone! Miss Rotherson, is that you?"
She came and rested both hands on his shoulders, out of sheer gratitude to him for being alive.
"I have brought Gabriel to tell you"—she stopped, and laughed like a child—"to tell you we can't live without one another."
The preacher moved forward, groping his way till he found Lomax. He ran his hands over him, this way and that, like a blind man.
"Griff, is it true; is it true, lad?"
Griff caught him by the hands and wrung them till the preacher's arms were like to start from their sockets.