Tom lay heeding nothing, thinking nothing, for his heart was too full of the bitterness of his troubles to give place to aught else. How long he lay there he cannot tell; that which aroused him was the sound of footsteps coming down the road from the highway. Then he sprang to his feet, for he could not bear that any one should find him lying there. He saw that it was Isaac Naylor who was coming. Then Tom strode out into the road and stood directly in front of him, so that the other could not pass him.
“Does thee know who I am, Isaac Naylor?” said he; then, without waiting for an answer, “I’m Tom Granger!”
Maybe the Friend’s face grew a trifle whiter than it was used to be; nevertheless, he stood his ground, though he looked around and behind him, as though to see whether any help was near to him in case that the need for it should arise. I have no doubt but that Tom’s face was white, his eyes bloodshot, and that he looked wicked and dangerous as he stood in the pathway in front of the other. For a while Isaac stood with bent head and with hands that trembled a little clasped in front of him. But presently he raised his face and looked calmly into Tom’s eyes.
“I heard in town that thee had come back, Thomas,” said he, “and I was both glad and sorry to hear it. I was glad that the Good Father had spared thy life and sorry that thee had come back just now. I see where thee’s been and I know what thee’s heard. I’m sorry—very sorry.”
Tom steadied himself for a moment before he spoke. When he replied, it was in a heavy, monotonous voice: “Yes; I’ve been to see Patty and she’s told me all. I do believe it’ll break her heart. Poor girl! poor girl!” Then he stopped for a moment. Hitherto he had spoken in a low, dull voice; but as he thought of Patty’s grief, his self-restraint gave way and he burst out passionately, “She’s mine, Isaac Naylor—she’s mine! She loves me and no other man in all the world! By the eternal, neither thee nor any other man shall take her from me! I’ll let no man take her from me; I don’t care who he may be!”
He waved his hands about furiously as he spoke, clapping his palms together and pouring the words out upon one another in a torrent. Isaac Naylor must have had some fear that Tom would do him a harm in his passion, for he stepped a pace back. “Come, come, Thomas!” said he, soothingly; “don’t be violent; I’ve done thee no harm—at least, I’ve done thee no witting harm. Every one said that thee was dead; even thy own people said so. Go thy ways, Thomas, and let me go mine in peace. Come; let me past!”
“No, by G-d! Thee’ll not go a step from this till I let thee. Thee shan’t see Patty this day! She’s mine and no other man shall have her for his wife! Will thee give her up to me, Isaac Naylor? Will thee give her up? Will thee give her up, I say?”
Every time he repeated this he came a step forward and Isaac moved a step back. Tom was more than half crazy with his fury and the Friend seemed very anxious and looked back at the road.
“Thomas! Thomas!” said he, “don’t be violent; be reasonable; how could I make thee any such promise as that? Let me past, I must see Patty; there’s reason why I must see her now.”
“Will thee give my darling back to me again?”