“But I tell you, I'm right. You 're too clever for me, but I'm right. What I've said is true, it's all true. You 're a devil. You've had us all at your mercy for years and years. You've worked us against one another until you've rubbed all our courage and finer pieces off us and you 're pleased—you 're pleased. You've had a fine life of it—you, a God's parson—and you've made money and you've broken hearts and you've eaten and drunk—and you 're too clever for us, but there's hell for you somewhere. I see it and I know it.”
He broke away and burst stumbling from the room.
It may be that for once the man whom he left heard the sound of some judgment in his ears, for he stood, long after every stir in the world about him had passed away, staring, without movement and afraid.
III.
But Perrin had no exultation in him; it was not of Moy-Thompson he was thinking. The last stones of his fortress had been removed from his defenses and he stood utterly naked to the world.
He did not attempt now to gather his resources about him. He cared no more for any face that he might present to the world. He had reached the heart of his kingdom and he saw that he was no good—no good at all—an utterly useless man.
He had not even the pluck to defy Moy-Thompson, to fling his resignation in his face. He was no good.
He was very cold when he reached his room, and as he pushed back the door he saw Traill. Traill was standing in the middle of the room, looking very shy.
Perrin was not glad or sorry to see him. He had no feeling about him at all.
“Good evening.”