But—"pas de rue sans but"—and at last all that unpleasing business was over—except a little after-clap of which you will hear presently.
After many delays and formalities, all the prisoners were condemned to death, and I was free to go home and be my own man again.
Twice while in Guernsey I had taken advantage of the slow course of the law to run across to Jersey and so to the Ecréhous, and found Torode settled down in dumb bitterness to the narrow life that was left to him.
He was quite recovered in every way save that of speech, but that great loss broke his power and cut him off from his kind.
I had never told him that his wound came from my hand, but he associated me with it in some way, and showed so strong a distaste for my company that I thought well to go no more.
He had taken a dislike to old Krok too. Their common loss had in it the elements of mockery, and on my second visit Krok expressed a desire to return to Sercq. Torode could maintain himself by fishing, as they had done together, and could barter his surplus at Rozel or Gorey for anything he required.
And so we left him to his solitude, and he seemed content to have us go. George Hamon, however, ran across now and again in his lugger to see how he was getting on, and to make sure that he was still there, and perhaps with the hope that sooner or later that which was in himself still, as strong as it had been any time this twenty years, might find its reward.