"Yes, yes. Oh, young man, it is wrong to trust to an arm of flesh."
"Look you," I cried, catching her roughly by the arm, "I want no religious talk! I left a lonesome, helpless maid with you whom you promised to protect. Where is she now?" I said this like one demented, as, indeed, I was.
I heard Eli and Naomi's father enter the room, but I took no heed, neither did I listen carefully to the story the woman told. I had some vague remembrance about her saying she went to hear Mr. Charles Wesley, leaving Naomi with Tamsin, and that on her return that morning both had gone. She had inquired of her neighbours, and had been told that three men had come to the house at daybreak, and that when they went away Tamsin and Naomi rode with them in the carriage they had brought.
It was well Naomi's father was with me, for my mind was too confused to ask the necessary questions. I reproached myself for trusting Tamsin and for not taking better precautions. I felt I had by my own foolishness lost my love and again allowed her to be in the power of my enemies. I thought of a score of things I ought to have done, while Mr. Penryn asked many pointed questions.
We were about to take to the saddle again when Tamsin Truscott rushed into the house. The poor girl's face was as pale as that of a ghost, and she trembled from head to foot.
"Forgive me, Jasper," she cried.
I did not speak, for I knew not how to control my words.
"Oh, Jasper, I—I could not help it. It was so hard, so terribly hard. I—I loved you, and I thought that when she was gone you would forget her, and then—"
She did not finish her sentence, but sobbed bitterly, as though she was in sore straits and truly contrite, as, indeed, I thought she was.