The Bishop's face fell to a sudden gravity. "What is it?" he said, and his voice sank.
"We're rael sorry, and we know your heart was gript to him with grapplin's."
"Ay, ay," said some in the crowd.
"What is it, man? Speak," said the Bishop, and all around was silence and awe.
The old man stood irresolute for a moment. Then, just as he was lifting his head to speak, and every eye was on the two who stood in the midst, the Bishop and the old beggar, there came a loud noise from near at hand, and voices that sounded hoarse and jarring were in the air.
"Where is it? When did they bring it up? Why is it not taken into the house?"
It was the Deemster, and he came on with great flashing eyes, and behind him was Jarvis Kerruish. In an instant the crowd had fallen aside for him, and he had pushed through and come to a stand in front of the Bishop.
"We know what has happened. We have heard it in the village," he said. "I knew what it must come to sooner or later. I told you a hundred times, and you have only yourself to thank for it."
The Bishop said not a word. He saw what lay behind the feet of the fishermen, and stepped up to it.
"It's of your own doing," shouted the Deemster in a voice of no ruth or pity. "You would not heed my warning. It was easy to see that the devil's own dues were in him. He hadn't an ounce of grace in his carcass. He put his foot on your neck, and threatened to do as much for me some day. And see where he is now! Look at him! This is how your son comes home to you!"