“I not only think, but know, that the devil only could have suggested such an idea to you. Man, for the sake of the God that made you, and made me as well as your brother, and every one of us brethren, rather put a pistol to your heart than that damned idea. In cold blood! in cold blood! And for the sake of gain! A brother to—do away with—a brother so! Oh, what things have come upon me! Where is my God, and where is yours?” “I am sure I donʼt know,” replied the old man, gazing round in wonderment, as if he expected to see Him—for the scene had quite unnerved him—“I suppose He is—is somewhere in the usual place, Mr. Garnet.” “Then thatʼs not in this neighbourhood,” replied Bull Garnet, heavily; “He is gone from me, from all of us. And His curse is on my children. Poor innocents, poor helpless lambs! The curse of God is on them.” He went away to the window; and, through his tears, and among the trees, tried to find his cottage–roof. Sir Cradock Nowell was lost to thought, and heard nothing of those woeful words, although from the depth of that labouring chest they came like the distant sea–roar. Bull Garnet returned with his fierce eyes softened to a womanʼs fondness, and saw, with pity as well as joy, that his last words had not been heeded. “Ever hot and ever hasty, until it comes to my own death,” he muttered, still in recklessness; “perhaps then I shall be tardy. For my sonʼs sake, for my Bob and Pearl, I must not make such a child of myself. Nevertheless, I cannot stay here.” “Garnet,” said Sir Cradock Nowell, slowly recovering from his stupor, a slight cerebral paralysis, “say nothing of what has passed between us—nothing, I entreat you; and not another word to me now. I only understand that you assert emphatically my son Cradockʼs innocence.” “With every fibre of my heart. With every tissue of my brain.” “Then I love you very much for it; although you have done it so rudely.” “Donʼt say that. Never say it again. I canʼt bear it now, Sir Cradock.” “Very well, then, I wonʼt, Garnet. Though I think you might be proud of my gratitude; for I never bestow it rashly.” “I am very thankful to you. Gratitude is an admirable and exceedingly scarce thing. I am come to give you notice—as well as to answer your summons—notice of my intention to quit your service shortly.” “Nonsense!” replied Sir Cradock, gasping; “nonsense, Garnet! You never mean that—that even you would desert me?” Bull Garnet was touched by the old manʼs tone—the helplessness, the misery. “Well,” he answered, “Iʼll try to bear with it for a little longer, in spite of the daily agony. I owe you everything; all I can do. Iʼll get things all into first–rate order, and then I hope, most truly, your son will be back again, sir.”