"You'll be sorry for this disgraceful behaviour," said the churchwarden. "'Tisn't a nice way to treat a religious person who rides four miles out of his way to comfort the sick." "Rides four mile out of his way to bring hell-fire to a better man than himself," she retorted hotly; then Mr. Norseman turned his back and went to his horse. Gregory chid Sarah Jane, but she would not let him talk, renewed his poultices and strove to make him eat and drink. He could, however, do neither, and he was wandering in his speech and partly unconscious before another hour had passed. Time stretched interminably, and not until the evening of the day did a medical man arrive on horseback. He had guessed from Daniel's description of the case what was amiss, and had directed Brendon to bring certain things to the peat-works as quickly as possible. Sarah Jane watched while the physician made his examination. Then he took her into the other room, and told her that her father was dying. CHAPTER XII THE HERMIT PASSES Jarratt Weekes came into his father's home with an item of news. "That old madman at the peat-works--Gregory Friend--is about done for," he announced. "I met Brendon yesterday, running about for a doctor. I couldn't feel too sorry myself, and angered him. 'Wouldn't you do as much for your father-in-law?' he asked me; and I thought of Adam Churchward, and said I wouldn't." "A man didn't ought to marry his wife's family," admitted Mrs. Weekes. "But you'm too hard without a doubt. Well, if Friend be going, there's an end of the peat-works for evermore. 'Twill be the last breath of life out of the place." "All the same," said her son, "there's no call for that long-limbed man to reprove me, as if I was a creature not made of flesh and blood. He's so dreadful serious--can't see any light play of the mind." "A deadly earnest creature, no doubt," admitted his mother. "I wonder if Sarah Jane will be any the better for Gregory's going? Probably not. But come to think of it, they've had their luck of late. Her man's getting what I should call fancy wages myself." "He's worth it," ventured Philip Weekes. "The things he does--Joe Tapson was telling me. Even Joe, who's a jealous man, and didn't take at all kindly to Daniel's rise--even Joe admits that he's a wonder." "Bah!" said Jarratt. "He's not half so wonderful as a three-horse-power steam engine, and can't do half the work of it." "You're wrong there," answered his father. "He's got plenty of brains in his head, and Prout himself has let it be known that them alterations he begged to be allowed to make will certainly be for the better, though he stood out against them at the time." "We're friends now, anyway," continued his son. "I'm not saying he's not a very useful man; but I do say, and always shall, that he wasn't good enough for Sarah Jane."