Still, he was a Cornishman, and dour to beat. And, if he had incurred
unreasonable dislike, he had also lighted on the virgin lode of Nance's
love and trust, and that, he said to himself with a glow of gratitude,
outweighed all else.
He had left the school-house at once when he had given his evidence, and
had heard no more of what had taken place there. The bystanders had let
him pass without any open opposition, but their faces had been hard and
unsympathetic, and he recognized that life among them would be anything
but a sunny road for some time to come.
If the people at Plaisance had told him to clear out and find another
lodging he would not have been in the least surprised. But they had no
such thought. In common with all who really got to know him, they had
come to esteem and like him, and they had no reason to believe that he
had had anything to do with Tom Hamon's death.
He had pondered these matters wearily till bed-time, and he turned in at
last sick of himself, and Sark, and things generally. But his brain
would not sleep, and the longer he lay and the more he tossed and
turned, the wearier he grew.
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