Purney, the ordinary, who had latterly conceived a great regard for Jack, addressed him in a discourse, which, while it tended to keep alive his feelings of penitence, was calculated to afford him much consolation. Regardless of the risk he incurred from some heavy stone dropping on his head or feet,—regardless also of the noise made by the falling rubbish, and of the imminent danger which he consequently ran of being interrupted by some of the jailers, should the sound reach their ears, he continued to pull down large masses of the wall, which he flung upon the floor of the cell. The room seemed a vacuum. Whenever she came upon the obliterated word and paused, her father would say: "Faith. I thought one had only to take it by the throat. “One is always playing the surgeon, one kills always the thing one loves best. She directed him to an old part of the highway, a featureless stretch of old farmhouses capped in snow, with the occasional working silo. Do you recall the night she showed you the face in the locket? Do you remember how she said—'If only my mother had lived'? Did you ever see anything more tender or beautiful?" "I remember. The door into the passage offered itself with an irresistible invitation—the one alternative to a public, inexplicable passion of weeping. We went our ways. Behind the Avenue was a little hill, and an iron-fenced path went over the crest of this to a stile under an elm-tree, and forked there, with one branch going back into the Avenue again.
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