'Well! You needn't hear it,' replied their client. 'I'll mention
it, however. I don't mean to ask the Doctor's consent, because he
wouldn't give it me. But I mean to do the Doctor no wrong or harm,
because (besides there being nothing serious in such trifles, as he
says) I hope to rescue his child, my Marion, from what I see - I
KNOW - she dreads, and contemplates with misery: that is, the
return of this old lover. If anything in the world is true, it is
true that she dreads his return. Nobody is injured so far. I am
so harried and worried here just now, that I lead the life of a
flying-fish. I skulk about in the dark, I am shut out of my own
house, and warned off my own grounds; but, that house, and those
grounds, and many an acre besides, will come back to me one day, as
you know and say; and Marion will probably be richer - on your
showing, who are never sanguine - ten years hence as my wife, than
as the wife of Alfred Heathfield, whose return she dreads (remember
that), and in whom or in any man, my passion is not surpassed. Who
is injured yet? It is a fair case throughout. My right is as good
as his, if she decide in my favour; and I will try my right by her
alone. You will like to know no more after this, and I will tell
you no more. Now you know my purpose, and wants. When must I
leave here?'

'In a week,' said Snitchey. 'Mr. Craggs?'

'In something less, I should say,' responded Craggs.

'In a month,' said the client, after attentively watching the two
faces. 'This day month. To-day is Thursday. Succeed or fail, on
this day month I go.'