initial commit of ebook 14527HEADmain

9 files changed, 72114 insertions, 0 deletions

diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6833f05
--- /dev/null
+++ b/.gitattributes
@@ -0,0 +1,3 @@
+* text=auto
+*.txt text
+*.md text
diff --git a/14527-0.txt b/14527-0.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..99d884b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/14527-0.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,19246 @@
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 14527 ***
+
+CHILDREN OF THE MIST
+
+BY
+
+EDEN PHILLPOTTS
+
+Author of "Down Dartmoor Way," "Some Everyday Folks," "My Laughing
+Philosopher," "Lying Prophets," etc.
+
+1898
+
+
+
+
+    BOOK I--THE BOY'S ROMANCE
+
+       I  THE PIXIES' PARLOUR
+      II  A CLEAR UNDERSTANDING
+     III  EXIT WILL
+      IV  BY THE RIVER
+       V  THE INCIDENT OF MR. JOEL FORD
+      VI  AN UNHAPPY POET
+     VII  LIBATION TO POMONA
+    VIII  A BROTHERS' QUARREL
+      IX  OUTSIDE EXETER GAOL
+       X  THE BRINGING OF THE NEWS
+      XI  LOVE AND GREY GRANITE
+     XII  A STORY-BOOK
+    XIII  THE MILLER'S OFFER
+     XIV  LOGIC
+
+    BOOK II--THE ENTERPRISE
+
+       I  SPRINGTIME
+      II  NEWTAKE FARM
+     III  OVER A RIDING-WHIP
+      IV  DEFEATED HOPES
+       V  THE ZEAL OF SAM BONUS
+      VI  A SWARM OF BEES
+     VII  AN OFFER OF MARRIAGE
+    VIII  MR. BLEE FORGETS HIMSELF
+      IX  A DIFFERENCE WITH THE DUCHY
+       X  CONNECTING LINKS
+      XI  TOGETHER
+     XII  THROUGH ONE GREAT DAY
+    XIII  THE WILL
+     XIV  A HUNDRED POUNDS
+      XV  "THE ANGEL OF THE DARKER DRINK"
+     XVI  BEFORE THE DAWN
+    XVII  MISSING
+
+    BOOK III--HIS GRANITE CROSS
+
+       I  BABY
+      II  THE KNIGHT OF FORLORN HOPES
+     III  CONCERNING THE GATE-POST
+      IV  MARTIN'S RAID
+       V  WINTER
+      VI  THE CROSS UPREARED
+     VII  GREY TWILIGHT
+
+    BOOK IV--HIS SECRET
+
+        I    A WANDERER RETURNS
+       II    HOPE RENEWED
+      III    ANSWERED
+       IV    THE END OF THE FIGHT
+        V    TWO MIGHTY SURPRISES
+       VI    THE SECRET OUT
+      VII    SMALL TIMOTHY
+     VIII    FLIGHT
+       IX    UNDER COSDON BEACON
+        X    BAD NEWS FOR BLANCHARD
+       XI    PHOEBE TAKES THOUGHT
+      XII    NEW YEAR'S EVE AND NEW YEAR'S DAY
+     XIII    MR. LYDDON'S TACTICS
+      XIV    ACTION
+       XV    A BATTLE
+      XVI    A PAIR OF HANDCUFFS
+     XVII    SUSPENSE
+    XVIII    THE NIGHT OF JUBILEE
+
+
+
+CHILDREN OF THE MIST
+
+
+BOOK I
+
+THE BOY'S ROMANCE
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+THE PIXIES' PARLOUR
+
+
+Phoebe Lyddon frowned, and, as an instant protest, twin dimples peeped
+into life at the left corner of her bonny mouth. In regarding that
+attractive ripple the down-drawn eyebrows were forgotten until they rose
+again into their natural arches. A sweet, childish contour of face
+chimed with her expression; her full lips were bright as the bunch of
+ripe wood-strawberries at the breast of her cotton gown; her eyes as
+grey as Dartmoor mists; while, for the rest, a little round chin, a
+small, straight nose, and a high forehead, which Phoebe mourned and kept
+carefully concealed under masses of curly brown hair, were the sole
+features to be specially noted about her. She was a trifle below the
+standard of height proper to a girl of nineteen, but all compact, of
+soft, rounded lines, plump, fresh of colour, healthy, happy, sweet as a
+ripe apple.
+
+From a position upon swelling hillsides above the valley of a river, she
+scanned the scene beneath, made small her eyes to focus the distance,
+and so pursued a survey of meadow and woodland, yet without seeing what
+she sought. Beneath and beyond, separated from her standpoint by
+grasslands and a hedge of hazel, tangled thickets of blackthorn, of
+bracken, and of briar sank to the valley bottom. Therein wound tinkling
+Teign through the gorges of Fingle to the sea; and above it, where the
+land climbed upward on the other side, spread the Park of Whiddou, with
+expanses of sweet, stone-scattered herbage, with tracts of deep fern,
+coverts of oak, and occasional habitations for the deer.
+
+This spectacle, through a grey veil of fine rain, Phoebe noted at
+mid-afternoon of a day in early August; and, as she watched, there
+widened a rift under the sun's hidden throne, and a mighty, fan-shaped
+pencil of brightness straggled downwards, proceeded in solemn sweep
+across the valley, and lighted the depths of the gorge beyond with a
+radiance of misty silver. The music of jackdaws welcomed this first
+indication of improved weather; then Phoebe's sharp eyes beheld a
+phenomenon afar off through the momentary cessation of the rain. Three
+parts of a mile away, on a distant hillside, like the successive
+discharges of a dozen fowling-pieces, little blotches of smoke or mist
+suddenly appeared. Rapidly they followed each other, and sometimes the
+puffs of vapour were exploded together, sometimes separately. For a
+moment the girl felt puzzled; then she comprehended and laughed.
+
+"'Tis the silly auld sheep!" she said to herself. "They 'm shakin 'theer
+fleeces 'cause they knaw the rain's over-past. Bellwether did begin, I
+warrant, then all the rest done the same."
+
+Each remote member of the flock thus freed its coat from the accumulated
+moisture of a long rainfall; then the huddled heap, in which they had
+combined to withstand the weather and show tail to the western storm,
+began to scatter. With coughs and sneezes the beasts wandered forward
+again, and pursued their business of grazing.
+
+Steadily the promises of the sky multiplied and Phoebe's impatience
+increased. Her position did not, however, depend for comfort upon the
+return of sunshine, for she stood out of the weather, where sundry giant
+rocks to the number of five arose in a fantastic pile. Nature's primal
+architects were responsible for the Pixies' Parlour, and upon the awful
+morning of Dartmoor's creation these enormous masses had first been
+hurled to their present position--outposts of the eternal granite,
+though themselves widely removed from the central waste of the Moor.
+This particular and gigantic monument of the past stands with its feet
+in land long cultivated. Plough and harrow yearly skirt the Pixies'
+Parlour; it rises to-day above yellow corn, to-morrow amid ripening
+roots; it crowns the succeeding generations of man's industry, and
+watches a ceaseless cycle of human toil. The rocks of which it is
+composed form a sort of rude chamber, sacred to fairy folk since a time
+before the memory of the living; briars and ivy-tods conceal a part of
+the fabric; a blackthorn, brushed at this season with purple fruit,
+rises above it; one shadowed ledge reveals the nightly roosting place of
+hawk or raven; and marks of steel on the stone show clearly where some
+great or small fragment of granite has been blasted from the parent pile
+for the need of man. Multi-coloured, massive, and picturesque, the
+Parlour, upon Phoebe Lyddon's visit to it, stood forth against the red
+bosom of naked land; for a fierce summer had early ripened the vanished
+harvest, and now its place was already ploughed again, while ashes of
+dead fire scattered upon the earth showed where weed and waste had been
+consumed after ingathering of the grain.
+
+Patches of August blue now lightened the aerial grey; then sunshine set
+a million gems twinkling on the great bejewelled bosom of the valley.
+Under this magic heat an almost instantaneous shadowy ghost of fresh
+vapour rose upon the riparian meadows, and out of it, swinging along
+with the energy of youth and high spirits, came a lad. Phoebe smiled and
+twinkled a white handkerchief to him, and he waved his hat and bettered
+his pace for answer.
+
+Soon Will Blanchard reached his sweetheart, and showed himself a brown,
+straight youngster, with curly hair, pugnacious nose, good shoulders,
+and a figure so well put together that his height was not apparent until
+he stood alongside another man. Will's eyes were grey as Phoebe's, but
+of a different expression; soft and unsettled, cloudy as the recent
+weather, full of the alternate mist and flash of a precious stone, one
+moment all a-dreaming, the next aglow. His natural look was at first
+sight a little stern until a man came to know it, then this impression
+waned and left a critic puzzled. The square cut of his face and abrupt
+angle of his jaw did not indeed belie Will Blanchard, but the man's
+smile magically dissipated this austerity of aspect, and no sudden
+sunshine ever brightened a dark day quicker than pleasure made bright
+his features. It was a sulky, sleepy, sweet, changeable face--very
+fascinating in the eyes of women. His musical laugh once fluttered
+sundry young bosoms, brightened many pretty eyes and cheeks, but Will's
+heart was Phoebe Lyddon's now--had been for six full months--and albeit
+a mere country boy in knowledge of the world, younger far than his
+one-and-twenty years of life, and wholly unskilled in those arts whose
+practice enables men to dwell together with friendship and harmony, yet
+Will Blanchard was quite old enough and wise enough and rich enough to
+wed, and make a husband of more than common quality at that--in his own
+opinion.
+
+Fortified by this conviction, and determined to wait no longer, he now
+came to see Phoebe. Within the sheltering arms of the Pixies' Parlour he
+kissed her, pressed her against his wet velveteen jacket, then sat down
+under the rocks beside her.
+
+"You 'm comed wi' the sun, dear Will."
+
+"Ay--the weather breaks. I hope theer'll be a drop more water down the
+river bimebye. You got my letter all right?"
+
+"Ess fay, else I shouldn't be here. And this tremendous matter in
+hand?"
+
+"I thought you'd guess what 't was. I be weary o' waitin' for 'e. An' as
+I comed of age last month, I'm a man in law so well as larnin', and I'm
+gwaine to speak to Miller Lyddon this very night."
+
+Phoebe looked blank. There was a moment's silence while Will picked and
+ate the wood-strawberries in his sweetheart's dress.
+
+"Caan't 'e think o' nothin' wiser than to see faither?" she said at
+last.
+
+"Theer ban't nothin' wiser. He knaws we 'm tokened, and it's no manner
+o' use him gwaine on pretendin' to himself 't isn't so. You 'm
+wife-old, and you've made choice o' me; and I'm a ripe man, as have
+thought a lot in my time, and be earnin' gude money and all. Besides, 't
+is a dead-sure fact I'll have auld Morgan's place as head waterkeeper,
+an' the cottage along with it, in fair time."
+
+"Ban't for me to lift up no hindrances, but you knaw faither."
+
+"Ess, I do--for a very stiff-necked man."
+
+"Maybe 't is so; but a gude faither to me."
+
+"An' a gude friend to me, for that matter. He aint got nothing 'gainst
+me, anyway--no more 's any man living."
+
+"Awnly the youth and fieriness of 'e."
+
+"Me fiery! I lay you wouldn't find a cooler chap in Chagford."
+
+"You 'm a dinky bit comical-tempered now and again, dear heart."
+
+He flushed, and the corners of his jaw thickened.
+
+"If a man was to say that, I'd knock his words down his throat."
+
+"I knaw you would, my awn Will; an' that's bein' comical-tempered,
+ban't it?"
+
+"Then perhaps I'd best not to see your faither arter all, if you 'm that
+way o' thinkin'," he answered shortly.
+
+Then Phoebe purred to him and rubbed her cheek against his chin, whereon
+the glint vanished from his eyes, and they were soft again.
+
+"Mother's the awnly livin' sawl what understands me," he said slowly.
+
+"And I--I too, Will!" cried Phoebe. "Ess fay. I'll call you a holy angel
+if you please, an' God knaws theer 's not an angel in heaven I'd have
+stead of 'e."
+
+"I ban't no angel," said Will gravely, "and never set up for no such
+thing; but I've thought a lot 'bout the world in general, and I'm purty
+wise for a home-stayin' chap, come to think on it; and it's borne in
+'pon me of late days that the married state 's a gude wan, and the
+sooner the better."
+
+"But a leap in the dark even for the wisest, Will?"
+
+"So's every other step us takes for that matter. Look at them
+grasshoppers. Off they goes to glory and doan't knaw no more 'n the dead
+wheer they'll fetch up. I've seed 'em by the river jump slap in the
+water, almost on to a trout's back. So us hops along and caan't say
+what's comin' next. We 'm built to see just beyond our awn nose-ends and
+no further. That's philosophy."
+
+"Ban't comfortin' if 't is," said Phoebe.
+
+"Whether or no, I'll see your faither 'fore night and have a plain
+answer. I'm a straight, square man, so's the miller."
+
+"You'll speed poorly, I'm fearin', but 't is a honest thing; and I'll
+tell faither you 'm all the world to me. He doan't seem to knaw what it
+is for a gal to be nineteen year old somehow."
+
+Solemnly Will rose, almost overweighted with the consciousness of what
+lay before him.
+
+"We'll go home-along now. Doan't 'e tell him I'm coming. I'll take him
+unbeknawnst. And you keep out the way till I be gone again."
+
+"Does your mother knaw, Will?"
+
+"Ess, she an' Chris both knaw I be gwaine to have it out this night.
+Mother sez I be right, but that Miller will send me packing wi' a flea
+in my ear; Chris sez I be wrong to ax yet awhile."
+
+"You can see why that is; 'she 's got to wait herself," said Phoebe,
+rather spitefully.
+
+"Waitin' 's well enough when it caan't be helped. But in my case, as a
+man of assured work and position in the plaace, I doan't hold it needful
+no more."
+
+Together the young couple marched down over the meadows, gained the side
+of the river, and followed its windings to the west. Through a dip in
+the woods presently peeped the ancient stannary town of Chagford, from
+the summit of its own little eminence on the eastern confines of
+Dartmoor. Both Will and Phoebe dwelt within the parish, but some
+distance from the place itself. She lived at Monks Barton, a farm and
+mill beside the stream; he shared an adjacent cottage with his mother
+and sister. Only a bend of the river separated the dwellings of the
+lovers--where Rushford Bridge spanned the Teign and beech and fir rose
+above it.
+
+In a great glory of clearness after rain, boy and girl moved along
+together under the trees. The fisherman's path which they followed wound
+where wet granite shone and ivy glimmered beneath the forest; and the
+leaves still dripped briskly, making a patter of sound through the
+underwood, and marking a thousand circles and splashes in the smooth
+water beneath the banks of the stream. Against a purple-grey background
+of past rain the green of high summer shone bright and fresh, and each
+moss-clad rock and fern-fringed branch of the forest oaks sent forth its
+own incense of slender steam where the sunlight sparkled and sucked up
+the moisture. Scarce half a mile from Phoebe's home a shining yellow
+twig bent and flashed against the green, and a broad back appeared
+through a screen of alder by the water's edge.
+
+"'T is a rod," said Will. "Bide a moment, and I'll take the number of
+his ticket. He 'm the first fisherman I've seen to-day."
+
+As under-keeper or water-bailiff to the Fishing Association, young
+Blanchard's work consisted in endless perambulation of the river's bank,
+in sharp outlook for poacher and trespasser, and in the survey of
+fishermen's bridges, and other contrivances for anglers that occurred
+along the winding course of the waters. His also was the duty of noting
+the license numbers, and of surprising those immoral anglers who sought
+to kill fish illegally on distant reaches of the river. His keen eyes,
+great activity, and approved pluck well fitted Will for such duties. He
+often walked twenty miles a day, and fishermen said that he knew every
+big trout in the Teign from Fingle Bridge to the dark pools and rippling
+steps under Sittaford Tor, near the river's twin birthplaces. He also
+knew where the great peel rested, on their annual migration from sea to
+moor; where the kingfisher's nest of fish-bones lay hidden; where the
+otter had her home beneath the bank, and its inland vent-hole behind a
+silver birch.
+
+Will bid the angler "good afternoon," and made a few general remarks on
+sport and the present unfavourable condition of the water, shrunk to
+mere ribbons of silver by a long summer drought. The fisherman was a
+stranger to Will--a handsome, stalwart man, with a heavy amber
+moustache, hard blue eyes, and a skin tanned red by hotter suns than
+English Augusts know. His disposition, also, as it seemed, reflected
+years of a tropic or subtropic existence, for this trivial meeting and
+momentary intrusion upon his solitude resulted in an explosion as sudden
+as unreasonable and unexpected.
+
+"Keep back, can't you?" he exclaimed, while the young keeper approached
+his side; "who 's going to catch fish with your lanky shadow across the
+water?"
+
+Will was up in arms instantly.
+
+"Do 'e think I doan't knaw my business? Theer 's my shadder 'pon the
+bank a mile behind you; an' I didn't ope my mouth till you'd fished the
+stickle to the bottom and missed two rises."
+
+This criticism angered the elder man, and he freed his tailfly fiercely
+from the rush-head that held it.
+
+"Mind your own affairs and get out of my sight, whoever you are. This
+river's not what it used to be by a good deal. Over-fished and poached,
+and not looked after, I'll swear."
+
+Thus, in ignorance, the sportsman uttered words of all most like to set
+Will Blanchard's temper loose--a task sufficiently easy at the best of
+times.
+
+"What the hell d' you knaw 'bout the river?" he flamed out. "And as to
+'my affairs,' 't is my affairs, an' I be water-bailiff, an' I'll thank
+you for the number of your ticket--so now then!"
+
+"What's become of Morgan?" asked the other.
+
+"He 'm fust, I be second; and 't is my job to take the license numbers."
+
+"Pity you're such an uncivil young cub, then."
+
+"Gimme your ticket directly minute!"
+
+"I'm not going to."
+
+The keeper looked wicked enough by this time, but he made a great effort
+to hold himself in.
+
+"Why for not?"
+
+"Because I didn't take one."
+
+"That ban't gwaine to do for me."
+
+"Ban't it? Then you'll have to go without any reason. Now run away and
+don't bleat so loud."
+
+"Look here," retorted Will, going straight up to the fisherman, and
+taking his measure with a flashing eye, "You gimme your ticket number or
+your name an' address, else I'll make 'e."
+
+They counted nearly the same inches, but the angler was the elder, and a
+man of more powerful build and massive frame than his younger opponent.
+His blue eyes and full, broad face spoke a pugnacity not less pronounced
+than the keeper's own finer features indicated; and thus these two,
+destined for long years to bulk largely each upon the life of the other,
+stood eye to eye for the first time. Will's temper was nearly gone, and
+now another sneer set it loose with sudden and startling result.
+
+"Make me, my young moorcock? Two more words and I'll throw you across
+the river!"
+
+The two words were not forthcoming, but Will dropped his stick and shot
+forward straight and strong as an angry dog. He closed before the
+stranger could dispose of his rod, gripped him with a strong wrestling
+hold, and cross-buttocked him heavily in the twinkling of an eye. The
+big man happily fell without hurt upon soft sand at the river's brink;
+but the indignity of this defeat roused his temper effectually. He
+grinned nevertheless as he rose again, shook the sand off his face, and
+licked his hands.
+
+"Good Devon, sure enough, my son; now I'll teach _you_ something you
+never heard tell of, and break your damned fool's neck for you into the
+bargain!"
+
+But Phoebe, who had wandered slowly on, returned quickly at the sound of
+the scuffle and high words. Now she fluttered between the combatants and
+rendered any further encounter for the time impossible. They could not
+close again with the girl between them, and the stranger, his anger
+holding its breath, glanced at her with sudden interest, stayed his
+angry growl, suffered rage to wane out of his eyes and frank admiration
+to appear in them.
+
+"Doan't be fighting!" cried Phoebe. "Whatever's the mischief, Will? Do
+bate your speed of hand! You've thrawed the gentleman down, seemin'ly."
+
+"Wheer 's his ticket to then?"
+
+"Why, it isn't Miller Lyddon's young maid, surely!" burst out the
+fisherman; "not Phoebe grown to woman!"
+
+A Devon accent marked the speech, suddenly dragged from him by surprise.
+
+"Ess, I be Phoebe Lyddon; but don't 'e fall 'pon each other again, for
+the Lard's sake," she said.
+
+"The boy 's as tetchy in temper as a broody hen. I was only joking all
+the time, and see how he made me pay for my joke. But to think I should
+remember you! Grown from bud to pretty blossom, by God! And I danced you
+on my knee last time I saw you!"
+
+"Then you 'm wan of they two Grimbal brothers as was to be home again in
+Chagford to-day!" exclaimed Will.
+
+"That's so; Martin and I landed at Plymouth yesterday. We got to
+Chagford early this morning."
+
+Will laughed.
+
+"I never!" he said. "Why, you be lodging with my awn mother at the
+cottage above Rushford Bridge! You was expected this marnin', but I
+couldn't wait for 'e. You 'm Jan Grimbal--eh?"
+
+"Right! And you're a nice host, to be sure!"
+
+"'T is solemn truth, you 'm biding under our roof, the 'Three Crowns'
+bein' full just now. And I'm sorry I thrawed 'e; but you was that
+glumpy, and of course I didn't know 'e from Adam. I'm Will Blanchard."
+
+"Never mind, Will, we'll try again some day. I could wrestle a bit once,
+and learned a new trick or two from a Yankee in Africa."
+
+"You've come back 'mazin' rich they say, Jan Grimbal?"
+
+"So, so. Not millionaires, but all right--both of us, though I'm the
+snug man of the two. We got to Africa at the right moment, before 1867,
+you know, the year that O'Reilly saw a nigger-child playing with the
+first Kimberley diamond ever found. Up we went, the pair of us. Things
+have hummed since then, and claims and half-claims and quarter-claims
+are coming to be worth a Jew's eye. We're all right, anyway, and I've
+got a stake out there yet."
+
+"You 'm well pleased to come back to dear li'l Chagford after so many
+years of foreign paarts, I should think, Mr. Grimbal?" said Phoebe.
+
+"Ay, that I am. There's no place like Devon, in all the earth, and no
+spot like Chagford in Devon. I'm too hard grit to wink an eyelid at
+sight of the old scenes again myself; but Martin, when he caught first
+sight of great rolling Cosdon crowning the land--why, his eyes were
+wetted, if you'll believe it."
+
+"And you comed right off to fish the river fust thing," said Will
+admiringly.
+
+"Ay, couldn't help it. When I heard the water calling, it was more than
+my power to keep away. But you're cruel short of rain, seemingly, and
+of course the season 's nearly over."
+
+"I'll shaw you dark hovers, wheer braave feesh be lying yet," promised
+Will; and the angler thanked him, foretelling a great friendship. Yet
+his eyes rarely roamed from Phoebe, and anon, as all three proceeded,
+John Grimbal stopped at the gate of Monks Barton and held the girl in
+conversation awhile. But first he despatched Will homewards with a
+message for his mother. "Let Mrs. Blanchard know we'll feed at seven
+o'clock off the best that she can get," he said; "and tell her not to
+bother about the liquor. I'll see to that myself."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+A CLEAR UNDERSTANDING
+
+
+Monks Barton, or Barton Monachorum, as the farm was called in a Tudor
+perambulation of Chagford, owed its name to traditions that holy men
+aforetime dwelt there, performed saintly deeds, and blessed a spring in
+the adjacent woods, whose waters from that date ever proved a magical
+medicament for "striking" of sore eyes. That the lands of the valley had
+once been in monastic possession was, however, probable enough; and some
+portions of the old farm did in truth rise upon the ruins of a still
+more ancient habitation long vanished. Monks Barton stood, a picturesque
+agglomeration of buildings, beside the river. The mill-wheel, fed by a
+stream taken from the Teign some distance up the valley and here
+returned again to the parent water, thundered on its solemn round in an
+eternal twinkling twilight of dripping ferns and green mosses; while
+hard by the dwelling-house stood and offered small diamond panes and one
+dormer-window to the south. Upon its whitewashed face three fruit-trees
+grew--a black plum, a cherry, a winter pear; and before the farmhouse
+stretched a yard sloping to the river ford, where a line of massive
+stepping-stones for foot-passengers crossed the water. On either side of
+this space, walled up from the edge of the stream, little gardens of
+raspberry and gooseberry bushes spread; and here, too, appeared a few
+apple-trees, a bed of herbs, a patch of onions, purple cabbages, and a
+giant hollyhock with sulphur-coloured blossoms that thrust his proud
+head upwards, a gentleman at large, and the practical countrymen of the
+kitchen-garden. The mill and outbuildings, the homestead and wood-stacks
+embraced a whole gamut of fine colour, ranging from the tawny and
+crimson of fretted brick and tile to varied greys of drying timber; from
+the cushions and pillows of moss and embroidery of houseleeks and
+valerian, that had flourished for fifty years on a ruined shippen, to
+the silver gleam of old thatches and the shining gold of new. Nor was
+the white face of the dwelling-house amiss. Only one cold, crude eye
+stared out from this time-tinctured scene; only one raw pentroof of
+corrugated iron blotted it, made poets sigh, artists swear, and Miller
+Lyddon contemplate more of the same upon his land.
+
+A clucking and grunting concourse of fowls and pigs shared the farmyard;
+blue pigeons claimed the roof; and now, in the westering light, with
+slow foot, sweet breath, and swelling udder, many kine, red as the ripe
+horse-chestnut, followed each other across the ford, assembled
+themselves together and lowed musically to the milkers. Phoebe Lyddon
+and John Grimbal still stood at the farm-gate, and they watched, as a
+boy and an aged man came forward with buckets and stools. Then, to the
+muffled thud of the water-wheel and the drone and murmur of the river,
+was added a purr of milk, foaming into tin pails, and sharp, thin
+monitions from the ancient, as he called the cows by their names and bid
+them be still.
+
+In John Grimbal, newly come from South Africa, this scene awakened a
+lively satisfaction and delight. It told him that he was home again; and
+so did the girl, though it seemed absurd to think that Phoebe had ever
+sat upon his knee and heard his big stories, when as yet he himself was
+a boy and the world still spread before him unconquered. He mused at the
+change and looked forward to bringing himself and his success in life
+before those who had known him in the past. He very well remembered who
+had encouraged his ambitions and spoken words of kindness and of hope;
+who also had sneered, criticised his designs unfavourably, and thrown
+cold water upon his projects. John Grimbal meant to make certain souls
+smart as he had smarted; but he feared his brother a little in this
+connection, and suspected that Martin would not assert himself among the
+friends of his youth, would not assume a position his riches warranted,
+would be content with too humble a manner of life.
+
+As a matter of fact, the ambition of neither extended much beyond a life
+of peace among the scenes of his childhood; but while the younger
+traveller returned with unuttered thanksgivings in his heart that he was
+privileged again to see the land he loved and henceforth dwell amid its
+cherished scenes, the greater energy and wider ambition of his brother
+planned a position of some prominence if not power. John was above all
+else a sportsman, and his programme embraced land, a stout new
+dwelling-house, preserves of game in a small way, some fishing, and the
+formation of a new rifle-corps at Chagford. This last enterprise he
+intended to be the serious business of life; but his mind was open to
+any new, agreeable impressions and, indeed, it received them at every
+turn. Phoebe Lyddon awoke a very vital train of thoughts, and when he
+left her, promising to come with his brother on the following day to see
+the miller, John Grimbal's impressionable heart was stamped with her
+pretty image, his ear still held the melody of her voice.
+
+He crossed the stepping-stones, sat down upon the bank to change his
+flies, and looked at the home of Phoebe without sentiment, yet not
+without pleasure. It lay all cuddled on the bosom of a green hill; to
+the west stretched meadows and orchard along the winding valley of the
+river; to the east extended more grass-land that emerged into ferny
+coombs and glades and river dells, all alive with the light of wild
+flowers and the music of birds, with the play of dusky sunshine in the
+still water, and of shadows on the shore.
+
+A little procession of white ducks sailed slowly up the river, and each
+as it passed twisted its head to peer up at the spectator. Presently the
+drake who led them touched bottom, and his red-gold webs appeared. Then
+he paddled ashore, lifted up his voice, waggled his tail, and with a
+crescendo of quacking conducted his harem into the farmyard. One lone
+Muscovy duck, perchance emulating the holy men of old in their
+self-communion, or else constrained by circumstance to a solitary life,
+appeared apart on a little island under the alders. A stranger in a
+strange land, he sat with bent head and red-rimmed, philosophic eyes,
+regarding his own breast while sunset lights fired the metallic lustre
+of his motley. Quite close to him a dead branch thrust upwards from the
+water, and the river swirled in oily play of wrinkles and dimples beyond
+it. Here, with some approach to his old skill, the angler presently cast
+a small brown moth. It fell lightly and neatly, cocked for a second,
+then turned helplessly over, wrecked in the sudden eddy as a natural
+insect had been. A fearless rise followed, and in less than half a
+minute a small trout was in the angler's net. John Grimbal landed this
+little fish carefully and regarded it with huge satisfaction before
+returning it to the river. Then, having accomplished the task set by
+sudden desire,--to catch a Teign trout again, feel it, smell it, see
+the ebony and crimson, the silver belly warming to gold on its sides and
+darkening to brown and olive above,--having by this act renewed
+sensations that had slept for fifteen years, he put up his rod and
+returned to his temporary quarters at the dwelling of Mrs. Blanchard.
+
+His brother was waiting in the little garden to welcome him. Martin
+walked up and down, smelled the flowers, and gazed with sober delight
+upon the surrounding scene. Already sunset fires had waned; but the high
+top of the fir that crowned Rushford Bridge still glowed with a great
+light on its red bark; an uprising Whiddon, where it lay afar off under
+the crown of Cranbrook, likewise shone out above the shadowed valley.
+
+Martin Grimbal approached his brother and laid his hand upon the
+fisherman's arm. He stood the smaller in stature, though of strong
+build. His clean-shaved face had burned much darker than John's; he was
+indeed coffee-brown and might have been mistaken for an Indian but for
+his eyes of ordinary slate-grey. Without any pretension to good looks,
+Martin Grimbal displayed what was better--an expression of such frank
+benignity and goodness that his kind trusted him and relied upon him by
+intuition. Honest and true to the verge of quixotism was this man in all
+dealings with his fellows, yet he proved a faulty student of character.
+First he was in a measure blinded by his own amiable qualities to acute
+knowledge of human nature; secondly, he was drawn away from humanity
+rather than not, for no cynic reason, but by the character of his
+personal predilections and pursuits.
+
+"I've seen father's grave, John," were his first words to his brother.
+"It's beside the mother's, but that old stone he put up to her must be
+moved and--"
+
+"All right, all right, old chap. Stones are in your line, not mine.
+Where's dinner? I want bread, not a stone, eh?"
+
+Martin did not laugh, but shrugged his shoulders in good-tempered
+fashion. His face had a measure of distinction his brother's lacked, and
+indeed, while wanting John's tremendous physical energy and robust
+determination, he possessed a finer intellect and instinct less animal.
+Even abroad, during their earlier enterprises, Martin had first provided
+brains sufficient for himself and John; but an accident of fortune
+suddenly favoured the elder; and while John took full care that Martin
+should benefit with himself, he was pleased henceforth to read into his
+superior luck a revelation of superior intelligence, and from that
+moment followed his own inclinations and judgment. He liked Martin no
+less, but never turned to him for counsel again after his own accidental
+good fortune; and henceforward assumed an elder brother's manner and a
+show of superior wisdom. In matters of the world and in knowledge of
+such human character as shall be found to congregate in civilisation's
+van, or where precious metals and precious stones have been discovered
+to abound, John Grimbal was undoubtedly the shrewder, more experienced
+man; and Martin felt very well content that his elder brother should
+take the lead. Since the advent of their prosperity a lively gratitude
+had animated his mind. The twain shared nothing save bonds of blood,
+love of their native land, and parity of ambition, first manifested in
+early desires to become independent. Together they had gone abroad,
+together they returned; and now each according to his genius designed to
+seek happiness where he expected to find it. John still held interests
+in South Africa, but Martin, content with less fortune, and mighty
+anxious to be free of all further business, realised his wealth and now
+knew the limits of his income.
+
+The brothers supped in good spirits and Will Blanchard's sister waited
+upon them. Chris was her "brother in petticoats," people said, and
+indeed she resembled him greatly in face and disposition. But her eyes
+were brown, like her dead father's, and a gypsy splendour of black hair
+crowned her head. She was a year younger than Will, wholly wrapped up in
+him and one other.
+
+A familiarity, shy on Martin's side and patronising in John, obtained
+between the brothers and their pretty attendant, for she knew all about
+them and the very cottage in which their parents had dwelt and died. The
+girl came and went, answered John Grimbal's jests readily, and
+ministered to them as one not inferior to those she served. The elder
+man's blue eyes were full of earthy admiration. He picked his teeth
+between the courses and admired aloud, while Chris was from the room.
+
+"'Tis wonderful how pretty all the women look, coming back to them after
+ten years of nigger girls. Roses and cream isn't in it with their skins,
+though this one's dark as a clear night--Spanish fashion."
+
+"Miss Blanchard seems very beautiful to me certainly," admitted Martin.
+
+"I've seen only two maids--since setting foot in Chagford," continued
+his brother, "and it would puzzle the devil to say which was best to
+look at."
+
+"Your heart will soon be lost, I'll wager--to a Chagford girl, I hope. I
+know you talked about flying high, but you might be happier to take a
+mate from--well, you understand."
+
+"It's all very well to build theories on board ship about bettering
+myself socially and all that, but it's rot; I'll be knocked over by one
+of the country witches, I know I shall,--I feel it. I love the sound of
+the Devon on their lips, and the clear eyes of them, and the bright
+skin. 'Tis all I can do to keep from hugging the women, and that's a
+fact. But you, you cold-blooded beggar, your heart's still for the grey
+granite and the old ghostly stones, and creepy, lonely places on the
+Moor! We're that different, you and me."
+
+Martin nodded thoughtfully, and, the meal being now ended, both men
+strolled out of doors, then wandered down to smoke a pipe on Rushford
+Bridge and listen to the nightly murmur of the river. Darkness moved on
+the face of land and water; twilight had sucked all the colour away from
+the valley; and through the deepening monochrome of the murk there
+passed white mists with shadowy hands, and peeped blind pale eyes along
+the winding water, where its surface reflected the faded west. Nocturnal
+magic conjured the least meadow into an unmeasured sea of vapour; awoke
+naiads in the waters and dryads in the woods; transformed the solemn
+organ music of great beetles into songs of a roaming spirit; set unseen
+shapes stirring in the starlight; whispered of invisible, enchanted
+things, happy and unhappy, behind the silence.
+
+A man moved from the bridge as the brothers reached it. Then Will
+Blanchard, knocking out his pipe and taking a big inspiration, set his
+face steadily toward Monks Barton and that vital interview with Miller
+Lyddon now standing in the pathway of his life.
+
+He rapped at the farm door and a step came slowly down the stone-paved
+passage. Then Billy Blee, the miller's right-hand man, opened to him.
+Bent he was from the small of the back, with a highly coloured, much
+wrinkled visage, and ginger hair, bleached by time to a paler shade. His
+poll was bald and shining, and thick yellow whiskers met beneath a
+clean-shorn chin. Billy's shaggy eyebrows, little bright eyes, and long
+upper lip, taken with the tawny fringe under his chops, gave him the
+look of an ancient and gigantic lion-monkey; and indeed there was not
+lacking in him an ape-like twist, as shall appear.
+
+"Hullo! boy Blanchard! An' what might you want?" he asked.
+
+"To see Miller."
+
+"Come in then; we'm all alone in kitchen, him and me, awver our grog and
+game. What's the matter now?"
+
+"A private word for Miller's ear," said Will cautiously.
+
+"Come you in then. Us'll do what we may for 'e. Auld heads be the best
+stepping-stones young folks can have, understood right; awnly the likes
+of you mostly chooses to splash through life on your awn damn silly
+roads."
+
+Mr. Blee, whose friendship and familiarity with his master was of the
+closest, led on, and Will soon stood before Mr. Lyddon.
+
+The man who owned Monks Barton, and who there prosperously combined the
+callings of farmer and miller, had long enjoyed the esteem of the
+neighbourhood in which he dwelt, as had his ancestors before him,
+through many generations. He had won reputation for a sort of silent
+wisdom. He never advised any man ill, never hesitated to do a kindly
+action, and himself contrived to prosper year in, year out, no matter
+what period of depression might be passing over Chagford. Vincent Lyddon
+was a widower of sixty-five--a grey, thin, tall man, slow of speech and
+sleepy of eye. A weak mouth, and a high, round forehead, far smoother
+than his age had promised, were distinguishing physical features of him.
+His wife had been dead eighteen years, and of his two children one only
+survived. The elder, a boy toddling in early childhood at the water's
+edge, was unmissed until too late, and found drowned next day after a
+terrible night of agony for both parents. Indeed, Mrs. Lyddon never
+recovered from the shock, and Phoebe was but a year old when her mother
+died. Further, it need only be mentioned that the miller had heard of
+Will's courting more than once, but absolutely refused to allow the
+matter serious consideration. The romance was no more than philandering
+of children in his eyes.
+
+"Will--eh? Well, my son, and how can I serve you?" asked the master of
+Monks Barton, kindly enough. He recrossed his legs, settled in his
+leather chair, and continued the smoking of a long clay pipe.
+
+"Just this, Mr. Lyddon," began Will abruptly. "You calls me your 'son'
+as a manner o' speech, but I wants to be no less in fact."
+
+"You ban't here on that fool's errand, bwoy, surely? I thought I'd made
+my mind clear enough to Phoebe six months ago."
+
+"Look you here now. I be earnin' eighteen shillings a week an' a bit
+awver; an' I be sure of Morgan's berth as head-keeper presently; an' I'm
+a man as thinks."
+
+"That's brave talk, but what have 'e saved, lad?" inquired Mr. Blee.
+
+The lover looked round at him sharply.
+
+"I thought you was out the room," he said. "I be come to talk to Miller,
+not you."
+
+"Nay, nay, Billy can stay and see I'm not tu hard 'pon 'e," declared Mr.
+Lyddon. "He axed a proper question. What's put by to goody in the
+savings' bank, Will?"
+
+"Well--five pounds; and 't will be rose to ten by Christmas, I assure
+'e."
+
+"Fi' puns! an' how far 's that gwaine?"
+
+"So far as us can make it, in coourse."
+
+"Doan't you see, sonny, this ban't a fair bargain? I'm not a hard man--"
+
+"By gor! not hard enough by a powerful deal," said Billy.
+
+"Not hard on youth; but this match, so to call it, looks like mere
+moonshine. Theer 's nought _to_ it I can see--both childer, and neither
+with as much sense as might sink a floatin' straw."
+
+"We love each other wi' all our hearts and have done more 'n half a
+year. Ban't that nothing?"
+
+"I married when I was forty-two," remarked the miller, reflectively,
+looking down at his fox-head slippers, the work of Phoebe's fingers.
+
+"An' a purty marryin' time tu!" declared Mr. Blee. "Look at me," he
+continued, "parlous near seventy, and a bacherlor-man yet."
+
+"Not but Widow Comstock will have 'e if you ax her a bit oftener. Us all
+knows that," said the young lover, with great stratagem.
+
+Billy chuckled, and rubbed his wrinkles.
+
+"Time enough, time enough," he answered, "but you--scarce out o'
+clouts--why, 't is playin' at a holy thing, that's what 't is--same as
+Miss Phoebe, when she was a li'l wee cheel, played at bein' parson in
+her night-gownd, and got welted for it, tu, by her gude faither."
+
+"We 'm both in earnest anyway--me and Phoebe."
+
+"So am I," replied the miller, sitting up and putting down his pipe; "so
+am I in earnest, and wan word 's gude as a hunderd in a pass like this.
+You must hear the truth, an' that never broke no bones. You 'm no more
+fitted to have a wife than that tobacco-jar--a hot-headed, wild-fire of
+a bwoy--"
+
+"A right Jack-o'-Lantern, as everybody knaws," suggested Mr. Blee.
+
+"Ess fay, 'tis truth. Shifting and oncertain as the marsh gallopers on
+the moor bogs of a summer night. Awnly a youth's faults, you mind; but
+still faults. No, no, my lad, you've got to fight your life's battle and
+win it, 'fore you'm a mate for any gal; an' you've got to begin by
+fightin' yourself, an' breaking an' taming yourself, an' getting
+yourself well in hand. That's a matter of more than months for the best
+of us."
+
+"And then?" said Will, "after 'tis done? though I'm not allowin' I'm
+anything but a ripe man as I stand here afore you now."
+
+"Then I'd say, 'I'm glad to see you grawed into a credit to us all, Will
+Blanchard, and worth your place in the order o' things; but you doan't
+marry Phoebe Lyddon--never, never, never, not while I'm above ground.'"
+
+His slow eyes looked calmly and kindly at Will, and he smiled into the
+hot, young, furious face.
+
+"That's your last word then?"
+
+"It is, my lad."
+
+"And you won't give a reason?"
+
+"The reason is, 'what's bred in the bone comes out in the flesh.' I
+knawed your faither. You'm as volatile as him wi'out his better paarts."
+
+"Leave him wheer he lies--underground. If he'd lived 'stead of bein' cut
+off from life, you'd 'a' bin proud to knaw him."
+
+"A gypsy-man and no better, Will," said Mr. Blee. "Not but what he made
+a gude end, I allow."
+
+"Then I'll be up and away. I've spoke 'e fair, Miller--fair an'
+straight--an' so you to me. You won't allow this match. Then we'll wed
+wi'out your blessin', an' sorry I shall be."
+
+"If that's your tune, my young rascal, I'll speak again! Phoebe's under
+age, remember that, and so sure as you dare take her a yard from her awn
+door you'll suffer for it. 'Tis a clink job, you mind--a prison
+business; and what's more, you 'm pleased to speak so plain that I will
+tu, and tell 'e this. If you dare to lift up your eyes to my child
+again, or stop her in the way, or have speech with her, I'll set
+p'liceman 'pon 'e! For a year and more she 'm not her awn mistress; and,
+at the end of that time, if she doan't get better sense than to tinker
+arter a harum-scarum young jackanapes like you, she ban't a true Lyddon.
+Now be off with 'e an' doan't dare to look same way Phoebe 's walkin',
+no more, else theer'll be trouble for 'e."
+
+"Wonnerful language, an' in a nutshell," commented Billy, as, blowing
+rather hard, the miller made an end of his warning.
+
+"Us'll leave it theer, then, Mr. Lyddon; and you'll live to be sorry
+ever you said them words to me. Ess fay, you'll live to sing different;
+for when two 's set 'pon a matter o' marryin', ban't fathers nor
+mothers, nor yet angels, be gwaine to part 'em. Phoebe an' me will be
+man an' wife some day, sure 's the sun 's brighter 'n the mune. So now
+you knaw. Gude night to 'e."
+
+He took up his hat and departed; Billy held up his hands in mute
+amazement; but the miller showed no emotion and relighted his pipe.
+
+"The rising generation do take my breath away twenty times a day," said
+Mr. Blee. "To think o' that bwoy, in li'l frocks awnly yesterday,
+standin' theer frontin' two aged men wi' such bouldacious language!"
+
+"What would you do, Billy, if the gal was yourn?"
+
+"Same as you, to a hair. Bid her drop the chap for gude 'n all. But
+theer 's devil's pepper in that Blanchard. He ain't done with yet."
+
+"Well, well, he won't shorten my sleep, I promise you. Near two years is
+a long time to the young. Lord knaws wheer a light thing like him will
+be blawed to, come two years. Time 's on my side for certain. And Phoebe
+'s like to change also."
+
+"Why, a woman's mind 's no more 'n a feather in a gale of wind at her
+time o' life; though to tell her so 's the sure way to make her
+steadfast."
+
+A moment later Phoebe herself entered. She had heard Will depart and
+now, in a fever of impatience, crept with bright, questioning eyes to
+her father's chair. Whereupon Mr. Blee withdrew in a violent hurry. No
+one audibly desired him to do so, but a side-look from the girl was
+enough.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+EXIT WILL
+
+
+Phoebe's conversation with her father occupied a space of time extending
+over just two minutes. He met her eager eyes with a smile, patted her
+head, pinched her ear, and by his manner awakened a delicious flutter of
+hope in the girl before he spoke. When, therefore, Phoebe learned that
+Will was sent about his business for ever, and must henceforth be wholly
+dismissed from her mind, the shock and disappointment of such
+intelligence came as a cruel blow. She stood silent and thunderstruck
+before Miller Lyddon, a world of reproaches in her frightened eyes; then
+mutely the corners of her little mouth sank as she turned away and
+departed with her first great sorrow.
+
+Phoebe's earliest frantic thought had been to fly to Will, but she knew
+such a thing was impossible. There would surely be a letter from him on
+the following morning hidden within their secret pillar-box between two
+bricks of the mill wall. For that she must wait, and even in her misery
+she was glad that with Will, not herself, lay decision as to future
+action. She had expected some delay; she had believed that her father
+would impose stern restrictions of time and make a variety of conditions
+with her sweetheart; she had even hoped that Miller Lyddon might command
+lengthened patience for the sake of her headstrong, erratic Will's
+temper and character; but that he was to be banished in this crushing
+and summary fashion overwhelmed Phoebe, and that utterly. Her nature,
+however, was not one nourished from any very deep wells of character.
+She belonged to a class who suffer bitterly enough under sorrow, but the
+storm of it while tearing like a tropical tornado over heart and soul,
+leaves no traces that lapse of time cannot wholly and speedily
+obliterate. On them it may be said that fortune's sharpest strokes
+inflict no lasting scars; their dispositions are happily powerless to
+harbour the sustained agony that burrows and gnaws, poisons man's
+estimate of all human affairs, wrecks the stores of his experience, and
+stamps the cicatrix of a live, burning grief on brow and brain for ever.
+They find their own misery sufficiently exalted; but their temperament
+is unable to sustain a lifelong tribulation or elevate sorrow into
+tragedy. And their state is the more blessed. So Phoebe watered her
+couch with tears, prayed to God to hear her solemn promises of eternal
+fidelity, then slept and passed into a brief dreamland beyond sorrow's
+reach.
+
+Meantime young Blanchard took his stormy heart into a night of stars.
+The moon had risen; the sky was clear; the silvery silence remained
+unbroken save for the sound of the river, where it flowed under the
+shadows of great trees and beneath aerial bridges and banners of the
+meadow mists. Will strode through this scene, past his mother's cottage,
+and up a hill behind it, into the village. His mind presented in turn a
+dozen courses of action, and each was built upon the abiding foundation
+of Phoebe's sure faithfulness. That she would cling to him for ever the
+young man knew right well; no thought of a rival, therefore, entered
+into his calculations. The sole problem was how quickest to make Mr.
+Lyddon change his mind; how best to order his future that the miller
+should regard him as a responsible person, and one of weight in affairs.
+Not that Will held himself a slight man by any means; but he felt that
+he must straightway assert his individuality and convince the world in
+general and Miller Lyddon in particular of faulty judgment. He was very
+angry still as he retraced the recent conversation. Then, among those
+various fancies and projects in his mind, the wildest and most foolish
+stood out before him as both expedient and to be desired. His purpose in
+Chagford was to get advice from another man; but before he reached the
+village his own mind was established.
+
+Slated and thatched roofs glimmered under moonlight, and already the
+hamlet slept. A few cats crept like shadows through the deserted
+streets, from darkness into light, from light back to darkness; and one
+cottage window, before which Will Blanchard stood, still showed a candle
+behind a white blind. Most quaint and ancient was this habitation--of
+picturesque build, with tiny granite porch, small entrance, and
+venerable thatches that hung low above the upper windows. A few tall
+balsams quite served to fill the garden; indeed so small was it that
+from the roadway young Blanchard, by bending over the wooden fence,
+could easily reach the cottage window. This he did, tapped lightly, and
+then waited for the door to be opened.
+
+A man presently appeared and showed some surprise at the sight of his
+late visitor.
+
+"Let me in, Clem," said Will. "I knawed you'd be up, sitting readin'
+and dreamin'. 'T is no dreamin' time for me though, by God! I be corned
+straight from seeing Miller 'bout Phoebe."
+
+"Then I can very well guess what was last in your ears."
+
+Clement Hicks spoke in an educated voice. He was smaller than Will but
+evidently older. Somewhat narrow of build and thin, he looked delicate,
+though in reality wiry and sound. He was dark of complexion, wore his
+hair long for a cottager, and kept both moustache and beard, though the
+latter was very scant and showed the outline of his small chin through
+it. A forehead remarkably lofty but not broad, mounted almost
+perpendicularly above the man's eyes; and these were large and dark and
+full of fire, though marred by a discontented expression. His mouth was
+full-lipped, his other features huddled rather meanly together under the
+high brow: but his face, while admittedly plain even to ugliness, was
+not commonplace; for its eyes were remarkable, and the cast of thought
+ennobled it as a whole.
+
+Will entered the cottage kitchen and began instantly to unfold his
+experiences.
+
+"You knaw me--a man with a level head, as leaps after looking, not
+afore. I put nothing but plain reason to him and he flouted me like you
+might a cheel. An' I be gwaine to make him eat his words--such hard
+words as they was tu! Think of it! Me an' Phoebe never to meet no more!
+The folly of sayin' such a thing! Wouldn't 'e reckon that grey hairs
+knawed better than to fancy words can keep lovers apart?"
+
+"Grey hairs cover old brains; and old brains forget what it feels like
+to have a body full o' young blood. The best memory can't keep the
+feeling of youth fresh in a man."
+
+"Well, I ban't the hot-headed twoad Miller Lyddon thinks, or pretends he
+thinks, anyway. I'll shaw un! I can wait, an' Phoebe can wait, an' now
+she'll have to. I'm gwaine away."
+
+"Going away. Why?"
+
+"To shaw what 's in me. I ban't sorry for this for some things. Now no
+man shall say that I'm a home-stayin' gaby, tramping up an' down Teign
+Vale for a living. I'll step out into the wide world, same as them
+Grimbals done. They 'm back again made of money, the pair of 'em."
+
+"It took them fifteen years and more, and they were marvellously lucky."
+
+"What then? I'm as like to fare well as they. I've worked out a
+far-reaching plan, but the first step I've thought on 's terrible
+coorious, an' I reckon nobody but you'd see how it led to better things.
+But you 'm book-larned and wise in your way, though I wish your wisdom
+had done more for yourself than it has. Anyway, you 'm tokened to Chris
+and will be one of the family some day perhaps when Mother Coomstock
+dies, so I'll leave my secret with you. But not a soul else--not mother
+even. So you must swear you'll never tell to man or woman or cheel what
+I've done and wheer I be gone."
+
+"I'll swear if you like."
+
+"By the livin' God."
+
+"By any God you believe is alive."
+
+"Say it, then."
+
+"By the living God, I, Clement Hicks, bee-master of Chagford, Devon,
+swear to keep the secret of my friend and neighbour, William Blanchard,
+whatever it is."
+
+"And may He tear the life out of you if you so much as think to tell."
+
+Hicks laughed and shook his hair from his forehead.
+
+"You're suspicious of the best friend you've got in the world."
+
+"Not a spark. But I want you to see what an awful solemn thing I reckon
+it."
+
+"Then may God rot me, and plague me, and let me roast in hell-fire with
+the rogues for ever and a day, if I so much as whisper your news to man
+or mouse! There, will that do?"
+
+"No call to drag in hell fire, 'cause I knaw you doan't set no count on
+it. More doan't I. Hell's cold ashes now if all what you ve said is
+true. But you've sworn all right and now I'll tell 'e."
+
+He bent forward and whispered in the other's ear, whereon Hicks started
+in evident amazement and showed himself much concerned.
+
+"Good Heavens! Man alive, are you mad?"
+
+"You doan't 'zactly look on ahead enough, Clem," said Will loftily.
+"Ban't the thing itself's gwaine to make a fortune, but what comes of
+it. 'Tis a tidy stepping-stone lead-in' to gert matters very often, as
+your books tell, I dare say."
+
+"It can't lead to anything whatever in your case but wasted years."
+
+"I'm best judge of that. I've planned the road, and if I ban't home
+again inside ten year as good a man as Grimbal or any other I'll say I
+was wrong."
+
+"You're a bigger fool than even I thought, Blanchard."
+
+Will's eye flashed.
+
+"You 'm a tidy judge of a fule, I grant," he said angrily, "or should
+be. But you 'm awnly wan more against me. You'll see you 'm wrong like
+the rest. Anyway, you've got to mind what you've sweared. An' when
+mother an' Chris ax 'e wheer I be, I'll thank you to say I'm out in the
+world doin' braave, an' no more."
+
+"As you like. It 's idle, I know, trying to make you change your mind."
+
+A thin voice from an upper chamber of the cottage here interrupted their
+colloquy, and the mother of the bee-keeper reminded him that he was due
+early on the following day at Okehampton with honey, and that he ought
+long since to be asleep.
+
+"If that's Will Blanchard," she concluded, "tell un to be off home to
+bed. What 's the wisdom o' turning night hours into day like this here?"
+
+"All right, mother," shouted Will. "Gude-night to 'e. I be off this
+moment."
+
+Then bidding his friend farewell, he departed.
+
+"Doan't think twice o' what I said a minute since. I was hot 'cause you
+couldn't see no wisdom in my plan. But that's the way of folks. They
+belittle a chap's best thoughts and acts till the time comes for luck to
+turn an' bring the fruit; then them as scoffed be the first to turn
+round smilin' an' handshaking and sayin', 'What did us say? Didn't us
+tell 'e so from the very beginning?'"
+
+Away went the youthful water-keeper, inspired with the prospect of his
+contemplated flight. He strode home at a rapid pace, to find all lights
+out and the household in bed. Then he drank half a pint of cider, ate
+some bread and cheese, and set about a letter to Phoebe.
+
+A little desk on a side-table, the common property of himself, his
+mother, and sister, was soon opened, and materials found. Then, in his
+own uncial characters, that always tended hopefully upward, and thus
+left a triangle of untouched paper at the bottom of every sheet, Will
+wrote a letter of two folios, or eight complete pages. In this he
+repeated the points of his conversation with Phoebe's father, told her
+to be patient, and announced that, satisfied of her unfailing love and
+steadfastness through all, he was about to pass into the wider world,
+and carve his way to prosperity and fortune. He hid particulars from
+her, but mentioned that Clement Hicks would forward any communications.
+Finally he bid her keep a stout heart and live contented in the
+certainty of ultimate happiness. He also advised Phoebe to forgive her
+father. "I have already done it, honor bright," he wrote; "'t is a wise
+man's part to bear no malice, especially against an old grey body whose
+judgment 'pears to be gone bad for some reason." He also assured Phoebe
+that he was hers until death should separate them; in a postscript he
+desired her to break his departure softly to his mother if opportunity
+to do so occurred; and, finally, he was not ashamed to fill the empty
+triangles on each page with kisses, represented by triangles closely
+packed. Bearing this important communication, Will walked out again into
+the night, and soon his letter awaited Phoebe in the usual receptacle.
+He felt therein himself, half suspecting a note might await him, but
+there was nothing. He hesitated for a moment, then climbed the gate into
+Monks Barton farmyard, went softly and stood in the dark shadow of the
+mill-house. The moon shone full upon the face of the dwelling, and its
+three fruit-trees looked as though painted in profound black against the
+pale whitewash; while Phoebe's dormer-window framed the splendour of the
+reflected sky, and shone very brightly. The blind was down, and the
+maiden behind it had been asleep an hour or two; but Will pictured her
+as sobbing her heart out still. Perhaps he would never see her again.
+The path he had chosen to follow might take him over seas and through
+vast perils; indeed, it must do so if the success he desired was to be
+won. He felt something almost like a catch in his throat as he turned
+away and crossed the sleeping river. He glanced down through dreaming
+glades and saw one motionless silver spot on the dark waters beneath the
+alders. Sentiment was at its flood just then, and he spoke a few words
+under his breath. "'Tis thicky auld Muscovy duck, roostin' on his li'l
+island; poor lone devil wi' never a mate to fight for nor friend to swim
+along with. Worse case than mine, come to think on it!" Then an emotion,
+rare enough with him, vanished, and he sniffed the night air and felt
+his heart beat high at thoughts of what lay ahead.
+
+Will returned home, made fast the outer door, took off his boots, and
+went softly up a creaking stair. Loud and steady music came from the
+room where John Grimbal lay, and Blanchard smiled when he heard it.
+"'Tis the snore of a happy man with money in his purse," he thought.
+Then he stood by his mother's door, which she always kept ajar at night,
+and peeped in upon her. Damaris Blanchard slumbered with one arm on the
+coverlet, the other behind her head. She was a handsome woman still, and
+looked younger than her eight-and-forty years in the soft ambient light.
+"Muneshine do make dear mother so purty as a queen," said Will to
+himself. And he would never wish her "good-by," perhaps never see her
+again. He hastened with light, impulsive step into the room, thinking
+just to kiss the hand on the bed, but his mother stirred instantly and
+cried, "Who's theer?" with sleepy voice. Then she sat up and listened--a
+fair, grey-eyed woman in an old-fashioned night-cap. Her son had
+vanished before her eyes were opened, and now she turned and yawned and
+slept again.
+
+Will entered his own chamber near at hand, doffed for ever the velveteen
+uniform of water-keeper, and brought from a drawer an old suit of
+corduroy. Next he counted his slight store of money, set his 'alarum'
+for four o'clock, and, fifteen minutes later, was in bed and asleep, the
+time then being a little after midnight.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+BY THE RIVER
+
+
+Clement Hicks paid an early visit to Will's home upon the following
+morning. He had already set out to Okehampton with ten pounds of honey
+in the comb, and at Mrs. Blanchard's cottage he stopped the little
+public vehicle which ran on market-days to the distant town. That the
+son of the house was up and away at dawn told his family nothing, for
+his movements were at all times erratic, and part of his duty consisted
+in appearing on the river at uncertain times and in unexpected
+localities. Clement Hicks often called for a moment upon his way to
+market, and Chris, who now greeted her lover, felt puzzled at the
+unusual gravity of his face. She turned pale when she heard his
+tremendous news; but the mother was of more Spartan temperament and
+received intelligence of Will's achievement without changing colour or
+ceasing from her occupation.
+
+Between Damaris Blanchard and her boy had always existed a perfect
+harmony of understanding, rare even in their beautiful relationship. The
+thoughts of son and mother chimed; not seldom they anticipated each
+other's words. The woman saw much of her dead husband reflected in Will
+and felt a moral conviction that through the storms of youth, high
+temper, and inexperience, he would surely pass to good things, by reason
+of the strenuous honesty and singleness of purpose that actuated him;
+he, on his side, admired the great calmness and self-possession of his
+mother. She was so steadfast, so strong, and wiser than any woman he had
+ever seen. With a fierce, volcanic affection Will Blanchard loved her.
+She and Phoebe alike shared his whole heart.
+
+"It is a manly way of life he has chosen, and that is all I may say. He
+is ambitious and strong, and I should be the last to think he has not
+done well to go into the world for a while," said Clement.
+
+"When is he coming back again?" asked Chris.
+
+"He spoke of ten years or so."
+
+"Then 'twill be more or less," declared Mrs. Blanchard, calmly. "Maybe a
+month, maybe five years, or fifteen, not ten, if he said ten. He'll shaw
+the gude gold he's made of, whether or no. I'm happy in this and not
+surprised. 'Twas very like to come arter last night, if things went
+crooked."
+
+"'Tis much as faither might have done," said Chris.
+
+"'Tis much what he did do. Thank you for calling, Clem Hicks. Now best
+be away, else they'll drive off to Okehampton without 'e."
+
+Clement departed, Chris wept as the full extent of her loss was
+impressed upon her, and Mrs. Blanchard went up to her son's room. There
+she discovered the velveteen suit with a card upon them: "Hand over to
+Mr. Morgan, Head Water-keeper, Sandypark." She looked through his
+things, and found that he had taken nothing but his money, one suit of
+working clothes, and a red tie--her present to him on his birthday
+during the previous month. All his other possessions remained in their
+usual places. With none to see, the woman's eye moistened; then she sat
+down on Will's bed and her heart grew weak for one brief moment as she
+pictured him fighting the battle. It hurt her a little that he had told
+Clement Hicks his intention and hid it from his mother. Yet as a son, at
+least, he had never failed. However, all affairs of life were a matter
+of waiting, more or less, she told herself; and patience was easier to
+Damaris Blanchard than to most people. Under her highest uneasiness,
+maternal pride throbbed at thought of the manly independence indicated
+by her son's action. She returned to the duties of the day, but found
+herself restless, while continually admonishing Chris not to be so. Her
+thoughts drifted to Monks Barton and Will's meeting with his
+sweetheart's father. Presently, when her daughter went up to the
+village, Mrs. Blanchard put off her apron, donned the cotton sunbonnet
+that she always wore from choice, and walked over to see Mr. Lyddon.
+They were old friends, and presently Damaris listened sedately to the
+miller without taking offence at his directness of speech. He told the
+story of his decision and Will's final reply, while she nodded and even
+smiled once or twice in the course of the narrative.
+
+"You was both right, I reckon," she said placidly, looking into Mr.
+Lyddon's face. "You was wise to mistrust, not knawin' what's at the root
+of him; and he, being as he is, was in the right to tell 'e the race
+goes to the young. Wheer two hearts is bent on joining, 'tis join they
+will--if both keeps of a mind long enough."
+
+"That's it, Damaris Blanchard; who's gwaine to b'lieve that a bwoy an'
+gal, like Will an' Phoebe, do knaw theer minds? Mark me, they'll both
+chaange sweethearts a score of times yet 'fore they come to mate."
+
+"Caan't speak for your darter, Lyddon; but I knaw my son. A masterful
+bwoy, like his faither before him, wild sometimes an' wayward tu, but
+not with women-folk. His faither loved in wan plaace awnly. He'll be
+true to your cheel whatever betides, or I'm a fule."
+
+"What's the use of that if he ban't true to himself? No, no, I caan't
+see a happy ending to the tale however you look at it. Wish I could. I
+fear't was a ugly star twinkled awver his birthplace, ma'am."
+
+"'Twas all the stars of heaven, Miller," said the mother, frankly, "for
+he was born in my husband's caravan in the auld days. We was camped up
+on the Moor, drawn into one of them roundy-poundies o' grey granite
+stones set up by Phoenicians at the beginning of the world. Ess fay, a
+braave shiny night, wi' the li'l windows thrawed open to give me air.
+An' 'pon Will's come-of-age birthday, last month, if us didn't all drive
+up theer an' light a fire an' drink a dish of tea in the identical spot!
+'Tis out Newtake' way."
+
+"Like a story-book."
+
+"'Twas Clem Hicks, his thought, being a fanciful man. But I'll bid you
+gude-marnin' now. Awnly mind this, as between friends and without a
+spark of malice: Will Blanchard means to marry your maid, sure as you'm
+born, if awnly she keeps strong for him. It rests with her, Miller, not
+you."
+
+"Much what your son said in sharper words. Well, you'm out o' reckoning
+for once, wise though you be most times; for if a maiden's happiness
+doan't rest with her faither, blamed if I see wheer it should. And to
+think such a man as me doan't knaw wiser 'n two childern who caan't
+number forty year between 'em is flat fulishness, surely?"
+
+"I knaw Will," said Mrs. Blanchard, slowly and emphatically; "I knaw un
+to the core, and that's to say more than you or anybody else can. A
+mother may read her son like print, but no faither can see to the bottom
+of a wife-old daughter--not if he was Solomon's self. So us'll wait an'
+watch wi'out being worse friends."
+
+She went home again the happier for her conversation; but any thought
+that Mr. Lyddon might have been disposed to devote to her prophecy was
+for the time banished by the advent of John Grimbal and his brother.
+
+Like boys home from school, they dwelt in the present delight of their
+return, and postponed the varied duties awaiting them, to revel again in
+the old sights, sounds, and scents. To-day they were about an angling
+excursion, and the fishers' road to Fingle lying through Monks Barton,
+both brothers stopped a while and waited upon their old friend of the
+mill, according to John's promise of the previous afternoon. Martin
+carried the creel and the ample luncheon it contained; John smoked a
+strong cigar and was only encumbered with his light fly-rod; the younger
+designed to accompany his brother through Fingle Valley; then leave him
+there, about his sport, and proceed alone to various places of natural
+and antiquarian interest. But John meant fishing and nothing else. To
+him great woods were no more than cover for fur and feathers; rivers and
+streams meant a vehicle for the display of a fly to trout, and only
+attracted him or the reverse, according to the fish they harboured. When
+the moorland waters spouted and churned, cherry red from their springs
+in the peat, he deemed them a noble spectacle; when, as at present,
+Teign herself had shrunk to a mere silver thread, and the fingerling
+trout splashed and wriggled half out of water in the shallows, he freely
+criticised its scanty volume and meagre depths.
+
+Miller Lyddon welcomed the men very heartily. He had been amongst those
+who dismissed them with hope to their battle against the world, and now
+he reminded them of his sanguine predictions. Will Blanchard's
+disappearance amused John Grimbal and he laughed when Billy Blee
+appeared red-hot with the news. Mr. Lyddon made no secret of his
+personal opinion of Blanchard, and all debated the probable design of
+the wanderer.
+
+"Maybe he's 'listed," said John, "an' a good thing too if he has. It
+makes a man of a young fellow. I'm for conscription myself--always have
+been."
+
+"I be minded to think he've joined the riders," declared Billy. "Theer
+comed a circus here last month, with braave doin's in the way of
+horsemanship and Merry Andrews, and such like devilries. Us all goes to
+see it from miles round every year; an' Will was theer. Circus folk do
+see the world in a way denied to most, and theer manner of life takes
+'em even as far as Russia and the Indies I've heard."
+
+"Then there's the gypsy blood in him--" declared Mr. Lyddon, "that might
+send him roaming oversea, if nothing else did."
+
+"Or my great doings are like to have fired him," said John. "How's
+Phoebe?" he continued, dismissing Will. "I saw her yesterday--a bowerly
+maiden she's grown--a prize for a better man that this wild youngster,
+now bolted God knaws where."
+
+"So I think," agreed the miller, "an' I hope she'll soon forget the
+searching grey eyes of un and his high-handed way o' speech. Gals like
+such things. Dear, dear! though he made me so darned angry last night, I
+could have laughed in his faace more 'n wance."
+
+"Missy's under the weather this marnin'," declared Billy. "Who tawld her
+I ban't able to say, but she knawed he'd gone just arter feedin' the
+fowls, and she went down valley alone, so slow, wi' her purty head that
+bent it looked as if her sunbonnet might be hiding an auld gran'mother's
+poll."
+
+"She'll come round," said Martin; "she's only a young girl yet."
+
+"And there 's fish as good in the sea as ever came out, and better,"
+declared his brother. "She must wait for a man who is a man,--somebody
+of good sense and good standing, with property to his name."
+
+Miller Lyddon noted with surprise and satisfaction John Grimbal's warmth
+of manner upon this question; he observed also the stout, hearty body of
+him, and the handsome face that crowned it. Then the brothers proceeded
+down-stream, and the master of Monks Barton looked after them and caught
+himself hoping that they might meet Phoebe.
+
+At a point where the river runs between a giant shoulder of heather-clad
+hill on one side and the ragged expanses of Whiddon Park upon the other,
+John clambered down to the streamside and began to fish, while Martin
+dawdled at hand and watched the sport. A pearly clearness, caught from
+the clouds, characterised earth as well as air, and proved that every
+world-picture depends for atmosphere and colour upon the sky-picture
+extended above it. Again there was movement and some music, for the
+magic of the wind in a landscape's nearer planes is responsible for
+both. The wooded valley lay under a grey and breezy forenoon; swaying
+alders marked each intermittent gust with a silver ripple of upturned
+foliage, and still reaches of the river similarly answered the wind with
+hurrying flickers and furrows of dimpled light. Through its transparent
+flood, where the waters ran in shadow and escaped reflections, the river
+revealed a bed of ruddy brown and rich amber. This harmonious colouring
+proceeded from the pebbly bottom, where a medley of warm agate tones
+spread and shimmered, like some far-reaching mosaic beneath the crystal.
+Above Teign's shrunken current extended oak and ash, while her banks
+bore splendid concourse of the wild water-loving dwellers in that happy
+valley. Meadowsweet nodded creamy crests; hemlock and fool's parsley and
+seeding willow-herb crowded together beneath far-scattered filigree of
+honeysuckles and brambles with berries, some ripe, some red; while the
+scarlet corals of briar and white bryony gemmed every riotous trailing
+thicket, dene, and dingle along the river's brink; and in the grassy
+spaces between rose little chrysoprase steeples of wood sage all set in
+shining fern. Upon the boulders in midstream subaqueous mosses, now
+revealed and starved by the drought, died hard, and the seeds of
+grasses, figworts, and persicarias thrust up flower and foliage,
+flourishing in unwonted spots from which the next freshet would rudely
+tear them. Insect life did not abundantly manifest itself, for the day
+was sunless; but now and again, with crisp rattle of his gauze wings, a
+dragon-fly flashed along the river. Through these scenes the Teign
+rolled drowsily and with feeble pulses. Upon one bank rose the confines
+of Whiddon; on the other, abrupt and interspersed with gulleys of
+shattered shale, ascended huge slopes whereon a whole summer of sunshine
+had scorched the heather to dry death. But fading purple still gleamed
+here and there in points and splashes, and the lesser furze, mingling
+therewith, scattered gold upon the tremendous acclivities even to the
+crown of fir-trees that towered remote and very blue upon the uplifted
+sky-line. Swallows, with white breasts flashing, circled over the river,
+and while their elevation above the water appeared at times tremendous,
+the abrupt steepness of the gorge was such that the birds almost brushed
+the hillside with their wings. A sledge, laden with the timber of barked
+sapling oaks, creaked and jingled over the rough road beside the stream;
+a man called to his horses and a dog barked beside him; then they
+disappeared and the spacious scene was again empty, save for its
+manifold wild life and music.
+
+John Grimbal fished, failed, and cursed the poor water and the lush
+wealth of the riverside that caught his fly at every critical moment. A
+few small trout he captured and returned; then, flinging down rod and
+net, he called to his brother for the luncheon-basket. Together they sat
+in the fern beside the river and ate heartily of the fare that Mrs.
+Blanchard had provided; then, as John was about to light a pipe, his
+brother, with a smile, produced a little wicker globe and handed it to
+him. This unexpected sight awoke sudden and keen appetite on the elder's
+face. He smacked his lips, swore a hearty oath of rejoicing, and held
+out an eager hand for the thing.
+
+"My God! to think I'll suck the smoke of that again,--the best baccy in
+the wide world!"
+
+The little receptacle contained a rough sort of sun-dried Kaffir
+tobacco, such as John and Martin had both smoked for the past fifteen
+years.
+
+"I thought it would be a treat. I brought home a few pounds," said the
+younger, smiling again at his brother's hungry delight. John cut into
+the case, loaded his pipe, and lighted it with a contented sign. Then he
+handed the rest back to its owner.
+
+"No, no," said Martin. "I'll just have one fill, that's all. I brought
+this for you. 'T will atone for the poor sport. The creel I shall leave
+with you now, for I'm away to Fingle Bridge and Prestonbury. We'll meet
+at nightfall."
+
+Thereupon he set off down the valley, his mind full of early British
+encampments, while John sat and smoked and pondered upon his future. He
+built no castles in the air, but a solid country house of red brick,
+destined to stand in its own grounds near Chagford, and to have a snug
+game-cover or two about it, with a few good acres of arable land
+bordering on forest. Roots meant cover for partridges in John Grimbal's
+mind; beech and oak in autumn represented desirable food for pheasants;
+and corn, once garnered and out of the way, left stubble for all manner
+of game.
+
+Meantime, whilst he reviewed his future with his eyes on a blue cloud of
+tobacco smoke, Martin passed Phoebe Lyddon farther down the valley. Him
+she recognised as a stranger; but he, with his eyes engaged in no more
+than unconscious guarding of his footsteps, his mind buried in the
+fascinating problems of early British castramentation, did not look at
+her or mark a sorrowful young face still stained with tears.
+
+Into the gorge Phoebe had wandered after reading her sweetheart's
+letter. There, to the secret ear of the great Mother, instinct had drawn
+her and her grief; and now the earliest shock was over; a dull, numb
+pain of mind followed the first sorrow; unwonted exercise had made her
+weary; and physical hunger, not to be stayed by mental suffering, forced
+her to turn homewards. Red-eyed and unhappy she passed beside the river,
+a very picture of a woful lover.
+
+The sound of Phoebe's steps fell on John Grimbal's ear as he lay upon
+his back with crossed knees and his hands behind his head. He partly
+rose therefore, thrust his face above the fern, saw the wayfarer, and
+then sprang to his feet. The cause of her tearful expression and
+listless demeanour was known to him, but he ignored them and greeted her
+cheerily.
+
+"Can't catch anything big enough to keep, and sha'n't until the rain
+comes," he said; "so I'll walk along with you, if you're going home."
+
+He offered his hand; then, after Phoebe had shaken it, moved beside her
+and put up his rod as he went.
+
+"Saw your father this morning, and mighty glad I was to find him so
+blooming. To my eye he looks younger than my memory picture of him. But
+that's because I've grown from boy to man, as you have from child to
+woman."
+
+"So I have, and 't is a pity my faither doan't knaw it," answered
+Phoebe, smarting under her wrongs, and willing to chronicle them in a
+friendly ear. "If I ban't full woman, who is? Yet I'm treated like a
+baaby, as if I'd got no 'pinions an' feelings, and wasn't--wasn't auld
+enough to knaw what love meant."
+
+Grimbal's eyes glowed at the picture of the girl's indignation, and he
+longed to put his arms round her and comfort her.
+
+"You must be wise and dutiful, Phoebe," he said. "Will Blauchard's a
+plucky fellow to go off and face the world. And perhaps he'll be one of
+the lucky ones, like I was."
+
+"He will be, for certain, and so you'd say if you knawed him same as I
+do. But the cruel waitin'--years and years and years--'t is enough to
+break a body's heart."
+
+Her voice fluttered like bells in a wild wind; she trembled on the brink
+of tears; and he saw by little convulsive movements and the lump in her
+round throat that she could not yet regard her lot with patience. She
+brought out her pocket-handkerchief again, and the man noticed it was
+all wet and rolled into a ball.
+
+"Life's a blank thing at lovers' parting," he said; "but time rubs the
+rough edges off matters that fret our minds the worst. Days and nights,
+and plenty of 'em, are the best cure for all ills."
+
+"An' the best cure for life tu! The awnly cure. Think of years an' years
+without him. Yesterday us met up in Pixies' Parlour yonder, an' I was
+peart an' proud as need be; to-day he's gone, and I feel auld and wisht
+and all full of weary wonder how I'm gwaine to fare and if I'llever see
+him again. 'T is cruel--bitter cruel for me."
+
+That she could thus pity herself so soon argued a mind incapable of
+harbouring great sorrow for many years; and the man at her side, without
+appreciating this fact, yet, by a sort of intuition, suspected that
+Phoebe's grief, perhaps even her steadfastness of purpose, would suffer
+diminution before very great lapse of time. Without knowing why, he
+hoped it might be so. Her voice fell melodiously upon an ear long tuned
+to the whine of native women. It came from the lungs, was full and
+sweet, with a shy suddenness about it, like the cooing of wood doves.
+She half slipped at a stile, and he put out his hand and touched her
+waist and felt his heart throb. But Phoebe's eyes rarely met her new
+friend's. The girl looked with troubled brows ahead into the future,
+while she walked beside him; and he, upon her left hand, saw only the
+soft cheek, the pouting lips, and the dimples that came and went.
+Sometimes she looked up, however, and Grimbal noted how the flutter of
+past tears shook her round young breast, marked the spring of her step,
+the freedom of her gait, and the trim turn of her feet and ankles. After
+the flat-footed Kaffir girls, Phoebe's instep had a right noble arch in
+his estimation.
+
+"To think that I, as never wronged faither in thought or deed, should be
+treated so hard! I've been all the world to him since mother died, for
+he's said as much to many; yet he's risen up an' done this, contrary to
+justice and right and Scripture, tu."
+
+"You must be patient, Phoebe, and respect his age, and let the matter
+rest till the time grows ripe. I can't advise you better than that."
+
+"'Patient!' My life's empty, I tell 'e--empty, hollow, tasteless wi'out
+my Will."
+
+"Well, well, we'll see. I'm going to build a big red-brick house
+presently, and buy land, and make a bit of a stir in my small way.
+You've a pretty fancy in such things, I'll bet a dollar. You shall give
+me a helping hand--eh? You must tell me best way of setting up house.
+And you might help me as to furniture and suchlike if you had time for
+it. Will you, for an old friend?"
+
+Phoebe was slightly interested. She promised to do anything in her power
+that might cause Mr. Grimbal satisfaction; and he, very wisely, assured
+her that there was no salve for sorrow like unselfish labours on behalf
+of other people. He left her at the farm-gate, and tramped back to the
+Blanchard cottage with his mind busy enough. Presently he changed his
+clothes, and set a diamond in his necktie. Then he strolled away into
+the village, to see the well-remembered names above the little shop
+windows; to note curiously how Chagford market-place had shrunk and the
+houses dwindled since last he saw them; to call with hearty voice and
+rough greeting at this habitation and that; to introduce himself again
+among men and women who had known him of yore, and who, for the most
+part, quite failed to recognise in their bluff and burly visitor the lad
+who set forth from his father's cottage by the church so many years
+before.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+THE INCIDENT OF MR. JOEL FORD
+
+
+Of Blanchard family history a little more must be said. Timothy
+Blanchard, the husband of Damaris and father of Will and Chris, was in
+truth of the nomads, though not a right gypsy. As a lad, and at a time
+when the Romany folk enjoyed somewhat more importance and prosperity
+than of late years, he joined them, and by sheer force of character and
+mother wit succeeded in rising to power amongst the wanderers. The
+community with which he was connected for the most part confined its
+peregrinations to the West; and time saw Timothy Blanchard achieve
+success in his native country, acquire two caravans, develop trade on a
+regular "circuit," and steadily save money in a small way; while his
+camp of some five-and-twenty souls--men, women, and numerous
+children--shared in their leader's prosperity. These earlier stages of
+the man's career embraced some strange circumstances, chief amongst them
+being his marriage. Damaris Ford was the daughter of a Moor farmer. Her
+girlhood had been spent in the dreary little homestead of "Newtake,"
+above Chagford, within the fringe of the great primeval wastes; and
+here, on his repeated journeys across the Moor, Tim Blanchard came to
+know her and love her well.
+
+Farmer Ford swore round oaths, and sent Blanchard and his caravans
+packing when the man approached him for his daughter's hand; but the
+girl herself was already won, and week after her lover's repulse Damaris
+vanished. She journeyed with her future husband to Exeter, wedded him,
+and became mistress of his house on wheels; then, for the space of four
+years, she lived the gypsy life, brought a son and daughter into the
+world, and tried without avail to obtain her father's forgiveness. That,
+however, she never had, though her mother communicated with her in fear
+and trembling; and when, by strange chance, on Will's advent, Damaris
+Blanchard was brought to bed near her old home, and became a mother in
+one of the venerable hut circles which plentifully scatter that lonely
+region, Mrs. Ford, apprised of the fact in secret, actually stole to her
+daughter's side by night and wept over her grandchild. Now the farmer
+and his wife were dead; Newtake at present stood without a tenant; and
+Mrs. Blanchard possessed no near relations save her children and one
+elder brother, Joel, to whom had passed their parent's small savings.
+
+Timothy Blanchard continued a wandering existence for the space of five
+years after his marriage; then he sold his caravans, settled in
+Chagford, bought the cottage by the river, rented some market-garden
+land, and pursued his busy and industrious way. Thus he prospered
+through ten more years, saving money, developing a variety of schemes,
+letting out on hire a steam thresher, and in various other ways adding
+to his store. The man was on the high road to genuine prosperity when
+death overtook him and put a period to his ambitions. He was snatched
+from mundane affairs leaving numerous schemes half developed and most of
+his money embarked in various enterprises. Unhappily Will was too young
+to continue his father's work, and though Mrs. Blanchard's brother, Joel
+Ford, administered the little estate to the best of his power, much had
+to be sacrificed. In the sequel Damaris found herself with a cottage, a
+garden, and an annual income of about fifty pounds a year. Her son was
+then twelve years of age, her daughter eighteen months younger. So she
+lived quietly and not without happiness, after the first sorrow of her
+husband's loss was in a measure softened by time.
+
+Of Mr. Joel Ford it now becomes necessary to speak. Combining the duties
+of attorney, house-agent, registrar of deaths, births, and marriages,
+and receiver of taxes and debts, the man lived a dingy life at Newton
+Abbot. Acid, cynical, and bald he was, very dry of mind and body, and
+but ten years older than Mrs. Blanchard, though he looked nearer seventy
+than sixty. To the Newton mind Mr. Ford was associated only with Quarter
+Day--that black, recurrent cloud on the horizon of every poor man's
+life. He dwelt with an elderly housekeeper--a widow of genial
+disposition; and indeed the attorney himself was not lacking in some
+urbanity of character, though few guessed it, for he kept all that was
+best in himself hidden under an unlovely crust. His better instincts
+took the shape of family affection. Damaris Blanchard and he were the
+last branches of one of the innumerable families of Ford to be found in
+Devon, and he had no small regard for his only living sister. His annual
+holiday from business--a period of a fortnight, sometimes extended to
+three weeks if the weather was more than commonly fair--he spent
+habitually at Chagford; and Will on these occasions devoted his leisure
+to his uncle, drove him on the Moor, and made him welcome. Will, indeed,
+was a favourite with Mr. Ford, and the lad's high spirits, real
+ignorance of the world, and eternal grave assumption of wisdom even
+tickled the man of business into a sort of dry cricket laughter upon
+occasions. When, therefore, a fortnight after young Blanchard's
+mysterious disappearance, Joel Ford arrived at his sister's cottage for
+the annual visit, he was as much concerned as his nature had power to
+make him at the news.
+
+For three weeks he stayed, missing the company of his nephew not a
+little; and his residence in Chagford had needed no special comment save
+for an important incident resulting therefrom.
+
+Phoebe Lyddon it was who in all innocence and ignorance set rolling a
+pebble that finally fell in thundering avalanches; and her chance word
+was uttered at her father's table on an occasion when John and Martin
+Grimbal were supping at Monks Barton.
+
+The returned natives, and more especially the elder, had been much at
+the mill since their reappearance. John, indeed, upon one pretext or
+another, scarcely spent a day without calling. His rough kindness
+appealed to Phoebe, who at first suspected no danger from it, while Mr.
+Lyddon encouraged the man and made him and his brother welcome at all
+times.
+
+John Grimbal, upon the morning that preceded the present supper party,
+had at last found a property to his taste. It might, indeed, have been
+designed for him. Near Whiddon it lay, in the valley of the Moreton
+Road, and consisted of a farm and the ruin of a Tudor mansion. The
+latter had been tenanted until the dawn of this century, but was since
+then fallen into decay. The farm lands stretched beneath the crown of
+Cranbrook, hard by the historic "Bloody Meadow," a spot assigned to that
+skirmish between Royalist and Parliamentary forces during 1642 which
+cost brilliant young Sidney Godolphin his life. Here, or near at hand,
+the young man probably fell, with a musket-bullet in his leg, and
+subsequently expired at Chagford[1] leaving the "misfortune of his death
+upon a place which could never otherwise have had a mention to the
+world," according to caustic Chancellor Clarendon.
+
+[1] _At Chagford._ The place of the poet's passing is believed
+to have been an ancient dwelling-house adjacent to St. Michael's Church.
+At that date it was a private residence of the Whiddon family; but
+during later times it became known as the "Black Swan Inn," or tavern (a
+black swan being the crest of Sir John Whiddon, Judge of Queen's Bench
+in the first Mary's reign); while to-day this restored Mansion appears
+as the hostelry of the "Three Crowns."
+
+
+Upon the aforesaid ruins, fashioned after the form of a great E, out of
+compliment to the sovereign who occupied the throne at the period of the
+decayed fabric's erection, John Grimbal proposed to build his habitation
+of red brick and tile. The pertaining farm already had a tenant, and
+represented four hundred acres of arable land, with possibilities of
+development; snug woods wound along the boundaries of the estate and
+mingled their branches with others not more stately though sprung from
+the nobler domain of Whiddon; and Chagford was distant but a mile, or
+five minutes' ride.
+
+Tongues wagged that evening concerning the Red House, as the ruin was
+called, and a question arose as to whom John Grimbal must apply for
+information respecting the property.
+
+"I noted on the board two names--one in London, one handy at Newton
+Abbot--a Mr. Joel Ford, of Wolborough Street."
+
+Phoebe blushed where she sat and very nearly said, "My Will's uncle!"
+but thought better of it and kept silent. Meanwhile her father answered.
+
+"Ford's an attorney, Mrs. Blanchard's brother, a maker of agreements
+between man and man, and a dusty, dry sort of chip, from all I've heard
+tell. His father and mine were friends forty years and more agone. Old
+Ford had Newtake Farm on the Moor, and wore his fingers to the bone that
+his son might have good schooling and a learned profession."
+
+"He's in Chagford this very minute," said Phoebe.
+
+Then Mr. Blee spoke. On the occasion of any entertainment at Monks
+Barton he waited at table instead of eating with the family as usual.
+Now he addressed the company from his station behind Mr. Lyddon's chair.
+
+"Joel Ford's biding with his sister. A wonderful deep man, to my certain
+knowledge, an' wears a merchant-like coat an' shiny hat working days an'
+Sabbaths alike. A snug man, I'll wager, if 't is awnly by the token of
+broadcloth on week-days."
+
+"He looks for all the world like a yellow, shrivelled parchment himself.
+Regular gimlet eyes, too, and a very fitch for sharpness, though younger
+than his appearance might make you fancy," said the miller.
+
+"Then I'll pay him a visit and see how things stand," declared John.
+"Not that I'd employ any but my own London lawyer, of course," he added,
+"but this old chap can give me the information I require; no doubt."
+
+"Ess fay! an' draw you a dockyment in all the cautiousness of the law's
+language," promised Billy Blee. "'T is a fact makes me mazed every time
+I think of it," he continued, "that mere fleeting ink on the skin tored
+off a calf can be so set out to last to the trump of doom. Theer be
+parchments that laugh at the Queen's awn Privy Council and make the
+Court of Parliament look a mere fule afore 'em. But it doan't do to be
+'feared o' far-reachin' oaths when you 'm signing such a matter, for 't
+is in the essence of 'em that the parties should swear deep."
+
+"I'll mind what you say, Billy," promised Grimbal; "I'll pump old Ford
+as dry as I can, then be off to London and get such a good, binding deed
+of purchase as you suggest."
+
+And it was this determination that presently led to a violent breach
+between the young man and his elder.
+
+John waited upon Mr. Ford, at Mrs. Blanchard's cottage, where he had
+first lodged with his brother on their return from abroad, and found the
+lawyer exceedingly pleasant when he learned the object of Grimbal's
+visit. Together they drove over to the Red House, and its intending
+tenant soon heard all there was to tell respecting price and the
+provisions under which the estate was to be disposed of. For this
+information he expressed proper gratitude, but gave no hint of his
+future actions.
+
+Mr. Ford heard nothing more for a fortnight. Then he ascertained that
+John Grimbal was in the metropolis, that the sale of the Red House and
+its lands had been conducted by the London agent, and that no penny of
+the handsome commission involved would accrue to him. This position of
+affairs greatly (and to some extent reasonably) angered the local man,
+and he did not forgive what he considered a very flagrant slight.
+Extreme acerbity was bred in him, and his mind, vindictive by nature,
+cherished from that hour a hearty detestation of John Grimbal. The old
+man, his annual holiday ruined by the circumstance, went home to Newton,
+vowing vague vengeance and little dreaming how soon opportunity would
+offer to deal his enemy a return blow; while the purchaser of the Red
+House laughed at Ford's angry letters, told him to his face that he was
+a greedy old rascal, and went on his way well pleased with himself and
+fully occupied with his affairs.
+
+Necessary preliminaries were hastened; an architect visited the
+crumbling fabric of the old Red House and set about his plans. Soon,
+upon the ancient foundations, a new dwelling began to rise. The ancient
+name was retained at Martin's entreaty and the surrounding property
+developed. A stir and hum crept through the domain. Here was planting of
+young birch and larch; here clearing of land; here mounds of manure
+steamed on neglected fallows. John Grimbal took up temporary quarters in
+the home farm that he might be upon the spot at all hours; and what with
+these great personal interests, good news of his property in Africa, and
+the growing distraction of one soft-voiced, grey-eyed girl, the man
+found his life a full and splendid thing.
+
+That he should admit Phoebe into his thoughts and ambitions was not
+unreasonable for two reasons: he knew himself to be heartily in love
+with her by this time, and he had heard from her father a definite
+statement upon the subject of Will Blanchard. Indeed, the miller, from
+motives of worldly wisdom, took an opportunity to let John Grimbal know
+the situation.
+
+"No shadow of any engagement at all," he said. "I made it plain as a
+pikestaff to them both. It mustn't be thought I countenanced their
+crack-brained troth-plighting. 'T was by reason of my final 'Nay' that
+Will went off. He 's gone out of her life, and she 'm free as the air. I
+tell you this because you may have heard different, and you mix with the
+countryside and can contradict any man who gives out otherwise. And,
+mind you, I say it from no ill-will to the bwoy, but out of justice to
+my cheel."
+
+Thus, to gain private ends, Mr. Lyddon spoke, and his information
+greatly heartened the listener. John had more than once sounded Phoebe
+on the subject of Will during the past few months, and was bound to
+confess that any chance he might possess appeared small; but he was
+deeply in love and a man accustomed to have his own way. Increasing
+portions of his time and thought were devoted to this ambition, and when
+Phoebe's father spoke as recorded, Grimbal jumped at the announcement
+and pushed for his own hand.
+
+"If a man that was a man, with a bit of land and a bit of stuff behind
+him, came along and asked to court her, 't would be different, I
+suppose?" he inquired.
+
+"I'd wish just such a man might come, for her sake."
+
+"Supposing I asked if I might try to win Phoebe?"
+
+"I'd desire your gude speed, my son. Nothing could please, me better."
+
+"Then I've got you on my side?"
+
+"You really mean it? Well, well! Gert news to be sure, an' I be pleased
+as Punch to hear 'e. But take my word, for I'm richer than you by many
+years in knawledge of the world, though I haven't seen so much of it.
+Go slow. Wait a while till that brown bwoy graws a bit dim in Phoebe's
+eyes. Your life 's afore you, and the gal 's scarce marriageable, to my
+thinking. Build your house and bide your time."
+
+"So be it; and if I don't win her presently, I sha'n't deserve to."
+
+"Ess, but taake time, lad. She 'm a dutiful, gude maiden, and I'd be
+sore to think my awn words won't carry their weight when the right
+moment comes for speaking 'em. Blanchard's business pulled down the
+corners of her purty mouth a bit; but young hearts caan't keep mournful
+for ever."
+
+Billy Blee then took his turn on the argument. Thus far he had listened,
+and now, according to his custom, argued on the popular side and bent
+his sail to the prevalent wind of opinion.
+
+"You say right, Miller. 'T is out of nature that a maid should fret her
+innards to fiddlestrings 'bout a green bwoy when theer's ripe men
+waitin' for her."
+
+"Never heard better sense," declared John Grimbal, in high good-humour;
+and from the red-letter hour of that conversation he let his love grow
+into a giant. A man of old-fashioned convictions, he honestly believed
+the parent wise who exercised all possible control over a child; and in
+this case personal interest prompted him the more strongly to that
+opinion. Common sense the world over was on his side, and no man with
+the facts before him had been likely to criticise Miller Lyddon on the
+course of action he thought proper to pursue for his daughter's ultimate
+happiness. That he reckoned without his host naturally escaped the
+father's thought at this juncture. Will Blanchard had dwindled in his
+mind to the mere memory of a headstrong youngster, now far removed from
+the scene of his stupidity and without further power to trouble. That he
+could advise John to wait a while until Will's shadow grew less in
+Phoebe's thought, argued kindness and delicacy of mind in Mr. Lyddon.
+Will he only saw and gauged as the rest of the world. He did not fathom
+all of him, as Mrs. Blanchard had said; while concerning Phoebe's inner
+heart and the possibilities of her character, at a pinch, he could speak
+with still less certainty. She was a virgin page, unturned, unscanned.
+No man knew her strength or weakness; she did not know it herself.
+
+Time progressed; the leaf fell and the long drought was followed by a
+mild autumn of heavy rains. John Grimbal's days were spent between the
+Red House and Monks Barton. His rod was put up; but he had already made
+friends and now shot many partridges. He spent long evenings in the
+society of Phoebe and her father at the farm; and the miller not seldom
+contrived to be called away on these occasions. Billy proved ever ready
+to assist, and thus the two old men did the best in their power to aid
+Grimbal's suit. In the great, comfortable kitchen, generally at some
+distance from each other, Phoebe and the squire of the new Red House
+would sit. She, now suspecting, was shy and uneasy; he, his wits
+quickened by love, displayed a tact and deftness of words not to have
+been anticipated from him. At first Phoebe took fire when Grimbal
+criticised Will in anything but a spirit of utmost friendliness; but it
+was vital to his own hopes that he should cloud the picture painted on
+her heart if he could; so, by degrees and with all the cleverness at his
+command, he dropped gall into poor Phoebe's cup in minute doses. He
+mourned the extreme improbability of Blanchard's success, grounding his
+doubt on Will's uneven character; he pictured Blanchard's fight with the
+world and showed how probable it was that he would make it a losing
+battle by his own peculiarities of temper. He declared the remoteness of
+happiness for Miss Lyddon in that direction to be extreme; he deplored
+the unstable nature of a young man's affection all the world over; and
+he made solid capital out of the fact that not once since his departure
+had her lover communicated with Phoebe. She argued against this that her
+father had forbidden it; but Mr. Grimbal overrode the objection, and
+asked what man in love would allow himself to be bound by such a
+command. As a matter of fact, Will had sent two messages at different
+times to his sweetheart. These came through Clement Hicks, and only
+conveyed the intelligence that the wanderer was well.
+
+So Phoebe suffered persistent courting and her soft mould of mind sank a
+little under the storm. Now, weary and weak, she hesitated; now a wave
+of strength fortified her spirit. That John Grimbal should be dogged and
+importunate she took as mere masculine characteristics, and the fact did
+not anger her against him; but what roused her secret indignation almost
+as often as they met was his half-hidden air of sanguine confidence. He
+was humble in a way, always the patient lover, but in his manner she
+detected an indefinable, irritating self-confidence--the demeanour of
+one who already knows himself a conqueror before the battle is fought.
+
+Thus the position gradually developed. As yet her father had not spoken
+to Phoebe or pretended to any knowledge of what was doing; but there
+came a night, at the end of November, when John Grimbal, the miller, and
+Billy sat and smoked at Monks Barton after Phoebe's departure to bed.
+Mr. Blee, very well knowing what matter moved the minds of his
+companions, spoke first.
+
+"Missy have put on a temperate way of late days it do seem. I most begin
+to think that cat-a-mountain of a bwoy 's less in her thoughts than he
+was. She 'm larnin' wisdom, as well she may wi' sich a faither."
+
+"I doan't knaw what to think," answered Mr. Lyddon, somewhat gloomily.
+"I ban't so much in her confidence as of auld days. Damaris Blanchard's
+right, like enough. A maid 's tu deep even for the faither that got her,
+most times. A sweet, dear gal as ever was, for all that. How fares it,
+John? She never names 'e to me, though I do to her."
+
+"I'm biding my time, neighbour. I reckon 't will be right one day. It
+only makes me feel a bit mean now and again to have to say hard things
+about young Blanchard. Still, while she 's wrapped up there, I may
+whistle for her."
+
+"You 'm in the right," declared Billy. "'T is an auld sayin' that all
+manner of dealings be fair in love, an' true no doubt, though I'm a
+bachelor myself an' no prophet in such matters."
+
+"All's fair for certain," admitted John, as though he had not before
+considered the position from this standpoint.
+
+"Ay, an' a darter's welfare lies in her faither's hand. Thank God, I'm
+not a parent to my knowledge; but 'tis a difficult calling in life, an'
+a young maiden gal, purty as a picksher, be a heavy load to a honest
+mind."
+
+"So I find it," said the miller.
+
+"You've forbid Will--lock, stock, and barrel--therefore, of coourse,
+she 's no right to think more of him, to begin with," continued the old
+man. It was a new idea.
+
+"Come to think of it, she hasn't--eh?" asked John.
+
+"No, that's true enough," admitted Mr. Lyddon.
+
+"I speak, though of low position, but well thought of an' at Miller's
+right hand, so to say," continued Mr. Blee; "so theer 't is: Missy's in
+a dangerous pass. Eve's flesh be Eve's flesh, whether hid under flannel
+or silk, or shawed mother-naked to the sun after the manner of furrin
+cannibals. A gal 's a gal; an' if I was faither of such as your darter,
+I'd count it my solemn duty to see her out of the dangers of life an'
+tidily mated to a gude man. I'd say to myself, 'Her'll graw to bless me
+for what I've done, come a few years.'"
+
+So Billy Blee, according to his golden rule, advised men upon the road
+they already desired to follow, and thus increased his reputation for
+sound sense and far-reaching wisdom.
+
+"It's true, every word he says," declared John Grimbal.
+
+"I believe it," answered the miller; "though God forbid any word or act
+of mine should bring wan tear to Phoebe's cheek. Yet, somehow, I doan't
+knaw but you 'm right."
+
+"I am, believe me. It's the truth. You want Phoebe's real happiness
+considered, and that now depends on--well, I'll say it out--on me. We
+have reached the point now when you must speak, as you promised to
+speak, and throw the weight of your influence on my side. Then, after
+you've had your say, I'll have mine and put the great question."
+
+Mr. Lyddon nodded his head and relapsed into taciturnity.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+AN UNHAPPY POET
+
+
+That a man of many nerves, uncertain in temper and with no physical or
+temporal qualifications, should have won for himself the handsomest girl
+in Chagford caused the unreflective to marvel whenever they considered
+the point. But a better knowledge of Chris Blauchard had served in some
+measure to explain the wonder. Of all women, she was the least likely to
+do the thing predicted by experience. She had tremendous force of
+character for one scarce twenty years of age; indeed, she lived a
+superlative life, and the man, woman, child, or dog that came within
+radius of her existence presently formed a definite part of it, and was
+loved or detested according to circumstances. Neutrality she could not
+understand. If her interests were wide, her prejudices were strong. A
+certain unconscious high-handedness of manner made the circle of her
+friends small, but those who did love her were enthusiastic. Upon the
+whole, the number of those who liked her increased with years, and
+avowed enemies had no very definite reasons for aversion. Of her
+physical perfections none pretended two opinions; but the boys had
+always gone rather in fear of Chris, and the few men who had courted her
+during the past few years were all considerably her seniors. No real
+romance entered into this young woman's practical and bustling life
+until the advent of Clement Hicks, though she herself was the flame of
+hearts not a few before his coming.
+
+Neurotic, sensual, as was Chris herself in a healthy fashion, a man of
+varying moods, and perhaps the richer for faint glimmerings of the real
+fire, Hicks yet found himself no better than an aimless, helpless child
+before the demands of reality. Since boyhood he had lived out of touch
+with his environment. As bee-keeper and sign-writer he made a naked
+living for himself and his mother, and achieved success sufficient to
+keep a cottage roof over their heads, but that was all. Books were his
+only friends; the old stones of the Moor, the lonely wastes, the
+plaintive music of a solitary bird were the companions of his happiest
+days. He had wit enough to torture half his waking hours with
+self-analysis, and to grit his teeth at his own impotence. But there was
+no strength, no virile grip to take his fate in his own hands and mould
+it like a man. He only mourned his disadvantages, and sometimes blamed
+destiny, sometimes a congenital infirmity of purpose, for the dreary
+course of his life. Nature alone could charm his sullen moods, and that
+not always. Now and again she spread over the face of his existence a
+transitory contentment and a larger hope; but the first contact with
+facts swept it away again. His higher aspirations were neither deep nor
+enduring, and yet the man's love of nature was lofty and just, and
+represented all the religion he had. No moral principles guided him,
+conscience never pricked. Nevertheless, thus far he had been a clean
+liver and an honest man. Vice, because it affronted his sense of the
+beautiful and usually led towards death, did not attract him. He lived
+too deep in the lap of Nature to be deceived by the pseudo-realism then
+making its appearance in literature, and he laughed without mirth at
+these pictures from city-bred pens at that time paraded as the whole
+truth of the countryman's life. The later school was not then above the
+horizon; the brief and filthy spectacle of those who dragged their
+necrosis, marasmus, and gangrene of body and mind across the stage of
+art and literature, and shrieked Decay, had not as yet appeared to make
+men sicken; the plague-spot, now near healed, had scarce showed the
+faintest angry symptom of coming ill. Hicks might under no circumstances
+have been drawn in that direction, for his morbidity was of a different
+description. Art to this man appeared only in what was wholesome; it
+even embraced a guide to conduct, for it led him directly to Nature, and
+Nature emphatically taught him the value of obedience, the punishment of
+weakness, the reward for excess and every form of self-indulgence. But a
+softness in him shrank from these aspects of the Mother. He tried vainly
+and feebly to dig some rule of life from her smiles alone, to read a
+sermon into her happy hours of high summer sunshine. Beauty was his
+dream; he possessed natural taste, and had cultivated the same without
+judgment. His intricate disposition and extreme sensitiveness frightened
+him away from much effort at self-expression; yet not a few trifling
+scraps and shreds of lyric poetry had fallen from his pen in high
+moments. These, when the mood changed, he read again, and found dead,
+and usually destroyed. He was more easily discouraged than a child who
+sets out to tell its parent a story, and is all silence and shamefaced
+blushes at the first whisper of laughter or semblance of a smile. The
+works of poets dazed him, disheartened him, and secret ambitions toward
+performance grew dimmer with every book he laid his hands on. Ambition
+to create began to die; the dream scenery of his ill-controlled mental
+life more and more seldom took shape of words on paper; and there came a
+time when thought grew wholly wordless for him; a mere personal
+pleasure, selfish, useless, unsubstantial as the glimmer of mirage over
+desert sands.
+
+Into this futile life came Chris, like a breath of sweet air from off
+the deep sea. She lifted him clean out of his subjective existence,
+awoke a healthy, natural love, built on the ordinary emotions of
+humanity, galvanised self-respect and ambition into some activity, and
+presently inspired a pluck strong enough to propose marriage. That was
+two years ago; and the girl still loved this weakly soul with all her
+heart, found his language unlike that of any other man she had seen or
+heard, and even took some slight softening edge of culture into herself
+from him. Her common sense was absolutely powerless to probe even the
+crust of Clement's nature; but she was satisfied that his poetry must be
+a thing as marketable as that in printed books. Indeed, in an elated
+moment he had assured her that it was so. During the earlier stages of
+their attachment, she pestered him to write and sell his verses and make
+money, that their happiness might be hastened; while he, on the first
+budding of his love, and with the splendid assurance of its return, had
+promised all manner of things, and indeed undertaken to make poems that
+should be sent by post to the far-away place where they printed unknown
+poets, and paid them. Chris believed in Clement as a matter of course.
+His honey must at least be worth more to the world than that of his
+bees. Over her future husband she began at once to exercise the control
+of mistress and mother; and she loved him more dearly after they had
+been engaged a year than at the beginning of the contract. By that time
+she knew his disposition, and instead of displaying frantic impatience
+at it, as might have been predicted, her tolerance was extreme. She bore
+with Clem because she loved him with the full love proper to such a
+nature as her own; and, though she presently found herself powerless to
+modify his character in any practical degree, his gloomy and uneven mind
+never lessened the sturdy optimism of Chris herself, or her sure
+confidence that the future would unite them. Through her protracted
+engagement Mrs. Blanchard's daughter maintained a lively and sanguine
+cheerfulness. But seldom was it that she lost patience with the dreamer.
+Then her rare, indignant outbursts of commonplace and common sense, like
+a thunderstorm, sweetened the stagnant air of Clement's thoughts and
+awoke new, wholesome currents in his mind.
+
+As a rule, on the occasion of their frequent country walks, Clem and
+Chris found personal problems and private interests sufficient for all
+conversation, but it happened that upon a Sunday in mid-December, as
+they passed through the valley of the Teign, where the two main streams
+of that river mingle at the foothills of the Moor, the subject of Will
+and Phoebe for a time at least filled their thoughts. The hour was clear
+and bright, yet somewhat cheerless. The sun had already set, from the
+standpoint of all life in the valley, and darkness, hastening out of the
+east, merged the traceries of a million naked boughs into a thickening
+network of misty grey. The river beneath these woods churned in winter
+flood, while clear against its raving one robin sang little tinkling
+litanies from the branch of an alder.
+
+Chris stood upon Lee Bridge at the waters' meeting and threw scraps of
+wood into the river; Clem sat upon the parapet, smoked his pipe, and
+noted with a lingering delight the play of his sweetheart's lips as her
+fingers strained to snap a tough twig. Then the girl spoke, continuing a
+conversation already entered upon.
+
+"Phoebe Lyddon's that weak in will. How far's such as her gwaine in life
+without some person else to lean upon?"
+
+"If the ivy cannot find a tree it creeps along the ground, Chrissy."
+
+"Ess, it do; or else falls headlong awver the first bank it comes to.
+Phoebe's so helpless a maiden as ever made a picksher. I mind her at
+school in the days when we was childer together. Purty as them china
+figures you might buy off Cheap Jack, an' just so tender. She'd come up
+to dinky gals no bigger 'n herself an' pull out her li'l handkercher an'
+ax 'em to be so kind as to blaw her nose for her! Now Will's gone, Lard
+knaws wheer she'll drift to."
+
+"To John Grimbal. Any man could see that. Her father's set on it."
+
+"Why don't Will write to her and keep her heart up and give her a little
+news? 'Twould be meat an' drink to her. Doan't matter 'bout mother an'
+me. We'll take your word for it that Will wants to keep his ways secret.
+But a sweetheart--'tis so differ'nt. I wouldn't stand it!"
+
+"I know right well you wouldn't. Will has his own way. We won't
+criticise him. But there's a masterful man in the running--a prosperous,
+loud-voiced, bull-necked bully of a man, and one not accustomed to take
+'no' for his answer. I'm afraid of John Grimbal in this matter. I've
+gone so far as to warn Will, but he writes back that he knows Phoebe."
+
+"Jan Grimbal's a very differ'nt fashion of man to his brother; that I
+saw in a moment when they bided with us for a week, till the 'Three
+Crowns' could take 'em in. I hate Jan--hate him cruel; but I like
+Martin. He puts me in mind o' you, Clem, wi' his nice way of speech and
+tender quickness for women. But it's Phoebe we'm speaking of. I think
+you should write stern to Will an' frighten him. It ban't fair fightin',
+that poor, dear Phoebe 'gainst the will o' two strong men."
+
+"Well, she's had paltry food for a lover since he went away. He's got
+certain ideas, and she'll hear direct when--but there, I must shut my
+mouth, for I swore by fantastic oaths to say nothing."
+
+"He ought to write, whether or no. You tell Will that Jan Grimbal be
+about building a braave plaace up under Whiddon, and is looking for a
+wife at Monks Barton morning, noon, an' evening. That's like to waken
+him. An' tell him the miller's on t'other side, and clacking Jan Grimbal
+into Phoebe's ear steadier than the noise of his awn water-wheel."
+
+"And she will grow weak, mark me. She sees that red-brick place rising
+out of the bare boughs, higher and higher, and knows that from floor to
+attics all may be hers if she likes to say the word. She hears great
+talk of drawing-rooms, and pictures, and pianos, and greenhouses full of
+rare flowers, and all the rest--why, just think of it!"
+
+"Ban't many gals as could stand 'gainst a piano, I daresay."
+
+"I only know one--mine."
+
+Chris looked at him curiously.
+
+"You 'm right. An' that, for some queer reason, puts me in mind of the
+other wan, Martin Grimbal. He was very pleasant to me."
+
+"He's too late, thank God!"
+
+"Ess, fay! An' if he'd comed afore 'e, Clem, he'd been tu early. Theer's
+awnly wan man in the gert world for me."
+
+"My gypsy!"
+
+"But I didn't mean that. He wouldn't look at me, not even if I was a
+free woman. 'T was of you I thought when I talked to Mr. Grimbal. He'm
+well-to-do, and be seekin' a house in the higher quarter under
+Middledown. You an' him have the same fancy for the auld stones. So you
+might grow into friends--eh, Clem? Couldn't it so fall out? He might
+serve to help--eh? You 'm two-and-thirty year auld next February, an' it
+do look as though they silly bees ban't gwaine to put money enough in
+the bank to spell a weddin' for us this thirty year to come. Theer's
+awnly your aunt, Widow Coomstock, as you can look to for a penny, and
+that tu doubtful to count on."
+
+"Don't name her, Chris. Good Lord! poor drunken old thing, with that
+crowd of hungry relations waiting like vultures round a dying camel!
+Never think of her. Money she has, but I sha'n't see the colour of it,
+and I don't want to."
+
+"Well, let that bide. Martin Grimbal's the man in my thought."
+
+"What can I do there?"
+
+"Doan't knaw, 'zactly; but things might fall out if he got to like you,
+being a bookish sort of man. Anyway, he's very willing to be friends,
+for that he told me. Doan't bear yourself like Lucifer afore him; but
+take the first chance to let him knaw your fortune's in need of
+mendin'."
+
+"You say that! D' you think self-respect is dead in me?" he asked, half
+angry.
+
+There was no visible life about them, so she put her arms round him.
+
+"I ax for love of 'e, dearie, an' for want of 'e. Do 'e think waitin' 's
+sweeter for me than for you?"
+
+Then he calmed down again, sighed, returned the caress, touched her, and
+stroked her breast and shoulder with sudden earthly light in his great
+eyes.
+
+"It 's hard to wait."
+
+"That's why I say doan't lose chances that may mean a weddin' for us,
+Clem. Theer 's so much hid in 'e, if awnly the way to bring it out could
+be found."
+
+"A mine that won't pay working," he said bitterly, the passion fading
+out of eyes and voice. "I know there 's something hidden; I feel there
+'s a twist of brain that ought to rise above keeping bees and take me
+higher than honey-combs. Yet look at hard truth. The clods round me get
+enough by their sweat to keep wives and feed children. I'm only a
+penniless, backboneless, hand-to-mouth wretch, living on the work of
+laborious insects."
+
+"If it ban't your awn fault, then whose be it, Clem?"
+
+"The fault of Chance--to pack my build of brains into the skull of a
+pauper. This poor, unfinished abortion of a head-piece of mine only
+dreams dreams that it cannot even set on paper for others to see."
+
+"You've given up trying whether it can or not, seemin'ly. I never hear
+tell of no verses now."
+
+"What 's the good? But only last night, so it happens, I had a sort of a
+wild feeling to get something out of myself, and I scribbled for hours
+and hours and found a little morsel of a rhyme."
+
+"Will 'e read it to me?"
+
+He showed reluctance, but presently dragged a scrap of paper out of his,
+pocket. Not a small source of trouble was his sweetheart's criticism of
+his verses.
+
+"It was the common sight of a pair of lovers walking tongue-tied, you
+know. I call it 'A Devon Courting.'"
+
+He read the trifle slowly, with that grand, rolling sea-beat of an
+accent that Elizabeth once loved to hear on the lips of Raleigh and
+Drake.
+
+  "Birds gived awver singin',
+   Flittermice was wingin',
+   Mists lay on the meadows--
+     A purty sight to see.
+   Down-long in the dimpsy, the dimpsy, the dimpsy,
+     Down-long in the dimpsy
+   Theer went a maid wi' me.
+
+  "Five gude mile o' walkin',
+   Not wan word o' talkin',
+   Then I axed a question
+     And put the same to she.
+   Up-long in the owl-light, the owl-light, the owl-light,
+     Up-long in the owl-light,
+   Theer corned my maid wi' me.
+
+"But I wonder you write the common words, Clem--you who be so much tu
+clever to use 'em."
+
+"The words are well enough. They were not common once."
+
+"Well, you knaw best. Could 'e sell such a li'l auld funny thing as that
+for money?"
+
+He shook his head.
+
+"No; it was only the toil of making it seemed good. It is worthless."
+
+"An' to think how long it took 'e! If you'd awnly put the time into
+big-fashioned verses full of the high words you've got. But you knaw
+best. Did 'e hear anything of them rhymes 'bout the auld days you sent
+to Lunnon?"
+
+"They sent them back again. I told you 't was wasting three stamps. It
+'s not for me, I know it. The world is full of dumb singers. Maybe I
+haven't got even a pinch of the fire that _must_ break through and show
+its flame, no matter what mountains the earth tumbles on it. God knows I
+burn hot enough sometimes with great thoughts and wild longings for love
+and for sweeter life and for you; but my fires--whether they are
+soul-fires or body-fires--only burn my heart out."
+
+She sighed and squeezed his hand, understanding little enough of what he
+said.
+
+"We must be patient. 'T is a solid thing, patience. I'm puttin' by
+pence; but it 's so plaguy little a gal can earn, best o' times and with
+the best will."
+
+"If I could only write the things I think! But they vanish before pen
+and paper and the need of words, as the mists of the night vanish before
+the hard, searching sun. I am ignorant of how to use words; and those in
+the world who might help me will never know of me. As for those around
+about, they reckon me three parts fool, with just a little gift of
+re-writing names over their dirty shop-fronts."
+
+"Yet it 's money. What did 'e get for that butivul fox wi' the goose in
+his mouth you painted 'pon Mr. Lamacraft's sign to Sticklepath?"
+
+"Ten shillings."
+
+"That's solid money."
+
+"It isn't now. I bought a book with it--a book of lies."
+
+Chris was going to speak, but changed her mind and sighed instead.
+
+"Well, as our affairs be speeding so poorly, we'd best to do some gude
+deed an' look after this other coil. You must let Will knaw what 's
+doin' by letter this very night. 'T is awnly fair, you being set in
+trust for him."
+
+"Strange, these Grimbal brothers," mused Clement, as the lovers
+proceeded in the direction of Chagford. "They come home with everything
+on God's earth that men might desire to win happiness, and, by the look
+of it, each marks his home-coming by falling in love with one he can't
+have."
+
+"Shaws the fairness of things, Clem; how the poor may chance to have
+what the rich caan't buy; so all look to stand equal."
+
+"Fairness, you call it? The damned, cynical irony of this whole
+passion-driven puppet-show--that's what it shows! The man who is loved
+cannot marry the woman he loves lest they both starve; the man who can
+give a woman half the world is loathed for his pains. Not that he 's to
+be pitied like the pauper, for if you can't buy love you can buy women,
+and the wise ones know how to manufacture a very lasting substitute for
+the real thing."
+
+"You talk that black and bitter as though you was deep-read in all the
+wickedness of the world," said Chris; "yet I knaw no man can say sweeter
+things than you sometimes."
+
+"Talk! It 's all talk with me--all snarling and railing and whining at
+hard facts, like a viper wasting its venom on steel. I'm sick of
+myself--weary of the old, stale round of my thoughts. Where can I wash
+and be clean? Chrissy, for God's sake, tell me."
+
+"Put your hope in the Spring," she said, "an' be busy for Will."
+
+
+In reality, with the approach of Christmas, affairs between Phoebe and
+the elder Grimbal had reached a point far in advance of that which
+Clement and Chris were concerned with. For more than three months, and
+under a steadily increasing weight of opposition, Miller Lyddon's
+daughter fought without shadow of yielding. Then came a time when the
+calm but determined iteration of her father's desires and the
+sledge-hammer love-making of John Grimbal began to leave an impression.
+Even then her love for Will was bright and strong, but her sense of
+helplessness fretted her nerves and temper, and her sweetheart's laconic
+messages, through the medium of another man, were sorry comfort in this
+hour of tribulation. With some reason she felt slighted. Neither
+considering Will's peculiarities, nor suspecting that his silence was
+only, the result of a whim or project, she began to resent it. Then John
+Grimbal caught her in a dangerous mood. Once she wavered, and he had the
+wisdom to leave her at the moment of victory. But on the next occasion
+of their meeting, he took good care to keep the advantage he had gained.
+Conscious of his own honest and generous intentions, Grimbal went on his
+way. The subtler manifestations of Phoebe's real attitude towards him
+escaped his observation; her reluctance he set down as resulting from
+the dying shadow of affection for Will Blanchard. That she would be very
+happy and proud and prosperous in the position of his wife, the lover
+was absolutely assured. He pursued her with the greater determination,
+in that he believed he was saving her from herself. What were some few
+months of vague uncertainty and girlish tears compared with a lifetime
+of prosperity and solid happiness? John Grimbal made Phoebe handsome
+presents of pretty and costly things after the first great victory. He
+pushed his advantage with tremendous vigour. His great face seemed
+reflected in Phoebe's eyes when she slept as when she woke; his voice
+was never out of her ears. Weary, hopeless, worn out, she prayed
+sometimes for strength of purpose. But it was a trait denied to her
+character and not to be bestowed at a breath. Her stability of defence,
+even as it stood, was remarkable and beyond expectation. Then the sure
+climax rolled in upon poor Phoebe. Twice she sought Clement Hicks with
+purpose to send an urgent message; on each occasion accident prevented a
+meeting; her father was always smiling and droning his desires into her
+ear; John Grimbal haunted her. His good-nature and kindness were hard to
+bear; his patience made her frantic. So the investment drew to its
+conclusion and the barriers crumbled, for the forces besieged were too
+weak and worn to restore them; while a last circumstance brought victory
+to the stronger and proclaimed the final overthrow.
+
+This culmination resulted from a visit to the spiritual head of Phoebe's
+dwelling-place. The Rev. James Shorto-Champernowne, Vicar of Chagford,
+made an appointment to discuss the position with Mr. Lyddon and his
+daughter. A sportsman of the old type, and a cleric of rare reputation
+for good sense and fairness to high and low, was Mr. Shorto-Champernowne,
+but it happened that his more tender emotions had been buried with a
+young wife these forty years, and children he had none. Nevertheless,
+taking the standpoint of parental discipline, he held Phoebe's alleged
+engagement a vain thing, not to be considered seriously. Moreover, he
+knew of Will's lapses in the past; and that was fatal.
+
+"My child, have little doubt that both religion and duty point in one
+direction and with no faltering hands," he said, in his stately way.
+"Communicate with the young man, inform him that conversation with
+myself has taken place; then he can hardly maintain an attitude of
+doubt, either to the exalted convictions that have led to your decision,
+or to the propriety of it. And, further, do not omit an opportunity of
+well-doing, but conclude your letter with a word of counsel. Pray him to
+seek a Guide to his future life, the only Guide able to lead him aright.
+I mean his Mother Church. No man who turns his back upon her can be
+either virtuous or happy. I mourned his defection from our choir some
+years ago. You see I forget nobody. My eyes are everywhere, as they
+ought to be. Would that he could be whipped back to the House of
+God--with scorpions, if necessary! There is a cowardice, a lack of
+sportsmanlike feeling, if I may so express it, in these fallings away
+from the Church of our fathers. It denotes a failing of intellect amid
+the centres of human activity. There is a blight of unbelief abroad--a
+nebulous, pestilential rationalism. Acquaint him with these facts; they
+may serve to re-establish one whose temperament must be regarded as
+abnormal in the light of his great eccentricity of action. Now farewell,
+and God be with you."
+
+The rotund, grey-whiskered clergyman waved his hand; Miller Lyddon and
+his daughter left the vicarage; while both heard, as it seemed, his
+studied phrases and sonorous voice rolling after them all the way home.
+But poor Phoebe felt that the main issues as to conscience were now only
+too clear; her last anchor was wrenched from its hold, and that night,
+through a mist of unhappy tears, she succumbed, promised to marry John
+Grimbal and be queen of the red castle now rising under Cranbrook's
+distant heights.
+
+That we have dealt too scantily with her tragic experiences may be
+suspected; but the sequel will serve to show how these circumstances
+demand no greater elaboration than has been accorded to them.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+LIBATION TO POMONA
+
+
+A WINTER moon threw black shadows from stock and stone, tree and cot in
+the valley of the Teign. Heavy snow had fallen, and moor-men, coming
+down from the highlands, declared it to lie three feet deep in the
+drifts. Now fine, sharp weather had succeeded the storm, and hard frost
+held both hill and vale.
+
+On Old Christmas Eve a party numbering some five-and-twenty persons
+assembled in the farmyard of Monks Barton, and Billy Blee, as master of
+the pending ceremonies, made them welcome. Some among them were aged,
+others youthful; indeed the company consisted mostly of old men and
+boys, a circumstance very easily understood when the nature of their
+enterprise is considered. The ancients were about to celebrate a
+venerable rite and sacrifice to a superstition, active in their boyhood,
+moribund at the date with which we are concerned, and to-day probably
+dead altogether. The sweet poet[2] of Dean Prior mentions this quaint,
+old-time custom of "christening" or "wassailing" the fruit-trees among
+Christmas-Eve ceremonies; and doubtless when he dwelt in Devon the use
+was gloriously maintained; but an adult generation in the years of this
+narrative had certainly refused it much support. It was left to their
+grandfathers and their sons; and thus senility and youth preponderated
+in the present company. For the boys, this midnight fun with lantern and
+fowling-piece was good Christmas sport, and they came readily enough; to
+the old men their ceremonial possessed solid value, and from the musty
+storehouse of his memory every venerable soul amongst them could cite
+instances of the sovereign virtue hid in such a procedure.
+
+
+[2] _The sweet poet._
+
+  "Wassaile the trees, that they may beare
+   You many a Plum, and many a Peare;
+   For more or lesse fruites they will bring,
+   As you doe give them Wassailing."
+
+   _Hesperides._
+
+
+"A brave rally o' neighbours, sure 'nough," cried Mr. Blee as he
+appeared amongst them. "Be Gaffer Lezzard come?"
+
+"Here, Billy."
+
+"Hast thy fire-arm, Lezzard?"
+
+"Ess, 't is here. My gran'son's carrying of it; but I holds the
+powder-flask an' caps, so no ruin be threatened to none."
+
+Mr. Lezzard wore a black smock-frock, across the breast of which
+extended delicate and skilful needlework. His head was hidden under an
+old chimney-pot hat with a pea-cock's feather in it, and, against the
+cold, he had tied a tremendous woollen muffler round his neck and about
+his ears. The ends of it hung down over his coat, and the general effect
+of smock, comforter, gaitered shanks, boots tied up in straw, long nose,
+and shining spectacles, was that of some huge and ungainly bird, hopped
+from out a fairy-tale or a nightmare.
+
+"Be Maister Chappie here likewise?" inquired Billy.
+
+"I'm waitin'; an' I've got a fowling-piece, tu."
+
+"That's gude then. I be gwaine to carry the auld blunderbuss what's been
+in Miller Lyddon's family since the years of his ancestors, and belonged
+to a coach-guard in the King's days. 'T is well suited to
+apple-christenin'. The cider's here, in three o' the biggest earth
+pitchers us'a' got, an' the lads is ready to bring it along. The Maister
+Grimbals, as will be related to the family presently, be comin' to see
+the custom, an' Miller wants every man to step back-along arterwards an'
+have a drop o' the best, 'cordin' to his usual gracious gudeness. Now,
+Lezzard, me an' you'll lead the way."
+
+Mr. Blee then shouldered his ancient weapon, the other veteran marched
+beside him, and the rest of the company followed in the direction of
+Chagford Bridge. They proceeded across the fields; and along the
+procession bobbed a lantern or two, while a few boys carried flaring
+torches. The light from these killed the moonbeams within a narrow
+radius, shot black tongues of smoke into the clear air, and set the
+meadows glimmering redly where contending radiance of moon and fire
+powdered the virgin snow with diamond and ruby. Snake-like the party
+wound along beside the river. Dogs barked; voices rang clear on the
+crystal night; now and again, with laughter and shout, the lads raced
+hither and thither from their stolid elders, and here and there jackets
+carried the mark of a snowball. Behind the procession a trampled grey
+line stretched out under the moonlight. Then all passed like some dim,
+magic pageant of a dream; the distant dark blot of naked woodlands
+swallowed them up, and the voices grew faint and ceased. Only the
+endless song of the river sounded, with a new note struck into it by the
+world of snow.
+
+For a few moments the valley was left empty, so empty that a fox, who
+had been prowling unsuccessfully about Monks Barton since dusk, took the
+opportunity to leave his hiding-place above the ducks' pool, cross the
+meadows, and get him home to his earth two miles distant. He slunk with
+pattering foot across the snow, marking his way by little regular
+paw-pits and one straight line where his brush roughened the surface.
+Steam puffed in jets from his muzzle, and his empty belly made him angry
+with the world. At the edge of the woods he lifted his head, and the
+moonlight touched his green eyes. Then he recorded a protest against
+Providence in one eerie bark, and so vanished, before the weird sound
+had died.
+
+Phoebe Lyddon and her lover, having given the others some vantage of
+ground, followed them to their destination--Mr. Lyddon's famous orchard
+in Teign valley. The girl's dreary task of late had been to tell herself
+that she would surely love John Grimbal presently--love him as such a
+good man deserved to be loved. Only under the silence and in the
+loneliness of long nights, only in the small hours of day, when sleep
+would not come and pulses were weak, did Phoebe confess that contact
+with him hurt her, that his kisses made her giddy to sickness, that all
+his gifts put together were less to her than one treasure she was too
+weak to destroy--the last letter Will had written. Once or twice, not to
+her future husband, but to the miller, Phoebe had ventured faintly to
+question still the promise of this great step; but Mr. Lyddon quickly
+overruled all doubts, and assisted John Grimbal in his efforts to hasten
+the ceremony. Upon this day, Old Christmas Eve, the wedding-day lay not
+a month distant and, afterwards the husband designed to take his wife
+abroad for a trip to South Africa. Thus he would combine business and
+pleasure, and return in the spring to witness the completion of his
+house. Chagford highly approved the match, congratulated Phoebe on her
+fortune, and felt secretly gratified that a personage grown so important
+as John Grimbal should have chosen his life's partner from among the
+maidens of his native village.
+
+Now the pair walked over the snow; and silent and stealthy as the
+vanished fox, a grey figure followed after them. Dim as some moon-spirit
+against the brightness, this shape stole forward under the rough hedge
+that formed a bank and threw a shadow between meadow and stream. In
+repose the grey man, for a man it was, looked far less substantial than
+the stationary outlines of fences and trees; and when he moved it had
+needed a keen eye to see him at all. He mingled with the moonlight and
+snow, and became a part of a strange inversion of ordinary conditions;
+for in this white, hushed world the shadows alone seemed solid and
+material in their black nakedness, in their keen sharpness of line and
+limit, while things concrete and ponderable shone out a silvery medley
+of snow-capped, misty traceries, vague of outline, uncertain of shape,
+magically changed as to their relations by the unfamiliar carpet now
+spread between them.
+
+The grey figure kept Phoebe in sight, but followed a path of his own
+choosing. When she entered the woods he drew a little nearer, and thus
+followed, passing from shadow to shadow, scarce fifty yards behind.
+
+Meanwhile the main procession approached the scene of its labours.
+Martin Grimbal, attracted by the prospect of reading this page from an
+old Devonian superstition, was of the company. He walked with Billy Blee
+and Gaffer Lezzard; and these high priests, well pleased at their
+junior's attitude towards the ceremony, opened their hearts to him upon
+it.
+
+"'T is an ancient rite, auld as cider--maybe auld as Scripture, to, for
+anything I've heard to the contrary," said Mr. Lezzard.
+
+"Ay, so 't is," declared Billy Blee, "an' a custom to little observed
+nowadays. But us might have better blooth in springtime an' braaver
+apples come autumn if the trees was christened more regular. You doan't
+see no gert stock of sizable apples best o' years now--li'l scrubbly
+auld things most times."
+
+"An' the cider from 'em--poor roapy muck, awnly fit to make 'e thirst
+for better drink," criticised Gaffer Lezzard.
+
+"'Tis this way: theer's gert virtue in cider put to apple-tree roots on
+this particular night, accordin' to the planets and such hidden things.
+Why so, I can't tell 'e, any more 'n anybody could tell 'e why the moon
+sails higher up the sky in winter than her do in summer; but so 't is.
+An' facts be facts. Why, theer's the auld 'Sam's Crab' tree in this very
+orchard we'm walkin' to. I knawed that tree three year ago to give a
+hogshead an' a half as near as damn it. That wan tree, mind, with no
+more than a few baskets of 'Redstreaks' added."
+
+"An' a shy bearer most times, tu," added Mr. Lezzard.
+
+"Just so; then come next year, by some mischance, me being indoors, if
+they didn't forget to christen un! An', burnish it all! theer wasn't
+fruit enough on the tree to fill your pockets!"
+
+"Whether 't is the firing into the branches, or the cider to the roots
+does gude, be a matter of doubt," continued Mr. Lezzard; but the other
+authority would not admit this.
+
+"They 'm like the halves of a flail, depend on it: wan no use wi'out
+t'other. Then theer's the singing of the auld song: who's gwaine to say
+that's the least part of it?"
+
+"'T is the three pious acts thrawn together in wan gude deed," summed up
+Mr. Lezzard; "an' if they'd awnly let apples get ripe 'fore they break
+'em, an' go back to the straw for straining, 'stead of these tom-fule,
+new-fangled hair-cloths, us might get tidy cider still."
+
+By this time the gate of the orchard was reached; Gaffer Lezzard, Billy,
+and the other patriarch, Mr. Chapple,--a very fat old man,--loaded their
+weapons, and the perspiring cider-carriers set down their loads.
+
+"Now, you bwoys, give awver runnin' 'bout like rabbits," cried out Mr.
+Chapple. "You 'm here to sing while us pours cider an' shoots in the
+trees; an' not a drop you'll have if you doan't give tongue proper, so I
+tell 'e."
+
+At this rebuke the boys assembled, and there followed a hasty gabbling,
+to freshen the words in young and uncertain memories. Then a small
+vessel was dipped under floating toast, that covered the cider in the
+great pitchers, and the ceremony of christening the orchard began. Only
+the largest and most famous apple-bearers were thus saluted, for neither
+cider nor gunpowder sufficient to honour more than a fraction of the
+whole multitude existed in all Chagford. The orchard, viewed from the
+east, stretched in long lines, like the legions of some arboreal army;
+the moon set sparks and streaks of light on every snowy fork and bough;
+and at the northwestern foot of each tree a network of spidery
+shadow-patterns, sharp and black, extended upon the snow.
+
+Mr. Blee himself made the first libation, led the first chorus, and
+fired the first shot. Steaming cider poured from his mug, vanished,
+sucked in at the tree-foot, and left a black patch upon the snow at the
+hole of the trunk; then he stuck a fragment of sodden toast on a twig;
+after which the christening song rang out upon the night--ragged at
+first, but settling into resolute swing and improved time as its music
+proceeded. The lusty treble of the youngsters soon drowned the notes of
+their grandfathers; for the boys took their measure at a pace beyond the
+power of Gaffer Lezzard and his generation, and sang with heart and
+voice to keep themselves warm. The song has variants, but this was their
+version--
+
+  "Here 's to thee, auld apple-tree,
+   Be sure you bud, be sure you blaw,
+   And bring forth apples good enough--
+   Hats full, caps full, three-bushel bags full,
+          Pockets full and all--
+   Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!
+              Hats full, caps full, three-bushel bags full,
+                  Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!"
+
+Then Billy fired his blunderbuss, and a flame leapt from its bell mouth
+into the branches of the apple-tree, while surrounding high lands echoed
+its report with a reverberating bellow that rose and fell, and was flung
+from hill to hill, until it gradually faded upon the ear. The boys
+cheered again, everybody drank a drop of the cider, and from under a
+cloud of blue smoke, that hung flat as a pancake above them in the still
+air, all moved onward. Presently the party separated into three groups,
+each having a gunner to lead it, half a dozen boys to sing, and a
+dwindling jar of cider for the purposes of the ceremony. The divided
+choirs clashed their music, heard from a distance; the guns fired at
+intervals, each sending forth its own particular detonation and winning
+back a distinctive echo; then the companies separated widely and
+decreased to mere twinkling, torchlit points in the distance.
+Accumulated smoke from the scattered discharges hung in a sluggish haze
+between earth and moon, and a sharp smell of burnt powder tainted the
+sweetness of the frosty night.
+
+Upon this scene arrived John Grirnbal and his sweetheart. They stood for
+a while at the open orchard gate, gazed at the remote illumination, and
+heard the distant song. Then they returned to discussion of their own
+affairs; while at hand, unseen, the grey watcher moved impatiently and
+anxiously. The thing he desired did not come about, and he blew on his
+cold hands and swore under his breath. Only an orchard hedge now
+separated them, and he might have listened to Phoebe's soft speech had
+he crept ten yards nearer, while John Grimbal's voice he could not help
+hearing from time to time. The big man was just asking a question not
+easy to answer, when an unexpected interruption saved Phoebe from the
+difficulty of any reply.
+
+"Sometimes I half reckon a memory of that blessed boy still makes you
+glum, my dear. Is it so? Haven't you forgot him yet?"
+
+As he spoke an explosion, differing much in sound from those which
+continued to startle the night, rang suddenly out of the distance. It
+arose from a spot on the confines of the orchard, and was sharp in
+tone--sharp almost as the human cries which followed it. Then the
+distant lights hastened towards the theatre of the catastrophe. "What
+has happened?" cried Phoebe, thankful enough to snatch conversation away
+from herself and her affairs.
+
+"Easy to guess. That broken report means a burst gun. One of those old
+fools has got excited, put too much powder into his blunderbuss and
+blown his head off, likely as not. No loss either!"
+
+"Please, please go and see! Oh, if 'tis Billy Blee come to grief,
+faither will be lost. Do 'e run, Mr. Grimbal--Jan, I mean. If any grave
+matter's failed out, send them bwoys off red-hot for doctor."
+
+"Stop here, then. If any ugly thing has happened, there need be no
+occasion for you to see it."
+
+He departed hastily to where a distant galaxy of fiery eyes twinkled and
+tangled and moved this way and that, like the dying sparks on a piece of
+burnt paper.
+
+Then the patient grey shadow, rewarded by chance at last, found his
+opportunity, slipped into the hedge just above Grimbal's sweetheart, and
+spoke to her.
+
+"Phoebe, Phoebe Lyddon!"
+
+The voice, dropping out of empty air as it seemed, made Phoebe jump, and
+almost fall; but there was an arm gripped round her, and a pair of hot
+lips on hers before she had time to open her mouth or cry a word.
+
+"Will!"
+
+"Ess, so I be, alive an' kicking. No time for anything but business now.
+I've followed 'e for this chance. Awnly heard four day ago 'bout the fix
+you'd been drove to. An' Clem's made it clear 't was all my damn silly
+silence to blame. I had a gert thought in me and wasn't gwaine to write
+till--but that's awver an' done, an' a purty kettle of feesh, tu. We
+must faace this coil first."
+
+"Thank God, you can forgive me. I'd never have had courage to ax 'e."
+
+"You was drove into it. I knaw there's awnly wan man in the world for
+'e. Ban't nothin' to forgive. I never ought to have left 'e--a
+far-seein' man, same as me. Blast him! I'd like to tear thicky damned
+fur off you, for I lay it comed from him."
+
+"They were killing me, Will; and never a word from you."
+
+"I knaw, I knaw. What's wan girl against a parish full, an' a blustering
+chap made o' diamonds?"
+
+"The things doan't warm me; they make me shiver. But now--you can
+forgive me--that's all I care for. What shall I do? How can I escape it?
+Oh, Will, say I can!"
+
+"In coourse you can. Awnly wan way, though; an' that's why I'm here. Us
+must be married right on end. Then he's got no more power over 'e than a
+drowned worm, nor Miller, nor any."
+
+"To think you can forgive me enough to marry me after all my wickedness!
+I never dreamed theer was such a big heart in the world as yourn."
+
+"Why, we promised, didn't us? We'm built for each other. I knawed I'd
+only got to come. An' I have, at cost, tu, I promise 'e. Now we'll be
+upsides wi' this tramp from furrin paarts, if awnly you do ezacally what
+I be gwaine to tell you. I'd meant to write it, but I can speak it
+better as the chance has come."
+
+Phoebe's heart glowed at this tremendous change in the position. She
+forgot everything before sight and sound of Will. The nature of her
+promises weakened to gossamer. Her first love was the only love for her,
+and his voice fortified her spirit and braced her nerves. A chance for
+happiness yet remained and she, who had endured enough, was strong in
+determination to win it yet at any cost if a woman could.
+
+"If you awnly knawed the half I've suffered before they forced me, you'd
+forgive," she said. His frank pardon she could hardly realise. It seemed
+altogether beyond the desert of her weakness.
+
+"Let that bide. It's the future now. Clem's told me everything. Awnly
+you and him an' Chris knaw I'm here. Chris will serve 'e. Us must play a
+hidden game, an' fight this Grimbal chap as he fought me--behind back.
+Listen; to-day fortnight you an' me 'm gwaine to be married afore the
+registrar to Newton Abbot. He 'm my awn Uncle Ford, as luck has it, an'
+quite o' my way o' thinkin' when I told him how 't was, an' that Jan
+Grimbal was gwaine to marry you against your will. He advised me, and
+I'm biding in Newton for next two weeks, so as the thing comes out right
+by law. But you've got to keep it still as death."
+
+"If I could awnly fly this instant moment with 'e!"
+
+"You caan't. 'T would spoil all. You must stop home, an' hear your banns
+put up with Grimbal, an' all the rest of it. Wish I could! Meat an'
+drink 't would be, by God! But he'll get his pay all right. An' afore
+the day comes, you nip off to Newton, an' I'll meet 'e, an' us'll be
+married in a wink, an' you'll be back home again to Monks Barton 'fore
+you knaw it."
+
+"Is that the awnly way? Oh, Will, how terrible!"
+
+"God knaws I've done worse 'n that. But no man's gwaine to steal the
+maid of my choosin' from me while I've got brains and body to prevent
+it."
+
+"Let me look at you, lovey--just the same, just the same! 'Tis glorious
+to hear your voice again. But this thin coat, so butivul in shaape, tu!
+You 'm a gentleman by the look of it; but 't is summer wear, not
+winter."
+
+"Ess, 'tis cold enough; an' I've got to get back to Newton to-night. An'
+never breathe that man's name no more. I'll shaw 'e wat 's a man an'
+what ban't. Steal my true love, would 'e?--God forgive un, I
+shaan't--not till we 'm man an' wife, anyway. Then I might. Give 'e up!
+Be I a chap as chaanges? Never--never yet."
+
+Phoebe wept at these words and pressed Will to her heart.
+
+"'Tis strength, an' fire, an' racing blood in me to hear 'e, dear,
+braave heart. I was that weak without 'e. Now the world 's a new plaace,
+an' I doan't doubt fust thought was right, for all they said. I'll meet
+'e as you bid me, an' nothin' shall ever keep me from 'e now--nothing!"
+
+"'T is well said, Phoebe; an' doan't let that anointed scamp kiss 'e
+more 'n he must. Be braave an' cunnin', an' keep Miller from smelling a
+rat. I'd like to smash that man myself now wheer he stands,--Grimbal I
+mean,--but us must be wise for the present. Wipe your shiny eyes an'
+keep a happy faace to 'em, an' never let wan of the lot dream what's hid
+in 'e. Cock your li'l nose high, an' be peart an' gay. An' let un buy
+you what he will,--'t is no odds; we can send his rubbish back again
+arter, when he knaws you'm another man's wife. Gude-bye, Phoebe dearie;
+I've done what 'peared to me a gert deed for love of 'e; but the sight
+of 'e brings it down into no mighty matter."
+
+"You've saved my life, Will--saved all my days; an' while I've got a
+heart beating 't will be yourn, an' I'll work for 'e, an' slave for 'e,
+an' think for 'e, an' love 'e so long as I live--an' pray for 'e, tu,
+Will, my awn!"
+
+He parted from her as she spoke, and she, by an inspiration, hurried
+towards the approaching crowd that the trampled marks of the snow where
+she had been standing might not be noted under the gleam of torches and
+lanterns.
+
+John Grimbal's prophecy was happily not fulfilled in its gloomy
+completeness: nobody had blown his head off; but Billy Blee's
+prodigality of ammunition proved at last too much for the blunderbuss of
+the bygone coach-guard, and in its sudden annihilation a fragment had
+cut the gunner across the face, and a second inflicted a pretty deep
+flesh-wound on his arm. Neither injury was very serious, and the general
+escape, as John Grimbal pointed out, might be considered marvellous, for
+not a soul save Billy himself had been so much as scratched.
+
+With Martin Grimbal on one side and Mr. Chapple upon the other, the
+wounded veteran walked slowly and solemnly along. The dramatic moments
+of the hour were dear to him, and while tolerably confident at the
+bottom of his mind that no vital hurt had been done, he openly declared
+himself stricken to death, and revelled in a display of Christian
+fortitude and resignation that deceived everybody but John Grimbal.
+Billy gasped and gurgled, bid them see to the bandages, and reviewed his
+past life with ingenuous satisfaction.
+
+"Ah, sawls all! dead as a hammer in an hour. 'T is awver. I feel the
+life swelling out of me."
+
+"Don't say that, Billy," cried Martin, in real concern. "The blood's
+stopped flowing entirely now."
+
+"For why? Theer's no more to come. My heart be pumping wind, lifeless
+wind; my lung-play's gone, tu, an' my sight's come awver that coorious.
+Be Gaffer Lezzard nigh?"
+
+"Here, alongside 'e, Bill."
+
+"Gimme your hand then, an' let auld scores be wiped off in this
+shattering calamity. Us have differed wheer us could these twoscore
+years; but theer mustn't be no more ill-will wi' me tremblin' on the lip
+o' the graave."
+
+"None at all; if 't wasn't for Widow Coomstock," said Gaffer Lezzard.
+"You 'm tu pushing theer, an' I say it even now, for truth's truth,
+though it be the last thing a man's ear holds."
+
+"Break it to her gentle," said Billy, ignoring the other's criticism;
+"she'm on in years, and have cast a kindly eye awver me since the early
+sixties. My propositions never was more than agreeable conversation to
+her, but it might have come. Tell her theer's a world beyond marriage
+customs, an' us'll meet theer."
+
+Old Lezzard showed a good deal of anger at this speech, but being in a
+minority fell back and held his peace.
+
+"Would 'e like to see passon, dear sawl?" asked Mr. Chapple, who walked
+on Billy's left with his gun reversed, as though at a funeral.
+
+"Me an' him be out, along o' rheumatics keeping me from the House of God
+this month," said the sufferer, "but at a solemn death-bed hour like
+this here, I'd soon see un as not. Ban't no gert odds, for I forgive all
+mankind, and doan't feel no more malice than a bird in a tree."
+
+"You're a silly old ass," burst out Grimbal roughly. "There's nothing
+worth naming the matter with you, and you know it better than we do. The
+Devil looks after his own, seemingly. Any other man would have been
+killed ten times over."
+
+Billy whined and even wept at this harsh reproof. "Ban't a very fair way
+to speak to an auld gunpowder-blawn piece, like what I be now," he said;
+"gormed if 't is."
+
+"Very onhandsome of 'e, Mr. Grimbal," declared the stout Chappie; "an'
+you so young an' in the prime of life, tu!"
+
+Here Phoebe met them, and Mr. Blee, observing the signs of tears upon
+her face, supposed that anxiety for him had wet her cheeks, and
+comforted his master's child.
+
+"Doan't 'e give way, missy. 'T is all wan, an' I ban't 'feared of the
+tomb, as I've tawld 'em. Us must rot, every bone of us, in our season,
+an' 't is awnly the thought of it, not the fear of it, turns the
+stomach. But what's a wamblyness of the innards, so long as a body's
+sawl be ripe for God?"
+
+"A walkin' sermon!" said Mr. Chappie.
+
+Doctor Parsons was waiting for Billy at Monks Barton, and if John
+Grimbal had been brusque, the practitioner proved scarcely less so. He
+pronounced Mr. Blee but little hurt, bandaged his arm, plastered his
+head, and assured him that a pipe and a glass of spirits was all he
+needed to fortify his sinking spirit. The party ate and drank, raised a
+cheer for Miller Lyddon and then went homewards. Only Mr. Chappie and
+Gaffer Lezzard entered the house and had a wineglass or two of some
+special sloe gin. Mr. Lezzard thawed and grew amiable over this
+beverage, and Mr. Chappie repeated Billy's lofty sentiments at the
+approach of death for the benefit of Miller Lyddon.
+
+"'T is awnly my fearless disposition," declared the wounded man with
+great humility; "no partic'lar credit to me. I doan't care wan iotum for
+the thought of churchyard mould--not wan iotum. I knaw the value of gude
+rich soil tu well; an' a man as grudges the rames[3] of hisself to the
+airth that's kept un threescore years an' ten's a carmudgeonly cuss,
+surely."
+
+
+[3] _Rames_ = skeleton; remains.
+
+
+"An' so say I; theer's true wisdom in it," declared Mr. Chapple, while
+the miller nodded.
+
+"Theer be," concluded Gaffer Lezzard. "I allus sez, in my clenching way,
+that I doan't care a farden damn what happens to my bones, if my
+everlasting future be well thought on by passon. So long as I catch the
+eye of un an' see um beam 'pon me to church now an' again, I'm content
+with things as they are."
+
+"As a saved sawl you 'm in so braave a way as the best; but, to say it
+without rudeness, as food for the land a man of your build be nought,
+Gaffer," argued Mr. Chapple, who viewed the veteran's withered anatomy
+from his own happy vantage ground of fifteen stone.
+
+But Gaffer Lezzard would by no means allow this.
+
+"Ban't quantity awnly tells, my son. 'T is the aluminium in a man's
+bones that fats land--roots or grass or corn. Anybody of larnin', 'll
+tell 'e that. Strip the belly off 'e, an', bone for bone, a lean man
+like me shaws as fair as you. No offence offered or taken, but a gross
+habit's mere clay and does more harm than gude underground."
+
+Mr. Chapple in his turn resented this contemptuous dismissal of tissue
+as matter of no agricultural significance. The old men went wrangling
+home; Miller Lyddon and Billy retired to their beds; the moon departed
+behind the distant moors; and all the darkened valley slept in snow and
+starlight.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+A BROTHERS' QUARREL
+
+
+Though Phoebe was surprised at Will Blanchard's mild attitude toward her
+weakness, she had been less so with more knowledge. Chris Blanchard and
+her lover were in some degree responsible for Will's lenity, and
+Clement's politic letter to the wanderer, when Phoebe's engagement was
+announced, had been framed in words best calculated to shield the
+Miller's sore-driven daughter. Hicks had thrown the blame on John
+Grimbal, on Mr. Lyddon, on everybody but Phoebe herself. Foremost indeed
+he had censured Will, and pointed out that his own sustained silence,
+however high-minded the reason of it, was a main factor in his
+sweetheart's sufferings and ultimate submission.
+
+In answer to this communication Blanchard magically reappeared,
+announced his determination to marry Phoebe by subterfuge, and, the deed
+accomplished, take his punishment, whatever it might be, with light
+heart. Given time to achieve a legal marriage, and Phoebe would at least
+be safe from the clutches of millionaires in general.
+
+Much had already been done by Will before he crept after the
+apple-christeners and accomplished his meeting with Phoebe. A week was
+passed since Clement wrote the final crushing news, and during that
+interval Will had been stopping with his uncle, Joel Ford, at Newton
+Abbot. Fate, hard till now, played him passing fair at last. The old
+Superintendent Registrar still had a soft corner in his heart for Will,
+and when he learnt the boy's trouble, though of cynic mind in all
+matters pertaining to matrimony, he chose to play the virtuous and
+enraged philosopher, much to his nephew's joy. Mr. Ford promised Will he
+should most certainly have the law's aid to checkmate his dishonourable
+adversary; he took a most serious view of the case and declared that all
+thinking men must sympathise with young Blanchard under such
+circumstances. But in private the old gentleman rubbed his hands, for
+here was the very opportunity he desired as much as a man well
+might--the chance to strike at one who had shamefully wronged him. His
+only trouble was how best to let John Grimbal know whom he had to thank
+for this tremendous reverse; for that deed he held necessary to complete
+his revenge.
+
+As to where Will had come from, or whither he was returning, after his
+marriage Joel Ford cared not. The youngster once wedded would be
+satisfied; and his uncle would be satisfied too. The procedure of
+marriage by license requires that one of the parties shall have resided
+within the Superintendent's district for a space of fifteen days
+preceding the giving of notice; then application in prescribed form is
+made to the Registrar; and his certificate and license are usually
+received one clear day later. Thus a resident in a district can be
+married at any time within eight-and-forty hours of his decision. Will
+Blanchard had to stop with his uncle nine or ten days more to complete
+the necessary fortnight, and as John Grimbal's marriage morning was as
+yet above three weeks distant, Phoebe's fate in no way depended upon
+him.
+
+Mr. Ford explained the position to Will, and the lover accepted it
+cheerfully.
+
+"As to the marriage, that'll be hard and fast as a bench of bishops can
+make it; but wedding a woman under age, against the wish of her legal
+guardian, is an offence against the law. Nobody can undo the deed
+itself, but Miller Lyddon will have something to say afterwards. And
+there's that blustering blackguard, John Grimbal, to reckon with.
+Unscrupulous scoundrel! Just the sort to be lawless and vindictive if
+what you tell me concerning him is true."
+
+"And so he be; let un! Who cares a brass button for him? 'T is awnly
+Miller I thinks of. What's worst he can do?"
+
+"Send you to prison, Will."
+
+"For how long?"
+
+"That I can't tell you exactly. Not for marrying his daughter of course,
+but for abduction--that's what he'll bring against you."
+
+"An' so he shall, uncle, an' I'll save him all the trouble I can. That's
+no gert hardship--weeks, or months even. I'll go like a lark, knawin'
+Phoebe's safe."
+
+So the matter stood and the days passed. Will's personal affairs, and
+the secret of the position from which he had come was known only to
+Clement Hicks. The lover talked of returning again thither after his
+marriage, but he remained vague on that point, and, indeed, modified his
+plans after the above recorded conversation with his uncle. Twice he
+wrote to Phoebe in the period of waiting, and the letter had been
+forwarded on both occasions through Clement. Two others knew what was
+afoot, and during that time of trial Phoebe found Chris her salvation.
+The stronger girl supported her sinking spirit and fortified her
+courage. Chris mightily enjoyed the whole romance, and among those
+circumstances that combined to make John Grimbal uneasy during the days
+of waiting was her constant presence at Monks Barton. There she came as
+Phoebe's friend, and the clear, bright eyes she often turned on him made
+him angry, he knew not why. As for Mrs. Blanchard, she had secretly
+learnt more than anybody suspected, for while Will first determined to
+tell her nothing until afterwards, a second thought rebuked him for
+hiding such a tremendous circumstance from his mother, and he wrote to
+her at full length from Newton, saying nothing indeed of the past but
+setting out the future in detail. Upon the subject Mrs. Blanchard kept
+her own counsel.
+
+Preparations for Phoebe's wedding moved apace, and she lived in a dim,
+heart-breaking dream. John Grimbal, despite her entreaties, continued to
+spend money upon her; yet each new gift brought nothing but tears. Grown
+desperate in his determination to win a little affection and regard
+before marriage, and bitterly conscious that he could command neither,
+the man plied her with what money would buy, and busied himself to bring
+her happiness in spite of herself. Troubled he was, nevertheless, and
+constantly sought the miller that he might listen to comforting
+assurances that he need be under no concern.
+
+"'T is natural in wan who's gwaine to say gude-bye to maidenhood so
+soon," declared Mr. Lyddon. "I've thought 'bout her tears a deal. God
+knaws they hurt me more 'n they do her, or you either; but such sad
+whims and cloudy hours is proper to the time. Love for me's got a share
+in her sorrow, tu. 'T will all be well enough when she turns her back on
+the church-door an' hears the weddin'-bells a-clashing for her future
+joy. Doan't you come nigh her much during the next few weeks."
+
+"Two," corrected Mr. Grimbal, moodily.
+
+"Eh! Awnly two! Well, 't is gert darkness for me, I promise you--gert
+darkness comin' for Monks Barton wi'out the butivul sound an' sight of
+her no more. But bide away, theer's a gude man; bide away these coming
+few days. Her last maiden hours mustn't be all tears. But my gifts do
+awnly make her cry, tu, if that's consolation to 'e. It's the
+tenderness of her li'l heart as brims awver at kindness."
+
+In reality, Phoebe's misery was of a complexion wholly different. The
+necessity for living thus had not appeared so tremendous until she found
+herself launched into this sea of terrible deception. In operation such
+sustained falsity came like to drive her mad. She could not count the
+lies each day brought forth; she was frightened to pray for forgiveness,
+knowing every morning must see a renewal of the tragedy. Hell seemed
+yawning for her, and the possibility of any ultimate happiness, reached
+over this awful road of mendacity and deceit, was more than her
+imagination could picture. With loss of self-respect, self-control
+likewise threatened to depart. She became physically weak, mentally
+hysterical. The strain told terribly on her nature; and Chris mourned to
+note a darkness like storm-cloud under her grey eyes, and unwonted
+pallor upon her cheek. Dr. Parsons saw Phoebe at this juncture,
+prescribed soothing draughts, and ordered rest and repose; but to Chris
+the invalid clung, and Mr. Lyddon was not a little puzzled that the
+sister of Phoebe's bygone sweetheart should now possess such power to
+ease her mind and soothe her troubled nerves.
+
+John Grimbal obeyed the injunction laid upon him and absented himself
+from Monks Barton. All was prepared for the ceremony. He had left his
+Red House farm and taken rooms for the present at "The Three Crowns."
+Hither came his brother to see him four nights before the weddingday.
+Martin had promised to be best man, yet a shadow lay between the
+brothers, and John, his mind unnaturally jealous and suspicious from the
+nature of affairs with Phoebe, sulked of late in a conviction that
+Martin had watched his great step with unfraternal indifference and
+denied him the enthusiasm and congratulation proper to such an event.
+
+The younger man found his brother scanning a new black broadcloth coat
+when he entered. He praised it promptly, whereupon John flung it from
+him and showed no more interest in the garment. Martin, not to be
+offended, lighted his pipe, took an armchair beside the fire, and asked
+for some whiskey. This mollified the other a little; he produced
+spirits, loaded his own pipe, and asked the object of the visit.
+
+"A not over-pleasant business, John," returned his brother, frankly;
+"but 'Least said, soonest mended.' Only remember this, nothing must ever
+lessen our common regard. What I am going to say is inspired by my--"
+
+"Yes, yes--cut that. Spit it out and have done with it. I know there's
+been trouble in you for days. You can't hide your thoughts. You've been
+grim as a death's-head for a month--ever since I was engaged, come to
+think of it. Now open your jaws and have done."
+
+John's aggressive and hectoring manner spoke volubly of his own lack of
+ease. Martin nerved himself to begin, holding it his duty, but secretly
+fearing the issue in the light of his brother's hard, set face.
+
+"You've something bothering you too, old man. I'm sure of it. God is
+aware I don't know much about women myself, but--"
+
+"Oh, dry up that rot! Don't think I'm blind, if you are. Don't deceive
+yourself. There's a woman-hunger in you, too, though perhaps you haven't
+found it out yet. What about that Blanchard girl?"
+
+Martin flushed like a schoolboy; his hand went up over his mouth and
+chin as though to hide part of his guilt, and he looked alarmed and
+uneasy.
+
+John laughed without mirth at the other's ludicrous trepidation.
+
+"Good heavens! I've done nothing surely to suggest--?"
+
+"Nothing at all--except look as if you were going to have a fit every
+time you get within a mile of her. Lovers know the signs, I suppose.
+Don't pretend you're made of different stuff to the rest of us, that's
+all."
+
+Martin removed his hand and gasped before the spectacle of what he had
+revealed to other eyes. Then, after a silence of fifteen seconds, he
+shut his mouth again, wiped his forehead with his hand, and spoke.
+
+"I've been a silly fool. Only she's so wonderfully beautiful--don't you
+think so?"
+
+"A gypsy all over--if you call that beautiful."
+
+The other flushed up again, but made no retort.
+
+"Never mind me or anybody else. I want to speak to you about Phoebe, if
+I may, John. Who have I got to care about but you? I'm only thinking of
+your happiness, for that's dearer to me than my own; and you know in
+your heart that I'm speaking the truth when I say so."
+
+"Stick to your gate-posts and old walls and cow-comforts and dead
+stones. We all know you can look farther into Dartmoor granite than most
+men, if that's anything; but human beings are beyond you and always
+were. You'd have come home a pauper but for me."
+
+"D' you think I'm not grateful? No man ever had a better brother than
+you, and you've stood between me and trouble a thousand times. Now I
+want to stand between you and trouble."
+
+"What the deuce d' you mean by naming Phoebe, then?"
+
+"That is the trouble. Listen and don't shout me down. She's breaking her
+heart--blind or not blind, I see that--breaking her heart, not for you,
+but Will Blanchard. Nobody else has found it out; but I have, and I know
+it's my duty to tell you; and I've done it."
+
+An ugly twist came into John Grimbal's face. "You've done it; yes. Go
+on."
+
+"That's all, brother, and from your manner I don't believe it's entirely
+news to you."
+
+"Then get you gone, damned snake in the grass! Get gone, 'fore I lay a
+hand on you! You to turn and bite _me!_ Me, that's made you! I see it
+all--your blasted sheep's eyes at Chris Blanchard, and her always at
+Monks Barton! Don't lie about it," he roared, as Martin raised his hand
+to speak; "not a word more will I hear from your traitor's lips. Get out
+of my sight, you sneaking hypocrite, and never call me 'brother' no
+more, for I'll not own to it!"
+
+"You'll be sorry for this, John."
+
+"And you too. You'll smart all your life long when you think of this
+dirty trick played against a brother who never did you no hurt. You to
+come between me and the girl that's promised to marry me! And for your
+own ends. A manly, brotherly plot, by God!"
+
+"I swear, on my sacred honour, there's no plot against you. I've never
+spoken to a soul about this thing, nor has a soul spoken of it to me;
+that's the truth."
+
+"Rot you, and your sacred honour too! Go, and take your lies with you,
+and keep your own friends henceforth, and never cross my threshold
+more--you or your sacred, stinking honour either."
+
+Martin rose from his chair dazed and bewildered. He had seen his
+brother's passion wither up many a rascal in the past; but he himself
+had never suffered until now, and the savagery of this language hurled
+against his own pure motives staggered him. He, of course, knew nothing
+about Will Blanchard's enterprise, and his blundering and ill-judged
+effort to restrain his brother from marrying Phoebe was absolutely
+disinterested. It had been a tremendous task to him to speak on this
+delicate theme, and regard for John alone actuated him; now he departed
+without another word and went blankly to the little new stone house he
+had taken and furnished on the outskirts of Chagford under Middledown.
+He walked along the straight street of whitewashed cots that led him to
+his home, and reflected with dismay on this catastrophe. The
+conversation with his brother had scarcely occupied five minutes; its
+results promised to endure a lifetime.
+
+Meanwhile, and at the identical hour of this tremendous rupture, Chris
+Blanchard, well knowing that the morrow would witness Phoebe's secret
+marriage to her brother, walked down to see her. It happened that a
+small party filled the kitchen of Monks Barton, and the maid who
+answered her summons led Chris through the passage and upstairs to
+Phoebe's own door. There the girls spoke in murmurs together, while
+various sounds, all louder than their voices, proceeded from the kitchen
+below. There were assembled the miller, Billy Blee, Mr. Chapple, and one
+Abraham Chown, the police inspector of Chagford, a thin, black-bearded
+man, oppressed with the cares of his office.
+
+"They be arranging the programme of festive delights," explained Phoebe.
+"My heart sinks in me every way I turn now. All the world seems thinking
+about what's to come; an' I knaw it never will."
+
+"'T is a wonnerful straange thing to fall out. Never no such happened
+before, I reckon. But you 'm doin' right by the man you love, an' that's
+a thought for 'e more comfortin' than gospel in a pass like this. A
+promise is a promise, and you've got to think of all your life
+stretching out afore you. Will's jonic, take him the right way, and that
+you knaw how to do--a straight, true chap as should make any wife happy.
+Theer'll be waitin' afterwards an' gude need for all the patience you've
+got; but wance the wife of un, allus the wife of un; that's a butivul
+thing to bear in mind."
+
+"'T is so; 't is everything. An' wance we'm wed, I'll never tell a lie
+again, an' atone for all I have told, an' do right towards everybody."
+
+"You caan't say no fairer. Be any matter I can help 'e with?"
+
+"Nothing. It's all easy. The train starts for Moreton at half-past nine.
+Sam Bonus be gwaine to drive me in, and bide theer for me till I come
+back from Newton. Faither's awnly too pleased to let me go. I said 't
+was shopping."
+
+"An' when you come home you'll tell him--Mr. Lyddon--straight?"
+
+"Everything, an' thank God for a clean breast again."
+
+"An' Will?"
+
+"Caan't say what he'll do after. Theer'll be no real marryin' for us yet
+a while. Faither can have the law of Will presently,--that's all I
+knaw."
+
+"Trust Will to do the right thing; and mind, come what may to him,
+theer's allus Clem Hicks and me for friends."
+
+"Ban't likely to be many others left, come to-morrow night. But I've run
+away from my own thoughts to think of you and him often of late days.
+He'll get money and marry you, won't he, when his aunt, Mrs. Coomstock,
+dies?"
+
+"No; I thought so tu, an' hoped it wance; but Clem says what she've got
+won't come his way. She's like as not to marry, tu--there 'm a lot of
+auld men tinkering after her, Billy Blee among 'em."
+
+Sounds arose from beneath. They began with harsh and grating notes,
+interrupted by a violent hawking and spitting. Then followed renewal of
+the former unlovely noises. Presently, at a point in the song, for such
+it was, half a dozen other voices drowned the soloist in a chorus.
+
+"'T is Billy rehearsin' moosic," explained Phoebe, with a sickly smile.
+"He haven't singed for a score of years; but they've awver-persuaded him
+and he's promised to give 'em an auld ballet on my wedding-day."
+
+"My stars! 't is a gashly auld noise sure enough," criticised Phoebe's
+friend frankly; "for all the world like a stuck pig screechin', or the
+hum of the threshin' machine poor faither used to have, heard long ways
+off."
+
+Quavering and quivering, with sudden painful flights into a cracked
+treble, Billy's effort came to the listeners.
+
+    "'Twas on a Monday marnin'
+       Afore the break of day,
+     That I tuked up my turmit-hoe
+       An' trudged dree mile away!"
+
+Then a rollicking chorus, with rough music in it, surged to their ears--
+
+    "An' the fly, gee hoppee!
+     The fly, gee whoppee!
+     The fly be on the turmits,
+     For 't is all my eye for me to try
+     An' keep min off the turmits!"
+
+Mr. Blee lashed his memory and slowly proceeded, while Chris, moved by a
+sort of sudden mother-instinct towards pale and tearful Phoebe, strained
+her to her bosom, hugged her very close, kissed her, and bid her be
+hopeful and happy.
+
+"Taake gude heart, for you 'm to mate the best man in all the airth but
+wan!" she said; "an', if 't is awnly to keep Billy from singing in
+public, 't is a mercy you ban't gwaine to take Jan Grimbal. Doan't 'e
+fear for him. There'll be a thunder-storm for sartain; then he'll calm
+down, as better 'n him have had to 'fore now, an' find some other gal."
+
+With this comfort Chris caressed Phoebe once more, heartily pitying her
+helplessness, and wishing it in her power to undertake the approaching
+ordeal on the young bride's behalf. Then she departed, her eyes almost
+as dim as Phoebe's. For a moment she forgot her own helpless matrimonial
+projects in sorrow for her brother and his future wife. Marriage at the
+registry office represented to her, as to most women, an unlovely,
+uncomfortable, and unfinished ceremony. She had as easily pictured a
+funeral without the assistance of the Church as a wedding without it.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+OUTSIDE EXETER GAOL
+
+
+Within less than twelve hours of the time when she bid Chris farewell
+Phoebe Lyddon was Phoebe Lyddon no more. Will met her at Newton; they
+immediately proceeded to his uncle's office; and the Registrar had made
+them man and wife in space of time so brief that the girl could hardly
+realise the terrific event was accomplished, and that henceforth she
+belonged to Will alone. Mr. Ford had his little joke afterwards in the
+shape of a wedding-breakfast and champagne. He was gratified at the
+event and rejoiced to be so handsomely and tremendously revenged on his
+unfortunate enemy. The young couple partook of the good things provided
+for them; but appetite was lacking to right enjoyment of the banquet,
+and Will and his wife much desired to escape and be alone.
+
+Presently they returned to the station and arrived there before Phoebe's
+train departed. Her husband then briefly explained the remarkable course
+of action he designed to pursue.
+
+"You must be a braave gal and think none the worse of me. But't is this
+way: I've broke law, and a month or two, or six, maybe, in gaol have got
+to be done. Your faither will see to that."
+
+"Prison! O, Will! For marryin' me?"
+
+"No, but for marryin' you wi'out axin' leave. Miller Lyddon told me the
+upshot of taking you, if I done it; an' I have; an' he'll keep his word.
+So that's it. I doan't want to make no more trouble; an' bein' a man of
+resource I'm gwaine up to Exeter by first train, so soon as you've
+started. Then all bother in the matter will be saved Miller."
+
+"O Will! Must you?"
+
+"Ess fay, 't is my duty. I've thought it out through many hours. The
+time'll soon slip off; an' then I'll come back an' stand to work. Here's
+a empty carriage. Jump in. I can sit along with 'e for a few minutes."
+
+"How ever shall I begin? How shall I break it to them, dearie?"
+
+"Hold up your li'l hand," said Will with a laugh. "Shaw 'em the gawld
+theer. That'll speak for 'e. 'S truth!" he continued, with a gesture of
+supreme irritation, "but it's a hard thing to be snatched apart like
+this--man an' wife. If I was takin' 'e home to some lew cot, all our
+very awn, how differ'nt 't would be!"
+
+"You will some day."
+
+"So I will then. I've got 'e for all time, an' Jan Grimbal's missed 'e
+for all time. Damned if I ban't a'most sorry for un!"
+
+"So am I,--in a way,--as you are. My heart hurts me to think of him.
+He'll never forgive me."
+
+"Me, you mean. Well, 't is man to man, an' I ban't feared of nothing on
+two legs. You just tell 'em that 't was to be, that you never gived up
+lovin' me, but was forced into lyin' and such-like by the cruel way they
+pushed 'e. Shaw 'em the copy of the paper if they doan't b'lieve the
+ring. An' when Miller lifts up his voice to cuss me, tell un quiet that
+I knawed what must come of it, and be gone straight to Exeter Gaol to
+save un all further trouble. He'll see then I'm a thinking, calculating
+man, though young in years."
+
+Phoebe was now reduced to sighs and dry sobs. Will sat by her a little
+longer, patted her hands and spoke cheerfully. Then the train departed
+and he jumped from it as it moved and ran along the platform with a last
+earnest injunction.
+
+"See mother first moment you can an' explain how 't is. Mother'll
+understand, for faither did similar identical, though he wasn't put in
+clink for it."
+
+He waved his hand and Phoebe passed homewards. Then the fire died out of
+his eyes and he sighed and turned. But no shadow of weakness manifested
+itself in his manner. His jaw hardened, he smote his leg with his stick,
+and, ascertaining the time of the next train to Exeter, went back to bid
+Mr. Ford farewell before setting about his business.
+
+Will told his uncle nothing concerning the contemplated action; and such
+silence was unfortunate, for had he spoken the old man's knowledge must
+have modified his fantastic design. Knowing that Will came mysteriously
+from regular employment which he declined to discuss, and assuming that
+he now designed returning to it, Mr. Ford troubled no more about him. So
+his nephew thanked the Registrar right heartily for all the goodness he
+had displayed in helping two people through the great crisis of their
+lives, and went on his way. His worldly possessions were represented by
+a new suit of blue serge which he wore, and a few trifles in a small
+carpet-bag.
+
+It was the past rather than the present or future which troubled Will on
+his journey to Exeter; and the secret of the last six months, whatever
+that might be, lay heavier on his mind than the ordeal immediately ahead
+of him. In this coming achievement he saw no shame; it was merely part
+payment for an action lawless but necessary. He prided himself always on
+a great spirit of justice, and justice demanded that henceforth he must
+consider the family into which he had thus unceremoniously introduced
+himself. To no man in the wide world did he feel more kindly disposed
+than to Miller Lyddon; and his purpose was now to save his father-in-law
+all the annoyance possible.
+
+Arrived at Exeter, Will walked cheerfully away to the County Gaol, a
+huge red-brick pile that scarce strikes so coldly upon the eye of the
+spectator as ordinary houses of detention. Grey and black echo the
+significance of a prison, but warm red brick strikes through the eye to
+the brain, and the colour inspires a genial train of ideas beyond
+reason's power instantly to banish. But the walls, if ruddy, were high,
+and the rows of small, remote windows, black as the eye-socket of a
+skull, stretched away in dreary iron-bound perspective where the sides
+of the main fabric rose upward to its chastened architectural
+adornments. Young Blanchard grunted to himself, gripped his stick, from
+one end of which was suspended his carpet-bag, and walked to the wicket
+at the side of the prison's main entrance. He rang a bell that jangled
+with tremendous echoes among the naked walls within; then there followed
+the rattle of locks as the sidegate opened, and a warder looked out to
+ask Will his business. The man was burly and of stout build, while his
+fat, bearded face, red as the gaol walls themselves, attracted Blanchard
+by its pleasant expression. Will's eyes brightened at the aspect of this
+janitor; he touched his hat very civilly, wished the man "good
+afternoon," and was about to step in when the other stopped him.
+
+"Doan't be in such a hurry, my son. What's brought 'e, an' who do 'e
+want?"
+
+"My business is private, mister; I wants to see the head man."
+
+"The Governor? Won't nobody less do? You can't see him without proper
+appointment. But maybe a smaller man might serve your turn?"
+
+Will reflected, then laughed at the warder with that sudden magic of
+face that even softened hard hearts towards him.
+
+"To be plain, mate, I'm here to stop. You'll be sure to knaw 'bout it
+sooner or late, so I'll tell 'e now. I've done a thing I must pay for,
+and 't is a clink job, so I've comed right along."
+
+The warder grew rather sterner, and his eye instinctively roamed for a
+constable.
+
+"Best say no more, then. Awnly you've comed to the wrong place. Police
+station's what you want, I reckon."
+
+"Why for? This be County Gaol, ban't it?"
+
+"Ess, that's so; but we doan't take in folks for the axin'. Tu many
+queer caraters about."
+
+Will saw the man's eyes twinkle, yet he was puzzled at this unexpected
+problem.
+
+"Look here," he said, "I like you, and I'll deal fair by you an' tell
+you the rights of it. Step out here an' listen."
+
+"Mind, what you sez will be used against you, then."
+
+"Theer ban't no secret in it, for that matter."
+
+The husband thereupon related his recent achievement, and concluded
+thus:
+
+"So, having kicked up a mort o' trouble, I doan't want to make no
+more--see? An' I stepped here quiet to keep it out of the papers, an'
+just take what punishment's right an' vitty for marryin' a maid wi'out
+so much as by your leave. Now, then, caan't 'e do the rest?"
+
+He regarded the warder gravely and inquiringly, but as the red-faced man
+slowly sucked up the humour of the situation, his mouth expanded and his
+eyes almost disappeared. Then he spoke through outbursts and shakings of
+deep laughter.
+
+"Oh Lard! Wheerever was you born to?"
+
+Will flushed deeply, frowned, and clenched his fists at this question.
+
+"Shut your gert mouth!" he said angrily. "Doan't bellow like that, or
+I'll hit 'e awver the jaw! Do'e think I want the whole of Exeter City to
+knaw my errand? What's theer to gape an' snigger at? Caan't 'e treat a
+man civil?"
+
+This reproof set the official off again, and only a furious demand from
+Blanchard to go about his business and tell the Governor he wanted an
+interview partially steadied him.
+
+"By Gor! you'll be the death of me. Caan't help it--honour
+bright--doan't mean no rudeness to you. Bless your young heart, an' the
+gal's, whoever she be. Didn't 'e knaw? But theer! course you didn't,
+else you wouldn't be here. Why, 't is purty near as hard to get in
+prison as out again. You'll have to be locked up, an' tried by judge an'
+jury, and plead guilty, and be sentenced, an' the Lard He knaws what
+beside 'fore you come here. How do the lawyers an' p'licemen get their
+living?"
+
+"That's news. I hoped to save Miller Lyddon all such trouble."
+
+"Why not try another way, an' see if you can get the auld gentleman to
+forgive 'e?"
+
+"Not him. He'll have the law in due time."
+
+"Well, I'm 'mazin' sorry I caan't oblige 'e, for I'm sure we'd be gude
+friends, an' you'd cheer us all up butivul."
+
+"But you 'm certain it caan't be managed?"
+
+"Positive."
+
+"Then I've done all a man can. You'll bear witness I wanted to come,
+won't 'e?"
+
+"Oh yes, I'll take my oath o' that. _I_ shaan't forget 'e."
+
+"All right. And if I'm sent here again, bimebye, I'll look out for you,
+and I hopes you'll be as pleasant inside as now."
+
+"I'll promise that. Shall be awnly tu pleased to make you at home. I
+like you; though, to be frank, I reckon you'm tu gnat-brained a chap to
+make a wife happy."
+
+"Then you reckon a damned impedent thing! What d' you knaw 'bout it?"
+
+"A tidy deal. I've been married more years than you have hours, I lay."
+
+"Age ban't everything; 't is the fashion brains in a man's head counts
+most."
+
+"That's right enough. 'T is something to knaw that. Gude-bye to 'e,
+bwoy, an' thank you for makin' me laugh heartier than I have this month
+of Sundays."
+
+"More fule you!" declared Will; but he was too elated at the turn of
+affairs to be anything but amiable just now. Before the other
+disappeared, he stopped him.
+
+"Shake hands, will 'e? I thank you for lightenin' my mind--bein' a man
+of law, in a manner of speakin'. Ess, I'm obliged to 'e. Of coourse I
+doan't _want_ to come to prison 'zackly. That's common sense."
+
+"Most feel same as you. No doubt you're in the wrong, though the law
+caan't drop on honest, straightforrard matrimony to my knowledge. Maybe
+circumstances is for 'e."
+
+"Ess, they be--every jack wan of 'em!" declared Will. "An' if I doan't
+come here to stop, I'll call in some day and tell 'e the upshot of this
+coil in a friendly way."
+
+"Do so, an' bring your missis. Shall be delighted to see the pair of 'e
+any time. Ax for Thomas Bates."
+
+Will nodded and marched off, while the warder returned to his post, and
+when he had again made fast the door behind him, permitted the full
+splendor of his recent experience to tumble over his soul in a laughter
+perhaps louder than any heard before or since within the confines of one
+of Her Majesty's prisons.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+THE BRINGING OF THE NEWS
+
+
+Phoebe meantime returned to Chagford, withdrew herself into her chamber,
+and feverishly busied brains and hands with a task commended that
+morning by Will when she had mentioned it to him. The various trinkets
+and objects of value lavished of late upon her by John Grimbal she made
+into a neat packet, and tied up a sealskin jacket and other furs in a
+second and more bulky parcel. With these and a letter she presently
+despatched a maid to Mr. Grimbal's temporary address. Phoebe's note
+explained how, weak and friendless until the sudden return of Will into
+her life, she had been thrown upon wickedness, falsehood, and deceit to
+win her own salvation in the face of all about her. She told him of the
+deed done that day, begged him to be patient and forget her, and
+implored him to forgive her husband, who had fought with the only
+weapons at his command. It was a feeble communication, and Phoebe
+thought that her love for Will might have inspired words more forcible;
+but relief annihilated any other emotion; she felt thankful that the
+lying, evasion, and prevarication of the last horrible ten days were at
+an end. From the nightmare of that time her poor, bruised conscience
+emerged sorely stricken; yet she felt that the battle now before her was
+a healthy thing by comparison, and might serve to brace her moral senses
+rather than not.
+
+At the tea-table she first met her father, and there were present also
+Billy Blee and Mr. Chapple. The latter had come to Monks Barton about a
+triumphal arch, already in course of erection at Chagford market-place,
+and his presence it was that precipitated her confession, and brought
+Phoebe's news like a thunderbolt upon the company.
+
+Mr. Chapple, looking up suddenly from the saucer that rested upon his
+outspread fingers and thumb, made a discovery, and spoke with some
+concern.
+
+"Faith, Missy, that's ill luck--a wisht thing to do indeed! Put un off,
+like a gude maid, for theer 's many a wise sayin' 'gainst it."
+
+"What's her done?" asked Billy anxiously.
+
+"Luke 'pon her weddin' finger. 'Tis poor speed to put un on 'fore her
+lard an' master do it, at the proper moment ordained by Scripture."
+
+"If she hasn't! Take un off, Miss Phoebe, do!" begged Mr. Blee, in real
+trepidation; and the miller likewise commanded his daughter to remove
+her wedding-ring.
+
+"An auld wife's tale, but, all the same, shouldn't be theer till you 'm
+a married woman," he said.
+
+Thus challenged, the way was made smooth as possible for the young wife.
+She went over to her father, walked close to him, and put her plump
+little hand with its shining addition upon his shoulder.
+
+"Faither dear, I be a married woman. I had to tell lies and play false,
+but't was to you an' Mr. Grimbal I've been double, not to my husband
+that is. I was weak, and I've been punished sore, but--"
+
+"Why, gal alive! what rigmarole 's this? Married--ay, an' so you shall
+be, in gude time. You 'm light-headed, lass, I do b'lieve. But doan't
+fret, I'll have Doctor--"
+
+"Hear me," she said, almost roughly. "I kept my word--my first sacred
+word--to Will. I loved him, an' none else but him; an' 'tis done--I've
+married him this marnin', for it had to be, an' theer's the sign an'
+token of it I've brought along with me."
+
+She drew the copy of the register from her pocket, opened it with
+trembling fingers, set it before Mr. Lyddon, and waited for him to
+speak. But it was some time before he found words or wind to do so.
+Literally the fact had taken his breath. A curious expression, more grin
+than frown--an expression beyond his control in moments of high
+emotion--wrinkled his eyelids, stretched his lips, and revealed the
+perfect double row of his false teeth. His hand went forward to the blue
+paper now lying before him, then the fingers stopped half way and shook
+in the air. Twice he opened his mouth, but only a sharp expiration,
+between a sigh and a bark, escaped.
+
+"My God, you've shook the sawl of un!" cried Billy, starting forward,
+but the miller with an effort recovered his self-possession, scanned the
+paper, dropped it, and lifted up his voice in lamentation.
+
+"True--past altering--'t is a thing done! May God forgive you for this
+wicked deed, Phoebe Lyddon--I'd never have b'lieved it of 'e--never--not
+if an angel had tawld me. My awn that was, and my awnly one! My darter,
+my soft-eyed gal, the crown of my grey hairs, the last light of my
+life!"
+
+"I pray you'll come to forgive me in time, dear faither. I doan't ax 'e
+to yet a while. I had to do it--a faithful promise. 'T was for pure
+love, faither; I lied for him--lied even to you; an' my heart 's been
+near to breakin' for 'e these many days; but you'd never have listened
+if I'd told 'e."
+
+"Go," he said very quietly. "I caan't abear the sight of'e just now. An'
+that poor fule, as thrawed his money in golden showers for 'e! Oh, my
+gude God, why for did 'E leave me any childern at all? Why didn't 'E
+take this cross-hearted wan when t' other was snatched away? Why didn't
+'E fill the cup of my sorrer to the brim at a filling an' not drop by
+drop, to let un run awver now I be auld?"
+
+Phoebe turned to him in bitter tears, but the man's head was down on his
+hands beside his plate and cup, and he, too, wept, with a pitiful
+childish squeak between his sobs. Weakness so overwhelming and so
+unexpected--a father's sorrow manifested in this helpless feminine
+fashion--tore the girl's very heartstrings. She knelt beside him and put
+her arms about him; but he pushed her away and with some return of
+self-control and sternness again bid her depart from him. This Phoebe
+did, and there was silence, while Mr. Lyddon snuffled, steadied himself,
+wiped his face with a cotton handkerchief, and felt feebly for a pair of
+spectacles in his pocket. Mr. Chapple, meantime, had made bold to scan
+the paper with round eyes, and Billy, now seeing the miller in some part
+recovered, essayed to comfort him.
+
+"Theer, theer, maister, doan't let this black come-along-o't quench 'e
+quite. That's better! You such a man o' sense, tu! 'T was
+awver-ordained by Providence, though a artful thing in a young gal; but
+women be such itemy twoads best o' times--stage-players by sex, they
+sez; an' when love for a man be hid in 'em, gormed if they caan't fox
+the God as made 'em!"
+
+"Her to do it! The unthankfulness, the cold cruelty of it! An' me that
+was mother an' father both to her--that did rock her cradle with these
+hands an' wash the li'l year-auld body of her. To forget all--all she
+owed! It cuts me that deep!"
+
+"Deep as a wire into cheese, I lay. An' well it may; but han't no new
+thing; you stablish yourself with that. The ways o' women 's like--'t
+was a sayin' of Solomon I caan't call home just this minute; but he
+knawed, you mind, none better. He had his awn petticoat trouble, same as
+any other Christian man given to women. What do 'e say, neighbour?"
+
+Billy, of opinion that Mr. Chapple should assist him in this painful
+duty, put the last question to his rotund friend, but the other, for
+answer, rose and prepared to depart.
+
+"I say," he answered, "that I'd best go up-along and stop they chaps
+buildin' the triumphant arch. 'Pears won't be called for now. An'
+theer's a tidy deal else to do likewise. Folks was comin' in from the
+Moor half a score o' miles for this merry-makin'."
+
+"'T is a practical thought," said Billy. "Them as come from far be like
+to seem fules if nothin' 's done. You go up the village an' I'll follow
+'e so quick as I can."
+
+Mr. Chapple thereupon withdrew and Billy turned to the miller. Mr.
+Lyddon had wandered once and again up and down the kitchen, then fallen
+into his customary chair; and there he now sat, his elbows on his knees,
+his hands over his face. He was overwhelmed; his tears hurt him
+physically and his head throbbed. Twenty years seemed to have piled
+themselves upon his brow in as many minutes.
+
+"Sure I could shed water myself to see you like this here," said Mr.
+Blee, sympathetically; "but 't is wan of them eternal circumstances we
+'m faaced with that all the rain falled of a wet winter won't wash away.
+Theer 's the lines. They 'm a fact, same as the sun in heaven 's a fact.
+God A'mighty's Self couldn't undo it wi'out some violent invention; an'
+for that matter I doan't see tu clear how even Him be gwaine to magic a
+married woman into a spinster again; any more than He could turn a
+spinster into a married woman, onless some ordinary human man came
+forrard. You must faace it braave an' strong. But that imp o'
+Satan--that damn Blanchard bwoy! Theer! I caan't say what I think 'bout
+him. Arter all that's been done: the guests invited, the banns axed
+out, the victuals bought, and me retracin' my ballet night arter night,
+for ten days, to get un to concert pitch--well, 't is a matter tu deep
+for mere speech."
+
+"The--the young devil! I shall have no pity--not a spark. I wish to God
+he could hang for it!"
+
+"As to that, might act worse than leave it to Jan Grimbal. He'll do
+summat 'fore you've done talkin', if I knaw un. An' a son-in-law 's a
+son-in-law, though he've brought it to pass by a brigand deed same as
+this. 'T is a kicklish question what a man should do to the person of
+his darter's husband. You bide quiet an' see what chances. Grimbal's
+like to take law into his awn hands, as any man of noble nature might in
+this quandary."
+
+The disappointed lover's probable actions offered dreary food for
+thought, and the two old men were still conversing when a maid entered
+to lay the cloth for supper. Then Billy proceeded to the village and Mr.
+Lyddon, unnerved and restless, rambled aimlessly into the open air,
+addressed any man or woman who passed from the adjacent cottages, and
+querulously announced, to the astonishment of chance listeners, that his
+daughter's match was broken off.
+
+An hour later Phoebe reappeared in the kitchen and occupied her usual
+place at the supper-table. No one spoke a word, but the course of the
+meal was suddenly interrupted, for there came a knock at the farmhouse
+door, and without waiting to be answered, somebody lifted the latch,
+tramped down the stone passage, and entered the room.
+
+Now Phoebe, in the privacy of her little chamber beneath the thatch, had
+reflected miserably on the spectacle of her husband far away in a prison
+cell, with his curls cropped off and his shapely limbs clad
+convict-fashion. When, therefore, Will, and not John Grimbal, as she
+expected, stood before her, his wife was perhaps more astonished than
+any other body present. Young Blanchard appeared, however. He looked
+weary and hungry, for he had been on his legs during the greater part of
+the day and had forgotten to eat since his pretence of wedding-breakfast
+ten hours earlier. Now, newly returned from Exeter, he came straight to
+Monks Barton before going to his home.
+
+Billy Blee was the first to find his voice before this sudden
+apparition. His fork, amply laden, hung in the air as though his arm was
+turned to stone; with a mighty gulp he emptied his mouth and spoke.
+
+"Gormed if you ban't the most 'mazin' piece ever comed out o' Chagford!"
+
+"Miller Lyddon," said Will, not heeding Mr. Blee, "I be here to say wan
+word 'fore I goes out o' your sight. You said you'd have law of me if I
+took Phoebe; an' that I done, 'cause we was of a mind. Now we 'm man an'
+wife, an' I'm just back from prison, wheer I went straight to save you
+trouble. But theer 's preambles an' writs an' what not. I shall be to
+mother's, an' you can send Inspector Chown when you like. It had to come
+'cause we was of a mind."
+
+He looked proudly at Phoebe, but departed without speaking to her, and
+silence followed his going. Mr. Lyddon stared blankly at the door
+through which Will departed, then his rage broke forth.
+
+"Curse the wretch! Curse him to his dying day! An' I'll do more--more
+than that. What he can suffer he shall, and if I've got to pay my last
+shilling to get him punishment I'll do it--my last shilling I'll pay."
+
+He had not regarded his daughter or spoken to her since his words at
+their first meeting; and now, still ignoring Phoebe's presence, he began
+eagerly debating with Billy Blee as to what law might have power to do.
+The girl, wisely enough, kept silence, ate a little food, and then went
+quietly away to her bed. She was secretly overjoyed at Will's return and
+near presence; but another visitor might be expected at any moment, and
+Phoebe knew that to be in bed before the arrival of John Grimbal would
+save her from the necessity of a meeting she much feared. She entered
+upon her wedding-night, therefore, while the voices below droned on, now
+rising, now falling; then, while she was saying her prayers with half
+her mind on them, the other half feverishly intent on a certain sound,
+it came. She heard the clink, clink of the gate, thrown wide open and
+now swinging backwards and forwards, striking the hasp each time; then a
+heavy step followed it, feet strode clanging down the passage, and the
+bull roar of a man's voice fell on her ear. Upon this she huddled under
+the clothes, but listened for a second at long intervals to hear when he
+departed. The thing that had happened, however, since her husband's
+departure and John Grimbal's arrival, remained happily hidden from
+Phoebe until next morning, by which time a climax in affairs was past
+and the outcome of tragic circumstances fully known.
+
+When Blanchard left the farm, he turned his steps very slowly homewards,
+and delayed some minutes on Rushford Bridge before appearing to his
+mother. For her voice he certainly yearned, and for her strong sense to
+throw light upon his future actions; but she did not know everything
+there was to be known and he felt that with himself, when all was said,
+lay decision as to his next step. While he reflected a new notion took
+shape and grew defined and seemed good to him.
+
+"Why not?" he said to himself, aloud. "Why not go back? Seeing the
+provocation--they might surely--?" He pursued the idea silently and came
+to a determination. Yet the contemplated action was never destined to be
+performed, for now an accident so trifling as the chance glimmer of a
+lucifer match contributed to remodel the scheme of his life and wholly
+shatter immediate resolutions. Craving a whiff of tobacco, without which
+he had been since morning, Will lighted his pipe, and the twinkle of
+flame as he did so showed his face to a man passing across the bridge at
+that moment. He stopped in his stride, and a great bellow of wrath
+escaped him, half savage, half joyful.
+
+"By God! I didn't think to meet so soon!"
+
+Here was a red-hot raving Nemesis indeed; and Will, while prepared for a
+speedy meeting with his enemy, neither expected nor desired an encounter
+just then. But it had come, and he knew what was before him. Grimbal,
+just returned from a long day's sport, rode back to his hotel in a good
+temper. He drank a brandy-and-soda at the bar, then went up to his rooms
+and found Phoebe's letter; whereupon, as he was in muddy pink, he set
+off straight for Monks Barton; and now he stood face to face with the
+man on earth he most desired to meet. By the light of his match Will saw
+a red coat, white teeth under a great yellow moustache, and a pair of
+mad, flaming eyes, hungry for something. He knew what was coming, moved
+quickly from the parapet of the bridge, and flung away his pipe to free
+his hands. As he did so the other was on him. Will warded one tremendous
+stroke from a hunting-crop; then they came to close quarters, and
+Grimbal, dropping his whip, got in a heavy half-arm blow on his enemy's
+face before they gripped in holds. The younger man, in no trim for
+battle, reeled and tried to break away; but the other had him fast,
+picked him clean off the ground, and, getting in his weight, used a
+Yankee throw, with intent to drop Will against the granite of the
+bridge. But though Blanchard went down like a child before the attack,
+he disappeared rather than fell; and in the pitchy night it seemed as
+though some amiable deity had caught up the vanquished into air. A
+sudden pressure of the low parapet against his own legs as he staggered
+forward, told John Grimbal what was done and, at the same moment, a
+tremendous splash in the water below indicated his enemy's dismal
+position. Teign, though not in flood at the time, ran high, and just
+below the bridge a deep pool opened out. Around it were rocks upon which
+rose the pillars of the bridge. No sound or cry followed Will
+Blanchard's fall; no further splash of a swimmer, or rustle on the
+river's bank, indicated any effort from him. Grimbal's first instincts
+were those of regret that revenge had proved so brief. His desire was
+past before he had tasted it. Then for a moment he hesitated, and the
+first raving lust to kill Phoebe's husband waned a trifle before the
+sudden conviction that he had done so. He crept down to the river,
+ploughed about to find the man, questioning what he should do if he did
+find him. His wrath waxed as he made search, and he told himself that he
+should only trample Blanchard deeper into water if he came upon him. He
+kicked here and there with his heavy boots; then abandoned the search
+and proceeded to Monks Barton.
+
+Into the presence of the miller he thundered, and for a time said
+nothing of the conflict from which he had come. The scene needs no
+special narration. Vain words and wishes, oaths and curses, filled John
+Grimbal's mouth. He stamped on the floor, finding it impossible to
+remain motionless, roared the others down, loaded the miller with bitter
+reproaches for his blindness, silenced Mr. Blee on every occasion when
+he attempted to join the discussion. The man, in fine, exhibited that
+furious, brute passion and rage to be expected from such a nature
+suddenly faced with complete dislocation of cherished hopes. His life
+had been a long record of success, and this tremendous reverse, on his
+first knowledge of it, came near to unhinge John Grimbal's mind. Storm
+succeeded storm, explosion followed upon explosion, and the thought of
+the vanity of such a display only rendered him more frantic. Then chance
+reminded the raging maniac of that thing he had done, and now, removed
+from the deed by a little time, he gloried in it.
+
+"Blast the devil--short shrift he got--given straight into my hand! I
+swore to kill him when I heard it; an' I have--pitched him over the
+bridge and broken his blasted neck. I'd burn in ragin' hell through ten
+lifetimes to do it again. But that's done once for all. And you can tell
+your whore of a daughter she's a widow, not a wife!"
+
+"God be gude to us!" cried Billy, while Mr. Lyddon started in dismay.
+"Is this true you'm tellin'? Blue murder? An' so, like's not, his awn
+mother'll find un when she goes to draw water in the marnin'!"
+
+"Let her, and his sister, too; and my God-damned brother! All in
+it--every cursed one of 'em. I'd like--I'd like--Christ--"
+
+He broke off, was silent for a moment, then strode out of the room
+towards the staircase. Mr. Lyddon heard him and rushed after him with
+Billy. They scrambled past and stood at the stair-foot while Grimbal
+glanced up in the direction of Phoebe's room, and then glared at the two
+old men.
+
+"Why not, you doddering fools? Can you still stand by her, cursed jade
+of lies? My work's only half done! No man's ever betrayed me but he's
+suffered hell for it; and no woman shall."
+
+He raged, and the two with beating hearts waited for him.
+
+Then suddenly laughing aloud, the man turned his back, and passed into
+the night without more words.
+
+"Mad, so mad as any zany!" gasped Mr. Blee. "Thank God the whim's took
+un to go. My innards was curdlin' afore him!"
+
+The extravagance of Grimbal's rage had affected Mr. Lyddon also. With
+white and terrified face he crept after Grimbal, and watched that
+tornado of a man depart.
+
+"My stars! He do breathe forth threatenings and slaughters worse 'n in
+any Bible carater ever I read of," said the miller, "and if what he sez
+be true--"
+
+"I'll wager 't is. Theer 's method in him. Your son-in-law, if I may say
+it, be drownded, sure 's death. What a world!"
+
+"Get the lanterns and call Sam Bonus. He must stand to this door an' let
+no man in while we 'm away. God send the chap ban't dead. I don't like
+for a long-cripple to suffer torture."
+
+"That's your high religion. An' I'll carry the brandy, for 't is a
+liquor, when all 's said, what 's saved more bodies in this world than
+it 's damned sawls in the next, an' a thing pleasant, tu, used with
+sense--specially if a man can sleep 'fore 't is dead in un."
+
+"Hurry, hurry! Every minute may mean life or death. I'll call Bonus; you
+get the lanterns."
+
+Ten minutes later a huge labourer stood guard over Monks Barton, and the
+miller, with his man, entered upon their long and fruitless search. The
+thaw had come, but glimmering ridges of snow still outlined the bases of
+northern-facing hedges along the river. With infinite labour and some
+difficulty they explored the stream, then, wet and weary, returned by
+the southern bank to their starting-point at Rushford Bridge. Here Billy
+found a cloth cap by the water's edge, and that was the only evidence of
+Will's downfall. As they clambered up from the river Mr. Lyddon noted
+bright eyes shining across the night, and found that the windows of Mrs.
+Blanchard's cottage were illuminated.
+
+"They 'm waitin' for him by the looks of it," he said. "What ought us to
+do, I wonder?"
+
+Billy never objected to be the bearer of news, good or ill, so that it
+was sensational; but a thought struck him at seeing the lighted windows.
+
+"Why, it may be he's theer! If so, then us might find Grimbal didn't
+slay un arter all. 'T was such a miz-maze o' crooked words he let fly
+'pon us, that perhaps us misread un."
+
+"I wish I thought so. Come. Us can ax that much."
+
+A few minutes later they stood at Mrs. Blanchard's door and knocked. The
+widow herself appeared, fully dressed, wide awake, and perfectly
+collected. Her manner told Mr. Lyddon nothing.
+
+"What might you want, Miller?"
+
+"'T is Will. There's bin blows struck and violence done, I hear."
+
+"I can tell 'e the rest. The bwoy's paid his score an' got full measure.
+He wanted to be even with you, tu, but they wouldn't let un."
+
+"If he ban't dead, I'll make him smart yet for his evil act."
+
+"I warned 'e. He was cheated behind his back, an' played with the same
+cards what you did, and played better."
+
+"Wheer is he now? That's what I want to knaw."
+
+"Up in the house. They met on the bridge an' Grimbal bested him, Will
+bein' weary an' empty-bellied. When the man flinged him in the stream,
+he got under the arch behind the rocks afore he lost his head for a time
+and went senseless. When he comed to he crawled up the croft and I let
+un in."
+
+"Thank God he's not dead; but punishment he shall have if theer's
+justice in the land."
+
+"Bide your time. He won't shirk it. But he's hurted proper; you might
+let Jan Grimbal knaw, 't will ease his mind."
+
+"Not it," declared Billy; "he thought he'd killed un; cracked the neck
+of un."
+
+"The blow 'pon his faace scatted abroad his left nostril; the fall
+brawked his arm, not his neck; an' the spurs t' other was wearin' tored
+his leg to the bone. Doctor's seen un; so tell Grimbal. Theer's pleasure
+in such payment."
+
+She spoke without emotion, and showed no passion against the master of
+the Red House. When Will had come to her, being once satisfied in her
+immediate motherly agony that his life was not endangered, she allowed
+her mind a sort of secret, fierce delight at his performance and its
+success in the main issue. She was proud of him at the bottom of her
+heart; but before other eyes bore herself with outward imperturbability.
+
+"You'll keep the gal, I reckon?" she said quietly; "if you can hold hand
+off Will till he'm on his legs again, I'd thank you."
+
+"I shall do what I please, when I please; an' my poor fule of a daughter
+stops with me as long as I've got power to make her."
+
+"Hope you'll live to see things might have been worse."
+
+"That's impossible. No worse evil could have fallen upon me. My grey
+hairs a laughing-stock, and your awn brother's hand in it. He knawed
+well enough the crime he was committing."
+
+"You've a short memory, Miller. I lay Jan Grimbal knaws the reason if
+you doan't. The worm that can sting does, if you tread on it. Gude-night
+to 'e."
+
+"An' how do you find yourself now?" Billy inquired, as his master and he
+returned to Monks Barton.
+
+"Weary an' sick, an' filled with gall. Was it wrong to make the match,
+do 'e think, seein' 't was all for love of my cheel? Was I out to push
+so strong for it? I seem I done right, despite this awful mischance."
+
+"An' so you did; an' my feelin's be the same as yours to a split hair,
+though I've got no language for em at this unnatural hour of marnin',"
+said Billy.
+
+Then in silence, to the bobbing illumination of their lanterns, Mr.
+Lyddon and his familiar dragged their weary bodies home.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+LOVE AND GREY GRANITE
+
+
+The lofty central area of Devon has ever presented a subject of
+fascination to geologists; and those evidences of early man which adorn
+Dartmoor to-day have similarly attracted antiquarian minds for many
+generations past. But the first-named student, although his researches
+plunge him into periods of mundane time inconceivably more remote than
+that with which the archaeologist is concerned, yet reaches conclusions
+more definite and arrives at a nearer approximation to truth than any
+who occupy themselves in the same area with manifold and mysterious
+indications of early humanity's sojourn. The granite upheaval during
+that awful revolt of matter represented by the creation of Dartmoor has
+been assigned to a period between the Carboniferous and Permian eras;
+but whether the womb of one colossal volcano or the product of a
+thousand lesser eruptions threw forth this granite monster, none may yet
+assert. Whether Dartmoor first appeared as a mighty shield, with one
+uprising spike in its midst, or as a target supporting many separate
+bosses cannot be declared; for the original aspect of the region has
+long vanished, though our worn and weathered land of tors still shadows,
+in its venerable desolation, those sublimer, more savage glories
+manifested ere the eye of man or beast existed to receive an image of
+them.
+
+But the earliest human problems presented by Devon's watershed admit of
+no sure solution, albeit they date from a time adjacent contrasted with
+that wherein the land was born. Nature's message still endures for man
+to read as his knowledge grows; but the records of our primal fellows
+have grown dim and uncertain as the centuries rolled over them. There
+exists, however, within the lofty, lonely kingdom of the granite, a
+chain of human evidences extending from prehistoric ages to the ruined
+shepherd's cot of yesterday. At many spots a spectator may perceive in
+one survey the stone ruin of the Danmonian's habitation, and hypaethral
+temple or forum, the heather-clad debris left by Elizabethan streamers
+of alluvial tin, the inky peat-ridges from which a moorman has just cut
+his winter firing. But the first-named objects, with kindred fragments
+that have similarly endured, chiefly fire imagination. Seen grey at
+gloaming time, golden through sunny dawns, partaking in those spectral
+transformations cast upon the moor by the movement of clouds, by the
+curtains of the rain, by the silver of breaking day, the monotone of
+night and the magic of the moon, these relics reveal themselves and
+stand as a link between the present and the far past. Mystery broods
+over them and the jealous wings of the ages hide a measure of their
+secret. Thus far these lonely rings of horrent stones and the alignments
+between them have concealed their story from modern man, and only in
+presence of the ancient pound, the foundations of a dwelling, the
+monolith that marked a stone-man's sepulchre, the robbed cairn and naked
+kistvaen, may we speak with greater certainty and, through the
+glimmering dawn of history and the records of Britain's earliest foes,
+burrow back to aboriginal man on Dartmoor. Then research and imagination
+rebuild the eternal rings of granite and, erecting upon them tall domes
+of thatch and skins on wattle ribs, conceive the early village like a
+cluster of gigantic mushrooms, whose cowls are uplifted in that rugged
+fastness through the night of time. We see Palaeolithic man sink into
+mother earth before the superior genius of his Neolithic successor; and
+we note the Damnonian shepherds flourishing in lonely lodges and
+preserving their flocks from the wolf, while Egypt's pyramids were still
+of modern creation, and the stars twinkled in strange constellations,
+above a world innocent as yet of the legends that would name them. The
+stone-workers have vanished away, but their labour endures; their
+fabricated flints still appear, brought to light from barrows and
+peat-ties, from the burrows of rabbits and the mounds of the antiquary
+mole; the ruins of their habitations, the theatres of their assemblies
+and unknown ceremonies still stand, and probably will continue so to do
+as long as Dartmoor's bosom lies bare to the storm and stress of the
+ages.
+
+Modern man has also fretted the wide expanse, has scratched its surface
+and dropped a little sweat and blood; but his mansion and his cot and
+his grave are no more; plutonic rock is the only tablet on which any
+human story has been scribbled to endure. Castles and manor-houses have
+vanished from the moorland confines like the cloudy palaces of a dream;
+the habitations of the mining folk shall not be seen to-day, and their
+handiwork quickly returns to primitive waste; fern and furze hide the
+robbed cairn and bury the shattered cross; flood and lightning and
+tempest roam over the darkness of a region sacred to them, and man
+stretches his hand for what Nature touches not; but the menhir yet
+stands erect, the "sacred" circles are circles still, and these, with
+like records of a dim past, present to thinking travellers the crown and
+first glory of the Moor. Integral portions of the ambient desolation are
+they--rude toys that infant humanity has left in Mother Nature's lap;
+and the spectacle of them twines a golden thread of human interest into
+the fabric of each lonely heath, each storm-scarred mountain-top and
+heron-haunted stream. Nothing is changed since skin-clad soldiers and
+shepherds strode these wastes, felt their hearts quicken at sight of
+women, or their hands clench over celt-headed spears before danger. Here
+the babies of the stone-folk, as the boys and girls to-day, stained
+their little mouths and ringers with fruit of briar and whortle; the
+ling bloomed then as now; the cotton-grass danced its tattered plume;
+the sphagnum mosses opened emerald-green eyes in marsh and quaking bog;
+and hoary granite scattered every ravine and desert valley. About those
+aboriginal men the Moor spread forth the same horizon of solemn
+enfolding hills, and where twinkle the red hides of the moor-man's
+heifers through upstanding fern, in sunny coombs and hawthorn thickets,
+yesterday the stone-man's cattle roamed and the little eyes of a hidden
+bear followed their motions. Here, indeed, the first that came in the
+flesh are the last to vanish in their memorials; here Nature, to whom
+the hut-circle of granite, all clad in Time's lichen livery of gold and
+grey, is no older than the mushroom ring shining like a necklace of
+pearls within it--Nature may follow what course she will, may build as
+she pleases, may probe to the heart of things, may pursue the eternal
+Law without let from the pigmies; and here, if anywhere from man's
+precarious standpoint, shall he perceive the immutable and observe a
+presentment of himself in those ephemera that dance above the burn at
+dawn, and ere twilight passes gather up their gauze wings and perish.
+
+According to individual temperament this pregnant region attracts and
+fascinates the human spectator or repels him. Martin Grimbal loved
+Dartmoor and, apart from ties of birth and early memories, his natural
+predilections found thereon full scope and play. He was familiar with
+most of those literary productions devoted to the land, and now
+developed an ambition to add some result of personal observation and
+research to extant achievements. He went to work with method and
+determination, and it was not until respectable accumulations of notes
+and memoranda already appeared as the result of his labours that the man
+finally--almost reluctantly--reconciled himself to the existence of
+another and deeper interest in his life than that furnished by the grey
+granite monuments of the Moor. Hide it from himself he could no longer,
+nor yet wholly from others. As in wild Devon it is difficult at any time
+to escape from the murmur of waters unseen, so now the steady flood of
+this disquieting emotion made music at all waking hours in Martin's
+archaeologic mind, shattered his most subtle theories unexpectedly, and
+oftentimes swept the granite clean out of his head on the flood of a
+golden river.
+
+After three months of this beautiful but disquieting experience, Martin
+resigned himself to the conclusion that he was in love with Chris
+Blanchard. He became very cautious and timid before the discovery. He
+feared much and contemplated the future with the utmost distrust. Doubt
+racked him; he checked himself from planning courses of conduct built on
+mad presumptions. By night, as a sort of debauch, in those hours when
+man is awake and fancy free, he conceived of a happy future with Chris
+and little children about him; at morning light, if any shadow of that
+fair vision returned, he blushed and looked round furtively, as though
+some thought-reader's cold eye must be sneering at such presumption. He
+despaired of finding neutral ground from which his dry mind could make
+itself attractive to a girl. Now and again he told himself that the new
+emotion must be crushed, in that it began to stand between him and the
+work he had set himself to do for his county; but during more sanguine
+moods he challenged this decision and finally, as was proper and right,
+the flood of the man's first love drowned menhir and hut-circle fathoms
+deep, and demanded all his attention at the cost of mental peace. An
+additional difficulty appeared in the fact that the Blanchard family
+were responsible for John Grimbal's misfortune; and Martin, without
+confusing the two circumstances, felt that before him really lay the
+problem of a wife or a brother. When first he heard of the event that
+set Chagford tongues wagging so briskly, he rightly judged that John
+would hold him one of the conspirators; and an engagement to Chris
+Blanchard must certainly confirm the baffled lover's suspicions and part
+the men for ever. But before those words, as they passed through his
+brain, Martin Grimbal stopped, as the peasant before a shrine. "An
+engagement to Chris Blanchard!" He was too much a man and too deep
+merged in love to hesitate before the possibility of such unutterable
+happiness.
+
+For his brother he mourned deeply enough, and when the thousand rumours
+bred of the battle on the bridge were hatched and fluttered over the
+countryside, Martin it was who exerted all his power to stay them. Most
+people were impressed with the tragic nature of the unfortunate John's
+disappointment; but his energetic measures since the event were held to
+pay all scores, and it was believed the matter would end without any
+more trouble from him. Clement Hicks entertained a different opinion,
+perhaps judging John Grimbal from the secrets of his own character; but
+Will expressed a lively faith that his rival must now cry quits, after
+his desperate and natural but unsuccessful attempt to render Phoebe a
+widow. The shattered youth took his broken bones very easily, and only
+grunted when he found that his wife was not permitted to visit him under
+any pretence whatever; while as for Phoebe, her wild sorrow gradually
+lessened and soon disappeared as each day brought a better account of
+Will. John Grimbal vanished on the trip which was to have witnessed his
+honeymoon. He pursued his original plans with the modification that
+Phoebe had no part in them, and it was understood that he would return
+to Chagford in the spring.
+
+Thus matters stood, and when his brother was gone and Will and Phoebe
+had been married a month, Martin, having suffered all that love could do
+meantime, considered he might now approach the Blanchards. Ignorantly he
+pursued an awkward course, for wholly unaware that Clement Hicks felt
+any interest in Will and his sister beyond that of friendship, Martin
+sought from him the general information he desired upon the subject of
+Chris, her family and concerns.
+
+Together the two men went upon various excursions to ancient relics that
+interested them both, though in different measure. It was long before
+Martin found courage to bring forth the words he desired to utter, but
+finally he managed to do so, in the bracing conditions that obtained on
+Cosdon Beacon upon the occasion of a visit to its summit. By this time
+he had grown friendly with Hicks and must have learnt all and more than
+he desired to know but for the bee-keeper's curious taciturnity. For
+some whim Clement never mentioned his engagement; it was a subject as
+absent from his conversation as his own extreme poverty; but while the
+last fact Martin had already guessed, the former remained utterly
+concealed from him. Neither did any chance discover it until some time
+afterwards.
+
+The hut-circles on Cosdon's south-eastern flank occupied Martin's
+pencil. Clement gazed once upon the drawing, then turned away, for no
+feeling or poetry inspired the work; it was merely very accurate. The
+sketches made, both men ascended immense Cosdon, where its crown of
+cairns frets the long summit; and here, to the sound of the wind in the
+dead heather, with all the wide world of Northern Devon extended beneath
+his gaze under a savage sunset, Martin found courage to speak. At first
+Hicks did not hear. His eyes were on the pageant of the sky and paid
+tribute of sad thought before an infinity of dying cloud splendours. But
+the antiquary repeated his remark. It related to Will Blanchard, and
+upon Clement dropping a monosyllabic reply his companion continued:
+
+"A very handsome fellow, too. Miss Blanchard puts me in mind of him."
+
+"They're much alike in some things. But though Chris knows her brother
+to be good to look at, you'll never get Will to praise her. Funny, isn't
+it? Yet to his Phoebe, she's the sun to a star."
+
+"I think so too indeed. In fact, Miss Blanchard is the most beautiful
+woman I ever saw."
+
+Clement did not answer. He was gazing through the sunset at Chris, and
+as he looked he smiled, and the sadness lifted a little from off his
+face.
+
+"Strange some lucky fellow has not won her before now," proceeded the
+other, glancing away to hide the blush that followed his diplomacy.
+
+Here, by all experience and reason, and in the natural sequence of
+events Clement Hicks might have been expected to make his confession and
+rejoice in his prize, but for some cause, from some queer cross-current
+of disposition, he shut his mouth upon the greatest fact of his life. He
+answered, indeed, but his words conveyed a false impression. What
+sinister twist of mind was responsible for his silence he himself could
+not have explained; a mere senseless monkey-mischief seemed to inspire
+it. Martin had not deceived him, because the elder man was unused to
+probing a fellow-creature for facts or obtaining information otherwise
+than directly. Clement noted the false intonation and hesitation,
+recollected his sweetheart's allusion to Martin Grimbal, and read into
+his companion's question something closely akin to what in reality lay
+behind it. His discovery might have been expected to hasten rather than
+retard the truth, and a first impulse in any man had made the facts
+instantly clear; but Clement rarely acted on impulse. His character was
+subtle, disingenuous, secretive. Safe in absolute possession, the
+discovery of Martin's attachment did not flutter him. He laughed in his
+mind; then he pictured Chris the wife of this man, reviewed the worldly
+improvement in her position such a union must effect, and laughed no
+more. Finally he decided to hold his peace; but his motives for so doing
+were not clear even to himself.
+
+"Yes," he answered, "but she's not one to give her hand without her
+heart."
+
+These words, from Martin's point of view, embraced a definite assurance
+that Chris was free; and, as they walked homewards, he kept silence upon
+this thought for the space of half an hour. The uneasy hopes and black
+fears of love circled him about. Perhaps his timorous mind, in some
+moods, had been almost relieved at declaration of the girl's engagement
+to another. But now the tremendous task of storming a virgin heart lay
+ahead of him, as he imagined. Torments unfelt by those of less sensitive
+mould also awaited Martin Grimbal. The self-assertive sort of man, who
+rates himself as not valueless, and whose love will not prevent callous
+calculation on the weight of his own person and purse upon the argument,
+is doubtless wise in his generation, and his sanguine temperament
+enables him to escape oceans of unrest, hurricanes of torment; but
+self-distrust and humility have their value, and those who are oppressed
+by them fall into no such pitiable extreme as that too hopeful lover on
+whose sanguine ear "No" falls like a thunderbolt from red lips that were
+already considered to have spoken "Yes." A suitor who plunges from lofty
+peaks of assured victory into failure falls far indeed; but Martin
+Grimbal stood little chance of suffering in that sort as his brother
+John had done.
+
+The antiquary spoke presently, fearing he must seem too self-absorbed,
+but Clement had little to say. Yet a chance meeting twisted the
+conversation round to its former topic as they neared home. Upon
+Chagford Bridge appeared Miller Lyddon and Mr. Blee. The latter had been
+whitewashing the apple-tree stems--a course to which his master attached
+more importance than that pursued on Old Christmas Eve--and through the
+gathering dusk the trunks now stood out livid and wan as a regiment of
+ghosts.
+
+"Heard from your brother since he left?" Mr. Lyddon inquired after
+evening greetings.
+
+"I cannot yet. I hope he may write, but you are more likely to hear than
+I."
+
+"Not me. I'm nothing to un now."
+
+"Things will come right. Don't let it prey on your mind. No woman ever
+made a good wife who didn't marry where her heart was," declared Martin,
+exhibiting some ignorance of the subject he presumed to discuss.
+
+"Ah! you was ag'in' us, I mind," said the miller, drawing in. "He said
+as much that terrible night."
+
+"He was wrong--utterly. I only spoke for his good. I saw that your
+daughter couldn't stand the sight of him and shivered if he touched her.
+It was my duty to speak. Strange you didn't see too."
+
+"So easy to talk afterwards! I had her spoken word, hadn't I? She'd
+never lied in all her life afore. Strange if I _had_ seen, I reckon."
+
+"You frightened her into falsehood. Any girl might have been expected to
+lie in that position," said Clement coolly; then Mr. Blee, who had been
+fretting to join the conversation, burst into it unbidden.
+
+"Be gormed if I ban't like a cat on hot bricks to hear 'e! wan might
+think as Miller was the Devil hisself for cruelty instead o' bein', as
+all knaws, the most muty-hearted[4] faither in Chagford."
+
+
+[4] _Muty-hearted_ = soft-hearted.
+
+
+"As to that, I doan't knaw, Billy," declared Mr. Lyddon stoutly; "I be a
+man as metes out to the world same measure as I get from the world.
+Right is right, an' law is law; an' if I doan't have the law of Will
+Blanchard--"
+
+"There's little enough you can do, I believe," said Hicks; "and what
+satisfaction lies in it, I should like to know, if it's not a rude
+question?"
+
+The old man answered with some bitterness, and explained his power.
+
+"William Blanchard's done abduction, according to Lawyer Bellamy of
+Plymouth; an' abduction's felony, and that's a big thing, however you
+look 'pon it."
+
+"Long an' short is," cut in Billy, who much desired to air a little of
+his new knowledge, "that he can get a sentence inside the limits of two
+years, with or without hard labour; at mercy of judge and jury. That's
+his dose or not his dose, 'cording to the gracious gudeness of Miller."
+
+"Will's nearly ready to go," said Clement. "Let his arm once be
+restored, and he'll do your hard labour with a good heart, I promise
+you. He wants to please Mr. Lyddon, and will tackle two months or two
+years or twenty."
+
+"Two an' not a second less--with hard labour I'll wager, when all's
+taken into account."
+
+"Why are you so hot, Billy Blee? You're none the worse."
+
+"Billy's very jealous for me, same as Elijah was for the Lard o' Hosts,"
+said Mr. Lyddon.
+
+Then Martin and Clement climbed the steep hill that lay between them and
+Chagford, while the miller and his man pursued their way through the
+valley.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+A STORY-BOOK
+
+
+Despite the miller's explicit declaration, there was yet a doubt as to
+what he might do in the matter of Will Blanchard. Six weeks is a period
+of time that has often served to cool dispositions more fiery, purposes
+more inflexible than those of Mr. Lyddon, and his natural placidity of
+temperament, despite outbreaks, had begun to reassert itself. Billy
+Blee, misunderstanding his master in this, suspected that the first
+fires of rage were now sunk into a conflagration, not so visible, but
+deeper and therefore more dangerous to the sufferer, if not to other
+people. He failed to observe that each day of waiting lessened the
+miller's desire towards action, and he continued to urge some step
+against Will Blanchard, as the only road by which his master's peace of
+mind might be regained. He went further, and declared delay to be very
+dangerous for Mr. Lyddon's spleen and other physical organs. But though
+humanity still prevented any definite step, Billy's master so far
+adopted his advice as to see a solicitor and learn what the law's power
+might be in the matter. Now he knew, as was recorded in the previous
+chapter; and still Mr. Lyddon halted between two opinions. He usually
+spoke on the subject as he had spoken to Martin Grimbal and Clement
+Hicks; but in reality he felt less desire in the direction of revenge
+than he pretended. Undoubtedly his daughter contributed not a little to
+this irresolution of mind. During the period of Will's convalescence,
+his wife conducted herself with great tact and self-restraint. Deep love
+for her father not only inspired her, but also smoothed difficulties
+from a road not easy. Phoebe kept much out of sight until the miller's
+first dismay and sorrow had subsided; then she crept back into her old
+position and by a thousand deft deeds and proper speeches won him again
+unconsciously. She anticipated his unspoken desire, brightened his
+every-day life by unobtrusive actions, preserved a bright demeanour,
+never mentioned Will, and never contradicted her father when he did so.
+
+Thus the matter stood, and Mr. Lyddon held his hand until young
+Blanchard was abroad again and seeking work. Then he acted, as shall
+appear. Before that event, however, incidents befell Will's household,
+the first being an unexpected visit from Martin Grimbal; for the
+love-sick antiquary nerved himself to this great task a week after his
+excursion to Cosdon. He desired to see Will, and was admitted without
+comment by Mrs. Blanchard. The sufferer, who sat at the kitchen fire
+with his arm still in a sling, received Martin somewhat coldly, being
+ignorant of the visitor's friendly intentions. Chris was absent, and
+Will's mother, after hoping that Mr. Grimbal would not object to discuss
+his business in the kitchen, departed and left the men together.
+
+"Sit down," said Will. "Be you come for your brother or yourself?"
+
+"For myself. I want to make my position clear. You must not associate me
+with John in this affair. In most things our interests were the same,
+and he has been a brother in a thousand to me; but concerning Miss--Mrs.
+Blanchard--he erred in my opinion--greatly erred--and I told him so. Our
+relations are unhappily strained, to my sorrow. I tell you this because
+I desire your friendship. It would be good to me to be friends with you
+and your family. I do not want to lose your esteem by a
+misunderstanding."
+
+"That's fair speech, an' I'm glad to hear 'e say it, for it ban't my
+fault when a man quarrels wi' me, as anybody will tell 'e. An' mother
+an' Chris will be glad. God knaws I never felt no anger 'gainst your
+brother, till he tried to take my girl away from me. Flesh an' blood
+weern't gwaine to suffer that."
+
+"Under the circumstances, and with all the difficulties of your
+position, I never could blame you."
+
+"Nor Phoebe," said the other warmly. "I won't have wan word said against
+her. Absolute right she done. I'm sick an' savage, even now, to think of
+all she suffered for me. I grits my teeth by night when it comes to my
+mind the mort o' grief an' tears an' pain heaped up for her--just
+because she loved wan chap an' not another."
+
+"Let the past go and look forward. The future will be happy presently."
+
+"In the long run 't will for sure. Your brother's got all he wants, I
+reckon, an' I doan't begrudge him a twinge; but I hope theer ban't no
+more wheer that comed from, for his awn sake, 'cause if us met
+unfriendly again, t' other might go awver the bridge, an' break worse 'n
+his arm."
+
+"No, no, Blanchard, don't talk and think like that. Let the past go. My
+brother will return a wiser man, I pray, with his great disappointment
+dulled."
+
+"A gert disappointment! To be catched out stealin', an' shawed up for a
+thief!"
+
+"Well, forgive and forget. It's a valuable art--to learn to forget."
+
+"You wait till you 'm faaced wi' such trouble, an' try to forget! But we
+'m friends, by your awn shawm', and I be glad 't is so. Ax mother to
+step in from front the house, will 'e? I'd wish her to know how we 'm
+standin'."
+
+Mrs. Blanchard appeared with her daughter, and subsequent conversation
+banished a haunting sense of disloyalty to his brother from Martin's
+mind. Chris never looked more splendid or more sweet than in that noon,
+new come from a walk with Clement Hicks. Martin listened to her voice,
+stayed as long as he dared, and then departed with many emotions
+breaking like a storm upon his lonely life. He began to long for her
+with overwhelming desire. He had scarcely looked at a woman till now,
+and this brown-eyed girl of twenty, so full of life, so beautiful, set
+his very soul helplessly adrift on the sea of love. Her sudden laugh,
+like Will's, but softer and more musical, echoed in the man's ear as he
+returned to his house and, in a ferment, tramped the empty rooms.
+
+His own requirements had been amply met by three apartments, furnished
+with sobriety and great poverty of invention; but now he pictured Chris
+singing here, tripping about with her bright eyes and active fingers.
+Like his brother before him, he fell back upon his money, and in
+imagination spent many pounds for one woman's delight. Then from this
+dream he tumbled back into reality and the recollection that his goddess
+must be wooed and won. No man ever yet failed to make love from
+ignorance how to begin, but the extent and difficulties of his
+undertaking weighed very heavily on Martin Grimbal at this juncture. To
+win even a measure of her friendship appeared a task almost hopeless.
+Nevertheless, through sleepless nights, he nerved himself to the
+tremendous attempt. There was not so much of self-consciousness in him,
+but a great store of self-distrust. Martin rated himself and his powers
+of pleasing very low; and unlike the tumultuous and volcanic methods of
+John, his genius disposed him to a courtship of most tardy development,
+most gradual ripening. To propose while a doubt existed of the answer
+struck him as a proceeding almost beyond the bounds of man's audacity.
+He told himself that time would surely show what chance or hope there
+might be, and that opportunity must be left to sneak from the battle at
+any moment when ultimate failure became too certainly indicated. In more
+sanguine moods, however, by moonlight, or alone on the high moors,
+greater bravery and determination awoke in him. At such times he would
+decide to purchase new clothes and take thought for externals generally.
+He also planned some studies in such concerns as pleased women if he
+could learn what they might be. His first deliberate if half-hearted
+attack relied for its effect upon a novel. Books, indeed, are priceless
+weapons in the armory of your timid lover; and let but the lady discover
+a little reciprocity, develop an unsuspected delight in literature, as
+often happens, and the most modest volume shall achieve a practical
+result as far beyond its intrinsic merit as above the writer's dream.
+
+Martin, then, primed with a work of fiction, prayed that Chris might
+prove a reader of such things, and called at Mrs. Blanchard's cottage
+exactly one fortnight after his former visit. Chance favoured him to an
+extent beyond his feeble powers to profit by. Will was out for a walk,
+and Mrs. Blanchard being also from home, Martin enjoyed conversation
+with Chris alone. He began well enough, while she listened and smiled.
+Then he lost his courage and lied, and dragging the novel from his
+pocket, asserted that he had bought the tale for her brother.
+
+"A story-book! I doubt Will never read no such matter in his life, Mr.
+Grimbal."
+
+"But get him to try. It's quite a new thing. There's a poaching
+adventure and so forth--all very finely done according to the critical
+journals."
+
+"He'll never sit down to that gert buke."
+
+"You read it then, and tell him if it is good."
+
+"Me! Well, I do read now and again, an' stories tu; but Will wouldn't
+take my word. Now if Phoebe was to say 't was braave readin', he'd go
+for it fast enough."
+
+"I may leave it, at any rate?"
+
+"Leave it, an' thank you kindly."
+
+"How is Will getting on?"
+
+"Quite well again. Awnly riled 'cause Mr. Lyddon lies so low. Clem told
+us what the miller can do, but us doan't knaw yet what he will do."
+
+"Perhaps he doesn't know himself," suggested Martin. The name of "Clem,"
+uttered thus carelessly by her, made him envious. Then, inspired by the
+circumstance, a request which fairly astounded the speaker by its valour
+dropped on his listener's ear.
+
+"By the way, don't call me 'Mr. Grimbal.' I hope you'll let me be
+'Martin' in a friendly way to you all, if you will be so very kind and
+not mind my asking."
+
+The end of the sentence had its tail between its legs, but he got the
+words cleanly out, and his reward was great.
+
+"Why, of course, if you'd rather us did; an' you can call me 'Chris' if
+you mind to," she said, laughing. "'T is strange you took sides against
+your brother somehow to me."
+
+"I haven't--I didn't--except in the matter of Phoebe. He was wrong
+there, and I told him so,--"
+
+He meant to end the sentence with the other's name, only the word stuck
+in his throat; but "Miss Blanchard" he would not say, after her
+permission, so left a gap.
+
+"He'll not forgive 'e that in a hurry."
+
+"Not readily, but some day, I hope. Now I must really go--wasting your
+precious time like this; and I do hope you may read the book."
+
+"That Will may?"
+
+"No--yes--both of you, in fact. And I'll come to know whether you liked
+it. Might I?"
+
+"Whether Will liked it?"
+
+She nodded and laughed, then the door hid her; while Martin Grimbal went
+his way treading upon air. Those labourers whom he met received from him
+such a "Good evening!" that the small parties, dropping back on Chagford
+from their outlying toil, grinned inquiringly, they hardly knew at what.
+
+Meantime, Chris Blanchard reflected, and the laughter faded out of her
+eyes, leaving them grave and a little troubled. She was sufficiently
+familiar with lovers' ways. The bold, the uncouth, the humble, and
+timorous were alike within her experience. She watched this kind-faced
+man grow hot and cold as he spoke to her, noted the admixture of
+temerity and fear that divided his mind and appeared in his words. She
+had seen his lips tremble and refuse to pronounce her name; and she
+rightly judged that he would possibly repeat it aloud to himself more
+than once before he slept that night. Chris was no flirt, and now
+heartily regretted her light and friendly banter upon the man's
+departure. "I be a silly fule, an' wouldn't whisper a word of this to
+any but Clem," she thought, "for it may be nothing but the nervous way
+of un, an' such a chap 's a right to seek a sight further 'n me for a
+wife; an' yet they all 'pear the same, an' act the same soft sort o'
+style when they 'm like it." Then she considered that, seeing what
+friendship already obtained between Clement and Martin Grimbal, it was
+strange the latter still went in ignorance. "Anyways, if I'm not wrong,
+the sooner he 'm told the better, for he's a proper fashioned man," she
+thought.
+
+While Chris was still revolving this matter in her mind, Mrs. Blanchard
+returned with some news.
+
+"Postmistress stepped out of the office wi' this as I corned down the
+village," she said. "'T is from Mrs. Watson, I fancy."
+
+Her daughter brought a light, and the letter was perused. "Uncle 's took
+bad," Mrs. Blanchard presently announced; "an' sends to say as he wants
+me to go along an' help Sarah Watson nurse un."
+
+"Him ill! I never thought he was made of stuff to be ill."
+
+"I must go, whether or no. I'll take the coach to Moreton to-morrow."
+
+Mrs. Blanchard mentally traversed her wardrobe as she drank tea, and had
+already packed in anticipation before the meal was ended. Will, on
+returning, was much perturbed at this bad news, for since his own
+marriage Uncle Ford had become a hero among men to him.
+
+"What's amiss she doan't say--Mrs. Watson--but it's more 'n a fleabite
+else he wouldn't take his bed. But I hopes I'll have un to rights again
+in a week or so. 'Mind me to take a bottle of last summer's Marshmally
+brew, Chris. Doctors laugh at such physic, but I knaw what I knaw."
+
+"Wonder if't would better him to see me?" mused Will.
+
+"No, no; no call for that. You'll be fit to stand to work by Monday, so
+mind your business an' traapse round an' look for it. Theer 's plenty
+doin' 'pon the land now, an' I want to hear you' ve got a job 'fore I
+come home. Husbands must work for two; an' Phoebe'll be on your hands
+come less than a couple o' years."
+
+"One year and five months and seven days 't is."
+
+"Very well. You've got to mind a brace of things meantime; to make a
+vitty home for her by the sweat of your body, an' to keep your hands off
+her till she 'm free to come to 'e."
+
+"Big things both, though I ban't afeared of myself afore 'em. I've
+thought a lot in my time, an' be allowed to have sense an' spirit for
+that matter."
+
+"Spirit, ess fay, same as your faither afore you; but not so much sense
+as us can see wi'out lightin' cannel."
+
+"Wonder if Uncle Joel be so warm a man as he'd have us think sometimes
+of an evenin' arter his hot whiskey an' water?" said Chris.
+
+"Don't 'e count on no come-by-chance from him. He's got money, that I
+knaw, but ban't gwaine to pass our way, for he tawld me so in as many
+words. Sarah Watson will reap what he's sawed; an' who shall grumble? He
+'m a just man, though not of the accepted way o' thinkin'."
+
+"Why for didn't he marry her?" asked Will.
+
+"Caan't tell'e, more'n the dead. Just a whim. I asked her same question,
+when I was last to Newton, an' she said 't was to save the price of a
+licence she reckoned, though in his way of life he might have got
+matrimony cheap as any man. But theer 't is. Her 's bin gude as a wife
+to un--an' better 'n many--this fifteen year."
+
+"A very kind woman to me while I was biding along with uncle," said
+Will. "All the same you should have some of the money."
+
+"I'm well as I be. An' this dead-man-shoe talk's vain an' giddy. I lay
+he'm long ways from death, an' the further the better. Now I be gwaine
+to pack my box 'fore supper."
+
+Mrs. Blanchard withdrew, and Chris, suddenly recollecting it, mentioned
+Martin Grimbal's visit. Will laughed and read a page or two of the
+story-book, then went out of doors to see Clement Hicks; and his sister,
+with a spare hour before her while a rabbit roasted, sat near the spit
+and occupied her mind with thought.
+
+Will's business related to himself. He was weary of waiting for Mr.
+Lyddon, and though he had taken care to let Phoebe know by Chris that
+his arm was well and strong enough for the worst that might be found for
+it to do, no notice was taken of his message, no sign escaped the
+miller.
+
+All interested persons had their own theories upon this silence. Mrs.
+Blanchard suspected that Mr. Lyddon would do nothing at all, and Will
+readily accepted this belief; but he found it impossible to wait with
+patience for its verification. This indeed was the harder to him because
+Clement Hicks predicted a different issue and foretold an action of most
+malignant sort on the miller's part. What ground existed for attributing
+any such deed to Mr. Lyddon was not manifest, but the bee-keeper stuck
+to it that Will's father-in-law would only wait until he was in good
+employment and then proceed to his confusion.
+
+This conviction he now repeated.
+
+"He's going to make you smart before he's done with you, if human
+nature's a factor to rely upon. It's clear to me."
+
+"I doan't think so ill of un. An' yet I ban't wishful to leave it to
+chance. You, an' you awnly, knaw what lies hid in the past behind me.
+The question is, should I take that into account now, or go ahead as if
+it never had failed out?"
+
+"Let it alone, as it has let you alone. Never rake it up again, and
+forget it if you can. That's my advice to you. Forget you ever--"
+
+"Hush!" said Will. "I'd rather not hear the word, even 'pon your lips."
+
+They then discussed the main matter from the opposite vantage-grounds of
+minds remote in every particular; but no promising procedure suggested
+itself to either man, and it was not until upon his homeward way that
+Will, unaided, arrived at an obvious and very simple conclusion. With
+some glee he welcomed this idea.
+
+"I'll just wait till Monday night," he said to himself, "an' then I'll
+step right down to Miller, an' ax un what's in the wind, an' if I can
+help his hand. Then he must speak if he's a man."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+THE MILLER'S OFFER
+
+
+Will, followed his determination and proceeded to Monks Barton on the
+following Monday evening, at an hour when he knew that Mr. Lyddon would
+have finished supper and be occupied about a pipe or a game of cards
+with Mr. Blee. The old men occasionally passed an hour at "oaks" or
+"cribbage" before retiring, but on this occasion they were engaged in
+conversation, and both looked up with some surprise when Blanchard
+appeared.
+
+"You--you here again!" said the miller, and his mouth remained slightly
+open after the words.
+
+"You 'm allus setting sober hair on end--blessed if you ain't!" was
+Billy's comment.
+
+Will, for his part, made no introductory speeches, but went straight to
+the point.
+
+"Theer's my arm," he said, thrusting it out before him. "'T is mended so
+neat that Doctor Parsons says no Lunnon bone-setter could have done it
+better. So I've comed just to say theer's no call for longer waitin'. 'T
+was a sportsmanlike thing in you, Miller Lyddon, to bide same as you
+did; and now, if you'd set the law movin' an' get the job out o' hand,
+I'd thank you kindly. You see, if they put me in for two year, 't will
+leave mighty li'l time to get a home ready for Phoebe against the day
+she comes of age."
+
+"You needn't be at any trouble about that."
+
+"But I shall be. Do 'e think my wife's gwaine to be any differ'nt to
+lesser folks? A home she'll have, an' a braave, vitty home, tu, though
+I've got to sweat blood for it. So if you'd take your bite so soon as
+convenient, you'd sarve me."
+
+"I doan't say you 'm axin' anything onreasonable," said Mr. Lyddon,
+thoughtfully. "An' what might you think o'doin, when you comes out o'
+prison?"
+
+"First gude work that offers."
+
+"Maybe you doan't kuaw that chaps whose last job was on the treadmill
+finds it uncommon hard to get another?"
+
+"Depends what they was theer for, I should reckon, Miller"
+
+"Not a bit of it. Gaol-birds is all feathered alike inside clink, an'
+honest men feathers 'em all alike when they come out," declared Will's
+father-in-law.
+
+"A sheer Cain, as no man will touch by the hand--that's what you'll be,"
+added Billy, without apparent regret.
+
+"If that's so," said Will, very calmly, "you'd best to think twice 'fore
+you sends me. I've done a high-handed deed, bein' forced into the same
+by happenings here when I went off last summer; but 't is auld history
+now. I'd like to be a credit to 'e some time, not a misery for all time.
+Why not--?" He was going to suggest a course of action more favourable
+to himself than that promised; but it struck him suddenly that any
+attitude other than the one in which he had come savoured of snivelling
+for mercy. So he stopped, left a break of silence, and proceeded with
+less earnestness in his voice.
+
+"You've had a matter of eight weeks to decide in, so I thought I might
+ax'e, man to man, what's gwaine to be done."
+
+"I have decided," said the miller coldly; "I decided a week ago."
+
+Billy started and his blue eyes blinked inquiringly. He sniffed his
+surprise and said "Well!" under his breath.
+
+"Ess, 't is so, I didn't tell 'e, Blee, 'cause I reckoned you'd try an'
+turn me from my purpose, which wasn't to be done."
+
+"Never--not me. I'm allus in flat agreement with 'e, same as any wise
+man finds hisself all times."
+
+"Well, doan't 'e take it ill, me keepin' it to myself."
+
+"No, no--awnly seem' how--"
+
+"If it 's all the same," interrupted Will, "I'd like to knaw what you 'm
+gwaine for to do."
+
+"I'm gwaine to do nort, Will Blanchard--nort at all. God He knaws you
+'ve wronged me, an' more 'n me, an' her--Phoebe--worst of all; but I'll
+lift no hand ag'in' you. Bide free an' go forrard your awn way--"
+
+"To the Dowl!" concluded Billy.
+
+There was a silence, then Will spoke with some emotion.
+
+"You 'm a big, just man, Miller Lyddon; an' if theer was anything could
+make me sorry for the past--which theer ban't--'t would be to knaw
+you've forgived me."
+
+"He ain't done no such thing!" burst out Mr. Blee. "Tellin' 'e to go to
+the Dowl ban't forgivin' of 'e!"
+
+"That was your word," answered Will hotly, "an' if you didn't open your
+ugly mouth so wide, an' shaw such a 'mazing poor crop o' teeth same
+time, me an' Miller might come to onderstanding. I be here to see him,
+not you."
+
+"Gar! you 'm a beast of a bwoy, looked at anyhow, an' I wouldn't have
+no dealin's with 'e for money," snorted the old man.
+
+"Theer we'll leave it then, Blanchard," said Mr. Lyddon, as Will turned
+his back upon the last speaker without answering him. "Go your way an'
+try to be a better man; but doan't ax me to forget what 's passed--no,
+nor forgive it, not yet. I'll come to a Christian sight of it some day,
+God willin'; but it 's all I can say that I bear you no ill-will."
+
+"An' I'm beholden enough for that. You wait an' keep your eye on me.
+I'll shaw you what's in me yet. I'll surprise 'e, I promise. Nobody in
+these paarts 'cept mother, knaws what 's in me. But, wi'out boastful
+words, I'll prove it. Because, Miller, I may assure 'e I'm a man as have
+thought a lot in my time 'bout things in general."
+
+"Ess, you'm a deep thinker, I doan't doubt. Now best to go; an', mind,
+no dealins wi' Phoebe, for that I won't stand."
+
+"I've thought that out, tu. I'll give 'e my word of honour 'pon that."
+
+"Best to seek work t'other side the Moor, if you ax me. Then you'll be
+out the way."
+
+"As to that, I'd guessed maybe Martin Grimbal, as have proved a gert
+friend to me an' be quite o' my way o' thinking, might offer garden work
+while I looked round. Theer ban't a spark o' pride in me--tu much sense,
+I hope, for that."
+
+The miller sighed.
+
+"You've done a far-reachin' thing, as hits a man from all sorts o'
+plaaces, like the echo in Teign Valley. I caan't see no end to it yet."
+
+"Martin Grimbal's took on Wat Widdicombe, so you needn't fule yourself
+he'll give 'e work," snapped Mr. Blee.
+
+"Well, theer be others."
+
+And then that sudden smile, half sly, half sweet, leapt to Will's eyes
+and brightened all his grave face, as the sun gladdens a grey sky after
+rain.
+
+"Look now, Miller Lyddon, why for shouldn't you, the biggest man to
+Chagford, give me a bit of work? I ban't no caddlin'[5] chap, an' for
+you--by God, I'd dig a mountain flat if you axed me!"
+
+
+[5] _Caddling_ = loafing, idling.
+
+
+"Well, I be gormed!" gasped Billy. It was a condition, though whether
+physical or mental he only knew, to which Will reduced Mr. Blee upon
+every occasion of their meeting.
+
+"You hold your jaw an' let me talk to Mr. Lyddon. 'Tis like this, come
+to look at it: who should work for 'e same as what I would? Who should
+think for my wife's faither wi' more of his heart than me? I'd glory to
+do a bit of work for 'e--aye, I would so, high or low; an' do it in a
+way to make you rub your eyes!"
+
+Billy saw the first-formed negative die still-born on his master's lips.
+He began to cry out volubly that Monks Barton was over-manned, and that
+scandal would blast every opening bud on the farm if such a thing
+happened. Will glared at him, and in another moment Mr. Blee might have
+suffered physically had not the miller lifted his hand and bid both be
+silent.
+
+For a full minute no man spoke, while in Mr. Lyddon's mind proceeded a
+strange battle of ideas. Will's audacity awakened less resentment than
+might have been foreseen. The man had bent before the shock of his
+daughter's secret marriage and was now returning to his customary mental
+condition. Any great altitude of love or extremity of hate was beyond
+Mr. Lyddon's calibre. Life slipped away and left his forehead smooth.
+Sorrow brought no great scars, joy no particular exaltation. This
+temperament he had transmitted to Phoebe; and now she came into his mind
+and largely influenced him. A dozen times he opened his mind to say
+"No," but did not say it. Personal amiability could hardly have overcome
+natural dislike of Blanchard at such a moment, but the unexpected
+usually happens when weak natures are called upon to make sudden
+decisions; and though such may change their resolve again and again at a
+later date and before new aspects of the problem, their first hasty
+determination will often be the last another had predicted from them.
+
+A very curious result accrued from Mr. Lyddon's mental conflict, and it
+was reached by an accidental train of thought. He told himself that his
+conclusion was generous to the extreme of the Christian ideal; he
+assured himself that few men so placed had ever before acted with such
+notable magnanimity; but under this repeated mental asseveration there
+spoke another voice which he stifled to the best of his power. The
+utterance of this monitor may best be judged from what followed.
+
+"If I gave you work you'd stand to it, Will Blanchard?" he asked at
+length.
+
+"Try me!"
+
+"Whatsoever it might be?"
+
+"Try me. Ban't for me to choose."
+
+"I will, then. Come to-morrow by five, an' Billy shall show 'e what's to
+do."
+
+It would be difficult to say which, of those who heard the miller's
+resolve received it with most astonishment. Will's voice was almost
+tremulous.
+
+"You'll never be sorry, never. I couldn't have hoped such a thing.
+Caan't think how I comed to ax it. An' yet--but I'll buckle to anything
+and everything, so help me. I'll think for 'e an' labour for 'e as no
+hireling that was ever born could, I will. An' you've done a big,
+grand-fashion thing, an' I'm yours, body an' bones, for it; an' you'll
+never regret it."
+
+The young man was really moved by an issue so unexpected. He had uttered
+his suggestion on the spur of the moment, as he uttered most things, and
+such a reception argued a greatness of heart and generosity of spirit
+quite unparalleled in his experience. So he departed wishing all good on
+Mr. Lyddon and meaning all good with his whole soul and strength.
+
+When he had gone the miller spoke; but contrary to custom, he did not
+look into Mr. Blee's face while so doing.
+
+"You'm astonished, Billy," he said, "an' so be I, come to think of it.
+But I'm gettin' tu auld to fret my life away with vain strife. I be
+gwaine to prove un. He'd stand to anything, eh? 'Twas his word."
+
+"An' well he might."
+
+"Can 'e picture Blanchard cleaning out the pigs' house?"
+
+"No fay!"
+
+"Or worse?"
+
+"Ah!"
+
+They consulted, and it presently appeared that Mr. Lyddon deliberately
+designed to set Will about the most degrading task the farm could
+furnish.
+
+"'Twill sting the very life of un!" said Billy gleefully, and he
+proceeded to arrange an extremely trying programme for Will Blanchard.
+
+"Doan't think any small spite leads me to this way of dealing with un,"
+explained Mr. Lyddon, who knew right well that it was so. "But 'tis to
+probe the stuff he's made of. Nothing should be tu hard for un arter
+what he've done, eh?"
+
+"You'm right. 'Tis true wisdom to chastise the man this way if us can,
+an' shake his wicked pride."
+
+Billy's genius lent itself most happily to this scheme. He applauded the
+miller's resolution until his master himself began to believe that the
+idea was not unjust; he ranged airily, like a blue-fly, from one
+agglomeration of ordure to another; and he finally suggested a task, not
+necessary to dwell on, but which reached the utmost height or depth of
+originality in connection with such a subject. Mr. Lyddon laboured under
+some shadow of doubt, but he quickly agreed when his man reminded him of
+the past course of events.
+
+"'Tis nothin', when all's said. Who'd doubt if he'd got to choose
+between that or two year in gaol? He'm lucky, and I'll tell un so come
+the marnin'."
+
+Thus matters were left, and the miller retired in some secret shame, for
+he had planned an act which, if great in the world's eye, had yet a dark
+side from his own inner view of it; but Mr. Blee suffered no pang from
+conscience upon the question. He heartily disliked Blanchard, and he
+contemplated the morrow with keen satisfaction. If his sharp tongue had
+power to deepen the wound awaiting Will's self-respect, that power would
+certainly be exercised.
+
+Meantime the youth himself passed homeward in a glow of admiration for
+Mr. Lyddon.
+
+"I'd lay down my life smilin' for un," he told Chris, who was astounded
+at his news. "I'll think for un, an' act for un, till he'll feel I'm his
+very right hand. An' if I doan't put a spoke in yellow Billy's wheel,
+call me a fule. Snarling auld swine! But Miller! Theer's gude workin'
+religion in that man; he'm a shining light for sartain."
+
+They talked late upon this wondrous turn of fortune, then Will
+recollected his mother and nothing would serve but that he wrote
+instantly to tell her of the news.
+
+"It'll cheer up uncle, tu, I lay," he said.
+
+"A letter comed while you was out," answered Chris; "he'm holding his
+awn, but 'tis doubtful yet how things be gwaine to fare in the upshot."
+
+"Be it as 'twill, mother can do more 'n any other living woman could for
+un," declared Will.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+LOGIC
+
+
+As Mr. Blee looked out upon a grey morning, the sallows leaping from
+silver to gold, from bud to blossom, scattered brightness through the
+dawn, and the lemon catkins of the hazel, the russet tassels of alders,
+brought light along the river, warmth into the world. A bell beat five
+from Chagford Church tower, and the notes came drowsily through morning
+mists. Then quick steps followed on the last stroke of the hour and Will
+stood by Billy's side in Monks Barton farmyard. The old man raised his
+eyes from contemplation of a spade and barrow, bid Blanchard "Good
+morning" with simulated heartiness, and led the way to work, while Will
+followed, bringing the tools. They passed into a shrubbery of syringa
+bushes twenty yards distant, and the younger man, whose humour had been
+exceedingly amiable until that moment, now flushed to his eyes before
+the spectacle of his labour.
+
+"Do 'e mean that Miller's got nothin' for me to do but this?"
+
+"Plenty, plenty, I 'sure 'e; but that ban't your business, be it?
+Theer's the work, an' I'd rather 'twas yourn than mine. Light your pipe
+an' go ahead. Not a purty job, more 'tis; but beggars mustn't be
+choosers in this hard world."
+
+Billy bolted after these remarks. He heard a growl behind him, but did
+not look round. Half an hour later, he crept back again by a circuitous
+route, watched Will awhile unseen, then stole grinning away to milk the
+cows.
+
+The young man, honestly thunderstruck at the task planned for him,
+judged that thinking would not mend matters, and so began to work
+quickly without stopping to reflect. But his thoughts could not be
+controlled, any more than his disposition changed. A growing
+consciousness of deep and deliberate insult surged up in him. The more
+he brooded the slower he worked, and finally anger mastered
+determination. He flung down his spade, saluted a red sunrise with the
+worst language at his command, and strode down to the river. Here, for
+some time and until blue smoke began to climb from the kitchen chimney
+of the farm, Will paced about; then with a remarkable effort returned to
+his task. He actually started again, and might have carried the matter
+to completion; but an evil demon was abroad, and Billy, spying the young
+man at work anew, reappeared.
+
+"You'm makin' poor speed, my son," he said, viewing the other's progress
+with affected displeasure.
+
+It proved enough, for Will's smouldering fires were ready to leap at any
+fuel.
+
+"Go to blue, blazing hell!" he cried. "You'm at the bottom of this
+business, I'll lay a pound. Get out o' my sight, you hookem-snivey auld
+devil, or I'll rub your dirty ginger poll in it, sure's death!"
+
+"My stars! theer's crooked words! Do 'e try an' keep tighter hand on
+your temper, Blanchard. A man should knaw hisself anyways 'fore he has
+the damn fulishness to take a wife. An' if you ax me--"
+
+Mr. Blee's remarks were here brutally arrested, for the contents of
+Will's spade saluted his furrowed features, and quite obliterated the
+old man. He fled roaring, and the other flung his spade twenty yards
+away, overturned his wheelbarrow, and again strode to the river. He was
+fairly bubbling and boiling now, nor did the business of cleaning
+gaiters and boots, arms and hands, restore him to peace. A black pig
+gazed upon him and grunted as he came up from the water. It seemed to
+him a reincarnation of Billy, and he kicked it hard. It fled screaming
+and limping, while Will, his rage at full flood, proceeded through the
+farmyard on his way home. But here, by unhappy chance, stood Mr. Lyddon
+watching his daughter feed the fowls. Her husband ran full upon Phoebe,
+and she blushed in a great wave of joy until the black scowl upon his
+face told her that something was amiss. His evident anger made her
+start, and the involuntary action upset her bowl of grain. For a moment
+she stood motionless, looking upon him in fear, while at her feet fought
+and struggled a cloud of feathered things around the yellow corn.
+
+"If you've done your job, Will, may'st come and shaake Phoebe by the
+hand," said Mr. Lyddon nervously, while he pretended not to notice the
+other's passion.
+
+"I haven't done it; and if I had, is a scavenger's hand fit to touch
+hers?" thundered Blanchard. "I thought you was a man to swear by, and
+follow through thick an' thin," he continued, "but you ban't. You'm a
+mean, ill-minded sawl, as would trample on your awn flesh an' blood, if
+you got the chance. Do your awn dirty work. Who be I that you should
+call on me to wallow in filth to please your sour spite?"
+
+"You hear him, you hear him!" cried out the miller, now angry enough
+himself. "That's how I'm sarved for returnin' gude to his evil. I've
+treated un as no man else on God's airth would have done; and this is
+what I gets. He's mad, an' that's to speak kind of the wretch!"
+
+The young wife could only look helplessly from one to the other. That
+morning had dawned very brightly for her. A rumour of what was to happen
+reached her on rising, but the short-lived hope was quickly shattered,
+and though she had not seen him since their wedding-day, Phoebe was
+stung into bitterness against Will at this juncture. She knew nothing of
+particulars, but saw him now pouring harsh reproaches on her father, and
+paying the miller's unexampled generosity with hard and cruel words. So
+she spoke to her husband.
+
+"Oh, Will, Will, to say such things! Do 'e love me no better 'n that? To
+slight dear faither arter all he's forgiven!"
+
+"If you think I'm wrong, say it, Phoebe," he answered shortly. "If you'm
+against me, tu--"
+
+"'Against you!' How can you speak so?"
+
+"No matter what I say. Be you on his side or mine? 'Cause I've a right
+to knaw."
+
+"Caan't 'e see 'twas faither's gert, braave, generous thought to give 'e
+work, an' shaw a lesson of gudeness? An' then we meet again--"
+
+"Ess fay--happy meetin' for wife an' husband, me up to the eyes
+in--Theer, any fule can see 'twas done a purpose to shame me."
+
+"You're a fule to say it! 'Tis your silly pride's gwaine to ruin all
+your life, an' mine, tu. Who's to help you if you've allus got the black
+monkey on your shoulder like this here?"
+
+"You'm a overbearin', headstrong madman," summed up the miller, still
+white with wrath; "an' I've done with 'e now for all time. You've had
+your chance an' thrawed it away."
+
+"He put this on me because I was poor an' without work."
+
+"He didn't," cried the girl, whose emotions for a moment took her clean
+from Will to her father. "He never dreamed o' doin' any such thing. He
+couldn't insult a beggar-man; an' you knaw it. 'Tis all your ugly,
+wicked temper!"
+
+"Then I'll take myself off, an' my temper, tu," said Will, and prepared
+to do so; while Mr. Lyddon listened to husband and wife, and his last
+hope for the future dwindled and died, as he heard them quarrel with
+high voices. His daughter clung to him and supported his action, though
+what it had been she did not know.
+
+"Caan't 'e see you're breakin' faither's heart all awver again just as
+'twas mendin'?" she said. "Caan't 'e sing smaller, if 'tis awnly for
+thought of me? Doan't, for God's love, fling away like this."
+
+"I met un man to man, an' did his will with a gude thankful heart, an'
+comed in the dawn to faace a job as--"
+
+"'Tweren't the job, an' you knaw it," broke in Mr. Lyddon. "I wanted to
+prove 'e an' all your fine promises; an' now I knaw their worth, an'
+your worth. An' I curse the day ever my darter was born in the world,
+when I think she'm your wife, an' no law can break it."
+
+He turned and went into the house, and Phoebe stood alone with her
+husband.
+
+"Theer!" cried Will. "You've heard un. That was in his heart when he
+spoke me so fair. An' if you think like he do, say it. Lard knaws I
+doan't want 'e no more, if you doan't want me!"
+
+"Will! How can you! An' us not met since our marriage-day. But you'm
+cruel, cruel to poor faither."
+
+"Say so, an' think so; an' b'lieve all they tell 'e 'gainst your lawful
+husband; an' gude-bye. If you'm so poor-spirited as to see your man do
+thicky work, you choosed wrong. Not that 'tis any gert odds. Stop along
+wi' your faither as you loves so much better 'n me. An' doan't you fear
+I'll ever cross his threshold again to anger un, for I'd rather blaw my
+brains out than do it."
+
+He shook and stuttered with passion; his eyes glowed, his lips changed
+from their natural colour to a leaden blue. He groped for the gate when
+he reached it, and passed quickly out, heedless of Phoebe's sorrowful
+cry to him. He heard her light step following and only hastened his
+speed for answer. Then, hurrying from her, a wave of change suddenly
+flowed upon his furious mind, and he began to be very sorry. Presently
+he stopped and turned, but she had stayed her progress by now, and for a
+moment's space stood and watched him, bathed in tears. At the moment
+when he hesitated and looked back, however, his wife herself had turned
+away and moved homewards. Had she been standing in one place, Will's
+purposes would perchance have faded to air, and his arm been round her
+in a moment; but now he only saw Phoebe retreating slowly to Monks
+Barton; and he let her go.
+
+Blanchard went home to breakfast, and though Chris discovered that
+something was amiss, she knew him too well to ask any questions. He ate
+in silence, the past storm still heaving in a ground-swell through his
+mind. That his wife should have stood up against him was a sore thought.
+It bewildered the youth utterly, and that she might be ignorant of all
+details did not occur to him. Presently he told his wrongs to Chris, and
+grew very hot again in the recital. She sympathised deeply, held him
+right to be angry, and grew angry herself.
+
+"He 'm daft," she said, "an' I'd think harder of him than I do, but that
+he's led by the nose. 'Twas that auld weasel, Billy Blee, gived him the
+wink to set you on a task he knawed you'd never carry through."
+
+"Theer's truth in that," said Will; then he recollected his last meeting
+with the miller's man, and suddenly roared with laughter.
+
+"'Struth! What a picter he was! He agged an' agged at me till I got fair
+mad, an'--well, I spiled his meal, I do b'lieve."
+
+His merriment died away slowly in a series of long-drawn chuckles. Then
+he lighted his pipe, watched Chris cleaning the cups and plates, and
+grew glum again.
+
+"'Twas axin' me--a penniless chap; that was the devil of it. If I'd been
+a moneyed man wi'out compulsion to work, then I'd have been free to say
+'No,' an' no harm done. De'e follow?"
+
+"I'm thankful you done as you did. But wheer shall 'e turn now?"
+
+"Doan't knaw. I'll lay I'll soon find work."
+
+"Theer's some of the upland farms might be wanting harrowin' an' seed
+plantin' done."
+
+"Who's to Newtake, Gran'faither Ford's auld plaace, I wonder?"
+
+"'Tis empty. The last folks left 'fore you went away. Couldn't squeeze
+bare life out of it. That's the fourth party as have tried an' failed."
+
+"Yet gran'faither done all right."
+
+"He was a wonnerful man of business, an' lived on a straw a day, as
+mother says. But the rest--they come an' go an' just bury gude money
+theer to no better purpose than the gawld at a rainbow foot."
+
+"Well, I'll go up in the village an' look around before Miller's got
+time to say any word against me. He'll spoil my market if he can, I
+knaw."
+
+"He'd never dare!"
+
+"I'd have taken my oath he wouldn't essterday. Now I think differ'nt. He
+never meant friendship; he awnly wanted for me to smart. Clem Hicks was
+right."
+
+"Theer's Mr. Grimbal might give 'e work, I think. Go an' ax un, an' tell
+un I sent 'e."
+
+A moment later Chris was sorry she had made this remark.
+
+"What be talkin' 'bout?" Will asked bluntly. "Tell un _you_ sent me?"
+
+"Martin wants to be friends."
+
+"'Martin,' is it?"
+
+"He axed me to call un so."
+
+"Do he knaw you'm tokened to Clem?"
+
+"Caan't say. It almost 'peared as if he didn't last time he called."
+
+"Then sooner he do the better. Axed you to call un 'Martin'!"
+
+He stopped and mused, then spoke again.
+
+"Our love-makin's a poor business, sure enough. I've got what I wanted
+an', arter this marnin', could 'most find it in me to wish my cake was
+dough again; an' you--you ain't got what you want, an' ban't no gert
+sign you will, for Clem's the weakest hand at turnin' a penny ever I
+met."
+
+"I'll wait for un, whether or no," said Chris, fiercely. "I'll wait, if
+need be, till we'm both tottling auld mumpheads!"
+
+"Ess; an' when Martin Grimbal knaws that is so, 'twill be time enough to
+ax un for work, I dare say,--not sooner. Better he should give Clem work
+than me. I'd thought of him myself, for that matter."
+
+"I've axed Clem to ax un long ago, but he won't."
+
+"I'll go and see Clem right away. 'Tis funny he never let the man knaw
+'bout you. Should have been the first thing he tawld un."
+
+"Perhaps he thought 'twas so far off that--"
+
+"Doan't care what he thought. Weern't plain dealin' to bide quiet about
+that, an' I shall tell un so."
+
+"Well, doan't 'e quarrel with Clem. He'm 'bout the awnly friend you've
+got left now."
+
+"I've got mother an' you. I'm all right. I can see as straight as any
+man, an' all my brain-work in the past ban't gwaine to be wasted 'cause
+wan auld miller fellow happens to put a mean trick on me. I'm above
+caring. I just goes along and remembers that people has their failings."
+
+"We must make allowance for other folk."
+
+"So us must; an' I be allus doin' it; so why the hell doan't they make
+allowance for me? That's why I boil awver now an' again--damn it! I gets
+nought but kicks for my halfpence--allus have; an' I won't stand it from
+mortal man much longer!"
+
+Chris kept her face, for Will's views on conduct and man's whole duty to
+man were no new thing.
+
+"Us must keep patient, Will, 'specially with the auld."
+
+"I be patient. It 'mazes me, looking back, to see what I have suffered
+in my time. But a man's a man, not a post or a holy angel. Us wouldn't
+hear such a deal about angels' tempers either if they'd got to faace all
+us have."
+
+"That's profanity an' wickedness."
+
+"'Tis truth. Any fule can be a saint inside heaven; an' them that was
+born theer and have flown 'bout theer all theer time, like birds in a
+wood, did ought to be even-tempered. What's to cross'em?"
+
+"You shouldn't say such things!"
+
+Suddenly a light came into his eyes.
+
+"I doan't envy 'em anyway. Think what it must be never to have no mother
+to love 'e! They 'm poor, motherless twoads, for all their gold crowns
+an' purple wings."
+
+"Will! whatever will 'e say next? Best go to Clem. An' forget what I
+spoke 'bout Martin Grimbal an' work. You was wiser'n me in that."
+
+"I s'pose so. If a man ban't wiser 'n his sister, he's like to have poor
+speed in life," said Will.
+
+Then he departed, but the events of that day were still very far from an
+end, and despite the warning of Chris, her brother soon stood on the
+verge of another quarrel. It needed little to wake fresh storms in his
+breast and he criticised Clement's reticence on the subject of his
+engagement in so dictatorial and hectoring a manner that the elder man
+quickly became incensed. They wrangled for half an hour, Hicks in
+satirical humour, Will loud with assurances that he would have no
+underhand dealings where any member of his family was concerned. Clement
+presently watched the other tramp off, and in his mind was a dim
+thought. Could Blanchard forget the past so quickly? Did he recollect
+that he, Clement Hicks, shared knowledge of it? "He's a fool, whichever
+way you look at him," thought the poet; "but hardly such a fool as to
+forget that, or risk angering me of all men."
+
+Later in the day Will called at a tap-room, drank half a pint of beer,
+and detailed his injuries for the benefit of those in the bar. He asked
+what man amongst them, situated as he had been, had acted otherwise; and
+a few, caring not a straw either way, declared he had showed good pluck
+and was to be commended; But the bulky Mr. Chapple--he who assisted
+Billy Blee in wassailing Miller Lyddon's apple-trees--stoutly criticised
+Will, and told him that his conduct was much to blame. The younger
+argued against this decision and explained, with the most luminous
+diction at his command, that 'twas in the offering of such a task to a
+penniless man its sting and offence appeared.
+
+"He knawed I was at low ebb an' not able to pick an' choose. So he gives
+me a starvin' man's job. If I'd been in easy circumstances an' able to
+say 'Yes' or 'No' at choice, I'd never have blamed un."
+
+"Nonsense and stuff!" declared Mr. Chapple. "Theer's not a shadow of
+shame in it."
+
+"You'm Miller's friend, of coourse," said Will.
+
+"'Tis so plain as a pike, I think!" squeaked a hare-lipped young man of
+weak intellect who was also present. "Blanchard be right for sartain."
+
+"Theer! If soft Gurney sees my drift it must be pretty plain," said
+Will, in triumph.
+
+"But as 'tis awnly him that does, lad," commented Mr. Chapple, drily,
+"caan't say you've got any call to be better pleased. Go you back an' do
+the job, like a wise man."
+
+"I'd clear the peat out o' Cranmere Pool sooner!" said Will.
+
+And he turned homewards again, wretched enough, yet fiercely prodding
+his temper when it flagged, and telling himself repeatedly that he had
+acted as became a man of spirit and of judgment. Then, upon a day
+sufficiently leaden and dreary until that moment, burst forth sudden
+splendours, and Will's life, from a standpoint of extreme sobriety in
+time, instantly passed to rare brightness. Between the spot on the
+highway where Chris met him and his arrival at home, the youth enjoyed
+half a lifetime of glorious hopes and ambitions; but a cloud indeed
+shadowed all this overwhelming joy in that the event responsible for his
+change of fortune was itself sad.
+
+While yet twenty yards from her brother Chris cried the news to him.
+
+"He's dead--Uncle--he went quite sudden at the end; an' he'm to lie to
+Chagford wi' gran'faither an' gran'mother."
+
+"Dead! My God! An' I never seed un more! The best friend to me ever I
+had--leastways I thought so till this marnin'."
+
+"You may think so still."
+
+"Ess, so I do. A kind man inside his skin. I knawed un better'n most
+people--an' he meant well when he married me, out of pure love to us
+both."
+
+"He's left nobody no money but Mrs. Watson and you."
+
+"If 'tis five pound, 'tis welcome to-day; an' if 'tis five shillin',
+I'll thank un an' spend it 'pon a ring to wear for un. He was a gude
+auld blid, an' I'm sorry he's gone."
+
+"Will, Uncle's left 'e a thousand pound!"
+
+"What! You'm jokin'."
+
+"Solemn truth. 'Tis in mother's letter."
+
+A rush of joy lighted up the young man's face. He said not a word; then
+his eyes grew moist.
+
+"To think as he could have loved a daft fule like me so well as that!
+Me--that never done nothin'--no, not so much as to catch a dish of trout
+for un, now an' again, when he was here."
+
+"You couldn't, bein' water-keeper."
+
+"What matter for that? I ought to have poached for un, seein' the manner
+of man he was."
+
+He kept silence for a while, then burst out--
+
+"I'll buy the braavest marble stone can be cut. Nobody shall do it but
+me, wi' doves or anchors or some such thing on it, to make it a fine
+sight so long as the world goes on."
+
+"Theer's plenty room 'pon the auld slate, for that matter," said Chris.
+
+"Damn the auld slate! The man shall have white marble carvings, I tell
+'e, if I've got to spend half the money buying 'em. He b'lieved in me;
+he knawed I'd come to gude; an' I'm grateful to un."
+
+During the evening Will was unusually silent and much busied with
+thought. He knew little of the value of money, and a thousand pounds to
+his mind represented possibilities wholly beyond the real power of that
+sum to achieve. Chris presently visited the vicarage, and after their
+supper, brother and sister sat late and discussed the days to come. When
+the girl retired, Will's thoughts for a moment concerned themselves with
+the immediate past rather than the future; and then it was that he
+caught himself blankly before his own argument of the morning. To him
+the force of the contention, now that his position was magically
+changed, appeared strong as before. A little sophistry had doubtless
+extricated him from this dilemma, but his nature was innocent of it, and
+his face grew longer as the conclusion confronting him became more
+clear. From his own logic--a mysterious abstraction, doubtless--he found
+it difficult to escape without loss of self-respect. He still held that
+the deed, impossible to him as a pauper, might be performed without
+sacrifice of dignity or importance by a man of his present fortune. So
+the muddle-headed youth saw his duty straight ahead of him; and he
+regretted it heartily, but did not attempt to escape from it.
+
+Ten minutes later, in his working clothes, he set out to Monks Barton,
+carrying an old horn lantern that had swung behind his father's caravan
+twenty years before. At the farm all lights were out save one in the
+kitchen; but Will went about his business as silently as possible, and
+presently found the spade where he had flung it, the barrow where he had
+overthrown it in the morning. So he set to work, his pipe under his
+nose, his thoughts afar off in a golden paradise built of Uncle Ford's
+sovereigns.
+
+Billy Blee, whose attic window faced out upon the northern side of the
+farm, had gone to bed, but he was still awake, and the grunt of a
+wheelbarrow quickly roused him. Gazing into the night he guessed what
+was doing, dragged on his trousers, and hurried down-stairs to his
+master.
+
+The miller sat with his head on his hand. His pipe was out and the
+"night-cap" Phoebe had mixed for him long ago, remained untasted.
+
+"Guy Fawkes an 'angels! here's a thing! If that Jack-o'-lantern of a
+bwoy ban't back again. He'm delvin' theer, for all the world like a
+hobgoblin demon, red as blood in the flicker of the light. I fancied't
+was the Dowl hisself. But 't is Blanchard, sure. Theer's some dark
+thought under it, I'll lay, or else he wants to come around 'e again."
+
+His master doubted not that Billy was dreaming, but he went aloft and
+looked to convince himself. In silence and darkness they watched Will at
+work. Then Mr. Blee asked a question as the miller turned to go.
+
+"What in thunder do it mean?"
+
+"God knaws, I doan't. The man or bwoy, or whatever you call un, beats
+me. I ban't built to tackle such a piece as him. He's took a year off my
+life to-day. Go to your bed, Billy, an' let un bide."
+
+"Gormed if I wouldn't like to slip down an' scat un ower the head for
+what he done to me this marnin'. Such an auld man as me, tu! weak in the
+hams this ten year."
+
+"But strong in the speech. Maybe you pricked him with a bitter word,
+an'--theer, theer, if I ban't standin' up for the chap now! Yet if I've
+wished un dead wance, I have fifty times since I first heard tell of un.
+Get to bed. I s'pose us'll knaw his drift come to-morrow."
+
+Mr. Lyddon and Billy retired, and both slept ere Will Blanchard's work
+was done. Upon its completion he sought the cold nocturnal waters of the
+river, and then did a thing he had planned an hour before. Entering the
+farmyard, he flung a small stone at Phoebe's window in the thatch, then
+another. But the first had roused his wife, for she lay above in
+wakefulness and sorrow. She peeped out, saw Blanchard, knew him in the
+lantern light, and opened the window.
+
+"Will, my awn Will!" she said, with a throbbing voice.
+
+"Ess fay, lovey! I knawed you'd sleep sweeter for hearin' tell I've done
+the work."
+
+"Done it?"
+
+"Truth."
+
+"It was a cruel, wicked shame; an' the blame's Billy Blee's, an' I've
+cried my eyes out since I heard what they set you to do; an' I've said
+what I thought; an' I'm sorry to bitterness about this marnin', dear
+Will."
+
+"'T is all wan now. I've comed into a mort of money, my Uncle Ford bein'
+suddenly dead."
+
+"Oh, Will, I could a'most jump out the window!"
+
+"'T would be easier for me to come up-long."
+
+"No, no; not for the world, Will!"
+
+"Why for not? An' you that lovely, twinklin' in your white gownd, an' me
+your lawful husband, an' a man o' money! Damned if I ain't got a mind to
+climb up by the pear-tree!"
+
+"You mustn't, you mustn't! Go away, dear, sweet Will. An' I'm so
+thankful you've forgiven me for being so wicked, dear heart."
+
+"Everybody'll ax to be forgiven now, I reckon; but you--theer ban't
+nothin' to forgive you for. You can tell your faither I've forgived un
+to-morrow, an' tell un I'm rich, tu. 'T will ease his mind. Theer, an'
+theer, an theer!"
+
+Will kissed his hand thrice, then vanished, and his wife shut her window
+and, kneeling, prayed out thankful prayers.
+
+As her husband crossed Rushford Bridge, his thought sped backward
+through the storm and sunshine of past events. But chiefly he remembered
+the struggle with John Grimbal and its sequel. For a moment he glanced
+below into the dark water.
+
+"'T is awver an' past, awver an' past," he said to himself. "I be at the
+tail of all my troubles now, for theer's nought gude money an' gude
+sense caan't do between 'em."
+
+
+
+
+BOOK II
+
+HIS ENTERPRISE
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+SPRINGTIME
+
+
+Nature, waking at the song of woodland birds to find herself naked,
+fashioned with flying fingers such a robe of young green and amber,
+hyacinth and pearl as only she can weave or wear. A scent of the season
+rose from multitudinous "buds, and bells, and stars without a name";
+while the little world of Devon, vale and forest, upland and heathery
+waste, rejoiced in the new life, as it rang and rippled with music and
+colour even to the granite thrones of the Moor. Down by the margin of
+Teign, where she murmured through a vale of wakening leaves and
+reflected asphodels bending above her brink, the valley was born again
+in a very pageant of golden green that dappled all the grey woods,
+clothed branch and bough anew, ran flower-footed over the meadow, hid
+nests of happy birds in every dell and dingle, and spread luxuriant life
+above the ruin of the year that was gone. A song of hope filled each
+fair noon; no wasted energy, no unfulfilled intent as yet saddened the
+eye; no stunted, ruined nursling of Nature yet spoke unsuccess; no
+canker-bitten bud marked the cold finger of failure; for in that first
+rush of life all the earthborn host had set forth, if not equal, at
+least together. The primroses twinkled true on downy coral stems and the
+stars of anemone, celandine, and daisy opened perfect. Countless
+consummate, lustrous things were leaping, mingling, and uncurling, aloft
+and below, in the mazes of the wood, at the margins of the water.
+Verdant spears and blades expanded; fair fans opened and tendrils
+twined; simultaneous showers of heart-shaped, arrow-shaped, flame-shaped
+foliage, all pure emerald and translucent beryl, made opulent outpouring
+of that new life which now pulsed through the Mother's million veins.
+Diaphanous mist wreaths and tender showers wooed the Spring; under
+silver gauze of vernal rain rang wild rapture of thrushes, laughter of
+woodpeckers, chime and chatter of jackdaws from the rock, secret
+crooning of the cushat in the pines. From dawn till dusk the sweet air
+was winnowed by busy wings; from dawn till dusk the hum and murmur of
+life ceased not. Infinite possibility, infinite promise, marked the
+time; and man shared a great new hope with the beasts and birds, and
+wild violet of the wood. Blood and sap raced gloriously together, while
+a chorus of conscious and unconscious creation sang the anthem of the
+Spring in solemn strophe and antistrophe.
+
+As life's litany rises once again, and before the thunder of that music
+rolling from the valleys to the hills, human reason yearly hesitates for
+a moment, while hope cries out anew above the frosty lessons of
+experience. For a brief hour the thinker, perhaps wisely, turns from
+memory, as from a cloud that blots the present with its shadow, and
+spends a little moment in this world of opal lights and azure shades. He
+forgets that Nature adorned the bough for other purpose than his joy;
+forgets that strange creatures, with many legs and hungry mouths, will
+presently tatter each musical dome of rustling green; forgets that he
+gazes upon a battlefield awaiting savage armies, which will fill high
+Summer with ceaseless war, to strew the fair earth with slain. He
+suffers dead Winter to bury her dead, seeks the wine of life that brims
+in the chalices of Spring flowers: plucks blade and blossom, and is a
+child again, if Time has so dealt with him that for a little he can thus
+far retrace his steps; and, lastly, he turns once more to the Mother he
+has forgotten, to find that she has not forgotten him. The whisper of
+her passing in a greenwood glade is the murmur of waters invisible and
+of life unseen; the scent of her garment comes sweet on the bloom of the
+blackthorn; high heaven and lowly forget-me-not alike mirror the blue of
+her wonderful eyes; and the gleam of the sunshine on rippling rivers and
+dreaming clouds reflects the gold of her hair. She moves a queen who,
+passing through one fair corner of her world-wide kingdom, joys in it.
+She, the sovereign of the universe, reigns here too, over the buds and
+the birds, and the happy, unconsidered life of weald and wold. Each busy
+atom and unfolding frond is dear to her; each warm nest and hidden
+burrow inspires like measure of her care and delight; and at this time,
+if ever, we may think of Nature as forgetting Death for one magic
+moment, as sharing the wide joy of her wakening world, as greeting the
+young mother of the year's hopes, as pressing to her bosom the babes of
+Spring with many a sunny smile and rainbowed tear.
+
+Through the woods in Teign Valley passed Clement Hicks and his
+sweetheart about a fortnight after Lawyer Ford had been laid to rest in
+Chagford Churchyard. Chris talked about her brother and the great
+enterprise he had determined upon. She supported Will and spoke with
+sanguine words of his future; but Clement regarded the project
+differently.
+
+"To lease Newtake Farm is a fool's trick," he said. "Everybody knows the
+last experiments there. The place has been empty for ten months, and
+those who touched it in recent years only broke their hearts and wasted
+their substance."
+
+"Well, they weern't such men as Will. Theer's a fitness about it, tu;
+for Will's awn gran'faither prospered at Newtake; an' if he could get a
+living, another may. Mother do like the thought of Will being there
+somehow."
+
+"I know it. The sentiment of the thing has rather blinded her natural
+keen judgment. Curious that I should criticise sentiment in another
+person; but it 's like my cranky, contrary way. Only I was thinking of
+Will's thousand pounds. Newtake will suck it out of his pocket quicker
+than Cranmere sucks up a Spring shower."
+
+"Well, I'm more hopeful. He knows the value of money; an' Phoebe will
+help him when she comes up. The months slip by so quickly. By the time
+I've got the cobwebs out of the farm an' made the auld rooms
+water-sweet, I dare say theer'll be talk of his wife joining him."
+
+"You going up! This is the first I've heard of it."
+
+"I meant to tell 'e to-day. Mother is willing and I'm awnly tu glad. A
+man's a poor left-handed thing 'bout a house. I'd do more 'n that for
+Will."
+
+"Pity he doesn't think and do something for you. Surely a little of this
+money--?"
+
+"Doan't 'e touch on that, Clem. Us had a braave talk 'pon it, for he
+wanted to make over two hundred pound to me, but I wouldn't dream of it,
+and you wouldn't have liked me tu. You 'm the last to envy another's
+fair fortune."
+
+"I do envy any man fortune. Why should I starve, waiting for you, and--?"
+
+"Hush!" she said, as though she had spoken to a little child. "I won't
+hear no wild words to-day in all this gude gold sunshine."
+
+"God damn everything!" he burst out. "What a poor, impotent wretch He's
+made me--a thing to bruise its useless hands beating the door that will
+never open! It maddens me--especially when all the world's happy, like
+to-day--all happy but me. And you so loyal and true! What a fool you
+are to stick to me and let me curse you all your life!"
+
+"Doan't 'e, doan't 'e, Clem," said Chris wearily. She was growing well
+accustomed to these ebullitions. "Doan't grudge Will his awn. Our turn
+will come, an' perhaps sooner than we think for. Look round 'pon the
+sweet fresh airth an' budding flowers. Spring do put heart into a body.
+We 'm young yet, and I'll wait for 'e if 't is till the crack o' doom."
+
+"Life's such a cursed short thing at best--just a stormy day between two
+nights, one as long as past time, the other all eternity. Have you seen
+a mole come up from the ground, wallow helplessly a moment or two, half
+blind in the daylight, then sink back into the earth, leaving only a
+mound? That's our life, yours and mine; and Fate grudges that even these
+few poor hours, which make the sum of it, should be spent together.
+Think how long a man and woman can live side by side at best. Yet every
+Sunday of your life you go to church and babble about a watchful, loving
+Maker!"
+
+"I doan't know, Clem. You an' me ban't everybody. You've told me
+yourself as God do play a big game, and it doan't become this man or
+that woman to reckon their-selves more important than they truly be."
+
+"A great game, yes; but a cursed poor game--for a God. The counters
+don't matter, I know; they'll soon be broken up and flung away; and the
+sooner the better. It's living hell to be born into a world where
+there's no justice--none for king or tinker."
+
+"Sit alongside of me and smell the primrosen an' watch thicky kingfisher
+catching the li'l trout. I doan't like 'e in these bitter moods, Clem,
+when your talk's all dead ashes."
+
+He sat by her and looked out over the river. It was flooded in sunlight,
+fringed with uncurling green.
+
+"I'm sick and weary of life without you. 'Conscious existence is a
+failure,' and the man who found that out and said it was wise. I wish I
+was a bird or beast--or nothing. All the world is mating but you and me.
+Nature hates me because I survive from year to year, not being fit to.
+The dumb things do her greater credit than ever I can. The--"
+
+"Now, I'll go--on my solemn word, I'll go--if you grumble any more!
+Essterday you was so different, and said you'd fallen in love with Miss
+Spring, and pretended to speak to her and make me jealous. You didn't do
+that, but you made me laugh. An' you promised a purty verse for me. Did
+'e make it up after all? I lay not."
+
+"Yes, I did. I wasted two or three hours over it last night."
+
+"Might 'e get ten shillings for it, like t' other?"
+
+"It's not worth the paper it's on, unless you like it. Your praise is
+better than money to me. Nobody wants any thoughts of mine. Why should
+they?"
+
+"Not when they 'm all sour an' poor, same as now; but essterday you
+spoke like to a picture-book. Theer's many might have took gude from
+what you said then."
+
+He pulled a scrap of paper from his pocket and flung it into her lap.
+
+"I call it 'Spring Rain,'" he said. "Yesterday the world was grey, and I
+was happy; to-day the world is all gold, and I'm finding life harder and
+heavier than usual. Read it out slowly to me. It was meant to be read to
+the song of the river, and never a prettier voice read a rhyme than
+yours."
+
+Chris smoothed the paper and recited her lover's lyrics. They had some
+shadow of music in them and echoed Clem's love of beautiful things; but
+they lacked inspiration or much skill.
+
+  "'Neath unnumbered crystal arrows--
+      Crystal arrows from the quiver
+      Of a cloud--the waters shiver
+   In the woodland's dim domain;
+   And the whispering of the rain
+   Tinkles sweet on silver Teign--
+             Tinkles on the river.
+
+  "Through unnumbered sweet recesses--
+      Sweet recesses soft in lining
+      Of green moss with ivy twining--
+   Daffodils, a sparkling train,
+   Twinkle through the whispering rain,
+   Twinkle bright by silver Teign,
+             With a starry shining.
+
+  "'Mid unnumbered little leaf-buds--
+      Little leaf-buds surely bringing
+      Spring once more--song birds are winging;
+   And their mellow notes again
+   Throb across the whispering rain,
+   Till the banks of silver Teign
+             Echo with their singing."
+
+Chris, having read, made customary cheerful comment according to her
+limitations.
+
+"'T is just like essterday--butivul grawing weather, but 'pears to me
+it's plain facts more 'n poetry. Anybody could come to the streamside
+and see it all for themselves."
+
+"Many are far away, pent in bricks and mortar, yearning deep to see the
+dance of the Spring, and chained out of sight of it. This might bring
+one glimpse to them."
+
+"An' so it might, if you sold it for a bit of money. Then it could be
+printed out for 'em like t'other was."
+
+"You don't understand--you won't understand--even you."
+
+"I caan't please 'e to-day. I likes the li'l verses ever so. You do make
+such things seem butivul to my ear--an' so true as a photograph."
+
+Clem shivered and stretched his hand for the paper. Then, in a moment,
+he had torn it into twenty pieces and sent the fragments afloat.
+
+"There! Let her take them to the sea with her. She understands. Maybe
+she'll find a cool corner for me too before many days are passed."
+
+Chris began to feel her patience failing.
+
+"What, in God's name, have I done to 'e you should treat me like this?"
+she asked, with fire in her eyes.
+
+"Been fool enough to love me," he answered. "But it's never too late for
+a woman to change her mind. Leave a sinking ship, or rather a ship that
+never got properly launched, but, sticking out of its element, was left
+to rot. Why don't you leave me, Chris?"
+
+She stroked his hand, then picked it up and laid her soft cheek against
+it.
+
+"Not till the end of the world comes for wan of us, Clem. I'll love 'e
+always, and the better and deeper 'cause you 'm so wisht an' unlucky
+somehow. But you 'm tu wise to be miserable all your time."
+
+"You ought to make me a man if anything could. I burn away with hopes
+and hopes, and more hopes for the future, and miss the paltry thing at
+hand that might save me."
+
+"Then miss it no more, love; seek closer, an' seek sharper. Maybe gude
+work an' gude money 's awnly waitin' for 'e to find it. Doan't look at
+the moon an' stars so much; think of me, an' look lower."
+
+Slowly the beauty of the hour and the sweet-hearted girl at his elbow
+threw some sunshine into Clement's moody heart. For a little while the
+melancholy and shiftless dreamer grew happier. He promised renewed
+activity in the future, and undertook, as a first step towards Martin
+Grimbal, to inform the antiquary of that great fact which his foolish
+whim had thus far concealed.
+
+"Chance might have got it to his ears through more channels than one,
+you would have thought; but he's a taciturn man, asks no questions, and
+invites no confidences. I like him the better for it. Next week, come
+what may, I'll speak to him and tell him the truth, like a plain, blunt
+man."
+
+"Do 'e that very thing," urged Chris. "Say we'm lovers these two year
+an' more; an' that you'd be glad to wed me if your way o' life was
+bettered. Ban't beggin', as he knaws, for nobody doubts you'm the most
+book-learned man in Chagford after parson."
+
+Together they followed the winding of the river and proceeded through
+the valley, by wood, and stile, and meadow, until they reached Rushford
+Bridge. Here they delayed a moment at the parapet and, while they did
+so, John Grimbal passed on foot alone.
+
+"His house is growing," said Clement, as they proceeded to Mrs.
+Blanchard's cottage.
+
+"Aye, and his hearth will be as cold as his heart--the wretch! Well he
+may turn his hard face away from me and remember what fell out on this
+identical spot! But for God's gude grace he'd have been hanged to Exeter
+'fore now."
+
+"You can't put yourself in his shoes, Chris; no woman can. Think what
+the world looked like to him after his loss. The girl he wanted was so
+near. His hands were stretched out for her; his heart was full of her.
+Then to see her slip away."
+
+"An' quite right, tu; as you was the first to say at the time. Who's
+gwaine to pity a thief who loses the purse he's stole, or a poacher that
+fires 'pon another man's bird an' misses it?"
+
+"All the same, I doubt he would have made a better husband for Phoebe
+Lyddon than ever your brother will."
+
+His sweetheart gasped at criticism so unexpected.
+
+"You--you to say that! You, Will's awn friend!"
+
+"It's true; and you know it as well as anybody. He has so little common
+sense."
+
+But Chris flamed up in an instant. Nothing the man's cranky temper could
+do had power to irritate her long. Nothing he might say concerning
+himself or her annoyed her for five minutes; but, upon the subject of
+her brother, not even from Clem did Chris care to hear a disparaging
+word or unfavourable comment. And this criticism, of all others,
+levelled against Will angered her to instant bitter answer before she
+had time to measure the weight of her words.
+
+"'Common sense'! Perhaps you'll be so kind as to give Will Blanchard a
+li'l of your awn--you being so rich in it. Best look at home, and see
+what you can spare!"
+
+So the lovers' quarrel which had been steadily brewing under the
+sunshine now bubbled over and lowered thunder-black for the moment, as
+such storms will.
+
+Clement Hicks, perfectly calm now that his sweetheart's temper was gone,
+marched off; and Chris, slamming the cottage door, vanished, without
+taking any further leave of him than that recorded in her last
+utterance.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+NEWTAKE FARM
+
+
+Clement Hicks told the truth when he said that Mrs. Blanchard fell
+something short of her usual sound judgment and sagacity in the matter
+of Will's enterprise. The home of childhood is often apt enough to
+exercise magic, far-reaching attraction, and even influence a mind for
+the most part unsentimental. To Damaris the thought of her son winning
+his living where her father had done so was pleasant and in accordance
+with eternal fitness. Not without emotion did she accompany Will to
+Newtake Farm while yet the proposed bargain awaited completion; not
+without strange awakenings in the dormant recesses of her memory did
+Will's mother pass and pass again through the scenes of her earliest
+days. From the three stone steps, or "upping stock," at the farmhouse
+door, whereat a thousand times she had seen her father mount his horse,
+to the environment of the farmyard; from the strange, winding staircase
+of solid granite that connected upper and lower storeys, to each mean
+chamber in Newtake, did Mrs. Blanchard's eyes roam thoughtfully amid the
+ghosts of recollections. Her girl's life returned and the occasional
+bright days gleamed forth again, vivid by contrast with the prevailing
+grey. So active became thought that to relieve her mind she spoke to
+Will.
+
+"The li'l chamber over the door was mine," she said; "an' your poor
+uncle had the next. I can just mind him, allus at his books, to his
+faither's pride. Then he went away to Newton to join some lawyer body
+an' larn his business. An' I mind the two small maids as was my elder
+sisters and comed betwixt me an' Joel. Both died--like candles blawed
+out roughly by the wind. They wasn't made o' the stuff to stand
+Dartymoor winters."
+
+She paused for a few moments, then proceeded:
+
+"Theer, to west of the yard, is a croft as had corn in it wan year,
+though 'tis permanent grass now, seemin'ly. Your faither corned through
+theer like a snake by night more'n wance; an' oftentimes I crept down
+house, shivering wi' fear an' love, to meet him under moonlight while
+the auld folks slept. Tim he'd grawed to a power wi' the gypsy people by
+that time; but faither was allus hard against un. He hated wanderers in
+tents or 'pon wheels, or even sea-gwaine sailor-men--he carried it that
+far. Then comed a peep o' day when Tim's bonny yellow caravan 'peared
+around the corner of that windin' road what goes all across the Moor. At
+the first stirring of light, I was ready an' skipped out; an', to this
+hour, I mind the last thing as touched me kindly was the red tongue of
+the sheep-dog. He ran a mile after the van, unhappy-like; then Tim
+ordered un away, an' he stood in the white road an' held up his paw an'
+axed a question as plain as a human. So Tim hit un hard wi' a gert
+stone, an' he yelped an' gived me up for lost, an' bolted home wi' his
+tail between his legs an' his eye thrawed back full of sadness over his
+shoulder. Ess fay! I can see the dust puffin' up under his pads in the
+grey dawn so clear as I can see you."
+
+Again she stopped, but only for breath.
+
+"They never answered my writings. Faither wouldn't an' mother didn't
+dare. But when I was near my time, Timothy, reckoning they'd yield then
+if ever, arranged to be in Chagford when I should be brought to bed. Yet
+'twas ordained differ'nt, an' the roundy-poundy, wheer the caravan was
+drawed up when the moment corned, be just round theer on Metherill hill,
+as you knaws. So it happened right under the very walls of Newtake. In
+the stone circle you comed; an' by night arterwards, sweatin' for
+terror, your gran'mother, as had heard tell of it, sneaked from Newtake
+to kiss me an' press you to her body. Faither never knawed till long
+arter; an' though mother used to say she heard un forgive me on his
+death-bed, 'twas her awn pious wish echoing in her awn ears I reckon.
+But that's all awver an' done."
+
+Mrs. Blanchard now sank into silent perambulation of the deserted
+chambers. In the kitchen the whitewash was grimy, the ceiling and
+windows unclean. Ashes of a peat fire still lay upon the cracked
+hearthstone, and a pair of worn-out boots, left by a tramp or the last
+tenant, stood on the window-sill. Dust and filth were everywhere, but no
+indication of dampness or decay.
+
+"A proper auld rogue's-roost of dirt 'tis just now," said Will; "but a
+few pound spent in the right way will do a deal for it."
+
+"An' soap an' water more," declared Mrs. Blanchard, escaping from her
+reverie. "What's to be spent landlord must spend," she continued. "A
+little whitewash, and some plaster to fill them holes wheer woodwork's
+poking through the ceiling, an' you'll be vitty again. 'Tis
+lonesome-like now, along o' being deserted, an' you'll hear the rats
+galloping an' gallyarding by night, but 'twill soon be all it was
+again--a dear li'l auld plaace, sure enough!"
+
+She eyed the desolation affectionately.
+
+"Theer's money in it, any way, for what wan man can do another can."
+
+"Aye, I hope so, I b'lieve 'tis so; but you'll have to live hard, an'
+work hard, an' be hard, if you wants to prosper here. Your gran'faither
+stood to the work like a giant, an' the sharpest-fashion weather hurt
+him no worse than if he'd been a granite tor. Steel-built to his heart's
+core, an' needed to be."
+
+"An' I be a stern, far-seein' man, same as him. 'Tis generally knawn I'm
+no fule; and my heart's grawed hard, tu of late days, along wi' the
+troubles life's brought."
+
+She shook her head.
+
+"You'm your faither's son, not your gran'faither's. Tim was flesh an'
+blood, same as you. T'other was stone. Stone's best, when you've got to
+fight wi' stone; but if flesh an' blood suffers more, it joys more, tu.
+I wouldn't have 'e differ'nt--not to them as loves 'e, any way."
+
+"I sha'n't change; an' if I did to all the world else, 'twouldn't be to
+you, mother. You knaw that, I reckon. I'm hopeful; I'm more; I'm 'bout
+as certain of fair fortune as a man can be. Venwell rights[6] be mine,
+and theer's no better moorland grazing than round these paarts. The
+farm-land looks a bit foul, along o' being let go to rack, but us'll
+soon have that clean again, an' some gude stuff into it, tu. My awn
+work'll be staring me in the faace before summer; an' by the time Phoebe
+do come to be mistress, nobody'll knaw Newtake, I promise 'e."
+
+
+[6] _Venwell rights_ = Venville rights.
+
+
+Mrs. Blanchard viewed with some uneasiness the spectacle of valley-born
+and valley-nurtured Phoebe taking up her abode on the high lands. For
+herself she loved them well, and the Moor possessed no terrors for her;
+but she had wit to guess that her daughter-in-law would think and feel
+differently. Indeed, neither woman nor man might reasonably be blamed
+for viewing the farm without delight when first brought within the
+radius of its influence.
+
+Newtake stood, a squat and unlovely erection, under a tar-pitched roof
+of slate. Its stone walls were coated with a stucco composition, which
+included tallow as an ingredient and ensured remarkable warmth and
+dryness. Before its face there stretched a winding road of white flint,
+that climbed from the village, five miles distant, and soon vanished
+amid the undulations of the hills; while, opposite, steep heathery
+slopes and grassy coombs ascended abruptly to masses of weathered
+granite; and at the rear a hillside, whereon Metherill's scattered
+hut-circles made incursions even into the fields of the farm, fell to
+the banks of Southern Teign where she babbled between banks of
+brake-fern and heather. Swelling and sinking solemnly along the sky,
+Dartmoor surrounded Newtake. At the entrance of the yard stood a broken
+five-barred gate between twin masses of granite; then appeared a ragged
+outbuilding or two, with roofs of lichen-covered slate; and upon one
+side, in a row, grew three sycamores, bent out of all uprightness by
+years of western winds, and coated as to their trunks with grey lichen.
+Behind a cowyard of shattered stone pavement and cracked mud stood the
+farm itself, and around it extended the fields belonging thereto. They
+were six or seven in number, and embraced some five-and-fifty acres of
+land, mostly indifferent meadow.
+
+Seen from the winding road, or from the bird's-eye elevation of the
+adjacent tor, Newtake, with its mean ship-pens and sties, outbuildings
+and little crofts, all huddled together, poverty-stricken, time-fretted,
+wind-worn, and sad of colour, appeared a mere forlorn fragment of
+civilisation left derelict upon the savage bosom of an untamable land.
+It might have represented some forsaken, night-foundered abode of men,
+torn by earthquake or magic spell from a region wholly different, and
+dropped and stranded here. It sulked solitary, remote, and forgotten;
+its black roof frowned over its windows, and green tears, dribbling down
+its walls in time past, had left their traces, as though even spring
+sunlight was powerless to eradicate the black memories of winters past,
+or soften the bitter certainty of others yet to come. The fields,
+snatched from the Moor in time long past, now showed a desire to return
+to their wild mother again. The bars of cultivation were broken and the
+land struggled to escape. Scabious would presently throw a mauve pallor
+over more than one meadow croft; in another, waters rose and rushes and
+yellow iris flourished and defied husbandry; elsewhere stubble, left
+unploughed by the last defeated farmer, gleamed silver-grey through a
+growth of weeds; while at every point the Moor thrust forward hands
+laden with briar and heather. They surmounted the low stone walls and
+fed and flourished upon the clods and peat that crowned them. Nature
+waved early gold of the greater furze in the van of her oncoming, and
+sent her wild winds to sprinkle croft and hay-field, ploughed land and
+potato patch, with thistledown and the seeds of the knapweed and rattle
+and bracken fern. These heathen things and a thousand others, in all the
+early vigour of spring, rose triumphant above the meek cultivation. They
+trampled it, strangled it, choked it, and maddened the agriculturist by
+their sturdy and stubborn persistence. A forlorn, pathetic blot upon the
+land of the mist was Newtake, seen even under conditions of sunlight and
+fair weather; but beheld beneath autumnal rains, observed at seasons of
+deep snow or in the dead waste of frozen winters, its apparition
+rendered the most heavy-hearted less sad before the discovery that there
+existed a human abode more hateful, a human outlook more oppressive,
+than their own.
+
+To-day heavy moorland vapours wrapped Newtake in ghostly raiment, yet no
+forlorn emotions clouded the survey of those who now wandered about the
+lifeless farm. In the mind of one, here retracing the course of her
+maidenhood, this scene, if sad, was beautiful. The sycamores, whose
+brown spikes had burst into green on a low bough or two, were the trees
+she loved best in the world; the naked field on the hillside, wherein a
+great stone ring shone grey through the silver arms of the mist,
+represented the theatre of her life's romance. There she had stolen
+oftentimes to her lover, and in another such, not far distant, had her
+son been born. Thoughts of little sisters rose in the naked kitchen,
+with the memory of a flat-breasted, wild-eyed mother, who did man's
+work; of a father, who spoke seldom and never twice--a father whose
+heavy foot upon the threshold sent his children scuttling like rabbits
+to hidden lairs and dens. She remembered the dogs; the bright gun-barrel
+above the chimney-piece; the steam of clothes hung to dry after many a
+soaking in "soft" weather; the reek of the peat; the brown eyes and
+steaming nostrils of the bullocks, that sometimes looked through the
+kitchen window in icy winter twilights, as though they would willingly
+change their byres for the warmth within.
+
+Mrs. Blanchard enjoyed the thought that her son should reanimate these
+scenes of her own childhood; and he, burning with energy and zeal, and
+not dead to his own significance as a man of money, saw promises of
+prosperity on either hand. It lay with him, he told his heart, to win
+smiling fatness from this hungry region. Right well he knew how it came
+about that those who had preceded him had failed, missed their
+opportunities, fooled themselves, and flung away their chances.
+Evidences of their ignorance stared at him from the curtains of the
+mist, but he knew better; he was a man who had thought a bit in his time
+and had his head screwed on the right way, thank God. These facts he
+poured into his mother's ear, and she smiled thoughtfully, noted the
+changes time had wrought, and indicated to him those things the landlord
+might reasonably be expected to do before Will should sign and seal.
+
+The survey ended, her son helped Damaris into a little market-cart,
+which he had bought for her upon coming into his fortune. A staid pony,
+also his purchase, completed the equipage, and presently Mrs. Blanchard
+drove comfortably away; while Will, who yet proposed to tramp, for the
+twentieth time, each acre of Newtake land, watched her depart, then
+turned to continue his researches. A world of thought rested on his
+brown face. Arrived at each little field, he licked his pencil, and made
+notes in a massive new pocketbook. He strode along like a conqueror of
+kingdoms, frowned and scratched his curly head as problem after problem
+rose, smiled when he solved them, and entered the solution in his book.
+For the wide world was full of young green, and this sanguine youth
+soared lark-high in soul under his happy circumstances. Will breathed
+out kindness to all mankind just at present, and now before that
+approaching welfare he saw writ largely in beggarly Newtake, before the
+rosy dawn which Hope spread over this cemetery of other men's dead
+aspirations, he felt his heart swell to the world. Two clouds only
+darkened his horizon then. One was the necessity of beginning the new
+life without his life's partner; while the other, formerly tremendous
+enough, had long since shrunk to a shadow on the horizon of the past.
+His secret still remained, but that circumstance was too remote to
+shadow the new enterprise. It existed, however, and its recurrence wove
+occasional gloomy patterns into the web of Will Blanchard's thought.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+OVER A RIDING-WHIP
+
+
+Will completed his survey and already saw, in his mind's eye, a brave
+masque of autumn gold spreading above the lean lands of Newtake. From
+this spectacle to that of garnered harvests and great gleaming stacks
+bursting with fatness the transition was natural and easy. He pictured
+kine in the farmyard, many sheep upon the hills, and Phoebe with such
+geese, ducks, and turkeys as should make her quite forget the poultry of
+Monks Barton. Then, having built castles in the air until his
+imagination was exhausted, Will shut the outer gate with the touch of
+possession, turned a moment to see how Newtake looked from the roadway,
+found only the shadow of it looming through the mist, and so departed,
+whistling and slapping his gaiters with an ash sapling.
+
+It happened that beside a gate which closed the moorland precincts to
+prevent cattle from wandering, a horseman stood, and as the pedestrian
+passed him in the gathering gloaming, he dropped his hunting-stock while
+making an effort to open the gate without dismounting.
+
+"Bide wheer you be!" said Will; "I'll pick un up an' ope the gate for
+'e."
+
+He did so and handed the whip back to its owner. Then each recognised
+the other, and there was a moment of silence.
+
+"'Tis you, Jan Grimbal, is it?" asked the younger. "I didn't knaw 'e in
+the dimpsy light."
+
+He hesitated, and his words when they came halted somewhat, but his
+meaning was evident.
+
+"I'm glad you'm back to home. I'll forget all what's gone, if you will.
+'Twas give an' take, I s'pose. I took my awn anyway, an' you comed near
+killing me for't, so we'm upsides now, eh? We'm men o' the world
+likewise. So--so shall us shake hands an' let bygones be, Jan Grimbal?"
+
+He half raised his hand, and looked up, with a smile at the corner of
+his lip ready to jump into life if the rider should accept his
+friendship. But Grimbal's response was otherwise.
+
+To say little goodness dwelt in this man had been untrue, but recent
+events and the first shattering reverse that life brought him proved
+sufficient to sour his very soul and eclipse a sun which aforetime shone
+with great geniality because unclouded. Fate hits such men particularly
+hard when her delayed blow falls. Existences long attuned to success and
+level fortune; lives which have passed through five-and-thirty years of
+their allotted span without much sorrow, without sharp thorns in the
+flesh, without those carking, gnawing trials of mind and body which Time
+stores up for all humanity--such feel disaster when it does reach them
+with a bitterness unknown by those who have been in misery's school from
+youth. Poverty does not bite the poor as it bites him who has known
+riches and afterwards fights destitution; feeble physical circumstances
+do not crush the congenital invalid, but they often come near to break
+the heart of a man who, until their black advent, has known nothing but
+rude health; great reverses in the vital issues of life and fortune fail
+to obliterate one who knows their faces of old, but the first enemy's
+cannon on Time's road must ever bring ugly shock to him who has advanced
+far and happily without meeting any such thing.
+
+Grimbal's existence had been of a rough-and-ready sort shone over by
+success. Philosophy he lacked, for life had never turned his mind that
+way; religion was likewise absent from him; and his recent tremendous
+disappointment thus thundered upon a mind devoid of any machinery to
+resist it. The possession of Phoebe Lyddon had come to be an accepted
+and accomplished fact; he chose her for his own, to share the good
+things Fortune had showered into his lap--to share them and be a
+crowning glory of them. The overthrow of this scheme at the moment of
+realisation upset his estimate of life in general and set him adrift and
+rudderless, in the hurricane of his first great reverse. Of selfish
+temperament, and doubly so by the accident of consistent success, the
+wintry wind of this calamity slew and then swept John Grimbal's common
+sense before it, like a dead leaf. All that was worst in him rose to the
+top upon his trouble, and since Will's marriage the bad had been winning
+on the good and thrusting it deeper and deeper out of sight or immediate
+possibility of recovery. At all times John Grimbal's inferior
+characteristics were most prominently displayed, and superficial
+students of character usually rated him lower than others really worse
+than himself, but who had wit to parade their best traits. Now, however,
+he rode and strode the country a mere scowling ruffian, with his
+uppermost emotions still stamped on his face. The calamity also bred an
+unsuspected sensitiveness in him, and he smarted often under the
+reflection of what others must be thinking. His capability towards
+vindictiveness proved very considerable. Formerly his anger against his
+fellow-men had been as a thunder-storm, tremendous but brief in
+duration; now, before this bolt of his own forging, a steady, malignant
+activity germinated and spread through the whole tissue of his mind.
+
+Those distractions open to a man of Grimbal's calibre presently blunted
+the edge of his loss, and successful developments of business also
+served to occupy him during the visit he paid to Africa; but no
+interests as yet had arisen to obscure or dull his hatred of Will
+Blanchard. The original blaze of rage sank to a steady, abiding fire,
+less obviously tremendous than that first conflagration, but in reality
+hotter. In a nature unsubtle, revenge will not flourish as a grand
+passion for any length of time. It must reach its outlet quickly and
+attain to its ambition without overmuch delay, else it shrivels and
+withers to a mere stubborn, perhaps lifelong, enmity--a dwarfish, mulish
+thing, devoid of any tragic splendour. But up to the point that John
+Grimbal had reached as yet, his character, though commonplace in most
+affairs, had unexpectedly quickened to a condition quite profound where
+his revenge was concerned.
+
+He still cherished the certainty of a crushing retaliation. He was glad
+he had not done Blanchard any lifelong injury; he was glad the man yet
+lived for time and him to busy themselves about; he was even glad (and
+herein appeared the unsuspected subtlety) that Will had prospered and
+come by a little show of fortune. Half unconsciously he hoped for the
+boy something of his own experiences, and had determined with
+himself--in a spirit very melodramatic but perfectly sincere at
+present--to ruin his enemy if patience and determination could
+accomplish it.
+
+In this mood, with his wrongs sharpened by return to Chagford and his
+purposes red-hot, John Grimbal now ran against his dearest foe, received
+the horsewhip from him, and listened to his offer of peace.
+
+He still kept silence and Will lowered the half-lifted arm and spoke
+again.
+
+"As you please. I can bide very easy without your gude word."
+
+"That's well, then," said the other, in his big voice, as his hands
+tightened. "We've met again. I'm glad I didn't break your neck, for your
+heart's left to break, and by the living God I'll break it! I can wait.
+I'm older than you, but young enough. Remember, I'll run you down sooner
+or later. I've hunted most things, and men aren't the cleverest beasts
+and you're not the cleverest man I've bested in my time. You beat me--I
+know it--but it would have been better for you if you hadn't been born.
+There's the truth for your country ears, you damned young hound. I'll
+fight fair and I'll fight to the finish. Sport--that's what it is. The
+birds and the beasts and the fish have their close time; but there won't
+be any close time for you, not while I can think and work against you.
+So now you know. D' you hear me?"
+
+"Ess," said Will, meeting the other's fierce eyes; "I hear 'e, an' so
+might the dead in Chagford buryin'-ground. You hollers loud enough. I
+ban't 'feared of nothing a hatch-mouthed,[7] crooked-minded man, same as
+you be, can do. An' if I'm a hound, you 'm a dirty red fox, an'
+everybody knaws who comes out top when they meet. Steal my gal, would
+'e? Gaw your ways, an' mend your ways, an' swallow your bile. I doan't
+care a flicker o' wildfire for 'e!"
+
+
+[7] _Hatch-mouthed_ = foul mouthed; profane.
+
+
+John Grimbal heard only the beginning of this speech, for he turned his
+back on Will and rode away while the younger man still shouted after
+him. Blanchard was in a rage, and would have liked to make a third trial
+of strength with his enemy on the spot, but the rider vanished and Will
+quickly cooled as he went down the hill to Chagford. The remembrance of
+this interview, for all his scorn, chilled him when he reflected on John
+Grimbal's threats. He feared nothing indeed, but here was another cloud,
+and a black one, blown violently back from below the horizon of his life
+to the very zenith. Malignity of this type was strange to him and
+differed widely from the petty bickerings, jealousies, and strifes of
+ordinary country existence. It discouraged him to feel in his hour of
+universal contentment that a strong, bitter foe would now be at hand,
+forever watching to bring ruin on him at the first opportunity. As he
+walked home he asked himself how he should feel and act in Grimbal's
+shoes, and tried to look at the position from his enemy's standpoint. Of
+course he told himself that he would have accepted defeat with right
+philosophy. It was a just fix for a man to find himself in,--a proper
+punishment for a mean act. Arguing thus, from the right side of the
+hedge, he forgot what wiser men have forgotten, that there is no
+disputing about man's affection for woman, there is no transposition of
+the standpoint, there is no looking through another's eyes upon a girl.
+Many have loved, and many have rendered vivid pictures of the emotion,
+touched with insight of genius and universally proclaimed true to nature
+from general experience; but no two men love alike, and neither you nor
+another man can better say how a third feels under the yoke, estimate
+his thrall, or foretell his actions, despite your own experience, than
+can one sufferer from gout, though it has torn him half a hundred times,
+gauge the qualities of another's torment under the same disease. Will
+could not guess what John Grimbal had felt for Phoebe; he knew nothing
+of the other's disposition, because, young in knowledge of the world and
+a boy still, despite his age, it was beyond him to appreciate even
+remotely the mind of a man fifteen years older than himself--a man of
+very different temper and one whose life had been such as we have just
+described.
+
+Home went Blanchard, and kept his meeting secret. His mother, returning
+long before him, was already in some argument with Chris concerning the
+disposal of certain articles of furniture, the pristine splendour of
+which had been worn off at Newtake five-and-thirty years before. At
+Farmer Ford's death these things passed to his son, and he, not
+requiring them, had made them over to Damaris.
+
+"They was flam-new when first my parents married and comed to Newtake,
+many a year ago; and now I want 'em to go back theer. They've seed three
+generations, an' I'd be well pleased that a fourth should kick its li'l
+boots out against them. They 'm stout enough yet. Sweat went to building
+of chairs an' tables in them days; now it's steam. Besides, 'twill save
+Will's pocket a tidy bit."
+
+Chris, however, though she could deny Will nothing, was divided here,
+for why should her mother part from those trifles which contributed to
+the ample adornment of her cottage? Certain stout horsehair furniture
+and a piano were the objects Mrs. Blanchard chiefly desired should go to
+Newtake. The piano, indeed, had never been there before. It was a
+present to Damaris from her dead husband, who purchased the instrument
+second-hand for five pounds at a farm sale. Its wiry jingle spoke of
+evolution from harpsichord or spinet to the modern instrument; its
+yellow keys, from which the ivory in some cases was missing, and its
+high back, stained silk front, and fretted veneer indicated age; while
+above the keyboard a label, now growing indistinct, set forth that one
+"William Harper, of Red Lion Street, Maker of piano-fortes to his late
+Majesty" was responsible for the instrument very early in the century.
+
+Now Will joined the discussion, but his mother would take no denial.
+
+"These chairs and sofa be yours, and the piano's my present to Phoebe.
+She'll play to you of a Sunday afternoon belike."
+
+"An' it's here she'll do it; for my Sundays'll be spent along with you,
+of coourse, 'cept when you comes up to my farm to spend 'em. That's what
+I hope'll fall out; an' I want to see Miller theer, tu, after he've
+found I'm right and he'm wrong."
+
+But the event proved that, even in his new capacity as a man of money
+and a landholder, Will was not to win much ground with Mr. Lyddon. Two
+circumstances contributed to the continued conflict, and just as Phoebe
+was congratulating herself and others upon the increasing amity between
+her father and her husband matters fell out which caused the miller to
+give up all hope of Will for the hundredth time. First came the
+occupancy of Newtake at a rent Mr. Lyddon considered excessive; and then
+followed a circumstance that touched the miller himself, for, by the
+offer of two shillings more a week than he received at Monks Barton,
+Will tempted into his service a labourer held in great esteem by his
+father-in-law.
+
+Sam Bonus appeared the incarnation of red Devon earth, built up on solid
+beef and mutton. His tanned face was framed in crisp black hair that no
+razor had ever touched; his eyes were deep-set and bright; his narrow
+brow was wrinkled, not with thought, but as the ape's. A remarkably tall
+and powerful frame supported Sam's little head. He laboured like a horse
+and gave as little trouble, triumphed in feats of brute strength,
+laughed at a day's work, never knew ache or pain. He had always greatly
+admired Blanchard, and, faced with the tempting bait of a florin a week
+more than his present wage, abandoned Monks Barton and readily followed
+Will to the Moor. His defection was greatly deplored, and though Will
+told Mr. Blee what he intended beforehand, and made no secret of his
+design to secure Sam if possible, Billy discredited the information
+until too late. Then the miller heard of his loss, and, not unnaturally,
+took the business ill.
+
+"Gormed if it ban't open robbery!" declared Mr. Blee, as he sat and
+discussed the matter with his master one evening, "an' the thankless,
+ill-convenient twoad to go to Blanchard, of all men!"
+
+"He'll be out of work again soon enough. And he needn't come back to me
+when he is. I won't take him on no more."
+
+"'Twould be contrary to human nature if you did."
+
+"Human nature!" snapped the miller, with extreme irritation. "'Twould
+puzzle Solomon to say what's come over human nature of late days."
+
+"'Tis a nut wi' a maggot in it," mused Billy: "three parts rotten, the
+rest sweet. An' all owing to fantastic inventions an' new ways of
+believin' in God wi'out church-gwaine, as parson said Sunday. Such
+things do certainly Play hell with human nature, in a manner o'
+speakin'. I reckon the uprising men an' women's wickeder than us, as
+sucked our mothers in quieter times afore the railroads."
+
+"Bonus is such a fule!" said Mr. Lyddon, harking back to his loss. "Yet
+I thought he belonged to the gude old-fashioned sort."
+
+"I told un he was out in his reckoning, that he'd be left in the cold
+bimebye, so sure as Blanchard was Blanchard and Newtake was Newtake; but
+he awnly girned his gert, ear-wide girn, an' said he knawed better."
+
+"To think of more gude money bein' buried up theer! You've heard my view
+of all ground wi' granite under it. Such a deal ought to have been done
+wi' that thousand pound."
+
+"Oughts are noughts, onless they've strokes to 'em," declared Billy.
+"'Tis a poor lookout, for he'm the sort as buys experience in the
+hardest market. Then, when it's got, he'll be a pauper man, with what he
+knaws useless for want o' what's spent gettin' it. Theer's the thought
+o' Miss Phoebe, tu,--Mrs. Blanchard, I should say. Caan't see her biding
+up to Newtake nohow, come the hard weather."
+
+"'Wedlock an' winter tames maids an' beastes,'" said Mr. Lyddon
+bitterly. "A true saw that."
+
+"Ess; an' when 'tis wedlock wi' Blanchard, an' winter on Dartymoor,
+'twould tame the daughter of the Dowl, if he had wan."
+
+Billy laughed at this thought. His back rounded as he sat in his chair,
+his head seemed to rise off his lower jaw, and the yellow frill of hair
+under his chin stood stiffly out.
+
+"He's my son-in-law; you 'pear to forget that, Blee," said Mr. Lyddon;
+"I'm sure I wish I could, if 'twas even now an' again."
+
+Thereupon Billy straightened his face and cast both rancour and
+merriment to the winds.
+
+"Why, so he be; an' grey hairs should allus make allowance for the young
+youths; though I ain't forgot that spadeful o' muck yet, an' never
+shall. But theer's poison in bwoy's blood what awnly works out of the
+brain come forty. I'm sure I wish nothing but well to un. He's got his
+saving graces, same as all of us, if we could but see 'em; an' come what
+may, God looks arter His awn chosen fules, so theer's hope even for
+Blanchard." "Cold consolation," said Mr. Lyddon wearily; "but't is all
+we've got. Two nights since I dreamt I saw un starvin' on a dunghill. 'T
+was a parable, I judge, an' meant Newtake Farm."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+DEFEATED HOPES
+
+
+Below Newtake Farm the river Teign wound, with many a foaming fall and
+singing rapid, to confluence with her twin sister in the valley beneath.
+Here, at a certain spot, above the forest and beneath the farm, stood
+Martin Grimbal on a bright afternoon in May. Over his head rose a rowan,
+in a soft cloud of serrated foliage, with clusters of grey-green flower
+buds already foretelling the crimson to come; about his feet a silver
+army of uncurling fronds brightened the earth and softened the sharp
+edges of the boulders scattered down the coomb. Here the lover waited to
+the music of a cuckoo, and his eyes ever turned towards a stile at the
+edge of the pine woods, two hundred yards distant from him.
+
+The hour was one of tremendous possibilities, because Fate had been
+occupied with Martin through many days, and now he stood on the brink of
+great joy or sorrow. Clement Hicks had never spoken to him. During his
+quarrel with Chris, which lasted a fortnight, the bee-keeper purposely
+abstained from doing her bidding, while after their reconciliation every
+other matter in the world was swallowed up for a time in the delight of
+renewed love-making. The girl, assuming throughout these long weeks that
+Martin now knew all, had met him in frank and kindly spirit on those
+occasions when he planned to enjoy her society, and this open warmth
+awoke renewed heart for Grimbal, who into her genial friendship read
+promise and from it recruited hope. His love now dominated his spiritual
+being and filled his life. Grey granite was grey granite only, and no
+more. During his long walks by pillar-stone, remote row, and lonely
+circle, Chris, and Chris alone, occupied his brain. He debated the
+advisability of approaching Will, then turned rather to the thought of
+sounding Mrs. Blanchard, and finally nerved himself to right action and
+determined to address Chris. He felt this present heart-shaking suspense
+must be laid at rest, for the peace of his soul, and therefore he took
+his courage in his hands and faced the ordeal.
+
+That day Chris was going up to Newtake. She had not yet settled there,
+though her brother and Sam Bonus were already upon the ground, but the
+girl came and went, busying her fingers with a hundred small matters
+that daily increased the comfort of the little farm. Her way lay usually
+by the coomb, and Martin, having learned that she was visiting Will on
+the occasion in question, set out before her and awaited her here,
+beside the river, in a lonely spot between the moorland above and the
+forest below. He felt physically nervous, yet hope brightened his mind,
+though he tried to strangle it. Worn and weary with his long struggle,
+he paced up and down, now looking to the stile, now casting dissatisfied
+glances upon his own person. Shaving with more than usual care, he had
+cut his chin deeply, and, though he knew it not, the wound had bled
+again since he left home and ruined both his collar and a new tie, put
+on for the occasion.
+
+Presently he saw her. A sunbonnet bobbed at the stile and Chris
+appeared, bearing a roll of chintz for Newtake blinds. In her other hand
+she carried half a dozen bluebells from the woods, and she came with the
+free gait acquired in keeping stride through long tramps with Will when
+yet her frocks were short. Martin loved her characteristic speed in
+walking. So Diana doubtless moved. The spring sunshine had found Chris
+and the clear, soft brown of her cheek was the most beautiful thing in
+nature to the antiquary. He knew her face so well now: the dainty poise
+of her head, the light of her eyes, the dark curls that always clustered
+in the same places, the little updrawing at the corner of her mouth as
+she smiled, the sudden gleam of her teeth when she laughed, and the
+abrupt transitions of her expression from repose to gladness, from
+gladness back again into repose.
+
+She saw the man before she reached him, and waved her bluebells to show
+that she had done so. Then he rose from his granite seat and took off
+his hat and stood with it off, while his heart thundered, his eye
+watered, and his mouth twitched. But he was outwardly calm by the time
+Chris reached him.
+
+"What a surprise to find 'e here, Martin! Yet not much, neither, for
+wheer the auld stones be, theer you 'm to be expected."
+
+"How are you, Chris? But I needn't ask. Yes, I'm fond of the stones."
+
+"Well you may be. They talk to 'e like friends, seemingly. An' even I
+knaw a sight more 'bout 'em now. You've made me feel so differ'nt to
+'em, you caan't think."
+
+"For that matter," he answered, leaping at the chance, "you've made me
+feel different to them."
+
+"Why, how could I, Martin?"
+
+"I'll tell you. Would you mind sitting down here, just for a moment? I
+won't keep you. I've no right to ask for a minute of your time; but
+there's dry moss upon it--I mean the stone; and I was waiting on
+purpose, if you'll forgive me for waylaying you like this. There's a
+little thing--a big thing, I mean--the biggest--too big for words
+almost, yet it wants words--and yet sometimes it doesn't--at
+least--I--would you sit here?"
+
+He was breathing rather hard, and his words were tripping. Managing his
+voice ill, the tones of it ran away from bass to shrill treble. She saw
+it all at a glance, and realised that Martin had been blundering on, in
+pure ignorance and pure love, all these weary weeks. She sat down
+silently and her mind moved like light along the wide gamut of fifty
+emotions in a second. Anger and sorrow strove together,--anger with Clem
+and his callous, cynic silence, sorrow for the panting wretch before
+her. Chris opened her mouth to speak, then realised where her flying
+thoughts had taken her and that, as yet, Martin Grimbal had said
+nothing. Her unmaidenly attitude and the sudden reflection that she was
+about to refuse one before he had asked her, awoke a hysteric
+inclination to laugh, then a longing to cry. But all the anxious-visaged
+man before her noted was a blush that waved like auroral light from the
+girl's neck to her cheek, from her cheek to her forehead. That he saw,
+and thought it was love, and thanked the Lord in his clumsy fashion
+aloud.
+
+"God be praised! I do think you guess--I do think you guess! But oh, my
+dear, my dear, you don't know what 's in my heart for you. My little
+pearl of a Chris, can you care for such a bear of a man? Can you let me
+labour all my life long to make your days good to you? I love you so--I
+do. I never thought when the moment came I should find tongue to speak
+it, but I have; and now I could say it fifty thousand times. I'd just be
+proud to tie your shoe-string, Chris, my dear, and be your old slave
+and--Chris! my Chris! I've hurt you; I've made you cry! Was I--was I all
+wrong? Don't, don't--I'll go--Oh, my darling one, God knows I
+wouldn't--"
+
+He broke off blankly and stood half sorrowful, half joyous. He knew he
+had no right as yet to go to the comfort of the girl now sobbing beside
+him, but hope was not dead. And Chris, overcome by this outpouring of
+love, now suffered very deep sorrow, while she turned away from him and
+hid her face and wept. The poor distracted fool still failed to guess
+the truth, for he knew tint tears are the outcome of happiness as well
+as misery. He waited, open-mouthed, he murmured something--God knows
+what--then he went close and thought to touch her waist, but feared and
+laid his hand gently on her shoulder.
+
+"Don't 'e!" she said; and he began to understand and to struggle with
+himself to lessen her difficulty.
+
+"Forgive me--forgive me if you can, Chris. Was I all wrong? Then I ought
+to have known better--but even an old stick like me--before you, Chris.
+Somehow I--but don't cry. I wouldn't have brought the tears to your eyes
+for all the world--dense idiot I am--"
+
+"No, no, no; no such thing 't all, Martin. 'Tis I was cruel not to see
+you didn't knaw. You've been treated ill, an' I'm cryin' that such a
+gude--gude, braave, big-hearted man as you, should be brought to this
+for a fule of a gal like me. I ban't worthy a handshake from 'e, or a
+kind word. An'--an'--Clem Hicks--Clem be tokened to me these two year
+an' more. He'm the best man in the world; an' I hate un for not tellin'
+'e--an'--an'--"
+
+Chris sobbed herself to the end of her tears; and the man took his
+trial--like a man. His only thought was the sadness his blunder had
+brought with it for her. To misread her blush seemed in his humility a
+crime. His consistent unselfishness blinded him, for an instant at
+least, to his own grief. He blamed himself and asked pardon and prepared
+to get away out of her sight as soon as possible.
+
+"Forgive me, Chris--I needn't ask you twice, I know--such a stupid
+thing--I didn't understand--I never observed: but more shame to me. I
+ought to have seen, of course. Anybody else would--any man of proper
+feeling."
+
+"How could 'e see it with a secret chap like him? He ought to have told
+'e; I bid un speak months since; an' I thought he had; an' I hate un for
+not doing it!"
+
+"But you mustn't. Don't cry any more, and forget all about it. I could
+almost laugh to think how blind I've been. We'll both laugh next time we
+meet. If you're happy, then I'll laugh always. That's all I care for.
+Now I know you're happy again, I'm happy, too, Chris--honour bright.
+And I'll be a friend still--remember that--always--to you--to you and
+him."
+
+"I hate un, I say."
+
+"Why, he didn't give me credit for being such a bat--such a mole. Now I
+must be away. We'll meet pretty soon, I expect. Just forget this
+afternoon as though it had never been, even though it's such a jolly
+sunny one. And remember me as a friend--a friend still for all my
+foolishness. Good-by for the present. Good-by."
+
+He nodded, making the parting a slight thing and not missing the
+ludicrous in his anxiety to spare her pain. He went down the valley,
+leaving her sitting alone. He assumed a jaunty air and did not look
+round, but hastened off to the stile. Never in his most light-hearted
+moments had he walked thus or struck right and left at the leaves and
+shrubs with such a clumsy affectation of nonchalance. Thus he played the
+fool until out of sight; then his head came down, and his feet dragged,
+and his walk and mien grew years older than his age. He stopped
+presently and stood still, staring upon the silence. Westering sunlight
+winnowed through the underwood, splashed into its sombre depths and
+brightened the sobriety of a grey carpet dotted with dead cones. Sweet
+scents floated downward upon the sad whisper that lives in every pine
+forest; then came suddenly a crisp rattle of little claws and a tiny
+barking, where two red squirrels made love, high aloft, amid the grey
+lichens and emerald haze of a great larch that gleamed like a green lamp
+through the night of the dark surrounding foliage.
+
+Martin Grimbal dropped his stick and flung down his body in the hushed
+and hidden dreamland of the wood. Now he knew that his hope had lied to
+him, that the judgment he prided himself upon, and which had prompted
+him to this great deed, was at fault. The more than common tact and
+delicacy of feeling he had sometimes suspected he possessed in rare,
+exalted moments, were now shown vain ideas born from his own conceit;
+and the event had proved him no more subtle, clever, or far-seeing than
+other men. Indeed, he rated himself as an abject blunderer and thought
+he saw how a great overwhelming fear, at the bottom of his worship of
+Chris, had been the only true note in all that past war of emotions. But
+he had refused to listen and pushed forward; and now he stood thus.
+Looking back in the light of his defeat, his previous temerity amazed
+him. His own ugliness, awkwardness, and general unfitness to be the
+husband of Chris were ideas now thrust upward in all honesty to the top
+of his mind. No mock modesty or simulated delicacy inspired them, for
+after defeat a man is frank with himself. Whatever he may have pretended
+before he puts his love to the test, however he may have blinded himself
+as to his real feelings and beliefs before he offers his heart, after
+the event has ended unfavourably his real soul stands naked before him
+and, according to his character, he decides whether himself or the girl
+is the fool. Grimbal criticised his own audacity with scanty compassion
+now; and the thought of the tears of Chris made him clench one hand and
+smash it hard again and again into the palm of the other. No passionate
+protest rose in his mind against the selfish silence of Clement Hicks;
+he only saw his own blindness and magnified it into an absolute offence
+against Chris. Presently, as the sunlight sank lower, and the straight
+stems of the pines glimmered red-gold against the deepening gloom,
+Martin retraced the scene that was past and recalled her words and
+actions, her tears, the trembling of her mouth, and that gesture when
+the wild flowers dropped from her hand and her fingers went up to cover
+her eyes. Then a sudden desire mastered him: to possess the purple of
+her bluebell bouquet. He knew she would not pick it up again when he was
+gone; so he returned, stood in that theatre of Fate beneath the rowan,
+saw where her body had pressed the grass, and found the fading flowers.
+
+Then he turned to tramp home, with the truth gnawing his heart at last.
+The excitement was over, all flutter of hope and fear at rest. Only that
+bitter fact of failure remained, with the knowledge that one, but
+yesterday so essential and so near, had now vanished like a rainbow
+beyond his reach.
+
+Martin's eyes were opened in the light of this experience. John came
+into his mind, and estimating his brother's sufferings by his own, the
+stricken man found room in his sad heart for pity.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+THE ZEAL OF SAM BONUS
+
+
+Under conditions of spring and summer Newtake Farm flattered Will's
+hopes not a little. He worked like a giant, appropriated some of that
+credit belonging to fine weather, and viewed the future with very
+considerable tranquillity. Of beasts he purchased wisely, being guided
+in that matter by Mr. Lyddon; but for the rest he was content to take
+his own advice. Already his ambition extended beyond the present limits
+of his domain; already he contemplated the possibility of reclaiming
+some of the outlying waste and enlarging his borders. If the Duchy might
+spread greedy fingers and inclose "newtakes," why not the Venville
+tenants? Many besides Will asked themselves that question; the position
+was indeed fruitful of disputes in various districts, especially on
+certain questions involving cattle; and no moorland Quarter breathed
+forth greater discontent against the powers than that of which Chagford
+was the central parish.
+
+Sam Bonus, inspired by his master's sanguine survey of life, toiled
+amain, believed all that Will predicted, and approved each enterprise he
+planned; while as for Chris, in due time she settled at Newtake and
+undertook woman's work there with her customary thoroughness and energy.
+To her lot fell the poultry, the pair of fox-hound puppies that Will
+undertook to keep for the neighbouring hunt, and all the interior
+economy and control of the little household.
+
+On Sundays Phoebe heard of the splendid doings at Newtake; upon which
+she envied Chris her labours, and longed to be at Will's right hand. For
+the present, however, Miller Lyddon refused his daughter permission even
+to visit the farm; and she obeyed, despite her husband's indignant
+protests.
+
+Thus matters stood while the sun shone brightly from summer skies. Will,
+when he visited Chagford market, talked to the grizzled farmers,
+elaborated his experience, shook his head or nodded it knowingly as
+they, in their turn, discussed the business of life, paid due respect to
+their wisdom, and offered a little of his own in exchange for it. That
+the older men lacked pluck was his secret conviction. The valley folk
+were braver; but the upland agriculturists, all save himself, went in
+fear. Their eyes were careworn, their caution extreme; behind the summer
+they saw another shadow forever moving; and the annual struggle with
+those ice-bound or water-logged months of the early year, while as yet
+the Moor had nothing for their stock, left them wearied and spiritless
+when the splendour of the summer came. They farmed furtively, snatching
+at such good as appeared, distrusting their own husbandry, fattening the
+land with reluctance, cowering under the shadow of withered hopes and
+disappointments too numerous to count. Will pitied this mean spirit and,
+unfamiliar with wet autumns and hard winters on the high land, laughed
+at his fellow-countrymen. But they were kind and bid him be cautious and
+keep his little nest-egg snug.
+
+"Tie it up in stout leather, my son," said a farmer from Gidleigh. "Ay,
+an' fasten the bag wi' a knot as'll take 'e half an hour to undo; an'
+remember, the less you open it, the better for your peace of mind."
+
+All of which good counsel Blanchard received with expressions of
+gratitude, yet secretly held to be but the croaking of a past
+generation, stranded far behind that wave of progress on which he
+himself was advancing crest-high.
+
+It happened one evening, when Clement Hicks visited Newtake to go for a
+walk under the full moon with Chris, that he learnt she was away for a
+few days. This fact had been mentioned to Clement; but he forgot it, and
+now found himself here, with only Will and Sam Bonus for company. He
+accepted the young farmer's invitation to supper, and the result proved
+unlucky in more directions than one. During this meal Clem railed in
+surly vein against the whole order of things as it affected himself, and
+made egotistical complaint as to the hardness of life; then, when his
+host began to offer advice, he grew savage and taunted Will with his own
+unearned good fortune. Blanchard, weary after a day of tremendous
+physical exertion, made sharp answer. He felt his old admiration for
+Clem Hicks much lessened of late, and it nettled him not a little that
+his friend should thus attribute his present position to the mere
+accident of a windfall. He was heartily sick of the other's endless
+complaints, and now spoke roughly and to the point.
+
+"What the devil's the gude of this eternal bleat? You'm allus snarlin'
+an' gnashin' your teeth 'gainst God, like a rat bitin' the stick that's
+killin' it."
+
+"And why should God kill me? You've grown so wise of late, perhaps you
+know."
+
+"Why shouldn't He? Why shouldn't He kill you, or any other man, if He
+wants the room of un for a better? Not that I believe parson's stuff
+more 'n you; but grizzlin' your guts to fiddlestrings won't mend your
+fortune. Best to put your time into work, 'stead o' talk--same as me an'
+Bonus. And as for my money, you knaw right well if theer'd been two
+thousand 'stead of wan, I'd have shared it with Chris."
+
+"Easy to say! If there had been two, you would have said, 'If it was
+only four'! That's human nature."
+
+"Ban't my nature, anyway, to tell a lie!" burst out Will.
+
+"Perhaps it's your nature to do worse. What were you about last
+Christmas?"
+
+Blanchard set down knife and fork and looked the other in the face. None
+had heard this, for Bonus, his meal ended, went off to the little tallet
+over a cattle-byre which was his private apartment.
+
+"You'd rip that up again--you, who swore never to open' your mouth upon
+it?"
+
+"You're frightened now."
+
+"Not of you, anyway. But you'd best not to come up here no more. I'm
+weary of you; I don't fear you worse than a blind worm; but such as you
+are, you've grawed against me since my luck comed. I wish Chris would
+drop you as easy as I can, for you'm teachin' her to waste her life,
+same as you waste yours."
+
+"Very well, I'll go. We're enemies henceforth, since you wish it so."
+
+"Blamed if you ban't enough to weary Job! 'Enemies'! It's like a child
+talkin'. 'Enemies'! D'you think I care a damn wan way or t'other? You'm
+so bad as Jan Grimbal wi' his big play-actin' talk. He'm gwaine to cut
+my tether some day. P'r'aps you'll go an' help un to do it! The past is
+done, an' no man who weern't devil all through would go back on such a
+oath as you sweared to me. An' you won't. As to what's to come, you
+can't hurt a straight plain-dealer, same as me, though you'm free an'
+welcome to try if you please to."
+
+"The future may take care of itself; and for your straight speaking I'll
+give you mine. Go your way and I'll go my way; but until you beg my
+forgiveness for this night's talk I'll never cross your threshold again,
+or speak to you, or think of you."
+
+Clement rose from his unfinished food, picked up his hat, and vanished,
+and Will, dismissing the matter with a toss of his head and a
+contemptuous expiration of breath, gave the poet's plate of cold potato
+and bacon to a sheep-dog and lighted his pipe.
+
+Not ten hours later, while yet some irritation at the beekeeper's spleen
+troubled Blanchard's thoughts as he laboured upon his land, a voice
+saluted him from the highway and he saw a friend.
+
+"An' gude-marnin' to you, Martin. Another braave day, sure 'nough. Climb
+awver the hedge. You'm movin' early. Ban't eight o'clock."
+
+"I'm off to the 'Grey Wethers,' those old ruined circles under Sittaford
+Tor, you know. But I meant a visit to you as well. Bonus was in the
+farmyard and brought me with him."
+
+"Ess fay, us works, I tell 'e. We'm fightin' the rabbits now. The li'l
+varmints have had it all theer way tu long; but this wire netting'll
+keep 'em out the corn next year an' the turnips come autumn. How be you
+fearin'? I aint seen 'e this longful time."
+
+"Well, thank you; and as busy as you in my way. I'm going to write a
+book about the Dartmoor stones."
+
+"'S truth! Be you? Who'll read it?"
+
+"Don't know yet. And, after all, I have found out little that sharper
+eyes haven't discovered already. Still, it fills my time. And it is that
+I'm here about."
+
+"You can go down awver my land to the hut-circles an' welcome whenever
+you mind to."
+
+"Sure of it, and thank you; but it's another thing just now--your
+brother-in-law to be. I think perhaps, if he has leisure, he might be
+useful to me. A very clever fellow, Hicks."
+
+But Will was in no humour to hear Clement praised just then, or suggest
+schemes for his advancement.
+
+"He'm a weak sapling of a man, if you ax me. Allus grumblin', an' soft
+wi' it--as I knaw--none better," said Blanchard, watching Bonus struggle
+with the rabbit netting.
+
+"He's out of his element, I think--a student--a bookish man, like
+myself."
+
+"As like you as chalk's like cheese--no more. His temper, tu! A bull in
+spring's a fule to him. I'm weary of him an' his cleverness."
+
+"You see, if I may venture to say so, Chris--"
+
+"I knaw all 'bout that. 'Tis like your gudeness to try an' put a li'l
+money in his pocket wi'out stepping on his corns. They 'm tokened. Young
+people 's so muddle-headed. Bees indeed! Nice things to keep a wife an'
+bring up a fam'ly on! An' he do nothin' but write rhymes, an' tear 'em
+up again, an' cuss his luck, wi'out tryin' to mend it. I thought
+something of un wance, when I was no more 'n a bwoy, but as I get up in
+years I see the emptiness of un."
+
+"He would grow happy and sweeter-hearted if he could marry your sister."
+
+"Not him! Of course, if it's got to be, it will be. I ban't gwaine to
+see Chris graw into an auld maid. An' come bimebye, when I've saved a
+few hunderd, I shall set 'em up myself. But she's makin' a big mistake,
+an', to a friend, I doan't mind tellin' 'e 'tis so."
+
+"I hope you're wrong. They'll be happy together. They have great love
+each for the other. But, of course, that's nothing to do with me. I
+merely want Hicks to undertake some clerical work for me, as a matter of
+business, and I thought you might tell me the best way to tackle him
+without hurting his feelings. He's a proud man, I fancy."
+
+"Ess; an' pride's a purty fulish coat for poverty, ban't it? I've gived
+that man as gude advice as ever I gived any man; but what's
+well-thought-out wisdom to the likes of him? Get un a job if you mind
+to. I shouldn't--not till he shaws better metal and grips the facts o'
+life wi' a tighter hand."
+
+"I'll sound him as delicately as I can. It may be that his self-respect
+would strengthen if he found his talents appreciated and able to command
+a little money. He wants something of that sort--eh?"
+
+"Doan't knaw but what a hiding wouldn't be so gude for un as anything,"
+mused Will. There was no animosity in the reflection. His ill-temper had
+long since vanished, and he considered Clement as he might have
+considered a young, wayward dog which had erred and brought itself
+within reach of the lash.
+
+"I was welted in my time hard an' often, an' be none the worse," he
+continued.
+
+Martin smiled and shook his head.
+
+"Might have served him once; too late now for that remedy, I fear."
+
+There was a brief pause, then Will changed the conversation abruptly.
+
+"How's your brother Jan?" he asked.
+
+"He's furnishing his new house and busy about the formation of a
+volunteer corps. I met him not long since in Fingle Gorge."
+
+"Be you friends now, if I may ax?"
+
+"I tried to be. We live and learn. Things happened to me a while ago
+that taught me what I didn't know. I spoke to him and reminded him of
+the long years in Africa. Blood's thicker than water, Blanchard."
+
+"So 'tis. What did he make of it?"
+
+"He looked up and hesitated. Then he shook his head and set his face
+against me, and said he would not have my friendship as a gift."
+
+"He's a gude hater."
+
+"Time will bring the best of him to the top again some day. I understand
+him, I think. We possess more in common than people suppose. We feel
+deeply and haven't a grain of philosophy between us."
+
+"Well, I reckon I've allus been inclined to deep ways of thought myself;
+and work up here, wi' nothing to break your thoughts but the sight of a
+hawk or the twinkle of a rabbit's scut, be very ripening to the mind. If
+awnly Phoebe was here! Sometimes I'm in a mood to ramp down-long an'
+hale her home, whether or no. But I sweats the longing out o' me wi'
+work."
+
+"The day will soon come. Time drags with me just now, somehow, but it
+races with you, I'll warrant. I must get on with my book, and see Hicks
+and try and persuade him to help me."
+
+"'Tis like your big nature to put it that way. You'rn tu soft-hearted a
+man to dwell in a house all alone. Let the dead stones bide, Martin, an'
+look round for a wife. Theer's more gude advice. Blamed if I doan't
+advise everybody nowadays! Us must all come to it. Look round about an'
+try to love a woman. 'T will surprise 'e an' spoil sleep if you can
+bring yourself to it. But the cuddlin' of a soft gal doan't weaken man's
+thews and sinews neither. It hardens 'em, I reckon, an' puts fight in
+the most poor-spirited twoad as ever failed in love. 'Tis a manly thing,
+an' 'boldens the heart like; an', arter she's said 'Yes' to 'e, you'll
+find a wonnerful change come awver life. 'Tis all her, then. The most
+awnself[8] man feels it more or less, an' gets shook out of his shell.
+You'll knaw some day. Of course I speaks as wan auld in love an' married
+into the bargain."
+
+
+[8] _Awnself_=selfish.
+
+
+"You speak from experience, I know. And is Phoebe as wise as you, Will?"
+
+"Waitin' be harder for a wummon. They've less to busy the mind, an' less
+mind to busy, for that matter."
+
+"That's ungallant."
+
+"I doan't knaw. 'Tis true, anyway. I shouldn't have failed in love wi'
+her if she'd been cleverer'n me."
+
+"Or she with you, perhaps?"
+
+"P'r'aps not. Anyway as it stands we'm halves of a whole: made for man
+and wife. I reckon I weern't wan to miss my way in love like some poor
+fules, as wastes it wheer they might see't wasn't wanted if they'd got
+eyes in their heads."
+
+"What it is to be so wise!"
+
+Will laughed joyously in his wisdom.
+
+"Very gude of 'e to say that. 'Tis a happy thing to have sense enough.
+Not but we larn an' larn."
+
+"So we should. Well, I must be off now. I'm safe on the Moor to-day!"
+
+"Ess, by the looks of it. Theer'll likely come some mist after noon, but
+shouldn't be very thick."
+
+So they parted, Blanchard having unconsciously sown the seed of an ugly
+crop that would take long in reaping. His remarks concerning Clement
+Hicks were safe enough with Martin, but another had heard them as he
+worked within earshot of his master. Bonus, though his judgment was
+scanty, entertained a profound admiration for Will; and thus it came
+about, that a few days later, when in Chagford, he called at the "Green
+Man" and made some grave mischief while he sang his master's praises. He
+extolled the glorious promise of Newtake, and the great improvements
+already visible thereon; he reflected not a little of Will's own
+flamboyant manner to the secret entertainment of those gathered in the
+bar, and presently he drew down upon himself some censure.
+
+Abraham Chown, the police inspector, first shook his head and prophesied
+speedy destruction of all these hopes; and then Gaffer Lezzard
+criticised still more forcibly.
+
+"All this big-mouthed talk's cracklin' of thorns under a potsherd,"
+hesaid. "You an' him be just two childern playin' at shop in the gutter,
+an' the gutter's wheer you'll find yourselves 'fore you think to. What
+do the man _knaw?_ Nothin'."
+
+"Blanchard's a far-seein' chap," answered Sam Bonus stoutly. "An' a gude
+master; an' us'll stick together, fair or foul."
+
+"You may think it, but wait," said a small man in the corner. Charles
+Coomstock, nephew of the widow of that name already mentioned, was a
+wheelwright by trade and went lame, owing to an accident with hot iron
+in youth.
+
+"Ax Clem," continued Mr. Coomstock. "For all his cranky ways he knaws
+Blanchard better'n most of us, an' I heard un size up the chap t'other
+day in a word. He said he hadn't wit enough to keep his brains sweet."
+
+"He'm a braave wan to talk," fired back Bonus. "Him! A poor luny as
+caan't scrape brass to keep a wife on. Blanchard, or me either, could
+crack un in half like a dead stick."
+
+"Not that that's anything for or against," declared Gaffer Lezzard.
+"Power of hand's nought against brain."
+
+"It gaws a tidy long way 'pon Dartymoor, however," declared Bonus. "An'
+Blanchard doan't set no 'mazin' store on Hicks neither, if it comes to
+words. I heard un say awnly t'other forenoon that the man was a weak
+saplin', allus grumblin', an' might be better for a gude hiding."
+
+Now Charles Coomstock did not love his cousin Clement. Indeed, none of
+those who had, or imagined they had, any shadow of right to a place in
+Mary Coomstock's will cared much for others similarly situated; but the
+little wheelwright was by nature a spreader of rumours and reports--an
+intelligencer, malignant from choice. He treasured this assertion,
+therefore, together with one or two others. Sam, now at his third glass,
+felt his heart warm to Will. He would have fought with tongue or fist on
+his behalf, and presently added to the mischief he had already done.
+
+"To shaw 'e, neighbours, just the man he is, I may tell 'e that a larned
+piece like Martin Grimbal ackshually comed all the way to Newtake not
+long since to ax advice of un. An' 'twas on the identical matter of this
+same Hicks. Mr. Grimbal wanted to give un some work to do, 'bout a book
+or some such item; an' Will he ups and sez, 'Doan't,' just short an'
+straight like that theer. 'Doan't,' he sez. 'Let un shaw what's in un
+first'; an' t'other nodded when he said it."
+
+Having now attested his regard for the master of Newtake, Sam jogged
+off. He was pleased with himself, proud of having silenced more than one
+detractor, and as his little brain turned the matter over, his lips
+parted in a grin.
+
+Coomstock meanwhile had limped into the cottage where Clement lived with
+his mother. He did not garble his news, for it needed no artistic touch;
+and, with nice sense of his perfect and effective instrument, he
+realised the weapon was amply sharp enough without whetting, and
+employed the story as it came into his hand. But Mr. Coomstock was a
+little surprised and disappointed at his cousin's reserve and
+self-restraint. He had hoped for a hearty outburst of wrath and the
+assurance of wide-spreading animosity, yet no such thing happened, and
+the talebearer presently departed in some surprise. Mrs. Hicks, indeed,
+had shrilled forth a torrent of indignation upon the sole subject equal
+to raising such an emotion in her breast, for Clem was her only son. The
+man, however, took it calmly, or appeared to do so; and even when
+Charles Coomstock was gone he refused to discuss the matter more.
+
+But had his cousin, with Asmodeus-flight, beheld Clement during the
+subsequent hours which he spent alone, it is possible that the
+wheelwright had felt amply repaid for his trouble. Not until dawn stole
+grey along the village street; not until sparrows in the thatch above
+him began their salutation to the morning; not until Chagford rookery
+had sent forth a harmonious multitude to the hills and valleys did
+Clement's aching eyes find sleep. For hours he tossed and turned, now
+trembling with rage, now prompted by some golden thread in the tangled
+mazes of his mind to discredit the thing reported. Blanchard, as it
+seemed, had come deliberately and maliciously between him and an
+opportunity to win work. He burnt to know what he should do; and, like a
+flame of forked light against the sombre background of his passion, came
+the thought of another who hated Blanchard too. Will's secret glowed and
+gleamed like the writing on the wall; looking out, Hicks saw it stamped
+on the dark earth and across the starry night; and he wished to God that
+the letters might so remain to be read by the world when it wakened.
+Finally he slept and dreamed that he had been to the Red House, that he
+had spoken to John Grimbal, and returned home again with a bag of gold.
+
+When his mother came to call him he was lying half uncovered in a wild
+confusion of scattered bed-clothes; and his arms and body were jerking
+as a dog's that dreams. She saw a sort of convulsion pinch and pucker
+his face; then he made some inarticulate sounds--as it were a frantic
+negation; and then the noise of his own cry awakened him. He looked
+wildly round and lifted his hands as though he expected to find them
+full.
+
+"Where is it? Where is it? The bag of money? I won't--I can't--Where is
+it, I say?"
+
+"I wish I knawed, lovey. Dream-gawld, I'm afeared. You've bin lying
+cold, an' that do allus breed bad thoughts in sleep. 'Tis late; I done
+breakfast an hour ago. An' Okehampton day, tu. Coach'll be along in
+twenty minutes."
+
+He sighed and dragged the clothes over himself.
+
+"You'd best go to-day, mother. The ride will do you good, and I have
+plenty to fill my time at home."
+
+Mrs. Hicks brightened perceptibly before this prospect. She was a
+little, faded woman, with a brown face and red-rimmed, weak eyes, washed
+by many years of sorrow to the palest nondescript colour. She crept
+through the world with no ambition but to die out of the poorhouse, no
+prayer but a petition that the parish might not bury her at the end, no
+joy save in her son. Life at best was a dreary business for her, and an
+occasional trip to Okehampton represented about the only brightness that
+ever crept into it. Now she bustled off full of excitement to get the
+honey, and, having put on a withered bonnet and black shawl, presently
+stood and waited for the omnibus.
+
+Her son dwelt with his thoughts that day, and for him there was no peace
+or pleasure. Full twenty times he determined to visit Newtake at once
+and have it out with Will; but his infirmity of purpose acted like a
+drag upon this resolution, and his pride also contributed a force
+against it. Once he actually started, and climbed up Middledown to reach
+the Moor beyond; then he changed his mind again as new fires of enmity
+swept through it. His wrongs rankled black and bitter; and, faint under
+them, he presently turned and went home shivering though the day was
+hot.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+A SWARM OF BEES
+
+
+Above Chagford rise those lofty outposts of Dartmoor, named respectively
+Nattadown and Middledown. The first lies nearer to the village, and upon
+its side, beneath a fir wood which crowns one spur, spread steep wastes
+of fern and furze. This spot was a favourite one with Clement Hicks, and
+a fortnight after the incidents last related he sat there smoking his
+pipe, while his eyes roved upon the scene subtended before him. The hill
+fell abruptly away, and near the bottom glimmered whitewashed cots along
+a winding road. Still lower down extended marshy common land, laced with
+twinkling watercourses and dotted with geese; while beyond, in many a
+rise and fall and verdant undulation, the country rolled onwards through
+Teign valley and upwards towards the Moor. The expanse seen from this
+lofty standpoint extended like a mighty map, here revealing a patchwork
+of multicoloured fields, here exhibiting tracts of wild waste and wood,
+here beautifully indicating by a misty line, seen across ascending
+planes of forest, the course of the distant river, here revealing the
+glitter of remote waters damaskeened with gold. Little farms and
+outlying habitations were scattered upon the land; and beyond them,
+rising steadily to the sky-line, the regions of the Moor revealed their
+larger attributes, wider expanses, more savage and abrupt configurations
+of barren heath and weathered tor. The day passed gradually from gloom
+to brightness, and the distance, already bathed in light, gleamed out of
+a more sombre setting, where the foreground still reflected the shadows
+of departing clouds, like a picture of great sunshine framed in
+darkness. But the last vapours quickly vanished; the day grew very hot
+and, as the sky indicated noon, all things beneath Clement's eyes were
+soaked in a splendour of June sunlight. He watched a black thread lying
+across a meadow five miles away. First it stretched barely visible
+athwart the distance green; in half an hour it thickened without
+apparent means; within an hour it had absorbed an eighth part at least
+of the entire space. Though the time was very unusual for tilling of
+land, Hicks knew that the combined operations of three horses, a man,
+and a plough were responsible for this apparition, and he speculated as
+to how many tremendous physical and spiritual affairs of life are thus
+wrought by agents not visible to the beholder. Thus were his own
+thoughts twisted back to those speculations which now perpetually
+haunted them like the incubus of a dream. What would Will Blanchard say
+if he woke some morning to find his secret in John Grimbal's keeping?
+And, did any such thing happen, there must certainly be a mystery about
+it; for Blanchard could no more prove how his enemy came to learn his
+secret than might some urban stranger guess how the dark line grew
+without visible means on the arable ground under Gidleigh.
+
+From these dangerous thoughts he was roused by the sight of a woman
+struggling up the steep hill towards him. The figure came slowly on, and
+moved with some difficulty. This much Hicks noted, and then suddenly
+realised that he beheld his mother. She knew his haunt and doubtless
+sought him now. Rising, therefore, he hastened to meet her and shorten
+her arduous climb. Mrs. Hicks was breathless when Clement reached her,
+and paused a while, with her hand pressed to her side, before she could
+speak. At length she addressed him, still panting between the syllables.
+
+"My heart's a pit-pat! Hurry, hurry, for the Lard's sake! The bees be
+playin'[9] an' they'll call Johnson if you ban't theer directly minute!"
+
+
+[9] _Playing_ = swarming.
+
+
+Johnson, a thatcher, was the only other man in Chagford who shared any
+knowledge of apiarian lore with Clement.
+
+"Sorry you should have had the journey only for that, mother. 'Twas so
+unlikely a morning, I never thought to hear of a swarm to-day. I'll
+start at once, and you go home quietly. You're sadly out of breath.
+Where is it?"
+
+"To the Red House--Mr. Grimbal's. It may lead to the handlin' of his
+hives for all us can say, if you do the job vitty, as you 'm bound to."
+
+"John Grimbal's!"
+
+Hicks stood still as though this announcement had turned him into stone.
+
+"Ess fay! Why do 'e stand glazin' like that? A chap rode out for 'e 'pon
+horseback; an' a bit o' time be lost a'ready. They 'm swarmin' in the
+orchard, an' nobody knaws more 'n the dead what to be at."
+
+"I won't go. Let them get Johnson."
+
+"'Won't go'! An' five shillin' hangin' to it, an' Lard knaws what more
+in time to come! 'Won't go'! An' my poor legs throbbin' something cruel
+with climbin' for 'e!"
+
+"I--I'm not going there--not to that man. I have reason."
+
+"O my gude God!" burst out the old woman, "what'll 'e do next? An'
+me--as worked so hard to find 'e--an' so auld as I am! Please, please,
+Clem, for your mother--please. Theer's bin so little money in the house
+of late days, an' less to come. Doan't, if you love me, as I knaws well
+you do, turn your back 'pon the scant work as falls in best o' times."
+
+The man reflected with troubled eyes, and his mother took his arm and
+tried to pull him down the hill.
+
+"Is John Grimbal at home?" he asked.
+
+"How shude I knaw? An' what matter if he is? Your business is with the
+bees, not him. An' you've got no quarrel with him because that Blanchard
+have. After what Will done against you, you needn't be so squeamish as
+to make his enemies yourn."
+
+"My business is with the bees--as you say, mother," he answered slowly,
+repeating her words.
+
+"Coourse 'tis! Who knaws a half of what you knaw 'bout 'em? That's my
+awn braave Clem! Why, there might be a mort o' gude money for a man like
+you at the Red House!"
+
+"I'll go. My business is with the bees. You walk along slowly, or sit
+down a while and get your breath again. I'll hurry."
+
+She praised him and blessed him, crying after him as he
+departed,--"You'll find all set out for 'e--veil, an' gloves, an' a
+couple of bee-butts to your hand."
+
+The man did not reply, but soon stumbled down the steep hill and
+vanished; then five-and-twenty minutes later, with the implements of his
+trade, he stood at the gate of the Red House, entered, and hastened
+along the newly planted avenue.
+
+John Grimbal had not yet gone into residence, but he dwelt at present in
+his home farm hard by; and from this direction he now appeared to meet
+the bee-keeper. The spectacle of Grimbal, stern, grave, and older of
+manner than formerly, impressed Hicks not a little. In silence, after
+the first salutation, they proceeded towards an adjacent orchard; and
+from here as they approached arose an extravagant and savage din, as
+though a dozen baited dogs, each with a tin kettle at his tail, were
+madly galloping down some stone-paved street, and hurtling one against
+the other as they ran.
+
+"They can stop that row," said Hicks. "'Tis an old-fashioned notion that
+it hurries swarming, but I never found it do so."
+
+"You know best, though beating on tin pots and cans at such a time's a
+custom as old as the hills."
+
+"And vain as many others equally old. I have a different method to hurry
+swarming."
+
+Now they passed over the snows of a million fallen petals, while yet
+good store of flowers hung upon the trees. June basked in the heart of
+the orchard and a delicious green sweetness and freshness marked the
+moment. Crimson and cream, all splashed with sunlight, here bloomed
+against a sky of summer blue, here took a shade from the new-born leaves
+and a shadow from branch and bough. To the eye, a mottled, dimpled glory
+of apple-blossom spread above grey trunks and twisted branches, shone
+through deep vistas of the orchard, brightened all the distance; while
+upon the ear, now growing and deepening, arose one sustained and musical
+susurration of innumerable wings.
+
+"You will be wise to stay here," said Hicks. He himself stopped a
+moment, opened his bag, put on his veil and gloves, and tucked his
+trousers inside his stockings.
+
+"Not I. I wish to see the hiving."
+
+Twenty yards distant a play of light and glint and twinkle of many
+frantic bees converged upon one spot, as stars numerically increase
+towards the heart of a cluster. The sky was full of flying insects, and
+their wings sparkled brightly in the sun; though aloft, with only the
+blue for background, they appeared as mere dark points filling the air
+in every direction. The swarm hung at the very heart of a little glade.
+Here two ancient apple-trees stood apart, and from one low bough,
+stretched at right angles to the parent stem, and not devoid of leaves
+and blossoms, there depended a grey-brown mass from which a twinkling,
+flashing fire leaped forth as from gems bedded in the matrix. Each
+transparent wing added to the dazzle under direct sunlight; the whole
+agglomeration of life was in form like a bunch of grapes, and where it
+thinned away to a point the bees dropped off by their own weight into
+the grass below, then rose again and either flew aloft in wide and
+circling flight or rushed headlong upon the swarm once more. Across the
+iridescent cluster passed a gleam and glow of peacock and iris, opal and
+mother-of-pearl; while from its heart ascended a deep murmur, telling of
+tremendous and accumulated energy suddenly launched into this peaceful
+glade of apple-blossom and ambient green. The frenzy of the moment held
+all that little laborious people. There was none of the concerted action
+to be observed at warping, or simultaneous motion of birds in air and
+fishes in water; but each unit of the shining army dashed on its own
+erratic orbit, flying and circling, rushing hither and thither, and
+sooner or later returning to join the queen upon the bough.
+
+The glory of the moment dominated one and all. It was their hour--a
+brief, mad ecstasy in short lives of ceaseless toil. To-day they
+desisted from their labours, and the wild-flowers of the waste places,
+and the old-world flowers in cottage gardens were alike forgotten. Yet
+their year had already seen much work and would see more. Sweet pollen
+from many a bluebell and anemone was stored and sealed for a generation
+unborn; the asphodels and violets, the velvet wallflower and yellow
+crocuses had already yielded treasure; and now new honey jewels were
+trembling in the trumpets of the honeysuckle, at the heart of the wild
+rose, within the deep cups of the candid and orange lilies, amid the
+fairy caps of columbines, and the petals of clove-pinks. There the bees
+now living laboured, and those that followed would find their sweets in
+the clover,--scarlet and purple and white,--in the foxgloves, in the
+upland deserts of the heather with their oases of euphrasy and sweet
+wild thyme.
+
+"Is it a true swarm or a cast?" inquired John Grimbal.
+
+"A swarm, without much question, though it dawned an unlikely day for an
+old queen to leave the hive. Still, the weather came over splendid
+enough by noon, and they knew it was going to. Where are your butts? You
+see, young maiden queens go further afield than old ones. The latter
+take but a short flight for choice."
+
+"There they are," said Grimbal, pointing to a row of thatched hives not
+far off. "So that should be an old queen, by your showing. Is she
+there?"
+
+"I fancy so by the look of them. If the queen doesn't join, the bees
+break up, of course, and go back to the butt. But I've brought a couple
+of queens with me."
+
+"I've seen a good few drones about the board lately."
+
+"Sure sign of swarming at this season. Inside, if you could look, you'd
+find plenty of queen cells, and some capped over. You'd come across a
+murder or two as well. The old queens make short work of the young ones
+sometimes."
+
+"Woman-like."
+
+Hicks admitted the criticism was just. Then, being now upon his own
+ground, he continued to talk, and talk well, until he won a surly
+compliment from his employer.
+
+"You're a bee-master, in truth! Nobody'll deny you that."
+
+Clement laughed rather bitterly.
+
+"Yes, a king of bees. Not a great kingdom for man to rule."
+
+The other studied his dark, unhappy face. Trouble had quickened
+Grimbal's own perceptions, and made him a more accurate judge of sorrow
+when he saw it than of yore.
+
+"You've tried to do greater things and failed, perhaps," he said.
+
+"Why, perhaps I have. A man's a hive himself, I've thought sometimes--a
+hive of swarming, seething thoughts and experiences and passions, that
+come and go as easily as any bees, and store the heart and brain."
+
+"Not with honey, I'll swear."
+
+"No--gall mostly."
+
+"And every hive's got a queen bee too, for that matter," said Grimbal,
+rather pleased at his wit responsible for the image.
+
+"Yes; and the queens take each other's places quick enough, for we're
+fickle brutes."
+
+"A strange swarm we hive in our hearts, God knows."
+
+"And it eats out our hearts for our pains."
+
+"You've found out that, have you?" asked John curiously.
+
+"Long ago."
+
+"Everybody does, sooner or later."
+
+There was a pause. Overhead the multitude dwindled while the great
+glimmering cluster on the tree correspondingly increased, and the fierce
+humming of the bees was like the sound of a fire. Clement feared
+nothing, but he had seen few face a hiving without some distrust. The
+man beside him, however, stood with his hands in his pockets,
+indifferent and quite unprotected.
+
+"You will be wiser to stand farther away, Mr. Grimbal. You're unlikely
+to come off scot-free if you keep so close."
+
+"What do I care? I've been stung by worse than insects."
+
+"And I also," answered Clement, with such evident passion that the other
+grew a little interested. He had evidently pricked a sore point in this
+moody creature.
+
+"Was it a woman stung you?"
+
+"No, no; don't heed me."
+
+Clement was on guard over himself again. "Your business is with
+bees"--his mother's words echoed in his mind to the pulsing monotone of
+the swarm. He tried to change the subject, sent for a pail of water, and
+drew a large syringe from his bag, though the circumstances really
+rendered this unnecessary. But John Grimbal, always finding a sort of
+pleasure in his own torment, took occasion to cross-question Clement.
+
+"I suppose I'm laughed at still in Chagford, am I not? Not that it
+matters to me."
+
+"I don't think so; an object of envy, rather, for good wives are easier
+to get than great riches."
+
+"That's your opinion, is it? I'm not so sure. Are you married?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Going to be, I'll wager, if you think good wives can be picked off
+blackberry bushes."
+
+"I don't say that at all. But I am going to be married certainly. I'm
+fortunate and unfortunate. I've won a prize, but--well, honey's cheap. I
+must wait."
+
+"D' you trust her? Is waiting so easy?"
+
+"Yes, I trust her, as I trust the sun to swing up out of the east
+to-morrow, to set in the west to-night. She's the only being of my own
+breed I do trust. As for the other question, no--waiting isn't easy."
+
+"Nor yet wise. I shouldn't wait. Tell me who she is. Women interest me,
+and the taking of 'em in marriage."
+
+Hicks hesitated. Here he was drifting helpless under this man's hard
+eyes--helpless and yet not unwilling. He told himself that he was safe
+enough and could put a stop on his mouth when he pleased. Besides, John
+Grimbal was not only unaware that the bee-keeper knew anything against
+Blanchard, but had yet to learn that anybody else did,--that there even
+existed facts unfavourable to him. Something, however, told Hicks that
+mention of the common enemy would result from this present meeting, and
+the other's last word brought the danger, if danger it might be, a step
+nearer. Clement hesitated before replying to the question; then he
+answered it.
+
+"Chris Blanchard," he said shortly, "though that won't interest you."
+
+"But it does--a good deal. I've wondered, some time, why I didn't hear
+my own brother was going to marry her. He got struck all of a heap
+there, to my certain knowledge. However, he 's escaped. The Lord be good
+to you, and I take my advice to marry back again. Think twice, if she's
+made of the same stuff as her brother."
+
+"No, by God! Is the moon made of the same stuff as the marsh lights?"
+
+Concentrated bitterness rang in the words, and a man much less acute
+than Grimbal had guessed he stood before an enemy of Will. John saw the
+bee-keeper start at this crucial moment; he observed that Hicks had said
+a thing he much regretted and uttered what he now wished unspoken. But
+the confession was torn bare and laid out naked under Grimbal's eyes,
+and he knew that another man besides himself hated Will. The discovery
+made his face grow redder than usual. He pulled at his great moustache
+and thrust it between his teeth and gnawed it. But he contrived to hide
+the emotion in his mind from Clement Hicks, and the other did not
+suspect, though he regretted his own passion. Grimbals next words
+further disarmed him. He appeared to know nothing whatever about Will,
+though his successful rival interested him still.
+
+"They call the man Jack-o'-Lantern, don't they? Why?"
+
+"I can't tell you. It may be, though, that he is erratic and uncertain
+in his ways. You cannot predict what he will do next."
+
+"That's nothing against him. He's farming on the Moor now, isn't he?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Where did he come from when he dropped out of the clouds to marry
+Phoebe Lyddon?"
+
+The question was not asked with the least idea of its enormous
+significance. Grimbal had no notion that any mystery hung over that
+autumn time during which he made love to Phoebe and Will was absent from
+Chagford. He doubted not that for the asking he could learn how Will had
+occupied himself; but the subject did not interest him, and he never
+dreamed the period held a secret. The sudden consternation bred in Hicks
+by this question astounded him not a little. Indeed, each man amazed the
+other, Grimbal by his question, Hicks by the attitude which he assumed
+before it.
+
+"I'm sure I haven't the least idea," he answered; but his voice and
+manner had already told Grimbal all he cared to learn at the moment; and
+that was more than his wildest hopes had even risen to. He saw in the
+other's face a hidden thing, and by his demeanour that it was an
+important one. Indeed, the bee-keeper's hesitation and evident alarm
+before this chance question proclaimed the secret vital. For the
+present, and before Clement's evident alarm, Grimbal dismissed the
+matter lightly; but he chose to say a few more words upon it, for the
+express purpose of setting Hicks again at his ease.
+
+"You don't like your future brother-in-law?"
+
+"Yes, yes, I do. We've been friends all our lives--all our lives. I like
+him well, and am going to marry his sister--only I see his faults, and
+he sees mine--that's all."
+
+"Take my advice and shut your eyes to his faults. That's the best way if
+you are marrying into his family. I've got cause to think ill enough of
+the scamp, as you know and everybody knows; but life's too short for
+remembering ill turns."
+
+A weight rolled off Clement's heart. For a moment he had feared that the
+man knew something; but now he began to suspect Grimbal's question to be
+what in reality it was--casual interrogation, without any shadow of
+knowledge behind it. Hicks therefore breathed again and trusted that his
+own emotion had not been very apparent. Then, taking the water, he shot
+a thin shower into the air, an operation often employed to hasten
+swarming, and possibly calculated to alarm the bees into apprehension of
+rain.
+
+"Do wasps ever get into the hives?" asked Mr. Grimbal abruptly.
+
+"Aye, they do; and wax-moths and ants, and even mice. These things eat
+the honey and riddle and ruin the comb. Then birds eat the bees, and
+spiders catch them. Honey-bees do nothing but good that I can see, yet
+Nature 's pleased to fill the world with their enemies. Queen and drone
+and the poor unsexed workers--all have their troubles; and so has the
+little world of the hive. Yet during the few weeks of a bee's life he
+does an amount of work beyond imagination to guess at."
+
+"And still finds time to steal from the hives of his fellows?"
+
+"Why, yes, if the sweets are exposed and can be tasted for nothing. Most
+of us might turn robbers on the same terms. Now I can take them, and a
+splendid swarm, too--finest I've seen this year."
+
+The business of getting the glittering bunch of bees into a hive was
+then proceeded with, and soon Clement had shaken the mass into a big
+straw butt, his performance being completely successful. In less than
+half an hour all was done, and Hicks began to remove his veil and shake
+a bee or two off the rim of his hat.
+
+John Grimbal rubbed his cheek, where a bee had stung him under the eye,
+and regarded Hicks thoughtfully.
+
+"If you happen to want work at any time, it might be within my power to
+find you some here," he said, handing the bee-master five shillings.
+Clement thanked his employer and declared he would not forget the offer;
+he then departed, and John Grimbal returned to his farm.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+AN OFFER OF MARRIAGE
+
+
+Billy Blee, who has appeared thus far as a disinterested spectator of
+other people's affairs, had yet his own active and personal interests in
+life. Them he pursued, at odd times, and in odd ways, with admirable
+pertinacity; and as a crisis is now upon him and chance knits the
+outcome of it into the main fabric of this narrative, Billy and his
+actions command attention.
+
+Allusion has already been made, and that frequently, to one Widow
+Coomstock, whose attractions of income, and the ancillary circumstance
+of an ample though elderly person, had won for her certain admirers more
+ancient than herself. Once butt-woman, or sextoness, of Chagford Church,
+the lady had dwelt alone, as Miss Mary Reed, for fifty-five years--not
+because opportunity to change her state was denied her, but owing to the
+fact that experience of life rendered her averse to all family
+responsibilities. Mary Reed had seen her sister, the present Mrs. Hicks,
+take a husband, had watched the result of that step; and this, with a
+hundred parallel instances of misery following on matrimony, had
+determined her against it. But when old Benjamin Coomstock, the timber
+merchant and coal-dealer, became a widower, this ripe maiden, long known
+to him, was approached before his wife's grave became ready for a stone.
+To Chagford's amazement he so far bemeaned himself as to offer the
+sextoness his hand, and she accepted it. Then, left a widow after two
+years with her husband, Mary Coomstock languished a while, and changed
+her methods of life somewhat. The roomy dwelling-house of her late
+partner became her property and a sufficient income went with it. Mr.
+Coomstock's business had been sold in his lifetime; the money was
+invested, and its amount no man knew, though rumour, which usually
+magnifies such matters, spoke of a very handsome figure; and Mrs.
+Coomstock's lavish manner of life lent confirmation to the report. But
+though mundane affairs had thus progressed with her, the woman's
+marriage was responsible for very grave mental and moral deterioration.
+Prosperity, and the sudden exchange of a somewhat laborious life for the
+ease and comfort of independence, played havoc with Widow Coomstock. She
+grew lax, gross in habit and mind, self-indulgent, and ill-tempered.
+When her husband died her old friends lost sight of her, while only
+those who had reason to hope for a reward still kept in touch with her,
+and indeed forced themselves upon her notice. Everybody predicted she
+would take another husband; but, though it was now nearly eight years
+since Mr. Coomstock's death, his widow still remained one. Gaffer
+Lezzard and Billy Blee had long pursued her with varying advantage, and
+the latter, though his proposals were declined, yet saw in each refusal
+an indication to encourage future hope.
+
+Now, urged thereto by whispers that Mr. Lezzard had grown the richer by
+three hundred pounds on the death of a younger brother in Australia,
+Billy determined upon another attack. He also was worth something--less
+indeed than three hundred pounds; though, seeing that he had been
+earning reasonably good wages for half a century, the fact argued but
+poor thrift in Mr. Blee. Of course Gaffer Lezzard's alleged legacy could
+hardly be a sum to count with Mrs. Coomstock, he told himself; yet his
+rival was a man of wide experience and an oily tongue: while, apart from
+any question of opposition, he felt that another offer of marriage might
+now be made with decorum, seeing that it was a full year since the last.
+Mr. Blee therefore begged for a half-holiday, put on his broadcloth,
+blacked his boots, anointed his lion-monkey fringe and scanty locks with
+pomatum, and set forth. Mrs. Coomstock's house stood on the hill rising
+into the village from Chagford Bridge. A kitchen garden spread behind
+it; in front pale purple poppies had the ill-kept garden to themselves.
+
+As he approached, Mr. Blee felt a leaden weight about his newly polished
+boots, and a distinct flutter at the heart, or in a less poetical
+portion of his frame.
+
+"Same auld feeling," he reflected. "Gormed if I ban't gettin' sweaty
+'fore the plaace comes in sight! 'Tis just the sinkin' at the navel,
+like what I had when I smoked my first pipe, five-and-forty years
+agone!"
+
+The approach of another man steadied Billy, and on recognising him Mr.
+Blee forgot all about his former emotions and gasped in the clutch of a
+new one. It was Mr. Lezzard, evidently under some impulse of genial
+exhilaration. There hung an air of aggression about him, but, though he
+moved like a conqueror, his gait was unsteady and his progress slow. He
+had wit to guess Billy's errand, however, for he grinned, and leaning
+against the hedge waved his stick in the air above his head.
+
+"Aw, Jimmery! if it ban't Blee; an' prinked out for a weddin', tu, by
+the looks of it!"
+
+"Not yourn, anyway," snapped back the suitor.
+
+"Well, us caan't say 'zactly--world 's full o' novelties."
+
+"Best pull yourself together, Gaffer, or bad-hearted folks might say you
+was bosky-eyed.[10] That ban't no novelty anyway, but 't is early yet to
+be drunk--just three o'clock by the church."
+
+
+[10] _Bosky-eyed_ = intoxicated.
+
+
+Mr. Blee marched on without waiting for a reply. He knew Lezzard to be
+more than seventy years old and usually regarded the ancient man's
+rivalry with contempt; but he felt uneasy for a few moments, until the
+front door of Mrs. Coomstock's dwelling was opened to him by the lady
+herself.
+
+"My stars! You? What a terrible coorious thing!" she said.
+
+"Why for?"
+
+"Come in the parlour. Theer! coorious ban't the word!"
+
+She laughed, a silly laugh and loud. Then she shambled before him to the
+sitting-room, and Billy, familiar enough with the apartment, noticed a
+bottle of gin in an unusual position upon the table. The liquor stood,
+with two glasses and a jug of water, between the Coomstock family Bible,
+on its green worsted mat, and a glass shade containing the stuffed
+carcass of a fox-terrier. The animal was moth-eaten and its eyes had
+fallen out. It could be considered in no sense decorative; but sentiment
+allowed the corpse this central position in a sorry scheme of adornment,
+for the late timber merchant had loved it. Upon Mrs. Coomstock's parlour
+walls hung Biblical German prints in frames of sickly yellow wood; along
+the window-ledge geraniums and begonias flourished, though gardeners had
+wondered to see their luxuriance, for the windows were seldom opened.
+
+"'It never rains but it pours,'" said Widow Coomstock. She giggled again
+and looked at Billy. She was very fat, and the red of her face deepened
+to purple unevenly about the sides of her nose. Her eyes were bright and
+black. She had opened a button or two at the top of her dress, and her
+general appearance, from her grey hair to her slattern heels, was
+disordered. Her cap had fallen off on to the ground, and Mr. Blee
+noticed that her parting was as a broad turnpike road much tramped upon
+by Time. The room smelt stuffy beyond its wont and reeked not only of
+spirits but tobacco. This Billy sniffed inquiringly, and Mrs. Coomstock
+observed the action. "'Twas Lezzard," she said. "I like to see a man in
+comfort. You can smoke if you mind to. Coomstock always done it, and a
+man's no man without, though a dirty habit wheer they doan't use a
+spittoon."
+
+She smiled, but to herself, and was lost in thought a moment. He saw her
+eyes very bright and her head wagging. Then she looked at him and
+laughed again.
+
+"You'm a fine figure of a man, tu," she said, apropos of nothing in
+particular. But the newcomer understood. He rumpled his hair and snorted
+and frowned at the empty glasses.
+
+"Have a drop?" suggested Mrs. Coomstock; but Billy, of opinion that his
+love had already enjoyed refreshment sufficient for the time, refused
+and answered her former remark.
+
+"A fine figure?--yes, Mary Coomstock, though not so fine for a man as
+you for a woman. Still, a warm-blooded chap an' younger than my years."
+
+"I've got my share o' warm blood, tu, Billy."
+
+It was apparent. Mrs. Coomstock's plump neck bulged in creases over the
+dirty scrap of white linen that represented a collar, while her massive
+bust seemed bursting through her apparel.
+
+"Coourse," said Mr. Blee, "an' your share, an' more 'n your share o'
+brains, tu. He had bad luck--Coomstock--the worse fortune as ever fell
+to a Chaggyford man, I reckon."
+
+"How do 'e come at that, then?"
+
+"To get 'e, an' lose 'e again inside two year. That's ill luck if ever I
+seen it. Death's a envious twoad. Two short year of you; an' then up
+comes a tumour on his neck unbeknawnst, an' off he goes, like a spring
+lamb."
+
+"An' so he did. I waked from sleep an' bid un rise, but theer weern't no
+more risin' for him till the Judgment."
+
+"Death's no courtier. He'll let a day-labourer go so peaceful an'
+butivul as a child full o' milk goes to sleep; while he'll take a gert
+lord or dook, wi' lands an' moneys, an' strangle un by inches, an' give
+un the hell of a twistin'. You caan't buy a easy death seemin'ly."
+
+"A gude husband he was, but jealous," said Mrs. Coomstock, her thoughts
+busy among past years; and Billy immediately fell in with this view.
+
+"Then you'm well rid of un. Theer's as gude in the world alive any
+minute as ever was afore or will be again."
+
+"Let 'em stop in the world then. I doan't want 'em."
+
+This sentiment amused the widow herself more than Billy. She laughed
+uproariously, raised her glass to her lips unconsciously, found it
+empty, grew instantly grave upon the discovery, set it down again, and
+sighed.
+
+"It's a wicked world," she said. "Sure as men's in a plaace they brings
+trouble an' wickedness. An' yet I've heard theer's more women than men
+on the airth when all's said."
+
+"God A'mighty likes 'em best, I reckon," declared Mr. Blee.
+
+"Not but what 't would be a lonesome plaace wi'out the lords of
+creation," conceded the widow.
+
+"Ess fay, you 'm right theer; but the beauty of things is that none need
+n't be lonely, placed same as you be."
+
+"'Once bit twice shy,'" said Mrs. Coomstock. Then she laughed again. "I
+said them very words to Lezzard not an hour since."
+
+"An' what might he have answered?" inquired Billy without, however,
+showing particular interest to know.
+
+"He said he wasn't bit. His wife was a proper creature."
+
+"Bah! second-hand gudes--that's what Lezzard be--a widow-man an' eighty
+if a day. A poor, coffin-ripe auld blid, wi' wan leg in the graave any
+time this twenty year."
+
+Mrs. Coomstock's frame heaved at this tremendous criticism. She gurgled
+and gazed at Billy with her eyes watering and her mouth open.
+
+"You say that! Eighty an' coffin-ripe!"
+
+"Ban't no ontruth, neither. A man 's allus ready for his elm overcoat
+arter threescore an' ten. I heard the noise of his breathin' paarts when
+he had brown kitty in the fall three years ago, an' awnly thrawed it off
+thanks to the gracious gudeness of Miller Lyddon, who sent rich stock
+for soup by my hand. But to hear un, you might have thought theer was a
+wapsies' nest in the man's lungs."
+
+"I doan't want to be nuss to a chap at my time of life, in coourse."
+
+"No fay; 't is the man's paart to look arter his wife, if you ax me. I
+be a plain bachelor as never thought of a female serious 'fore I seed
+you. An' I've got a heart in me, tu. Ban't no auld, rubbishy, worn-out
+thing, neither, but a tough, love-tight heart--at least so 't was till I
+seed you in your weeds eight year agone."
+
+"Eight year a widow! An' so I have been. Well, Blee, you've got a
+powerful command of words, anyways. That I'll grant you."
+
+"'T is the gert subject, Mary."
+
+He moved nearer and put down his hat and stick; she exhibited
+trepidation, not wholly assumed. Then she helped herself to more
+spirits.
+
+"A drop I must have to steady me. You men make a woman's heart go
+flutterin' all over her buzzom, like a flea under her--"
+
+She stopped and laughed, then drank. Presently setting down the glass
+again, she leered in a manner frankly animal at Mr. Blee, and told him
+to say what he might have to say and be quick about it. He fired a
+little at this invitation, licked his lips, cleared his throat, and cast
+a nervous glance or two at the window. But nobody appeared; no
+thunder-visaged Lezzard frowned over the geraniums. Gaffer indeed was
+sound asleep, half a mile off, upon one of those seats set in the open
+air for the pleasure and convenience of wayfarers about the village. So
+Billy rose, crossed to the large sofa whereon Mrs. Coomstock sat,
+plumped down boldly beside her and endeavoured to get his arm round the
+wide central circumference of her person. She suffered this courageous
+attempt without objection. Then Billy gently squeezed her, and she
+wriggled and opened her mouth and shut her eyes.
+
+"Say the word and do a wise thing," he urged. "Say the word, Mary, an'
+think o' me here as master, a-keeping all your damn relations off by
+word of command."
+
+She laughed.
+
+"When I be gone you'll see some sour looks, I reckon."
+
+"Nothing doan't matter then; 't is while you 'm here I'd protect 'e
+'gainst 'em. Look, see! ban't often I goes down on my knees, 'cause a
+man risin' in years, same as me, can pray to God more dignified sittin';
+but now I will." He slid gingerly down, and only a tremor showed the
+stab his gallantry cost him.
+
+"You 'm a masterful auld shaver, sure 'nough!" said Mrs. Coomstock,
+regarding Billy with a look half fish like, half affectionate.
+
+"Rise me up, then," he said. "Rise me up, an' do it quick. If you love
+me, as I see you do by the faace of you, rise me up, Mary, an' say the
+word wance for all time. I'll be a gude husband to 'e an' you'll bless
+the day you took me, though I sez it as shouldn't."
+
+She allowed her fat left hand, with the late Mr. Coomstock's
+wedding-ring almost buried in her third finger, to remain with Billy's;
+and by the aid of it and the sofa he now got on his legs again. Then he
+sat down beside her once more and courageously set his yellow muzzle
+against her red cheek. The widow remained passive under this caress, and
+Mr. Blee, having kissed her thrice, rubbed his mouth and spoke.
+
+"Theer! 'T is signed and sealed, an' I'll have no drawin' back now."
+
+"But--but--Lezzard, Billy. I do like 'e--I caan't hide it from 'e, try
+as I will--but him--"
+
+"I knawed he was t'other. I tell you, forget un. His marryin' days be
+awver. Dammy, the man's 'most chuckle headed wi' age! Let un go his way
+an' say his prayers 'gainst the trump o' God. An' it'll take un his time
+to pass Peter when all 's done--a bad auld chap in his day. Not that I'd
+soil your ears with it."
+
+"He said much the same 'bout you. When you was at Drewsteignton, twenty
+year agone--"
+
+"A lie--a wicked, strammin', gert lie, with no more truth to it than a
+auld song! He 'm a venomous beast to call home such a thing arter all
+these years."
+
+"If I did take 'e, you'd be a gude an' faithful husband, Billy, not a
+gad-about?"
+
+"Cut my legs off if I go gaddin' further than to do your errands."
+
+"An' you'll keep these here buzzin' parties off me? Cuss 'em! They make
+my life a burden."
+
+"Doan't fear that. I'll larn 'em!"
+
+"Theer 's awnly wan I can bide of the whole lot--an' that's my awn
+nephew, Clem Hicks. He'll drink his drop o' liquor an' keep his mouth
+shut, an' listen to me a-talkin' as a young man should. T'others are
+allus yelpin' out how fond they be of me, and how they'd go to the
+world's end for me. I hate the sight of 'em."
+
+"A time-servin' crew, Mary; an' Clement Hicks no better 'n the rest,
+mark my word, though your sister's son. 'T is cupboard love wi' all. But
+money ban't nothin' to me. I've been well contented with enough all my
+life, though 't is few can say with truth that enough satisfies 'em."
+
+"Lezzard said money was nothin' to him neither, having plenty of his
+awn. 'T was my pusson, not my pocket, as he'd falled in love with."
+
+"Burnish it all! Theer 's a shameful speech! 'Your pusson'! Him! I'll
+tell you what Lezzard is--just a damn evil disposition kep' in by skin
+an' bones--that's Lezzard. 'Your pusson'!"
+
+"I'm afraid I've encouraged him a little. You've been so backward in
+mentioning the subject of late. But I'm sure I didn't knaw as he'd got a
+evil disposition."
+
+"Well, 't is so. An' 't is awnly your bigness of heart, as wouldn't
+hurt a beetle, makes you speak kind of the boozy auld sweep. I'll soon
+shaw un wheer he's out if he thinks you 'm tinkering arter him!"
+
+"He couldn't bring an action for breach, or anything o' that, could he?"
+
+"At his time of life! What Justice would give ear to un? An' the shame
+of it!"
+
+"Perhaps he misunderstood. You men jump so at a conclusion."
+
+"Leave that to me. I'll clear his brains double-quick; aye, an' make un
+jump for somethin'!"
+
+"Then I suppose it's got to be. I'm yourn, Billy, an' theer needn't be
+any long waitin' neither. To think of another weddin' an' another
+husband! Just a drop or I shall cry. It's such a supporting thing to a
+lone female."
+
+Whether Mrs. Coomstock meant marriage or Plymouth gin, Billy did not
+stop to inquire. He helped her, filled Lezzard's empty glass for
+himself, and then, finding his future wife thick of speech, bleared of
+eye, and evidently disposed to slumber, he departed and left her to
+sleep off her varied emotions.
+
+"I'll mighty soon change all that," thought Mr. Blee. "To note a fine
+woman in liquor 's the frightfullest sight in all nature, so to say. Not
+but what with Lezzard a-pawin' of her 't was enough to drive her to it."
+
+That night the lover announced his triumph, whereon Phoebe congratulated
+him and Miller Lyddon shook his head.
+
+"'T is an awful experiment, Billy, at your age," he declared.
+
+"Why, so 't is; but I've weighed the subject in my mind for years and
+years, an 't wasn't till Mary Coomstock comed to be widowed that I
+thought I'd found the woman at last. 'T was lookin' tremendous high, I
+knaw, but theer 't is; she'll have me. She 'm no young giglet neither,
+as would lead me a devil's dance, but a pusson in full blooth with ripe
+mind."
+
+"She drinks. I doan't want to hurt your feelings; but everybody says it
+is so," declared the miller.
+
+"What everybody sez, nobody did ought to believe," returned Mr. Blee
+stoutly. "She 'm a gude, lonely sawl, as wants a man round the house to
+keep off her relations, same as us has a dog to keep down varmints in
+general. Theer 's the Hickses, an' Chowns, an' Coomstocks all a-stickin'
+up theer tails an' a-purrin' an' a-rubbin' theerselves against the
+door-posts of the plaace like cats what smells feesh. I won't have none
+of it. I'll dwell along wi' she an' play a husband's part, an' comfort
+the decline of her like a man, I warn 'e."
+
+"Why, Mrs. Coomstock 's not so auld as all that, Billy," said Phoebe.
+"Chris has often told me she's only sixty-two or three."
+
+But he shook his head.
+
+"Ban't a subject for a loving man to say much on, awnly truth 's truth.
+I seed it written in the Coomstock Bible wan day. Fifty-five she were
+when she married first. Well, ban't in reason she twald the naked truth
+'bout it, an' who'd blame her on such a delicate point? No, I'd judge
+her as near my awn age as possible; an' to speak truth, not so well
+preserved as what I be."
+
+"How's Monks Barton gwaine to fare without 'e, Blee?" whined the miller.
+
+"As to that, be gormed if I knaw how I'll fare wi'out the farm. But
+love--well, theer 't is. Theer 's money to it, I knaw, but what do that
+signify? Nothin' to me. You'll see me frequent as I ride here an'
+theer--horse, saddle, stirrups, an' all complete; though God He knaws
+wheer my knees'll go when my boots be fixed in stirrups. But a man must
+use 'em if theer 's the dignity of money to be kept up. 'T is just wan
+of them oncomfortable things riches brings with it."
+
+While Miller Lyddon still argued with Billy against the step he now
+designed, there arrived from Chagford the stout Mr. Chappie, with his
+mouth full of news.
+
+"More weddin's," he said. "I comed down-long to tell 'e, lest you
+shouldn't knaw till to-morrow an' so fall behind the times. Widow
+Coomstock 's thrawed up the sponge and gived herself to that
+importuneous auld Lezzard. To think o' such a Methuselah as him--aulder
+than the century--fillin' the eye o' that full-bodied--"
+
+"It's a black lie--blacker 'n hell--an' if't was anybody but you brought
+the news I'd hit un awver the jaw!" burst out Mr. Blee, in a fury.
+
+"He tawld me hisself. He's tellin' everybody hisself. It comed to a
+climax to-day. The auld bird's hoppin' all awver the village so proud as
+a jackdaw as have stole a shiny button. He'm bustin' wi' it in fact."
+
+"I'll bust un! An' his news, tu. An' you can say, when you'm axed, 't is
+the foulest lie ever falled out of wicked lips."
+
+Billy now took his hat and stick from their corner and marched to the
+door without more words.
+
+"No violence, mind now, no violence," begged Mr. Lyddon. "This
+love-making 's like to wreck the end of my life, wan way or another,
+yet. 'T is bad enough with the young; but when it comes to auld,
+bald-headed fules like you an' Lezzard--"
+
+"As to violence, I wouldn't touch un wi' the end of a dung-fork--I
+wouldn't. But I'm gwaine to lay his lie wance an' for all. I be off to
+parson this instant moment. An' when my banns of marriage be hollered
+out next Sunday marnin', then us'll knaw who 'm gwaine to marry Mother
+Coomstock an' who ban't. I can work out my awn salvation wi' fear an'
+tremblin' so well as any other man; an' you'll see what that
+God-forsaken auld piece looks like come Sunday when he hears what's done
+an' caan't do nought but just swallow his gall an' chew 'pon it."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+MR. BLEE FORGETS HIMSELF
+
+
+The Rev. James Shorto-Champernowne made no difficulty about Billy's
+banns of marriage, although he doubtless held a private opinion upon the
+wisdom of such a step, and also knew that Mrs. Coomstock was now a very
+different woman from the sextoness of former days. He expressed a hope,
+however, that Mr. Blee would make his future wife become a regular
+church-goer again after the ceremony; and Billy took it upon himself to
+promise as much for her. There the matter ended until the following
+Sunday, when a sensation, unparalleled in the archives of St. Michael's,
+awaited the morning worshippers.
+
+Under chiming of bells the customary congregation arrived, and a
+perceptible wave of sensation swept from pew to pew at the appearance of
+more than one unfamiliar face. Of regular attendants we may note Mrs.
+Blanchard and Chris, Martin Grimbal, Mr. Lyddon, and his daughter. Mr.
+Blee usually sat towards the back of the church at a point immediately
+behind those benches devoted to the boys. Here he kept perfect order
+among the lads, and had done so for many years. Occasionally it became
+necessary to turn a youngster out of church, and Billy's procedure at
+such a time was masterly; but of opinion to-day that he was a public
+character, he chose a more conspicuous position, and accepted Mr.
+Lyddon's invitation to take a seat in the miller's own pew. He felt he
+owed this prominence, not only to himself, but to Mrs. Coomstock. She,
+good soul, had been somewhat evasive and indefinite in her manner since
+accepting Billy, and her condition of nerves on Sunday morning proved
+such that she found herself quite unable to attend the house of prayer,
+although she had promised to do so. She sent her two servants, however,
+and, spending the time in private between spirtual and spirituous
+consolations of Bible and bottle, the widow soon passed into a temporary
+exaltation ending in unconsciousness. Thus her maids found her on
+returning from church.
+
+Excitement within the holy edifice reached fever-heat when a most
+unwonted worshipper appeared in the venerable shape of Mr. Lezzard. He
+was supported by his married daughter and his grandson. They sought and
+found a very prominent position under the lectern, and it was
+immediately apparent that no mere conventional attendance for the
+purpose of praising their Maker had drawn Mr. Lezzard and his relations.
+Indeed he had long been of the Baptist party, though it derived but
+little lustre from him. Much whispering passed among the trio. Then his
+daughter, having found the place she sought in a prayer-book, handed it
+to Mr. Lezzard, and he made a big cross in pencil upon the page and bent
+the volume backwards so that its binding cracked very audibly. Gaffer
+then looked about him with a boldness he was far from feeling; but the
+spectacle of Mr. Blee, hard by, fortified his spirit. He glared across
+the aisle and Billy glared back.
+
+Then the bells stopped, the organ droned, and there came a clatter of
+iron nails on the tiled floor. Boys and men proceeded to the choir
+stalls and Mr. Shorto-Champernowne fluttered behind, with his sermon in
+his hand. Like a stately galleon of the olden time he swept along the
+aisle, then reached his place, cast one keen glance over the assembled
+congregation, and slowly sinking upon his hassock enveloped his face and
+whiskers in snowy lawn and prayed a while.
+
+The service began and that critical moment after the second lesson was
+reached with dreadful celerity. Doctor Parsons, having read a chapter
+from the New Testament, which he emerged from the congregation to do,
+and which he did ill, though he prided himself upon his elocution,
+returned to his seat as the Vicar rose, adjusted his double eyeglasses
+and gave out a notice as follows:
+
+"I publish the banns of marriage between William Blee, Bachelor, and
+Mary Coomstock, Widow, both of this parish. If any of you know cause, or
+just impediment, why these two persons should not be joined together in
+holy matrimony, ye are to declare it. This is for the first time of
+asking."
+
+There was a momentary pause. Then, nudged by his daughter, who had grown
+very pale, Gaffer Lezzard rose. His head shook and he presented the
+appearance of a man upon the verge of palsy. He held up his hand,
+struggled with his vocal organs and at last exploded these words,
+sudden, tremulous, and shrill:
+
+"I deny it an' I defy it! The wummon be mine!"
+
+Mr. Lezzard succumbed instantly after this effort. Indeed, he went down
+as though shot through the head. He wagged and gasped and whispered to
+his grandson,--
+
+"Wheer's the brandy to?"
+
+Whereupon this boy produced a medicine bottle half full of spirits, and
+his grandfather, with shaking fingers, removed the cork and drank the
+contents. Meantime the Vicar had begun to speak; but he suffered another
+interruption. Billy, tearing himself from the miller's restraining hand,
+leapt to his feet, literally shaking with rage. He was dead to his
+position, oblivious of every fact save that his banns of marriage had
+been forbidden before the assembled Christians of Chagford. He had
+waited to find a wife until he was sixty years old--for this!
+
+"You--_you_ to do it! You to get up afore this rally o' gentlefolks an'
+forbid my holy banns, you wrinkled, crinkled, baggering auld lizard!
+Gormed if I doan't wring your--"
+
+"Silence in the house of God!" thundered Mr. Shorto-Champernowne, with
+tones so resonant that they woke rafter echoes the organ itself had
+never roused. "Silence, and cease this sacrilegious brawling, or the
+consequences will be unutterably serious! Let those involved," he
+concluded more calmly, "appear before me in the vestry after divine
+service is at an end."
+
+Having frowned, in a very tragic manner, both on Mr. Blee and Mr.
+Lezzard, the Vicar proceeded with the service; but though Gaffer
+remained in his place Billy did not. He rose, jammed on his hat, glared
+at everybody, and assumed an expression curiously similar to that of a
+stone demon which grinned from the groining of two arches immediately
+above him. He then departed, growling to himself and shaking his fists,
+in another awful silence; for the Vicar ceased when he rose, and not
+until Billy disappeared and his footfall was heard no more did the angry
+clergyman proceed.
+
+A buzz and hubbub, mostly of laughter, ascended when presently Mr.
+Shorto-Champernowne's parishioners returned to the air; and any chance
+spectator beholding them had certainly judged he stood before an
+audience now dismissed from a theatre rather than the congregation of a
+church.
+
+"Glad Will weern't theer, I'm sure," said Mrs. Blanchard. "He'd 'a'
+laughed out loud an' made bad worse. Chris did as 't was, awnly parson's
+roarin' luckily drowned it. And Mr. Martin Grimbal, whose eye I catched,
+was put to it to help smilin'."
+
+"Ban't often he laughs, anyway," said Phoebe, who walked homewards with
+her father and the Blanchards; whereon Chris, from being in a boisterous
+vein of merriment, grew grave. Together all returned to the valley. Will
+was due in half an hour from Newtake, and Phoebe, as a special favour,
+had been permitted to dine at Mrs. Blanchard's cottage with her husband
+and his family. Clement Hicks had also promised to be of the party; but
+that was before the trouble of the previous week, and Chris knew he
+would not come.
+
+Meantime, Gaffer Lezzard, supported by two generations of his family,
+explained his reasons for objecting to Mr. Blee's proposed marriage.
+
+"Mrs. Coomstock be engaged, right and reg'lar, to me," he declared.
+"She'd gived me her word 'fore ever Blee axed her. I seed her essterday,
+to hear final 'pon the subjec', an' she tawld me straight, bein' sober
+as you at the time, as 't was _me_ she wanted an' meant for to have. She
+was excited t' other day an' not mistress of herself ezacally; an' the
+crafty twoad took advantage of it, an' jawed, an' made her drink an'
+drink till her didn't knaw what her was sayin' or doin'. But she'm mine,
+an' she'll tell 'e same as what I do; so theer's an end on 't."
+
+"I'll see Mrs. Coomstock," said the Vicar. "I, myself will visit her
+to-morrow."
+
+"Canst punish this man for tryin' to taake her from me?"
+
+"Permit yourself no mean desires in the direction of revenge. For the
+present I decline to say more upon the subject. If it were possible to
+punish, and I am not prepared to say it is not, it would be for brawling
+in the house of God. After an experience extending over forty years, I
+may declare that I never saw any such disreputable and horrifying
+spectacle."
+
+So the Lezzard family withdrew and, on the following day, Mrs. Coomstock
+passed through most painful experiences.
+
+To the clergyman, with many sighs and tears, she explained that Mr.
+Lezzard's character had been maligned by Mr. Blee, that before the
+younger veteran she had almost feared for her life, and been driven to
+accept him out of sheer terror at his importunity. But when facts came
+to her ears afterwards, she found that Mr. Lezzard was in reality all he
+had declared himself to be, and therefore returned to him, threw over
+Mr. Blee, and begged the other to forbid the banns, if as she secretly
+learnt, though not from Billy himself, they were to be called on that
+Sunday. The poor woman's ears tingled under Mr. Shorto-Champernowne's
+sonorous reproof; but he departed at last, and by the time that Billy
+called, during the same day, she had imbibed Dutch courage sufficient to
+face him and tell him she had changed her mind. She had erred--she
+confessed it. She had been far from well at the time and, upon
+reconsideration of the proposal, had felt she would never be able to
+make Mr. Blee happy, or enjoy happiness with him.
+
+As a matter of fact, Mrs. Coomstock had accepted both suitors on one and
+the same afternoon. First Gaffer, who had made repeated but rather vague
+allusion to a sum of three hundred pounds in ready money, was taken
+definitely; while upon his departure, the widow, only dimly conscious of
+what was settled with her former admirer, said, "Yes" to Billy in his
+turn. Had a third suitor called on that event-ful afternoon, it is quite
+possible Mrs. Coomstock would have accepted him also.
+
+The conversation with Mr. Blee was of short duration, and ended by
+Billy calling down a comprehensive curse on the faithless one and
+returning to Monks Barton. He had attached little importance to
+Lezzard's public protest, upon subsequent consideration and after the
+first shock of hearing it; but there was no possibility of doubting what
+he now learned from Mrs. Coomstock's own lips. That she had in reality
+changed her mind appeared only too certain.
+
+So he went home again in the last extremity of fury, and Phoebe, who was
+alone at the time, found herself swept by the hurricane of his wrath. He
+entered snorting and puffing, flung his hat on the settle, his stick
+into the corner; then, dropping into a seat by the fire, he began taking
+off his gaiters with much snuffling and mumbling and repeated
+inarticulate explosions of breath. This cat-like splutter always
+indicated deep feeling in Mr. Blee, and Phoebe asked with concern what
+was the matter now.
+
+"Matter? Tchut--Tchut--Theer ban't no God--that's what's the matter!"
+
+"Billy! How can you?"
+
+"She'm gwaine to marry t'other, arter all! From her awn lips I've heard
+it! That's what I get for being a church member from the womb! That's my
+reward! God, indeed! Be them the ways o' a plain-dealin' God, who knaws
+what's doin' in human hearts? No fay! Bunkum an' rot! I'll never lift my
+voice in hymn nor psalm no more, nor pray a line o' prayer again. Who be
+I to be treated like that? Drunken auld cat! I cussed her--I cussed her!
+Wouldn't marry her now if she axed wi' her mouth in the dirt. Wheer's
+justice to? Tell me that. Me in church, keepin' order 'mong the damn
+boys generation arter generation, and him never inside the door since he
+buried his wife. An' parson siding wi' un, I'll wager. Mother Coomstock
+'ll give un hell's delights, that's wan gude thought. A precious pair
+of 'em! Tchut! Gar!"
+
+"I doan't really think you could have loved Mrs. Coomstock overmuch,
+Billy, if you can talk so ugly an' crooked 'bout her," said Phoebe.
+
+"I did, I tell 'e--for years an' years. I went down on my knees to the
+bitch--I wish I hadn't; I'll be sorry for that to my dying day. I kissed
+her, tu,--s' elp me, I did. You mightn't think it, but I did--a faace
+like a frost-bitten beetroot, as 't is!"
+
+"Doan't 'e, please, say such horrible things. You must be wise about it.
+You see, they say Mr. Lezzard has more money than you. At least, so Mrs.
+Coomstock told her nephew, Clement Hicks. Every one of her relations is
+savage about it."
+
+"Well they may be. Why doan't they lock her up? If she ban't mad, nobody
+ever was. 'Money'! Lezzard! Lying auld--auld--Tchut! Not money enough to
+pay for a graave to hide his rotten bones, I lay. Oh, 't is enough
+to--theer, what 's the use of talkin'? Tchut--Tchut!"
+
+At this point Phoebe, fearing even greater extravagances in Mr. Blee's
+language, left him to consider his misfortunes alone. Long he continued
+in the profoundest indignation, and it was not until Miller Lyddon
+returned, heard the news, and heartily congratulated Billy on a merciful
+escape, that the old man grew a little calmer under his disappointment,
+and moderated the bitterness and profanity of his remarks.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+A DIFFERENCE WITH THE DUCHY
+
+
+Newtake Farm, by reason of Will's recent occupancy, could offer no very
+considerable return during his first year as tenant; but that he
+understood and accepted, and the tribulation which now fell upon him was
+of his own making. To begin with, Sam Bonus vanished from the scene. On
+learning, soon after the event, that Bonus had discussed Hicks and
+himself at Chagford, and detailed his private conversation with Martin
+Grimbal, Blanchard, in a fury, swept off to the loft where his man
+slept, roused him from rest, threw down the balance of his wages, and
+dismissed him on the spot. He would hear no word in explanation, and
+having administered a passionate rebuke, departed as he had come, like a
+whirlwind. Sam, smarting under this injustice, found the devil wake in
+him through that sleepless night, and had there stood rick or stack
+within reach of revenge, he might have dealt his master a return blow
+before morning. As usual, after the lapse of hours, Will cooled down,
+modified his first fiery indignation, and determined, yet without
+changing his mind, to give Bonus an opportunity of explaining the thing
+he had done. Chris had brought the news from Clement himself, and Will,
+knowing that his personal relations with Clement were already strained,
+felt that in justice to his servant he must be heard upon the question.
+But, when he sought Sam Bonus, though still the dawn was only grey, he
+found the world fuller for him by another enemy, for the man had taken
+him at his word and departed. During that day and the next Will made
+some effort to see Bonus, but nothing came of it, so, dismissing the
+matter from his mind, he hired a new labourer--one Teddy Chown, son of
+Abraham Chown, the Inspector of Police--and pursued his way.
+
+Then his unbounded energy led him into difficulties of a graver sort.
+Will had long cast covetous eyes on a tract of moorland immediately
+adjoining Newtake, and there being little to do at the moment, he
+conceived the adventurous design of reclaiming it. The patch was an acre
+and a half in extent--a beggarly, barren region, where the heather
+thinned away and the black earth shone with water and disintegrated
+granite. Quartz particles glimmered over it; at the centre black pools
+of stagnant water marked an abandoned peat cutting; any spot less
+calculated to attract an agricultural eye would have been hard to
+imagine; but Blanchard set to work, began to fill the greedy quag in the
+midst with tons of soil, and soon caused the place to look
+business-like--at least in his own estimation. As for the Duchy, he did
+not trouble himself. The Duchy itself was always reclaiming land without
+considering the rights and wrongs of the discontented Venville tenants,
+and Will knew of many a "newtake" besides this he contemplated. Indeed,
+had not the whole farm, of which he was now master, been rescued from
+the Moor in time past? He worked hard, therefore, and his new assistant,
+though not a Bonus, proved stout and active. Chris, who still dwelt with
+her brother, was sworn to secrecy respecting Will's venture; and so
+lonely a region did the farm occupy that not until he had put a good
+month of work into the adjacent waste were any of those in authority
+aware of the young farmer's performance.
+
+A day came when the new land was cleaned, partly ploughed, and wholly
+surrounded by a fence of split stumps, presently to be connected by
+wires. At these Chown was working, while Will had just arrived with a
+load of earth to add to the many tons already poured upon that hungry
+central patch. He held the tailboard of the cart in his hand and was
+about to remove it; when, looking up, his heart fluttered a moment
+despite his sturdy consciousness of right. On the moor above him rode
+grey old Vogwell, the Duchy's man. His long beard fluttered in the wind,
+and Will heard the thud of his horse's hoofs as he cantered quickly to
+the scene, passed between two of the stakes, and drew up alongside
+Blanchard.
+
+"Marnin', Mr. Vogwell! Fine weather, to be sure, an' gude for the peat
+next month; but bad for roots, an' no mistake. Will 'e have a drink?"
+
+Mr. Vogwell gazed sternly about him, then fixed his little bright eyes
+on the culprit.
+
+"What do this mean, Will Blanchard?"
+
+"Well, why not? Duchy steals all the gude land from Venwell men; why for
+shouldn't us taake a little of the bad? This here weern't no gude to
+man or mouse. Ban't 'nough green stuff for a rabbit 'pon it. So I just
+thought I'd give it a lick an' a promise o' more later on."
+
+"'A lick an' a promise'! You've wasted a month's work on it, to the
+least."
+
+"Well, p'raps I have--though ban't wasted. Do 'e think, Mr. Vogwell, as
+the Duchy might be disposed to give me a hand?"
+
+Will generally tackled difficulties in this audacious fashion, and a
+laugh already began to brighten his eye; but the other quenched it.
+
+"You fool! You knawed you was doin' wrong better'n I can tell you--an'
+such a plaace! A babe could see you 'm workin' awver living springs. You
+caan't fill un even now in the drouth, an' come autumn an' rain 't will
+all be bog again."
+
+"Nothing of the sort," flamed out Will, quite forgetting his recent
+assertion as to the poverty of the place. "Do 'e think, you, as awnly
+rides awver the Moor, knaws more about soil than I as works on it?
+'Twill be gude proofy land bimebye--so good as any Princetown way, wheer
+the prison men reclaim, an' wheer theer's grass this minute as carries a
+bullock to the acre. First I'll plant rye, then swedes, then maybe more
+swedes, then barley; an', with the barley, I'll sow the permanent grass
+to follow. That's gude rotation of crops for Dartymoor, as I knaw an'
+you doan't; an' if the Duchy encloses the best to rob our things[11],
+why for shouldn't we--"
+
+
+[11] _Things_ = beasts; sheep and cattle.
+
+
+"That'll do. I caan't bide here listenin' to your child's-talk all the
+marnin'. What Duchy does an' doan't do is for higher 'n you or me to
+decide. If this was any man's work but yours I'd tell Duchy this night;
+but bein' you, I'll keep mute. Awnly mind, when I comes this way a
+fortnight hence, let me see these postes gone an' your plough an' cart
+t' other side that wall. An' you'll thank me, when you've come to more
+sense, for stoppin' this wild-goose chase. Now I'll have a drop o'
+cider, if it's all the same to you."
+
+Will opened a stone jar which lay under his coat at hand, and answered
+as he poured cider into a horn mug for Mr. Vogwell--
+
+"Here's your drink; but I won't take your orders, so I tell 'e. Damn the
+Duchy, as steals moor an' common wheer it pleases an' then grudges a man
+his toil."
+
+"That's the spirit as'll land 'e in the poorhouse, Will Blanchard," said
+Mr. Vogwell calmly; "and that's such a job as might send 'e to the
+County Asylum," he added, pointing to the operations around him. "As to
+damning Duchy," he continued, "you might as well damn the sun or moon.
+They'd care as little. Theer 'm some varmints so small that, though they
+bite 'e with all their might, you never knaw it; an' so 't is wi' you
+an' Duchy. Mind now, a fortnight. Thank 'e--so gude cider as ever I
+tasted; an' doan't 'e tear an' rage, my son. What's the use?"
+
+"'Twould be use, though, if us all raged together."
+
+"But you won't get none to follow. 'Tis all talk. Duchy haven't got no
+bones to break or sawl to lose; an' moormen haven't got brains enough to
+do aught in the matter but jaw."
+
+"An' all for a royal prince, as doan't knaw difference between yether
+an' fuzz, I lay," growled Will. "Small blame to moormen for being
+radical-minded these days. Who wouldn't, treated same as us?"
+
+"Best not talk on such high subjects, Will Blanchard, or you might get
+in trouble. A fortnight, mind. Gude marnin' to 'e."
+
+The Duchy's man rode off and Will stood angry and irresolute. Then,
+seeing Mr. Vogwell was still observing him, he ostentatiously turned to
+the cart and tipped up his load of earth. But when the representative of
+power had disappeared--his horse and himself apparently sinking into
+rather than behind a heather ridge--Will's energy died and his mood
+changed. He had fooled himself about this enterprise until the present,
+but he could no longer do so. Now he sat down on the earth he had
+brought, let his horse drag the cart after it, as it wandered in search
+of some green thing, and suffered a storm of futile indignation to
+darken his spirit.
+
+Blanchard's unseasoned mind had, in truth, scarcely reached the second
+milestone upon the road of man's experience. Some arrive early at the
+mental standpoint where the five senses meet and merge in that sixth or
+common sense, which may be defined as an integral of the others, and
+which is manifested by those who possess it in a just application of all
+the experience won from life. But of common sense Will had none. He
+could understand laziness and wickedness being made to suffer; he could
+read Nature's more self-evident lessons blazoned across every meadow,
+displayed in every living organism--that error is instantly punished,
+that poor food starves the best seed, that too much water is as bad as
+too little, that the race is to the strong, and so forth; but he could
+not understand why hard work should go unrewarded, why good intentions
+should breed bad results, why the effect of energy, self-denial, right
+ambitions, and other excellent qualities is governed by chance; why the
+prizes in the great lottery fall to the wise, not to the well-meaning.
+He knew himself for a hard worker and a man who accomplished, in all
+honesty, the best within his power. What his hand found to do he did
+with his might; and the fact that his head, as often as not, prompted
+his hand to the wrong thing escaped him. He regarded his life as
+exemplary, felt that he was doing all that might in reason be demanded,
+and confidently looked towards Providence to do the rest. To find
+Providence unwilling to help him brought a wave of riotous indignation
+through his mind on each occasion of making that discovery. These waves,
+sweeping at irregular intervals over Will, left the mark of their high
+tides, and his mind, now swinging like a pendulum before this last
+buffet dealt by Fate in semblance of the Duchy's man, plunged him into a
+huge discontent with all things. He was ripe for mischief and would have
+quarrelled with his shadow; but he did worse--he quarrelled with his
+mother.
+
+She visited him that afternoon, viewed his shattered scheme, and
+listened as Will poured the great outrage upon her ear. Coming up at his
+express invitation to learn the secret, which he had kept from her that
+her joy might be the greater, Mrs. Blanchard only arrived in time to see
+his disappointment. She knew the Duchy for a bad enemy, and perhaps at
+the bottom of her conservative heart felt no particular delight at the
+spectacle of Newtake enlarging its borders. She therefore held that
+everything was for the best, and counselled patience; whereupon her son,
+with a month's wasted toil staring him in the face, rebelled and took
+her unconcerned demeanour ill. Damaris also brought a letter from
+Phoebe, and this added fuel to the flame. Will dwelt upon his wife's
+absence bitterly.
+
+"Job's self never suffered that, for I read 'bout what he went through
+awnly last night, for somethin' to kill an hour in the evenin'. An' I
+won't suffer it. It's contrary to nature, an' if Phoebe ban't here come
+winter I'll go down an' bring her, willy-nilly."
+
+"Time'll pass soon enough, my son. Next summer will be here quick. Then
+her'll have grawin' corn to look at and fine crops risin', an' more
+things feedin' on the Moor in sight of her eyes. You see, upland farms
+do look a little thin to them who have lived all their time in the
+fatness of the valleys."
+
+"If I was bidin' in one of them stone roundy-poundies, with nothin' but
+a dog-kennel for a home, she ought to be shoulder to shoulder wi' me.
+Did you leave my faither cause other people didn't love un?"
+
+"That was differ'nt. Theer s Miller Lyddon. I could much wish you seed
+more of him an' let un come by a better 'pinion of 'e. 'T s awnly
+worldly wisdom, true; but--"
+
+"I'm sick to death o' worldly wisdom! What's it done for me? I stand to
+work nine an' ten hour a day, an' not wi'out my share o' worldly wisdom,
+neither. Then I'm played with an' left to whistle, I ban't gwaine to
+think so much, I tell 'e. It awnly hurts a man's head, an' keeps him
+wakin' o' nights. Life's guess-work, by the looks of it, an' a fule's so
+like to draw a prize as the wisest."
+
+"That's not the talk as'll make Newtake pay, Will. You 'm worse than
+poor Blee to Monks Barton. He's gwaine round givin' out theer ban't no
+God 't all, 'cause Mrs. Coomstock took auld Lezzard 'stead of him."
+
+"You may laugh if you like, mother. 'Tis the fashion to laugh at me
+seemin'ly. But I doan't care. Awnly you'll be sorry some day, so sure as
+you sit in thicky chair. Now, as you've nothin' but blame, best to go
+back home. I'll put your pony in the shafts. 'Twas a pity you corned so
+far for so little."
+
+He went off, his breast heaving, while the woman followed him with her
+eyes and smiled when he was out of sight. She knew him so well, and
+already pictured her repentant son next Sunday. Then Will would be at
+his mother's cottage, and cut the bit of beef at dinner, and fuss over
+her comfort according to his custom.
+
+She went into the farmyard and took the pony from him and led it back
+into the stall. Then she returned to him and put her arm through his and
+spoke.
+
+"Light your pipe, lovey, an' walk a li'l way along down to the stones on
+the hill, wheer you was born. Your auld mother wants to talk to 'e."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+CONNECTING LINKS
+
+
+Spaces of time extending over rather more than a year may now be
+dismissed in a chapter.
+
+Chris Blanchard, distracted between Will and her lover, stayed on at
+Newtake after the estrangement, with a hope that she might succeed in
+healing the breach between them; but her importunity failed of its good
+object, and there came an August night when she found her own position
+at her brother's farm grow no longer tenable.
+
+The blinds were up, and rays from the lamp shot a broad band of light
+into the farmyard, while now and again great white moths struck soft
+blows against the closed window, then vanished again into the night.
+Will smoked and Chris pleaded until a point, beyond which her brother's
+patience could not go, was reached. Irritation grew and grew before her
+ceaseless entreaty on Clement's behalf; for the thousandth time she
+begged him to write a letter of apology and explanation of the trouble
+bred by Sam Bonus; and he, suddenly rising, smashed down his clay pipe
+and swore by all his gods he would hear the name of Hicks mentioned in
+his house no more. Thus challenged to choose between her lover and her
+brother, the girl did not hesitate. Something of Will's own spirit
+informed her; she took him at his word and returned home next morning,
+leaving him to manage his own household affairs henceforth as best he
+might.
+
+Upon the way to Chagford Chris chanced to meet with Martin Grimbal, and,
+having long since accepted his offer of friendship, she did not hesitate
+to tell him of her present sorrow and invite his sympathy. From
+ignorance rather than selfishness did Chris take Martin literally when
+he had hoped in the past they might remain friends, and their
+intercourse was always maintained by her when chance put one in the
+other's way--at a cost to the man beyond her power to guess.
+
+Now he walked beside her, and she explained how only a word was wanting
+between Will and Clement which neither would speak. Hicks had forgiven
+Will, but he refused to visit Newtake until he received an apology from
+the master of it; and Blanchard bore no ill-will to Clement, but
+declined to apologise for the past. These facts Martin listened to,
+while the blood beat like a tide within his temples, and a mist dimmed
+his eyes as the girl laid her brown hand upon his arm now and again, to
+accentuate a point. At such moments the truth tightened upon his soul
+and much distressed him.
+
+The antiquary had abandoned any attempt to forget Chris, or cease from
+worshipping her with all his heart and soul; but the emotion now muzzled
+and chained out of sight he held of nobler composition than that earlier
+love which yearned for possession. Those dreary months that dragged
+between the present and his first disappointment had served as
+foundations for new developments of character in the man. He existed
+through a period of unutterable despair and loneliness; then the fruits
+of bygone battles fought and won came to his aid, and long-past years of
+self-denial and self-control fortified his spirit. The reasonableness of
+Martin Grimbal lifted him slowly but steadily from the ashes of
+disappointment; even his natural humility helped him, and he told
+himself he had no more than his desert. Presently, with efforts the very
+vigour of which served as tonic to character, he began to wrestle at the
+granite again and resume his archaeologic studies. Speaking in general
+terms, his mind was notably sweetened and widened by his experience;
+and, resulting from his own failure to reach happiness, there awoke in
+him a charity and sympathy for others, a fellow-feeling with humanity,
+remarkable in one whose enthusiasm for human nature was not large, whose
+ruling passion, until the circumstance of love tinctured it, had led him
+by ways which the bulk of men had pronounced arid and unsatisfying. Now
+this larger insight was making a finer character of him and planting,
+even at the core of his professional pursuits, something deeper than is
+generally to be found there. His experience, in fact, was telling upon
+his work, and he began slowly to combine with the labour of the
+yard-measure and the pencil, the spade and the camera, just thoughts on
+the subject of those human generations who ruled the Moor aforetime, who
+lived and loved and laboured there full many a day before Saxon keel
+first grated on British shingle.
+
+To Chris did Martin listen attentively. Until the present time he had
+taken Will's advice and made no offer of work to Clement; but now he
+determined to do so, although he knew this action must mean speedy
+marriage for Chris. Love, that often enough can shake a lifetime of
+morality, that can set ethics and right conduct and duty playing a
+devil's dance in the victim's soul, that can change the practised
+customs of a man's life and send cherished opinions, accepted beliefs,
+and approved dogmas spinning into chaos before its fiery onslaught--love
+did not thus overpower Martin Grimbal. His old-fashioned mind was no
+armour against it, and in that the passion proved true; religion
+appeared similarly powerless to influence him; yet now his extreme
+humility, his natural sense of justice and the dimensions of his passion
+itself combined to lead him by a lofty road. Chris desired another man,
+and Martin Grimbal, loving her to that point where her perfect happiness
+dominated and, indeed, became his own, determined that his love should
+bear fruit worthy of its object.
+
+This kindly design was frustrated, however, and the antiquary himself
+denied power to achieve the good action that he proposed, for on
+visiting Clement in person and inviting his aid in the clerical portions
+of a considerable work on moorland antiquities, the poet refused to
+assist.
+
+"You come too late," he said coldly. "I would not help you now if I
+could, Martin Grimbal. Don't imagine pride or any such motive keeps me
+from doing so. The true reason you may guess."
+
+"Indeed! I can do nothing of the sort. What reason is there against your
+accepting an offer to do remunerative and intellectual work in your
+leisure hours--work that may last ten years for all I can see to the
+contrary?"
+
+"The reason is that you invited another man's judgment upon me, instead
+of taking your own. Better follow Will Blanchard's advice still. Don't
+think I'm blind. It is Chris who has made you do this."
+
+"You're a very difficult man to deal with, really. Consider my
+suggestion, Hicks, and all it might mean. I desire nothing but your
+welfare."
+
+"Which is only to say you are offering me charity."
+
+Martin looked at the other quietly, then took his hat and departed. At
+the door he said a last word.
+
+"I don't want to think this is final. You would be very useful to me, or
+I should not have asked you to aid my labour. Let me hear from you
+within a week."
+
+But Clement was firm in his folly; while, although they met on more than
+one occasion, and John Grimbal repeated his offer of regular work, the
+bee-keeper refused that proposal, also. He made some small sums out of
+the Red House hives, but would not undertake any regular daily labour
+there. Clement's refusal of Martin resulted from his own weak pride and
+self-conscious stupidity; but a more subtle tangle of conflicting
+motives was responsible for his action in respect of the elder Grimbal's
+invitation. Some loyalty to the man whom he so cordially disliked still
+inhabited his mind, and with it a very considerable distrust of himself.
+He partly suspected the reason of John Grimbal's offer of work, and the
+possibility of sudden temptation provoking from him utterance of words
+best left unsaid could not be ignored after his former experience at the
+hiving of the swarm.
+
+So he went his way and told nobody--not even Chris--of these
+opportunities and his action concerning them. Such reticence made two
+women sad. Chris, after her conversation with Martin, doubted not but
+that he would make some effort, and, hearing nothing as time passed,
+assumed he had changed his mind; while Mrs. Hicks, who had greatly hoped
+that Clement's visit to the Red House might result in regular
+employment, felt disappointed when no such thing occurred.
+
+The union of Mr. Lezzard and Mrs. Coomstock was duly accomplished to a
+chorus of frantic expostulation on the part of those interested in the
+widow's fortune. Mr. Shorto-Champernowne, having convinced himself that
+the old woman was in earnest, could find no sufficient reason for doing
+otherwise than he was asked, and finally united the couple. To Newton
+Abbot they went for their honeymoon, and tribulation haunted them from
+the first. Mrs. Lezzard refused her husband permission to inquire any
+particulars of her affairs from her lawyer--a young man who had
+succeeded Mr. Joel Ford--while the Gaffer, on his side, parried all his
+lady's endeavours to learn more of the small fortune concerning which he
+had spoken not seldom before marriage. Presently they returned to
+Chagford, and life resolved itself into an unlovely thing for both of
+them. Time brought no better understanding or mutual confidence; on the
+contrary, they never ceased from wrangling over money and Mrs. Lezzard's
+increasing propensity towards drink. The old man suffered most, and as
+his alleged three hundred pounds did not appear, being, indeed, a mere
+lover's effort of imagination, his wife bitterly resented marriage under
+such false pretences, and was never weary of protesting. Of her own
+affairs she refused to tell her husband anything, but as Mr. Lezzard was
+found to possess no money at all, it became necessary to provide him
+with a bare competence for the credit of the family. He did his best to
+win a little more regard and consideration, in the hope that when his
+wife passed away the reward of devotion might be reaped; but she never
+forgave him, expressed the conviction that she would outlive him by many
+years, and exhausted her ingenuity to make the old man rue his bargain.
+Only one experience, and that repeated as surely as Mr. Blee met Mr.
+Lezzard, was more trying to the latter than all the accumulated
+misfortune of his sorry state--Gaffer's own miseries appeared absolutely
+trivial by comparison with Mr. Blee's comments upon them.
+
+With another year Blanchard and Hicks became in some sort reconciled,
+though the former friendship was never renewed. The winter proved a
+severe one, and Will experienced a steady drain on his capital, but he
+comforted himself in thoughts of the spring, watched his wheat dapple
+the dark ground with green, and also foretold exceptional crops of hay
+when summer should return. The great event of his wife's advent at
+Newtake occupied most of his reflections; while as for Phoebe herself
+the matter was never out of her mind. She lived for the day in June that
+should see her by her husband's side; but Miller Lyddon showed no
+knowledge of the significance of Phoebe's twenty-first birthday; and
+when Will brought up the matter, upon an occasion of meeting with his
+father-in-law, the miller deprecated any haste.
+
+"Time enough--time enough," he said. "You doan't want no wife to Newtake
+these years to come, while I _do_ want a darter to home."
+
+So Phoebe, albeit the course of operations was fully planned, forbore to
+tell her father anything, and suffered the day to drift nearer and
+nearer without expressly indicating the event it was to witness.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+TOGETHER
+
+
+Though not free from various temporal problems that daily demanded
+solution, Will very readily allowed his mind a holiday from all affairs
+of business during the fortnight that preceded his wife's arrival at
+Newtake. What whitewash could do was done; a carpet, long since
+purchased but not laid down till now, adorned the miniature parlour;
+while out of doors, becoming suddenly conscious that not a blossom would
+greet Phoebe's eyes, Will set about the manufacture of a flower-bed
+under the kitchen window, bound the plat with neat red tiles, and
+planted therein half a dozen larkspurs--Phoebe's favourite flower--with
+other happy beauties of early summer. The effort looked raw and unhappy,
+however, and as ill luck would have it, these various plants did not
+take kindly to their changed life, and greeted Phoebe with hanging
+heads.
+
+But the great morning came at last, and Will, rising, with the curious
+thought that he would never sleep in the middle of his bed again, donned
+his best dark-brown velveteens and a new pair of leathern gaiters, then
+walked out into the air, where Chown was milking the cows. The day
+dawned as brightly as the events it heralded, and Will, knowing that his
+mother and Chris would be early at Newtake, strolled out to meet them.
+Over against the farm rose moorland crowned by stone, and from off their
+granite couches grey mists blushing to red now rose with lazy
+deliberation and vanished under the sun's kiss. A vast, sweet,
+diamond-twinkling freshness filled the Moor; blue shadows lay in the
+dewy coombs, and sun-fires gleamed along the heather ridges. No
+heath-bell as yet had budded, but the flame of the whins splashed many
+undulations, and the tender foliage of the whortleberry, where it grew
+on exposed granite, was nearly scarlet and flashed jewel-bright in the
+rich texture of the waste. Will saw his cattle pass to their haunts,
+sniffed the savour of them on the wind, and enjoyed the thought of being
+their possessor; then his eyes turned to the valley and the road which
+wound upwards from it under great light. A speck at length appeared
+three parts of a mile distant and away started Blauchard, springing down
+the hillside to intercept it. His heart sang within him; here was a
+glorious day that could never come again, and he meant to live it
+gloriously.
+
+"Marnin', mother! Marnin', Chris! Let me get in between 'e. Breakfast
+will be most ready by time we'm home. I knawed you d keep your word such
+a rare fashion day!"
+
+Will soon sat between the two women, while Mrs. Blanchard's pony
+regulated its own pace and three tongues chattered behind it. A dozen
+brown paper parcels occupied the body of the little cart, for Damaris
+had insisted that the wedding feast should be of her providing. It was
+proposed that Chris and her mother should spend the day at Newtake and
+depart after drinking tea; while Phoebe was to arrive in a fly at one
+o'clock.
+
+After breakfast Chris busied herself indoors and occupied her quick
+fingers in putting a dozen finishing touches; while Mrs. Blanchard
+walked round the farm beside Will, viewed with outspoken approval or
+secret distrust those evidences of success and failure spread about her,
+and passed the abandoned attempt to reclaim land without a word or sign
+that she remembered. Will crowed like a happy child; his mother poured
+advice into his unheeding ears; and then a cart lumbered up with a great
+surprise in it. True to her intention Mrs. Blanchard had chosen the day
+of Phoebe 's arrival to send the old piano to Newtake, and now it was
+triumphantly trundled into the parlour, while Will protested and
+admired. It added not a little to the solid splendour of the apartment,
+and Mrs. Blanchard viewed it with placid but genuine satisfaction. Its
+tarnished veneer and red face looked like an old honest friend, so Will
+declared, and he doubted not that his wife would rejoice as he did.
+
+Presently the cart destined to bring Phoebe's boxes started for Chagford
+under Ted Chown's direction. It was a new cart, and the owner hoped that
+sight of it, with "William Blanchard, Newtake," nobly displayed on the
+tail-board, would please his father-in-law.
+
+Meantime, at Monks Barton the great day had likewise dawned, but Phoebe,
+from cowardice rather than philosophy, did not mention what was to
+happen until the appearance of Chown made it necessary to do so.
+
+Mr. Blee was the first to stand bewildered before Ted's blunt
+announcement that he had come for Mrs. Blanchard's luggage.
+
+"What luggage? What the douce be talkin' 'bout?" he asked.
+
+"Why, everything, I s'pose. She 'm comin' home to-day--that's knawn,
+ban't it?"
+
+"Gormed if 'tis! Not by me, anyways--nor Miller, neither."
+
+Then Phoebe appeared and Billy heard the truth.
+
+"My! An' to keep it that quiet! Theer'll be a tidy upstore when Miller
+comes to hear tell--"
+
+But Mr. Lyddon was at the door and Phoebe answered his questioning eyes.
+
+"My birthday, dear faither. You must remember--why, you was the first to
+give me joy of it! Twenty-one to-day, an' I must go--I must--'tis my
+duty afore everything."
+
+The old man's jaw fell and he looked the picture of sorrowful surprise.
+
+"But--but to spring it like this! Why to-day? Why to-day? It's madness
+and it's cruelty to fly from your home the first living moment you've
+got the power. I'd counted on a merry evenin,' tu, an' axed more 'n wan
+to drink your gude health."
+
+"Many's the merry evenings us'll have, dear faither, please God; but a
+husband's a husband. He've been that wonnerful patient, tu, for such as
+him. 'T was my fault for not remindin' you. An' yet I did, now an'
+again, but you wouldn't see it. Yet you knawed in your heart, an' I
+didn't like to pain 'e dwellin' on it overmuch."
+
+"How did I knaw? I didn't knaw nothin' 't all 'bout it. How should I? Me
+grawin' aulder an' aulder, an' leanin' more an' more 'pon 'e at every
+turn. An' him no friend to me--he 's never sought to win me--he 's--"
+
+"Doan't 'e taake on 'bout Will, dearie; you'll come to knaw un better
+bimebye. I ban't gwaine so far arter all; an' it's got to be."
+
+Then the miller worked himself into a passion, dared Chown to take his
+daughter's boxes, and made a scene very painful to witness and quite
+futile in its effect. Phoebe could be strong at times, and a life's
+knowledge of her father helped her now. She told Chown to get the boxes
+and bade Billy help him; she then followed Mr. Lyddon, who was rambling
+away, according to his custom at moments of great sorrow, to pour his
+troubles into any ear that would listen. She put her arm through his,
+drew him to the riverside and spoke words that showed she had developed
+mentally of late. She was a woman with her father, cooed pleasantly to
+him, foretold good things, and implored him to have greater care of his
+health and her love than to court illness by this display of passion.
+Such treatment had sufficed to calm the miller in many of his moods, for
+she possessed great power to soothe him, and Mr. Lyddon now set
+increased store upon his daughter's judgment; but to-day, before this
+dreadful calamity, every word and affectionate device was fruitless and
+only made the matter worse. He stormed on, and Phoebe's superior manner
+vanished as he did so, for she could only play such a part if quite
+unopposed in it. Now her father silenced her, frightened her, and dared
+her to leave him; but his tragic temper changed when they returned to
+the farm and he found his daughter's goods were really gone. Then the
+old man grew very silent, for the inexorable certainty of the thing
+about to happen was brought home to him at last.
+
+Before a closed hackney carriage from the hotel arrived to carry Phoebe
+to Newtake, Miller Lyddon passed through a variety of moods, and another
+outburst succeeded his sentimental silence. When the vehicle was at the
+gate, however, his daughter found tears in his eyes upon entering the
+kitchen suddenly to wish him "good-by." But he brushed them away at
+sight of her, and spoke roughly and told her to be gone and find the
+difference between a good father and a bad husband.
+
+"Go to the misery of your awn choosin'; go to him an' the rubbish-heap
+he calls a farm! Thankless an' ontrue,--go,--an' look to me in the
+future to keep you out of the poorhouse and no more. An' that for your
+mother's sake--not yourn."
+
+"Oh, Faither!" she cried, "doan't let them be the last words I hear 'pon
+your lips. 'T is cruel, for sure I've been a gude darter to 'e, or tried
+to be--an'--an'--please, dear faither, just say you wish us well--me an'
+my husband. Please say that much. I doan't ax more."
+
+But he rose and left her without any answer. It was then Phoebe's turn
+to weep, and blinded with tears she slipped and hurt her knee getting
+into the coach. Billy thereupon offered his aid, helped her, handed her
+little white fox terrier m after her, and saw that the door was properly
+closed.
+
+"Be o' good cheer," he said, "though I caan't offer 'e much prospects of
+easy life in double harness wi' Will Blanchard. But, as I used to say in
+my church-gwaine days, 'God tempers the wind to the shorn lamb.' Be it
+as 'twill, I dare say theer 's many peaceful years o' calm,
+black-wearin' widowhood afore 'e yet, for chaps like him do shorten
+theer days a deal by such a tearin', high-coloured, passionate way of
+life."
+
+Mr. Blee opened the gate, the maids waved their handkerchiefs and wept,
+and not far distant, as he heard the vehicle containing his daughter
+depart, Mr. Lyddon would have given half that he had to recall the
+spoken word. Phoebe once gone, his anger vanished and his love for her
+won on him like sunshine after storm. Angry, indeed, he still was, but
+with himself.
+
+For Phoebe, curiosity and love dried her tears as she passed upward
+towards the Moor. Then, the wild land reached, she put her head out of
+the window and saw Newtake beech trees in the distance. Already the
+foliage of them seemed a little tattered and thin, and their meagreness
+of vesture and solitary appearance depressed the spectator again before
+she arrived at them.
+
+But the gate, thrown widely open, was reached at last, and there stood
+Will and Mrs. Blanchard, Chris, Ted Chown, and the great bobtailed
+sheep-dog, "Ship," to welcome her. With much emotion poor Phoebe
+alighted, tottered and fell into the bear-hug of her husband, while the
+women also kissed her and murmured over her in their sweet, broad Devon
+tongue. Then something made Will laugh, and his merriment struck the
+right note; but Ship fell foul of Phoebe's little terrier and there was
+a growl, then a yelp and a scuffling, dusty battle amid frightened
+fowls, whose protests added to the tumult. Upon this conflict descended
+Will's sapling with sounding thuds administered impartially, and from
+the skirmish the smaller beast emerged lame and crying, while the
+sheep-dog licked the blood off his nose and went to heel with a red
+light glimmering through his pale blue eyes.
+
+Happiness returned indoors and Phoebe, all blushes and praises,
+inspected her new home and the preparations made within it for her
+pleasure. Perhaps she simulated more joy than the moment brought, for
+such a day, dreamed of through years, was sure in its realisation to
+prove something of an anti-climax after the cruel nature of all such
+events. Despite Chris and her ceaseless efforts to keep joy at the
+flood, a listlessness stole over the little party as the day wore on.
+Phoebe found her voice not to be relied upon and felt herself drifting
+into that state between laughter and tears which craves solitude for its
+exhibition. The cows came home to be milked, and there seemed but few of
+them after the great procession at Monks Barton. Yet Will demanded her
+separate praises for each beast. In the little garden he had made,
+budding flowers, untimely transplanted, hung their heads. But she
+admired with extravagant adjectives, and picked a blossom and set it in
+her dress. Anon the sun set, with no soft lights and shadows amidst the
+valley trees she knew, when sunset and twilight played hide-and-seek
+beside the river, but slowly, solemnly, in hard, clean, illimitable
+glory upon horizons of granite and heather. The peat glowed as though it
+were red-hot, and night brooded on the eastern face of every hill. Only
+a jangling bell broke the startling stillness then, and, through long
+weeks afterwards the girl yearned for the song of the river, as one who
+has long slept by another's side sadly yearns for the sound of their
+breathing by night, when they are taken away. Phoebe had little
+imagination, but she guessed already that the life before her must
+differ widely from that spent under her father's roof. Despite the
+sunshine of the time and the real joy of being united to her husband at
+last, she saw on every side more evidences of practical life than she
+had before anticipated. But these braced her rather than not, and she
+told herself truly that the sadness at bottom of her heart just then was
+wholly begotten of the past and her departure from home. Deep unrest
+came upon her as she walked with her husband and listened to his glad
+voice. She longed greatly to be alone with him that her heart might be
+relieved. She wanted his arms round her; she wanted to cry and let him
+kiss the tears away.
+
+Damaris Blanchard very fully understood much that was passing through
+her daugher-in-law's mind, and she hastened her departure after an early
+cup of tea. She took a last look at all the good things she had provided
+for the wedding supper--a meal she declared must not be shared with Will
+and Phoebe--and so made ready to depart. It was then her turn, and her
+bosom throbbed with just one dumb, fleeting shadow of fear that found
+words before her second thought had time to suppress them.
+
+"You won't love me no less, eh, Will?" she whispered, holding his hand
+between hers; and he saw her grey eyes almost frightened in the
+gloaming.
+
+"My God, no! No, mother; a man must have a dirty li'l heart in un if it
+ban't big enough to hold mother an' wife."
+
+She gripped his hand tighter.
+
+"Ess fay, I knaw, I knaw; but doan't 'e put your mother first
+now,--ban't nature. God bless an' keep the both of 'e. 'Twill allus be
+my prayer."
+
+The cart rattled away, Chris driving, and such silence as Phoebe had
+never known held the darkening land. She noted a yellow star against the
+sombre ridge of the world, felt Will's arm round her and turned to him,
+seeking that comfort and support her nature cried out for.
+
+Infinitely tender and loving was her husband then, and jubilant, too, at
+first; but a little later, when Chown had been packed off to his own
+apartment, with not a few delicacies he had never bargained for, the
+conversation flagged and the banquet also.
+
+The table was laden with two capons, a ham, a great sugared cake, a
+whole Dutch cheese, an old-fashioned cut-glass decanter containing brown
+sherry, and two green wine-glasses for its reception; yet these luxuries
+tempted neither husband nor wife to much enjoyment of them. Indeed
+Phoebe's obvious lowness of spirits presently found its echo in Will.
+The silences grew longer and longer; then the husband set down his knife
+and fork, and leaving the head of the table went round to his wife's
+side and took her hand and squeezed it, but did not speak. She turned to
+him and he saw her shut her eyes and give a little shiver. Then a tear
+flashed upon her lashes and twinkled boldly down, followed by another.
+
+"Phoebe! My awn li'l wummon! This be a wisht home-comin'! What the
+plague's the matter wi' us?"
+
+"Doan't 'e mind, dear heart. I'm happy as a bird under these silly
+tears. But 'twas the leavin' o' faither, an' him so hard, an' me lovin'
+him so dear, an'--an'--"
+
+"Doan't 'e break your heart 'bout him. He'll come round right enough.
+'Twas awnly the pang o' your gwaine away, like the drawin' of a tooth."
+
+"Everybody else in the world knaws I ought to be here," sobbed Phoebe,
+"but faither, he won't see it. An' I caan't get un out of my mind
+to-night, sitting that mournfui an' desolate, wi' his ear deaf to
+Billy's noise an' his thoughts up here."
+
+"If he won't onderstand the ways of marriage, blessed if I see how we
+can make him. Surely to God, 'twas time I had my awn?"
+
+"Ess, dear Will, but coming to-day, 'pon top of my gert joy, faither's
+sorrow seemed so terrible-like."
+
+"He'll get awver it, an' so will you, bless you. Drink up some of this
+braave stuff mother left. Sherry 't is, real wine, as will comfort 'e,
+my li'l love. 'Tis I be gwaine to make your happiness henceforward,
+mind; an' as for Miller, he belongs to an auld-fashioned generation of
+mankind, and it's our place to make allowances. Auld folk doan't knaw
+an' won't larn. But he'll come to knaw wan solid thing, if no more; an'
+that is as his darter'll have so gude a husband as she've got faither,
+though I sez it."
+
+"'Tis just what he said I shouldn't, Will."
+
+"Nevermind, forgive un, an' drink up your wine; 'twill hearten 'e."
+
+A dog barked, a gate clinked, and there came the sound of a horse's
+hoofs, then of a man dismounting.
+
+Will told the rest of the story afterwards to Mrs. Blanchard.
+
+"''Tis faither,' cries Phoebe, an' turns so pale as a whitewashed wall
+in moonlight. 'Never!' I sez. But she knawed the step of un, an'
+twinkled up from off her chair, an' 'fore ever the auld man reached the
+door, 't was awpen. In he comed, like a lamb o' gentleness, an' said
+never a word for a bit, then fetched out a little purse wi' twenty gawld
+sovereigns in it. An' us all had some fine talk for more'n an hour, an'
+he was proper faither to me, if you'll credit it; an' he drinked a glass
+o' your wine, mother, an' said he never tasted none better and not much
+so gude. Then us seed un off, an' Phoebe cried again, poor twoad, but
+for sheer happiness this time. So now the future's clear as sunlight,
+an' we'm all friends--'cept here an' theer."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+THROUGH ONE GREAT DAY
+
+
+Just within the woods of Teign Valley, at a point not far distant from
+that where Will Blanchard met John Grimbal for the first time, and
+wrestled with him beside the river, there rises a tall bank, covered
+with fern, shadowed by oak trees. A mossy bridle-path winds below, while
+beyond it, seen through a screen of wych-elms and hazel, extend the
+outlying meadows of Monks Barton.
+
+Upon this bank, making "sunshine in a shady place," reclined Chris,
+beneath a harmony of many greens, where the single, double, and triple
+shadows of the manifold leaves above her created a complex play of light
+and shade all splashed and gemmed with little sun discs. Drowsy noon-day
+peace marked the hour; Chris had some work in her hand, but was not
+engaged upon it; and Clement, who lolled beside her, likewise did
+nothing. His eyes were upon a mare and foal in the meadow below. The
+matron proceeded slowly, grazing as she went, while her lanky youngster
+nibbled at this or that inviting tuft, then raced joyously in wide
+circles and, returning, sought his mother's milk with the selfish
+roughness of youth.
+
+"Happy as birds, they be," said Chris, referring to the young pair at
+Newtake. "It do make me long for us to be man an' wife, Clem, when I see
+'em."
+
+"We're that now, save for the hocus-pocus of the parsons you set such
+store by."
+
+"No, I'll never believe it makes no difference."
+
+"A cumbrous, stupid, human contrivance like marriage! Was ever man and
+woman happier for being bound that way? Can free things feel their
+hearts beat closer because they are chained to one another by an effete
+dogma?"
+
+"I doan't onderstand all that talk, sweetheart, an' you knaw I don't;
+but till some wise body invents a better-fashion way of joining man an'
+maid than marriage, us must taake it as 'tis."
+
+"There is a better way--Nature's."
+
+She shook her head.
+
+"If us could dwell in a hole at a tree-root, an' eat roots an' berries;
+but we'm thinking creatures in a Christian land."
+
+She stretched herself out comfortably and smiled up at him where he sat
+with his chin in his hands. Then, looking down, he saw the delicious
+outline of her and his eyes grew hot.
+
+"God's love! How long must it be?" he cried; then, before she could
+speak, he clipped her passionately to him and hugged her closely.
+
+"Dearie, you'm squeezin' my breath out o' me!" cried Chris, well used to
+these sudden storms and not averse to them. "We must bide patient an'
+hold in our hearts," she said, lying in his arms with her face close to
+his. "'Twill be all the more butivul when we'm mated. Ess fay! I love 'e
+allus, but I love 'e better in this fiery mood than on the ice-cold days
+when you won't so much as hold my hand."
+
+"The cold mood's the better notwithstanding, and colder yet would be
+better yet, and clay-cold best of all."
+
+But he held her still, and pressed his beard against her brown neck.
+Then the sound of a trotting horse reached his ears, he started up,
+looked below, and saw John Grimbal passing by. Their eyes met, for the
+horseman chanced to glance up as Clement thrust his head above the fern;
+but Chris was invisible and remained so.
+
+Grimbal stopped and greeted the bee-keeper.
+
+"Have you forgotten your undertaking to see my hives once a month?"
+
+"No, I meant coming next week."
+
+"Well, as it happens I want to speak with you, and the present time's as
+good as another. I suppose you were only lying there dreaming?"
+
+"That's all. I'll come and walk along beside your horse."
+
+He squeezed his sweetheart's hand, whispered a promise to return
+immediately, then rose and stumbled down the bank, leaving Chris throned
+aloft in the fern. For a considerable time John Grimbal said nothing,
+then he began suddenly,--
+
+"I suppose you know the Applebirds are leaving my farm?"
+
+"Yes, Mrs. Applebird told my mother. Going to Sticklepath."
+
+"Not easy to get a tenant to take their place."
+
+"Is it not? Such a farm as yours? I should have thought there need be no
+difficulty."
+
+"There are tenants and tenants. How would you like it--you and your
+mother? Then you could marry and be comfortable. No doubt Chris
+Blanchard would make a splendid farmer's wife."
+
+"It would be like walking into paradise for me; but--"
+
+"The rent needn't bother you. My first care is a good tenant. Besides,
+rent may take other shapes than pounds, shillings, and pence."
+
+Hicks started.
+
+"I see," he said; "you can't forget the chance word I spoke in anger so
+long ago."
+
+"I can't, because it happened to be just the word I wanted to hear. My
+quarrel with Will Blanchard's no business of yours. The man's your enemy
+too; and you're a fool to stand in your own light, You know something
+that I don't know, concerning those weeks during which he disappeared.
+Well, tell me. You can only live your life once. Why let it run to rot
+when the Red House Farm wants a tenant? A man you despise, too."
+
+"No. I promised. Besides, you wouldn't be contented with the knowledge;
+you'd act on it."
+
+Grimbal showed a lightning-quick perception of this admission; and
+Hicks, too late, saw that the other had realised its force. Then he made
+an effort to modify his assertion.
+
+"When I say 'you'd act on it,' I mean that you might try to, though I
+much doubt really if anything I could tell you would damage Blanchard."
+
+"If you think that, then there can be no conscientious objection to
+telling me. Besides, I don't say I should act on the knowledge. I don't
+say I shall or I shall not. All you ve got to do is to say whether
+you'll take the Red House Farm at a nominal rent from Michaelmas."
+
+"No, man, no. You've met me in a bad moment, too, if you only knew. But
+think of it--brother and sister; and I, in order to marry the woman,
+betray the man. That's what it comes to. Such things don't happen."
+
+"You re speaking plainly, at any rate. We ought to understand each other
+to-day, if ever. I'll make you the same offer for less return. Tell me
+where he was during those weeks--that's all. You needn't tell what he
+was doing."
+
+"If you knew one, you'd find out the other. Once and for all, I'll tell
+you nothing. By an accidental question you discovered that I knew
+something. That was not my fault. But more you never will know from
+me--farm or no farm."
+
+"You're a fool for your pains. And the end will be the same. The
+information must reach me. You're a coward at heart, for it's fear, not
+any tomfoolery of morals, that keeps your mouth shut. Don't deceive
+yourself. I've often talked with you before to-day, and I know you think
+as I do."
+
+"What's that to do with it?"
+
+"Everything. 'Good' and 'evil' are only two words, and what is man's
+good and what is man's evil takes something cleverer than man to know.
+It's no nonsense of 'right' and 'wrong' that's keeping you from a happy
+home and a wife. What is it then?"
+
+Hicks was silent a moment, then made answer.
+
+"I don't know. I don't know any more than you do. Something has come
+over me; I can't tell you what. I'm more surprised than you are at my
+silence; but there it is. Why the devil I don't speak I don't know. I
+only know I'm not going to. Our characters are beyond our own power to
+understand."
+
+"If you don't know, I'll tell you. You're frightened that he will find
+out. You're afraid of him."
+
+"It's vain trying to anger me into speaking," answered the other,
+showing not a little anger the while; "I'm dumb henceforward."
+
+"I hope you'll let your brain influence you towards reason. 'Tis a
+fool's trick to turn your back on the chance of a lifetime. Better think
+twice. And second thoughts are like to prove best worth following. You
+know where to find me at any rate. I'll give you six weeks to decide
+about it."
+
+John Grimbal waited, hoping that Hicks might yet change his mind before
+he took his leave; but the bee-keeper made no answer. His companion
+therefore broke into a sharp trot and left him. Whereupon Clement stood
+still a moment, then he turned back and, forgetting all about Chris,
+proceeded slowly homewards to Chagford, deep in thought and heartily
+astonished at himself. No one could have prompted his enemy to a more
+critical moment for this great attack; no demon could have sent the
+master of the Red House with a more tempting proposal; and yet Hicks
+found himself resisting the lure without any particular effort or
+struggle. On the one side this man had offered him all the things his
+blood and brain craved; on the other his life still stretched drearily
+forward, and nothing in it indicated he was nearer his ambition by a
+hair's-breadth than a year before. Yet he refused to pay the price. It
+amazed him to find his determination so fixed against betrayal of Will.
+He honestly wondered at himself. The decision was bred from a curious
+condition of mind quite beyond his power to comprehend. He certainly
+recoiled from exposure of Blanchard's secret, yet coldly asked himself
+what unsuspected strand of character held him back. It was not fear and
+it was not regard for his sweetheart's brother; he did not know what it
+was. He scoffed at the ideas of honour or conscience. These abstractions
+had possessed weight in earlier years, but not now. And yet, while he
+assured himself that no tie of temporal or eternal interest kept him
+silent, the temptation to tell seemed much less on this occasion than in
+the past when he took a swarm of John Grimbal's bees. Then, indeed, his
+mind was aflame with bitter provocation. He affected a cynical attitude
+to the position and laughed without mirth at a theory that suddenly
+appeared in his mind. Perchance this steadfastness of purpose resulted,
+after all, from that artificial thing, "conscience," which men catch at
+the impressionable age when they have infantile ailments and pray at a
+mother's knee. If so, surely reason must banish such folly before
+another dawn and send him hot-foot at daybreak to the Red House. He
+would wait and watch himself and see.
+
+His reflections were here cut short, for a shrill voice broke in upon
+them, and Clement, now within a hundred yards of his own cottage door,
+saw Mr. Lezzard before him.
+
+"At last I've found 'e! Been huntin' this longful time, tu. The Missis
+wants 'e--your aunt I should say."
+
+"Wants me?"
+
+"Ess. 'T is wan o' her bad days, wi' her liver an' lights a bitin' at
+her like savage creatures. She'm set on seein' you, an' if I go
+home-along without 'e, she'll awnly cuss."
+
+"What can she want me for?"
+
+"She 's sick 'n' taken a turn for the wuss, last few days. Doctor
+Parsons doan't reckon she can hold out much longer. 'Tis the
+drink--she'm soaked in it, like a sponge."
+
+"I'll come," said Hicks, and half an hour later he approached his aunt's
+dwelling and entered it.
+
+Mrs. Lezzard was now sunk into a condition of chronic crapulence which
+could only end in one way. Her husband had been ordered again and again
+to keep all liquor from her, but, truth to tell, he made no very
+sustained effort to do so. The old man was sufficiently oppressed by his
+own physical troubles, and as the only happiness earth now held for him
+must depend on the departure of his wife, he watched her drinking
+herself to death without concern and even smiled in secret at the
+possibility of some happy, quiet, and affluent years when she was gone.
+
+Mrs. Lezzard lay on the sofa in her parlour, and a great peony-coloured
+face with coal-black eyes in it greeted Clement. She gave him her hand
+and bid her husband be gone. Then, when Gaffer had vanished, his wife
+turned to her nephew.
+
+"I've sent for you, Clem Hicks, for more reasons than wan. I be gwaine
+down the hill fast, along o' marryin' this cursed mommet[12] of a man,
+Lezzard. He lied about his money--him a pauper all the time; and now he
+waits and watches me o' nights, when he thinks I'm drunk or dreamin' an'
+I ban't neither. He watches, wi' his auld, mangy poll shakin', an' the
+night-lamp flingin' the black shadow of un 'gainst the bed curtain an'
+shawin' wheer his wan front tooth sticks up like a yellow stone in a
+charred field. Blast un to hell! He'm waitin' for my money, an' I've
+told un he's to have it. But 'twas only to make the sting bite deeper
+when the time comes. Not a penny--not a farthing--him or any of 'em."
+
+
+[12] _Mommet_ = scarecrow.
+
+
+"Don't get angry with him. He's not worth it. Tell me if I can help you
+and how. You'll be up and about again soon, I hope."
+
+
+"Never. Not me. Doctor Parsons be to blame. I hate that man. He knawed
+it was weakness of heart that called for drink after Coonistock died;
+an' he let me go on an' on--just to gain his own dark ends. You'll see,
+you'll see. But that reminds me. Of all my relations you an' your
+mother's all I care for; because you'm of my awn blood an' you've let me
+bide, an' haven't been allus watchin' an' waitin' an' divin' me to the
+bottle. An' the man I was fule enough to take in his dotage be worst of
+all."
+
+"Forget about these things. Anger's bad for you."
+
+"Forget! Well, so I will forget, when I ve told 'e. I had the young man
+what does my business, since old Ford died, awver here last week, an'
+what there is will be yourn--every stiver yourn. Not the business, of
+course; that was sold when Coonistock died; but what I could leave I
+have. You expected nothin,' an' by God! you shall have all!"
+
+She saw his face and hastened to lessen the force of the announcement in
+some degree.
+
+"Ban't much, mind, far less than you might think for--far less. Theer's
+things I was driven to do--a lone woman wi'out a soul to care. An' wan
+was--but you'll hear in gude time, you'll hear. It concerns Doctor
+Parsons."
+
+"I can't believe my senses. If you only knew what happened to me this
+morning. And if you only knew what absolute paupers we are--mother and
+I. Not that I would confess it to any living soul but you. And how can I
+thank you? Words are such vain things."
+
+"Ban't no call to thank me. 'Tis more from hatred of t' others than love
+of you, when all's said. An' it ban't no gert gold mine. But I'd like to
+be laid along wi' Coomstock; an' doan't, for God's love, bury Lezzard
+wi' me; an' I want them words on auld George Mundy's graave set 'pon
+mine--not just writ, but cut in a slate or some such lasting thing. 'Tis
+a tidy tomb he've got, wi' a cherub angel, an' I'd like the same. You'll
+find a copy o' the words in the desk there. My maid took it down last
+Sunday. I minded the general meaning, but couldn't call home the rhymes.
+Read it out, will 'e?"
+
+Clement opened the desk, and found and read the paper. It contained a
+verse not uncommon upon the tombstones of the last rural generation in
+Devon:
+
+  "Ye standers-by, the thread is spun;
+   All pomp and pride I e'er did shun;
+   Rich and poor alike must die;
+   Peasants and kings in dust must lie;
+   The best physicians cannot save
+   Themselves or patients from the Grave."
+
+"Them's the words, an' I've chose 'em so as Doctor Parsons shall have a
+smack in the faace when I'm gone. Not that he's wan o' the 'best
+physicians' by a mighty long way; but he'll knaw I was thinking of him,
+an' gnash his teeth, I hope, every time he sees the stone. I owe him
+that--an' more 'n that, as you'll see when I'm gone."
+
+"You mustn't talk of going, aunt--not for many a day. You're a young
+woman for these parts. You must take care--that's all."
+
+But he saw death in her face while he spoke, and could scarcely hide the
+frantic jubilation her promise had awakened in him. The news swept him
+along on a flood of novel thoughts. Coming as it did immediately upon
+his refusal to betray Will Blanchard, the circumstance looked, even in
+the eyes of Hicks, like a reward, an interposition of Providence on his
+behalf. He doubted not but that the bulk of mankind would so regard it.
+There arose within him old-fashioned ideas concerning right and
+wrong--clear notions that brought a current of air through his mind and
+blew away much rotting foliage and evil fruit. This sun-dawn of
+prosperity transformed the man for a moment, even awoke some just
+ethical thoughts in him.
+
+His reverie was interrupted, for, on the way from Mrs. Lezzard's home,
+Clement met Doctor Parsons himself and asked concerning his aunt's true
+condition.
+
+"She gave you the facts as they are," declared the medical man. "Nothing
+can save her. She's had _delirium tremens_ Lord knows how often. A
+fortnight to a month--that's all. Nature loves these forlorn hopes and
+tinkers away at them in a manner that often causes me to rub my eyes.
+But you can't make bricks without straw. Nature will find the game 's up
+in a few days; then she'll waste no more time, and your aunt will be
+gone."
+
+Home went Clement Hicks, placed his mother in a whirl of mental
+rejoicing at this tremendous news, then set out for Chris. Their compact
+of the morning--that she should await his return in the woods--he quite
+forgot; but Mrs. Blanchard reminded him and added that Chris had
+returned in no very good humour, then trudged up to Newtake to see
+Phoebe. Cool and calm the widow stood before Clement's announcement,
+expressed her gratification, and gave him joy of the promised change in
+his life.
+
+"Glad enough am I to hear tell of this. But you'll act just--eh? You
+won't forget that poor auld blid, Lezzard? If she'm gwaine to leave un
+out the account altogether, he'll be worse off than the foxes. His son's
+gone to foreign paarts an' his darter's lyin'-in--not that her husband
+would spare a crust o' bread for auld Lezzard, best o' times."
+
+"Trust me to do what's right. Now I'll go and see after Chris."
+
+"An' make it up with Will while sun shines on 'e. It's so easy, come
+gude fortune, to feel your heart swellin' out to others."
+
+"We are good friends now."
+
+"Do'e think I doan't knaw better? Your quarrel's patched for the sake of
+us women. Have a real make-up, I mean."
+
+"I will, then. I'll be what I was to him, if he'll let me. I'll forgive
+everything that's past--everything and every body."
+
+"So do. An' doan't 'e tell no more of them hard sayings 'gainst powers
+an' principalities an' Providence. Us be all looked arter, 'cording to
+the unknawn planning of God. How's Mrs. Lezzard?"
+
+"She'll be dead in a fortnight--perhaps less. As likely as not I might
+marry Chris before the next new moon."
+
+"Doan't think 'pon that yet. Be cool, an' keep your heart in bounds. 'T
+is allus the way wi' such as you, who never hope nothing. Theer comes a
+matter as takes 'em out of themselves, then they get drunk with hope,
+all of a sudden, an' flies higher than the most sanguine folks, an'
+builds castles 'pon clouds. Theer's the diggin' of a graave between you
+and Chris yet. Doan't forget that."
+
+"You can't evade solid facts."
+
+"No, but solid facts, seen close, often put on a differ'nt faace to what
+they did far-ways off."
+
+"You won't dishearten me, mother; I'm a happy man for once."
+
+"Be you? God forbid I should cloud 'e then; awnly keep wise as well as
+happy, an' doan't fill Chris with tu gert a shaw of pomps an'
+splendours. Put it away till it comes. Our dreams 'bout the future 's
+allus a long sight better or worse than the future itself."
+
+"Don't forbid dreaming. That's the sole happiness I've ever had until
+now."
+
+"Happiness, you call it? 'T is awnly a painted tinsel o' the mind, and
+coming from it into reality is like waking arter tu much drink. So I've
+heard my husband say scores o' times--him bein' a man much given to
+overhopefulness in his younger days--same as Will is now."
+
+Clement departed, and presently found himself with the cooler breezes of
+the high lands upon his hot forehead. They put him in mind of Mrs.
+Blanchard again, and their tendency, as hers had been, was to moderate
+his ardour; but that seemed impossible just now. Magnificent sunshine
+spread over the great wastes of the Moor; and through it, long before he
+reached Newtake, Clement saw his sweetheart returning. For a little time
+he seemed intoxicated and no longer his own master. The fires of the
+morning woke in him again at sight of her. They met and kissed, and he
+promised her some terrific news, but did not tell it then. He lived in
+the butterfly fever of the moment, and presently imparted the fever to
+her. They left the road and got away into the lonely heather; then he
+told her that they would be man and wife within a fortnight.
+
+They sat close together, far from every eye, in the shade of a thorn
+bush that rose beside a lonely stone.
+
+"Within the very shadow of marriage, and you are frightened of me still!
+Frightened to let me pick an apple over the orchard wall when I am going
+through the gate for my own the next moment! Listen! I hear our wedding
+bells!"
+
+Only the little lizard and the hovering hawk with gold eyes saw them.
+
+"Our wedding bells!" said Chris.
+
+
+Towards set of sun Hicks saw his sweetheart to her mother's cottage. His
+ecstatic joys were sobered now, and his gratitude a little lessened.
+
+"To think what marvels o' happiness be in store for us, Clem, my awn!"
+
+"Yes--not more than we deserve, either. God knows, if there 's any
+justice, it was your turn and mine to come by a little of the happiness
+that falls to the lot of men and women."
+
+"I doan't see how highest heaven's gwaine to be better than our married
+life, so long as you love me."
+
+"Heaven! Don't compare them. What's eternity if you're half a ghost,
+half a bird? That's the bribe thrown out,--to be a cold-blooded, perfect
+thing, and passionless as a musical box. Give me hot blood that flows
+and throbs; give me love, and a woman's breast to lean on. One great day
+on earth, such as this has been, is better than a million ages of
+sexless perfection in heaven. A vain reward it was that Christ offered.
+It seemed highest perfection to Him, doubtless; but He judged the world
+by Himself. The Camel-driver was wiser. He promised actual, healthy
+flesh in paradise--flesh that should never know an ache or pain--eternal
+flesh, and the joys of it. We can understand that, but where's the joy
+of being a spirit? I cling to the flesh I have, for I know that Nature
+will very soon want back the dust she has lent me."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+THE WILL
+
+
+Agreeably to the prediction of Doctor Parsons, Mrs. Lezzard's journey
+was ended in less than three weeks of her conversation with Clement
+Hicks. Then came a night when she made an ugly end; and with morning a
+group of gossips stood about the drawn blinds, licked their lips over
+the details, and generally derived that satisfaction from death common
+to their class. Indeed, this ghoulish gusto is not restricted to humble
+folk alone. The instinct lies somewhere at the root of human nature,
+together with many another morbid vein and trait not readily to be
+analysed or understood. Only educated persons conceal it.
+
+"She had deliriums just at the end," said Martha, her maid. "She called
+out in a voice as I never heard afore, an' mistook her husband for the
+Dowl."
+
+"Poor sawl! Death's such a struggle at the finish for the full-blooded
+kind. Doctor tawld me that if she'd had the leastest bit o'liver left,
+he could 'a' saved her; but 'twas all soaked up by neat brandy, leaving
+nought but a vacuum or some such fatal thing."
+
+"Her hadn't the use of her innards for a full fortnight! Think o' that!
+Aw. dallybuttons! It do make me cream all awver to hear tell of!"
+
+So they piled horror upon horror; then came Clement Hicks, as one having
+authority, and bade them begone. The ill-omened fowls hopped off;
+relations began to collect; there was an atmosphere of suppressed
+electricity about the place, and certain women openly criticised the
+prominent attitude Hicks saw fit to assume. This, however, did not
+trouble him. He wrote to the lawyer at Newton, fixed a day for the
+funeral, and then turned his attention to Mr. Lezzard. The ancient
+resented Clement's interference not a little, but Hicks speedily
+convinced him that his animosity mattered nothing. The bee-keeper found
+this little taste of power not unpleasant. He knew that everything was
+his own property, and he enjoyed the hate and suspicion in the eyes of
+those about him. The hungry crowd haunted him, but he refused it any
+information. Mr. Lezzard picked a quarrel, but he speedily silenced the
+old man, and told him frankly that upon his good behaviour must depend
+his future position. Crushed and mystified, the widower whispered to
+those interested with himself in his wife's estate; and so, before the
+reading of the will, there slowly grew a very deep suspicion and hearty
+hatred of Clement Hicks. None had considered him in connection with Mrs.
+Lezzard's fortune, for he always kept aloof from her; but women cannot
+easily shut their lips over such tremendous matters of news, and so it
+came about that some whisper from Chris or dark utterance from old Mrs.
+Hicks got wind, and a rumour grew that the bee-keeper was the dead
+woman's heir.
+
+Facts contributed colour to the suspicion, for it was known that Clement
+had of late given Chris one or two pretty presents, and a ring that cost
+gold. His savings were suspected to justify 110 such luxuries; yet that
+a speedy change in his manner of life might be expected was also
+manifest from the fact that he had been looking into the question of a
+new stone cottage, on the edge of the Moor, where the heather in high
+summer would ripple to the very doors of his beehives.
+
+The distrust created by these facts was quickly set at rest, for Mrs.
+Lezzard sank under ground within four days of her dissolution; then,
+after the eating of funeral baked meats, those interested assembled in
+the parlour to hear the will. The crowd whispered and growled, and
+looked gloomily across at Hicks and the little figure of his mother who
+had come in rusty black to witness his triumph. Then a young lawyer from
+Newton adjusted his spectacles, rustled his papers, and poured himself
+out a glass of grocer's port before proceeding. But his task involved no
+strain upon him, and was indeed completed within five minutes. Black
+disappointment, dismay, and despair were the seeds sown by that
+unimpassioned voice; and at his conclusion a silence as blank as any
+that reigned in the ears of the dead fell upon those who listened--on
+those who had hoped so much and were confronted with so little.
+
+"The will is remarkably concise. Mrs. Lezzard makes sundry bitter
+statements which I think none will blame me for not repeating, though
+all may see them here who desire so to do; she then constitutes Mr.
+Clement Hicks, her nephew, sole residuary legatee. There is no
+condition, no codicil; but I have regretfully to add that Mr. Hicks wins
+little but this barren expression of good-will from the testatrix; for
+the sufficient reason that she had nothing to leave. She laboured under
+various delusions, among others that her financial position was very
+different from what is the case. Upon her first husband's death, Mrs.
+Coomstock, as she was then, made an arrangement with my late senior
+partner, Mr. Joel Ford, and purchased an annuity. This absorbed nearly
+all her capital; the rest she lost in an undesirable speculation of her
+own choosing. I am amazed at the present extent of her obligations. This
+dwelling-house, for instance, is mortgaged to her medical man, Doctor
+Parsons, of Chagford. There is barely money to meet the debts. Some
+fifty or sixty pounds in my hands will be absorbed by the calls of the
+estate. Mrs. Lezzard's tastes--I sorrow to say it--were expensive in
+some directions. There is an item of ten pounds twelve shillings
+for--for brandy, if I may be pardoned for speaking plainly. The funeral
+also appears to have been conducted on a scale more lavish than
+circumstances warranted. However, there should be sufficient to defray
+the cost, and I am sure nobody will blame Mr. Hicks for showing this
+last respect to an amiable if eccentric woman. There is nothing to add
+except that I shall be delighted to answer any questions--any questions
+at all."
+
+A few moments later, the lawyer mounted his dog-cart and rattled off to
+enjoy a pleasant drive homeward.
+
+Then the company spoke its mind, and Mary Lezzard's clay might well have
+turned under that bitter hornet-buzz of vituperation. Some said little,
+but had not strength or self-command to hide tears; some cursed and
+swore. Mr. Lezzard wept unheeded; Mrs. Hicks likewise wept. Clement sat
+staring into the flushed faces and angry eyes, neither seeing the rage
+manifested before him, nor hearing the coarse volleys of reproach. Then
+in his turn he attracted attention; and hard words, wasted on the dead,
+hurtled like hail round his ears, with acid laughter, and bitter sneers
+at his own tremendous awakening. Stung to the quick, the lame
+wheelwright, Charles Coomstock, gloated on the spectacle of Clement's
+dark hour, and heaped abuse upon his round-eyed, miserable mother. The
+raw of his own wound found a sort of salve in this attack; and all the
+other poor, coarse creatures similarly found comfort in their
+disappointment from a sight of more terrific mortification than their
+own. Venomous utterances fell about Clement Hicks, but he neither heard
+nor heeded: his mind was far away with Chris, and the small shot of the
+Coomstocks and the thunder of the Chowns alike flew harmlessly past him.
+He saw his sweetheart's sorrow, and her grief, as yet unborn, was the
+only fact that much hurt him now. The gall in his own soul only began to
+sicken him when his eye rested on his mother. Then he rose and departed
+to his home, while the little, snuffling woman ran at his heels, like a
+dog.
+
+Not until he had escaped the tempest of voices, and was hidden from the
+world, did the bee-keeper allow his own cruel disappointment to appear.
+Then, while his mother wept, he lifted up his voice and cursed God. As
+his relations had won comfort by swearing at him, so now he soothed his
+soul unconsciously in blasphemies. Then followed a silence, and his
+mother dared to blame him and remind him of an error.
+
+"You wouldn't turn the bee-butts when she died, though I begged and
+prayed of 'e. Oh, if you'd awnly done what an auld woman, an' she your
+mother, had told 'e! Not so much as a piece of crape would 'e suffer me
+to tie 'pon 'em. An' I knawed all the while the hidden power o' bees."
+
+Presently he left her, and went to tell Chris. She greeted him eagerly,
+then turned pale and even terrified as she saw the black news in his
+face.
+
+"Just a gull and laughing-stock for the gods again, that's all, Chris.
+How easily they fool us from their thrones, don't they? And our pitiful
+hopes and ambitions and poor pathetic little plans for happiness shrivel
+and die, and strew their stinking corpses along the road that was going
+to be so gorgeous. The time to spill the cup is when the lip begins to
+tremble and water for it--not sooner--the gods know! And now all's
+changed--excepting only the memory of things done that had better been
+left undone."
+
+"But--but we shall be married at once, Clem?"
+
+He shook his head.
+
+"How can you ask it? My poor little all--twenty pounds--is gone on
+twopenny-halfpenny presents during the past week or two. It seemed so
+little compared to the fortune that was coming. It's all over. The great
+day is further off by twenty pounds than it was before that poor drunken
+old fool lied to me. Yet she didn't lie either; she only forgot; you
+can't swim in brandy for nothing."
+
+Fear, not disappointment, dominated the woman before him as she heard.
+Sheer terror made her grip his arm and scream to him hysterically. Then
+she wept wild, savage tears and called to God to kill her quickly. For a
+time she parried every question, but an outburst so strangely unlike
+Chris Blanchard had its roots deeper than the crushing temporary
+disaster which he had brought with him. Clement, suspecting, importuned
+for the truth, gathered it from her, then passed away into the dusk,
+faced with the greatest problem that existence had as yet set him.
+Crushed, and crushed unutterably, he returned home oppressed with a
+biting sense of his own damnable fate. He moved as one distracted,
+incoherent, savage, alone. The glorious palace he had raised for his
+happiness crumbled into vast ruins; hope was dead and putrid; and only
+the results of wild actions, achieved on false assumptions, faced him.
+Now, rising out of his brief midsummer madness, the man saw a ghost; and
+he greeted it with groan as bitter as ever wrung human heart.
+
+Miller Lyddon sat that night alone until Mr. Blee returned to supper.
+
+"Gert news! Gert news!" he shouted, while yet in the passage; "sweatin'
+for joy an' haste, I be!"
+
+His eyes sparkled, his face shone, his words tripped each other up by
+the heels.
+
+"Be gormed if ban't a 'mazin' world! She've left nought--dammy--less
+than nought, for the house be mortgaged sea-deep to Doctor, an' theer's
+other debts. Not a penny for nobody--nothin' but empty bottles--an' to
+think as I thought so poor o' God as to say theer weern't none! What a
+ramshackle plaace the world is!"
+
+"No money at all? Mrs. Lezzard--it can't be!" declared Mr. Lyddon.
+
+"But it is, by gum! A braave tantara 'mongst the fam'ly, I tell 'e. Not a
+stiver--all ate up in a 'nuity, an' her--artful limb!--just died on the
+last penny o' the quarter's payment. An' Lezzard left at the work'us
+door--poor auld zawk! An' him fourscore an' never been eggicated an'
+never larned nothin'!"
+
+"To think it might have been your trouble, Blee!"
+
+"That's it, that's it! That's what I be full of! Awnly for the watchin'
+Lard, I'd been fixed in the hole myself. Just picture it! Me a-cussin'
+o' Christ to blazes an' lettin' on theer wasn't no such Pusson; an' Him,
+wide awake, a-keepin' me out o' harm's way, even arter the banns was
+called! Theer's a God for 'e! Watchin' day an' night to see as I comed
+by no harm! That's what 't is to have laid by a tidy mort o'
+righteousness 'gainst a evil hour!"
+
+"You 'm well out of it, sure enough."
+
+"Ess, 't is so. I misjudged the Lard shocking, an' I'm man enough to up
+and say it, thank God. He was right an' I was wrong; an' lookin' back, I
+sees it. So I'll come back to the fold, like the piece of silver what
+was lost; an' theer'll be joy in heaven, as well theer may be. Burnish
+it all! I'll go along to church 'fore all men's eyes next Lard's Day
+ever is."
+
+"A gude thought, tu. Religion's a sort of benefit society, if you look
+at it, an' the church be the bank wheer us pays in subscriptions
+Sundays."
+
+"An' blamed gude interest us gets for the money," declared Mr. Blee.
+"Not but what I've drawed a bit heavy on my draft of late, along o'
+pretendin' to heathen ways an' thoughts what I never really held with;
+but 't is all wan now an' I lay I'll soon set the account right, wi' a
+balance in my favour, tu. Seein' how shameful I was used, ban't likely
+no gert things will be laid against me."
+
+"And auld Lezzard will go to the Union?"
+
+"A very fittin' plaace for un, come to think on 't. Awver-balanced for
+sheer greed of gawld he was. My! what a wild-goose chase! An the things
+he've said to me! Not that I'd allow myself--awuly from common humanity
+I must see un an' let un knaw I bear no more malice than a bird on a
+bough."
+
+They drank, Billy deeper than usual. He was marvellously excited and
+cheerful. He greeted God like an old friend returned to him from a
+journey; and that night before retiring he stood stiffly beside his bed
+and covered his face in his hands and prayed a prayer familiar among his
+generation.
+
+  "Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John,
+   Bless the bed that I lie on,
+   Four cornders to my bed,
+   Four angels overspread
+   Two tu foot an' two tu head,
+   An' all to carry me when I'm dead.
+   An' when I'm dead an' in my graave,
+     An' all my bones be rotten.
+   The greedy worms my flaish shall ate,
+     An' I shall be forgotten;
+       For Christ's sake. Amen."
+
+Having sucked from repetition of this ancient twaddle exactly that sort
+of satisfaction the French or Roman peasant wins from a babble of a dead
+language over beads, Billy retired with many a grunt and sigh of
+satisfaction.
+
+"It do hearten the spirit to come direct to the Throne," he reflected;
+"an' the wonder is how ever I could fare for near two year wi'out my
+prayers. Yet, though I got my monkey up an' let Jehovah slide, He knawed
+of my past gudeness, all set down in the Book o' Life. An' now I've
+owned up as I was wrong; which is all even the saints can do; 'cause
+Judgment Day, for the very best of us, will awnly be a matter o' owning
+up."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+A HUNDRED POUNDS
+
+
+The maddening recollection of things done wrought upon Clement Hicks
+until it bred in him a distracted frenzy and blinded his judgment. He
+lost all sense of proportion in his endeavour to come at a right course
+of action, and a mind long inclined towards one road now readily drifted
+upon it. To recover the position had been quite possible, and there were
+not wanting those ready and eager to assist him; but at this crisis in
+his fortune the man lost all power of reflection or self-control. The
+necessity for instant action clamoured to him through daylight and
+darkness; delay drove him hourly into a hysterical condition approaching
+frenzy, and every road to escape save one appeared bolted and barred
+against him. But, try as he might, his miseries could not be hidden, and
+Will Blanchard, among others, sympathised very heartily with the great
+disappointment that had now fallen upon Chris and her sweetheart. His
+sister's attitude had astonished both him and his mother. They fancied
+that Blanchards were made of sterner stuff; but Chris went down before
+the blow in a manner very unexpected. She seemed dazed and unable to
+recover from it. Her old elastic spirit was crushed, and a great sorrow
+looked from her eyes.
+
+Neither Will nor her mother could rouse her, and so it came about that
+thinking how best he could play a brother's part, the master of Newtake
+decided on a notable deed and held that the hour for it must be delayed
+no longer. He debated the circumstance from every point of view,
+examined his accounts, inspected the exact figures represented by the
+remainder of his uncle's legacy and then broke the matter to Phoebe. To
+his mother he had already spoken concerning the intention, and she
+approved it, though without knowing particulars. Phoebe, however,
+happened to be quite as familiar with Will's affairs as Will himself,
+and while his determination to give Clement and Chris a hundred pounds
+was easily come at and most cheering to his heart, the necessity of
+breaking the news to his wife appeared not so easy or pleasant. Indeed,
+Will approached the task with some trepidation, for a recent event made
+it doubly difficult. They sat together one night, after six weeks of
+married life, and he plunged into the matter.
+
+"'Tis sad them two being kept apart like this," he said abruptly.
+
+"'Tis so. Nobody feels it more'n me. Matters was hard with us, and now
+they 'm all smooth and the future seems fairly bright, tu."
+
+"Very bright," he said stoutly. "The hay's best ever come off my ground,
+thanks to the manure from Monks Barton; and look at the wurzels! Miller
+hisself said he've never seed a more promising crop, high or low. An'
+the things be in prime kelter, tu; an' better than four hunderd pound of
+uncle's money still left."
+
+"Long may it be left, I'm sure. 'Tis terrible work dipping into it, an'
+I looks at both sides of a halfpenny 'fore I spend it. Wish you would.
+You'm tu generous, Will. But accounts are that difficult."
+
+This was not the spirit of the hour, however.
+
+"I was gwaine to say that out of all our happiness an' fortune we might
+let a little bubble awver for Chris--eh? She'm such a gude gal, an' you
+love her so dearly as what I do a'most."
+
+Phoebe read the project in a flash, but yet invited her husband to
+explain.
+
+"What d'you mean?" she asked distrustfully and coldly.
+
+"I can see in your face you knaw well enough. That four-hunderd-odd
+pound. I've sometimes thought I should have given Chris a bit of the
+windfall when first it comed. But now--well, theer's this cruel coil
+failed on 'em. You knaw the hardness of waiting. 'Twould be a butivul
+thing to let 'em marry an' feel't was thanks to us."
+
+"You want to go giving them money?"
+
+"Not 'give' 'zactly. Us'll call it a loan, till the time they see their
+way clearer."
+
+Phoebe sighed and was silent for a while.
+
+"Poor dears," she said at length. "I feel for 'em in my heart, same as
+you do; yet somehow it doan't look right."
+
+"Not right, Phoebe?"
+
+"Not wise, then. Remember what you say the winters be up here--such
+dreary months with no money coming in and all gwaine out to keep life in
+the things."
+
+"'Tis a black, bitin' business on the high farms--caan't deny that."
+
+"Money flies so."
+
+"Then let some fly to a gude end. You knaw I'm a hard, keen man where
+other people be concerned, most times."
+
+His wife laughed frankly, and he grew red.
+
+"Damn it, Phoebe, doan't you take me like that else you'll get the rough
+edge of my tongue. 'Tis for you to agree with what I'm pleased to say,
+not contradict it. I _be_ a hard, keen man, and knaws the value of money
+as well as another. But Chris is my awn sister, an' the long an' the
+short is, I'm gwaine to give Clem Hicks a hunderd pound."
+
+"Will! It's not reasonable, it's not fair--us working so hard
+an'--an'--"
+
+"They 'm to have it, anyway."
+
+Her breath caught in a little, helpless gasp. Without a word she picked
+up the material in her hands, huddled it up, and thrust it across the
+table towards him. Then the passion faded out of his face, his eyes
+softened and grew dreamy, he smiled, and rubbed his brown cheek with the
+flannel.
+
+"My awn, li'l clever woman, as have set about the fashioning of a bairn
+so soon! God bless 'e, an' bless 'e an' be gude to 'e, an' the wee thing
+coming!"
+
+He put his arm round her and patted her hair and purred softly to her;
+whereupon she relented and kissed him.
+
+"You knaw best, Will, dearie; you nearly allus knaw best; but your
+heart's bigger 'n your pocket--an' a li'l child do call so loud for the
+spendin' o' money."
+
+"Aye, I knaw, I knaw; 'tis a parent's plaace to stand up for his
+offspring through fire an' water; an' I reckon I won't be the worst
+faither as ever was, either. I can mind the time when I was young
+myself. Stern but kind's the right rule. Us'll bring un up in the proper
+way, an' teach un to use his onderstandin' an' allus knuckle down 'fore
+his elders. To tell 'e truth, Phoebe, I've a notion I might train up a
+cheel better'n some men."
+
+"Yes, Will, I think so, tu. But 'tis food an' clothes an' li'l boots an'
+such-like comes first. A hunderd pounds be such a mort o' money."
+
+"'Twill set 'em up in a fair way."
+
+"Fifty wouldn't hardly do, p'r'aps?"
+
+"Hardly. I like to carry a job through clean an' vitty while I'm on it."
+
+"You've got such a big spirit."
+
+"As to that, money so spent ban't lost--'tis all in the fam'ly."
+
+"Of course 'tis a gude advertisement for you. Folk'll think you'm
+prosperin' an' look up to you more."
+
+"Well, some might, though I doan't 'zactly mean it like that. Yet the
+putting out o' three figures o' money must make neighbours ope their
+eyes. Not that I want anybody to knaw either."
+
+So, against her judgment, Phoebe was won over, and presently she and her
+husband made merry at prospect of the great thing contemplated. Will
+imitated Clement's short, glum, and graceless manner before the gift;
+Phoebe began to spend the money and plan the bee-keeper's cottage when
+Chris should enter it as a bride; and thus, having enjoyed an hour of
+delight the most pure and perfect that can fall to human lot, the young
+couple retired.
+
+Elsewhere defeat and desolation marked the efforts of the luckless poet
+to improve his position. All thoughts drifted towards the Red House, and
+when, struggling from this dark temptation, he turned to Martin Grimbal
+rather than his brother, Fate crushed this hope also. The antiquary was
+not in Chagford, and Clement recollected that Martin had told him he
+designed some visits to the doom rings of Iceland, and other
+contemporary remains of primeval man in Brittany and in Ireland. To find
+him at present was impossible, for he had left no address, and his
+housekeeper only knew that he would be out of England until the autumn.
+
+Now the necessity for action gained gigantically upon Hicks, and spun a
+net of subtle sophistry that soon had the poor wretch enmeshed beyond
+possibility of escape. He assured himself that the problem was reduced
+to a mere question of justice to a woman. A sacrifice must be made
+between one whom he loved better than anything in the world, and one for
+whom he cared not at all. That these two persons chanced to be brother
+and sister was an unfortunate accident, but could not be held a
+circumstance strong enough to modify his determination. He had, indeed,
+solemnly sworn to Will to keep his secret, but what mattered that before
+this more crushing, urgent duty to Chris? His manhood cried out to him
+to protect her. Nothing else signified in the least; the future--the
+best that he could hope for--might be ashy and hopeless now; but it was
+with the immediate present and his duty that he found himself concerned.
+There remained but one grim way; and, through such overwhelming,
+shattering storm and stress as falls to the lot of few, he finally took
+it. To marry at any cost and starve afterwards if necessary, had been
+the more simple plan; and that course of action must first have occurred
+to any other man but this; to him, however, it did not occur. The
+crying, shrieking need for money was the thing that stunned him and
+petrified him. Shattered and tossed to the brink of aberration,
+stretched at frightful mental tension for a fortnight, he finally
+succumbed, and told himself that his defeat was victory.
+
+He wrote to John Grimbal, explained that he desired to see him on the
+morrow, and the master of the Red House, familiar with recent affairs,
+rightly guessed that Hicks had changed his mind. Excited beyond measure,
+the victor fixed a place for their conversation, and it was a strange
+one.
+
+"Meet me at Oke Tor," he wrote. "By an accident I shall be in the Taw
+Marshes to-morrow, and will ride to you some time in the
+afternoon.--J.G."
+
+Thus, upon a day when Will Blanchard called at Mrs. Hicks's cottage,
+Clement had already started for his remote destination on the Moor. With
+some unconscious patronage Will saluted Mrs. Hicks and called for
+Clement. Then he slapped down a flat envelope under the widow's eyes.
+
+"Us have thought a lot about this trouble, mother, an' Phoebe's hit on
+as braave a notion as need be. You see, Clem's my close friend again
+now, an' Chris be my sister; so what's more fittin' than that I should
+set up the young people? An' so I shall, an' here's a matter of Bank of
+England notes as will repay the countin'. Give 'em to Clem wi' my
+respects."
+
+Then Will suffered a surprise. The little woman before him swelled and
+expanded, her narrow bosom rose, her thin lips tightened, and into her
+dim eyes there came pride and brightness. It was her hour of triumph,
+and she felt a giantess as she stood regarding the envelope and Will.
+Him she had never liked since his difference with her son concerning
+Martin Grimbal, and now, richer for certain news of that morning, she
+gloried to throw the gift back.
+
+"Take your money again, bwoy. No Hicks ever wanted charity yet, least of
+all from a Blanchard. Pick it up; and it's lucky Clement ban't home, for
+he'd have said some harsh words, I'm thinking. Keep it 'gainst the rainy
+days up to Newtake. And it may surprise 'e to knaw that my son's worth
+be getting found out at last. It won't be so long 'fore he takes awver
+Squire Grimbal's farm to the Red House. What do 'e think o' that? He've
+gone to see un this very day 'bout it."
+
+"Well, well! This be news, and no mistake--gude news, tu, I s'pose. Jan
+Grimbal! An' what Clem doan't knaw 'bout farmin', I'll be mighty pleased
+to teach un, I'm sure."
+
+"No call to worry yourself; Clem doan't want no other right arm than his
+awn."
+
+"Chris shall have the money, then; an' gude luck to 'em both, say I."
+
+He departed, with great astonishment the main emotion of his mind.
+Nothing could well have happened to surprise him more, and now he felt
+that he should rejoice, but found it difficult to do so.
+
+"Braave news, no doubt," he reflected, "an' yet, come to think on it,
+I'd so soon the devil had given him a job as Grimbal. Besides, to choose
+him! What do Clement knaw 'bout farmin'? Just so much as I knaw 'bout
+verse-writin', an' no more."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+"THE ANGEL OF THE DARKER DRINK"
+
+
+Patches of mist all full of silver light moved like lonely living things
+on the face of the high Moor. Here they dispersed and scattered, here
+they approached and mingled together, here they stretched forth pearly
+fingers above the shining granite, and changed their shapes at the whim
+of every passing breeze; but the tendency of each shining, protean mass
+was to rise to the sun, and presently each valley and coomb lay clear,
+while the cool vapours wound in luminous and downy undulations along the
+highest points of the land before vanishing into air.
+
+A solitary figure passed over the great waste. He took his way northward
+and moved across Scorhill, leaving Wattern Tor to the left. Beneath its
+ragged ridges, in a vast granite amphitheatre, twinkled the cool
+birth-springs of the little Wallabrook, and the water here looked leaden
+under shade, here sparkled with silver at the margin of a cloud shadow,
+here shone golden bright amid the dancing heads of the cotton-grass
+under unclouded sunlight. The mist wreaths had wholly departed before
+noon, and only a few vast mountains of summer gold moved lazily along
+the upper chambers of the air. A huge and solitary shadow overtook the
+man and spread itself directly about him, then swept onwards; infinite
+silence encompassed him; once from a distant hillside a voice cried to
+him, where women and children moved like drab specks and gathered the
+ripe whortleberries that now wove purple patterns into the fabric of the
+Moor; but he heeded not the cry; and other sound there was none save the
+occasional and mournful note of some lonely yellowhammer perched upon a
+whin. Into the prevalent olive-brown of the heath there had now stolen
+an indication of a magic change at hand, for into the sober monotone
+crept a gauzy shadow, a tremor of wakening flower-life, half pearl, half
+palest pink, yet more than either. Upon the immediate foreground it
+rippled into defined points of blossom, which already twinkled through
+all the dull foliage; in the middle distance it faded; afar off it
+trembled as a palpable haze of light under the impalpable reeling of the
+summer air. A week or less would see the annual miracle peformed again
+and witness that spacious and solemn region in all the amethystine
+glories of the ling. Fiercely hot grew the day, and the distances, so
+distinct through mist rifts and wreaths in the clearness of early
+morning, now retreated--mountain upon mountain, wide waste on waste--as
+the sun climbed to the zenith. Detail vanished, the Moor stretched
+shimmering to the horizon; only now and again from some lofty point of
+his pilgrimage did the traveller discover chance cultivation through a
+dip in the untamed region he traversed. Then to the far east and north,
+the map of fertile Devon billowed and rolled in one enormous misty
+mosaic,--billowed and rolled all opalescent under the dancing atmosphere
+and July haze, rolled and swept to the sky-line, where, huddled by
+perspective into the appearance of density, hung long silver tangles of
+infinitely remote and dazzling cloud against the blue.
+
+From that distant sponge in the central waste, from Cranmere, mother of
+moorland rivers, the man presently noted wrinkles of pure gold trickling
+down a hillside two miles off. Here sunshine touched the river Taw,
+still an infant thing not far advanced on the journey from its fount;
+but the play of light upon the stream, invisible save for this finger of
+the sun, indicated to the solitary that he approached his destination.
+Presently he stood on the side of lofty Steeperton and surveyed that
+vast valley known as Taw Marsh, which lies between the western foothills
+of Cosdon Beacon and the Belstone Tors to the north. The ragged manes of
+the latter hills wind through the valley in one lengthy ridge, and
+extend to a tremendous castellated mass of stone, by name Oke Tor.
+
+This erection, with its battlements and embrasures, outlying scarps and
+counterscarps, remarkably suggests the deliberate and calculated
+creation of man. It stands upon a little solitary hill at the head of
+Taw Marsh, and wins its name from the East Okement River which runs
+through the valley on its western flank. Above wide fen and marsh it
+rises, yet seen from Steeperton's vaster altitude, Oke Tor looks no
+greater than some fantastic child-castle built by a Brobding-nagian baby
+with granite bricks. Below it on this July day the waste of bog-land was
+puckered with brown tracts of naked soil, and seamed and scarred with
+peat-cuttings. Here and there drying turfs were propped in pairs and
+dotted the hillsides; emerald patches of moss jewelled the prevailing
+sobriety of the valley, a single curlew, with rising and falling
+crescendos of sound, flew here and there under needless anxiety, and far
+away on White Hill and the enormous breast of Cosdon glimmered grey
+stone ghosts from the past,--track-lines and circles and pounds,--the
+work of those children of the mist who laboured here when the world was
+younger, whose duty now lay under the new-born light of the budding
+heath. White specks dotted the undulations where flocks roamed free; in
+the marsh, red cattle sought pasture, and now was heard the
+jingle-jangle of a sheep-bell, and now the cry of bellowing kine.
+
+Like a dark incarnation of suffering over this expansive scene passed
+Clement Hicks to the meeting with John Grimbal. His unrest was
+accentuated by the extreme sunlit peace of the Moor, and as he sat on
+Steeperton and gazed with dark eyes into the marshes below, there
+appeared in his face the battlefield of past struggles, the graves of
+past hopes. A dead apathy of mind and muscle succeeded his mental
+exertion and passion of thought. Increased age marked him, as though
+Time, thrusting all at once upon him bitter experiences usually spread
+over many years of a man's life, had weighed him down, humped his back,
+thinned his hair, and furrowed his forehead under the load. Within his
+eyes, behind the reflected blue of the sky, as he raised them to it, sat
+mad misery; and an almost tetanic movement of limb, which rendered it
+impossible for him to keep motionless even in his present recumbent
+position, denoted the unnatural excitation of his nerves. The throb and
+spasm of the past still beat against his heart. Like a circular storm in
+mid-ocean, he told himself that the tempest had not wholly ended, but
+might reawaken, overwhelm him, and sweep him back into the turmoil
+again. As he thought, and his eye roved for a rider on a brown horse,
+the poor wretch was fighting still. Yesterday fixed determination marked
+his movements, and his mind was made up; to-day, after a night not
+devoid of sleep, it seemed that everything that was best in him had
+awakened refreshed, and that each mile of the long tramp across Dartmoor
+had represented another battle fought with his fate. Justice, Justice
+for himself and the woman he loved, was the cry raised more than once
+aloud in sharp agony on that great silence. And only the drone of the
+shining-winged things and the dry rustle of the grasshoppers answered
+him.
+
+Like the rest of the sore-smitten and wounded world, he screamed to the
+sky for Justice, and, like the rest of the world, forgot or did not know
+that Justice is only a part of Truth, and therefore as far beyond man's
+reach as Truth itself. Justice can only be conceived by humanity, and
+that man should even imagine any abstraction so glorious is wonderful,
+and to his credit. But Justice lies not only beyond our power to mete to
+our fellows; it forms no part of the Creator's methods with us or this
+particular mote in the beam of the Universe. Man has never received
+Justice, as he understands it, and never will; and his own poor,
+flagrant, fallible travesty of it, erected to save him from himself, and
+called Law, more nearly approximates to Justice than the treatment which
+has ever been apportioned to humanity. Before this eternal spectacle of
+illogical austerity, therefore, man, in self-defence and to comfort his
+craving and his weakness, has clung to the cheerful conceit of
+immortality; has pathetically credited the First Cause with a grand
+ultimate intention concerning each suffering atom; has assured himself
+that eternity shall wipe away all tears and blood, shall reward the
+actors in this puppet-show with golden crowns and nobler parts in a
+nobler playhouse. Human dreams of justice are responsible for this
+yearning towards another life, not the dogmas of religion; and the
+conviction undoubtedly has to be thanked for much individual right
+conduct. But it happens that an increasing number of intellects can find
+solace in these theories no longer; it happens that the liberty of free
+thought (which is the only liberty man may claim) will not longer be
+bound with these puny chains. Many detect no just argument for a future
+life; they admit that adequate estimate of abstract Justice is beyond
+them; they suspect that Justice is a human conceit; and they see no
+cause why its attributes should be credited to the Creator in His
+dealings with the created, for the sufficient reason that Justice has
+never been consistently exhibited by Him. The natural conclusion of such
+thought need not be pursued here. Suffice it that, taking their stand on
+pure reason, such thinkers deny the least evidence of any life beyond
+the grave; to them, therefore, this ephemeral progression is the
+beginning and the end, and they live every precious moment with a
+yearning zest beyond the power of conventional intellects to conceive.
+
+Of such was Clement Hicks. And yet in this dark hour he cried for
+Justice, not knowing to whom or to what he cried. Right judgment was
+dead at last. He rose and shook his head in mute answer to the voices
+still clamouring to his consciousness. They moaned and reverberated and
+mingled with the distant music of the bellwether, but his mind was made
+up irrevocably now; he had determined to do the thing he had come to do.
+He told himself nothing much mattered any more; he laughed as he rose
+and wiped the sweat off his face, and passed down Steeperton through
+debris of granite. "Life's only a breath and then--Nothing," he thought;
+"but it will be interesting to see how much more bitterness and agony
+those that pull the strings can cram into my days. I shall watch from
+the outside now. A man is never happy so long as he takes a personal
+interest in life. Henceforth I'll stand outside and care no more, and
+laugh and laugh on through the years. We're greater than the Devil that
+made us; for we can laugh at all his cursed cruelty--we can laugh, and
+we can die laughing, and we can die when we please. Yes, that's one
+thing he can't do--torment us an hour more than we choose."
+
+Suicide was always a familiar thought with this man, but it had never
+been farther from his mind than of late. Cowardly in himself, his love
+for Chris Blanchard was too great to suffer even the shadow of
+self-slaughter to tempt him at the present moment. What might happen in
+the future, he could not tell; but while her happiness was threatened
+and her life's welfare hung in the balance, his place was by her side.
+Then he looked into Will Blanchard's future and asked himself what was
+the worst that could result from his pending treachery. He did not know
+and wished time had permitted him to make inquiries. But his soul was
+too weary to care. He only looked for the ordeal to be ended; his aching
+eyes, now bent on his temporal environment, ranged widely for the
+spectacle of a rider on a brown horse.
+
+A red flag flapped from a lofty pole at the foot of Steeperton, but
+Hicks, to whom the object and its significance were familiar, paid no
+heed and passed on towards Oke Tor. On one side the mass rose gradually
+up by steps and turrets; on the other, the granite beetled into a low
+cliff springing abruptly from the turf. Within its clefts and crannies
+there grew ferns, and to the north-east, sheltered under ledges from the
+hot sun, cattle and ponies usually stood or reclined upon such a summer
+day as this, and waited for the oncoming cool of evening before
+returning to pasture. On the present occasion, however, no stamp of
+hoof, snort of nostril, whisk of tail, and hum of flies denoted the
+presence of beasts. For some reason they had been driven elsewhere.
+Clement climbed the Tor, then stood upon its highest point, and turning
+his back to the sun, scanned the wide rolling distances over which he
+had tramped, and sought fruitlessly for an approaching horseman. But no
+particular hour had been specified, and he knew not and cared not how
+long he might have to wait.
+
+In a direction quite contrary to that on which the eyes of Hicks were
+set, sat John Grimbal upon his horse and talked with another man. They
+occupied a position at the lower-most end of Taw Marsh, beneath the
+Belstones; and they watched some seventy artillerymen busily preparing
+for certain operations of a nature to specially interest the master of
+the Red House. Indeed the pending proceedings had usually occupied his
+mind, to total exclusion of all other affairs; but to-day even more
+momentous events awaited him in the immediate future, and he looked from
+his companion along the great valley to where Oke Tor appeared, shrunk
+to a mere grey stone at the farther end. Of John Grimbal's life, it may
+now be said that it drifted into a confirmed and bitter misogyny. He saw
+no women, spoke of the sex with disrespect, and chose his few friends
+among men whose sporting and warlike instincts chimed with his own.
+Sport he pursued with dogged pertinacity, but the greater part of his
+leisure was devoted to the formation of a yeomanry corps at Chagford,
+and in this design he had made good progress. He still kept his wrongs
+sternly before his mind, and when the old bitterness began to grow
+blunted, deliberately sharpened it again, strangling alike the good work
+of time and all emotions of rising contentment and returning peace.
+Where was the wife whose musical voice and bright eyes should welcome
+his daily home-coming? Where were the laughing and pattering-footed
+little ones? Of these priceless treasures the man on the Moor had robbed
+him. His great house was empty and cheerless. Thus he could always blow
+the smouldering fires into active flame by a little musing on the past;
+but how long it might be possible to sustain his passion for revenge
+under this artificial stimulation of memory remained to be seen. As yet,
+at any rate, the contemplation of Will Blanchard's ruin was good to
+Grimbal, and the accident of his discovery that Clement Hicks knew some
+secret facts to his enemy's disadvantage served vastly to quicken the
+lust for a great revenge. From the first he had determined to drag
+Clement's secret out of him sooner or later, and had, until his recent
+offer of the Red House Farm, practised remarkable patience. Since then,
+however, a flicker of apparent prosperity which overtook the bee-keeper
+appeared to diminish Grimbal's chances perceptibly; but with the sudden
+downfall of Clement's hopes the other's ends grew nearer again, and at
+the last it had scarcely surprised him to receive the proposal of Hicks.
+So now he stood within an hour or two of the desired knowledge, and his
+mind was consequently a little abstracted from the matter in hand.
+
+The battery, consisting of four field-guns, was brought into action in
+the direction of the upper end of the valley, while Major Tremayne, its
+commanding officer and John Grimbal's acquaintance, explained to the
+amateur all that he did not know. During the previous week the master of
+the Red House and other officers of the local yeomanry interested in
+military matters had dined at the mess of those artillery officers then
+encamped at Okehampton for the annual practice on Dartmoor; and the
+outcome of that entertainment was an invitation to witness some shooting
+during the forthcoming week.
+
+The gunners in their dark blue uniforms swarmed busily round four
+shining sixteen-pounders, while Major Tremayne conversed with his
+friend. He was a handsome, large-limbed man, with kindly eyes.
+
+"Where's your target?" asked Grimbal, as he scanned the deep distance of
+the valley.
+
+"Away there under that grey mass of rock. We've got to guess at the
+range as you know; then find it. I should judge the distance at about
+two miles--an extreme limit. Take my glass and you'll note a line of
+earthworks thrown up on this side of the stone. That is intended to
+represent a redoubt and we're going to shell it and slay the dummy men
+posted inside."
+
+"I can see without the glass. The rock is called Oke Tor, and I'm going
+to meet a man there this afternoon."
+
+"Good; then you'll be able to observe the results at close quarters.
+They'll surprise you. Now we are going to begin. Is your horse all
+right? He looks shifty, and the guns make a devil of a row."
+
+"Steady as time. He's smelt powder before to-day."
+
+Major Tremayne now adjusted his field-glasses, and carefully inspected
+distant earthworks stretched below the northern buttresses of Oke Tor.
+He estimated the range, which he communicated to the battery; then after
+a slight delay came the roar and bellow of the guns as they were fired
+in slow succession.
+
+But the Major's estimate proved too liberal, for the ranging rounds fell
+far beyond the target, and dropped into the lofty side of Steeperton.
+
+The elevation of the guns was accordingly reduced, and Grimbal noted the
+profound silence in the battery as each busy soldier performed his
+appointed task.
+
+At the next round shells burst a little too short of the earthworks, and
+again a slight modification in the range was made. Now missiles began to
+descend in and around the distant redoubt, and each as it exploded dealt
+out shattering destruction to the dummy men which represented an enemy.
+One projectile smashed against the side of Oke Tor, and sent back the
+ringing sound of its tremendous impact.
+
+Subsequent practice, now that the range was found, produced results
+above the average in accuracy, and Major Tremayne's good-humour
+increased.
+
+"Five running plump into the redoubt! That's what we can do when we
+try," he said to Grimbal, while the amateur awarded his meed of praise
+and admiration.
+
+Anon the business was at an end; the battery limbered up; the guns, each
+drawn by six stout horses, disappeared with many a jolt over the uneven
+ground, as the soldiers clinked and clashed away to their camp on the
+high land above Okehamptou.
+
+Under the raw smell of burnt powder Major Tremayne took leave of Grimbal
+and the rest; each man went his way; and John, pursuing a bridle-path
+through the marshes of the Taw, proceeded slowly to his appointment.
+
+An unexpected spring retarded Grimbal's progress and made a considerable
+detour necessary. At length, however, he approached Oke Tor, marked the
+tremendous havoc of the firing, and noted a great grey splash upon the
+granite, where one shell had abraded its weathered face.
+
+John Grimbal dismounted, tied up his horse, then climbed to the top of
+the Tor, and searched for an approaching pedestrian. Nobody was visible
+save one man only; amounted soldier riding round to strike the red
+warning flags posted widely about the ranges. Grimbal descended and
+approached the southern side, there to sit on the fine intermingled turf
+and moss and smoke a cigar until his man should arrive. But rounding the
+point of the low cliff, he found that Hicks was already there.
+
+Clement, his hat off, reclined upon his back with his face lifted to the
+sky. Where his head rested, the wild thyme grew, and one great, black
+bumble-bee boomed at a deaf ear as it clumsily struggled in the purple
+blossoms. He lay almost naturally, but some distortion of his neck and a
+film upon his open eyes proclaimed that the man neither woke nor slept.
+
+His lonely death was on this wise. Standing at the edge of the highest
+point of Oke Tor, with his back to the distant guns, he had crowned the
+artillerymen's target, himself invisible. At that moment firing began,
+and the first shell, suddenly shrieking scarcely twenty yards above his
+head, had caused Hicks to start and turn abruptly. With this action he
+lost his balance; then a projection of the granite struck his back as he
+fell and brought him heavily to the earth upon his head.
+
+Now the sun, creeping westerly, already threw a ruddiness over the Moor,
+and this warm light touching the dead man's cheek brought thither a hue
+never visible in life, and imparted to the features a placidity very
+startling by contrast with the circumstances of his sudden and violent
+end.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+BEFORE THE DAWN
+
+
+It proclaims the attitude of John Grimbal to his enemy that thus
+suddenly confronted with the corpse of a man whom he believed in life,
+his first emotion should have betokened bitter disappointment and even
+anger. Will Blanchard's secret, great or small, was safe enough for the
+present; and the hand stretched eagerly for revenge clutched air.
+
+Convincing himself that Hicks was dead, Grimbal galloped off towards
+Belstone village, the nearest centre of civilisation. There he reported
+the facts, directed police and labourers where to find the body and
+where to carry it, and subsequently rode swiftly back to Chagford.
+Arrived at the market-place, he acquainted Abraham Chown, the
+representative of the Devon constabulary, with his news, and finally
+writing a brief statement at the police station before leaving it,
+Grimbal returned home.
+
+Not until after dark was the impatient mother made aware of her son's
+end, and she had scarcely received the intelligence before he came home
+to her--with no triumphant news of the Red House Farm, but dead, on a
+sheep-hurdle. Like summer lightning Clement's fate leapt through the
+length and breadth of Chagford. It penetrated to the vicarage; it
+reached outlying farms; it arrived at Monks Barton, was whispered near
+Mrs. Blanchard's cottage by the Teign, and, in the early morning of the
+following day, reached Newtake.
+
+Then Will, galloping to the village while dawn was yet grey, met Doctor
+Parsons, and heard the truth of these uncertain rumours which had
+reached him.
+
+"It seems clear enough when Grimbal's statement comes to be read,"
+explained the medical man. "He had arranged a meeting with poor Hicks on
+Oke Tor, and, when he went to keep his appointment, found the
+unfortunate man lying under the rocks quite dead. The spot, I must tell
+you, was near a target of the soldiers at Okehampton, and John Grimbal
+first suspected that Hicks, heedless of the red warning flags, had
+wandered into the line of fire and been actually slain by a projectile.
+But nothing of that sort happened. I have seen him. The unfortunate man
+evidently slipped and fell from some considerable height upon his head.
+His neck is dislocated and the base of the skull badly fractured."
+
+"Have you seen my poor sister?"
+
+"I was called last night while at Mrs. Hicks's cottage, and went almost
+at once. It's very terrible--very. She'll get brain fever if we're not
+careful. Such a shock! She was walking alone, down in the croft by the
+river--all in a tremendously heavy dew too. She was dry-eyed and raved,
+poor girl. I may say she was insane at that sad moment. 'Weep for
+yourself!' she said to me. 'Let this place weep for itself, for there's
+a great man has died. He was here and lived here and nobody knew--nobody
+but his mother and I knew what he was. He had to beg his bread almost,
+and God let him; but the sin of it is on those around him--you and the
+rest.' So she spoke, poor child. These are not exactly her words, but
+something like them. I got her indoors to her mother and sent her a
+draught. I've just come from confining Mrs. Woods, and I'll walk down
+and see your sister now before I go home if you like. I hope she may be
+sleeping."
+
+Will readily agreed to this suggestion; and together the two men
+proceeded to the valley.
+
+But many things had happened since the night. When Doctor Parsons left
+Mrs. Blanchard, she had prevailed upon Chris to go to bed, and then
+herself departed to the village and sat with Mrs. Hicks for an hour.
+Returning, she found her daughter apparently asleep, and, rather than
+wake her, left the doctor's draught unopened; yet Chris had only
+simulated slumber, and as soon as her mother retreated to her own bed,
+she rose, dressed, crept from the house, and hastened through the night
+to where her lover lay.
+
+The first awful stroke had fallen, but the elasticity of the human mind
+which at first throws off and off such terrible shocks, and only after
+the length of many hours finally accepts them as fact, saved Chris
+Blanchard from going mad. Happily she could not thus soon realise the
+truth. It recurred, like the blows of a sledge, upon her brain, but
+between these cruel reminders of the catastrophe, the knowledge of
+Clement's death escaped her memory entirely, and more than once, while
+roaming the dew alone, she asked herself suddenly what she was doing and
+why she was there. Then the mournful answer knelled to her heart, and
+the recurrent spasms of that first agony slowly, surely settled into one
+dead pain, as the truth was seared into her knowledge. A frenzied burst
+of anger succeeded, and under its influence she spoke to Doctor Parsons,
+who approached her beside the river and with tact and patience at length
+prevailed upon her to enter her home. She cursed the land that had borne
+him, the hamlet wherein he had dwelt; and her mother, not amazed at her
+fierce grief, found each convulsive ebullition of sorrow natural to the
+dark hour, and soothed her as best she could. Then the elder woman
+departed a while, not knowing the truth and feeling such a course
+embraced the deeper wisdom.
+
+Left alone, her future rose before Chris, as she sat upon her bed and
+saw the time to come glimmer out of the night in colours more ashy than
+the moonbeams on the cotton blind. Yet, as she looked her face burned,
+and one flame, vivid enough, flickered through all the future; the light
+on her own cheeks. Her position as it faced her from various points of
+view acted upon her physical being--suffocated her and brought a scream
+to her lips. There was nobody to hear it, nobody to see the girl tear
+her hair, rise from her couch, fall quivering, face downward, on the
+little strip of carpet beside her bed. Who could know even a little of
+what this meant to her? Women had often lost the men they loved, but
+never, never like this. So she assured herself. Past sorrows and fears
+dwindled to mere shadows now; for the awful future--the crushing months
+to come, rose grim and horrible on the horizon of Time, laden with
+greater terrors than she could face and live.
+
+Alone, Chris told herself she might have withstood the oncoming
+tribulation--struggled through the storms of suffering and kept her
+broken heart company as other women had done before and must again; but
+she would not be alone. A little hand was stretching out of the
+loneliness she yearned for; a little voice was crying out of the
+solitude she craved. The shadows that might have sheltered her were full
+of hard eyes; the secret places would only echo a world's cruel laughter
+now--that world which had let her loved one die uncared for, that world
+so pitiless to such as she. Her thoughts were alternately defiant and
+fearful; then, before the picture of her mother and Will, her emotions
+dwindled from the tragic and became of a sort that weeping could
+relieve. Tears, now mercifully released from their fountains, softened
+her bruised soul for a time and moderated the physical strain of her
+agony. She lay long, half-naked, sobbing her heart out. Then came the
+mad desire to be back with Clement at any cost, and profound pity for
+him overwhelmed her mind to the exclusion of further sorrow for herself.
+She forgot herself wholly in grief that he was gone. She would never
+hear him speak or laugh again; never again kiss the trouble from his
+eyes; never feel the warm breath of him, the hand-grip of him. He was
+dead; and she saw him lying straight and cold in a padded coffin, with
+his hands crossed and cerecloth stiffly tying up his jaws. He would sink
+into the silence that dwelt under the roots of the green grass; while
+she must go on and fight the world, and in fighting it, bring down upon
+his grave bitter words and sharp censures from the lips of those who did
+not understand.
+
+Before which reflection Death came closer and looked kind; and the
+thought of his hand was cool and comforting, as the hand of a grey moor
+mist sweeping over the heath after fiery days of cloudless sun. Death
+stood very near and beckoned at the dark portals of her thought. Behind
+him there shone a great light, and in the light stood Clem; but the
+Shadow filled all the foreground. To go to her loved one, to die quickly
+and take their mutual secret with her, seemed a right and a precious
+thought just then; to go, to die, while yet he lay above the earth, was
+a determination that had even a little power to solace her agony. She
+thought of meeting him standing alone, strange, friendless on the other
+side of the grave; she told herself that actual duty, if not the vast
+love she bore him, pointed along the unknown road he had so recently
+followed. It was but justice to him. Then she could laugh at Time and
+Fate and the juggling unseen Controller who had played with him and her,
+had wrecked their little lives, forced their little passions under a
+sham security, then snapped the thread on which she hung for everything,
+killed the better part of herself, and left her all alone without a hand
+to shield or a heart to pity. In the darkness, as the moon stole away
+and her chamber window blackened, she sounded all sorrow's wide and
+solemn diapason; and the living sank into shadows before her mind's
+accentuated and vivid picture of the dead. Future life loomed along one
+desolate pathway that led to pain and shame and griefs as yet untasted.
+The rocks beside the way hid shadowy shapes of the unfriendly; for no
+mother's kindly hand would support her, no brother's stout arm would be
+lifted for her when they knew. No pure, noble, fellow-creature might be
+asked for aid, not one might be expected to succour and cherish in the
+great strait sweeping towards her. Some indeed there were to look to for
+the moment, but their voices and their eyes would harden presently, when
+they knew.
+
+She told herself they must never know; and the solution to the problem
+of how to keep her secret appeared upon the threshold of the unknown
+road her lover had already travelled. Now, at the echo of the lowest
+notes, while she lay with uneven pulses and shaking limbs, it seemed
+that she was faced with the parting of the ways and must make instant
+choice. Time would not wait for her and cared nothing whether she chose
+life or death for her road. She struggled with red thoughts, and fever
+burnt her lips and stabbed her forehead. Clement was gone. In this
+supreme hour no fellow-creature could fortify her courage or direct her
+tottering judgment. Once she thought of prayer and turned from it
+shuddering with a passionate determination to pray no more. Then the
+vision of Death shadowed her and she felt his brief sting would be
+nothing beside the endless torment of living. Dangerous thoughts
+developed quickly in her and grew to giants. Something clamoured to her
+and cried that delay, even of hours, was impossible and must be fatal to
+secrecy. A feverish yearning to get it over, and that quickly, mastered
+her, and she began huddling on some clothes.
+
+Then it was that the sudden sound of the cottage door being shut and
+bolted reached her ear. Mrs. Blanchard had returned and knowing that she
+would approach in a moment, Chris flung herself on the bed and pretended
+to be sleeping soundly. It was not until her mother withdrew and herself
+slumbered half an hour later that the distracted woman arose, dressed
+herself, and silently left the house as we have said.
+
+She heard the river calling to her, and through its murmur sounded the
+voice of her loved one from afar. The moon shone clear and the valley
+was full of vapoury gauze. A wild longing to see him once more in the
+flesh before she followed him in the spirit gained upon Chris, and she
+moved slowly up the hill to the village. Then, as she went, born of the
+mists upon the meadows, and the great light and the moony gossamers
+diamonded with dew, there rose his dear shape and moved with her along
+the way. But his face was hidden, and he vanished at the first outposts
+of the hamlet as she passed into Chagford alone. The cottage shadows
+fell velvety black in a shining silence; their thatches were streaked,
+their slates meshed with silver; their whitewashed walls looked
+strangely awake and alert and surrounded the woman with a sort of blind,
+hushed stare. One solitary patch of light peered like a weary eye from
+that side of the street which lay in shadow, and Chris, passing through
+the unbolted cottage door, walked up the narrow passage within and
+softly entered.
+
+Condolence and tears and buzz of sorrowful friends had passed away with
+the stroke of midnight. Now Mrs. Hicks sat alone with her dead and gazed
+upon his calm features and vaguely wondered how, after a life of such
+disappointment and failure and bitter discontent, he could look so
+peaceful. She knew every line that thought and trouble had ruled upon
+his face; she remembered their coming; and now, between her fits of
+grief, she scanned him close and saw that Death had wiped away the
+furrows here and there, and smoothed his forehead and rolled back the
+years from off him until his face reminded her of the strange, wayward
+child who was wont to live a life apart from his fellows, like some wild
+wood creature, and who had passed almost friendless through his boyhood.
+Fully he had filled her widowed life, and been at least a loving child,
+a good son. On him her withered hopes had depended, and, even in their
+darkest hours, he had laughed at her dread of the workhouse, and assured
+her that while head and hands remained to him she need not fear, but
+should enjoy the independence of a home. Now this sole prop and stay was
+gone--gone, just as the black cloud had broken and Fate relented.
+
+The old woman sat beside him stricken, shrivelled, almost reptilian in
+her red-eyed, motionless misery. Only her eyes moved in her wrinkled,
+brown face, and reflected the candle standing on the mantelpiece above
+his head. She sat with her hands crooked over one another in her lap,
+like some image wrought of ebony and dark oak. Once a large house-spider
+suddenly and silently appeared upon the sheet that covered the breast of
+the dead. It flashed along for a foot or two, then sat motionless; and
+she, whose inclination was to loathe such things unutterably, put forth
+her hand and caught it without a tremor and crushed it while its hairy
+legs wriggled between her fingers.
+
+To the robbed mother came Chris, silent as a ghost. Only the old woman's
+eyes moved as the girl entered, fell down by the bier, and buried her
+face in the pillow that supported her lover's head. Thus, in profound
+silence, both remained awhile, until Chris lifted herself and looked in
+the dead face and almost started to see the strange content stamped on
+it.
+
+Then Mrs. Hicks began to speak in a high-pitched voice which broke now
+and again as her bosom heaved after past tears.
+
+"The awnly son of his mother, an' she a widow wummon; an' theer 's no
+Christ now to work for the love of the poor. I be shattered wi' many
+groans an' tears, Chris Blanchard, same as you be. You knawed him--awnly
+you an' me; but you 'm young yet, an' memory's so weak in young brains
+that you'll outlive it all an' forget."
+
+"Never, never, mother! Theer 's no more life for me--not here. He's
+callin' to me--callin' an' callin' from yonder."
+
+"You'll outlive an' forget," repeated the other. "I cannot, bein' as I
+am. An', mind this, when you pray to Heaven, ax for gold an' diamonds,
+ax for houses an' lands, ax for the fat of the airth; an' ax loud. No
+harm in axin'. Awnly doan't pitch your prayers tu dirt low, for ban't
+the hardness of a thing stops God. You 'm as likely or onlikely to get a
+big answer as a little. See the blessin' flowin' in streams for some
+folks! They do live braave an' happy, with gude health, an' gude wives,
+an' money, an' the fruits of the land; they do get butivul childer, as
+graws up like the corners of the temple; an' when they come to die, they
+shut their eyes 'pon kind faaces an' lie in lead an' oak under polished
+marble. All that be theers; an' what was his--my son's?"
+
+"God forgot him," sobbed Chris, "an' the world forgot him--all but you
+an' me."
+
+The old woman shifted her hands wearily.
+
+"Theer's a mort for God to bear in mind, but 't is hard, here an' there,
+wheer He slips awver some lowly party an' misses a humble whisper.
+Clamour if you want to be heard; doan't go with bated breath same as I
+done. 'T was awnly a li'l thing I axed, an' axed it twice a day on my
+knees, ever since my man died twenty-three year agone. An' often as not
+thrice Sundays, so you may count up the number of times I axed if you
+mind to. Awnly a li'l rubbishy thing you might have thought: just to
+bring his fair share o' prosperity to Clem an' keep my bones out the
+poorhouse at the end. But my bwoy 's brawk his neck by a cruel death,
+an' I must wear the blue cotton."
+
+"No, no, mother."
+
+"Ess. Not that it looks so hard as it did. This makes it easy--" and she
+put her hand on her son's forehead and left it there a moment.
+
+Presently she continued:
+
+"I axed Clem to turn the bee-butts at my sister's passing--Mrs.
+Lezzard. But he wouldn't; an' now they'll be turned for him. Wise though
+the man was, he set no store on the dark, hidden meaning of honey-bees
+at times of death. Now the creatures be masterless, same as you an' me;
+an' they'll knaw it; an' you'll see many an' many a-murmuring on his
+graave 'fore the grass graws green theer; for they see more 'n what we
+can."
+
+She relapsed into motionless silence and, herself now wholly tearless,
+watched the tears of Chris, who had sunk down on the floor between the
+mother and son.
+
+"Why for do _you_ cry an' wring your hands so hard?" she asked suddenly.
+"You'm awnly a girl yet--young an' soft-cheeked wi' braave bonny eyes.
+Theer'll be many a man's breast for you to comfort your head on. But me!
+Think o' what's tearin' my auld heart to tatters--me, so bleared an'
+ugly an' lonely. God knaws God's self couldn't bring no balm to
+me--none, till I huddle under the airth arter un; but you--your wound
+won't show by time the snaw comes again."
+
+"You forget when you loved a man first if you says such a thing as
+that."
+
+"Theer's no eternal, lasting fashion o' love but a mother's to her awn
+male childer," croaked the other. "Sweethearts' love is a thing o' the
+blood--a trick o' Nature to tickle us poor human things into breeding
+'gainst our better wisdom; but what a mother feels doan't hang on no
+such broken reed. It's deeper down; it's hell an' heaven both to wance;
+it's life; an' to lose it is death. See! Essterday I'd 'a' fought an'
+screamed an' took on like a gude un to be fetched away to the Union; but
+come they put him in the ground, I'll go so quiet as a lamb."
+
+Another silence followed; then the aged widow pursued her theme, at
+first in the same dreary, cracked monotone, then deepening to passion.
+
+"I tell you a gude wife will do 'most anything for a husband an' give
+her body an' soul to un; but she expects summat in return. She wants his
+love an' worship for hers; but a mother do give all--all--all--an' never
+axes nothin' for it. Just a kiss maybe, an' a brightening eye, or a kind
+word. That's her pay, an' better'n gawld, tu. She'm purty nigh satisfied
+wi' what would satisfy a dog, come to think on it. 'T is her joy to fret
+an' fume an' pine o' nights for un, an' tire the A'mighty's ear wi'
+plans an' suggestions for un; aye, think an' sweat an' starve for un all
+times. 'T is her joy, I tell 'e, to smooth his road, an' catch the
+brambles by his way an' let 'em bury their thorns in her flesh so he
+shaa'n't feel 'em; 't is her joy to hear him babble of all his hopes an'
+delights; an' when the time comes she'll taake the maid of his heart to
+her awn, though maybe 't is breakin' wi' fear that he'll forget her in
+the light of the young eyes. Ax your awn mother if what I sez ban't
+God's truth. We as got the bwoys be content wi' that little. We awnly
+want to help theer young shoulders wi' our auld wans, to fight for 'em
+to the last. We'll let theer wives have the love, we will, an' ax no
+questions an'--an' we'll break our hearts when the cheel 's took out o'
+his turn--break our hearts by inches--same as I be doin' now."
+
+"An' doan't I love, tu? Weern't he all the world to me, tu? Isn't my
+heart broken so well as yours?" sobbed Chris.
+
+"Hear this, you wummon as talks of a broken heart," answered the elder
+almost harshly. "Wait--wait till you 'm the mother of a li'l man-cheel,
+an' see the shining eyes of un a-lookin' into yourn while your nipple's
+bein' squeezed by his naked gums, an' you laugh at what you suffered for
+un, an' hug un to you. Wait till he'm grawed from baby to bwoy, from
+bwoy to man; wait till he'm all you've got left in the cold, starved
+winter of a sorrowful life; an' wait till he'm brought home to 'e like
+this here, while you've been sittin' laughin' to yourself an' countin'
+dream gawld. Then turn about to find the tears that'll comfort 'e, an'
+the prayers that'll soothe 'e, and the God that'll lift 'e up; but you
+won't find 'em, Chris Blanchard."
+
+The girl listened to this utterance, and it filled her with a sort of
+weird wonder as at a revelation of heredity. Mrs. Hicks had ever been
+taciturn before her, and now this rapid outpouring of thoughts and
+phrases echoed like the very speech of the dead. Thus had Clement
+talked, and the girl dimly marvelled without understanding. The
+impression passed, and there awoke in Chris a sudden determination to
+whisper to this bereaved woman what she could not even tell her own
+mother. A second thought had probably changed her intention, but she did
+not wait for any second thought. She acted on impulse, rose, put her
+arms round the widow, and murmured her secret. The other started
+violently and broke her motionless posture before this intelligence.
+
+"Christ! And he knawed--my son?"
+
+"He knawed."
+
+"Then you needn't whisper it. There's awnly us three here."
+
+"An' no others must knaw. You'll never tell--never? You swear that?"
+
+"Me tell! No, no. To think! Then theer's real sorrow for you, tu, poor
+soul--real, grawin' sorrow tu. Differ'nt from mine, but real enough.
+Yet--"
+
+She relapsed into a stone-like repose. No facial muscle moved, but the
+expression of her mind appeared in her eyes and there gradually grew a
+hungry look in them--as of a starving thing confronted with food. The
+realisation of these new facts took a long time. No action accompanied
+it; no wrinkle deepened; no line of the dejected figure lifted; but when
+she spoke again her voice had greatly changed and become softer and very
+tremulous.
+
+"O my dear God! 't will be a bit of Clement! Had 'e thought o' that?"
+
+Then she rose suddenly to her feet and expression came to her face--a
+very wonderful expression wherein were blended fear, awe, and something
+of vague but violent joy--as though one suddenly beheld a loved ghost
+from the dead.
+
+"'T is as if all of un weern't quite lost! A li'l left--a cheel of his!
+Wummon! You'm a holy thing to me--a holy thing evermore! You'm bearin'
+sunshine for your summertime and my winter--if God so wills!"
+
+Then she lifted up her voice and cried to Chris with a strange cry, and
+knelt down at her feet and kissed her hands and stroked them.
+
+"Go to un," she said, leaping up; "go to Clem, an' tell un, in his ear,
+that I knaw. It'll reach him if you whisper it. His soul ban't so very
+far aways yet. Tell un I knaw, tu--you an' me. He'd glory that I knawed.
+An' pray henceforrard, as I shall, for a bwoy. Ax God for a bwoy--ax
+wi'out ceasin' for a son full o' Clem. Our sorrows might win to the
+Everlasting Ear this wance. But, for Christ's sake, ax like wan who has
+a right to, not fawning an' humble."
+
+The woman was transfigured as the significance of this news filled her
+mind. She wept before a splendid possibility. It fired her eyes and
+straightened her shrivelled stature. For a while her frantic utterances
+almost inspired Chris with the shadow of similar emotions; but another
+side of the picture knew no dawn. This the widow ignored--indeed it had
+not entered her head since her first comment on the confession. Now,
+however, the girl reminded her,--
+
+"You forget a little what this must be to me, mother."
+
+"Light in darkness."
+
+"I hadn't thought that; an the gert world won't pity me, as you did
+when I first told you."
+
+"You ban't feared o' the world, be you? The world forgot un. 'T was your
+awn word. What's the world to you, knawin' what you knaw? Do 'e want to
+be treated soft by what was allus hell-hard to him? Four-and-thirty
+short years he lived, then the world beginned to ope its eyes to his
+paarts, an' awnly then--tu late, when the thread of his days was spun.
+What's the world to you and why should you care for its word, Chris
+Blanchard?"
+
+"Because I am Chris Blanchard," she said. "I was gwaine to kill myself,
+but thought to see his dear face wance more before I done it. Now--"
+
+"Kill yourself! God's mercy! 'T will be killing Clem again if you do!
+You caan't; you wouldn't dare; theer's black damnation in it an' flat
+murder now. Hear me, for Christ's sake, if that's the awful thought in
+you: you'm God's chosen tool in this--chosen to suffer an' bring a bwoy
+in the world--Clem's bwoy. Doan't you see how't is? 'Kill yourself'! How
+can 'e dream it? You've got to bring a bwoy, I tell 'e, to keep us from
+both gwaine stark mad. 'T was foreordained he should leave his holy
+likeness. God's truth! You should be proud 'stead o' fearful--such a man
+as he was. Hold your head high an' pray when none's lookin', pray
+through every wakin' hour an' watch yourself as you'd watch the case of
+a golden jewel. What wise brain will think hard of you for followin' the
+chosen path? What odds if a babe's got ringless under the stars or in a
+lawful four-post bed? Who married Adam an' Eve? You was the wife of un
+'cordin' to the first plan o' the livin' God; an' if He changed His
+lofty mind when't was tu late, blame doan't fall on you or the dead.
+Think of a baaby--his baaby--under your breast! Think of meetin' him in
+time to come, wi' another soul got in sheer love! Better to faace the
+people an' let the bairn come to fulness o' life than fly them an' cut
+your days short an' go into the next world empty-handed. Caan't you see
+it? What would Clem say? He'd judge you hard--such a lover o' li'l
+childer as him. 'T is the first framework of an immortal soul you've got
+unfoldin', like a rosebud hid in the green, an' ban't for you to nip
+that life for your awn whim an' let the angels in heaven be fewer by
+wan. You must live. An' the bwoy'll graw into a tower of strength for
+'e--a tower of strength an' a glass belike wheer you'll see Clem rose
+again."
+
+"The shame of it. My mother and Will--Will who's a hard judge, an' such
+a clean man."
+
+"'Clean'! Christ A'mighty! You'd madden a saint of heaven! Weern't Clem
+clean, tu? If God sends fire-fire breaks out--sweet, livin' fire. You
+must go through with it--aye, an' call the bwoy Clem, tu. Be you shamed
+of him as he lies here? Be you feared of anything the airth can do to
+you when you look at him? Do 'e think Heaven's allus hard? No, I tell
+'e, not to the young--not to the young. The wind's mostly tempered to
+the shorn lamb, though the auld ewe do oftentimes sting for it, an' get
+the seeds o' death arter shearing. Wait, and be strong, till you feel
+Clem's baaby in your arms. That'll be reward enough, an' you won't care
+no more for the world then. His son, mind; who be you to take life, an'
+break the buds of Clem's plantin'? Worse than to go in another's garden
+an' tear down green fruit."
+
+So she pleaded volubly, with an electric increase of vitality, and
+continued to pour out a torrent of words, until Chris solemnly promised,
+before God and the dead, that she would not take her life. Having done
+so, some new design informed her.
+
+"I must go," she said; "the moon has set and dawn is near. Dying be so
+easy; living so hard. But live I will; I swear it, though theer's awnly
+my poor mad brain to shaw how."
+
+"Clem's son, mind. An' let me be the first to see it, for I feel't will
+be the gude pleasure of God I should."
+
+"An' you promise to say no word, whatever betides, an' whatever you
+hear?"
+
+"Dumb I'll be, as him theer--dumb, countin' the weeks an' months."
+
+"Day's broke, an' I must go home-along," said Chris. She repeated the
+words mechanically, then moved away without any formal farewell. At the
+door she turned, hastened back, kissed the dead man's face again, and
+then departed, while the other woman looked at her but spoke no more.
+
+Alone, with the struggle over and her object won, the mother shrank and
+dwindled again and grew older momentarily. Then she relapsed into the
+same posture as before, and anon, tears bred of new thoughts began to
+trickle painfully from their parched fountains. She did not move, but
+let them roll unwiped away. Presently her head sank back, her cap fell
+off and white hair dropped about her face.
+
+Fingers of light seemed lifting the edges of the blind. They gained
+strength as the candle waned, and presently at cock-crow, when
+unnumbered clarions proclaimed morning, grey dawn with golden eyes
+brightened upon a dead man and an ancient woman fast asleep beside him.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+MISSING
+
+
+John Grimbal, actuated by some whim, or else conscious that under the
+circumstances decorum demanded his attendance, was present at the
+funeral of Clement Hicks. Some cynic interest he derived from the
+spectacle of young Blanchard among the bearers; and indeed, as may be
+supposed, few had felt this tragic termination of his friend's life more
+than Will. Very genuine remorse darkened his days, and he blamed himself
+bitterly enough for all past differences with the dead. It was in a mood
+at once contrite and sorrowful that he listened to the echo of falling
+clod, and during that solemn sound mentally traversed the whole course
+of his relations with his sister's lover. Of himself he thought not at
+all, and no shadowy suspicion of relief crossed his mind upon the
+reflection that the knowledge of those fateful weeks long past was now
+unshared. In all his quarrels with Clement, no possibility of the man
+breaking his oath once troubled Will's mind; and now profound sorrow at
+his friend's death and deep sympathy with Chris were the emotions that
+entirely filled the young farmer's heart.
+
+Grimbal watched his enemy as the service beside the grave proceeded.
+Once a malignant thought darkened his face, and he mused on what the
+result might be if he hinted to Blanchard the nature of his frustrated
+business with Hicks at Oke Tor. All Chagford had heard was that the
+master of the Red House intended to accept Clement Hicks as tenant of
+his home farm. The fact surprised many, but none looked behind it for
+any mystery, and Will least of all. Grimbal's thoughts developed upon
+his first idea; and he asked himself the consequence if, instead of
+telling Blanchard that he had gone to learn his secret, he should
+pretend that it was already in his possession. The notion shone for a
+moment only, then went out. First it showed itself absolutely futile,
+for he could do no more than threaten, and the other must speedily
+discover that in reality he knew nothing; and secondly, some shadow of
+feeling made Grimbal hesitate. His desire for revenge was now developing
+on new lines, and while his purpose remained unshaken, his last defeat
+had taught him patience. Partly from motives of policy, partly, strange
+as it may seem, from his instincts as a sportsman, he determined to let
+the matter of Hicks lie buried. For the dead man's good name he cared
+nothing, however, and victory over Will was only the more desired for
+this postponement. His black tenacity of purpose won strength from the
+repulse, but the problem for the time being was removed from its former
+sphere of active hatred towards his foe. How long this attitude would
+last, and what idiosyncrasy of character led to it, matters little. The
+fact remained that Grimbal's mental posture towards Blanchard now more
+nearly resembled that which he wore to his other interests in life. The
+circumstance still stood first, but partook of the nature of his
+emotions towards matters of sport. When a heavy trout had beaten him
+more than once, Grimbal would repair again and again to its particular
+haunt and leave no legitimate plan for its destruction untried. But any
+unsportsmanlike method of capturing or slaying bird, beast, or fish
+enraged him. So he left the churchyard with a sullen determination to
+pursue his sinister purpose straightforwardly.
+
+All interested in Clement Hicks attended the funeral, including his
+mother and Chris. The last had yielded to Mrs. Blanchard's desire and
+promised to stop at home; but she changed her mind and conducted herself
+at the ceremony with a stoic fortitude. This she achieved only by an
+effort of will which separated her consciousness entirely from her
+environment and alike blinded her eyes and deafened her ears to the
+mournful sights and sounds around her. With her own future every fibre
+of her mind was occupied; and as they lowered her lover's coffin into
+the earth a line of action leapt into her brain.
+
+Less than four-and-twenty hours later it seemed that the last act of the
+tragedy had begun. Then, hoarse as the raven that croaked Duncan's
+coming, Mr. Blee returned to Monks Barton from an early visit to the
+village. Phoebe was staying with her father for a fortnight, and it was
+she who met the old man as he paddled breathlessly home.
+
+"More gert news!" he gasped; "if it ban't too much for wan in your way
+o' health."
+
+"Nothing wrong at Newtake?" cried Phoebe, turning pale.
+
+"No, no; but family news for all that."
+
+The girl raised her hand to her heart, and Miller Lyddon, attracted by
+Billy's excited voice, hastened to his daughter and put his arm round
+her.
+
+"Out with it," he said. "I see news in 'e. What's the worst or best?"
+
+"Bad, bad as heart can wish. A peck o' trouble, by the looks of it.
+Chris Blanchard be gone--vanished like a dream! Mother Blanchard called
+her this marnin', an' found her bed not so much as creased. She've
+flown, an' there's a braave upstore 'bout it, for every Blanchard's
+wrong in the head more or less, beggin' your pardon, missis, as be awnly
+wan by marriage."
+
+"But no sign? No word or anything left?"
+
+"Nothing; an' theer's a purty strong faith she'm in the river, poor
+lamb. Theer's draggin' gwaine to be done in the ugly bits. I heard tell
+of it to the village, wheer I'd just stepped up to see auld Lezzard
+moved to the work'ouse. A wonnerful coorious, rackety world, sure
+'nough! Do make me giddy."
+
+"Does Will know?" asked Mr. Lyddon.
+
+"His mother's sent post-haste for un. I doubt he 'm to the cottage by
+now. Such a gude, purty gal as she was, tu! An' so mute as a twoad at
+the buryin', wi' never a tear to soften the graave dust. For why? She
+knawed she'd be alongside her man again 'fore the moon waned. An' I hope
+she may be. But 't was cross-roads an' a hawthorn stake in my young
+days. Them barbarous ancient fashions be awver, thank God, though
+whether us lives in more religious times is a question, when you see the
+things what happens every hour on the twenty-four."
+
+"I must go to them," cried Phoebe.
+
+"I'll go; you stop at home quietly, and don't fret your mind," answered
+her father.
+
+"Us must all do what us can--every manjack. I be gwaine corpse-searchin'
+down valley wi' Chapple, an' that 'mazin' water-dog of hisn; an' if 't
+is my hand brings her out the Teign, 't will be done in a kind,
+Christian manner, for she's in God's image yet, same as us; an' ugly
+though a drownin' be, it won't turn me from my duty."
+
+
+
+
+BOOK III
+
+HIS GRANITE CROSS
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+BABY
+
+
+Succeeding upon the tumultuous incidents of Clement's death and Chris
+Blanchard's disappearance, there followed a period of calm in the lives
+of those from whom this narrative is gleaned. Such transient peace
+proved the greater in so far as Damaris and her son were concerned, by
+reason of an incident which befell Will on the evening of his sister's
+departure. Dead she certainly was not, nor did she mean to die; for,
+upon returning to Newtake after hours of fruitless searching, Blanchard
+found a communication awaiting him there, though no shadow of evidence
+was forthcoming to show how it had reached the farm. Upon the ledge of
+the window he discovered it when he returned, and read the message at a
+glance:
+
+"Don't you nor mother fear nothing for me, nor seek me out, for it would
+be vain. I'm well, and I'm so happy as ever I shall be, and perhaps I'll
+come home-along some day.--CHRIS."
+
+On this challenge Will acted, ignored his sister's entreaty to attempt
+no such thing, and set out upon a resolute search of nearly two months'
+duration. He toiled amain into the late autumn, but no hint or shadow of
+her rewarded the quest, and sustained failure in an enterprise where his
+heart was set, for his mother's sake and his own, acted upon the man's
+character, and indeed wrought marked changes in him. Despite the letter
+of Chris, hope died in Will, and he openly held his sister dead; but
+Mrs. Blanchard, while sufficiently distressed before her daughter's
+flight, never feared for her life, and doubted not that she would return
+in such time as it pleased her to do so.
+
+"Her nature be same as yours an' your faither's afore you. When he'd got
+the black monkey on his shoulder he'd oftentimes leave the vans for a
+week and tramp the very heart o' the Moor alone. Fatigue of body often
+salves a sore mind. He loved thunder o' dark nights--my husband did--and
+was better for it seemin'ly. Chris be safe, I do think, though it's a
+heart-deep stroke this for me, 'cause I judge she caan't 'zactly love me
+as I thought, or else she'd never have left me. Still, the cold world,
+what she knaws so little 'bout, will drive her back to them as love her,
+come presently."
+
+So, with greater philosophy than her son could muster, Damaris practised
+patience; while Will, after a perambulation of the country from north to
+south, from west to east, after weeks on the lonely heaths and
+hiding-places of the ultimate Moor, after visits to remote hamlets and
+inquiries at a hundred separate farmhouses, returned to Newtake, worn,
+disappointed, and gloomy to a degree beyond the experience of those who
+knew him. Neither did the cloud speedily evaporate, as was most usual
+with his transient phases of depression. Circumstances combined to
+deepen it, and as the winter crowded down more quickly than usual, its
+leaden months of scanty daylight and cold rains left their mark on Will
+as time had never done before.
+
+During those few and sombre days which represented the epact of the
+dying year, Martin Grimbal returned to Chagford. He had extended his
+investigations beyond the time originally allotted to them, and now came
+back to his home with plenty of fresh material, and even one or two new
+theories for his book. He had received no communications during his
+absence, and the news of the bee-keeper's death and his sweetheart's
+disappearance, suddenly delivered by his housekeeper, went far to
+overwhelm him. It danced joy up again through the grey granite. For a
+brief hour splendid vistas of happiness reopened, and his laborious life
+swept suddenly into a bright region that he had gazed into longingly
+aforetime and lost for ever. He fought with himself to keep down this
+rosy-fledged hope; but it leapt in him, a young giant born at a word.
+The significance of the freedom of Chris staggered him. To find her was
+the cry of his heart, and, as Will had done before him, he straightway
+set out upon a systematic attempt to discover the missing girl. Of such
+uncertain temper was Blanchard's mind at this season, however, that he
+picked a quarrel out of Martin's design, and questioned the antiquary's
+right to busy himself upon an undertaking which the brother of Chris had
+already failed to accomplish.
+
+"She belonged to me, not to you," he said, "an' I done all a man could
+do to find her. See her again we sha'n't, that's my feelin', despite
+what she wrote to me and left so mysterious on the window. Madness comed
+awver her, I reckon, an' she've taken her life, an' theer ban't no call
+for you or any other man to rip up the matter again. Let it bide as 't
+is. Such black doin's be best set to rest."
+
+But, while Martin did not seek or desire Will's advice in the matter, he
+was surprised at the young farmer's attitude, and it extracted something
+in the nature of a confession from him, for there was little, he told
+himself, that need longer be hidden from the woman's brother.
+
+"I can speak now, at least to you, Will," he said. "I can tell you, at
+any rate. Chris was all the world to me--all the world, and accident
+kept me from knowing she belonged to another man until too late. Now
+that he has gone, poor fellow, she almost seems within reach again. You
+know what it is to love. I can't and won't believe she has taken her
+life. Something tells me she lives, and I am not going to take any man's
+word about it. I must satisfy myself."
+
+Thereupon Blanchard became more reasonable, withdrew his objections and
+expressed a very heartfelt hope that Martin might succeed where he had
+failed. The lover entered methodically upon his quest and conducted the
+inquiry with a rigorous closeness and scrupulous patience quite beyond
+Will's power despite his equally earnest intentions. For six months
+Martin pursued his hope, and few saw or heard anything of him during
+that period.
+
+Once, during the early summer, Will chanced upon John Grimbal at the
+first meeting of the otter hounds in Teign Vale; but though the younger
+purposely edged near his enemy where he stood, and hoped that some word
+might fall to indicate their ancient enmity dead, John said nothing, and
+his blue eyes were hard and as devoid of all emotion as turquoise beads
+when they met the farmer's face for one fraction of time.
+
+Before this incident, however, there had arisen upon Will's life the
+splendour of paternity. A time came when, through one endless night and
+silver April morning, he had tramped his kitchen floor as a tiger its
+cage, and left a scratched pathway on the stones. Then his mother hasted
+from aloft and reported the arrival of a rare baby boy.
+
+"Phoebe 's doin' braave, an' she prays of 'e to go downlong fust thing
+an' tell Miller all 's well. Doctor Parsons hisself says 't is a 'mazing
+fine cheel, so it ban't any mere word of mine as wouldn't weigh, me
+bein' the gran'mother."
+
+They talked a little while of the newcomer, then, thankful for an
+opportunity to be active after his long suspense, the father hurried
+away, mounted a horse, and soon rattled down the valleys into Chagford,
+at a pace which found his beast dead lame on the following day. Mighty
+was the exhilaration of that wild gallop as he sped past cot and farm
+under morning sunshine with his great news. Labouring men and chance
+wayfarers were overtaken from time to time. Some Will knew, some he had
+never seen, but to the ear of each and all without discrimination he
+shouted his intelligence. Not a few waved their hats and nodded and
+remembered the great day in their own lives; one laughed and cried
+"Bravo!" sundry, who knew him not, marvelled and took him for a lunatic.
+
+Arrived at Chagford, familiar forms greeted Will in the market-place,
+and again he bawled his information without dismounting.
+
+"A son 'tis, Chapple--comed an hour ago--a brave li'l bwoy, so they
+tell!"
+
+"Gude luck to it, then! An' now you'm a parent, you must--"
+
+But Will was out of earshot, and Mr. Chapple wasted no more breath.
+
+Into Monks Barton the farmer presently clattered, threw himself off his
+horse, tramped indoors, and shouted for his father-in-law in tones that
+made the oak beams ring. Then the miller, with Mr. Blee behind him,
+hastened to hear what Will had come to tell.
+
+"All right, all right with Phoebe?" were Mr. Lyddon's first words, and
+he was white and shaking as he put the question.
+
+"Right as ninepence, faither--gran'faither, I should say. A butivul li'l
+man she've got--out o' the common fine, Parsons says, as ought to
+knaw--fat as a slug wi' 'mazin' dark curls on his wee head, though my
+mother says 'tis awnly a sort o' catch-crop, an' not the lasting hair
+as'll come arter."
+
+"A bwoy! Glory be!" said Mr. Blee. "If theer's awnly a bit o' the
+gracious gudeness of his gran'faither in un, 'twill prove a prosperous
+infant."
+
+"Thank God for a happy end to all my prayers," said Mr. Lyddon. "Billy,
+get Will something to eat an' drink. I guess he's hungry an' starved."
+
+"Caan't eat, Miller; but I'll have a drop of the best, if it's all the
+same to you. Us must drink their healths, both of 'em. As for me 'tis a
+gert thing to be the faither of a cheel as'll graw into a man some day,
+an' may even be a historical character, awnly give un time."
+
+"So 'tis a gert thing. Sit down; doan't tramp about. I lay you've been
+on your feet enough these late hours."
+
+Will obeyed, but proceeded with his theme, and though his feet were
+still his hands were not.
+
+"Us be faced wi' the upbringing an' edication of un. I mean him to be
+brought up to a power o' knowledge, for theer's nothin' like it. Doan't
+you think I be gwaine to shirk doin' the right thing by un', Miller,
+'cause it aint so. If 'twas my last fi'-pun' note was called up for
+larnin' him, he'd have it."
+
+"Theer's no gert hurry yet," declared Billy. "Awnly you'm right to look
+in the future and weigh the debt every man owes to the cheel he gets.
+He'll never cost you less thought or halfpence than he do to-day, an',
+wi'out croakin' at such a gay time, I will say he'll graw into a greater
+care an' trouble, every breath he draws."
+
+"Not him! Not the way I'm gwaine to bring un up. Stern an' strict an' no
+nonsense, I promise 'e"
+
+"That's right. Tame un from the breast. I'd like for my paart to think
+as the very sapling be grawin' now as'll give his li'l behind its fust
+lesson in the ways o' duty," declared Mr. Blee. "Theer 's certain things
+you must be flint-hard about, an' fust comes lying. Doan't let un lie;
+flog it out of un; an' mind, 'tis better for your arm to ache than for
+his soul to burn."
+
+"You leave me to do right by un. You caan't teach me, Billy, not bein' a
+parent; though I allow what you say is true enough."
+
+"An' set un to work early; get un into ways o' work so soon as he's able
+to wear corduroys. An' doan't never let un be cruel to beastes; an'
+doan't let un--"
+
+"Theer, theer!" cried Mr. Lyddon. "Have done with 'e! You speak as fules
+both, settin' out rules o' life for an hour-old babe. You talk to his
+mother about taming of un an' grawing saplings for his better
+bringing-up. She'll tell 'e a thing or two. Just mind the slowness o'
+growth in the human young. 'T will be years before theer's enough of un
+to beat."
+
+"They do come very gradual to fulness o' body an' reason," admitted
+Billy; "and 't is gude it should be so; 't is well all men an' women 's
+got to be childer fust, for they brings brightness an' joy 'pon the
+earth as babies, though 't is mostly changed when they 'm grawed up. If
+us could awnly foretell the turnin' out o' childern, an' knaw which 't
+was best to drown an' which to save in tender youth, what a differ'nt
+world this would be!"
+
+"They 'm poor li'l twoads at fust, no doubt," said Will to his
+father-in-law.
+
+"Ess, indeed they be. 'T is a coorious circumstance, but generally
+allowed, that humans are the awnly creatures o' God wi' understandin',
+an' yet they comes into the world more helpless an' brainless, an' bides
+longer helpless an' brainless than any other beast knawn."
+
+"Shouldn't call 'em 'beastes' 'zactly, seem' they've got the Holy Ghost
+from the church font ever after," objected Billy. "'T is the differ'nce
+between a babe an' a pup or a kitten. The wan gets God into un at
+christenin', t' other wouldn't have no Holy Ghost in un if you baptised
+un over a hunderd times. For why? They 'm not built in the Image."
+
+"When all's said, you caan't look tu far ahead or be tu forehanded wi'
+bwoys," resumed Will. "Gallopin' down-long I said to myself, 'Theer's
+things he may do an' things he may not do. He shall choose his awn road
+in reason, but he must be guided by me in the choice.' I won't let un go
+for a sailor--never. I'll cut un off wi' a shillin' if he thinks of it."
+
+"Time enough when he can walk an' talk, I reckon," said Billy, who,
+seeing how his master viewed the matter, now caught Mr. Lyddon's manner.
+
+"Ess, that's very well," continued Will, "but time flies that fast wi'
+childer. Then I thought, 'He'll come to marry some day, sure's Fate.'
+Myself, I believe in tolerable early marryin's."
+
+"By God! I knaw it!" retorted Mr. Lyddon, with an expression wherein
+appeared mingled feelings not a few; "Ess, fay! You'm right theer. I
+should take Time by the forelock if I was you, an' see if you can find a
+maiden as'll suit un while you go back-along through the village."
+
+"Awnly, as 'tis better for the man to number more years than the
+wummon," added Billy, "it might be wise to bide a week or two, so's he
+shall have a bit start of his lady."
+
+"Now, you'm fulin me! An' I caan't stay no more whether or no, 'cause I
+was promised to see Phoebe an' my son in the arternoon. Us be gwaine to
+call un Vincent William Blanchard, arter you an' me, Miller; an' if it
+had been a gal, us meant to call un arter mother; an' I do thank God
+'bout the wee bwoy in all solemn soberness, 'cause 'tis the fust real
+gude thing as have falled to us since the gwaine of poor Chris. 'Twill
+be a joy to my mother an' a gude gran'son to you, I hope."
+
+"Go home, go home," said Mr. Lyddon. "Get along with 'e this minute, an'
+tell your wife I'm greatly pleased, an' shall come to see her mighty
+soon. Let us knaw every day how she fares--an'--an'--I'm glad as you
+called the laddie arter me. 'Twas a seemly thought."
+
+Will departed, and his mind roamed over various splendid futures for his
+baby. Already he saw it a tall, straight, splendid man, not a hair
+shorter than his own six feet two inches. He hoped that it would possess
+his natural wisdom, augmented by Phoebe's marvellous management of
+figures and accounts. He also desired for it a measure of his mother's
+calm and stately self-possession before the problems of life, and he had
+no objection that his son should reflect Miller Lyddon's many and
+amiable virtues.
+
+He returned home, and his mother presently bid him come to see Phoebe.
+Then a sudden nervousness overtook Will, tough though he was. The door
+shut, and husband and wife were alone together, for Damaris disappeared.
+But where were all those great and splendid pictures of the future?
+Vanished, vanished in a mist. Will's breast heaved; he saw Phoebe's
+star-bright eyes peeping at him, and he touched the treasure beside
+her--oh, so small it was!
+
+He bent his head low over them, kissed his wife shyly, and peeped with
+proper timidity under the flannel.
+
+"Look, look, Will, dearie! Did 'e ever see aught like un? An' come
+evenin', he 'm gwaine to have his fust li'l drink!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+THE KNIGHT OF FORLORN HOPES
+
+
+The child brought all a child should bring to Newtake, though it could
+not hide the fact that Will Blanchard drifted daily a little nearer to
+the end of his resources. But occasional success still flattered his
+ambition, and he worked hard and honestly. In this respect at least the
+man proved various fears unfounded, yet the result of his work rarely
+took shape of sovereigns. He marvelled at the extraordinary steadiness
+with which ill-fortune clung to Newtake and cursed when, on two
+quarter-days out of the annual four, another dip had to be made into the
+dwindling residue of his uncle's bequest. Some three hundred pounds yet
+remained when young Blanchard entered upon a further stage of his
+career,--that most fitly recorded as happening within the shadow of a
+granite cross.
+
+After long months of absence from home, Martin Grimbal returned, silent,
+unsuccessful, and sad. Upon the foundations of facts he had built many
+tentative dwelling-places for hope; but all had crumbled, failure
+crowned his labours, and as far from the reach of his discovery seemed
+the secret of Chris as the secrets of the sacred circles, stone avenues,
+and empty, hypaethral chambers of the Moor. Spiritless and bitterly
+discouraged, he returned after such labours as Will had dreamed not of;
+and his life, succeeding upon this deep disappointment, seemed far
+advanced towards its end in Martin's eyes--a journey whose brightest
+incidents, happiest places of rest, most precious companions were all
+left behind. This second death of hope aged the man in truth and sowed
+his hair with grey. Now only a melancholy memory of one very beautiful
+and very sad remained to him. Chris indeed promised to return, but he
+told himself that such a woman had never left an unhappy mother for such
+period of time if power to come home still belonged to her. Then,
+surveying the past, he taxed himself heavily with a deliberate and cruel
+share in it. Why had he taken the advice of Blanchard and delayed his
+offer of work to Hicks? He told himself that it was because he knew such
+a step would definitely deprive him of Chris for ever; and therein he
+charged himself with offences that his nature was above committing. Then
+he burst into bitter blame of Will, and at a weak moment--for nothing is
+weaker than the rare weakness of a strong man--he childishly upbraided
+the farmer with that fateful advice concerning Clement, and called down
+upon his head deep censure for the subsequent catastrophe. Will, as may
+be imagined, proved not slow to resent such an attack with heart and
+voice. A great heat of vain recrimination followed, and the men broke
+into open strife.
+
+Sick with himself at this pitiable lapse, shaken in his self-respect,
+desolate, unsettled, and uncertain of the very foundations on which he
+had hitherto planted his life, the elder man existed through a black
+month, then braced himself again, looked out into the world, set his
+dusty desk in order, and sought once more amidst the relics of the past
+for comfort and consolation. He threw himself upon his book and told
+himself that it must surely reward his pains; he toiled mightily at his
+lonely task, and added a little to man's knowledge.
+
+Once it happened that the Rev. Shorto-Champernowne met Martin. Riding
+over the Moor after a visit to his clerical colleague of Gidleigh, the
+clergyman trotted through Scorhill Circle, above northern Teign, and
+seeing a well-known parishioner, drew up a while.
+
+"How prosper your profound studies?" he inquired. "Do these evidences of
+aboriginal races lead you to any conclusions of note? For my part, I am
+not wholly devoid of suspicion that a man might better employ his time,
+though I should not presume to make any such suggestion to you."
+
+"You may be right; but one is generally unwise to stamp on his ruling
+passion if it takes him along an intellectual road. These cryptic stones
+are my life. I want to get the secret of them or find at least a little
+of it. What are these lonely rings? Where are we standing now? In a
+place of worship, where men prayed to the thunder and the sun and stars?
+Or a council chamber? Or a court of justice, that has seen many a doom
+pronounced, much red blood flow? Or is it a grave? 'T is the fashion to
+reject the notion that they represent any religious purpose; yet I
+cannot see any argument against the theory. I go on peeping and prying
+after a spark of truth. I probe here, and in the fallen circle yonder
+towards Cosdon; I follow the stone rows to Fernworthy; I trudge again
+and again to the Grey Wethers--that shattered double ring on Sittaford
+Tor. I eat them up with my eyes and repeople the heath with those who
+raised them. Some clay a gleam of light may come. And if it does, it
+will reach me through deep study on those stone men of old. It is along
+the human side of my investigations I shall learn, if I learn anything
+at all."
+
+"I hope you may achieve your purpose, though the memoranda and data are
+scanty. Your name is mentioned in the _Western Morning News_ as a
+painstaking inquirer."
+
+"Yet when theories demand proof--that's the rub!"
+
+"Yes, indeed. You are a knight of forlorn hopes, Grimbal," answered the
+Vicar, alluding to Martin's past search for Chris as much as to his
+present archaeologic ambitions. Then he trotted on over the river, and
+the pedestrian remained as before seated upon a recumbent stone in the
+midst of the circle of Scorhill. Silent he sat and gazed into the
+lichens of grey and gold that crowned each rude pillar of the lonely
+ring. These, as it seemed, were the very eyes of the granite, but to
+Martin they represented but the cloak of yesterday, beneath which
+centuries of secrets were hidden. Only the stones and the eternal west
+wind, that had seen them set up and still blew over them, could tell him
+anything he sought to know.
+
+"A Knight of Forlorn Hopes," mused the man. "So it is, so it is. The
+grasshopper, rattling his little kettledrum there, knows nearly as much
+of this hoary secret as I do; and the bird, that prunes his wing on the
+porphyry, and is gone again. Not till some Damnonian spirit rises from
+the barrow, not till some chieftain of these vanished hosts shall take
+shape out of the mists and speak, may we glean a grain of this buried
+knowledge. And who to-day would believe ten thousand Damnonian ghosts,
+if they stirred here once again and thronged the Moor and the moss and
+the ruined stone villages with their moonbeam shapes?
+
+"Gone for ever; and she--my Chris--my dear--is she to dwell in the
+darkness for all time, too? O God, I would rather hear one whisper of
+her voice, feel one touch of her brown hand, than learn the primal truth
+of every dumb stone wonder in the world!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+CONCERNING THE GATE-POST
+
+
+So that good store of roots and hay continue for the cattle during those
+months of early spring while yet the Moor is barren; so that the
+potato-patch prospers and the oats ripen well; so that neither pony nor
+bullock is lost in the shaking bogs, and late summer is dry enough to
+allow of ample peat-storing--when all these conditions prevail, your
+moorman counts his year a fat one. The upland farmers of Devon are in
+great measure armed against the bolts of chance by the nature of their
+lives, the grey character of even their most cheerful experiences and
+the poverty of their highest ambitions. Their aspirations, becoming
+speedily cowed by ill-requited toil and eternal hardship, quickly dwarf
+and shrink, until even the most sanguine seldom extend hope much beyond
+necessity.
+
+Will grumbled, growled, and fought on, while Phoebe, who knew how nobly
+the valleys repaid husbandry, mourned in secret that his energetic
+labours here could but produce such meagre results. Very gradually their
+environment stamped its frosty seal on man and woman; and by the time
+that little Will was two years old his parents viewed life, its good and
+its evil, much as other Moor folks contemplated it. Phoebe's heart was
+still sweet enough, but she grew more selfish for herself and her own,
+more self-centred in great Will and little Will. They filled her
+existence to the gradual exclusion of wider sympathies. Miller Lyddon
+had given his grandson a silver mug on the day he was baptised, though
+since that time the old man held more aloof from the life of Newtake
+than Phoebe understood. Sometimes she wondered that he had never offered
+to assist her husband practically, but Will much resented the suggestion
+when Phoebe submitted it to him. There was no need for any such thing,
+he declared. As for him, transitory ambitions and hopes gleamed up in
+his career as formerly, though less often. So man and wife found their
+larger natures somewhat crushed by the various immediate problems that
+each day brought along with it. Beyond the narrow horizon of their own
+concerns they rarely looked, and Chagford people, noting the change,
+declared that life at Newtake was tying their tongues and lining their
+foreheads. Will certainly grew more taciturn, less free of advice,
+perhaps less frank than formerly. A sort of strangeness shadowed him,
+and only his mother or his son could dispel it. The latter soon learnt
+to understand his father's many moods, and would laugh or cry, show joy
+or fear, according to the tune of the man's voice.
+
+There came an evening in mid-September when Will sat at the open hearth
+and smoked, with his eyes fixed on a fire of scads.[13] He remained very
+silent, and Phoebe, busy about a small coat of red cloth, to keep the
+cold from her little son's bones during the coming winter, knew that it
+was not one of her husband's happiest evenings. His eyes were looking
+through the fire and the wall behind it, through the wastes and
+wildernesses beyond, through the granite hills to the far-away edge of
+the world, where Fate sat spinning the threads of the lives of his loved
+ones. Threads they looked, in his gloomy survey of that night, much
+deformed with knot and tangle, for the Spinner cared nothing at all
+about them. She suffered each to wind heedlessly away; she minded not
+that they were ugly; she spared no strand of gold or silver from her
+skein of human happiness to brighten the grey fabric of them. So it
+seemed to Will, and his temper chimed with the rough night. The wind
+howled and growled down the chimney, uttered many a sudden yell and
+ghostly moan, struck with claws invisible at the glowing heart of the
+peat fire, and sent red sparks dancing from a corona of faint blue
+flame.
+
+
+[13] _Scad_ = the outer rind of the peat, with ling and grass
+still adhering to it.
+
+
+"Winter's comin' quick," said Phoebe, biting her thread.
+
+"Ess, winter's allus comin' up here. The fight begins again so soon as
+ever 't is awver--again and again and again, 'cordin' to the workin'
+years of a man's life. Then he turns on his back for gude an' all, an'
+takes his rest, wheer theer's no more seasons, nor frost, nor sunshine,
+in the world under."
+
+"You'm glumpy, dear heart. What's amiss? What's crossed 'e? Tell me, an'
+I lay I'll find a word to smooth it away. Nothin' contrary happened to
+market?"
+
+"No, no--awnly my nature. When the wind's spelling winter in the
+chimbley, an' the yether's dead again, 't is wisht lookin' forrard. The
+airth 's allus dyin', an' the life of her be that short, an' grubbing of
+bare food an' rent out of her is sour work after many years. Thank God
+I'm a hopeful, far-seem' chap, an' sound as a bell; but I doan't make
+money for all my sweat, that's the mystery."
+
+"You will some day. Luck be gwaine to turn 'fore long, I hope. An' us
+have got what's better 'n money, what caan't be bought."
+
+"The li'l bwoy?"
+
+"Aye; if us hadn't nothin' but him, theer's many would envy our lot."
+
+"Childer's no such gert blessin', neither."
+
+"Will! How can you say it?"
+
+"I do say it. We 'm awnly used to keep up the breed, then thrawed o' wan
+side. I'm sick o' men an' women folks. Theer's too many of 'em."
+
+"But childer--our li'l Will. The moosic of un be sweeter than song o'
+birds all times, an' you'd be fust to say so if you wasn't out of
+yourself."
+
+"He 'm a braave, small lad enough; but theer again! Why should he have
+been pitched into this here home? He might have been put in a palace
+just as easy, an' born of a royal queen mother, 'stead o' you; he might
+have opened his eyes 'pon marble walls an' jewels an' precious stones,
+'stead of whitewash an' a peat fire. Be that baaby gwaine to thank us
+for bringing him in the world, come he graw up? Not him! Why should he?"
+
+"But he will. We 'm his faither an' mother. Do 'e love your mother less
+for bearin' you in a gypsy van? Li'l Will's to pay us noble for all our
+toil some day, an' be a joy to our grey hairs an' a prop to our auld
+age, please God."
+
+"Ha, ha!--story-books! Gi' me a cup o' milk; then us'll go to bed."
+
+She obeyed; he piled turf upon the hearth, to keep the fire alight until
+morning, then took up the candle and followed Phoebe through another
+chamber, half-scullery, half-storehouse, into which descended the
+staircase from above. Here hung the pale carcase of a newly slain pig,
+suspended by its hind legs from a loop in the ceiling; and Phoebe, many
+of whose little delicacies of manner had vanished of late, patted the
+carcase lovingly, like the good farmer's wife she was.
+
+"Wish theer was more so big in the sties," she said.
+
+Arrived at her bedside, the woman prayed before sinking to rest within
+reach of her child's cot; while Will, troubling Heaven with no petition
+or thanksgiving, was in bed five minutes sooner than his wife.
+
+"Gude-night, lad," said Phoebe, as she put the candle out, but her
+husband only returned an inarticulate grunt for answer, being already
+within the portal of sleep.
+
+A fair morning followed on the tempestuous night, and Winter, who had
+surely whispered her coming under the darkness, vanished again at dawn.
+The Moor still provided forage, but all light was gone out of the
+heather, though the standing fern shone yellow under the sun, and the
+recumbent bracken shed a rich russet in broad patches over the dewy
+green where Will had chopped it down and left it to dry for winter
+fodder. He was very late this year in stacking the fern, and designed
+that labour for his morning's occupation.
+
+Ted Chown chanced to be away for a week's holiday, so Will entered his
+farmyard early. The variable weather of his mind rarely stood for long
+at storm, but, unlike the morning, he had awakened in no happy mood.
+
+A child's voice served for a time to smooth his brow, now clouded from
+survey of a broken spring in his market-cart; then came the lesser Will
+with a small china mug for his morning drink. Phoebe watched him
+sturdily tramp across the yard, and the greater Will laughed to see his
+son's alarm before the sudden stampede of a belated heifer, which now
+hastened through the open gate to join its companions on the hillside.
+
+"Cooshey, cooshey won't hurt 'e, my li'l bud!" cried Phoebe, as Ship
+jumped and barked at the lumbering beast. Then the child doubled round a
+dung-heap and fled to his father's arms. From the byre a cow with a full
+udder softly lowed, and now small Will had a cup of warm milk; then,
+with his red mouth like a rosebud in mist and his father's smile
+magically and laughably reproduced upon his little face, he trotted back
+to his mother.
+
+A moment later Will, still milking, heard himself loudly called from the
+gate. The voice he knew well enough, but it was pitched unusually high,
+and denoted a condition of excitement and impatience very seldom to be
+met with in its possessor. Martin Grimbal, for it was he, did not
+observe Blanchard, as the farmer emerged from the byre. His eye was bent
+in startled and critical scrutiny of a granite post, to which the front
+gate of Newtake latched, and he continued shouting aloud until Will
+stood beside him. Then he appeared on his hands and knees beside the
+gate-post. He had flung down his stick and satchel; his mouth was
+slightly open; his cap rested on the side of his head; his face seemed
+transfigured before some overwhelming discovery.
+
+Relations were still strained between these men; and Will did not forget
+the fact, though it had evidently escaped Martin in his present
+excitement.
+
+"What the deuce be doin' now?" asked Blanchard abruptly.
+
+"Man alive! A marvel! Look here--to think I have passed this stone a
+hundred times and never noticed!"
+
+He rose, brushed his muddy knees, still gazing at the gate-post, then
+took a trowel from his bag and began to cut away the turf about the base
+of it.
+
+"Let that bide!" called out the master sharply. "What be 'bout, delving
+theer?"
+
+"I forgot you didn't know. I was coming to see you on my way to the
+Moor. I wanted a drink and a handshake. We mustn't be enemies, and I'm
+heartily sorry for what I said--heartily. But here's a fitting object to
+build new friendship on. I just caught sight of the incisions through a
+fortunate gleam of early morning light. Come this side and see for
+yourself. To think you had what a moorman would reckon good fortune at
+your gate and never guessed it!"
+
+"Fortune at my gate? Wheer to? I aint heard nothin' of it."
+
+"Here, man, here! D' you see this post?"
+
+"Not bein' blind, I do."
+
+"Yet you were blind, and so was I. There 's excuse for you--none for me.
+It's a cross! Yes, a priceless old Christian cross, buried here head
+downward by some profane soul in the distant past, who found it of size
+and shape to make a gate-post. They are common enough in Cornwall, but
+very rare in Devon. It's a great--a remarkable discovery in fact, and
+I'm right glad I found it on your threshold; for we may be friends again
+beside this symbol fittingly enough--eh, Will?"
+
+"Bother your rot," answered the other coldly, and quite unimpassioned
+before Martin's eloquence. "You doubted my judgment not long since and
+said hard things and bad things; now I take leave to doubt yours. How do
+'e knaw this here 's a cross any more than t' other post the gate hangs
+on?"
+
+Martin, recalled to reality and the presence of a man till then
+unfriendly, blushed and shrank into himself a little. His voice showed
+that he suffered pain.
+
+"I read granite as you read sheep and soil and a crop ripening above
+ground or below--it's my business," he explained, not without
+constraint, while the enthusiasm died away out of his voice and the fire
+from his face. "See now, Will, try and follow me. Note these very faint
+lines, where the green moss takes the place of the lichen. These are
+fretted grooves--you can trace them to the earth, and on a 'rubbing,' as
+we call it, they would be plainer still. They indicate to me incisions
+down the sides of a cross-shaft. They are all that many years of
+weathering have left. Look at the shape too: the stone grows slightly
+thinner every way towards the ground. What is hidden we can't say yet,
+but I pray that the arms may be at least still indicated. You see it is
+the base sticking into the air, and more's the pity, a part has gone,
+for I can trace the incisions to the top. God knows the past history of
+it, but--"
+
+"Perhaps He do and perhaps He doan't," interrupted the farmer. "Perhaps
+it weer a cross an' perhaps it weern't; anyway it's my gate-post now,
+an' as to diggin' it up, you may be surprised to knaw it, Martin
+Grimbal, but I'll see you damned fust! I'm weary of all this bunkum
+'bout auld stones an' circles an' the rest; I'm sick an' tired o'
+leavin' my work a hunderd times in summer months to shaw gaping fules
+from Lunnon an' Lard knaws wheer, them roundy-poundies 'pon my land.
+'Tis all rot, as every moorman knaws; yet you an' such as you screams if
+us dares to put a finger to the stone nowadays. Ban't the granite ours
+under Venwell? You knaw it is; an' because dead-an'-gone folk,
+half-monkeys belike, fashioned their homes an' holes out of it, be that
+any cause why it shouldn't be handled to-day? They've had their use of
+it; now 'tis our turn; an 'tis awnly such as you be, as comes here in
+shining summer, when the land puts on a lying faace, as though it didn't
+knaw weather an' winter--'tis awnly such as you must cry out against us
+of the soil if we dares to set wan stone 'pon another to make a wall or
+to keep the blasted rabbits out the young wheat."
+
+"Your attitude is one-sided, Will," said Martin Grimbal gently;
+"besides, remember this is a cross. We're dealing with a relic of our
+faith, take my word for it."
+
+"Faith be damned! What's a cross to me? 'Tisdoin' more gude wheer't is
+than ever it done afore, I'll swear."
+
+"I hope you'll live to see you're wrong, Blanchard. I've met you in an
+evil hour it seems. You're not yourself. Think about it. There's no
+hurry. You pride yourself on your common sense as a rule. I'm sure it
+will come to your rescue. Granted this discovery is nothing to you, yet
+think what it means to me. If I'd found a diamond mine I couldn't be
+better pleased--not half so pleased as now."
+
+Will reflected a moment; but the other had not knowledge of character to
+observe or realise that he was slowly becoming reasonable.
+
+"So I do pride myself on my common sense, an' I've some right to. A
+cross is a cross--I allow that--and whatever I may think, I ban't so
+small-minded as to fall foul of them as think differ'nt. My awn mother
+be a church-goer for that matter, an' you'll look far ways for her
+equal. But of coourse I knaw what I knaw. Me an' Hicks talked out
+matters of religion so dry as chaff."
+
+"Yet a cross means much to many, and always will while the land
+continues to call itself Christian."
+
+"I knaw, I knaw. 'Twill call itself Christian long arter your time an'
+mine; as to bein' Christian--that's another story. Clem Hicks lightened
+such matters to me--fule though he was in the ordering of his awn life.
+But s'pose you digs the post up, for argeyment's sake. What about me, as
+have to go out 'pon the Moor an' blast another new wan out the virgin
+granite wi' gunpowder? Do'e think I've nothin' better to do with my time
+than that?"
+
+Here, in his supreme anxiety and eagerness, forgetting the manner of man
+he argued with, Martin made a fatal mistake.
+
+"That's reasonable and business-like," he said. "I wouldn't have you
+suffer for lost time, which is part of your living. I'll give you ten
+pounds for the stone, Will, and that should more than pay for your time
+and for the new post."
+
+He glanced into the other's face and instantly saw his error. The
+farmer's countenance clouded and his features darkened until he looked
+like an angry Redskin. His eyes glinted steel-bright under a ferocious
+frown; the squareness of his jaw became much marked.
+
+"You dare to say that, do'e? An' me as good a man, an' better, than you
+or your brother either! Money--you remind me I'm--Theer! You can go to
+blue, blazin' hell for your granite crosses--that's wheer you can
+go--you or any other poking, prying pelican! Offer money to me, would
+'e? Who be you, or any other man, to offer me money for wasted time? As
+if I was a road scavenger or another man's servant! God's truth! you
+forget who you'm talkin' to!"
+
+"This is to purposely misunderstand me, Blanchard. I never, never, meant
+any such thing. Am I one to gratuitously insult or offend another?
+Typical this! Your cursed temper it is that keeps you back in the world
+and makes a failure of you," answered the student of stones, his own
+temper nearly lost under exceptional provocation.
+
+"Who says I be a failure?" roared Will in return. "What do you know, you
+grey, dreamin' fule, as to whether I'm successful or not so? Get you
+gone off my land or--"
+
+"I'll go, and readily enough. I believe you're mad. That's the
+conclusion I'm reluctantly driven to--mad. But don't for an instant
+imagine your lunatic stupidity is going to stand between the world and
+this discovery, because it isn't."
+
+He strapped on his satchel, picked up his stick, put his hat on
+straight, and prepared to depart, breathing hard.
+
+"Go," snorted Will; "go to your auld stones--they 'm the awnly fit
+comp'ny for 'e. Bruise your silly shins against 'em, an' ax 'em if a
+moorman's in the right or wrong to paart wi' his gate-post to the fust
+fule as wants it!"
+
+Martin Grimbal strode off without replying, and Will, in a sort of grim
+good-humour at this victory, returned to milking his cows. The
+encounter, for some obscure reason, restored him to amiability. He
+reviewed his own dismal part in it with considerable satisfaction, and,
+after going indoors and eating a remarkably good breakfast, he lighted
+his pipe and, in the most benignant of moods, went out with a horse and
+cart to gather withered fern.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+MARTIN'S RAID
+
+
+Mrs. Blanchard now dwelt alone, and all her remaining interests in life
+were clustered about Will. She perceived that his enterprise by no means
+promised to fulfil the hopes of those who loved him, and realised too
+late that the qualities which enabled her father to wrest a living from
+the moorland farm were lacking in her son. He, of course, explained it
+otherwise, and pointed to the changes of the times and an universal fall
+in the price of agricultural produce. His mother cast about in secret
+how to help him, but no means appeared until, upon an evening some ten
+days after Blanchard's quarrel with Grimbal over the gate-post, she
+suddenly determined to visit Monks Barton and discuss the position with
+Miller Lyddon.
+
+"I want to have a bit of a tell with 'e," she said, "'pon a matter so
+near to your heart as mine. Awnly you've got power an' I haven't."
+
+"I knaw what you'm come about before you speak," answered the other."
+Sit you down an' us'll have a gude airing of ideas. But I'm sorry we
+won't get the value o' Billy Blee's thoughts 'pon the point, for he's
+away to-night."
+
+Damaris rather rejoiced than sorrowed in this circumstance, but she was
+too wise to say so.
+
+"A far-thinkin' man, no doubt," she admitted.
+
+"He is; an' 't is straange your comin' just this night, for Blee's away
+on a matter touching Will more or less, an' doan't reckon to be home
+'fore light."
+
+"What coorious-fashion job be that then?"
+
+"Caan't tell 'e the facts. I'm under a promise not to open my mouth, but
+theer's no gert harm. Martin Grimbal's foremost in the thing so you may
+judge it ban't no wrong act, and he axed Billy to help him at my advice.
+You see it's necessary to force your son's hand sometimes. He'm that
+stubborn when his mind's fixed."
+
+"A firm man, an' loves his mother out the common well. A gude son, a
+gude husband, a gude faither, a hard worker. How many men's all that to
+wance, Miller?"
+
+"He is so--all--an' yet--the man have got his faults, speaking
+generally."
+
+"That's awnly to say he be a man; an' if you caan't find words for the
+faults, 't is clear they ban't worth namin'."
+
+"I can find words easy enough, I assure 'e; but a man's a fule to waste
+breath criticising the ways of a son to his mother--if so be he's a gude
+son."
+
+"What fault theer is belongs to me. I was set on his gwaine to Newtake
+as master, like his gran'faither afore him. I urged the step hot, and I
+liked the thought of it."
+
+"So did he--else he wouldn't have gone."
+
+"You caan't say that. He might have done different but for love of me.
+'T is I as have stood in his way in this thing."
+
+"Doan't fret yourself with such a thought, Mrs. Blanchard; Will's the
+sort as steers his awn ship. Theer's no blame 'pon you. An' for that
+matter, if your faither saved gude money at Newtake, why caan't Will?"
+
+"Times be changed. You've got to make two blades o' grass graw wheer wan
+did use, if you wants to live nowadays."
+
+"Hard work won't hurt him."
+
+"But it will if he reckons't is all wasted work. What's more bitter than
+toiling to no account, an' _knawin_ all the while you be?"
+
+"Not all wasted work, surely?"
+
+"They wouldn't allow it for the world. He's that gay afore me, an'
+Phoebe keeps a stiff upper lip, tu; but I go up unexpected now an' again
+an' pop in unawares an' sees the truth. You with your letter or message
+aforehand, doan't find out nothing, an' won't."
+
+"He'm out o' luck, I allow. What's the exact reason?"
+
+"You'll find it in the Book, same as I done. I knaw you set gert store
+'pon the Word. Well, then, 'them the Lard loveth He chasteneth.' That's
+why Will's languishin' like. 'T won't last for ever."
+
+"Ah! But theer's other texts to other purpose. Not that I want 'e to
+dream my Phoebe's less to me than your son to you. I've got my eye on
+'em, an' that's the truth; an' on my li'l grandson, tu."
+
+"Theer's gert things buddin' in that bwoy."
+
+"I hope so. I set much store on him. Doan't you worrit, mother, for the
+party to Newtake be bound up very close wi' my happiness, an' if they
+was wisht, ban't me as would long be merry. I be gwaine to give Master
+Will rope enough to hang himself, having a grudge or two against him
+yet; then, when the job's done, an' he's learnt the hard lesson to the
+dregs, I'll cut un down in gude time an' preach a sarmon to him while
+he's in a mood to larn wisdom. He's picking up plenty of information,
+you be sure--things that will be useful bimebye: the value of money, the
+shortness o' the distance it travels, the hardness o' Moor ground, an'
+men's hearts, an' such-like branches of larning. Let him bide, an' trust
+me."
+
+The mother was rendered at once uneasy and elated by this speech. That,
+if only for his wife and son's sake, Will would never be allowed to fail
+entirely seemed good to know; but she feared, and, before the
+patronising manner of the old man, felt alarm for the future. She well
+knew how Will would receive any offer of assistance tendered in this
+spirit.
+
+"Like your gude self so to promise; but remember he 'm of a lofty mind
+and fiery."
+
+"Stiff-necked he be, for certain; but he may graw quiet 'fore you think
+it. Nothing tames a man so quick as to see his woman and childer folk
+hungry--eh? An' specially if 't is thanks to his awn mistakes."
+
+Mrs. Blanchard flushed and felt a wave of anger surging through her
+breast. But she choked it down.
+
+"You 'm hard in the grain, Lyddon--so them often be who've lived over
+long as widow men. Theer 's a power o' gude in my Will, an' your eyes
+will be opened to see it some day. He 'm young an' hopeful by nature;
+an' such as him, as allus looks up to gert things, feels a come down
+worse than others who be content to crawl. He 'm changing, an' I knaw
+it, an' I've shed more 'n wan tear awver it, bein' on the edge of age
+myself now, an' not so strong-minded as I was 'fore Chris went. He 'm
+changing, an' the gert Moor have made his blood beat slower, I reckon,
+an' froze his young hope a bit."
+
+"He 's grawiug aulder, that's all. 'T is right as he should chatter
+less an' think more."
+
+"I suppose so; yet a mother feels a cold cloud come awver her heart to
+watch a cheel fighting the battle an' not winning it. Specially when she
+can awnly look on an' do nothin'."
+
+"Doan't you fear. You 'm low in spirit, else you'd never have spoke so
+open; but I thank you for tellin' me that things be tighter to Newtake
+than I guessed. You leave the rest to me. I knaw how far to let 'em go;
+an' if we doan't agree 'pon that question, you must credit me with the
+best judgment, an' not think no worse of me for helpin' in my awn way
+an' awn time."
+
+With which promise Mrs. Blanchard was contented. Surveying the position
+in the solitude of her home, she felt there was much to be thankful for.
+Yet she puzzled her heart and head to find schemes by which the miller's
+charity might be escaped. She considered her own means, and pictured her
+few possessions sold at auction; she had already offered to go and dwell
+at Newtake and dispose of her cottage. But Will exploded so violently
+when the suggestion reached his ears that she never repeated it.
+
+While the widow thus bent her thoughts upon her son, and gradually sank
+to sleep with the problems of the moment unsolved, a remarkable series
+of incidents made the night strange at Newtake Farm.
+
+Roused suddenly a little after twelve o'clock by an unusual sound,
+Phoebe woke with a start and cried to her husband:
+
+"Will--Will, do hark to Ship! He 'm barkin' that savage!"
+
+Will turned and growled sleepily that it was nothing, but the bark
+continued, so he left his bed and looked out of the window. A waning
+moon had just thrust one glimmering point above the sombre flank of the
+hill. It ascended as he watched, dispensed a sinister illumination, and
+like some remote bale-fire hung above the bosom of the nocturnal Moor.
+His dog still barked, and in the silence Will could hear a clink and
+thud as it leapt to the limit of its chain. Then out of the night a
+lantern danced at Newtake gate, and Blanchard, his eyes now trained to
+the gloom, discovered several figures moving about it.
+
+"Baggered if it bau't that damned Grimbal come arter my gate-post," he
+gasped, launched instantly to high wakefulness by the suspicion. Then,
+dragging on his trousers, and thrusting the tail of his nightshirt
+inside them, he tumbled down-stairs, with passion truly formidable, and
+hastened naked footed through the farmyard.
+
+Four men blankly awaited him. Ignoring their leader--none other than
+Martin himself--he turned upon Mr. Blee, who chanced to be nearest, and
+struck from his hand a pick.
+
+"What be these blasted hookem-snivey dealings, then?" Will thundered
+out, "an' who be you, you auld twisted thorn, to come here stealin' my
+stone in the dead o' night?"
+
+Billy's little eyes danced in the lantern fire, and he answered hastily
+before Martin had time to speak.
+
+"Well, to be plain, the moon and the dog's played us false, an' you'd
+best to knaw the truth fust as last. Mr. Grimbal's writ you two
+straight, fair letters 'bout this job, so he've explained to me, an' you
+never so much as answered neither; so, seem' this here's a right
+Christian cross, ban't decent it should bide head down'ards for all
+time. An' Mr. Grimbal have brought up a flam-new granite post, hasp an'
+all complete--'t is in the cart theer--an' he called on me as a
+discreet, aged man to help un, an' so I did; an' Peter Bassett an' Sam
+Bonus here corned likewise, by my engagement, to do the heavy work an'
+aid in a gude deed."
+
+"Dig an inch, wan of 'e, and I'll shaw what's a gude deed! I doan't want
+no talk with you or them hulking gert fules. 'T is you I'd ax, Martin
+Grimbal, by what right you'm here."
+
+"You wouldn't answer my letters, and I couldn't find it in my heart to
+leave an important matter like this. I know I wasn't wise, but you don't
+understand what a priceless thing this is. I thought you'd find the new
+one in the morning and laugh at it. For God's sake be reasonable and
+sensible, Blanchard, and let me take it away. There's a new post I'll
+have set up. It's here waiting. I can't do more."
+
+"But you'll do a darned sight less. Right's right, an' stealin's
+stealin'. You wasn't wise, as you say--far from it. You'm in the wrong
+now, an' you knaw it, whatever you was before. A nice bobbery! Why
+doan't he take my plough or wan of the bullocks? Damned thieves, the lot
+of'e!"
+
+"Doan't cock your nose so high, Farmer," said Bonus, who had never
+spoken to Will since he left Newtake; "'t is very onhandsome of 'e to be
+tellin' like this to gentle-folks."
+
+"Gentlefolks! Gentlefolks would ax your help, wouldn't they? You, as be
+no better than a common poacher since I turned 'e off! You shut your
+mouth and go home-long, an' mind your awn business, an' keep out o' the
+game preserves. Law's law, as you'm like to find sooner'n most folks."
+
+This pointed allusion to certain rumours concerning the labourer's
+present way of life angered Bonus not a little, but it also silenced
+him.
+
+"Law's law, as you truly say, Will Blanchard," answered Mr. Blee, "an'
+theer it do lie in a nutshell. A man's gate-post is his awn as a common,
+natural gate-post; but bein' a sainted cross o' the Lard sticked in the
+airth upsy-down by some ancient devilry, 't is no gate-post, nor yet
+every-day moor-stone, but just the common property of all Christian
+souls."
+
+"You'm out o' bias to harden your heart, Mr. Blanchard, when this
+gentleman sez 't is what 't is," ventured the man Peter Bassett, slowly.
+
+"An' so you be, Blanchard, an' 't is a awful deed every ways, an' you'll
+larn it some day. You did ought to be merry an' glad to hear such a
+thing 's been found 'pon Newtake. Think o' the fortune a cross o' Christ
+brings to 'e!"
+
+"An' how much has it brought, you auld fule?"
+
+"Gude or bad, you'll be a sight wuss off it you leave it wheer 't is,
+now you knaw. Theer'll be hell to pay if it's let bide now, sure as eggs
+is eggs an' winter, winter. You'll rue it; you'll gnash awver it; 't
+will turn against 'e an' rot the root an' blight the ear an' starve the
+things an' break your heart. Mark me, you'm doin' a cutthroat deed an'
+killin' all your awn luck by leavin' it here an hour longer."
+
+But Will showed no alarm at Mr. Blee's predictions.
+
+"Be it as 't will, you doan't touch my stone--cross or no cross. Damn
+the cross! An' you tu, every wan of 'e, dirty night birds!"
+
+Then Martin, who had waited, half hoping that Billy's argument might
+carry weight, spoke and ended the scene.
+
+"We'll talk no more and we'll do no more," he said. "You're wrong in a
+hundred ways to leave this precious stone to shut a gate and keep in
+cows, Blanchard. But if you wouldn't heed my letters, I suppose you
+won't heed my voice."
+
+"Why the devil should I heed your letters? I told 'e wance for all,
+didn't I? Be I a man as changes my mind like a cheel?"
+
+"Crooked words won't help 'e, Farmer," said the stolid Bassett. "You 'm
+wrong, an' you knaw right well you 'm wrong, an' theer'll come a day of
+reckoning for 'e, sure 's we 'm in a Christian land."
+
+"Let it come, an' leave me to meet it. An' now, clear out o' this, every
+wan, or I'll loose the dog 'pon 'e!"
+
+He turned hurriedly as he spoke and fetched the bobtailed sheep-dog on
+its chain. This he fastened to the stone, then watched the defeated
+raiders depart. Grimbal had already walked away alone, after directing
+that a post which he had brought to supersede the cross, should be left
+at the side of the road. Now, having obeyed his command, Mr. Blee,
+Bonus, and Bassett climbed into the cart and slowly passed away
+homewards. The moon had risen clear of earth and threw light sufficient
+to show Bassett's white smock still gleaming through the night as Will
+beheld his enemies depart.
+
+Ten minutes later, while he washed his feet, the farmer told Phoebe of
+the whole matter, including his earlier meeting with Martin, and the
+antiquary's offer of money. Upon this subject his wife found herself in
+complete disagreement with Blanchard, and did not hesitate to say so.
+
+"Martin Grimbal 's so gude a friend as any man could have, an' you did
+n't ought to have bullyragged him that way," she declared.
+
+"You say that! Ban't a man to speak his mind to thieves an' robbers?"
+
+"No such thing. 'T is a sacred stone an' not your property at all. To
+refuse ten pound for it!"
+
+"Hold your noise, then, an' let me mind my business my awn way," he
+answered roughly, getting back to bed; but Phoebe was roused and had no
+intention of speaking less than her mind.
+
+"You 'm a knaw-nought gert fule," she said, "an' so full of silly pride
+as a turkey-cock. What 's the stone to you if Grimbal wants it? An' him
+taking such a mint of trouble to come by it. What right have you to
+fling away ten pounds like that, an' what 's the harm to earn gude money
+honest? Wonder you ban't shamed to sell anything. 'T is enough these
+times for a body to say wan thing for you to say t'other."
+
+This rebuke from a tongue that scarcely ever uttered a harsh word
+startled Will not a little. He was silent for half a minute, then made
+reply.
+
+"You can speak like that--you, my awn wife--you, as ought to be heart
+an' soul with me in everything I do? An' the husband I am to 'e. Then I
+should reckon I be fairly alone in the world, an' no mistake--'cept for
+mother."
+
+Phoebe did not answer him. Her spark of anger was gone and she was
+passing quickly from temper to tears.
+
+"'T is queer to me how short of friends I 'pear to be gettin',"
+confessed Will gloomily. "I must be differ'nt to what I fancied for I
+allus felt I could do with a waggon-load of friends. Yet they 'm
+droppin' off. Coourse I knaw why well enough, tu. They've had wind o'
+tight times to Newtake, though how they should I caan't say, for the
+farm 's got a prosperous look to my eye, an' them as drops in dinnertime
+most often finds meat on the table. Straange a man what takes such level
+views as me should fall out wi' his elders so much."
+
+"'T is theer fault as often as yours; an' you've got me as well as your
+mother, Will; an' you've got your son. Childern knaw the gude from the
+bad, same as dogs, in a way hid from grawn folks. Look how the li'l
+thing do run to 'e 'fore anybody in the world."
+
+"So he do; an' if you 'm wise enough to see that, you ought to be wise
+enough to see I'm right 'bout the gate-post. Who 's Martin Grimbal to
+offer me money? A self-made man, same as me. Yet he might have had it,
+an' welcome if he'd axed proper."
+
+"Of course, if you put it so, Will."
+
+"Theer 's no ways else to put it as I can see."
+
+"But for your awn peace of mind it might be wisest to dig the cross up.
+I listened by the window an' heard Billy Blee tellin' of awful cusses,
+an' he 's wise wi'out knawin' it sometimes."
+
+"That's all witchcraft an' stuff an' nonsense, an' you ought to knaw
+better, Phoebe. 'T is as bad as setting store on the flight o' magpies,
+or gettin' a dead tooth from the churchyard to cure toothache, an'
+such-like folly."
+
+"Ban't folly allus, Will; theer 's auld tried wisdom in some ancient
+sayings."
+
+"Well, you guide your road by my light if you want to be happy. 'T is
+for you I uses all my thinking brain day an' night--for your gude an'
+the li'l man's."
+
+"I knaw--I knaw right well 't is so, dear Will, an' I'm sorry I spoke so
+quick."
+
+"I'll forgive 'e before you axes me, sweetheart. Awnly you must larn to
+trust me, an' theer 's no call for you to fear. Us must speak out
+sometimes, an' I did just now, an' 't is odds but some of them chaps,
+Grimbal included, may have got a penn'orth o' wisdom from me."
+
+"So 't is, then," she said, cuddling to him; "an' you'll do well to
+sleep now; an'--an' never tell again, Will, you've got nobody but your
+mother while I'm above ground, 'cause it's against justice an' truth an'
+very terrible for me to hear."
+
+"'T was a thoughtless speech," admitted Will, "an' I'm sorry I spake it.
+'T was a hasty word an' not to be took serious."
+
+They slept, while the moon wove wan harmonies of ebony and silver into
+Newtake. A wind woke, proclaiming morning, as yet invisible; and when it
+rustled dead leaves or turned a chimney-cowl, the dog at the gate
+stirred and growled and grated his chain against the granite cross.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+WINTER
+
+
+As Christmas again approached, adverse conditions of weather brought
+like anxieties to a hundred moormen besides Will Blanchard, but the
+widespread nature of the trouble by no means diminished his individual
+concern. A summer of unusual splendour had passed unblessed away, for
+the sustained drought represented scanty hay and an aftermath of meagre
+description. Cereals were poor, with very little straw, and the heavy
+rains of November arrived too late to save acres of starved roots on
+high grounds. Thus the year became responsible for one prosperous
+product alone: rarely was it possible to dry so well those stores
+gathered from the peat beds. Huge fires, indeed, glowed upon many a
+hearth, but the glory of them served only to illumine anxious faces. A
+hard winter was threatened, and the succeeding spring already appeared
+as no vision to welcome, but a hungry spectre to dread.
+
+Then, with the last week of the old year, winter swept westerly on
+hyperborean winds, and when these were passed a tremendous frost won
+upon the world. Day followed day of weak, clear sunshine and low
+temperature. The sun, upon his shortest journeys, showed a fiery face as
+he sulked along the stony ridges of the Moor, and gazed over the
+ice-chained wilderness, the frozen waters, and the dark mosses that
+never froze, but lowered black, like wounds on a white skin. Dartmoor
+slept insensible under granite and ice; no sheep-bell made music; no
+flocks wandered at will; only the wind moaned in the dead bells of the
+heather; only the foxes slunk round cot and farm; only the shaggy ponies
+stamped and snorted under the lee of the tors and thrust their smoking
+muzzles into sheltered clefts and crannies for the withered green stuff
+that kept life in them. Snow presently softened the outlines of the
+hills, set silver caps on the granite, and brought the distant horizon
+nearer to the eye under crystal-clear atmosphere. Many a wanderer, thus
+deceived, plodded hopefully forward at sight of smoke above a roof-tree,
+only to find his bourne, that seemed so near, still weary miles away.
+The high Moors were a throne for death. Cold below freezing-point
+endured throughout the hours of light and grew into a giant when the sun
+and his winter glory had huddled below the hills.
+
+Newtake squatted like a toad upon this weary waste. Its crofts were bare
+and frozen two feet deep; its sycamores were naked save for snow in the
+larger forks, and one shivering concourse of dead leaves, where a bough
+had been broken untimely, and thus held the foliage. Suffering almost
+animate peered from its leaded windows; the building scowled; cattle
+lowed through the hours of day, and a steam arose from their red hides
+as they crowded together for warmth. Often it gleamed mistily in the
+light of Will's lantern when at the dead icy hour before dawn he went
+out to his beasts. Then he would rub their noses, and speak to them
+cheerfully, and note their congealed vapours where these had ascended
+and frozen in shining spidery hands of ice upon the walls and rafters of
+the byre. Fowls, silver-spangled and black, scratched at the earth from
+habit, fought for the daily grain with a ferocity the summer never saw,
+stalked spiritless in puffed plumage about the farmyard and collected
+with subdued clucking upon their roosts in a barn above the farmyard
+carts as soon as the sun had dipped behind the hills. Ducks complained
+vocally, and as they slipped on the glassy pond they quacked out a
+mournful protest against the times.
+
+The snow which fell did not melt, but shone under the red sunshine,
+powdered into dust beneath hoof and heel; every cart-rut was full of
+thin white ice, like ground window-glass, that cracked drily and split
+and tinkled to hobnails or iron-shod wheel. The snow from the house-top,
+thawed by the warmth within, ran dribbling from the eaves and froze into
+icicles as thick as a man's arm. These glittered almost to the ground
+and refracted the sunshine in their prisms.
+
+Warm-blooded life suffered for the most part silently, but the inanimate
+fabric of the farm complained with many a creak and crack and groan in
+the night watches, while Time's servant the frost gnawed busily at old
+timbers and thrust steel fingers into brick and mortar. Only the
+hut-circles, grey glimmering through the snow on Metherill, laughed at
+those cruel nights, as the Neolithic men who built them may have laughed
+at the desperate weather of their day; and the cross beside Blanchard's
+gate, though an infant in age beside them, being fashioned of like
+material, similarly endured. Of more lasting substance was this stone
+than an iron tongue stuck into it to latch the gate, for the metal
+fretted fast and shed rust in an orange streak upon the granite.
+
+Where first this relic had risen, when yet its craftsman's work was
+perfect and before the centuries had diminished its just proportions, no
+living man might say. Martin Grimbal suspected that it had marked a
+meeting-place, indicated some Cistercian way, commemorated a notable
+deed, or served to direct the moorland pilgrim upon his road to that
+trinity of great monasteries which flourished aforetime at Plympton, at
+Tavistock, and at Buckland of the Monks; but between its first uprising
+and its last, a duration of many years doubtless extended.
+
+The antiquary's purpose had been to rescue the relic, judge, by close
+study of the hidden part, to what date it might be assigned, then
+investigate the history of Newtake Farm, and endeavour to trace the
+cross if possible. After his second repulse, however, and following upon
+a conversation with Phoebe, whom he met at Chagford, Martin permitted
+the matter to remain in abeyance. Now he set about regaining Will's
+friendship'in a gradual and natural manner. That done, he trusted to
+disinter the coveted granite at some future date and set it up on
+sanctified ground in Chagford churchyard, if the true nature of the
+relic justified that course. For the present, however, he designed no
+step, for his purpose was to visit the Channel Islands early in the new
+year, that he might study their testimony to prehistoric times.
+
+A winter, to cite whose parallel men looked back full twenty years,
+still held the land, though February had nearly run. Blanchard daily
+debated the utmost possibility of his resources with Phoebe, and fought
+the inclement weather for his early lambs. Such light as came into life
+at Newtake was furnished by little Will, who danced merrily through ice
+and snow, like a scarlet flower in his brilliant coat. The cold pleased
+him; he trod the slippery duck pond in triumph, his bread-and-milk never
+failed. To Phoebe her maternal right in the infant seemed recompense
+sufficient for all those tribulations existence just now brought with
+it; from which conviction resulted her steady courage and cheerfulness.
+Her husband's nebulous rationalism clouded Phoebe's religious views not
+at all. She daily prayed to Christ for her child's welfare, and went to
+church whenever she could, at the express command of her father. A flash
+of folly from Will had combined with hard weather to keep the miller
+from any visit to Newtake. Mr. Lyddon, on the beginning of the great
+frost, had sent two pairs of thick blankets from the Monks Barton stores
+to Phoebe, and Will, opening the parcel during his wife's absence,
+resented the gift exceedingly, and returned it by the bearer with a curt
+message of thanks and the information that he did not need them. Much
+hurt, the donor turned his face from Newtake for six weeks after this
+incident, and Phoebe, who knew nothing of the matter, marvelled at her
+father's lengthy and unusual silence.
+
+As for Will, during these black days, the steadfast good temper of his
+wife almost irritated him; but he saw the prime source of her courage,
+and himself loved their small son dearly. Once a stray journal fell into
+his hands, and upon an article dealing with emigration he built secret
+castles in the air, and grew more happy for the space of a week. His
+mother ailed a little through the winter, and he often visited her. But
+in her presence he resolutely put off gloom, spoke with sanguine tongue
+of the prosperity he foresaw during the coming spring, and always
+foretold the frost must break within four-and-twenty-hours. Damaris
+Blanchard was therefore deceived in some measure, and when Will spent
+five shillings upon a photograph of his son, she felt that the Newtake
+prospects must at least be more favourable than she feared, and let the
+circumstance of the picture be generally known.
+
+Not until the middle of March came a thaw, and then unchained waters and
+melted snows roared and tumbled from the hills through every coomb and
+valley. Each gorge, each declivity contributed an unwonted torrent; the
+quaking bogs shivered as though beneath them monsters turned in sleep or
+writhed in agony; the hoarse cry of Teign betokened new tribulations to
+the ears of those who understood; and over the Moor there rolled and
+crowded down a sodden mantle of mist, within whose chilly heart every
+elevation of note vanished for days together. Wrapped in impenetrable
+folds were the high lands, and the gigantic vapour stretched a million
+dripping tentacles over forests and wastes into the valleys beneath. Now
+it crept even to the heart of the woods; now it stealthily dislimned in
+lonely places; now it redoubled its density and dominated all things.
+The soil steamed and exuded vapour as a soaked sponge, and upon its
+surcharged surface splashes and streaks and sheets of water shone pallid
+and ash-coloured, like blind eyes, under the eternal mists and rains.
+These accumulations threw back the last glimmer of twilight and caught
+the first grey signal of approaching dawn; while the land, contrariwise,
+had welcomed night while yet wan sunsets struggled with the rain, and
+continued to cherish darkness long after morning was in the sky. Every
+rut and hollow, every scooped cup on the tors was brimming now; springs
+unnumbered and unknown had burst their secret places; the water floods
+tumbled and thundered until their rough laughter rang like a knell in
+the ears of the husbandmen; and beneath crocketed pinnacles of half a
+hundred church towers rose the mournful murmur of prayer for fair
+weather.
+
+There came an afternoon in late March when Mr. Blee returned to Monks
+Barton from Chagford, stamped the mud off his boots and leggings, shook
+his brown umbrella, and entered the kitchen to find his master reading
+the Bible.
+
+"'Tis all set down, Blee," exclaimed Mr. Lyddon with the triumphant
+voice of a discoverer. "These latter rains be displayed in the Book,
+according to my theory that everything 's theer!"
+
+"Pity you didn't find 'em out afore they comed; then us might have
+bought the tarpaulins cheap in autumn, 'stead of payin' through the nose
+for 'em last month. Now 't is fancy figures for everything built to keep
+out rain. Rabbit that umberella! It's springed a leak, an' the water's
+got down my neck."
+
+"Have some hot spirits, then, an' listen to this--all set out in Isaiah
+forty-one--eighteen: 'I will open rivers in high places and fountains in
+the midst of the valleys; I will make the wilderness a pool of water and
+the dry land springs of water.' Theer! If that ban't a picter of the
+present plague o' rain, what should be?"
+
+"So 't is; an' the fountains in the midst of the valleys be the
+awfullest part. Burnish it all! The high land had the worst of the
+winter, but we in the low coombs be gwaine to get the worst o' the
+spring--safe as water allus runs down-long."
+
+"'T will find its awn level, which the prophet knawed."
+
+"I wish he knawed how soon."
+
+"'T is in the Word, I'll wager. I may come upon it yet."
+
+"The airth be damn near drowned, an' the air's thick like a washin'-day
+everywheers, an' a terrible braave sight o' rain unshed in the elements
+yet."
+
+"'T will pass, sure as Noah seed a rainbow."
+
+"Ess, 't will pass; but Monks Barton's like to be washed to Fingle
+Bridge fust. Oceans o' work waitin', but what can us be at? Theer ban't
+a bit o' land you couldn't most swim across."
+
+"Widespread trouble, sure 'nough--all awver the South Hams, high an'
+low."
+
+"By the same token, I met Will Blanchard an hour agone. Gwaine in the
+dispensary, he was. The li'l bwoy's queer--no gert ill, but a bit of a
+tisseck on the lungs. He got playin' 'bout, busy as a rook, in the dirt,
+and catched cold."
+
+Miller Lyddon was much concerned at this bad news.
+
+"Oh, my gude God!" he exclaimed, "that's worse hearin' than all or any
+you could have fetched down. What do Doctor say?"
+
+"Wasn't worth while to call un up, so Will thought. Ban't nothin' to
+kill a beetle, or I lay the mother of un would have Doctor mighty soon.
+Will reckoned to get un a dose of physic--an' a few sweeties. Nature's
+all for the young buds. He won't come to no hurt."
+
+"Fust thing morning send a lad riding to Newtake," ordered Mr. Lyddon.
+"Theer's no sleep for me to-night, no, nor any more at all till I hear
+tell the dear tibby-lamb's well again. 'Pon my soul, I wonder that
+headstrong man doan't doctor the cheel hisself."
+
+"Maybe he will. Ban't nothin 's beyond him."
+
+"I'll go silly now. If awnly Mrs. Blanchard was up theer wi' Phoebe."
+
+"Doan't you grizzle about it. The bwoy be gwaine to make auld bones
+yet--hard as a nut he be. Give un years an' he'll help carry you to the
+graave in the fulness of time, I promise 'e," said Billy, in his
+comforting way.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+THE CROSS UPREARED
+
+Mr. Blee had but reported Will correctly, and it was not until some
+hours later that the child at Newtake caused his parents any alarm. Then
+he awoke in evident suffering, and Will, at Phoebe's frantic entreaty,
+arose and was soon galloping down through the night for Doctor Parsons.
+
+His thundering knock fell upon the physician's door, and a moment later
+a window above him was opened.
+
+"Why can't you ring the bell instead of making that fiendish noise, and
+waking the whole house? Who is it?"
+
+"Blanchard, from Newtake."
+
+"What's wrong?"
+
+"'T is my bwoy. He've got something amiss with his breathing parts by
+the looks of it."
+
+"Ah."
+
+"Doan't delay. Gert fear comed to his mother under the darkness, 'cause
+he seemed nicely when he went to sleep, then woke up worse. So I felt us
+had better not wait till morning."
+
+"I'll be with you in five minutes."
+
+Soon the Doctor appeared down a lane from the rear of the house. He was
+leading his horse by the bridle.
+
+"I'm better mounted than you," he said, "so I'll push forward. Every
+minute saved is gained."
+
+Will thanked him, and Doctor Parsons disappeared. When the father
+reached home, it was to hear that his child was seriously ill, though
+nothing of a final nature could be done to combat the sickness until it
+assumed a more definite form.
+
+"It's a grave case," said the physician, drearily in the dawn, as he
+pulled on his gloves and discussed the matter with Will before
+departing. "I'll be up again to-night. We mustn't overlook the
+proverbial vitality of the young, but if you are wise you will school
+your mind and your wife's to be resigned. You understand."
+
+He stroked his peaked naval beard, shook his head, then mounted his
+horse and was gone.
+
+From that day forward life stood still at Newtake, in so far as it is
+possible for life to do so, and a long-drawn weariness of many words
+dragged dully of a hundred pages would be necessary to reflect that tale
+of noctural terrors and daylight respites, of intermittent fears, of
+nerve-shattering suspense, and of the ebb and flow of hope through a
+fortnight of time. Overtaxed and overwrought, Phoebe ceased to be of
+much service in the sick-room after a week without sleep; Will did all
+that he could, which was little enough; but his mother took her place in
+the house unquestioned at this juncture, and ruled under Doctor Parsons.
+The struggle seemed to make her younger again, to rub off the
+slow-gathering rust of age and charm up all her stores of sense and
+energy.
+
+So they battled for that young life. More than once a shriek from Phoebe
+would echo to the farm that little Will was gone; and yet he lived; many
+a time the child's father in his strength surveyed the perishing atom,
+and prayed to take the burden, all too heavy for a baby's shoulders. In
+one mood he supplicated, in another cursed Heaven for its cruelty.
+
+There came a morning in early April when their physician, visiting
+Newtake before noon, broke it to husband and wife that the child could
+scarcely survive another day. He promised to return in the evening, and
+left them to their despair. Mrs. Blanchard, however, refused to credit
+this assurance, and cried to them to be hopeful still.
+
+In the afternoon Mr. Blee rode up from Monks Barton. Daily a messenger
+visited Newtake for Mr. Lyddon's satisfaction, but it was not often that
+Billy came. Now he arrived, however, entered the kitchen, and set down a
+basket laden with good things. The apartment lacked its old polish and
+cleanliness. The whitewash was very dirty; the little eight-day clock on
+the mantelpiece had run down; the begonias in pots on the window-ledge
+were at death's door for water. Between two of them a lean cat stretched
+in the sun and licked its paws; beside the fire lay Ship with his nose
+on the ground; and Will sat close by, a fortnight's beard upon his chin.
+He looked listlessly up as Mr. Blee entered and nodded but did not
+speak.
+
+"Well, what 's the best news? I've brought 'e fair-fashioned weather at
+any rate. The air 's so soft as milk, even up here, an' you can see the
+green things grawin' to make up for lost time. Sun was proper hot on my
+face as I travelled along. How be the poor little lad?"
+
+"Alive, that's all. Doctor's thrawed un awver now."
+
+"Never! Yet I've knawed even Parsons to make mistakes. I've brought 'e a
+braave bunch o' berries, got by the gracious gudeness of Miller from
+Newton Abbot; also a jelly; also a bottle o' brandy--the auld stuff from
+down cellar--I brushed the Dartmoor dew, as 't is called, off the bottle
+myself; also a fowl for the missis."
+
+"No call to have come. 'T is all awver bar the end."
+
+"Never say it while the child's livin'! They 'm magical li'l twoads for
+givin' a doctor the lie. You 'm wisht an' weary along o' night
+watchings."
+
+"Us must faace it. Ban't no oncommon thing. Hope's dead in me these many
+days; an' dying now in Phoebe--dying cruel by inches. She caan't bring
+herself to say 'gude-by' to the li'l darling bwoy."
+
+"What mother could? What do Mrs. Blanchard the elder say?"
+
+"She plucks up 'bout it. She 'm awver hopeful."
+
+"Doan't say so! A very wise woman her."
+
+Phoebe entered at this moment, and Mr. Blee turned from where he was
+standing by his basket.
+
+"I be cheerin' your gude man up," he said.
+
+She sighed, and sat down wearily near Will.
+
+"I've brought 'e a chick for your awn eatin' an'--"
+
+Here a scuffle and snarling and spitting interrupted Billy. The hungry
+cat, finding a fowl almost under its nose, had leapt to the ground with
+it, and the dog observed the action. Might is right in hungry
+communities; Ship asserted himself, and almost before the visitor
+realised what had happened, poor Phoebe's chicken was gone.
+
+"Out on the blamed thieves!" cried Billy, astounded at such manners. He
+was going to strike the dog, but Will stopped him.
+
+"Let un bide," he said. "He didn't take it, an' since it weern't for
+Phoebe, better him had it than the cat. He works for his livin', she
+doan't."
+
+"Such gwaines-on 'mongst dumb beasts o' the field I never seen!"
+protested Billy; "an' chickens worth what they be this spring!"
+
+Presently conversation drifted into a channel that enabled the
+desperate, powerless man to use his brains and employ his muscles; while
+for the mother it furnished a fresh gleam of hope built upon faith.
+Billy it was who brought about this consummation. Led by Phoebe he
+ascended to the sick-room and bid Mrs. Blanchard "good-day." She sat
+with the insensible child on her lap by the fire, where a long-spouted
+kettle sent forth jets of steam.
+
+"This here jelly what I've brought would put life in a corpse I do
+b'lieve; an' them butivul grapes, tu,--they'll cool his fever to
+rights, I should judge."
+
+"He 'm past all that," said Phoebe.
+
+"Never!" cried the other woman. "He'm a bit easier to my thinkin'."
+
+"Let me take un then," said the mother. "You'm most blind for sleep."
+
+"Not a bit of it. I'll have forty winks later, after Doctor's been
+again."
+
+Will here entered, sat down by his mother, and stroked the child's
+little limp hand.
+
+"He ban't fightin' so hard, by the looks of it," he said.
+
+"No more he is. Come he sleep like this till dark, I lay he'll do
+braave."
+
+Nobody spoke for some minutes, then Billy, having pondered the point in
+silence, suddenly relieved his mind and attacked Will, to the
+astonishment of all present.
+
+"'Tis a black thought for you to knaw this trouble's of your awn wicked
+hatching, Farmer," he said abruptly; "though it ban't a very likely time
+to say so, perhaps. Yet theer's life still, so I speak."
+
+Will glared speechless; but Billy knew himself too puny and too
+venerable to fear rough handling. He regarded the angry man before him
+without fear, and explained his allusion.
+
+"You may glaze 'pon me, an' stick your savage eyes out your head; but
+that doan't alter truth. 'T 'as awnly a bit ago in the fall as I told un
+what would awvertake un," he continued, turning to the women. "He left
+the cross what Mr. Grimbal found upsy-down in the airth; he stood up
+afore the company an' damned the glory of all Christian men. Ess fay, he
+done that fearful thing, an' if 't weern't enough to turn the Lard's
+hand from un, what was? Snug an' vitty he weer afore that, so far as
+anybody knawed; an' since--why, troubles have tumbled 'pon each other's
+tails like apple-dranes out of a nest."
+
+The face of Phoebe was lighted with some eagerness, some deep anxiety,
+and not a little passion as she listened to this harangue.
+
+"You mean that gate-stone brought this upon us?" she asked.
+
+"No, no, never," declared Damaris; "'t is contrary to all reason."
+
+"'T is true, whether or no; an' any fule, let alone a man as knaws like
+I do, would tell 'e the same. 'T is common sense if you axes me. Your
+man was told 't was a blessed cross, an' he flouted the lot of us an'
+left it wheer 't was. 'T is a challenge, if you come to think of it, a
+scoffin' of the A'mighty to the very face of Un. I wouldn't stand it
+myself if I was Him."
+
+"Will, do 'e hear Mr. Blee?" asked Phoebe.
+
+"I hear un. 'T is tu late now, even if what he said was true, which it
+ban't."
+
+"Never tu late to do a gude deed," declared Billy; "an' you'll have to
+come to it, or you'll get the skin cussed off your back afore you 'm
+done with. Gormed if ever I seed sich a man as you! Theer be some gude
+points about 'e, as everything must have from God A'mighty's workshop,
+down to poisonous varmints. But certain sure am I that you don't ought
+to think twice 'pon this job."
+
+"Do 'e mean it might even make the differ'nee between life an' death to
+the bwoy?" asked Phoebe breathlessly.
+
+"I do. Just all that."
+
+"Will--for God's love, Will!"
+
+"What do 'e say, mother?"
+
+"It may be truth. Strange things fall out. Yet it never hurted my
+parents in the past."
+
+"For why?" asked Billy. "'Cause they didn't knaw 't was theer, so
+allowance was made by the Watching Eye. Now 't is differ'nt, an' His
+rage be waxing."
+
+"Your blessed God 's got no common sense, then--an' that's all I've got
+to say 'bout it. What would you have me do?"
+
+Will put the question to Mr. Blee, but his wife it was who answered,
+being now worked up to a pitch of frenzy at the delay.
+
+"Go! Dig--dig as you never digged afore! Dig the holy stone out the
+ground direckly minute! Now, now, Will, 'fore the life's out of his li'l
+flutterin' body. Lay bare the cross, an' drag un out for God in heaven
+to see! Doan't stand clackin' theer, when every moment's worth more'n
+gawld."
+
+"So like's not He'll forgive 'e if 'e do," argued Mr. Blee. "Allowed the
+Lard o' Hosts graws a bit short in His temper now an' again, as with
+them gormed Israelites, an' sich like, an' small blame to Him; but He's
+all for mercy at heart, 'cordin' to the opinion of these times, so you'd
+best to dig."
+
+"Why doan't he strike me down if I've angered Him--not this innocent
+cheel?"
+
+"The sins of the fathers be visited--" began Mr. Blee glibly, when Mrs.
+Blanchard interrupted.
+
+"Ban't the time to argue, Will. Do it, an' do it sharp, if't will add
+wan grain o' hope to the baaby's chance."
+
+The younger woman's sufferings rose to a frantic half-hushed scream at
+the protracted delay.
+
+"O Christ, why for do 'e hold back? Ban't anything worth tryin' for your
+awn son? I'd scratch the stone out wi' my raw, bleedin' finger-bones if
+I was a man. Do 'e want to send me mad? Do 'e want to make me hate the
+sight of 'e? Go--go for love of your mother, if not of me!"
+
+"An' I'll help," said Billy, "an' that chap messin' about in the yard
+can lend a hand likewise. I be a cracked vessel myself for strength, an'
+past heavy work, but my best is yours to call 'pon in this pass."
+
+Will turned and left the sick-room without more words, while Billy
+followed him.
+
+The farmer fetched two picks and a shovel, called Ted Chown and a minute
+later had struck the first blow towards restoration of his granite
+cross. All laboured with their utmost power, and Will, who had flung off
+his coat and waistcoat, bared his arms, tightened his belt, and did the
+work of two men. The manual labour sweetened his mind a little, and
+scoured it of some bitterness. While Mr. Blee, with many a grunt and
+groan, removed the soil as the others broke it away, Blanchard, during
+these moments of enforced idleness, looked hungrily at the little window
+of the upper chamber where all his hopes and interests were centred.
+Then he swung his pick again.
+
+Presently a ray of sunlight brightened Newtake, and contributed to
+soothe the toiling father. He read promise into it, and when three feet
+below the surface indications of cross-arms appeared upon the stone,
+Will felt still more heartened. Grimbal's prediction was now verified;
+and it remained only to prove Billy's prophecy also true. His tremendous
+physical exertions, the bright setting sunshine, and the discovery of
+the cross affected Will strangely. His mind swung round from frank
+irreligion, to a sort of superstitious credulity, awestricken yet
+joyful, that made him cling to the saving virtue of the stone. Because
+Martin had been right in his assertion concerning the gate-post,
+Blanchard felt a hazy conviction that Blee's estimate of the stone's
+virtue must also prove correct. He saw his wife at the window, and waved
+to her, and cried aloud that the cross was uncovered.
+
+"A poor thing in holy relics, sure 'nough," said Billy, wiping his
+forehead.
+
+"But a cross--a clear cross? Keep workin', Chown, will 'e? You still
+think 'twill serve, doan't 'e, Blee?"
+
+"No room for doubt, though woful out o' repair," answered Billy,
+occupied with the ancient monument. "Just the stumps o' the arms left,
+but more'n enough to swear by."
+
+All laboured on; then the stone suddenly subsided and fell in such a
+manner that with some sloping of one side of the excavated pit they were
+able to drag it out.
+
+"Something's talking to me as us have done the wan thing needful,"
+murmured Will, in a subdued voice, but with more light than the sunset
+on his face. "Something's hurting me bad that I said what I said in the
+chamber, an' thought what I thought. God's nigher than us might think,
+minding what small creatures we be. I hope He'll forgive them words."
+
+"He's a peacock for eyes, as be well knawn," declared Mr. Blee. "An'
+He've got His various manners an' customs o' handlin' the human race.
+Some He softens wi' gude things an' gude fortune till they be bound to
+turn to Him for sheer shame; others He breaks 'pon the rocks of His
+wrath till they falls on their knees an' squeals for forgiveness. I've
+seed it both ways scores o' times; an' if your little lad 's spared to
+'e, you'll be brought to the Lard by a easier way than you deserve,
+Blanchard."
+
+"I knaw, I knaw, Mr. Blee. He 'm surely gwaine to let us keep li'l
+Willy, an' win us to heaven for all time."
+
+The cross now lay at their feet, and Billy was about to return to the
+house and see how matters prospered, when Will bade him stay a little
+longer.
+
+"Not yet," he said.
+
+"What more's to do?"
+
+"I feel a kind o' message like to set it plumb-true under the sky. Us
+caan't lift it, but if I pull a plank or two out o' the pig's house an'
+put a harrow chain round 'em, we could get the cross on an' let a horse
+pull un up theer to the hill, and set un up. Then us would have done all
+man can."
+
+He pointed to the bosom of the adjacent hill, now glowing in great
+sunset light.
+
+"Starve me! but you 'm wise. Us'll set the thing up under the A'mighty's
+eye. 'Twill serve--mark my words. 'Twill turn the purpose of the Lard o'
+Hosts, or I'm no prophet."
+
+"'Tis in my head you 'm right. I be lifted up in a way I never was."
+
+"The Lard 's found 'e by the looks of it," said Billy critically,
+"either that, or you 'm light-headed for want of sleep. But truly I
+think He've called 'e. Now 't is for you to answer."
+
+They cleaned the cross with a bucket or two of water, then dragged it
+half-way up the hill, and, where a rabbit burrow lessened labour, raised
+their venerable monument under the afterglow.
+
+"It do look as if it had been part o' the view for all time," declared
+Ted Chown, as the party retreated a few paces; and, indeed, the stone
+rose harmoniously upon its new site, and might have stood an immemorial
+feature of the scene.
+
+Blanchard stayed not a moment when the work was done but strode to
+Newtake like a jubilant giant, while Mr. Blee and Chown, with the horse,
+tools, and rough sledge, followed more slowly.
+
+The father proceeded homewards at tremendous speed; a glorious hope
+filled his heart, sharing the same with sorrow and repentance. He
+mumbled shamefaced prayers as he went, speaking half to himself, half to
+Heaven. He rambled on from a petition for forgiveness into a broken
+thanksgiving for the mercy he already regarded as granted. His labours,
+the glamour of the present achievement, and the previous long strain
+upon his mind and body, united to smother reason for one feverish hour.
+Will walked blindly forward, now with his eyes upon the window under
+Newtake's dark roof below him, now turning to catch sight of the grey
+cross uplifted on the hill above. A great sweeping sea of change was
+tumbling through his intellect, and old convictions with scraps of
+assured wisdom suffered shipwreck in it. His mind was exalted before the
+certainty of unutterable blessing; his soul clung to the splendid
+assurance of a Personal God who had wrought actively upon his behalf,
+and received his belated atonement.
+
+Far behind, Mr. Blee was improving the occasion for benefit of young Ted
+Chown.
+
+"See how he do stride the hill wi' his head held high, same as Moses
+when he went down-long from the Mount. Look at un an' do likewise,
+Teddy; for theer goes a man as have grasped God! 'Tis a gert, gay day in
+human life when it comes."
+
+Will Blanchard hurried through the farm gate, where it swung idly with
+its sacred support gone forever; then he drew a great breath and glanced
+upwards before proceeding into the darkness of the unlighted house. As
+he did so wheels grated at the entrance, and he knew that Doctor Parsons
+must be just behind him. Above stairs the sick-room was still unlighted,
+the long-necked kettle still puffed steam, but the fire had shrunk, and
+Will's first word was a protest that it had been allowed to sink so low.
+Then he looked round, and the rainbow in his heart faded and died.
+Damaris sat like a stone woman by the window; Phoebe lay upon the bed
+and hugged a little body in a blanket. Her hair had fallen down; out of
+the great shadows he saw the white blur on her face, and heard her voice
+sound strange as she cried monotonously, in a tone from which the first
+passion had vanished through an hour of iteration.
+
+"O God, give un back to me; O God, spare un; O kind God, give my li'l
+bwoy back."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+GREY TWILIGHT
+
+
+In the soft earth they laid him, "the little child whose heart had
+fallen asleep," and from piling of a miniature mound, from a small brown
+tumulus, now quite hid under primroses, violets, and the white anemones
+of the woods, Will Blanchard and his mother slowly returned to Newtake.
+He wore his black coat; she was also dressed in black; the solitary
+mourning coach dragged slowly up the hill to the Moor, and elsewhere
+another like it conveyed Mr. Lyddon homeward.
+
+Neither mother nor son had any heart to speak. The man's soul was up in
+arms; he had rebelled against his life, and since the death of his boy,
+while Phoebe remained inert in her desolation and languished under a
+mental and bodily paralysis wherein she had starved to death but for
+those about her, he, on the contrary, found muscle and mind clamouring
+for heroic movement. He was feverishly busy upon the farm, and ranged in
+thought with a savage activity among the great concerns of men. His
+ill-regulated mind, smarting under the blows of Chance, whirled from
+that past transient wave of superstitious emotion into an opposite
+extreme. Now he was ashamed of his weakness, and suffered convictions
+proper to the narrowness of an immature intellect to overwhelm him. He
+assured himself that his tribulations were not compatible with the
+existence of a Supreme Being. Like poor humanity the wide world over,
+his judgment became vitiated, his views distorted under the stroke of
+personal sorrow, and, beneath the pressure of that gigantic egotism
+which ever palsies the mind of man at sudden loss of what he holds
+dearest upon earth, poor Blanchard cried in his heart there was no God.
+
+Here we are faced with a curious parallel, offered within the limits of
+this narrative. As the old labourer, Blee, had arrived at the same
+conclusion, then modified it and returned to a creed in the light of
+subsequent events, so now Will had found himself, on the evening of his
+child's funeral, with fresh interests aroused and recent convictions
+shaken. An incipient negation of Deity, built upon the trumpery basis of
+his personal misfortunes, was almost shattered within the week that saw
+its first existence. A mystery developed in his path, and startling
+incidents awoke a new train of credulity akin to that already manifested
+over the ancient cross. The man's uneven mind was tossed from one
+extreme of opinion to the other, and that element of superstition, from
+which no untutored intellect in the lap of Nature is free, now found
+fresh food and put forth a strong root within him.
+
+Returning home, Will approached Phoebe with a purpose to detail the sad,
+short scene in Chagford churchyard, but his voice rendered her
+hysterical, so he left her with his mother, put on his working clothes,
+and wandered out into the farmyard. Presently he found himself idly
+regarding a new gate-post: that which Martin Grimbal formerly brought
+and left hard by the farm. Ted Chown had occupied himself in erecting it
+during the morning.
+
+The spectacle reminded Will of another, and he lifted his eyes to the
+cross on the undulation spread before him. As he did so some object
+appeared to flutter out of sight not far above it, among the rocks and
+loose 'clatters' beneath the summit of the tor. This incident did not
+hold Will's mind, but, prompted to motion, restless, and in the power of
+dark thoughts, he wandered up the Moor, tramped through the heather, and
+unwittingly passed within a yard of the monument he had raised upon the
+hill. He stood a moment and looked at the cross, then cursed and spat
+upon it. The action spoke definitely of a mental chaos unexampled in one
+who, until that time, had never lacked abundant self-respect. His deed
+done, it struck Will Blanchard like a blow; he marvelled bitterly at
+himself, he knew such an act was pitiful, and remembered that the brain
+responsible for it was his own. Then he clenched his hands and turned
+away, and stood and stared out over the world.
+
+A wild, south-west wind blew, and fitful rain-storms sped separately
+across the waste. Over the horizon clouds massed darkly, and the
+wildernesses spread beneath them were of an inflamed purple. The seat of
+the sun was heavily obscured at this moment, and the highest
+illumination cast from sky to earth broke from the north. The effect
+thus imparted to the scene, though in reality no more than usual,
+affected the mind as unnatural, and even sinister in its operation of
+unwonted chiaro-oscuro. Presently the sullen clearness of the distance
+was swept and softened by a storm. Another, falling some miles nearer,
+became superimposed upon it. Immediately the darkness of the horizon
+lifted and light generally increased, though every outline of the hills
+themselves vanished under falling rain. The turmoil of the clouds
+proceeded, and after another squall had passed there followed an aerial
+battle amid towers and pinnacles and tottering precipices of sheer
+gloom. The centre of illumination wheeled swiftly round to the sun as
+the storm travelled north, then a few huge silver spokes of wan sunshine
+turned irregularly upon the stone-strewn desert.
+
+Will watched this elemental unrest, and it served to soothe that greater
+storm of sorrows and self-condemnation then raging within him. His
+nature found consolation here, the cool hand of the Mother touched his
+forehead as she passed in her robe of rain, and for the first time since
+childhood the man hid his face and wept.
+
+Presently he moved forward again, walked to the valleys and wandered
+towards southern Teign, unconsciously calmed by his own random movements
+and the river's song. Anon, he entered the lands of Metherill, and soon
+afterwards, without deliberate intention, moved through that Damnonian
+village which lies there. A moment later and he stood in the hut-circle
+where he himself had been born. Its double stone courses spread around
+him, hiding the burrows of the rabbits; and sprung from between two
+granite blocks, brave in spring verdure, with the rain twinkling in
+little nests of flower buds as yet invisible, there rose a hawthorn.
+Within the stones a ewe stood and suckled its young, but there was no
+other sign of life. Then Blanchard, sitting here to rest and turning his
+eyes whither he had come, again noticed some sudden movement, but,
+looking intently at the spot, he saw nothing and returned to his own
+thoughts. Sitting motionless Will retraced the brief course of his
+career through long hours of thought; and though his spirit bubbled to
+white heat more than once during the survey, yet subdued currents of
+sense wound amid his later reflections. Crushed for a moment under the
+heavy load of life and its lessons, he presented a picture familiar
+enough, desirable enough, necessary enough to all humanity, yet pathetic
+as exemplified in the young and unintelligent and hopeful. It was the
+picture of the dawn of patience--a patience sprung from no religious
+inspiration, but representing Will's tacit acknowledgment of defeat in
+his earlier battles with the world. The emotion did not banish his
+present rebellion against Fate and evil fortune undeserved; but it
+caused him to look upon life from a man's standpoint rather than a
+child's, and did him a priceless service by shaking to their foundations
+his self-confidence and self-esteem. Selfish at least he was not from a
+masculine standard, and now his thoughts returned to Phoebe in her
+misery, and he rose and retraced his steps with a purpose to comfort her
+if he could.
+
+The day began to draw in. Unshed rains massed on the high tors, but
+towards the west one great band of primrose sky rolled out above the
+vanished sun and lighted a million little amber lamps in the hanging
+crystals of the rain. They twinkled on thorns and briars, on the grass,
+the silver crosiers of uncurling ferns, and all the rusty-red young
+heather.
+
+Then it was that rising from his meditations and turning homeward, the
+man distinctly heard himself called from some distance. A voice repeated
+his name twice--in clear tones that might have belonged to a boy or a
+woman.
+
+"Will! Will!"
+
+Turning sharply upon a challenge thus ringing through absolute
+loneliness and silence, Blanchard endeavoured, without success, to
+ascertain from whence the summons came. He thought of his mother, then
+of his wife, yet neither was visible, and nobody appeared. Only the old
+time village spread about him with its hoary granite peering from under
+caps of heather and furze, ivy and upspringing thorn. And each stock and
+stone seemed listening with him for the repetition of a voice. The sheep
+had moved elsewhere, and he stood companionless in that theatre of
+vanished life. Trackways and circles wound grey around him, and the
+spring vegetation above which they rose all swam into one dim shade, yet
+moved with shadows under oncoming darkness. Attributing the voice to his
+own unsettled spirit, Blanchard proceeded upon his road to where the
+skeleton of a dead horse stared through the gloaming beside a quaking
+bog. Its bones were scattered by ravens, and Will used the bleached
+skull as a stepping stone. Presently he thought of the flame-tongues
+that here were wont to dance through warm summer nights. This memory
+recalled his own nickname in Chagford--"Jack-o'-Lantern"--and, for the
+first time in his life, he began to appreciate its significance. Then,
+being a hundred yards from his starting-place in the hut-circle, he
+heard the hidden voice again. Clear and low, it stole over the
+intervening wilderness, and between two utterances was an interval of
+some seconds.
+
+"Will! Will!"
+
+For one instant the crepitation of fear passed over Blanchard's scalp
+and skin. He made an involuntary stride away from the voice; then he
+shook himself free of all alarm, and, not desirous to lose more
+self-respect that day, turned resolutely and shouted back,--
+
+"I hear 'e. What's the business? I be comin' to 'e if you'll bide wheer
+you be."
+
+That some eyes were watching him out of the gathering darkness he did
+not doubt, and soon pushing back, he stood once more in the ruined
+citadel of old stones, mounted one, steadied himself by a young ash that
+rose beside it, and raised his voice again,--
+
+"Now, then! I be here. What's to do? Who's callin' me?"
+
+An answer came, but of a sort widely different from what he expected.
+There arose, within twenty yards of him, a sound that might have been
+the cry of a child or the scream of a trapped animal. Assuming it to be
+the latter, Will again hesitated. Often enough he had laughed at the
+folk-tales of witch hares as among the most fantastic fables of the old;
+yet at this present moment mystic legends won point from the
+circumstances in which he found himself. He hurried forward to the edge
+of a circle from which the sound proceeded. Then, looking before him, he
+started violently, sank to his knees behind a rock, and so remained,
+glaring into the ring of stones.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+In less than half an hour Blanchard, with his coat wrapped round some
+object that he carried, returned to Newtake and summoned assistance with
+a loud voice.
+
+Presently his wife and mother entered the kitchen, whereupon Will
+discovered his burden and revealed a young child. Phoebe fainted dead
+away at sight of it, and while her husband looked to her Mrs. Blanchard
+tended the baby, which was hungry but by no means alarmed. As for Will,
+his altered voice and most unusual excitement of manner indicated
+something of the shock he had received. Having described the voice which
+called him, he proceeded after this fashion to detail what followed:
+
+"I looked in the very hut-circle I was born, an' I shivered all over,
+for I thought 'twas the li'l ghost of our wee bwoy--by God, I did! It
+sat theer all alone, an' I stared an' froze while I stared. Then it
+hollered like a gude un, an' stretched out its arms, an' I seed 'twas
+livin' an' never thought how it comed theer. He 'in somethin' smaller
+than our purty darling, yet like him in a way, onless I'm forgetting."
+
+"'Tis like," said Damaris, dandling the child and making it happy. "'Tis
+a li'l bwoy, two year old or more, I should guess. It keeps crying 'Mam,
+mam,' for its mother. God forgive the woman."
+
+"A gypsy's baby, I reckon," said Phoebe languidly.
+
+"I doan't think it," answered her husband; "I'm most feared to guess
+what 'tis. Wan thing's sure; I was called loud an' clear or I'd never
+have turned back; an' yet, second time I was called, my flesh crept."
+
+"The little flannels an' frock be thick an' gude, but they doan't shaw
+nought."
+
+"The thing's most as easy to think a miracle as not. He looked up in my
+eyes as I brought un away, an' after he'd got used to me he was quiet as
+a mouse an' snuggled to me."
+
+"They'd have said 'twas a fairy changeling in my young days," mused Mrs.
+Blanchard, "but us knaws better now. 'Tis a li'l gypsy, I'll warn 'e,
+an' some wicked mother's dropped un under your nose to ease her
+conscience."
+
+"What will you do? Take un to the poorhouse?" asked Phoebe.
+
+"'Poorhouse'! Never! This be mine, tu. Mine! I was called to it, weern't
+I? By a human voice or another, God knaws. Theer's more to this than us
+can see."
+
+His women regarded him with blank amazement, and he showed considerable
+impatience tinder their eyes. It was clear he desired that they should
+dwell on no purely materialistic or natural explanation of the incident.
+
+"Baan't a gypsy baaby," he said; "'tis awnly the legs an' arms of un as
+be brown. His body's as white as curds, an' his hair's no darker than
+our awn Willy's was."
+
+"If it ban't a gypsy's, whose be it?" said Phoebe, turning to the infant
+for the first time.
+
+"Mine now," answered Will stoutly. "'Twas sent an' give into my awn hand
+by one what knawed who 'twas they called. My heart warmed to un as he
+lay in my arms, an' he'm mine hencefarrard."
+
+"What do 'e say, Phoebe?" asked Mrs. Blanchard, somewhat apprehensively.
+She knew full well how any such project must have struck her if placed
+in the bereaved mother's position. Phoebe, however, made no immediate
+answer. Her sorrowful eyes were fixed on the child, now sitting happily
+on the elder woman's lap.
+
+"A nice li'l thing, wi' a wunnerful curly head--eh, Phoebe? Seems more
+'n chance to me, comin' as it have on this night-black day. An' like our
+li'l angel, tu, in a way?" asked Will.
+
+"Like him--in a way, but more like you," she answered; "more like you
+than your awn was--terrible straange that--the living daps o' Will!
+Ban't it?"
+
+Damaris regarded her son and then the child.
+
+"He be like--very," she admitted. "I see him strong. An' to think he
+found the bwoy 'pon that identical spot wheer he fust drawed breath
+himself!"
+
+"'Tis a thing of hidden meaning," declared Will. "An' he looked at me
+kindly fust he seed me; 'twas awnly hunger made un shout--not no fear o'
+me. My heart warmed to un as I told 'e. An' to come this day!"
+
+Phoebe had taken the child, and was looking over its body in a
+half-dazed fashion for the baby marks she knew. Silently she completed
+the survey, but there was neither caress in her fingers nor softness in
+her eyes. Presently she put the child back on Mrs. Blanchard's lap and
+spoke, still regarding it with a sort of dull, almost vindictive
+astonishment.
+
+"Terrible coorious! Ban't no child as ever I seed or heard tell of; an'
+nothin' of my dead lamb 'bout it, now I scans closer. But so like to
+Will! God! I can see un lookin' out o' its baaby eyes!"
+
+
+
+
+BOOK IV
+
+HIS SECRET
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+A WANDERER RETURNS
+
+
+Ripe hay swelled in many a silver-russet billow, all brightened by the
+warm red of sorrel under sunshine. When the wind blew, ripples raced
+over the bending grasses, and from their midst shone out mauve scabious
+and flashed occasional poppies. The hot July air trembled agleam with
+shining insects, and drowsily over the hayfield, punctuated by
+stridulation of innumerable grasshoppers, there throbbed one sustained
+murmur, like the remote and mellow music of wood and strings. A lark
+still sang, and the swallows, whose full-fledged young thrust open beaks
+from the nests under Newtake eaves, skimmed and twittered above the
+grass lands, or sometimes dipped a purple wing in the still water where
+the irises grew.
+
+Blanchard and young Ted Chown had set about their annual labour of
+saving the hay, and now a rhythmic breathing of two scythes and merry
+clink of whetstones against steel sounded afar on the sleepy summer air.
+The familiar music came to Phoebe's ear where she sat at an open kitchen
+window of Newtake. Her custom was at times of hay harvest to assist in
+the drying of the grass, and few women handled a fork better; but there
+had recently reached the farm an infant girl, and the mother had plenty
+to do without seeking beyond her cradle.
+
+Phoebe made no demur about receiving Will's little foundling of the
+hut-circle. His heart's desire was usually her amibition also, and
+though Timothy, as the child had been called, could boast no mother's
+love, yet Phoebe proved a kind nurse, and only abated her attention upon
+the arrival of her own daughter. Then, as time softened the little mound
+in Chagford churchyard with young green, so before another baby did the
+mother's bereavement soften, sink deeper into memory, revive at longer
+intervals to conjure tears. Her character, as has been indicated,
+admitted of no supreme sustained sorrow. Suffer she did, and fiery was
+her agony; but another child brought occupation and new love; while her
+husband, after the first sentimental outburst of affection over the
+infant he had found at Metherill, settled into an enduring regard for
+him, associated him, by some mental process impossible of explanation,
+with his own lost one, and took an interest, blended of many curious
+emotions, in the child.
+
+Drying hay soon filled the air with a pleasant savour, and stretched out
+grey-green ribbons along the emerald of the shorn meadows. Chown
+snuffled and sweated and sneezed, for the pollen always gave him hay
+fever; his master daily worked like a giant from dawn till the
+owl-light, drank gallons of cider, and performed wonders with the
+scythe. A great hay crop gladdened the moormen, and Will, always
+intoxicated by a little fair fortune, talked much of his husbandry,
+already calculated the value of the aftermath, and reckoned what number
+of beasts he might feed next winter.
+
+"'Most looks as if I'd got a special gift wi' hay," he said to his
+mother on one occasion. She had let her cottage to holiday folk, and was
+spending a month on the Moor.
+
+Mrs. Blanchard surveyed the scene from under her sunbonnet and nodded.
+
+"Spare no trouble, no trouble, an' have it stacked come Saturday.
+Theer'll be thunder an' gert rains after this heat. Be the rushes ready
+for thatchin' of it?"
+
+"Not yet; but that's not to say I've forgot."
+
+"I'll cut some for 'e myself come the cool of the evenin'. An' you can
+send Ted with the cart to gather 'em up."
+
+"No, no, mother. I'll make time to-morrow."
+
+"'Twill be gude to me, an' like auld days, when I was a li'l maid. You
+sharp the sickle an' fetch the skeiner out, tu, for I was a quick hand
+at bindin' ropes o' rushes, an' have made many a yard of 'em in my
+time."
+
+Then she withdrew from the tremendous sunshine, and Will, now handling a
+rake, proceeded with his task.
+
+Two days later a rick began to rise majestically at the corner of
+Blanchard's largest field, while round about it was gathered the human
+life of the farm. Phoebe, with her baby, sat on an old sheepskin rug in
+the shadow of the growing pile; little Tim rollicked unheeded with Ship
+in the sweet grass, and clamoured from time to time for milk from a
+glass bottle; Will stood up aloft and received the hay from Chown's
+fork, while Mrs. Blanchard, busy with the "skeiner" stuck into the side
+of the rick, wound stout ropes of rushes for the thatching.
+
+Then it was that Will, glancing out upon the Moor, observed a string of
+gypsy folk making slow progress towards Chagford. Among the various
+Romany cavalcades which thus passed Newtake in summer time this appeared
+not the least strange. Two ordinary caravans headed the procession. A
+man conducted each, a naked-footed child or two trotted beside them, and
+an elder boy led along three goats. The travelling homes were encumbered
+with osier-and cane-work, and following them came a little broken-down,
+open vehicle. This was drawn by two donkeys, harnessed tandem-fashion,
+and the chariot had been painted bright blue. A woman drove the concern,
+and in it appeared a knife-grinding machine and a basket of cackling
+poultry, while some tent-poles stuck out behind. Will laughed at this
+spectacle, and called his wife's attention to it, whereon Phoebe and
+Damaris went as far as the gate of the hayfield to win a nearer view.
+The gypsies, however, had already passed, but Mrs. Blanchard found time
+to observe the sky-blue carriage and shake her head at it.
+
+"What gwaines-on! Theer's no master minds 'mongst them people nowadays,"
+she said. "Your faither wouldn't have let his folk make a show of
+themselves like that."
+
+"They 'm mostly chicken stealers nowadays," declared Will; "an' so surly
+as dogs if you tell 'em to go 'bout theer business."
+
+"Not to none o' your name--never," declared his mother. "No gypsy's
+gwaine to forget my husband in his son's time. Many gude qualities have
+they got, chiefly along o' living so much in the awpen air."
+
+"An' gude appetites for the same cause! Go after Tim, wan of 'e. He've
+trotted down the road half a mile, an' be runnin' arter that blue
+concern as if't was a circus. Theer! Blamed if that damned gal in the
+thing ban't stoppin' to let un catch up! Now he'm feared, an' have
+turned tail an' be coming back. 'Tis all right; Ship be wi' un."
+
+Presently the greater of Will's two ricks approached completion, and all
+the business of thatch and spar gads and rush ropes began. At his
+mother's desire he wasted no time, and toiled on, long after his party
+had returned to Newtake; but with the dusk he made an end for that day,
+stood up, rested his back, and scanned the darkening scene before
+descending.
+
+At eveningtide there had spread over the jagged western outlines of the
+Moor an orange-tawny sunset, whereon the solid masses of the hills burnt
+into hazy gold, all fairy-bright, unreal, unsubstantial as a
+cloud-island above them, whose solitary and striated shore shone purple
+through molten fire.
+
+Detail vanished from the Moor; dim and dimensionless it spread to the
+transparent splendour of the horizon, and its eternal attributes of
+great vastness, great loneliness, great silence reigned together
+unfretted by particulars. Gathering gloom diminished the wide glory of
+the sky, and slowly robbed the pageant of its colour. Then rose each
+hill and undulation in a different shade of night, and every altitude
+mingled into the outlines of its neighbour. Nocturnal mists, taking grey
+substance against the darkness of the lower lands, wound along the
+rivers, and defined the depths and ridges of the valleys. Moving waters,
+laden with a last waning gleam, glided from beneath these vapoury
+exhalations, and even trifling rivulets, now invisible save for chance
+splashes of light, lacked not mystery as they moved from darkness into
+darkness with a song. Stars twinkled above the dewy sleep of the earth,
+and there brooded over all things a prodigious peace, broken only by
+batrachian croakings from afar.
+
+These phenomena Will Blanchard observed; then yellow candle fires
+twinkled from the dark mass of the farmhouse, and he descended in
+splendid weariness and strode to supper and to bed.
+
+Yet not much sleep awaited the farmer, for soon after midnight a gentle
+patter of small stones at his window awakened him. Leaping from his bed
+and looking into the darkness he saw a vague figure that raised its hand
+and beckoned without words. Fear for the hay was Will's first emotion,
+but no indication of trouble appeared. Once he spoke, and as he did so
+the figure beckoned again, then approached the door. Blanchard went down
+to find a woman waiting for him, and her first whispered word made him
+start violently and drop the candle and matches that he carried. His
+ears were opened and he knew Chris without seeing her face.
+
+"I be come back--back home-along, brother Will," she said, very quietly.
+"I looked for mother to home, but found she weern't theer. An' I be
+sorry to the heart for all the sorrow I've brought 'e both. But it had
+to be. Strange thoughts an' voices was in me when Clem went, an' I had
+to hide myself or drown myself--so I went."
+
+"God's gudeness! Lucky I be made o' strong stuff, else I might have
+thought 'e a ghost an' no less. Come in out the night, an' I'll light a
+candle. But speak soft. Us must break this very gentle to mother."
+
+"Say you'll forgive me, will 'e? Can 'e do it? If you knawed half you'd
+say 'yes.' I'm grawed a auld, cold-hearted woman, wi' a grey hair here
+an' theer a'ready."
+
+"So've I got wan an' another, tu, along o' worse sorrow than yours.
+Leastways as bad as yourn. Forgive 'e? A thousand times, an' thank
+Heaven you'm livin'! Wheer ever have 'e bided? An' me an' Grimbal
+searched the South Hams, an' North, tu, inside out for 'e, an' he put
+notices in the papers--dozens of 'em."
+
+"Along with the gypsy folk for more 'n three year now. 'Twas the movin'
+an' rovin', and the opening my eyes on new things that saved me from
+gwaine daft. Sometimes us coined through Chagford, an' then I'd shut my
+eyes tight an' lie in the van, so's not to see the things his eyes had
+seen--so's not to knaw when us passed the cottage he lived in. But now
+I've got to feel I could come back again."
+
+"You might have writ to say how you was faring."
+
+"I didn't dare. You'd bin sure to find me, an' I didn't want 'e to then.
+'Tis awver an' done, an' 'twas for the best."
+
+"You'm a woman, an' can say them silly words, an' think 'em true in your
+heart, I s'pose. 'For the best!' I caan't see much that happens for the
+best under my eyes. Will 'e have bite or sup?"
+
+"No, nothin'. You get back to your bed. Us'll talk in the marnin'. I'll
+bide here. You an' Phoebe be well, an'--an' dear mother?"
+
+"We'm well. You doan't ax me after the fust cheel Phoebe had."
+
+"I knaw. I put some violets theer that very night. We were camped just
+above Chagford, not far from here."
+
+"Theer's a li'l gal now, an' a bwoy as I'll tell'e about bimebye. A
+sheer miracle't was that falled out the identical day I buried my Willy.
+No natural fashion of words can explain it. But that'll keep. Now let me
+look at'e. Fuller in the body seemin'ly, an' gypsy-brown, by God! So
+brown as me, every bit. Well, well, I caan't say nothin'. I'm carried
+off my legs wi' wonder, an' joy, tu, for that matter. Next to Phoebe an'
+mother I allus loved 'e best. Gimme a kiss. What a woman, to be sure!
+Like a thief in the night you went; same way you've comed back. Why
+couldn't 'e wait till marnin'?"
+
+"The childer--they grawed to love me that dear--also the men an' women.
+They've been gude to me beyond power o' words for faither's sake. They
+knawed I was gwaine, an' I left 'em asleep. 'T was how they found me
+when I runned away. I falled asleep from weariness on the Moor, an' they
+woke me, an' I thrawed in my lot with them from the day I left that
+pencil-written word for 'e on the window-ledge."
+
+"Me bein' in the valley lookin' for your drowned body the while! Women
+'mazes me more the wiser I graw. Come this way, to the linhay. There's a
+sweet bed o' dry fern in the loft, and you must keep out o' sight till
+mother's told cunning. I'll hit upon a way to break it to her so soon as
+she's rose. An' if I caan't, Phoebe will. Come along quiet. An' I be
+gwaine to lock 'e in, Chris, if't is all the same to you. For why?
+Because you might fancy the van folks was callin' to 'e, an' grow hungry
+for the rovin' life again."
+
+She made no objection, and asked one more question as they went to the
+building.
+
+"How be Mrs. Hicks, my Clem's mother?"
+
+"Alive; that's all. A poor auld bed-lier now; just fading away quiet.
+But weak in the head as a baaby. Mother sees her now an' again. She
+never talks of nothin' but snuff. 'T is the awnly brightness in her
+life. She's forgot everythin' 'bout the past, an' if you went to see
+her, she'd hold out her hand an' say, 'Got a little bit o' snuff for a
+auld body, dearie? 'an' that's all."
+
+They talked a little longer, while Will shook down a cool bed of dry
+fern--not ill-suited to the sultry night; then Chris kissed him again,
+and he locked her in and returned to Phoebe.
+
+Though the wanderer presently slept peacefully enough, there was little
+more repose that night for her brother or his wife. Phoebe herself
+became much affected by the tremendous news. Then they talked into the
+early dawn before any promising mode of presenting Chris to her mother
+occurred to them. At breakfast Will followed a suggestion of Phoebe's,
+and sensibly lessened the shock of his announcement.
+
+"A 'mazin' wonnerful dream I had last night," he began abruptly. "I
+thought I was roused long arter midnight by a gert knocking, an' I went
+down house an' found a woman at the door. 'Who be you?' I sez. 'Why, I
+be Chris, brother Will,' she speaks back, 'Chris, come home-along to
+mother an' you.' Then I seed it was her sure enough, an' she telled me
+all about herself, an' how she'd dwelt wi' gypsy people. Natural as life
+it weer, I assure 'e."
+
+This parable moved Mrs. Blanchard more strongly than Will expected. She
+dropped her piece of bread and dripping, grew pale, and regarded her son
+with frightened eyes. Then she spoke.
+
+"Tell me true, Will; don't 'e play with a mother 'bout a life-an'-death
+thing like her cheel. I heard voices in the night, an' thought 't was a
+dream--but--oh, bwoy, not Chris, not our awn Chris!--'t would 'most kill
+me for pure joy, I reckon."
+
+"Listen to me, mother, an' eat your food. Us won't have no waste here,
+as you knaw very well. I haven't tawld 'e the end of the story. Chris,
+'pearin' to be back again, I thinks, 'this will give mother
+palpitations, though 't is quite a usual thing for a darter to come back
+to her mother,' so I takes her away to the linhay for the night an'
+locks her in; an' if 't was true, she might be theer now, an' if it weer
+n't--"
+
+Damaris rose, and held the table as she did so, for her knees were weak
+under her.
+
+"I be strong--strong to meet my awn darter. Gimme the key, quick--the
+key, Will--do 'e hear me, child?"
+
+"I'll come along with 'e."
+
+"No, I say. What! Ban't I a young woman still? 'T was awnly essterday
+Chris corned in the world. You just bide with Phoebe, an' do what I tell
+'e."
+
+Will handed over the key at this order, and Mrs. Blanchard, grasping it
+without a word, passed unsteadily across the farmyard. She fumbled at
+the lock, and dropped the key once, but picked it up quickly before Will
+could reach her, then she unfastened the door and entered.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+HOPE RENEWED
+
+
+Jon Grimbal's desires toward Blanchard lay dormant, and the usual
+interests of life filled his mind. The attitude he now assumed was one
+of sustained patience and observation; and it may best be described in
+words of his own employment.
+
+Visiting Drewsteignton, about a month after the return of Chris
+Blanchard to her own, the man determined to extend his ride and return
+by devious ways. He passed, therefore, where the unique Devonian
+cromlech stands hard by Bradmere pool. A lane separates this granite
+antiquity from the lake below, and as John Grimbal rode between them,
+his head high enough to look over the hedge, he observed a ladder raised
+against the Spinsters' Rock, as the cromlech is called, and a man with a
+tape-measure sitting on the cover stone.
+
+It was the industrious Martin, home once again. After his difference
+with Blanchard, the antiquary left Devon for another tour in connection
+with his work, and had devoted the past six months to study of
+prehistoric remains in Guernsey, Herm, and other of the Channel Islands.
+
+Before departing, he had finally regained his brother's friendship,
+though the close fraternal amity of the past appeared unlikely to return
+between them. Now John recognised Martin, and his first impulse produced
+pleasure, while his second was one of irritation. He felt glad to see
+his brother; he experienced annoyance that Martin should thus return to
+Chagford and not call immediately at the Red House.
+
+"Hullo! Home again! I suppose you forgot you had a brother?"
+
+"John, by all that's surprising! Forget? Was it probable? Have I so many
+flesh-and-blood friends to remember? I arrived yesterday and called on
+you this morning, only to find you were at Drewsteignton; so I came to
+verify some figures at the cromlech, hoping we might meet the sooner."
+
+He was beside his brother by this time, and they shook hands over the
+hedge.
+
+"I'll leave the ladder and walk by you and have a chat."
+
+"It's too hot to ride at a walk. Come you here to Bradmere Pool. We can
+lie down in the shade by the water, and I'll tether my horse for half an
+hour."
+
+Five minutes later the brothers sat under the shadow of oaks and beeches
+at the edge of a little tarn set in fine foliage.
+
+"Pleasant to see you," said Martin. "And looking younger I do think.
+It's the open air. I'll wager you don't get slimmer in the waist-belt
+though."
+
+"Yes, I'm all right."
+
+"What's the main interest of life for you now?"
+
+John reflected before answering.
+
+"Not quite sure. Depends on my mood. Just been buying a greyhound bitch
+at Drewsteignton. I'm going coursing presently. A kennel will amuse me.
+I spend most of my time with dogs. They never change. I turn to them
+naturally. But they overrate humanity."
+
+"Our interests are so different. Yet both belong to the fresh air and
+the wild places remote from towns. My book is nearly finished. I shall
+publish it in a year's time, or even less."
+
+"Have you come back to stop?"
+
+"Yes, for good and all now."
+
+"You have found no wife in your wanderings?"
+
+"No, John. I shall never marry. That was a dark spot in my life, as it
+was in yours. We both broke our shins over that."
+
+"I broke nothing--but another man's bones."
+
+He was silent for a moment, then proceeded abruptly on this theme.
+
+"The old feeling is pretty well dead though. I look on and watch the man
+ruining himself; I see his wife getting hard-faced and thin, and I
+wonder what magic was in her, and am quite content. I wouldn't kick him
+a yard quicker to the devil if I could. I watch him drift there."
+
+"Don't talk like that, dear old chap. You're not the man you pretend to
+be, and pretend to think yourself. Don't sour your nature so. Let the
+past lie and go into the world and end this lonely existence."
+
+"Why don't you?"
+
+"The circumstances are different. I am not a man for a wife. You are, if
+ever there was one."
+
+"I had him within a hair's-breadth once," resumed the other
+inconsequently. "Blanchard, I mean. There 's a secret against him. You
+didn't know that, but there is. Some black devilry for all I can tell.
+But I missed it. Perhaps if I knew it would quicken up my spirit and
+remind me of all the brute made me endure."
+
+"Yet you say the old feeling is dead!"
+
+"So it is--starved. Hicks knew. He broke his neck an hour too soon. It
+was like a dream of a magnificent banquet I had some time ago. I woke
+with my mouth watering, just as the food was uncovered, and I felt so
+damned savage at being done out of the grub that I got up and went
+down-stairs and had half a pint of champagne and half a cold roast
+partridge! I watch Blanchard go down the hill--that's all. If this
+knowledge had come to me when I was boiling, I should have used it to
+his utmost harm, of course. Now I sometimes doubt, even if I could hang
+the man, whether I should take the trouble to do it."
+
+"Get away from him and all thought of him."
+
+"I do. He never crosses my mind unless he crosses my eyes. I ride past
+Newtake occasionally, and see him sweating and slaving and fighting the
+Moor. Then I laugh, as you laugh at a child building sand castles
+against an oncoming tide. Poor fool!"
+
+"If you pity, you might find it in your heart to forgive."
+
+"My attitude is assured. We will call it one of mere indifference. You
+made up that row over the gate-post when his first child died, didn't
+you?"
+
+"Yes, yes. We shall be friendly--we must be, if only for the sake of the
+memory of Chris. You and I are frank to-day. But you saw long ago what I
+tried to hide, so it is no news to you. You will understand. When Hicks
+died I thought perhaps after years--but that's over now. She 's gone."
+
+"Didn't you know? She 's back again."
+
+"Back! Good God!"
+
+John laughed at his brother's profound agitation.
+
+"Like as not you'd see her if you went over Rushford Bridge. She 's back
+with her mother. Queer devils, all of them; but I suppose you can have
+her for the asking now if you couldn't before. Damnably like her
+brother she is. She passed me two days ago, and looked at me as if I was
+transparent, or a mere shadow hiding something else."
+
+A rush of feeling overwhelmed Martin before this tremendous news. He
+could not trust himself to speak. Then a great hope wrestled with him
+and conquered. In his own exaltation he desired to see all whom he loved
+equally lifted up towards happiness.
+
+"I wish to Heaven you would open your eyes and raise them from your dogs
+and find a wife, John."
+
+"Ah! We all want the world to be a pretty fairy tale for our friends.
+You scent your own luck ahead, and wish me to be lucky too. I ought to
+thank you for that; but, instead, I'll give you some advice. Don't
+bother yourself with the welfare of others; to do that is to ruin your
+own peace of mind and court more trouble than your share. Every
+big-hearted man is infernally miserable--he can't help it. The only
+philosopher's stone is a stone heart; that is what the world 's taught
+me."
+
+"Never! You're echoing somebody else, not yourself, I'll swear. I know
+you better. We must see much of each other in the future. I shall buy a
+little trap that I may drive often to the Red House. And I should like
+to dedicate my book to you, if you would take it as a compliment."
+
+"No, no; give it to somebody who may be able to serve you. I'm a fool in
+such things and know no more about the old stones than the foxes and
+rabbits that burrow among them. Come, I must get home. I'm glad you have
+returned, though I hated you when you supported them against me; but
+then love of family 's a mere ghost against love of women. Besides, how
+seldom it is that a man's best friend is one of his own blood."
+
+They rose and departed. John trotted away through Sandypark, having
+first made Martin promise to sup with him that night, and the pedestrian
+proceeded by the nearest road to Rushford Bridge.
+
+Chris he did not see, but it happened that Mr. Lyddon met him just
+outside Monks Barton, and though Martin desired no such thing at the
+time, nothing would please the miller but that his friend should return
+to the farm for some conversation.
+
+"Home again, an' come to glasses, tu! Well, they clear the sight, an' we
+must all wear 'em sooner or late. 'T is a longful time since I seed 'e,
+to be sure."
+
+"All well, I hope?"
+
+"Nothing to grumble at. Billy an' me go down the hill as gradual an'
+easy as any man 's a right to expect. But he's gettin' so bald as a
+coot; an' now the shape of his head comes to be knawed, theer 's
+wonnerful bumps 'pon it. Then your brother's all for sport an' war. A
+Justice of the Peace they've made un, tu. He's got his volunteer chaps
+to a smart pitch, theer's no gainsaying. A gert man for wild diversions
+he is. Gwaine coursin' wi' long-dogs come winter, they tell me."
+
+"And how are Phoebe and her husband?"
+
+"A little under the weather just now; but I'm watchin' 'em unbeknawnst.
+Theer's a glimmer of hope in the dark if you'll believe it, for Will
+ackshally comed to me esster-night to ax my advice--_my_ advice--on a
+matter of stock! What do 'e think of that?"
+
+"He was fighting a losing battle in a manly sort of way it seemed to me
+when last I saw him."
+
+"So he was, and is. I give him eighteen month or thereabout--then'll
+come the end of it."
+
+"The 'end'! What end? You won't let them starve? Your daughter and the
+little children?"
+
+"You mind your awn business, Martin," said Mr. Lyddon, with nods and
+winks. "No, they ban't gwaine to starve, but my readin' of Will's
+carater has got to be worked out. Tribulation's what he needs to sweeten
+him, same as winter sweetens sloes; an' 't is tribulation I mean him to
+have. If Phoebe's self caan't change me or hurry me 't is odds you
+won't. Theer's a darter for 'e! My Phoebe. She'll often put in a whole
+week along o' me still. You mind this: if it's grawn true an' thrawn
+true from the plantin', a darter's love for a faither lasts longer 'n
+any mortal love at all as I can hear tell of. It don't wear out wi'
+marriage, neither, as I've found, thank God. Phoebe rises above auld age
+and the ugliness an' weakness an' bad temper of auld age. Even a poor,
+doddering ancient such as I shall be in a few years won't weary her;
+she'll look back'ards with butivul clear eyes, an' won't forget. She'll
+see--not awnly a cracked, shrivelled auld man grizzling an' grumbling in
+the chimbley corner, but what the man was wance--a faither, strong an'
+lusty, as dandled her, an' worked for, an' loved her with all his heart
+in the days of his bygone manhood. Ess, my Phoebe's all that; an' she
+comes here wi' the child; an' it pleases me, for rightly onderstood,
+childern be a gert keeper-off of age."
+
+"I'm sure she's a good daughter to you, Miller. And Will?"
+
+"Doan't you fret. We've worked it out in our minds--me an' Billy; an' if
+two auld blids like us can't hatch a bit o' wisdom, what brains is worth
+anything? We'm gwaine to purify the awdacious young chap 'so as by
+fire,' in holy phrase."
+
+"You're dealing with a curious temperament."
+
+"I'm dealing with a damned fule," said Mr. Lyddon frankly; "but theer's
+fules an' fules, an' this partickler wan's grawed dear to me in some
+ways despite myself. 'T is Phoebe's done it at bottom I s'pose. The
+man's so full o' life an' hope. Enough energy in un for ten men; an'
+enough folly for twenty. Yet he've a gude heart an' never lied in's life
+to my knawledge."
+
+"That's to give him praise, and high praise. How's his sister? I hear
+she's returned after all."
+
+"Ess--naughty twoad of a gal--runned arter the gypsies! But she'm
+sobered now. Funny to think her mother, as seemed like a woman robbed of
+her right hand when Chris went, an' beginned to graw into the sere
+onusual quick for a widow, took new life as soon as her gal comed back.
+Just shaws what strength lies in a darter, as I tell 'e."
+
+The old man's garrulity gained upon him, and though Martin much desired
+to be gone, he had not the heart to hasten.
+
+"A darter's the thing an'--but't is a secret yet--awnly you'll see what
+you'll see. Coourse Billy's very well for gathered wisdom and high
+conversation 'bout the world to come; but he ban't like a woman round
+the house, an' for all his ripe larnin' he'll strike fire
+sometimes--mostly when I gives him a bad beating at 'Oaks' of a evenin'.
+Then he'm so acid as auld rhubarb, an' dots off to his bed wi'out a
+'gude-night.'"
+
+For another ten minutes Mr. Lyddon chattered, but at the end of that
+time Martin escaped and proceeded homewards. His head throbbed and his
+mind was much excited by the intelligence of the day. The yellow
+stubbles, the green meadows, the ploughed lands similarly spun before
+him and whirled up to meet the sky. As he re-entered the village a
+butcher's cart nearly knocked him down. Hope rose in a glorious new
+sunrise--the hope that he had believed was set for ever. Then, passing
+that former home of Clement Hicks and his mother, did Grimbal feel great
+fear and misgiving. The recollection of Chris and her love for the dead
+man chilled him. He remembered his own love for Chris when he thought
+she must be dead. He told himself that he must hope nothing; he repeated
+to himself how fulfilment of his desire, now revived after long sleep,
+might still be as remote as when Chris Blanchard said him nay in the
+spring wastes under Newtake five years and more ago. His head dinned
+this upon his heart; but his heart would not believe and responded with
+a sanguine song of great promise.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+ANSWERED
+
+
+At a spot in the woods some distance below Newtake, Martin Grimbal sat
+and waited, knowing she whom he sought must pass that way. He had called
+at the farm and been welcomed by Phoebe. Will was on the peat beds, and,
+asking after Chris, he learnt that she had gone into the valley to pick
+blackberries and dewberries, where they already began to ripen in the
+coombs.
+
+Under aisles of woodland shadows he sat, where the river murmured down
+mossy stairs of granite in a deep dingle. Above him, the varying foliage
+of oak and ash and silver birch was already touched with autumn, and
+trembled into golden points where bosses of pristine granite, crowned
+with the rowan's scarlet harvest, arose above their luxuriance. The
+mellow splendour of these forests extended to the river's brink, along
+which towered noble masses of giant osmunda, capped by seed spears of
+tawny red. Here and there gilded lances splashed into the stream or
+dotted its still pools with scattered sequins of sunshine, where light
+winnowed through the dome of the leaves; and at one spot, on a wrinkled
+root that wound crookedly from the alder into the river, there glimmered
+a halcyon, like an opal on a miser's bony finger. From above the
+tree-tops there sounded cynic bird-laughter, and gazing upwards Martin
+saw a magpie flaunt his black and white plumage across the valley; while
+at hand the more musical merriment of a woodpecker answered him.
+
+Then a little child's laugh came to his ear, rippling along with the
+note of the babbling water, and one moment later a small, sturdy boy
+appeared. A woman accompanied him. She had slipped a foot into the
+river, and thus awakened the amusement of her companion.
+
+Chris steadied herself after the mishap, balanced her basket more
+carefully, then stooped down to pick some of the berries that had
+scattered from it on the bank. When she rose a man with a brown face and
+soft grey eyes gleaming through gold-rimmed spectacles appeared
+immediately before.
+
+"Thank God I see you alive again. Thank God!" he said with intense
+feeling, as he took her hand and shook it warmly. "The best news that
+ever made my heart glad, Chris."
+
+She welcomed him, and he, looking into her eyes, saw new knowledge
+there, a shadow of sobriety, less of the old dance and sparkle. But he
+remembered the little tremulous updrawing of her lip when a smile was
+born, and her voice rang fuller and sweeter than any music he had ever
+heard since last she spoke to him. A smile of welcome she gave him,
+indeed, and a pressure of his hand that sent magic messages with it to
+the very core of him. He felt his blood leap and over his glasses came a
+dimness.
+
+"I was gwaine to write first moment I heard 'e was home. An' I wish I
+had, for I caan't tell 'e what I feel. To think of 'e searchin' the wide
+world for such a good-for-nought! I thank you for your generous
+gudeness, Martin. I'll never forget it--never. But I wasn't worth no
+such care."
+
+"Not worth it! It proved the greatest, bitterest grief of all my
+life--but one--that I couldn't find you. We grew by cruel stages to
+think--to think you were dead. The agony of that for us! But, thank God,
+it was not so. All at least is well with you now?"
+
+"All ban't never well with men an' women. But I'm more fortunate than I
+deserve to be, and can make myself of use. I've lived a score of years
+since we met. An I've comed back to find't is a difficult world for
+those I love best, unfortunately."
+
+Thus, in somewhat disjointed fashion, Chris made answer.
+
+"Sit a while and speak to me," replied Martin. "The laddie can play
+about. Look at him marching along with that great branch of king fern
+over his shoulder!"
+
+"'T is an elfin cheel some ways. Wonnerful eyes he've got. They burn me
+if I look at'em close," said Chris. She regarded Timothy without
+sentiment and her eyes were bright and hard.
+
+"I hope he will turn out well. Will spoke of him the other day. He is
+very fond of the child. It is singularly like him, too--a sort of little
+pocket edition of him."
+
+"So I've heard others say. Caan't see it at all myself. Look at the eyes
+of un."
+
+"Will believes the boy has got very unusual intelligence and may go
+far."
+
+"May go so far as the workhouse," she answered, with a laugh. Then,
+observing that her reply pained Martin, Chris snatched up small Tim as
+he passed by and pressed him to her breast and kissed him.
+
+"You like him better than you think, Chris--poor little motherless
+thing."
+
+"Perhaps I do. I wonder if his mother ever looks hungry towards Newtake
+when she passes by?"
+
+"Perhaps others took him and told the mother that he was dead."
+
+"She's dead herself more like. Else the thing wouldn't have falled out."
+
+There was a pause, then Martin talked of various matters. But he could
+not fight for long against the desire of his heart and presently
+plunged, as he had done five years before, into a proposal.
+
+"He being gone--poor Clem--do you think--? Have you thought, I mean? Has
+it made a difference, Chris? 'T is so hard to put it into words without
+sounding brutal and callous. Only men are selfish when they love."
+
+"What do you mean?" she asked.
+
+A sudden inspiration prompted his reply. He said nothing for a moment,
+but with a hand that shook somewhat, drew forth his pocketbook, opened
+it, fumbled within, and then handed over to Chris the brown ruins of
+flowers long dead.
+
+"You picked them," he said slowly; "you picked them long ago and flung
+them away from you when you said 'No' to me--said it so kindly in the
+past. Take them in your hand again."
+
+"Dead bluebells," she answered. "Ess, I can call home the time. To think
+you gathered them up!" She looked at him with something not unlike love
+in her eyes and fingered the flowers gently. "You'm a gude man, Martin
+--the husband for a gude lass. Best to find one if you can. Wish I could
+help'e."
+
+"Oh, Chris, there's only one woman in the world for me. Could you--even
+now? Could you let me stand between you and the world? Could you, Chris?
+If you only knew what I cannot put into words. I'd try so hard to make
+you happy."
+
+"I knaw, I knaw. But theer's no human life so long as the road to
+happiness, Martin. And yet--"
+
+He took her hand and for a moment she did not resist him. Then little
+Tim's voice chimed out merrily at the stream margin, and the music had
+instant effect upon Chris Blanchard.
+
+She drew her hand from Martin and the next moment he saw his dead
+bluebells hurrying away and parting company for ever on the dancing
+water. Chris watched them until they vanished; then she turned and
+looked at him, to find that he grew very pale and agitated. Even his
+humility had hardly foreseen this decisive answer after the yielding
+attitude Chris first assumed when she suffered him to hold her hand. He
+looked into her face inquiring and frightened. The silence that followed
+was broken by continued laughter and shouting from Timothy. Then Martin
+tried to connect the child's first merriment with the simultaneous
+change in the mood of the woman he worshipped, but failed to do so.
+
+At that moment Chris spoke. She made utterance under the weight of great
+emotion and with evident desire to escape the necessity of a direct
+negative, while yet leaving her refusal of Martin's offer implicit and
+distinct.
+
+"I mind when a scatter of paper twinkled down this river just like them
+dead blossoms. Clem thrawed them, an' they floated away to the sea, past
+daffadowndillies an' budding lady-ferns an' such-like. 'T was a li'l bit
+of poetry he'd made up to please me--and I, fule as I was, didn't say
+the right thing when he axed me what I thought; so Clem tore the rhymes
+in pieces an' sent them away. He said the river would onderstand. An'
+the river onderstands why I dropped them dead blossoms in, tu. A wise,
+ancient stream, I doubt. An' you 'm wise, tu; an' can take my answer
+wi'out any more words, as will awnly make both our hearts ache."
+
+"Not even if I wait patiently? You couldn't marry me, dear Chris? You
+couldn't get to love me?"
+
+"I couldn't marry you. I'm a widow in heart for all time. But I thank
+God for the gude-will of such a man as you. I cherish it and 't will be
+dear to me all my life. But I caan't come to 'e, so doan't ax it."
+
+"Yet you're young to live for a memory, Chris."
+
+"Better 'n nothing. And listen; I'll tell you this, if 't will make my
+'No' sound less hard to your ear. I loves you--I loves you better 'n any
+living man 'cept Will, an' not less than I love even him. I wish I could
+bring 'e a spark of joy by marryin' you, for you was allus very gude,
+an' thought kindly of Clem when but few did. I'd marry you if 't was
+awnly for that; yet it caan't never be, along o' many reasons. You must
+take that cold comfort, Martin."
+
+He sighed, then spoke.
+
+"So be it, dear one. I shall never ask again. God knows what holds you
+back if you can even love me a little."
+
+"Ess, God knaws--everything."
+
+"I must not cry out against that. Yet it makes it all the harder. To
+think that you will dedicate all your beautiful life to a memory! it
+only makes my loss the greater, and shows the depths of you to me."
+
+She uttered a little scream and her cheek paled, and she put up her
+hands with the palms outward as though warding away his words.
+
+"Doan't 'e say things like that or give me any praise, for God's sake. I
+caan't bear it. I be weak, weak flesh an' blood, weaker 'n water. If you
+could only see down in my heart, you'd be cured of your silly love for
+all time."
+
+He did not answer, but picked up her basket and proceeded with her out
+of the valley. Chris gave a hand to the child, and save for Tim's
+prattle there was no speaking.
+
+At length they reached Newtake, when Martin yielded up the basket and
+bade Chris "good-night." He had already turned, when she called him back
+in a strange voice.
+
+"Kiss the li'l bwoy, will 'e? I want 'e to. I'm that fond of un. An' he
+'peared to take to 'e; an' he said 'By-by' twice to 'e, but you didn't
+hear un."
+
+Then the man kissed Tim on a small, purple-stained mouth, and saw his
+eyes very lustrous with sleep, for the day was done.
+
+Woman and child disappeared; the sacking nailed along the bottom of
+Newtake Gate to keep the young chicks in the farmyard rustled over the
+ground, and Martin, turning his face away, moved homewards.
+
+But the veil was not lifted for him; he did not understand. A secret,
+transparent enough to any who regarded Chris Blanchard and her
+circumstances from a point without the theatre of action, still remained
+concealed from all who loved her.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+THE END OF THE FIGHT
+
+
+Will Blanchard was of the sort who fight a losing battle,
+
+  "Still puffing in the dark at one poor coal,
+   Held on by hope till the last spark is out."
+
+But the extinction of his ambitions, the final failure of his enterprise
+happened somewhat sooner than Miller Lyddon had predicted. There dawned
+a year when, just as the worst of the winter was past and hope began to
+revive for another season, a crushing catastrophe terminated the
+struggle.
+
+Mr. Blee it was who brought the ill news to Monks Barton, having first
+dropped it at Mrs. Blanchard's cottage and announced it promiscuously
+about the village. Like a dog with a bone he licked the intelligence
+over and, by his delay in imparting the same, reduced his master to a
+very fever of irritation.
+
+"Such a gashly thing! Of all fules! The last straw I do think. He's got
+something to grumble at now, poor twoad. Your son-in-law; but
+now--theer--gormed if I knaw how to tell 'e!"
+
+Alarmed at this prelude, with its dark hints of unutterable woe, Mr.
+Lyddon took off his spectacles in some agitation, and prayed to know the
+worst without any long-drawn introduction.
+
+"I'll come to it fast enough, I warn 'e. To think after years an' years
+he didn't knaw the duffer'nce 'twixt a bullock an' a sheep! Well--well!
+Of coourse us knawed times was tight, but Jack-o'-Lantern be to the end
+of his dance now. 'T is all awver."
+
+"What's the matter? Come to it, caan't 'e?"
+
+"No ill of the body--not to him or the fam'ly. An' you must let me tell
+it out my awn way. Well, things bein' same as they are, the bwoy caan't
+hide it. Dammy! Theer's patches in the coat of un now--neat sewed, I'll
+grant 'e, but a patch is a patch; an' when half a horse's harness is
+odds an' ends o' rope, then you knaw wi'out tellin' wheer a man be
+driving to. 'T is 'cordin' to the poetry!--
+
+  "'Out to elbows,
+     Out to toes,
+    Out o' money,
+     Out o' clothes.'
+
+But--"
+
+"Caan't 'e say what's happened, you chitterin' auld magpie? I'll go up
+village for the news in a minute. I lay 'tis knawn theer."
+
+"Ban't I tellin' of 'e? 'Tis like this. Will Blanchard's been mixin' a
+bit of chopped fuzz with the sheep's meal these hard times, like his
+betters. But now I've seed hisself today, lookin' so auld as Cosdon
+'bout it. He was gwaine to the horse doctor to Moreton. An' he tawld me
+to keep my mouth shut, which I've done for the most paart."
+
+"A little fuzz chopped fine doan't hurt sheep."
+
+"Just so. 'Cause why? They aint got no 'bibles' in their innards; but
+he've gone an' given it same way to the bullocks."
+
+"Gude God!"
+
+"'Tis death to beasts wi' 'bibles.' An' death it is. The things caan't
+eat such stuff' cause it sticketh an' brings inflammation. I seed same
+fule's trick done wance thirty year ago; an' when the animals weer cut
+awpen, theer 'bibles' was hell-hot wi' the awfulest inflammation ever
+you heard tell of."
+
+"How many's down? 'Twas all he had to count upon."
+
+"Awnly eight standin' when he left. I could have cried 'bout it when he
+tawld me. He 'm clay in the Potter's hand for sartain. Theer's nought
+squenches a chap like havin' the bailiffs in."
+
+"Cruel luck! I'd meant to let him be sold out for his gude--but now."
+
+"Do what you meant to. Doan't go back on it. 'Tis for his gude. 'Twas
+his awn mistake. He tawld me the blame was his. Let un get on the bed
+rock. Then he'll be meek as a worm."
+
+"I doubt it. A sale of his goods will break his heart."
+
+"Not it! He haven't got much as'll be hard to paart from. Stern
+measures--stern measures for his everlastin' welfare. Think of the
+wild-fire sawl of un! Never yet did a sawl want steadin' worse'n his.
+Keep you to the fust plan, and he'll thank'e yet."
+
+Elsewhere two women--his wife and sister--failed utterly in well-meaning
+efforts to comfort the stricken farmer. Presently, before nightfall,
+Mrs. Blanchard also arrived at Newtake, and Will listened dully with
+smouldering eyes as his mother talked. The veterinary surgeon from
+Moreton had come, but his efforts were vain. Only two beasts out of
+five-and-twenty still lived.
+
+"Send for butcher," he said. "He'll be more use than I can be. The thing
+is done and can't be undone."
+
+Chris entered most closely into her brother's feelings and spared him
+the expressions of sorrow and sympathy which stung him, even from his
+mother's lips, uttered at this crisis. She set about preparing supper,
+which weeping Phoebe had forgotten.
+
+"You'll weather it yet, bwoy," Mrs. Blanchard said.
+
+"Theer's a little bit as I've got stowed away for'e; an' come the hay--"
+
+"Doan't talk that way. 'Tis done with now. I'm quite cool'pon it. We
+must go as we'm driven. No more gropin' an' fightin' on this blasted
+wilderness for me, that's all. I be gwaine to turn my back 'pon it--fog
+an' filthy weather an' ice an' snow. You wants angels from heaven to
+help 'e, if you're to do any gude here; an' heaven's long tired o' me
+an' mine. So I'll make shift to do wi'out. An' never tell me no more
+lies 'bout God helpin' them as helps themselves, 'cause I've proved it
+ban't so. I be gwaine to furrin' lands to dig for gawld or di'monds. The
+right build o' man for gawld-seekin', me; 'cause I've larned patience
+an' caan't be choked off a job tu easy."
+
+"Think twice. Bad luck doan't dog a man for ever. An' Phoebe an' the
+childer."
+
+"My mind's made up. I figured it out comin' home from Moreton. I'm away
+in six weeks or less. A chap what's got to dig for a livin' may just as
+well handle his tools where theer's summat worth findin' hid in the
+land, as here, on this black, damned airth, wheer your pick strikes fire
+out o' stone twenty times a day. The Moor's the Moor. Everybody knaws
+the way of it. Scratch its faace an' it picks your pocket an' breaks
+your heart--not as I've got a heart can be broken."
+
+"If 'e could awnly put more trust in the God of your faithers, my son.
+He done for them, why shouldn't He do for you?"
+
+"Better ax Him. Tired of the fam'ly, I reckon."
+
+"You hurt your mother, Will, tellin' so wicked as that."
+
+"An' faither so cruel," sobbed Phoebe. "I doan't knaw what ever us have
+done to set him an' God against us so. I've tried that hard; an' you've
+toiled till the muscles shawed through your skin; an' the li'l bwoy took
+just as he beginned to string words that butivul; an' no sign of another
+though't is my endless prayer."
+
+"The ways of Providence--" began Mrs. Blanchard drearily; but Will
+stopped her, as she knew he would.
+
+"Doan't mother--I caan't stand no more on that head today. I'll dare
+anybody to name Providence more in my house, so long as 'tis mine.
+Theer's the facts to shout out 'gainst that rot. A honest, just,
+plain-dealin' man--an' look at me."
+
+"Meantime we're ruined an' faither doan't hold out a finger."
+
+"Take it stern an' hard like me. 'Tis all chance drawin' of prize or
+blank in gawld diggin'. The 'new chums,' as they call 'em, often finds
+the best gawld, 'cause they doan't knaw wheer to look for it, an' goes
+pokin' about wheer a skilled man wouldn't. That's the crooked way things
+happen in this poor world."
+
+"You wouldn't go--not while I lived, sure? I couldn't draw breath
+comfortable wi'out knawin' you was breathin' the same air, my son."
+
+"You'll live to knaw I was in the right. If fortune doan't come to you,
+you must go to it, I reckon. Anyways, I ban't gwaine to bide here a
+laughing-stock to Chagford; an' you'm the last to ax me to."
+
+"Miller would never let Phoebe go."
+
+"I shouldn't say 'by your leave' to him, I promise'e. He can look on an'
+see the coat rottin' off my back in this desert an' watch his darter
+gwaine thin as a lath along o' taking so much thought. He can look on at
+us, hisself so comfortable as a maggot in a pear, an' see. Not that I'd
+take help--not a penny from any man. I'm not gwaine to fail. I'll be a
+snug chap yet."
+
+The stolid Chown entered at this moment.
+
+"Butcher'll be up bimebye. An' the last of em's failed down," he said.
+
+"So be it. Now us'll taake our supper," answered his master.
+
+The meal was ready and presently Blanchard, whose present bitter humour
+prompted him to simulate a large indifference, made show of enjoying his
+food. He brought out the brandy for his mother, who drank a little with
+her supper, and helped himself liberally twice or thrice until the
+bottle was half emptied. The glamour of the spirit made him optimistic,
+and he spoke with the pseudo-philosophy that alcohol begets.
+
+"Might have been worse, come to think of it. If the things weren't
+choked, I doubt they'd been near starved. 'Most all the hay's done, an'
+half what's left--a load or so--I'd promised to a chap out Manaton way.
+But theer't is--my hand be forced, that's all. So time's saved, if you
+look at it from a right point."
+
+"You'm hard an' braave, an' you've got a way with you 'mong men. Faace
+life, same as faither did, an' us'll look arter Phoebe an' the childer,"
+said Chris.
+
+"I couldn't leave un," declared Will's wife. "'T is my duty to keep
+along wi'un for better or worse."
+
+"Us'll talk 'bout all that later. I be gwaine to act prompt an' sell
+every stick, an' then away, a free man."
+
+"All our furniture an' property!" moaned Phoebe, looking round her in
+dismay.
+
+"All--to the leastest bit o' cracked cloam."
+
+"A forced sale brings nought," sighed Damaris.
+
+"Theer's hunderds o' pounds o' gude chattels here, an' they doan't go
+for a penny less than they 'm worth. Because I'm down, ban't no reason
+for others to try to rob me. If I doan't get fair money I'll make a fire
+wi' the stuff an' burn every stick of it."
+
+"The valuer man, Mr. Bambridge, must be seen, an' bills printed out an'
+sticked 'pon barn doors an' such-like, same as when Mrs. Lezzard died,"
+said Phoebe. "What'll faither think then?"
+
+Will laughed bitterly.
+
+"I'll see a few's dabbed up on his awn damned outer walls, if I've got
+to put 'em theer myself. An' as to the lists, I'll make 'em this very
+night. Ban't my way to let the dust fall upon a job marked for doin'.
+To-night I'll draw the items."
+
+"Us was gwaine to stay along with 'e, Will," said his mother.
+
+"Very gude--as you please. Make shake-downs in the parlour, an' I'll
+write in the kitchen when you'm gone to bed. Set the ink an' pen an'
+paper out arter you've cleared away. I'm allowed to be peart enough in
+matters o' business anyway, though no farmer o' course, arter this."
+
+"None will dare to say any such thing," declared Phoebe. "You can't do
+miracles more than others."
+
+"I mind when Ellis, to Two Streams Farm, lost a mort o' bullocks very
+same way," said Mrs. Blanchard.
+
+"'Tis that as they'll bring against me an' say, wi' such a tale in my
+knawledge, I ought to been wiser. But I never heard tell of it before,
+though God knows I've heard the story often enough to-day."
+
+It was now dark, and Will, lighting a lantern, rose and went out into
+the yard. From the kitchen window his women watched him moving here and
+there; while, as he passed, the light revealed great motionless, rufous
+shapes on every hand. The corpses of the beasts hove up into the
+illumination and then vanished again as the narrow circle of lantern
+light bobbed on, jerking to the beat of Will's footsteps. From the
+window Damaris observed her son make a complete perambulation of his
+trouble without comment. Then a little emotion trembled on her tongue.
+
+"God's hand be lifted 'gainst the bwoy, same as 't was 'gainst the
+patriarch Job seemin'ly. Awnly he bent to the rod and Will--"
+
+"He'm noble an' grand under his sorrows. Who should knaw but me?" cried
+Phoebe. "A man in ten thousand, he is, an' never yields to no rod. He'll
+win his way yet; an' I be gwaine to cleave to un if he travels to the
+other end o' the airth."
+
+"I doan't judge un, gal. God knaws he's been the world to me since his
+faither died. He'm my dear son. But if he'd awnly bend afore the
+A'mighty breaks him."
+
+"He's got me."
+
+"Ess, an' he'm mouldin' you to his awn vain pride an' wrong ways o'
+thinking. If you could lead un right, 't would be a better wife's
+paart."
+
+"He'm wiser'n me, an' stronger. Ban't my place to think against him.
+Us'll go our ways, childern tu, an' turn our backs 'pon this desert. I
+hate the plaace now, same as Will."
+
+Chris here interrupted Phoebe and called her from the other room.
+
+"Wheer's the paper an' ink to? I be setting out the things against Will
+comes in. He axed for 'em to be ready, 'cause theer's a deal o'
+penmanship afore him to-night. An' wheer's that li'l dictionary what I
+gived un years ago? I lay he'll want it."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+TWO MIGHTY SURPRISES
+
+
+Will returned from survey of his tribulation. Hope was dead for the
+moment, and death of hope in a man of Blanchard's character proved
+painful. The writing materials distracted his mind. Beginning without
+interest, his composition speedily absorbed him; and before the task was
+half completed, he already pictured it set out in great black or red
+print upon conspicuous places.
+
+"I reckon it'll make some of 'em stare to see the scholar I am,
+anyways," he reflected.
+
+Through the hours of night he wrote and re-wrote. His pen scratched
+along, echoed by an exactly similar sound from the wainscots, where mice
+nibbled in the silence. Anon, from the debris of his composition, a
+complete work took shape; and when Phoebe awoke at three o'clock,
+discovered her husband was still absent, and sought him hurriedly, she
+found the inventory completed and Will just fastening its pages together
+with a piece of string. He was wide awake and in a particularly happy
+humour.
+
+"Ban't you never comin' to bed? 'T is most marnin'," she said.
+
+"Just comin'. What a job! Look here--twelve pages. I be surprised myself
+to think how blamed well I've got through wi' it. You doan't knaw what
+you can do till you try. I used to wonder at Clem's cleverness wi' a
+pen; but I be purty near so handy myself an' never guessed it!"
+
+"I'm sure you've made a braave job of it. I'll read it fust thing
+to-morrow."
+
+"You shall hear it now."
+
+"Not now, Will; 't is so late an' I'm three paarts asleep. Come to bed,
+dearie."
+
+"Oh--if you doan't care--if it's nought to you that I've sit up all
+night slavin' for our gude--"
+
+"Then I'll hear it now. Coourse I knaw 't is fine readin'. Awnly I
+thought you'd be weary."
+
+"Sit here an' put your toes to the heat."
+
+He set Phoebe in the chimney corner, wrapped his coat round her, and
+threw more turf on the fire.
+
+"Now you'm vitty; an' if theer's anything left out, tell me."
+
+"I lay, wi' your memory, you've forgot little enough."
+
+"I lay I haven't. All's here; an' 't is a gert wonder what a lot o' gude
+things us have got. They did ought to fetch a couple o' hunderd pound at
+least, if the sale's carried out proper."
+
+"They didn't cost so much as that."
+
+"By Gor! Didn't they? Well, set out in full, like this here, they do
+sound as if they ought to be worth it. Now, I'll read 'em to see how it
+all sounds in spoken words."
+
+He cleared his throat and began:
+
+"'Sale this day to Newtake Farm, near Chagford, Dartmoor, Devonshire.
+Mr. William Blanchard, being about to leave England for foreign parts,
+desires to sell at auction his farm property, household goods, cloam,
+and effects, etc., etc., as per items below, to the best bidder. Many
+things so good as new.' How do 'e like that, Phoebe?"
+
+"Butivul; but do 'e mean in all solemn seriousness to go out England? 'T
+is a awful thought, come you look at it close."
+
+"Ess, 't is a gert, bold thing to do; but I doan't fear it. I be gettin'
+into a business-like way o' lookin' 'pon life of late; an' I counts the
+cost an' moves arter, as is the right order. Listen to these items set
+out here. If they 'm printed big, wan under t'other, same as I've wrote
+'em, they'll fill a barn door purty nigh!"
+
+Then he turned to his papers.
+
+"'The said goods and chattels are as follows, namely,'--reg'lar lawyer's
+English, you see, though how I comed to get it so pat I caan't tell. Yet
+theer 'tis--'namely, 2 washing trays; 3 zinc buckets; 1 meat preserve; 1
+lantern; 2 bird-cages; carving knife and steel (Sheffield make)--'"
+
+"Do'e judge that's the best order, Will?"
+
+"Coourse 't is! I thought that out specially. Doan't go thrawin' me from
+my stride in the middle. Arter 'Sheffield make,' 'half-dozen knives and
+forks; sundry ditto, not so good; hand saw; 2 hammers; 1 cleaver;
+salting trendle; 3 wheelbarrows--'"
+
+"Doan't forget you lent wan of 'em to Farmer Thackwell."
+
+"No, I gived it to un, him bein' pushed for need of wan. It slipped my
+memory. '2 wheelbarrows.' Then I goes on, 'pig stock; pig trough; 2
+young breeding sows; 4 garden tools; 2 peat cutters; 2 carts; 1 market
+trap; 1 empty cask; 1 Dutch oven; 1 funnel; 2 firkins and a cider jib;
+small sieve; 3 pairs new Bedford harrows; 1 chain harrow (out of
+repair).' You see all's straight enough, which it ban't in some sales.
+No man shall say he's got less than full value."
+
+"You'm the last to think of such a thing."
+
+"I am. It goes on like this: '5 mattocks; 4 digging picks; 4 head
+chains; 1 axe; sledge and wedges; also hooks, eyes, and hasps for hard
+wood.' Never used 'em all the time us been here. '2 sets of trap
+harness, much worn.' I ban't gwaine to sell the dogs--eh? Us won't sell
+Ship or your li'l terrier. What do 'e say?"
+
+"No. Nobody would buy two auld dogs, for that matter."
+
+"Though how a upland dog like Ship be gwaine to faace the fiery sunshine
+on furrin gawld diggings, I caan't answer. Here goes again: '1 sofa; 1
+armchair; 4 fine chairs with green cloth seats; 1 bedstead; 2 cots; 1
+cradle; feather beds and palliasses and bolster pillows to match;
+wash-stands and sets of crockery, mostly complete; 2 swing glasses; 3
+bedroom chairs; 1 set of breeching harness--'"
+
+"Hadn't 'e better put that away from the furniture?"
+
+"No gert odds. 'Also 1 set leading harness; 2 tressels and ironing
+board; 2 fenders; fire-irons and fire-dogs; 1 old oak chest; 1 wardrobe;
+1 Brussels carpet (worn in 1 spot only)--'"
+
+"Ban't worn worth namin'."
+
+"Ess fay, 'tis wheer I sit Sundays--'9 feet by 11; 3 four-prong dung
+forks.' I'll move them. They doan't come in none tu well theer, I allow.
+'5 cane-seated chairs, 1 specimen of wax fruit under glass.'"
+
+"I caan't paart wi' that, lovey. Faither gived it to me; an' 'twas
+mother's wance on a time."
+
+"Well, bein' a forced sale it ought to go. An' seein' how Miller's left
+us to sail our awn boat to hell--but still, if you'm set on it."
+
+He crossed it out, then suddenly laughed until the walls rang.
+
+"Hush! You'll wake everybody. What do 'e find to be happy about?"
+
+"I was thinkin' that down in them furrin, fiery paarts we'm gwaine to,
+as your wax plums an' pears'll damned soon run away. They'll melt for
+sartin!"
+
+"Caan't be so hot as that! The li'l gal will never stand it. Read on
+now. Theer ban't much left, surely?"
+
+"Scores o' things! '1 stuffed kingfisher in good case with painted
+picture at back; 1 fox mask; 1 mahogany 2-lap table; 1 warming-pan;
+Britannia metal teapot and 6 spoons ditto metal; 5 spoons--smaller--ditto
+metal.'"
+
+"I found the one us lost."
+
+"Then 'tis '6 spoons--smaller--ditto metal.' Then, 'ironing stove; 5
+irons; washing boiler; 4 fry pans; 2 chimney crooks; 6 saucepans; pestle
+and mortar; chimney ornaments; 4 coloured almanacs--one with picture of
+the Queen--'"
+
+"They won't fetch nothin'."
+
+"They might. 'Knife sharper; screen; pot plants; 1 towel-rail; 1 runner;
+2 forms; kitchen table; scales and weights and beam; 1 set of casters; 4
+farm horses, aged; 3 ploughs; 1 hay wain; 1 stack of dry fern; 1-1/2
+tons good manure; old iron and other sundries, including poultry, ducks,
+geese, and fowls.' That's all."
+
+"Not quite; but I caan't call to mind much you've left out 'cept all the
+china an' linen."
+
+"Ah! that's your job. An' I just sit here an' brought the things to my
+memory, wan by wan! An' that bit at the top came easy as cutting a
+stick!"
+
+"'Tis a wonnerful piece o' work! An' the piano, Will?"
+
+"I hadn't forgot that. Must take it along wi' us, or else send it down
+to mother. Couldn't look her in the faace if I sold that."
+
+"Ban't worth much."
+
+"Caan't say. Cost faither five pound, though that was long ago. Anyway I
+be gwaine to buy it in."
+
+Silence then fell upon them. Phoebe sighed and shivered. A cock crew and
+his note came muffled from the hen-roost. A dim grey dawn just served to
+indicate the recumbent carcasses without.
+
+"Come to bed now an' take a little rest 'fore marnin', dearie. You've
+worked hard an' done wonders."
+
+"Ban't you surprised I could turn it out?"
+
+"That I be. I'd never have thought 'twas in 'e. So forehanded, tu!
+A'most afore them poor things be cold."
+
+"'Tis the forehandedness I prides myself 'pon. Some of us doan't know
+all that's in me yet. But they'll live to see it."
+
+"I knaw right well they will."
+
+"This'll 'maze mother to-morrow."
+
+"'Twill, sure 'nough."
+
+"Would 'e like me to read it just wance more wi'out stoppin', Phoebe?"
+
+"No, dear love, not now. Give it to us all arter breakfast in the
+marnin'."
+
+"So I will then; an' take it right away to the auctioneer the minute
+after."
+
+He put his papers away in the drawer of the kitchen table and retired.
+Uneasy sleep presently overtook him and long he tossed and turned,
+murmuring of his astonishment at his own powers with a pen.
+
+His impetuosity carried the ruined man forward with sufficient speed
+over the dark bitterness of failure confessed, failure advertised,
+failure proclaimed in print throughout the confines of his little world.
+He suffered much, and the wide-spread sympathy of friends and
+acquaintance proved no anodyne but rather the reverse. He hated to see
+eyes grow grave and mouths serious upon his entry; he yearned to turn
+his back against Chagford and resume the process of living in a new
+environment. Temporary troubles vexed him more than the supreme disaster
+of his failure. Mr. Bambridge made considerable alterations in his
+cherished lucubration; and when the advertisement appeared in print, it
+looked mean and filled but a paltry space. People came up before the
+sale to examine the goods, and Phoebe, after two days of whispered
+colloquies upon her cherished property, could bear it no longer, and
+left Newtake with her own little daughter and little Timothy. The Rev.
+Shorto-Champernowne himself called, stung Will into sheer madness, which
+he happily restrained, then purchased an old oak coffer for two pounds
+and ten shillings.
+
+Miller Lyddon made no sign, and hard things were muttered against him
+and Billy Blee in the village. Virtuous indignation got hold upon the
+Chagford quidnuncs and with one consent they declared Mr. Lyddon to
+blame. Where was his Christian charity--that charity which should begin
+at home and so seldom does? This interest in others' affairs took shape
+on the night before the Newtake sale. Then certain of the baser sort
+displayed their anger in a practical form, and Mr. Blee was hustled one
+dark evening, had his hat knocked off, and suffered from a dead cat
+thrown by unseen hands. The reason for this outrage also reached him.
+Then, chattering with indignation and alarm, he hurried home and
+acquainted Mr. Lyddon with the wild spirit abroad.
+
+As for Blanchard, he roamed moodily about the scene of his lost battle.
+In his pockets were journals setting forth the innumerable advantages of
+certain foreign regions that other men desired to people for their
+private ends. But Will was undecided, because all the prospects
+presented appeared to lead directly to fortune.
+
+The day of the sale dawned fine and at the appointed hour a thin stream
+of market carts and foot passengers wound towards Newtake from the
+village beneath and from a few outlying farms. Blanchard had gone up the
+adjacent hill; and lying there, not far distant from the granite cross,
+he reclined with his dog and watched the people. Him they did not see;
+but them he counted and found some sixty souls had been attracted by his
+advertisement. Men laughed and joked, and smoked; women shrugged their
+shoulders, peeped about and disparaged the goods. Here and there a
+purchaser took up his station beside a coveted lot. Some noticed that
+none of those most involved were present; others spread a rumour that
+Miller Lyddon designed to stop the sale at the last moment and buy in
+everything. But no such incident broke the course of proceedings.
+
+Will, from his hiding-place in the heather, saw Mr. Bambridge drive up,
+noted the crowd follow him about the farm, like black flies, and felt
+himself a man at his own funeral. The hour was dark enough. In the ear
+of his mind he listened to the auctioneer's hammer, like a death-bell,
+beating away all that he possessed. He had worked and slaved through
+long years for this,--for the sympathy of Chagford, for the privilege of
+spending a thousand pounds, for barely enough money to carry himself
+abroad. A few more figures dotted the white road and turned into the
+open gate at Newtake. One shape, though too remote to recognise with
+certainty, put him in mind of Martin Grimbal, another might have been
+Sam Bonus. He mused upon the two men, so dissimilar, and his mind dwelt
+chiefly with the former. He found himself thinking how good it would be
+if Martin proposed to Chris again; that the antiquary had done so was
+the last idea in his thoughts.
+
+Presently a brown figure crept through Newtake gate, hesitated a while,
+then began to climb the hill and approach Blanchard. Ship recognised it
+before Will's eyes enabled him to do so, and the dog rose from a long
+rest, stretched, sniffed the air, then trotted off to the approaching
+newcomer.
+
+It was Ted Chown; and in five minutes he reached his master with a
+letter. "'Tis from Miller Lyddon," he said. "It comed by the auctioneer.
+I thought you was up here."
+
+Blanchard took it without thanks, waited until the labourer had
+departed, then opened the letter with some slight curiosity.
+
+He read a page of scriptural quotations and admonitions, then tore the
+communication in half with a curse and flung it from him. But presently
+his anger waned; he rose, picked up his father-in-law's note, and
+plodded through it to the end.
+
+His first emotion was one of profound thanksgiving that he had done so.
+Here, at the very end of the letter, was the practical significance of
+it.
+
+"Powder fust, jam arter, by God!" cried Will aloud. Then a burst of
+riotous delight overwhelmed him. Once again in his darkest hour had
+Fortune turned the wheel. He shouted, put the letter into his breast
+pocket, rose up and strode off to Chagford as fast as his legs would
+carry him. He thought what his mother and wife would feel upon such
+news. Then he swore heartily--swore down blessings innumerable on Miller
+Lyddon, whistled to his dog, and so journeyed on.
+
+The master of Monks Barton had reproved Will through long pages, cited
+Scripture at him, displayed his errors in a grim procession, then
+praised him for his prompt and manly conduct under the present
+catastrophe, declared that his character had much developed of recent
+years, and concluded by offering him five-and-thirty shillings a week at
+Monks Barton, with the only stipulation that himself, his wife, and the
+children should dwell at the farm.
+
+Praise, of which he had received little enough for many years, was pure
+honey to Will. From the extremity of gloom and from a dark and settled
+enmity towards Mr. Lyddon, he passed quicker than thought to an opposite
+condition of mind.
+
+"'Tis a fairy story--awnly true!" he said to himself as he swept along.
+
+Will came near choking when he thought of the miller. Here was a man
+that believed in him! Newtake tumbled clean out of his mind before this
+revelation of Mr. Lyddon's trust and confidence. He was full to the
+brainpan with Monks Barton. The name rang in his ears. Before he reached
+Chagford he had planned innumerable schemes for developing the valley
+farm, for improving, saving, increasing possibilities in a hundred
+directions. He pictured himself putting money into the miller's pocket.
+He determined to bring that about if he had to work four-and-twenty
+hours a day to do it. He almost wished some profound peril would
+threaten his father-in-law, that he, at the cost of half his life, if
+need be, might rescue him and so pay a little of this great debt. Ship,
+taking the cue from his master, as a dog will, leapt and barked before
+him. In the valley below, Phoebe wept on Mrs. Blanchard's bosom, and
+Chris said hard things of those in authority at Monks Barton; up aloft
+at Newtake, shillings rather than pounds changed hands and many a poor
+lot found no purchaser.
+
+Passing by a gate beneath the great hill of Middledown, Will saw two
+sportsmen with a keeper and a brace of terriers, emerge from the wild
+land above. They were come from rabbit shooting, as the attendant's
+heavy bag testified. They faced him as he passed, and, recognising John
+Grimbal, Will did not look at his companion. At rest with the world just
+then, happy and contented to a degree he had not reached for years, the
+young farmer was in such amiable mood that he had given the devil "good
+day" on slightest provocation. Now he was carried out of himself, and
+spoke upon a joyous inclination of the moment.
+
+"Marnin' to 'e, Jan Grimbal! Glad to hear tell as your greyhound winned
+the cup down to Newton coursing."
+
+The other was surprised into a sort of grunt; then, as Will moved
+rapidly out of earshot, Grimbal's companion addressed him. It was Major
+Tremayne; and now the soldier regarded Blanchard's vanishing figure with
+evident amazement, then spoke.
+
+"By Jove! Tom Newcombe, by all that's wonderful," he said.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+THE SECRET OUT
+
+
+NOW many different persons in various places were simultaneously
+concerned with Will Blanchard and his affairs.
+
+At Newtake, Martin Grimbal was quietly buying a few lots--and those
+worth the most money. He designed these as a gift for Phoebe; and his
+object was not wholly disinterested. The antiquary could by no means
+bring himself to accept his last dismissal from Chris. Seeing the vague
+nature of those terms in which she had couched her refusal, and
+remembering her frank admission that she could love him, he still hoped.
+All his soul was wrapped up in the winning of Chris, and her face came
+between him and the proof-sheets of his book; the first thoughts of his
+wakening mind turned to the same problem; the last reflections of a
+brain sinking to rest were likewise occupied with it. How could he win
+her? Sometimes his yearning desires clamoured for any possible road to
+the precious goal, and he remembered his brother's hint that a secret
+existed in Will's life. At such times he wished that he knew it, and
+wondered vaguely if the knowledge were of a nature to further his own
+ambition. Then he blushed and thought ill of himself But this personal
+accusation was unjust, for it is the property of a strong intellect
+engaged about affairs of supreme importance, to suggest every possible
+action and present every possible point of view by the mere mechanical
+processes of thinking. The larger a brain, the more alternative courses
+are offered, the more facets gleam with thought, the more numerous the
+roads submitted to judgment. It is a question of intellect, not ethics.
+Right actions and crooked are alike remorselessly presented, and the
+Council of Perfection, which holds that to think amiss is sin, must
+convict every saint of unnumbered offences. As reasonably might we blame
+him who dreams murder. Departure from rectitude can only begin where
+evil thought is converted into evil action, for thought alone of all
+man's possessions and antecedents is free, and a lifetime of
+self-control and high thinking will not shut the door against ideas.
+That Martin--a man of luminous if limited intellect--should have
+considered every possible line of action which might assist him to come
+at the highest good life could offer was inevitable; but he missed the
+reason of certain sinister notions and accused himself of baseness in
+giving birth to them. Nevertheless, the idea recurred and took shape. He
+associated John's assertion of a secret with another rumour that had
+spread much farther afield. This concerned the parentage of little
+Timothy the foundling, for it was whispered widely of late that the
+child belonged to Blanchard. Of course many people knew all the facts,
+were delighted to retail them, and could give the mother's name. Only
+those most vitally concerned had heard nothing as yet.
+
+These various matters were weighing not lightly on Martin's mind during
+the hours of the Newtake sale; and meantime Will thundered into his
+mother's cottage and roared the news. He would hear of no objection to
+his wish, that one and all should straightway proceed to Monks Barton,
+and he poured forth the miller's praises, while Phoebe was reduced to
+tears by perusal of her father's letter to Will.
+
+"Thank Heaven the mystery's read now, an' us can see how Miller had his
+eyes 'pon 'e both all along an' just waited for the critical stroke,"
+said Mrs. Blanchard. "Sure I've knawed him these many years an' never
+could onderstand his hard way in this; but now all's clear."
+
+"He might have saved us a world of trouble and a sea o' tears if he'd
+awnly spoken sooner, whether or no," murmured Chris, but Will would
+tolerate no unfriendly criticism.
+
+"He'm a gert man, wi' his awn way o' doin' things, like all gert men,"
+he burst out; "an' ban't for any man to call un in question. He knawed
+the hard stuff I was made of and let me bide accordin'. An' now get your
+bonnets on, the lot of 'e, for I'm gwaine this instant moment to Monks
+Barton."
+
+They followed him in a breathless procession, as he hurried across the
+farmyard.
+
+"Rap to the door quick, dear heart," said Phoebe, "or I'll be cryin'
+again."
+
+"No more rappin' after thicky butivul letter," answered Will. "Us'll gaw
+straight in."
+
+"You walk fust, Phoebe--'tis right you should," declared Mrs. Blanchard.
+"Then Will can follow 'e; an' me an' Chris--us'll walk 'bout for a bit,
+till you beckons from window."
+
+"Cheer up, Phoebe," cried Will. "Trouble's blawed awver for gude an' all
+now by the look of it. 'Tis plain sailing hencefarrard, thank God, that
+is, if a pair o' strong arms, working morning an' night for Miller, can
+bring it about."
+
+So they went together, where Mr. Lyddon waited nervously within; and
+Damaris and Chris walked beside the river.
+
+Upon his island sat the anchorite Muscovy duck as of yore. He was
+getting old. He still lived apart and thought deeply about affairs; but
+his conclusions he never divulged.
+
+Yet another had been surprised into unutterable excitement during that
+afternoon. John Grimbal found the fruit of long desire tumble into his
+hand at last, as Major Tremayne made his announcement. The officer was
+spending a fortnight at the Red House, for his previous friendship with
+John Grimbal had ripened.
+
+"By Jove! Tom Newcombe, by all that's wonderful!" he exclaimed, as Will
+swung past him down the hill to happiness.
+
+"That's not his name. It's Blanchard. He's a young fool of a farmer, and
+Lord knows what he's got to be so cock-a-hoop about. Up the hill they're
+selling every stick he's got at auction. He's ruined."
+
+"He might be ruined, indeed, if I liked. 'Tom Newcombe' he called
+himself when he was with us."
+
+"A soldier!"
+
+"He certainly was, and my servant; about the most decent,
+straightforward, childlike chap that ever I saw."
+
+"God!"
+
+"You're surprised. But it's a fact. That's Newcombe all right. You
+couldn't forget a face and a laugh like his. The handsomest man I've
+ever seen, bar none. He borrowed a suit of my clothes, the beggar, when
+he vanished. But a week later I had the things back with a letter. He
+trusted me that far. I tried to trace him, of course, but was not sorry
+I failed."
+
+"A letter!"
+
+"Yes, giving a reason for his desertion. Some chap was running after his
+girl and had got her in a corner and bullied her into saying 'Yes,'
+though she hated the sight of him. I'd have done anything for Tom. But
+he took the law into his own hands. He disappeared--we were at
+Shorncliffe then if I remember rightly. The chap had joined to get
+abroad, and he told me all his harum-scarum ambitions once. I hope the
+poor devil was in time to rescue his sweetheart, anyway."
+
+"Yes, he was in time for that."
+
+"I'm glad."
+
+"Should you see him again, Tremayne, I would advise your pretending not
+to know him. Unless, of course, you consider it your duty to proclaim
+him."
+
+"Bless your life, I don't know him from Adam," declared the Major. "I'm
+not going to move after all these years. I wish he'd come back to me
+again, all the same. A good servant."
+
+"Poor brute! What's the procedure with a deserter? Do you send soldiers
+for him or the police?"
+
+"A pair of handcuffs and the local bobby, that's all. Then the man's
+handed over to the military authorities and court-martialled."
+
+"What would he get?"
+
+"Depends on circumstances and character. Tom might probably have six
+months, as he didn't give himself up. I should have thought, knowing the
+manner of man, that he would have done his business, married the girl,
+then come back and surrendered. In that case, being peace time, he would
+only have forfeited his service, which didn't amount to much."
+
+So John Grimbal learned the secret of his enemy at last; but, to pursue
+a former simile, the fruit had remained so long out of reach that now it
+was not only overripe, but rotten. There began a painful resuscitation
+of desires towards revenge--desires long moribund. To flog into life a
+passion near dead of inanition was Grimbal's disgusting task. For days
+and nights the thing was as Frankenstein's creation of grisly shreds and
+patches; then it moved spasmodically,--or he fancied that it moved.
+
+He fooled himself with reiterated assurances that he was glorying in the
+discovery; he told himself that he was not made of the human stuff that
+can forgive bitter wrongs or forget them until cancelled. He painted in
+lurid colours his past griefs; through a ghastly morass of revenge grown
+stale, of memories deadened by time, he tried to struggle back to his
+original starting-point in vanished years, and feel as he felt when he
+flung Will Blanchard over Rushford Bridge.
+
+Once he wished to God the truth had never reached him; then he urged
+himself to use it instantly and plague his mind no more. A mental
+exhaustion and nausea overtook him. Upon the night of his discovery he
+retired to sleep wishing that Blanchard would be as good as his rumoured
+word and get out of England. But this thought took a shape of reality in
+the tattered medley of dreams, and Grimbal, waking, leapt on to the
+floor in frantic fear that his enemy had escaped him.
+
+As yet he knew nothing of Will's good fortune, and when it came to his
+ears it unexpectedly failed to reawaken resentment or strengthen his
+animosity. For, as he retraced the story of the past years, it was with
+him as with a man reading the narrative of another's wrongs. He could
+not yet absorb himself anew in the strife; he could not revive the
+personal element.
+
+Sometimes he looked at himself in the glass as he shaved; and the sight
+of the grey hair thickening on the sides of his head, the spectacle of
+the deep lines upon his forehead and the stamp of many a shadowy
+crow's-foot about his blue eyes--these indications served more than all
+his thoughts to sting him into deeds and to rekindle an active
+malignancy.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+SMALL TIMOTHY
+
+
+A year and more than a year passed by, during which time some pure
+sunshine brightened the life of Blanchard. Chagford laughed at his
+sustained good fortune, declared him to have as many lives as a cat, and
+secretly regretted its outspoken criticism of Miller Lyddon before the
+event of his generosity. Life at Monks Barton was at least wholly happy
+for Will himself. No whisper or rumour of renewed tribulation reached
+his ear; early and late he worked, with whole-hearted energy; he
+differed from Mr. Blee as seldom as possible; he wearied the miller with
+new designs, tremendous enterprises, particulars concerning novel
+machinery, and much information relating to nitrates. Newtake had
+vanished out of his life, like an old coat put off for the last time. He
+never mentioned the place and there was now but one farm in all Devon
+for him.
+
+Meantime a strange cloud increased above him, though as yet he had not
+discerned so much as the shadow of it. This circumstance possessed no
+connection with John Grimbal. Time passed and still he did not take
+action, though he continued to nurse his wrongs through winter, spring,
+and summer, as a child nurses a sick animal. The matter tainted his life
+but did not dominate it. His existence continued to be soured and
+discoloured, yet not entirely spoiled. Now a new stone of stumbling lay
+ahead and Grimbal's interest had shifted a little.
+
+Like the rest of Chagford he heard the rumour of little Timothy's
+parentage--a rumour that grew as the resemblance ripened between
+Blanchard and the child. Interested by this thought and its
+significance, he devoted some time to it; and then, upon an early
+October morning, chance hurried the man into action. On the spur of an
+opportunity he played the coward, as many another man has done, only to
+mourn his weakness too late.
+
+There came a misty autumn sunrise beside the river and Grimbal,
+hastening through the valley of Teign, suddenly found himself face to
+face with Phoebe. She had been upon the meadows since grey dawn, where
+many mushrooms set in silvery dew glimmered like pearls through the
+mist; and now, with a full basket, she was returning to Monks Barton for
+breakfast. As she rested for a moment at a stile between two fields,
+Grimbal loomed large from the foggy atmosphere and stood beside her. She
+moved her basket for him to pass and her pulses quickened but slightly,
+for she had met him on numerous occasions during past years and they
+were now as strangers. To Phoebe he had long been nothing, and any
+slight emotion he might awaken was in the nature of resentment that the
+man could still harden his heart against her husband and remain thus
+stubborn and obdurate after such lapse of time. When, therefore, John
+Grimbal, moved thereto by some sudden prompting, addressed Will's wife,
+she started in astonishment and a blush of warm blood leapt to her face.
+He himself was surprised at his own voice; for it sounded unfamiliar, as
+though some intelligent thing had suddenly possessed him and was using
+his vocal organs for its own ends.
+
+"Don't move. Why, 't is a year since we met alone, I think. So you are
+back at Monks Barton. Does it bring thoughts? Is it all sweet? By your
+face I should judge not."
+
+She stared and her mouth trembled, but she did not answer.
+
+"You needn't tell me you're happy," he continued, with hurried words.
+"Nobody is, for that matter. But you might have been. Looking at your
+ruined life and my own, I can find it in my heart to be sorry for us
+both."
+
+"Who dares to say my life is ruined?" she flashed out. "D' you think I
+would change Will for the noblest in the land? He _is_ the noblest. I
+want no pity--least of all yourn. I've been a very lucky
+woman--and--everybody knaws it whatever they may say here an' theer."
+
+She was strong before him now; her temper appeared in her voice and she
+took her basket and rose to leave him.
+
+"Wait one moment. Chance threw us here, and I'll never speak to you
+again if you resent it. But, meeting you like this, something seemed to
+tell me to say a word and let you know. I'm sorry you are so
+wretched--honestly."
+
+"I ban't wretched! Never was a happier wife."
+
+"Never was a better one, I know; but happy? Think. I was fond of you
+once and I can read between the lines--the little thin lines on your
+forehead. They are newcomers. I'm not deceived. Nor is it hidden. That
+the man has proved faithless is common knowledge now. Facts are hard
+things and you've got the fact under your eyes. The child's his living
+image."
+
+"Who told you, and how dare you foul my ears and thoughts with such
+lies?" she asked, her bosom heaving. "You'm a coward, as you always was,
+but never more a coward than this minute."
+
+"D' you pretend that nobody has told you this? Aren't your own eyes
+bright enough to see it?"
+
+The man was in a pitiful mood, and now he grew hot and forgot himself
+wholly before her stinging contempt. She did not reply to his question
+and he continued,--
+
+"Your silence is an answer. You know well enough. Who's the mother?
+Perhaps you know that, too. Is she more to him than you are?"
+
+Phoebe made a great effort to keep herself from screaming. Then she
+moved hastily away, but Grimbal stopped her and dared her to proceed.
+
+"Wait. I'll have this out. Why don't you face him with it and make him
+tell you the truth? Any plucky woman would. The scandal grows into a
+disgrace and your father's a fool to stand it. You can tell him so from
+me."
+
+"Mind your awn business an' let me pass, you hulking, gert, venomous
+wretch!" she cried. Then a blackguard inspiration came to the man, and,
+suffering under a growing irritation with himself as much as with
+Phoebe, he conceived an idea by which his secret might after all be made
+a bitter weapon. He assured himself, even while he hated the sight of
+her, that justice to Phoebe must be done. She had dwelt in ignorance
+long enough. He determined to tell her that she was the wife of a
+deserter. The end gained was the real idea in his mind, though he tried
+to delude himself. The sudden idea that he might inform Blanchard
+through Phoebe of his knowledge really actuated him.
+
+"You may turn your head away as if I was dirt, you little fool, and you
+may call me what names you please; but I'm raising this question for
+your good, not my own. What do I care? Only it's a man's part to step in
+when he sees a woman being trampled on."
+
+"A man!" she said. "You'm not in our lives any more, an' we doan't want
+'e in 'em. More like to a meddlin' auld woman than a man, if you ax me."
+
+"You can say that? Then we'll put you out of the question. I, at least,
+shall do my duty."
+
+"Is it part of your duty to bully me here alone? Why doan't 'e faace the
+man, like a man, 'stead of blusterin' to me 'bout it? Out on you! Let me
+pass, I tell 'e."
+
+"Doan't make that noise. Just listen and stand still. I'm in earnest. It
+pleases me to know the true history of this child, and I mean to. As a
+Justice of the Peace I mean to."
+
+"Ax Will Blanchard then an' let him answer. Maybe you'll be sorry you
+spoke arter."
+
+"You can tell him I want to see him; you can say I order him to come to
+the Red House between eight and nine next Monday."
+
+"Be you a fule? Who's he, to come at your bidding?"
+
+"He's a--well, no matter. You've got enough to trouble you. But I think
+he will come. Tell him that I know where he was during the autumn and
+winter of the year that I returned home from Africa. Tell him I know
+where he came from to marry you. Tell him the grey suit of clothes
+reached the owner safely--remember, the grey suit of clothes. That will
+refresh his memory. Then I think he will come fast enough and let me
+have the truth concerning this brat. If he refuses, I shall take steps
+to see justice done."
+
+"I lay he's never put himself in the power of a black-hearted, cruel
+beast like you," blazed out the woman, furious and frightened at once.
+
+"Has he not? Ask him. You don't know where he was during those months? I
+thought you didn't. I do. Perhaps this child--perhaps the other woman's
+the married one--"
+
+Phoebe dropped her basket and her face grew very pale before the horrors
+thus coarsely spread before her. She staggered and felt sick at the
+man's last speech. Then, with one great sob of breath, she turned her
+back on him, nerved herself to use her shaking legs, and set off at her
+best speed, as one running from some dangerous beast of the field.
+
+Grimbal made no attempt to follow, but watched her fade into the mist,
+then turned and pursued his way through the dripping woodlands. Sunrise
+fires gleamed along the upper layers of the fading vapours and gilded
+autumn's handiwork. Ripe seeds fell tapping through the gold of the
+horse-chestnuts, and many acorns also pattered down upon a growing
+carpet of leaves. Webs and gossamers twinkled in the sunlight, and the
+flaming foliage made a pageant of colour through waning mists where red
+leaves and yellow fell at every breath along the thinning woods. Beneath
+trees and hedgerows the ripe mosses gleamed, and coral and amber fungi,
+with amanita and other hooded folk. In companies and clusters they
+sprang or arose misshapen, sinister, and alone. Some were orange and
+orange-tawny; others white and purple; not a few peered forth livid,
+blotched, and speckled, as with venom spattered from some reptile's
+jaws. On the wreck of the year they flourished, sucked strange life from
+rotten stick and hollow tree, opened gills on lofty branch and bough,
+shone in the green grass rings of the meadows, thrust cup and cowl from
+the concourse of the dead leaves in ditches, clustered like the uprising
+roof-trees of a fairy village in dingle and in dene.
+
+At the edge of the woods John Grimbal stood, and the hour was very dark
+for him and he cursed at the loss of his manhood. His heart turned to
+gall before the thought of the thing he had done, as he blankly
+marvelled what unsuspected base instinct had thus disgraced him. He had
+plumbed a possibility unknown within his own character, and before his
+shattered self-respect he stood half passionate, half amazed. Chance had
+thus wrecked him; an impulse had altered the whole face of the problem;
+and he gritted his teeth as he thought of Blanchard's feelings when
+Phoebe should tell her story. As for her, she at least had respected him
+during the past years; but what must henceforth be her estimate of him?
+He heaped bitter contempt upon himself for this brutality to a woman; he
+raged, as he pursued long chains of consequences begot of this single
+lapse of self-control. His eye was cleared from passion; he saw the base
+nature of his action and judged himself as others would judge him. This
+spectacle produced a definite mental issue and aroused long-stagnant
+emotions from their troubled slumbers. He discovered that a frank hatred
+of Will Blanchard awoke and lived. He told himself this man was to blame
+for all, and not content with poisoning his life, now ravaged his soul
+also and blighted every outlook of his being. Like a speck upon an
+eyeball, which blots the survey of the whole eye, so this wretch had
+fastened upon him, ruined his ambitions, wrecked his life, and now
+dragged his honour and his very manhood into the dust. John Grimbal
+found himself near choked by a raging fit of passion at last. He burnt
+into sheer frenzy against Blanchard; and the fuel of the fire was the
+consciousness of his own craven performance of that morning. Flying from
+self-contemplation, he sought distraction and even oblivion at any
+source where his mind could win it; and now he laid all blame on his
+enemy and suffered the passion of his own shame and remorse to rise, as
+it had been a red mist, against this man who was playing havoc with his
+body and soul. He trembled under the loneliness of the woods in a
+debauch of mere brute rage that exhausted him and left a mark on the
+rest of his life. Even his present powers appeared trifling and their
+exercise a deed unsatisfying before this frenzy. What happiness could be
+achieved by flinging Blanchard into prison for a few months at most?
+What salve could be won from thought of this man's disgrace and social
+ruin? The spectacle sank into pettiness now. His blood was surging
+through his veins and crying for action. Primitive passion gripped him
+and craved primitive outlet. At that hour, in his own deepest
+degradation, the man came near madness, and every savage voice in him
+shouted for blood and blows and batterings in the flesh.
+
+Phoebe Blauchard hastened home, meanwhile, and kept her own counsel upon
+the subject of the dawn's sensational incidents. Her first instinct was
+to tell her husband everything at the earliest opportunity, but Will had
+departed to his work before she reached the farm, and on second thoughts
+she hesitated to speak or give John Grimbal's message. She feared to
+precipitate the inevitable. In her own heart what mystery revolved about
+Will's past performances undoubtedly embraced the child fashioned in his
+likeness; and though she had long fought against the rumour and deceived
+herself by pretending to believe Chris, whose opinion differed from that
+of most people, yet at her heart she felt truth must lie hidden
+somewhere in the tangle. Will and Mr. Lyddon alone knew nothing of the
+report, and Phoebe hesitated to break it to her husband. He was
+happy--perhaps in the consciousness that nobody realised the truth; and
+yet at his very gates a bitter foe guessed at part of his secret and
+knew the rest. Still Phoebe could not bring herself to speak
+immediately. A day of mental stress and strain ended, and she retired
+and lay beside Will very sad. Under darkness of night the threats of the
+enemy grew into an imminent disaster of terrific dimensions, and with
+haunting fear she finally slept, to waken in a nightmare.
+
+Will, wholly ignorant of the facts, soothed Phoebe's alarm and calmed
+her as she clung to him in hysterical tears.
+
+"No ill shall come to 'e while I live," she sobbed: "not if all the
+airth speaks evil of 'e. I'll cleave to 'e, and fight for 'e, an' be a
+gude wife, tu,--a better wife than you've been husband."
+
+"Bide easy, an' doan't cry no more. My arm's round 'e, dearie. Theer,
+give awver, do! You've been dreamin' ugly along o' the poor supper you
+made, I reckon. Doan't 'e think nobody's hand against me now, for ban't
+so. Folks begin to see the manner of man I am; an' Miller knaws, which
+is all I care about. He've got a strong right arm workin' for him an' a
+tidy set o' brains, though I sez it; an' you might have a worse husband,
+tu, Phoebe; but theer--shut your purty eyes--I knaw they 'm awpen still,
+for I can hear your lashes against the sheet. An' doan't 'e go out in
+the early dews mushrooming no more, for 't is cold work, an' you've got
+to be strong these next months."
+
+She thought for a moment of telling him boldly concerning the legend
+spreading on every side; but, like others less near and dear to him, she
+feared to do so.
+
+Knowing Will Blanchard, not a man among the backbiters had cared to risk
+a broken head by hinting openly at the startling likeness between the
+child and himself; and Phoebe felt her own courage unequal to the task
+just then. She racked her brains with his dangers long after he was
+himself asleep, and finally she determined to seek Chris next morning
+and hear her opinion before taking any definite step.
+
+On the same night another pair of eyes were open, and trouble of a sort
+only less deep than that of the wife kept her father awake. Billy had
+taken an opportunity to tell his master of the general report and spread
+before him the facts as he knew them.
+
+The younger members of the household had retired early, and when Miller
+Lyddon took the cards from the mantelpiece and made ready for their
+customary game, Mr. Blee shook his head and refused to play.
+
+"Got no heart for cards to-night," he said.
+
+"What's amiss, then? Thank God I've heard little to call ill news for a
+month or two. Not but what I've fancied a shadow on my gal's face more'n
+wance."
+
+"If not on hers, wheer should 'e see it?" asked Mr. Blee eagerly."
+I've seed it, tu, an' for that matter theer's sour looks an' sighs
+elsewheer. People ban't blind, worse luck. 'Tis grawed to be common
+talk, an' I've fired myself to tell you, 'cause 'tis fitting an' right,
+an' it might come more grievous from less careful lips."
+
+"Go on then; an' doan't rack me longer'n you can help. Use few words."
+
+"Many words must go to it, I reckon. 'Tis well knawn I unfolds a bit o'
+news like the flower of the field--gradual and sure. You might have
+noticed that love-cheel by the name of Timothy 'bout the plaace? Him as
+be just of age to harry the ducks an' such-like."
+
+"A nice li'l bwoy, tu, an' fond of me; an' you caan't say he'm a
+love-cheel, knawin' nothin' 'bout him."
+
+"Love-cheel or changeling, 'tis all wan. Have'e ever thought 'twas
+coorious the way Blanchard comed by un?"
+
+"Certainly 'twas--terrible coorious."
+
+"You never doubted it?"
+
+"Why for should I? Will's truthful as light, whatever else he may be."
+
+"You believe as he went 'pon the Moor an' found that bwoy in a
+roundy-poundy under the gloamin'?"
+
+"Ess, I do."
+
+"Have'e ever looked at the laddie close?"
+
+"Oftentimes--so like Will as two peas."
+
+"Theer 'tis! The picter of Will! How do'e read that?"
+
+"Never tried to. An accident, no more."
+
+"A damn queer accident, if you ax me. Burnish it all! You doan't see
+yet, such a genius of a man as you tu! Why, Will Blanchard's the faither
+of the li'l twoad! You've awnly got to know the laws of nature an'
+such-like to swear to it. The way he walks an' holds his head, his
+curls, his fashion of lording it awver the birds an' beasts, the sudden
+laugh of un--he's Will's son, for a thousand pound, an' his mother's
+alive, like as not."
+
+"No mother would have gived up a child that way."
+
+"'Zactly so! Onless she gived it to the faither!" said Billy
+triumphantly.
+
+Mr. Lyddon reflected and showed an evident disposition to scoff at the
+whole story.
+
+"'Tis stuff an' rubbish!" he said. "You might as well find a mare's nest
+t'other side an' say 'twas Will's sister's child. 'Tis almost so like
+her as him, an' got her brown eyes in the bargain."
+
+"God forbid!" answered Billy, in horror. "That's flat libel, an' I'd be
+the last to voice any such thing for money. If a man gets a cheel wrong
+side the blanket 'tis just a passing sarcumstance, an' not to be took
+too serious. Half-a-crown a week is its awn punishment like. But if a
+gal do, 'tis destruction to the end of the chapter, an' shame
+everlasting in the world to come, by all accounts. You didn't ought to
+think o' such things, Miller,--takin' a pure, gude maiden's carater like
+that. Surprised at 'e!"
+
+"'Tis just as mad a thought wan way as t'other, and if you'm surprised
+so be I. To be a tale-bearer at your time o' life!"
+
+"That gormed Blanchard's bewitched 'e from fust to last!" burst out
+Billy. "If a angel from heaven comed down-long and tawld 'e the truth
+'bout un, you wouldn't b'lieve. God stiffen it! You make me mad! You'd
+stand 'pon your head an' waggle your auld legs in the air for un if he
+axed 'e."
+
+"I'll speak to him straight an' take his word for it. If it's true, he
+'m wickedly to blame, I knaw that."
+
+"I was thinkin' of your darter. 'Tis black thoughts have kept her waking
+since this reached her ears."
+
+"Did you tell her what people were sayin'? I warrant you did!"
+
+"You'm wrong then. No such thing. I may have just heaved a sigh when I
+seed the bwoy playin' in front of her, an' looked at Blanchard, an'
+shook my head, or some such gentle hint as that. But no more."
+
+"Well, I doan't believe a word of it; an' I'll tell you this for your
+bettering,--'tis poor religion in you, Blee, to root into other people's
+troubles, like a pig in a trough; an' auld though you be, you 'm not tu
+auld to mind what it felt like when the blood was hot an' quick to race
+at the sight of a maid."
+
+"I practice same as I preach, whether or no," said Billy stoutly, "an' I
+can't lay claim to creating nothing lawful or unlawful in my Maker's
+image. 'Tis something to say that, in these godless days. I've allus
+kept my foot on the world, the flesh, an' the Devil so tight as the best
+Christian in company; an' if that ban't a record for a stone, p'raps
+you'll tell me a better. Your two-edged tongue do make me feel sometimes
+as though I did ought to go right away from 'e, though God knaws--God,
+He knaws--"
+
+Billy hid his face and began to weep, while Mr. Lyddon watched the
+candle-light converge to a shining point upon his bald skull.
+
+"Doan't go against a word in season, my dear sawl. 'Tis our duty to set
+each other right. That's what we'm put here for, I doubt. Many's the
+time you've given me gude advice, an' I've thanked 'e an' took it."
+
+Then he went for the spirits and mixed Mr. Blee a dose of more than
+usual strength.
+
+"You'm the most biting user of language in Chagford, when you mind to
+speak sour," declared Billy. "If I thought you meant all you said, I'd
+go an' hang myself in the barn this instant moment. But you doan't."
+
+He snuffled and dried his scanty tears on a red handkerchief, then
+cheered up and drank his liquor.
+
+"It do take all sorts to make a world, an' a man must act accordin' as
+he'm built," continued Mr. Lyddon. "Ban't no more use bein' angered wi'
+a chap given to women than 'tis bein' angered wi' a fule, because he's a
+fule. What do 'e expect from a fule but folly, or a crab tree but
+useless fruit, or hot blood but the ways of it? This ban't to speak of
+Will Blanchard, though. 'Pon him we'll say no more till he've heard
+what's on folks' tongues. A maddening bwoy--I'll allow you that--an'
+he've took a year or two off my life wan time an' another. 'Pears I
+ban't never to graw to love un as I would; an' yet I caan't quite help
+it when I sees his whole-hearted ferment to put money into my pocket; or
+when I hears him talk of nitrates an' the ways o' the world; or watches
+un playin' make-believe wi' the childer--himself the biggest cheel as
+ever laughed at fulishness or wanted spankin' an' putting in the
+corner."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+FLIGHT
+
+
+On the following morning Miller Lyddon arose late, looked from his
+window and immediately observed the twain with whom his night thoughts
+had been concerned. Will stood at the gate smoking; small Timothy, and
+another lad, of slightly riper years, appeared close by. The children
+were fighting tooth and nail upon the ownership of a frog, and this
+reptile itself, fastened by the leg to a stick, listlessly watched the
+progress of the battle. Will likewise surveyed the scene with genial
+attention, and encouraged the particular little angry animal who had
+most claim upon his interest. Timothy kicked and struck out pretty
+straight, but fought in silence; the bigger boy screamed and howled and
+scratched.
+
+"Vang into un, man, an' knock his ugly head off!" said Will
+encouragingly, and the babe to whom he spoke made renewed efforts as
+both combatants tumbled into the road, the devil in their little bright
+eyes, each puny muscle straining. Tim had his foe by the hair, and the
+elder was trying to bite his enemy's leg, when Martin Grimbal and Chris
+Blanchard approached from Rushford Bridge. They had met by chance, and
+Chris was coming to the farm while the antiquary had business elsewhere.
+Now a scuffle in a cloud of dust arrested them and the woman,
+uninfluenced by considerations of sportsmanship, pounced upon Timothy,
+dragged him from his operations, and, turning to Will, spoke as Martin
+Grimbal had never heard her speak before.
+
+"You, a grawed man, to stand theer an' see that gert wild beast of a
+bwoy tear this li'l wan like a savage tiger! Look at his sclowed faace
+all streaming wi' blood! 'S truth! I'd like to sarve you the same, an' I
+would for two pins! I'm ashamed of 'e!"
+
+"He hit wi' his fistes like a gude un," said Will, grinning; "an' he'm
+made o' the right stuff, I'll swear. Couldn't have done better if he was
+my awn son. I be gwaine to give un a braave toy bimebye. You see t'other
+kid's faace come to-morrow!"
+
+Martin Grimbal watched Chris fondle the gasping Timothy, clean his
+wounds, calm his panting heart; then, as though a superhuman voice
+whispered in his ear, her secret stood solved, and the truth of
+Timothy's parentage confronted him in a lightning flash of the soul. He
+looked at Chris as a man might gaze upon a spectre; he stared at her and
+through her into her past; he pieced each part of the puzzle to its
+kindred parts until all stood complete; he read "mother" in her voice,
+in her caressing hands and gleaming eyes as surely as man reads morning
+in the first light of dawn; and he marvelled that a thing so clear and
+naked had been left to his discovery. The revelation shook him not a
+little, for he was familiar with the rumours concerning Tim's paternity,
+and had been disposed to believe them; but from the moment of the new
+thought's inception it gripped him, for he felt that the thing was true.
+As lamps, so ordered that the light of each may fall on the fringe of
+darkness where its fellow fades, and thus complete a chain of
+illumination, so the present discovery, duly considered, was but one
+point of truth revealing others. It made clear much that had not been
+easy to understand, and the tremendous fact rose in his mind as a link
+in such a perfect sequence of evidence that doubt actually vanished
+before he had lost sight of Chris and passed dumfounded upon his way.
+Her lover's sudden death, her own disappearance, the child's advent at
+Newtake, and the woman's subsequent return--these main incidents
+connected a thousand others and explained what little mystery still
+obscured the position. He pursued his road and marvelled as he went how
+a tragedy so thinly veiled had thus escaped every eye. Within the story
+that Chris had told, this other story might be intercalated without
+convicting her of any spoken falsehood. Now he guessed at the reason why
+Timothy's mother had refused to marry him on his last proposal; then,
+thinking of the child, he knew Tim's father.
+
+So he stood before the truth; and it filled his heart with some agony
+and some light. Examining his love in this revelation, he discovered
+strange things; and first, that it was love only that had opened his
+eyes and enabled him to solve the secret at all. Nobody had made the
+discovery but himself, and he, of all men the least likely to come at
+any concern others desired to hide from him, had fathomed this great
+fact, had won it from the heart of unconscious Chris. His love widened
+and deepened into profound pity as he thought of all that her secret and
+the preservation of it must have meant; and tears dimmed his eyes as he
+pictured her life since her lover's passing.
+
+To him the discovery hurt Chris so little that for a time he underrated
+the effect of it upon other people. His affection rose clean above the
+unhappy fact, and it was some time before he began to appreciate the
+spectacle of Chris under the world's eye with the truth no longer
+hidden. Then a sense of his own helplessness overmastered him; he walked
+slowly, drew up at a gate and stood motionless, leaning over it. So
+silent did he stand, and so long, that a stoat hopped across the road
+within two yards of him.
+
+He realised to the full that he was absolutely powerless. Chris alone
+must disperse the rumours fastening on her brother if they were to be
+dispersed. He knew that she would not suffer any great cloud of unjust
+censure to rest upon Will, and he saw what a bitter problem must be
+overwhelming her. Nobody could help her and he, who knew, was as
+powerless as the rest. Then he asked himself if that last conviction was
+true. He probed the secret places of his mind to find an idea; he prayed
+for some chance spark or flash of genius to aid him before this trial;
+he mourned his own simple brains, so weak to aid him in this vital pass.
+But of all living men the accidental discovery was most safe with him.
+His heart went out to the secret mother, and he told himself that he
+would guard her mystery like gold.
+
+It was strange in a nature so timorous that not once did a suspicion he
+had erred overtake him, and presently he wondered to observe how ancient
+this discovery of the motherhood of Chris had grown within his mind. It
+appeared as venerable as his own love for her. He yearned for power to
+aid; without conscious direction of his course he proceeded and strode
+along for hours. Then he ate a meal of bread and cheese at an inn and
+tramped forward once more upon a winding road towards the village of
+Zeal.
+
+Through his uncertainty, athwart the deep perplexity of his mind, moved
+hope and a shadowed joy. Within him arose again the vision of happiness
+once pictured and prayed for, once revived, never quite banished to the
+grey limbo of ambitions beyond fulfilment. Now realities saddened the
+thought of it and brought ambition within a new environment less
+splendid than the old. But, despite clouds, hope shone fairly forth at
+last. So a planet, that the eye has followed at twilight and then lost a
+while, beams anew at dawn after lapse of days, and wheels in wide mazes
+upon some new background of the unchanging stars.
+
+Elsewhere Mr. Lyddon braced himself to a painful duty, and had private
+speech with his son-in-law. Like a thunderbolt the circling suspicions
+fell on Will, and for a moment smothered his customary characteristics
+under sheer surprise.
+
+The miller spoke nervously, and walked up and down with his eyes
+averted.
+
+"Ban't no gert matter, I hope, an' I won't keep 'e from your work five
+minutes. You've awnly got to say 'No,' an' theer's an end of it so far
+as I'm concerned. 'Tis this: have 'e noticed heads close together now
+an' again when you passed by of late?"
+
+"Not me. Tu much business on my hands, I assure 'e. Coourse theer's
+envious whisperings; allus is when a man gets a high place, same as what
+I have, thanks to his awn gude sense an' the wisdom of others as knaws
+what he's made of. But you trusted me wi' all your heart, an' you'll
+never live to mourn it."
+
+"I never want to. You'm grawing to be much to me by slow stages. Yet
+these here tales. This child Timothy. Who's his faither, Will, an' who's
+his mother?"
+
+"How the flaming hell should I knaw? I found him same as you finds a
+berry on a briar. That's auld history, surely?"
+
+"The child graws so 'mazing like you, that even dim eyes such as mine
+can see it."
+
+A sudden flash of light came into Blanchard's face. Then the fire died
+as quickly as it had been kindled, and he grew calm.
+
+"God A'mighty!" he said, in a voice hushed and awed. "They think that! I
+lay that's why your darter's cried o' nights, then, an' Chris have
+grawed sad an' wisht in her ways, an' mother have pet the bwoy wan
+moment an' been short wi' un the next."
+
+He remained marvellously quiet under this attack, but amazement chiefly
+marked his attitude. Miller Lyddon, encouraged by this unexpected
+reasonableness, spoke again more sternly.
+
+"The thing looks bad to a wife an' mother, an' 'tis my duty to ax 'e for
+a plain, straightforward answer 'pon it. Human nature's got a ugly trick
+of repeatin' itself in this matter, as we all knaws. But I'll say nought
+an' think nought till you answers me. Be the bwoy yourn or not? Tell me
+true, with your hand on this."
+
+He took his Bible from the mantelpiece, while Will, apparently cowed by
+the gravity of the situation, placed both palms upon it, then fixed his
+eyes solemnly upon Mr. Lyddon.
+
+"As God in heaven's my judge, he ban't no cheel of mine, and I knaw
+nothing about him--no, nor yet his faither nor mother nor plaace of
+birth. I found un wheer I said, and if I've lied by a fraction, may God
+choke me as I stand here afore you."
+
+"An' I believe you to the bottom!" declared his father-in-law. "I
+believe you as I hopes to be believed myself, when I stands afore the
+Open Books an' says I've tried to do my duty. You've got me on your
+side, an' that's to say you'll have Phoebe an' your mother, tu, for
+certain."
+
+Then Blanchard's mood changed, and there came a tremendous rebound from
+the tension of the last few minutes. In the anti-climax following upon
+his oath, passion, chained a while by astonishment, broke loose in a
+whirlwind.
+
+"Let 'em believe or disbelieve, who cares?" he thundered out. "Not
+me--not a curse for you or anybody, my awn blood or not my awn blood. To
+harbour lies against me! But women loves to believe bad most times."
+
+"Who said they believed it, Will? Doan't go mad, now 'tis awver and
+done."
+
+"They _did_ believe it; I knaw, I seed it in theer faaces, come to think
+of it. 'Tis the auld song. I caan't do no right. Course I've got childer
+an' ruined maids in every parish of the Moor! God damn theer lying,
+poisonous tongues, the lot of 'em! I'm sick of this rotten, lie-breeding
+hole, an' of purty near every sawl in it but mother. She never would
+think against me. An' me, so true to Phoebe as the honey-bee to his awn
+butt! I'll go--I'll get out of it--so help me, I will--to a clean land,
+'mongst clean-thinking folk, wheer men deal fair and judge a chap by his
+works. For a thought I'd wring the neck of the blasted child, by God I
+would!"
+
+"He've done no wrong."
+
+"Nor me neither. I had no more hand in his getting than he had himself.
+Poor li'l brat; I'm sorry I spoke harsh of him. He was give me--he was
+give me--an' I wish to God he _was_ mine. Anyways he shaa'n't come to no
+harm. I'll fight the lot of 'e for un, till he 's auld enough to fight
+for hisself."
+
+Then Will burst out of Monks Barton and vanished. He passed far from the
+confines of the farm, roamed on to the high Moor, and nothing further
+was seen of him until the following day.
+
+Those most concerned assembled after his departure and heard the result
+of the interview.
+
+"Solemn as a minister he swore," explained Mr. Lyddon; "an' then, a'most
+before his hands was off the Book, he burst out like a screeching,
+ravin' hurricane. I half felt the oath was vain then, an' 't was his
+real nature bubblin' up like."
+
+They discussed the matter, all save Chris, who sat apart, silent and
+abstracted. Presently she rose and left them, and faced her own trouble
+single-handed, as she had similarly confronted greater sorrows in the
+past.
+
+She was fully determined to conceal her cherished secret still; yet not
+for the superficial reason that had occurred to any mind. Vast mental
+alterations had transformed Chris Blanchard since the death of Clement.
+Her family she scarcely considered now; no power of logic would have
+convinced her that she had wronged them or darkened their fame. In the
+past, indeed, not the least motive of her flight had centred in the fear
+of Will; but now she feared nobody, and her own misfortune held no
+shadow of sin or shame for her, looking back upon it. Those who would
+have denied themselves her society or friendship upon this knowledge it
+would have given her no pang to lose. She could feel fiercely still, as
+she looked back to the birth of her son and traced the long course of
+her sufferings; and she yet experienced occasional thrills of
+satisfaction in her weaker moments, when she lowered the mask and
+reflected, not without pride, on the strength and determination that had
+enabled her to keep her secret. But to reveal the truth now was a
+prospect altogether hateful in the eyes of Chris, and she knew the
+reason. More than once had she been upon the brink of disclosure, since
+recent unhappy suspicions had darkened Phoebe's life; but she had
+postponed the necessary step again and again, at one thought. Her
+fortitude, her apathy, her stoic indifference, broke down and left her
+all woman before one necessity of confession; her heart stood still when
+she remembered that Martin Grimbal must know and judge. His verdict she
+did, indeed, dread with all her soul, and his only; for him she had
+grown to love, and the thought of his respect and regard was precious to
+her. Everybody must know, everybody or nobody. For long she could
+conceive of no action clearing Will in the eyes of the wider circle who
+would not be content to take his word, and yet leaving herself
+uninvolved. Then the solution came. She would depart once more with the
+child. Such a flight was implicit confession, and could not be
+misunderstood. Martin must, indeed, know, but she would never see him
+after he knew. To face him after the truth had reached his ear seemed to
+Chris a circumstance too terrible to dwell upon. Her action, of course,
+would proclaim the parentage of Timothy, and free Will from further
+slanderings; while for herself, through tears she saw the kind faces of
+the gypsy people and her life henceforth devoted to her little one.
+
+To accentuate the significance of the act she determined to carry out
+her intention that same day, and during the afternoon opportunity
+offered. Her son, playing alone in the farmyard, came readily enough for
+a walk, and before three o'clock they had set out. The boy's face was
+badly scratched from his morning battle, but pain had ceased, and his
+injuries only served as an object of great interest to Timothy. Where
+water in ditch or puddle made a looking-glass he would stop to survey
+himself.
+
+A spectator, aware of certain facts, had viewed the progress of Chris
+with some slight interest. Three ways were open to her, three main
+thoroughfares leading out of Chagford to places of parallel or greater
+importance. Upon the Moor road Will wandered in deep perturbation; on
+that to Okehampton walked another man, concerned with the same problem
+from a different aspect; the third highway led to Moreton; and thither
+Chris might have proceeded unchallenged. But a little public vehicle
+would be returning just then from the railway station. That the runaway
+knew, and therefore selected another path.
+
+In her pocket was all the money that she had; in her heart was a sort of
+alloyed sorrow. Two thoughts shared her mind after she had decided upon
+a course of action. She wondered how quickly Tim would learn to call her
+"mother," for that was the only sweet word life still held; yet of the
+child's father she did not think, for her mind, without special act of
+volition, turned and turned again to him upon whom the Indian summer of
+her love had descended.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+UNDER COSDON BEACON
+
+
+Beneath a region where the "newtakes" straggle up Cosdon's eastern flank
+and mark a struggle between man and the giant beacon, Chris Blanchard
+rested a while upon the grass by the highway. Tim, wrapped in a shawl,
+slept soundly beside his mother, and she sat with her elbows on her
+knees and one hand under her chin. It was already dusk; dark mist
+wreaths moved upon the Moor, and oncoming night winds sighed of rain.
+Then a moment before her intended departure from this most solitary spot
+she heard footsteps upon the road. Not interested to learn anything of
+the passer-by, Chris remained with her eyes upon the ground, but the
+footsteps stopped suddenly before her, whereupon she looked up and saw
+Martin Grimbal.
+
+After a perambulation of twenty miles he had now set his face homewards,
+and thus the meeting was accomplished. Utmost constraint at first marked
+the expression of both man and woman, and it was left for Martin to
+break the silence, for Chris only started at seeing him, but said
+nothing. Her mind, however, ranged actively upon the reason of Grimbal's
+sudden appearance, and she did not at first believe it accidental.
+
+"Why, my dear, what is this? You have wandered far afield!"
+
+He addressed her in unnatural tones, for surprise and emotion sent his
+voice up into his head, and it came thin and tremulous as a woman's.
+Even as he spoke Martin feared. From the knowledge gleaned by him that
+morning he suspected the meaning of this action, and thought that Chris
+was running away.
+
+And she, at the same moment, divined that he guessed the truth in so far
+as the present position was concerned. Still she did not speak, and he
+grew calmer and took her silence as an admission.
+
+"You're going away from Chagford? Is it wise?"
+
+"Ess, Martin, 'tis best so. You see this poor child be breedin' trouble,
+an' bringing bad talk against Will. He ban't wanted--little Timothy--an'
+I ban't wanted overmuch, so it comed to me I'd--I'd just slip away out
+of the turmoil an' taake Tim. Then--"
+
+She stopped, for her heart was beating so fast that she could speak no
+more. She remembered her own arguments in the recent past,--that this
+flight must tell all who cared to reflect that the child was her own.
+Now she looked up at Martin to see if he had guessed it. But he
+exhibited extreme self-control and she was reassured.
+
+"Just like your thoughtful self to try and save others from sorrow.
+Where are you going to, Chris? Don't tell me more than you please; but I
+may be useful to you on this, the first stage of the journey."
+
+"To Okehampton to-night. To-morrow--but I'd rather not say any more. I
+don't care so long as you think I'm right."
+
+"I haven't said that yet. But I'll go as far as Zeal with you. Then
+we'll get a covered cab or something. We may reach the village before
+rain."
+
+"No call for your coming. 'Tis awnly a short mile."
+
+"But I must. I'll carry the laddie. Poor little man! Hard to be the
+cause of such a bother."
+
+He picked Timothy up so gently that the child did not wake.
+
+"Now," he said, "come along. You must be tired already."
+
+"How gude you be!" she said wearily. "I'm glad you doan't scold or fall
+into a rage wi' me, for I knaw I'm right. The bwoy's better away, and
+I'm small use to any now. But I can be busy with this little wan. I
+might do worse than give up my life to un--eh, Martin?"
+
+Then some power put words in his mouth. He trembled when he had spoken
+them, but he would not have recalled them.
+
+"You couldn't do better. It's a duty staring you in the face."
+
+She started violently, and her dark skin flamed under the night.
+
+"Why d'you say that?" she asked, with loud, harsh voice, and stopping
+still as she did so. "Why d'you say 'duty'?"
+
+He, too, stood and looked at her.
+
+"My dear," he answered, "love's a quick, subtle thing. It can make even
+such a man as I am less stupid than Nature built him. It fires dull
+brains; it adds sight to dim eyes; it shows the bookworm how to find out
+secrets hidden from keener spirits; it lifts a veil from the loved one
+and lets the lover see more than anybody else can. Be patient with me. I
+spoke because I love you still with all my heart and soul, Chris; I
+spoke, because what I feel for you is lifelong, and cannot change. Had I
+not still worshipped the earth under your feet I would have died rather
+than tell you. But love makes me bold. I have watched you so long and
+prayed for you so often. I have seen little differences in you that
+nobody else saw. And to-day I know. I knew when you picked up Timothy
+and flew at Will. Since then I've wandered Heaven can tell where, just
+thinking and thinking and wondering and seeing no way. And all the time
+God meant me to come and find you and tell you."
+
+She understood; she gave one bitter cry that started an echo from ruined
+mine-workings hard at hand; then she turned from him, and, in a moment
+of sheer hopeless misery, flung herself and her wrecked ambitions upon
+the ground by the wayside.
+
+For a moment the man stood scared by this desperate answer to his words.
+Then he put his burden down, approached Chris, knelt beside her, and
+tried to raise her. She sat up at last with panting breast and eyes in
+which some terror sat.
+
+"You!" she said. "You to knaw! Wasn't my cup full enough before but
+that my wan hope should be cut away, tu? My God, I 'mauld in sorrow
+now--very auld. But 't is awver at last. You knaw, an' I had to hear it
+from your awn lips! Theer 's nought worse in the world for me now."
+
+Her hands were pressed against her bosom, and as he unconsciously moved
+a little towards her she shrank backwards, then rose to her feet.
+Timothy woke and cried, upon which she turned to him and picked him up.
+
+"Go!" she cried suddenly. "If ever you loved me, get out of my sight
+now, or you'll make me want to kill myself again."
+
+He saw the time was come for strong self-assertion, and spoke.
+
+"Listen!" he said. "You don't understand, but you must. I'm the only man
+in the world who knows--the only one, and I've told you because it was
+stamped into my brain to tell you, and because I love you perhaps better
+than one creature has any right to love another."
+
+"You knaw. Isn't it enough? Who else did I care for? Who else mattered
+to me? Mother or brother or other folk? I pray you to go an' leave me.
+God knaws how hard it was to hide it, but I hugged it an' suffered more
+'n any but a mother could fathom 'cause things weer as they weer. Then
+came this trouble, an' still none seed. But 't was meant you should, an'
+the rest doan't matter. I'd so soon go back now as not."
+
+"So you shall," he answered calmly; "only hear this first. Last time I
+spoke about what was in my heart, Chris, you told me you could love me,
+but that you would not marry me, and I said I would never ask you again.
+I shall keep my word, sweetheart. I shall not ask; I shall take without
+asking. You love me; that is all I care for. The little boy came between
+last time; now nothing does."
+
+He took the woman in his arms and kissed her, but the next moment he was
+flying to where water lay in a ditch, for his unexpected attitude had
+overpowered Chris. She raised her hands to his shoulders, uttered a
+faint cry, then slipped heavily out of his arms in a faint. The man
+rushed this way and that, the child sat and howled noisily, the woman
+remained long unconscious, and heavy rain began to fall out of the
+darkness; yet, to his dying day that desolate spot of earth brought
+light to Martin's eyes as often as he passed it.
+
+Chris presently recovered her senses, and spoke words that made her
+lover's heart leap. She uttered them in a sad, low voice, but her hand
+was in his, pressing it close the while.
+
+"Awften an' awften I've axed the A'mighty to give me wan little glint o'
+knawledge as how 'twould all end. If I'd knawed! But I never guessed how
+big your sawl was, Martin. I never thought you was the manner of man to
+love a woman arter that."
+
+"God knows what's in my heart, Chris."
+
+"I'll tell 'e everything some day. Lookin' back it doan't 'pear no ways
+wicked, though it may seem so in cold daylight to cold hearts."
+
+"Come, come with me, for the rain grows harder. I know where I can hire
+a covered carriage at an inn. 'Tis only five minutes farther on, and
+poor Tim's unhappy."
+
+"He'm hungry. You won't be hard 'pon my li'l bwoy if I come to 'e,
+Martin?"
+
+"You know as well as I can tell you. There's one other thing. About
+Chagford, Chris? Are you afraid of it? I'll turn my back on it if you
+like. I'll take you to Okehampton now if you would rather go there."
+
+"Never! 'Tis for you to care, not me. So you knaw an' forgive--what's
+the rest? Shadows. But let me hold your hand an' keep my tongue still.
+I'm sick an' fainty wi' this gert turn o' the wheel. 'T is tu deep for
+any words."
+
+He felt not less uplifted, but his joy was a man's. It rolled and
+tumbled over his being like the riotous west wind. Under such stress his
+mind could find no worthy thing to say, and yet he was intoxicated and
+had to speak. He was very unlike himself. He uttered platitudes; then
+the weight of Timothy upon his arm reminded him that the child existed.
+
+"He shall go to a good school, Chris."
+
+She sighed.
+
+"I wish I could die quick here by the roadside, dear Martin, for living
+along with you won't be no happier than I am this moment. My thoughts do
+all run back, not forward. I've lived long enough, I reckon. If I'd told
+'e! But I'd rather been skinned alive than do it. I'd have let the rest
+knaw years agone but for you."
+
+Driving homewards half an hour later, Chris Blanchard told Martin that
+part of her story which concerned her life after the birth of Timothy.
+
+"The travellin' people was pure gawld to me," she said. "And theer's
+much to say of theer gert gudeness. But I can tell 'e that another time.
+It chanced the very day Will's li'l wan was buried we was to Chagford,
+an' the sad falling-out quickened my awn mind as to a thought 'bout my
+cheel. It comed awver me to leave un at Newtake. I left the vans wheer
+they was camped that afternoon, an' hid 'pon the hill wi' the baaby.
+Then Will comed out hisself, an' I chaanged my thought an' followed un
+wheer he roamed, knawin' the colour of his mind through them black hours
+as if 'twas my awn. 'Twas arter he'd left the roundy-poundy wheer he was
+born that I put my child in it, then called tu un loud an' clear. He
+never knawed the voice, which was the awnly thing I feared. But a voice
+long silent be soon forgot. I bided at hand till I saw the bwoy in
+brother Will's arms. An' then I knawed 'twas well an' that mother would
+come to see it. Arterwards I suffered very terrible wi'out un. But I
+fought wi' myself an' kept away up to the time I'd fixed in my mind.
+That was so as nobody should link me with the li'l wan in theer
+thoughts. Waitin' was the hard deed, and seein' my bwoy for the first
+time when I went to Newtake was hard tu. But 'tis all wan now."
+
+She remained silent until the lengthy ride was ended and her mother's
+cottage reached. Then, as that home she had thought to enter no more
+appeared again, the nature of the woman awoke for one second, and she
+flung herself on Martin's heart.
+
+"May God make me half you think me, for I love you true, an' you'm the
+best man He ever fashioned," she said. "An' to-morrow's Sunday," she
+added inconsequently, "an' I'll kneel in church an' call down lifelong
+blessings on 'e."
+
+"Don't go to-morrow, my darling. And yet--but no, we'll not go, either
+of us. I couldn't hear my own banns read out for the world, and I don't
+think you could; yet read they'll be as sure as the service is held."
+
+She said nothing, but he knew that she felt; then mother and child were
+gone, and Martin, dismissing his vehicle, proceeded to Monks Barton with
+the news that all was well.
+
+Mrs. Blanchard heard her daughter's story and its sequel. She exhibited
+some emotion, but no grief. The sorrow she may have suffered was never
+revealed to any eye by word or tear.
+
+"I reckoned of late days theer was Blanchard blood to the child," she
+said, "an' I won't hide from you I thought more'n wance you was so like
+to be the mother as Will the faither of un. Go to bed now, if you caan't
+eat, an' taake the bwoy, an' thank God for lining your dark cloud with
+this silver. If He forgives 'e, an' this here gude grey Martin forgives
+'e, who be I to fret? Worse'n you've been forgived at fust hand by the
+Lard when He travelled on flesh-an'-blood feet 'mong men; an' folks have
+short memories for dates, an' them as sniggers now will be dust or
+dotards 'fore Tim's grawed. When you've been a lawful wife ten year an'
+more, who's gwaine to mind this? Not little Tim's fellow bwoys an' gals,
+anyway. His awn generation won't trouble him, an' he'll find a wise
+guardian in Martin, an' a lovin' gran'mother in me. Dry your eyes an' be
+a Blanchard. God A'mighty sends sawls in the world His awn way, an'
+chooses the faithers an' mothers for 'em; an' He's never taught Nature
+to go second to parson yet, worse luck. 'Tis done, an' to grumble at a
+dead man's doin's--specially if you caan't mend 'em--be vain."
+
+"My share was half, an' not less," said Chris.
+
+"Aye, you say so, but 'tis a deed wheer the blame ban't awften divided
+equal," answered Mrs. Blanchard. "Wheer's the maiden as caan't wait for
+her weddin' bells?"
+
+The use of the last two words magically swept Chris back into the past.
+The coincidence was curious, and she remembered when a man, destined
+never to listen to such melody, declared impatiently that he heard it in
+the hidden heart of a summer day long past. She did not reply to her
+mother, but arose and took her child and went to rest.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+BAD NEWS FOR BLANCHARD
+
+
+On the morning that saw the wedding of Chris and Martin, Phoebe
+Blanchard found heart and tongue to speak to her husband of the thing
+she still kept locked within her mind. Since the meeting with John
+Grimbal she had suffered much in secret, but still kept silence; and
+now, after a quiet service before breakfast on a morning in
+mid-December, most of those who had been present as spectators returned
+to the valley, and Phoebe spoke to Will as they walked apart from the
+rest. A sight of the enemy it was that loosed her lips, for, much to the
+surprise of all present, John Grimbal had attended his brother's
+wedding. As the little gathering streamed away after the ceremony, he
+had galloped off again with a groom behind him, and the incident now led
+to greater things.
+
+"Chill-fashion weddin'," said Will, as he walked homewards, "but it
+'pears to me all Blanchards be fated to wed coorious. Well, 't is a gude
+matter out o' hand. I knaw I raged somethin' terrible come I fust heard
+it, but I think differ'nt now, specially when I mind what Chris must
+have felt those times she seed me welting her child an' heard un yell,
+yet set her teeth an' never shawed a sign."
+
+"Did 'e note Jan Grimbal theer?"
+
+"I seed un, an' I catched un wi' his eye on you more 'n wance. He 's
+grawed to look nowadays as if his mouth allus had a sour plum in it."
+
+"His brain's got sour stuff hid in it if his mouth haven't. Be you ever
+feared of un?"
+
+"Not me. Why for should I be? He'll be wan of the fam'ly like, now. He
+caan't keep his passion alive for ever. We 'm likely to meet when Martin
+do come home again from honeymooning."
+
+"Will, I must tell you something--something gert an' terrible. I should
+have told 'e 'fore now but I was frightened."
+
+"Not feared to speak to me?"
+
+"Ess, seeing the thing I had to say. I've waited weeks in fear an'
+tremblin', expecting something to happen, an' all weighed down with
+fright an' dread. Now, what wi' the cheel that's comin', I caan't carry
+this any more."
+
+Being already lachrymose, after the manner of women at a wedding, Phoebe
+now shed a tear or two. Will thereupon spoke words of comfort, and
+blamed her for hiding any matter from him.
+
+"More trouble?" he said. "Yet I doan't think it,--not now,--just as I be
+right every way. I guess 't is your state makes you queer an' glumpy."
+
+"I hope 't was vain talk an' not true anyway."
+
+"More talk 'bout me? You'd think Chagford was most tired o' my name,
+wouldn't 'e? Who was it now?"
+
+"Him--Jan Grimbal. I met him 'mong the mushrooms. He burst out an' said
+wicked, awful things, but his talk touched the li'l bwoy. He thought Tim
+was yourn an' he was gwaine to do mischief against you."
+
+"Damn his black mind! I wonder he haven't rotted away wi' his awn bile
+'fore now."
+
+"But that weern't all. He talked an' talked, an' threatened if you
+didn't go an' see him, as he'd tell 'bout you in the past, when you was
+away that autumn-time 'fore us was married."
+
+"Did he, by God! Doan't he wish he knawed!"
+
+"He does knaw, Will--least he said he did."
+
+"Never dream it, Phoebe. 'T is a lie. For why? 'Cause if he did knaw I
+shouldn't--but theer, I've never tawld 'e, an' I ban't gwaine to now.
+Awnly I'll say this,--if Grimbal really knawed he'd have--but he can't
+knaw, and theer 's an end of it."
+
+"To think I should have been frighted by such a story all these weeks!
+An' not true. Oh! I wish I'd told 'e when he sent the message. 'T would
+have saved me so much."
+
+"Ess, never keep nothin' from me, Phoebe. Theer 's troubles that might
+crush wan heart as comes a light load divided between two. What
+message?"
+
+"Some silly auld story 'bout a suit of grey clothes. He said I was to
+tell 'e the things was received by the awner."
+
+Will Blanchard stood still so suddenly that it seemed as though magic
+had turned him into stone. He stood, and his hands unclasped, and
+Phoebe's church service which he carried fell with a thud into the road.
+His wife watched him change colour, and noted in his face an expression
+she had never before seen there.
+
+"Christ A'mighty!" he whispered, with his eyes reflecting a world of
+sheer amazement and even terror; "he _does_ knaw!"
+
+"What? Knaw what, Will? For the Lard's sake doan't 'e look at me like
+that; you'll frighten my heart into my mouth."
+
+"To think he knawed an' watched an' waited all these years! The spider
+patience o' that man! I see how 't was. He let the world have its way
+an' thought to see me broken wi'out any trouble from him. Then, when I
+conquered, an' got to Miller's right hand, an' beat the world at its awn
+game, he--an' been nursing this against me! The heart of un!"
+
+He spoke to himself aloud, gazing straight before him at nothing.
+
+"Will, tell me what 't is. Caan't your awn true wife help 'e now or
+never?"
+
+Recalled by her words he came to himself, picked up her book, and walked
+on. She spoke again and then he answered,--
+
+"No, 't is a coil wheer you caan't do nought--nor nobody. The black
+power o' waitin'--'t is that I never heard tell of. I thought I knawed
+what was in men to the core--me, thirty years of age, an' a ripe man if
+ever theer was wan. But this malice! 'T is enough to make 'e believe in
+the devil."
+
+"What have you done?" she cried aloud. "Tell me the worst of it, an' how
+gert a thing he've got against you."
+
+"Bide quiet," he answered. "I'll tell 'e, but not on the public road.
+Not but he'll take gude care every ear has it presently. Shut your mouth
+now an' come up to our chamber arter breakfast an' I'll tell 'e the
+rights of it. An' that dog knawed an' could keep it close all these
+years!"
+
+"He's dangerous, an' terrible, an' strong. I see it in your faace,
+Will."
+
+"So he is, then; ban't no foxin' you 'bout it now. 'T is an awful power
+of waitin' he've got; an' he haven't bided his time these years an'
+years for nothin'. A feast to him, I lay. He've licked his damned lips
+many a score o' times to think of the food he'd fat his vengeance with
+bimebye."
+
+"Can he taake you from me? If not I'll bear it."
+
+"Ess fay, I'm done for; credit, fortune, all gone. It might have been
+death if us had been to war at the time."
+
+She clung to him and her head swam.
+
+"Death! God's mercy! you've never killed nobody, Will?"
+
+"Not as I knaws on, but p'r'aps ban't tu late to mend it. It freezes
+me--it freezes my blood to think what his thoughts have been. No, no,
+ban't death or anything like that. But 't is prison for sure if--"
+
+He broke off and his face was very dark.
+
+"What, Will? If what? Oh, comfort me, comfort me, Will, for God's sake!
+An' another li'l wan comin'!"
+
+"Doan't take on," he said. "Ban't my way to squeal till I'm hurt. Let it
+bide, an' be bright an' cheery come eating, for mother 's down in the
+mouth at losin' Chris, though she doan't shaw it."
+
+Mrs. Blanchard, with little Timothy, joined the breakfast party at Monks
+Barton, and a certain gloom hanging over the party, Mr. Blee commented
+upon it in his usual critical spirit.
+
+"This here givin' in marriage do allus make a looker-on down in the
+mouth if he 's a sober-minded sort o' man. 'T is the contrast between
+the courageousness of the two poor sawls jumpin' into the state, an' the
+solid fact of bein' a man's wife or a woman's husband for all time. The
+vows they swear! An' that Martin's voice so strong an' cheerful! A
+teeming cause o' broken oaths the marriage sarvice; yet each new pair
+comes along like sheep to the slaughter."
+
+"You talk like a bachelor man," said Damaris.
+
+"Not so, Mrs. Blanchard, I assure 'e! Lookers-on see most of the game.
+Ban't the mite as lives in a cheese what can tell e' 'bout the flavour
+of un. Look at a married man at a weddin'--all broadcloth an'
+cheerfulness, like the fox as have lost his tail an' girns to see
+another chap in the same pickle."
+
+"Yet you tried blamed hard to lose your tail an' get a wife, for all
+your talk," said Will, who, although his mind was full enough, yet could
+generally find a sharp word for Mr. Blee.
+
+"Bah to you!" answered the old man angrily. "_That_ for you! 'T is allus
+your way to bring personal talk into high conversation. I was improvin'
+the hour with general thoughts; but the vulgar tone you give to a
+discourse would muzzle the wisdom o' Solomon."
+
+Miller Lyddon here made an effort to re-establish peace and soon
+afterwards the meal came to an end.
+
+Half an hour later Phoebe heard from her husband the story of his brief
+military career: of how he had enlisted as a preliminary to going abroad
+and making his fortune, how he had become servant to one Captain
+Tremayne, how upon the news of Phoebe's engagement he had deserted, and
+how his intention to return and make a clean breast of it had been twice
+changed by the circumstances that followed his marriage. Long he took in
+detailing every incident and circumstance.
+
+"Coming to think," he said, "of coourse 't is clear as Grimbal must knaw
+my auld master. I seed his name raised to a Major in the _Western
+Morning News_ a few year agone, an' he was to Okehampton with a
+battalion when Hicks come by his death. So that's how't is; an' I ban't
+gwaine to bide Grimbal's time to be ruined, you may be very sure of
+that. Now I knaw, I act."
+
+"He may be quite content you should knaw. That's meat an' drink enough
+for him, to think of you gwaine in fear day an' night."
+
+"Ess, but that's not my way. I ban't wan to wait an enemy's pleasure."
+
+"You won't go to him, Will?"
+
+"Go to un? Ess fay--'fore the day's done, tu."
+
+"That's awnly to hasten the end."
+
+"The sooner the better."
+
+He tramped up and down the bedroom with his eyes on the ground, his
+hands in his pockets.
+
+"A tremendous thing to tumble up on the surface arter all these years;
+an' a tremendous time for it to come. 'T was a crime 'gainst the Queen
+for my awn gude ends. I had to choose 'tween her an' you; I'd do the
+same to-morrow. The fault weern't theer. It lay in not gwaine back."
+
+"You couldn't; your arm was broke."
+
+"I ought to have gone back arter 't was well. Then time had passed, an'
+uncle's money corned, an' they never found me. But theer it lies ahead
+now, sure enough."
+
+"Perhaps for sheer shame he'll bide quiet 'bout it. A man caan't hate
+another man for ever."
+
+"I thought not, same as you, but Grimbal shaws we 'm wrong."
+
+"Let us go, then; let us do what you thought to do 'fore faither comed
+forward so kind. Let us go away to furrin paarts, even now."
+
+"I doubt if he'd let me go. 'T is mouse an' cat for the minute.
+Leastways so he's thought since he talked to 'e. But he'll knaw
+differ'nt 'fore he lies in his bed to-night. Must be cut an' dried an'
+settled."
+
+"Be slow to act, Will, an'--"
+
+"Theer! theer!" he said, "doan't 'e offer me no advice, theer's a gude
+gal, 'cause I couldn't stand it even from you, just this minute. God
+knaws I'm not above takin' it in a general way, for the best tried man
+can larn from babes an' sucklings sometimes; but this is a thing calling
+for nothin' but shut lips. 'T is my job an' I've got to see it through
+my own way."
+
+"You'll be patient, Will? 'T isn't like other times when you was right
+an' him wrong. He's got the whip-hand of 'e, so you mustn't dictate."
+
+"Not me. I can be reasonable an' just as any man. I never hid from
+myself I was doin' wrong at the time. But, when all's said, this auld
+history's got two sides to it--'specially if you remember that 't was
+through John Grimbal's awn act I had to do wan wrong thing to save you
+doin' a worse wan. He'll have to be reasonable likewise. 'T is man to
+man."
+
+Will's conversation lasted another hour, but Phoebe could not shake his
+determination, and after dinner Blanchard departed to the Red House, his
+destination being known to his wife only.
+
+But while Will marched upon this errand, the man he desired to see had
+just left his own front door, struck through leafless coppices of larch
+and silver beech that approached the house, and then proceeded to where
+bigger timber stood about a little plateau of marshy land, surrounded by
+tall flags. The woodlands had paid their debt to Nature in good gold,
+and all the trees were naked. An east wind lent a hard, clean clearness
+to the country. In the foreground two little lakes spread their waters
+steel-grey in a cup of lead; the distance was clear and cold and compact
+of all sober colours save only where, through a grey and interlacing
+nakedness of many boughs, the roof of the Red House rose.
+
+John Grimbal sat upon a felled tree beside the pools, and while he
+remained motionless, his pipe unlighted, his gun beside him, a spaniel
+worked below in the sere sedges at the water's margin. Presently the dog
+barked, a moor-hen splashed, half flying, half swimming, across the
+larger lake, and a snipe got up and jerked crookedly away on the wind.
+The dog stood with one fore-paw lifted and the water dripping along his
+belly. He waited for a crack and puff of smoke and the thud of a bird
+falling into the water or the underwood. But his master did not fire; he
+did not even see the flushing of the snipe; so the dog came up and
+remonstrated with his eyes. Grimbal patted the beast's head, then rose
+from his seat on the felled tree, stretched his arms, sat down again and
+lighted his pipe.
+
+The event of the morning had turned his thoughts in the old direction,
+and now they were wholly occupied with Will Blanchard. Since his fit of
+futile spleen and fury after the meeting with Phoebe, John had slowly
+sunk back into the former nerveless attitude. From this an occasional
+wonder roused him--a wonder as to whether the woman had ever given her
+husband his message at all. His recent active hatred seemed a little
+softened, though why it should be so he could not have explained. Now he
+sometimes assured himself that he should not proceed to extremities, but
+hang his sword over Will's head a while and possibly end by pardoning
+him altogether.
+
+Thus he paltered with his better part and presented a spectacle of one
+mentally sick unto death by reason of shattered purpose. His unity of
+design was gone. He had believed the last conversation with Phoebe in
+itself sufficient to waken his pristine passion, but anger against
+himself had been a great factor of that storm, apart from which
+circumstance he made the mistake of supposing that his passion slept,
+whereas in reality it was dead. Now, if Grimbal was to be stung into
+activity, it must be along another line and upon a fresh count.
+
+Then, as he reflected by the little tarns, there approached Will
+Blanchard himself; and Grimbal, looking up, saw him standing among white
+tussocks of dead grass by the water-side and rubbing the mud off his
+boots upon them. For a moment his breath quickened, but he was not
+surprised; and yet, before Will reached him, he had time to wonder at
+himself that he was not.
+
+Blanchard, calling at the Red House ten minutes after the master's
+departure, had been informed by old Lawrence Vallack, John's factotum,
+that he had come too late. It transpired, however, that Grimbal had
+taken his gun and a dog, so Will, knowing the estate, made a guess at
+the sportsman's destination, and was helped on his way when he came
+within earshot of the barking spaniel.
+
+Now that animal resented his intrusion, and for a moment it appeared
+that the brute's master did also. Will had already seen Grimbal where he
+sat, and came swiftly towards him.
+
+"What are you doing here, William Blanchard? You're trespassing and you
+know it," said the landowner loudly. "You can have no business here."
+
+"Haven't I? Then why for do'e send me messages?"
+
+Will stood straight and stern in front of his foe. His face was more
+gloomy than the sombre afternoon; his jaw stood out very square; his
+grey eyes were hard as the glint of the east wind. He might have been
+accuser, and John Grimbal accused. The sportsman did not move from his
+seat upon the log. But he felt a flush of blood pulse through him at the
+other's voice, as though his heart, long stagnant, was being sluiced.
+
+"That? I'd forgotten all about it. You've taken your time in obeying
+me."
+
+"This marnin', an' not sooner, I heard what you telled her when you
+catched Phoebe alone."
+
+"Ah! now I understand the delay. Say what you've got to say, please, and
+then get out of my sight."
+
+"'T is for you to speak, not me. What be you gwaine to do, an' when be
+you gwaine to do it? I allow you've bested me, God knaws how; but
+you've got me down. So the sooner you say what your next step is, the
+better."
+
+The older man laughed.
+
+"'T isn't the beaten party makes the terms as a rule."
+
+"I want no terms; I wouldn't make terms with you for a sure plaace in
+heaven. Tell me what you be gwaine to do against me. I've a right to
+knaw."
+
+"I can't tell you."
+
+"You mean as you won't tell me?"
+
+"I mean I can't--not yet. After speaking to your wife I forgot all about
+it. It doesn't interest me."
+
+"Be you gwaine to give me up?"
+
+"Probably I shall--as a matter of duty. I'm a bit of a soldier myself.
+It's such a dirty coward's trick to desert. Yes, I think I shall make an
+example of you."
+
+Will looked at him steadily.
+
+"You want to wake the devil in me--I see that. But you won't. I'm aulder
+an' wiser now. So you 'm to give me up? I knawed it wi'out axin'."
+
+"And that doesn't wake you?"
+
+"No. Seein' why I deserted an' mindin' your share in drivin' me."
+
+Grimbal did not answer, and Will asked him to name a date.
+
+"I tell you I shall suit myself, not you. When you will like it least,
+be sure of that. I needn't pretend what I don't feel. I hate the sight
+of you still, and the closer you come the more I hate you. It rolls
+years off me to see your damned brown face so near and hear your voice
+in my ear,--years and years; and I'm glad it does. You've ruined my
+life, and I'll ruin yours yet."
+
+There was a pause; Blanchard stared cold and hard into Grimbal's eyes;
+then John continued, and his flicker of passion cooled a little as he
+did so,--
+
+"At least that's what I said to myself when first I heard this little
+bit of news--that I'd ruin you; now I'm not sure."
+
+"At least I'll thank you to make up your mind. 'T is turn an' turn
+about. You be uppermost just this minute. As to ruining me, that's as
+may be."
+
+"Well, I shall decide presently. I suppose you won't run away. And it 's
+no great matter if you do, for a fool can't hide himself under his
+folly."
+
+"I sha'n't run. I want to get through with this and have it behind me."
+
+"You're in a hurry now."
+
+"It 's just an' right. I knaw that. An' ban't no gert odds who 's
+informer. But I want to have it behind me--an' you in front. Do 'e see?
+This out o' hand, then it 's my turn again. Keepin' me waitin' 'pon such
+a point be tu small an' womanish for a fight between men. 'T is your
+turn to hit, Jan Grimbal, an' theer 's no guard 'gainst the stroke, so
+if you're a man, hit an' have done with it."
+
+"Ah! you don't like the thought of waiting!"
+
+"No, I do not. I haven't got your snake's patience. Let me have what
+I've got to have, an' suffer it, an' make an' end of it."
+
+"You're in a hurry for a dish that won't be pleasant eating, I assure
+you."
+
+"It's just an' right I tell 'e; an' I knaw it is, though all these years
+cover it. Your paart 's differ'nt. I lay you 'm in a worse hell than me,
+even now."
+
+"A moralist! How d' you like the thought of a damned good
+flogging--fifty lashes laid on hot and strong?"
+
+"Doan't you wish you had the job? Thrashing of a man wi' his legs an'
+hands tied would just suit your sort of courage."
+
+"As to that, they won't flog you really; and I fancy I could thrash you
+still without any help. Your memory 's short. Never mind. Get you gone
+now; and never speak to me again as long as you live, or I shall
+probably hit you across the mouth with my riding-whip. As to giving you
+up, you're in my hands and must wait my time for that."
+
+"Must I, by God? Hark to a fule talkin'! Why should I wait your
+pleasure, an' me wi' a tongue in my head? You've jawed long enough. Now
+you can listen. I'll give _myself_ up, so theer! I'll tell the truth,
+an' what drove me to desert, an' what you be anyway--as goes ridin' out
+wi' the yeomanry so braave in black an' silver with your sword drawed!
+That'll spoil your market for pluck an' valour, anyways. An' when I've
+done all court-martial gives me, I'll come back!"
+
+He swung away as he spoke; and the other sat on motionless for an hour
+after Will had departed.
+
+John Grimbal's pipe went out; his dog, weary of waiting, crept to his
+feet and fell asleep there; live fur and feathers peeped about and
+scanned his bent figure, immobile as a tree-trunk that supported it; and
+the gun, lying at hand, drew down a white light from a gathering
+gloaming.
+
+One great desire was in the sportsman's mind,--he already found himself
+hungry for another meeting with Blanchard.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+PHOEBE TAKES THOUGHT
+
+
+That night Will sat and smoked in his bedroom and talked to Phoebe, who
+had already gone to rest. She looked over her knees at him with round,
+sad eyes; while beside her in a cot slept her small daughter. A candle
+burned on the mantelpiece and served to illuminate one or two faded
+pictures; a daguerreotype of Phoebe as a child sitting on a donkey, and
+an ancient silhouette of Miller Lyddon, cut for him on his visit to the
+Great Exhibition. In a frame beneath these appeared the photograph of
+little Will who had died at Newtake.
+
+"He thinks he be gwaine to bide his time an' let me stew an' sweat for
+it," said the man moodily.
+
+"Awnly a born devil could tell such wickedness. Ban't theer no ways o'
+meetin' him, now you knaw? If you'd speak to faither--"
+
+"What 's the use bringing sorrow on his grey hairs?"
+
+"Well, it's got to come; you knaw that. Grimbal isn't the man to
+forgive."
+
+"Forgive! That would be worst of all. If he forgived me now I'd go mad.
+Wait till I've had soldier law, then us'll talk 'bout forgiving arter."
+
+Phoebe shivered and began to cry helplessly, drying her eyes upon the
+sheet.
+
+"Theer--theer," he said; "doan't be a cheel. We 'm made o' stern stuff,
+you an' me. 'T is awnly a matter of years, I s'pose, an' the reason I
+went may lessen the sentence a bit. Mother won't never turn against me,
+an' so long as your faither can forgive, the rest of the world's welcome
+to look so black as it pleases."
+
+"Faither'll forgive 'e."
+
+"He might--just wance more. He've got to onderstand my points better
+late days."
+
+"Come an' sleep then, an' fret no more till marnin' light anyway."
+
+"'Tis the thing hidden, hanging over my head, biding behind every
+corner. I caan't stand it; I caan't wait for it. I'll grow sheer devil
+if I've got to wait; an', so like as not, I'll meet un faace to faace
+some day an' send un wheer neither his bark nor bite will harm me. Ess
+fay--solemn truth. I won't answer for it. I can put so tight a hand 'pon
+myself as any man since Job, but to sit down under this--"
+
+"Theer's nought else you can do," said Phoebe. She yawned as she spoke,
+but Will's reply strangled the yawn and effectually woke her up.
+
+"So Jan Grimbal said, an' I blamed soon shawed un he was out. Theer's a
+thing I can do an' shall do. 'T will sweep the ground from under un; 't
+will blaw off his vengeance harmless as a gun fired in the air; 't will
+turn his malice so sour as beer after thunder. I be gwaine to give
+myself up--then us'll see who's the fule!"
+
+Phoebe was out of bed with her arms round her husband in a moment.
+
+"No, no--never. You couldn't, Will; you daren't--'tis against nature.
+You ban't free to do no such wild thing. You forget me, an' the li'l
+maid, an' t' other comin'!"
+
+"Doan't 'e choke me," he said; "an' doan't 'e look so terrified. Your
+small hands caan't keep off what's ahead o' me; an' I wouldn't let 'em
+if they could. 'T is in this world that a chap's got to pay for his sins
+most times, an' damn short credit, tu, so far as I can see. So what they
+want to bleat 'bout hell-fire for I've never onderstood, seeing you get
+your change here. Anyway, so sure as I do a trick that ban't 'zactly
+wise, the whip 's allus behind it--the whip--"
+
+He repeated the word in a changed voice, for it reminded him of what
+Grimbal had threatened. He did not know whether there might be truth in
+it. His pride winced and gasped. He thought of Phoebe seeing his bare
+back perhaps years afterwards. A tempest of rage blackened his face and
+he spoke in a voice hoarse and harsh.
+
+"Get up an' go to bed. Doan't whine, for God's sake, or you'll drive me
+daft. I've paid afore, an' I'll pay again; an' may the Lard help him who
+ever owes me ought. No mercy have I ever had from living man,--'cept
+Miller,--none will I ever shaw."
+
+"Not to-morrow, Will--not this week. Promise that, an' I'll get into bed
+an' bide quiet. For your love o' me, just leave it till arter Christmas
+time. Promise that, else you'll kill me. No, no, no--you shaa'n't shout
+me down 'pon this. I'll cry to 'e while I've got life left. Promise not
+till Christmas be past."
+
+"I'll promise nothing. I must think in the peace o' night. Go to sleep
+an 'bide quiet, else you'll wake the li'l gal."
+
+"I won't--I won't--I'll never sleep again. Caan' t'e think o' me so well
+as yourself--you as be allus thinking o' me? Ban't I to count in an
+awful pass like this? I'm no fair-weather wife, as you knaws by now. If
+you gives yourself up, I'll kill myself. You think I couldn't, but I
+could. What's my days away from you?"
+
+"Hush, hush!" he said. "Be you mad? 'T is a matter tu small for such
+talk as that."
+
+"Promise, then, promise you'll be dumb till arter Christmas."
+
+"So I will, if you 'm that set on it; but if you knawed what waitin'
+meant to the likes o' me, you wouldn't ax. You've got my word, now
+keep quiet, theer 's a dear love, an' dry your eyes."
+
+He put her into bed, and soon stretched himself beside her. Then she
+clung to him as though powers were already dragging him away for ever.
+Will, bored and weary, was sorry for his wife with all his soul, and
+kept grunting words of good cheer and comfort as he sank to sleep. She
+still begged and prayed for delay, and by her importunity made him
+promise at last that he would take no step until after New Year's Day.
+Then, finding she could win no more in that direction, Phoebe turned to
+another aspect of the problem, and began to argue with unexpected if
+sophistic skill. Her tears were now dry, her eyes very bright beneath
+the darkness; she talked and talked with feverish volubility, and her
+voice faded into a long-drawn murmur as Will's hearing weakened on the
+verge of unconsciousness.
+
+"Why for d' you say you was wrong in what you done? Why d' you harp an'
+harp 'pon that, knawin' right well you'd do the same again to-morrow?
+You wasn't wrong, an' the Queen's self would say the same if she
+knawed. 'T was to save a helpless woman you runned; an' her--Queen
+Victoria--wi' her big heart as can sigh for the sorrow of even such
+small folks as us--she'd be the last to blame 'e."
+
+"She'll never knaw nothin' 'bout it, gude or bad. They doan't vex her
+ears wi' trifles. I deserted, an' that's a crime."
+
+"I say 't weern't no such thing. You had to choose between that an'
+letting me die. You saved my life; an' the facts would be judged the
+same by any as was wife an' mother, high or low. God A'mighty 's best
+an' awnly judge how much you was wrong; an' you knaw He doan't blame 'e,
+else your heart would have been sore for it these years an' years. You
+never blamed yourself till now."
+
+"Ess, awften an' awften I did. It comed an' went, an' comed an' went
+again, like winter frosts. True as I'm living it comed an' went like
+that."
+
+Thus he spoke, half incoherently, his voice all blurred and vague with
+sleep.
+
+"You awnly think 't was so. You'd never have sat down under it else. It
+ban't meant you should give yourself up now, anyways. God would have
+sent the sojers to find 'e when you runned away if He'd wanted 'em to
+find 'e. You didn't hide. You looked the world in the faace bold as a
+lion, didn't 'e? Coourse you did; an' 't is gwaine against God's will
+an' wish for you to give yourself up now. So you mustn't speak an' you
+must tell no one--not even faither. I was wrong to ax 'e to tell him.
+Nobody at all must knaw. Be dumb, an' trust me to be dumb. 'T is buried
+an' forgot. I'll fight for 'e, my dearie, same as you've fought for me
+many a time; an' 't will all fall out right for 'e, for men 's come
+through worse passes than this wi' fewer friends than what you've got."
+
+She stopped to win breath and, in the silence, heard Will's regular
+respiration and knew that he slept. How much he had heard of her speech
+Phoebe could not say, but she felt glad to think that some hours at
+least of rest and peace now awaited him. For herself she had never been
+more widely awake, and her brains were very busy through the hours of
+darkness. A hundred thoughts and schemes presented themselves. She
+gradually eliminated everybody from the main issue but Will, John
+Grimbal, and herself; and, pursuing the argument, began to suspect that
+she alone had power to right the wrong. In one direction only could such
+an opinion lead--a direction tremendous to her. Yet she did not shrink
+from the necessity ahead; she strung herself up to face it; she longed
+for an opportunity and resolved to make one at the earliest moment.
+
+Now that night was the longest in the whole year; and yet to Phoebe it
+passed with magic celerity.
+
+Will awakened about half-past five, rose immediately according to his
+custom, lighted a candle, and started to dress himself. He began the day
+in splendid spirits, begotten of good sleep and good health; but his
+wife saw the lightness of heart, the bustling activity of body, sink
+into apathy and inertia as remembrance overtook his wakening hour. It
+was like a brief and splendid dawn crushed by storm-clouds at the very
+rise of the sun.
+
+Phoebe presently dressed her little daughter and, as soon as the child
+had gone down-stairs, Will resumed the problems of his position.
+
+"I be in two minds this marnin'," he said. "I've a thought to tell
+mother of this matter. She 'm that wise, I've knawed her put me on the
+right track 'fore now, an' never guess she'd done it. Not but what I
+allus awn up to taking advice, if I follow it, an' no man 's readier to
+profit by the wisdom of his betters than me. That's how I've done all I
+have done in my time. T' other thought was to take your counsel an' see
+Miller 'pon it."
+
+"I was wrong, Will--quite wrong. I've been thinking, tu. He mustn't
+knaw, nor yet mother, nor nobody. Quite enough knaws as 't is."
+
+"What's the wisdom o' talkin' like that? Who 's gwaine to hide the
+thing, even if they wanted to? God knaws I ban't. I'd like, so well as
+not, to go up Chagford next market-day an' shout out the business afore
+the world."
+
+"You can't now. You must wait. You promised. I thought about it with
+every inch of my brain last night, an' I got a sort of feeling--I caan't
+explain, but wait. I've trusted you all my life long an' allus shall;
+now 't is your turn to trust me, just this wance. I've got great
+thoughts. I see the way; I may do much myself. You see, Jan Grimbal--"
+
+Will stood still with his chin half shorn.
+
+"You dare to do that," he said, "an' I'll raise Cain in this plaace;
+I'll--"
+
+He broke off and laughed at himself.
+
+"Here be I blusterin' like a gert bully now! Doan't be feared, Phoebe.
+Forgive my noise. You mean so well, but you caan't hide your secrets,
+fortunately. Bless your purty eyes--tu gude for me, an' allus was,
+braave li'l woman!
+
+"But no more of that--no seekin' him, an' no speech with him, if that's
+the way your poor, silly thought was. My bones smart to think of you
+bearin' any of it. But doan't you put no oar into this troubled water,
+else the bwoat'll capsize, sure as death. I've promised 'e not to say a
+word till arter New Year; now you must promise me never, so help you, to
+speak to that man, or look at un, or listen to a word from un. Fly him
+like you would the devil; an' a gude second to the devil he is--if 't is
+awnly in the matter o' patience. Promise now."
+
+"You 'm so hasty, Will. You doan't onderstand a woman's cleverness in
+such matters. 'T is just the fashion thing as shaws what we 'm made of."
+
+"Promise!" he thundered angrily. "Now, this instant moment, in wan
+word."
+
+She gave him a single defiant glance. Then the boldness of her eyes
+faded and her lips drooped at the corners.
+
+"I promise, then."
+
+"I should think you did."
+
+A few minutes later Will was gone, and Phoebe dabbed her moist eyes and
+blamed herself for so clumsily revealing her great intention,--to see
+John Grimbal and plead with him. This secret ambition was now swept
+away, and she knew not where to turn or how to act for her husband.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+NEW YEAR'S EVE AND NEW YEAR'S DAY
+
+
+From this point in his career Will Blanchard, who lacked all power of
+hiding his inner heart, soon made it superficially apparent that new
+troubles had overtaken him. No word concerning his intolerable anxieties
+escaped him, but a great cloud of tribulation encompassed every hour,
+and was revealed to others by increased petulance and shortness of
+temper. This mental friction quickly appeared on the young man's face,
+and his habitual expression of sulkiness which formerly belied him, now
+increased and more nearly reflected the reigning temperament of
+Blanchard's mind. His nerves were on the rack and he grew sullen and
+fretful. A dreary expression gained upon his features, an expression sad
+as a winter twilight brushed with rain. To Phoebe he seldom spoke of the
+matter, and she soon abandoned further attempts to intrude upon his
+heart though her own was breaking for him. Billy Blee and the farm hands
+were Will's safety-valve. One moment he showered hard and bitter words;
+the next, at sight of some ploughboy's tears or older man's reasonable
+anger, Will instantly relented and expressed his sorrow. The dullest
+among them grew in time to discern matters were amiss with him, for his
+tormented mind began to affect his actions and disorder the progress of
+his life. At times he worked laboriously and did much with his own hands
+that might have been left to others; but his energy was displayed in a
+manner fitful and spasmodic; occasionally he would vanish altogether for
+four-and-twenty hours or more; and none knew when he might appear or
+disappear.
+
+It happened on New Year's Eve that a varied company assembled at the
+"Green Man" according to ancient custom. Here were Inspector Chown, Mr.
+Chapple, Mr. Blee, Charles Coomstock, with many others; and the assembly
+was further enriched by the presence of the bell-ringers. Their services
+would be demanded presently to toll out the old year, to welcome with
+joyful peal the new; and they assembled here until closing time that
+they might enjoy a pint of the extra strong liquor a prosperous publican
+provided for his customers at this season.
+
+The talk was of Blanchard, and Mr. Blee, provided with a theme which
+always challenged his most forcible diction, discussed Will freely and
+without prejudice.
+
+"I 'most goes in fear of my life, I tell 'e; but thank God 't is the
+beginning of the end. He'll spread his wings afore spring and be off
+again, or I doan't knaw un. Ess fay, he'll depart wi' his fiery nature
+an' horrible ideas 'pon manuring of land; an' a gude riddance for Monks
+Barton, I say."
+
+"'Mazing 't is," declared Mr. Coomstock, "that he should look so black
+all times, seeing the gude fortune as turns up for un when most he wants
+it."
+
+"So 't is," admitted Billy. "The faace of un weer allus sulky, like to
+the faace of a auld ram cat, as may have a gude heart in un for all his
+glowerin' eyes. But him! Theer ban't no pleasin' un. What do he want?
+Surely never no man 's failed on his feet awftener."
+
+"'T is that what 's spoilin' un, I reckon," said Mr. Chappie. "A li'l
+ill-fortune he wants now, same as a salad o' green stuff wants some bite
+to it. He'd grumble in heaven, by the looks of un. An' yet it do shaw
+the patience of God wi' human sawls."
+
+"Ess, it do," answered Mr. Blee; "but patience ban't a virtue, pushed tu
+far. Justice is justice, as I've said more 'n wance to Miller an'
+Blanchard, tu, an' a man of my years can see wheer justice lies so clear
+as God can. For why? Because theer ban't room for two opinions. I've
+give my Maker best scores an' scores o' times, as we all must; but truth
+caan't alter, an' having put thinking paarts into our heads, 't is more
+'n God A'mighty's Self can do to keep us from usin' of'em."
+
+"A tremenjous thought," said Mr. Chapple.
+
+"So 't is. An' what I want to knaw is, why should Blanchard have his
+fling, an' treat me like dirt, an' ride rough-shod awver his betters,
+an' scowl at the sky all times, an' nothin' said?"
+
+"Providence doan't answer a question just 'cause we 'm pleased to ax
+wan," said Abraham Chown. "What happens happens, because 't is
+foreordained, an' you caan't judge the right an' wrong of a man's life
+from wan year or two or ten, more 'n you can judge a glass o' ale by a
+tea-spoon of it. Many has a long rope awnly to hang themselves in the
+end, by the wonnerful foresight of God."
+
+"All the same, theer'd be hell an' Tommy to pay mighty quick, if you an'
+me did the things that bwoy does, an' carried on that onreligious,"
+replied Mr. Blee, with gloomy conviction. "Ban't fair to other people,
+an' if 't was Doomsday I'd up an' say so. What gude deeds have he done
+to have life smoothed out, an' the hills levelled an' the valleys filled
+up? An' nought but sour looks for it."
+
+"But be you sure he 'm happy?" inquired Mr. Chapple. "He 'm not the man
+to walk 'bout wi' a fiddle-faace if 't was fair weather wi' un. He've
+got his troubles same as us, depend upon it."
+
+Blanchard himself entered at this moment. It wanted but half an hour to
+closing time when he did so, and he glanced round the bar, snorted at
+the thick atmosphere of alcohol and smoke, then pulled out his pipe and
+took a vacant chair.
+
+"Gude evenin', Will," said Mr. Chapple.
+
+"A happy New Year, Blanchard," added the landlord.
+
+"Evening, sawls all," answered Will, nodding round him. "Auld year's
+like to die o' frost by the looks of it--a stinger, I tell 'e. Anybody
+seen Farmer Endicott? I've been looking for un since noon wi' a message
+from my faither-in-law."
+
+"I gived thicky message this marnin'," cried Billy.
+
+"Ess, I knaw you did; that's my trouble. You gived it wrong. I'll just
+have a pint of the treble X then. 'T is the night for 't."
+
+Will's demeanour belied the recent conversation respecting him. He
+appeared to be in great spirits, joked with the men, exchanged shafts
+with Billy, and was the first to roar with laughter when Mr. Blee got
+the better of him in a brisk battle of repartee. Truth to tell, the
+young man's heart felt somewhat lighter, and with reason. To-morrow his
+promise to Phoebe held him no longer, and his carking, maddening trial
+of patience was to end. The load would drop from his shoulders at
+daylight. His letter to Mr. Lyddon had been written; in the morning the
+miller must read it before breakfast, and learn that his son-in-law had
+started for Plymouth to give himself up for the crime of the past. John
+Grimbal had made no sign, and the act of surrender would now be
+voluntary--a thought which lightened Blanchard's heart and induced a
+turn of temper almost jovial. He joined a chorus, laughed with the
+loudest, and contrived before closing time to drink a pint and a half of
+the famous special brew. Then the bell-ringers departed to their duties,
+and Mr. Chapple with Mr. Blee, Will, and one or two other favoured
+spirits spent a further half-hour in their host's private parlour, and
+there consumed a little sloe gin, to steady the humming ale.
+
+"You an' me must see wan another home," said Will when he and Mr. Blee
+departed into the frosty night.
+
+"Fust time as ever you give me an arm," murmured Billy.
+
+"Won't be the last, I'm sure," declared Will.
+
+"I've allus had a gude word for 'e ever since I knawed 'e," answered
+Billy.
+
+"An' why for shouldn't 'e?" asked Will.
+
+"Beginning of New Year 's a solemn sarcumstance," proceeded Billy, as a
+solitary bell began to toll. "Theer 's the death-rattle of eighteen
+hunderd an' eighty-six! Well, well, we must all die--men an' mice."
+
+"An' the devil take the hindmost."
+
+Mr. Blee chuckled.
+
+"Let 's go round this way," he said.
+
+"Why? Ban't your auld bones ready for bed yet? Theer 's nought theer but
+starlight an' frost."
+
+"Be gormed to the frost! I laugh at it. Ban't that. 'T is the Union
+workhouse, wheer auld Lezzard lies. I likes to pass, an' nod to un as he
+sits on the lew side o' the wall in his white coat, chumping his
+thoughts between his gums."
+
+"He 'm happier 'n me or you, I lay."
+
+"Not him! You should see un glower 'pon me when I gives un 'gude day.'
+I tawld un wance as the Poor Rates was up somethin' cruel since he'd
+gone in the House, an' he looked as though he'd 'a' liked to do me
+violence. No, he ban't happy, I warn 'e."
+
+"Well, you won't see un sitting under the stars in his white coat, poor
+auld blid. He 'm asleep under the blankets, I lay."
+
+"Thin wans! Thin blankets an' not many of 'em. An' all his awn doin'.
+Patent justice, if ever I seed it."
+
+"Tramp along! You can travel faster 'n that. Ess fay! Justice is the
+battle-cry o' God against men most times. Maybe they 'm strong on it in
+heaven, but theer 's damned little filters down here. Theer go the
+bells! Another New Year come. Years o' the Lard they call 'em! Years o'
+the devil most times, if you ax me. What do 'e want the New Year to
+bring to you, Billy?"
+
+"A contented 'eart," said Mr. Blee, "an' perhaps just half-a-crown more
+a week, if 't was seemly. Brains be paid higher 'n sweat in this world,
+an' I'm mostly brain now in my dealin's wi' Miller. A brain be like a
+nut, as ripens all the year through an' awnly comes to be gude for
+gathering when the tree 's in the sere. 'T is in the autumn of life a
+man's brain be worth plucking like--eh?"
+
+"Doan't knaw. They 'm maggoty mostly at your age!"
+
+"An' they 'm milky mostly at yourn!"
+
+"Listen to the bells an' give awver chattering," said Will.
+
+"After gude store o' drinks, a sad thing like holy bells ringing in the
+dark afar off do sting my nose an' bring a drop to my eye," confessed
+Mr. Blee. "An' you--why, theer 's a baaby hid away in the New Year for
+you--a human creature as may do gert wonders in the land an' turn out
+into Antichrist, for all you can say positive. Theer 's a braave thought
+for 'e!"
+
+This remark sobered Blanchard and his mind travelled into the future, to
+Phoebe, to the child coming in June.
+
+Billy babbled on, and presently they reached Mrs. Blanchard's cottage.
+Damaris herself, with a shawl over her head, stood and listened to the
+bells, and Will, taking leave of Mr. Blee, hastened to wish his mother
+all happiness in the year now newly dawned. He walked once or twice up
+and down the little garden beside her, and with a tongue loosened by
+liquor came near to telling her of his approaching action, but did not
+do so. Meantime Mr. Blee steered himself with all caution over Rushford
+Bridge to Monks Barton.
+
+Presently the veteran appeared before his master and Phoebe, who had
+waited for the advent of the New Year before retiring. Miller Lyddon was
+about to suggest a night-cap for Billy, but changed his mind.
+
+"Enough 's as gude as a feast," he said. "Canst get up-stairs wi'out
+help?"
+
+"Coourse I can! But the chap to the 'Green Man's' that perfuse wi' his
+liquor at seasons of rejoicing. More went down than was chalked up; I
+allow that. If you'll light my chamber cannel, I'll thank 'e, missis;
+an' a Happy New Year to all."
+
+Phoebe obeyed, launched Mr. Blee in the direction of his chamber, then
+turned to receive Will's caress as he came home and locked the door
+behind him.
+
+The night air still carried the music of the bells. For an hour they
+pealed on; then the chime died slowly, a bell at a time, until two
+clanged each against the other. Presently one stopped and the last,
+weakening softly, beat a few strokes more, then ceased to fret the
+frosty birth-hour of another year.
+
+The darkness slipped away, and Blanchard who had long learned to rise
+without awakening his wife, was up and dressed again soon after five
+o'clock. He descended silently, placed a letter on the mantelpiece in
+the kitchen, abstracted a leg of goose and a hunch of bread from the
+larder, then set out upon a chilly walk of five miles to Moreton
+Hampstead. From there he designed to take train and proceed to Plymouth
+as directly and speedily as possible.
+
+Some two hours later Will's letter found itself in Mr. Lyddon's hand,
+and his father-in-law learnt the secret. Phoebe was almost as amazed as
+the miller himself when this knowledge came to her ear; for Will had not
+breathed his intention to her, and no suspicion had crossed his wife's
+mind that he intended to act with such instant promptitude on the
+expiration of their contract.
+
+"I doubted I knawed him through an' through at last, but 't is awnly
+to-day, an' after this, that I can say as I do," mused Mr. Lyddon over
+an untasted breakfast. "To think he runned them awful risks to make you
+fast to him! To think he corned all across England in the past to make
+you his wife against the danger on wan side, an' the power o' Jan
+Grimbal an' me drawed up 'pon the other!"
+
+Pursuing this strain to Phoebe's heartfelt relief, the miller neither
+assumed an attitude of great indignation at Will's action nor affected
+despair of his future. He was much bewildered, however.
+
+"He'll keep me 'mazed so long as I live, 'pears to me. But he 'm gone
+for the present, an' I doan't say I'm sorry, knawin' what was behind. No
+call for you to sob yourself into a fever. Please God, he'll be back
+long 'fore you want him. Us'll make the least we can of it, an' bide
+patient until we hear tell of him. He've gone to Plymouth--that's all
+Chagford needs to knaw at present."
+
+"Theer 's newspapers an' Jan Grimbal," sobbed Phoebe.
+
+"A dark man wi' fixed purposes, sure enough," admitted her father, for
+Will's long letter had placed all the facts before him. "What he'll do
+us caan't say, though, seein' Will's act, theer 's nothin' more left for
+un. Why has the man been silent so long if he meant to strike in the
+end? Now I must go an' tell Mrs. Blanchard. Will begs an' prays of me to
+do that so soon as he shall be gone; an' he 'm right. She ought to knaw;
+but 't is a job calling for careful choice of words an' a light hand.
+Wonder is to me he didn't tell her hisself. But he never does what
+you'd count 'pon his doing."
+
+"You won't tell Billy, faither, will 'e? Ban't no call for that."
+
+"I won't tell him, certainly not; but Blee 's a ferret when a thing 's
+hid. A detective mind theer is to Billy. How would it do to tell un
+right away an' put un 'pon his honour to say nothing?"
+
+"He mustn't knaw; he mustn't knaw. He couldn't keep a secret like
+that if you gived un fifty pounds to keep it. So soon tell a town-crier
+as him."
+
+"Then us won't," promised Mr. Lyddon, and ten minutes after he proceeded
+to Mrs. Blanchard's cottage with the news. His first hasty survey of the
+position had not been wholly unfavourable to Will, but he was a man of
+unstable mind in his estimates of human character, and now he chiefly
+occupied his thoughts with the offence of desertion from the army. The
+disgrace of such an action magnified itself as he reflected upon Will's
+unhappy deed.
+
+Phoebe, meantime, succumbed and found herself a helpless prey of terrors
+vague and innumerable. Will's fate she could not guess at; but she felt
+it must be severe; she doubted not that his sentence would extend over
+long years. In her dejection and misery she mourned for herself and
+wondered what manner of babe would this be that now took substance
+through a season of such gloom and accumulated sorrows. The thought
+begat pity for the coming little one,--utmost commiseration that set
+Phoebe's tears flowing anew,--and when the miller returned he found his
+daughter stricken beyond measure and incoherent under her grief. But Mr.
+Lyddon came back with a companion, and it was her husband, not her
+father, who dried Phoebe's eyes and cheered her lonely heart. Will,
+indeed, appeared and stood by her suddenly; and she heard his voice and
+cried a loud thanksgiving and clasped him close.
+
+Yet no occasion for rejoicing had brought about this unexpected
+reappearance. Indeed, more ill-fortune was responsible for it. When Mr.
+Lyddon arrived at Mrs. Blanchard's gate, he found both Will and Doctor
+Parsons standing there, then learnt the incident that had prevented his
+son-in-law's proposed action.
+
+Passing that way himself some hours earlier, Will had been suddenly
+surprised to see blue smoke rising from a chimney of the house. It was a
+very considerable time before such event might reasonably be expected
+and a second look alarmed Blanchard's heart, for on the little
+chimney-stack he knew each pot, and it was not the kitchen chimney but
+that of his mother's bedroom which now sent evidence of a newly lighted
+fire into the morning.
+
+In a second Will's plans and purposes were swept away before this
+spectacle. A fire in a bedroom represented a circumstance almost outside
+his experience. At least it indicated sickness unto death. He was in the
+house a moment later, for the latch lifted at his touch; and when he
+knocked at his mother's door and cried his name, she bade him come in.
+
+"What's this? What's amiss with 'e, mother? Doan't say 't is anything
+very bad. I seed the smoke an' my heart stood still."
+
+She smiled and assured him her illness was of no account.
+
+"Ban't nothing. Just a shivering an' stabbing in the chest. My awn
+fulishness to be out listening to they bells in the frost. But no call
+to fear. I awnly axed my li'l servant to get me a cup o' tea, an' she
+comed an' would light the fire, an' would go for doctor, though theer
+ban't no 'casion at all."
+
+"Every occasion, an' the gal was right, an' it shawed gude sense in such
+a dinky maid as her. Nothin' like taaking a cold in gude time. Do 'e
+catch heat from the fire?"
+
+Mrs. Blanchard's eyes were dull, and her breathing a little disordered.
+Will instantly began to bustle about. He added fuel to the flame, set on
+a kettle, dragged blankets out of cupboards and piled them upon his
+mother. Then he found a pillow-case, aired it until the thing scorched,
+inserted a pillow, and placed it beneath the patient's head. His
+subsequent step was to rummage dried marshmallows out of a drawer,
+concoct a sort of dismal brew, and inflict a cup upon the sick woman.
+Doctor Parsons still tarrying, Will went out of doors, knocked a brick
+from the fowl-house wall, brought it in, made it nearly red hot, then
+wrapped it up in an old rug and applied it to his parent's feet,--all of
+which things the sick woman patiently endured.
+
+"You 'm doin' me a power o' gude, dearie," she said, as her discomfort
+and suffering increased.
+
+Presently Doctor Parsons arrived, checked Will in fantastic experiments
+with a poultice, and gave him occupation in a commission to the
+physician's surgery. When he returned, he heard that his mother was
+suffering from a severe chill, but that any definite declaration upon
+the case was as yet impossible.
+
+"No cause to be 'feared?" he asked.
+
+"'T is idle to be too sanguine. You know my philosophy. I've seen a
+scratched finger kill a man; I've known puny babes wriggle out of
+Death's hand when I could have sworn it had closed upon them for good
+and all. Where there 's life there 's hope."
+
+"Ess, I knaw you," answered Will gloomily; "an' I knaw when you say that
+you allus mean there ban't no hope at all."
+
+"No, no. A strong, hale woman like your mother need not give us any fear
+at present. Sleep and rest, cheerful faces round her, and no amateur
+physic. I'll see her to-night and send in a nurse from the Cottage
+Hospital at once."
+
+Then it was that Miller Lyddon arrived, and presently Will returned
+home. He wholly mistook Phoebe's frantic reception, and assumed that her
+tears must be flowing for Mrs. Blanchard.
+
+"She'll weather it," he said. "Keep a gude heart. The gal from the
+hospital ban't coming 'cause theer 's danger, but 'cause she 'm smart
+an' vitty 'bout a sick room, an' cheerful as a canary an' knaws her
+business. Quick of hand an' light of foot for sartin. Mother'll be all
+right; I feel it deep in me she will."
+
+Presently conversation passed to Will himself, and Phoebe expressed a
+hope this sad event would turn him from his determination for some time
+at least.
+
+"What determination?" he asked. "What be talkin' about?"
+
+"The letter you left for faither, and the thing you started to do," she
+answered.
+
+"'S truth! So I did; an' if the sight o' the smoke an' then hearin' o'
+mother's trouble didn't blaw the whole business out of my brain!"
+
+He stood amazed at his own complete forgetfulness.
+
+"Queer, to be sure! But coourse theer weern't room in my mind for
+anything but mother arter I seed her stricken down."
+
+During the evening, after final reports from Mrs. Blanchard's sick-room
+spoke of soothing sleep, Miller Lyddon sent Billy upon an errand, and
+discussed Will's position.
+
+"Jan Grimbal 's waited so long," he said, "that maybe he'll wait longer
+still an' end by doin' nothin' at all."
+
+"Not him! You judge the man by yourself," declared Will. "But he 's made
+of very different metal. I lay he's bidin' till the edge of this be
+sharp and sure to cut deepest. So like 's not, when he hears tell mother
+'s took bad he'll choose that instant moment to have me marched away."
+
+There was a moment's silence, then Blanchard burst out into a fury bred
+of sudden thought, and struck the table heavily with his fist.
+
+"God blast it! I be allus waitin' now for some wan's vengeance! I caan't
+stand this life no more. I caan't an' I won't--'t is enough to soften
+any man's wits."
+
+"Quiet! quiet, caan't 'e?" said the miller, as though he told a dog to
+lie down. "Theer now! You've been an' gived me palpitations with your
+noise. Banging tables won't mend it, nor bad words neither. This thing
+hasn't come by chance. You 'm ripening in mind an' larnin' every day.
+You mark my word; theer 's a mort o' matters to pick out of this new
+trouble. An' fust, patience."
+
+"Patience! If a patient, long-suffering man walks this airth, I be him,
+I should reckon. I caan't wait the gude pleasure of that dog, not even
+for you, Miller."
+
+"'T is discipline, an' sent for the strengthening of your fibre.
+Providence barred the road to-day, else you'd be in prison now. Ban't
+meant you should give yourself up--that's how I read it."
+
+"'T is cowardly, waitin' an' playin' into his hands; an' if you awnly
+knawed how this has fouled my mind wi' evil, an' soured the very taste
+of what I eat, an' dulled the faace of life, an' blunted the right
+feeling in me even for them I love best, you'd never bid me bide on
+under it. 'T is rotting me--body an' sawl--that's what 't is doin'. An'
+now I be come to such a pass that if I met un to-morrow an' he swore on
+his dying oath he'd never tell, I shouldn't be contented even wi'
+that."
+
+"No such gude fortune," sighed Phoebe.
+
+"'T wouldn't be gude fortune," answered her husband. "I'm like a dirty
+chamber coated wi' cobwebs an' them ghostly auld spiders as hangs dead
+in unsecured corners. Plaaces so left gets worse. My mind 's all in a
+ferment, an' 't wouldn't be none the better now if Jan Grimbal broke
+his damned neck to-morrow an' took my secret with him. I caan't breathe
+for it; it 's suffocating me."
+
+Phoebe used subtlety in her answer, and invited him to view the position
+from her standpoint rather than his own.
+
+"Think o' me, then, an' t' others. 'T is plain selfishness, this talk,
+if you looks to the bottom of it."
+
+"As to that, I doan't say so," began Mr. Lyddon, slowly stuffing his
+pipe. "No. When a man goes so deep into his heart as what Will have
+before me this minute, doan't become no man to judge un, or tell 'bout
+selfishness. Us have got to save our awn sawls, an' us must even leave
+wife, an' mother, and childer if theer 's no other way to do it. Ban't
+no right living--ban't no fair travelling in double harness wi'
+conscience, onless you've got a clean mind. An' yet waitin' 'pears the
+only way o' wisdom just here. You've never got room in that head o'
+yourn for more 'n wan thought to a time; an' I doan't blame 'e theer
+neither, for a chap wi' wan idea, if he sticks to it, goes further 'n
+him as drives a team of thoughts half broken in. I mean you 'm
+forgettin' your mother for the moment. I should say, wait for her
+mendin' 'fore you do anything."
+
+Back came Blanchard's mind to his mother with a whole-hearted swing.
+
+"Ess," he said, "you 'm right theer. My plaace is handy to her till she
+'m movin'; an' if he tries to take me before she 'm down-house again, by
+God! I'll--"
+
+"Let it bide that way then. Put t' other matter out o' your mind so far
+as you can. Fill your pipe an' suck deep at it. I haven't seen 'e smoke
+this longful time; an' in my view theer 's no better servant than
+tobacco to a mind puzzled at wan o' life's cross-roads."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+MR. LYDDON'S TACTICS
+
+
+In the morning Mrs. Blanchard was worse, and some few days later lay in
+danger of her life. Her son spent half his time in the sick-room, walked
+about bootless to make no sound, and fretted with impatience at thought
+of the length of days which must elapse before Chris could return to
+Chagford. Telegrams had been sent to Martin Grimbal, who was spending
+his honeymoon out of England; but on the most sanguine computation he
+and his wife would scarcely be home again in less than ten days or a
+fortnight.
+
+Hope and gloom succeeded each other swiftly within Will Blanchard's
+mind, and at first he discounted the consistent pessimism of Doctor
+Parsons somewhat more liberally than the issue justified. When,
+therefore, he was informed of the truth and stood face to face with his
+mother's danger, hope sank, and his unstable spirit was swept from an
+altitude of secret confidence to the opposite depth of despair.
+
+Through long silences, while she slept or seemed to do so, the young man
+traced back his life and hers; and he began to see what a good mother
+means. Then he accused himself of many faults and made impetuous
+confession to his wife and her father. On these occasions Phoebe
+softened his self-blame, but Mr. Lyddon let Will talk, and told him for
+his consolation that every mother's son must be accused of like
+offences.
+
+"Best of childer falls far short," he assured Will; "best brings tu many
+tears, if 't is awnly for wantonness; an' him as thinks he've been all
+he should be to his mother lies to himself; an' him as says he has, lies
+to other people."
+
+Will's wild-hawk nature was subdued before this grave crisis in his
+parent's life; he sat through long nights and tended the fire with quiet
+fingers; he learnt from the nurse how to move a pillow tenderly, how to
+shut a door without any sound. He wearied Doctor Parsons with futile
+propositions, but the physician's simulated cynicism often broke down in
+secret before this spectacle of the son's dog-like pertinacity.
+Blanchard much desired to have a vein opened for his mother, nor was all
+the practitioner's eloquence equal to convincing him such a course could
+not be pursued.
+
+"She 'm gone that gashly white along o' want o' blood," declared Will;
+"an' I be busting wi' gude red blood, an' why for shouldn't you put in
+a pipe an' draw off a quart or so for her betterment? I'll swear 't
+would strengthen the heart of her."
+
+Time passed, and it happened on one occasion, while walking abroad
+between his vigils, that Blanchard met John Grimbal. Will had reflected
+curiously of late days into what ghostly proportions his affair with the
+master of the Red House now dwindled before this greater calamity of his
+mother's sickness; but sudden sight of the enemy roused passion and
+threw back the man's mind to that occasion of their last conversation in
+the woods.
+
+Yet the first words that now passed were to John Grimbal's credit. He
+made an astonishing and unexpected utterance. Indeed, the spoken word
+surprised him as much as his listener, and he swore at himself for a
+fool when Will's retort reached his ear.
+
+They were passing at close quarters,--Blanchard on foot, John upon
+horseback,--when the latter said,--
+
+"How 's Mrs. Blanchard to-day?"
+
+"Mind your awn business an' keep our name off your lips!" answered the
+pedestrian, who misunderstood the question, as he did most questions
+where possible, and now supposed that Grimbal meant Phoebe.
+
+His harsh words woke instant wrath.
+
+"What a snarling, cross-bred cur you are! I should judge your own family
+will be the first to thank me for putting you under lock and key. Hell
+to live with, you must be."
+
+"God rot your dirty heart! Do it--do it; doan't jaw--do it! But if you
+lay a finger 'pon me while my mother 's bad or have me took before she
+'m stirring again, I'll kill you when I come out. God 's my judge if I
+doan't!"
+
+Then, forgetting what had taken him out of doors, and upon what matter
+he was engaged, Will turned back in a tempest, and hastened to his
+mother's cottage.
+
+At Monks Barton Mr. Lyddon and his daughter had many and long
+conversations upon the subject of Blanchard's difficulties. Both
+trembled to think what might be the issue if his mother died; both began
+to realise that there could be no more happiness for Will until a
+definite extrication from his present position was forthcoming. At his
+daughter's entreaty the miller finally determined on a strong step. He
+made up his mind to visit Grimbal at the Red House, and win from him, if
+possible, some undertaking which would enable him to relieve his
+son-in-law of the present uncertainty.
+
+Phoebe pleaded for silence, and prayed her father to get a promise at
+any cost in that direction.
+
+"Let him awnly promise 'e never to tell of his free will, an' the door
+against danger 's shut," she said. "When Will knaws Grimbal 's gwaine to
+be dumb, he'll rage a while, then calm down an' be hisself again. 'T is
+the doubt that drove him frantic."
+
+"I'll see the man, then; but not a word to Will's ear. All the fat would
+be in the fire if he so much as dreamed I was about any such business.
+As to a promise, if I can get it I will. An' 'twixt me an' you, Phoebe,
+I'm hopeful of it. He 's kept quiet so long that theer caan't be any
+fiery hunger 'gainst Will in un just now. I'll soothe un down an' get
+his word of honour if it 's to be got. Then your husband can do as he
+pleases."
+
+"Leave the rest to me, Faither."
+
+A fortnight later the cautious miller, after great and exhaustive
+reflection, set out to carry into practice his intention. An appointment
+was made on the day that Will drove to Moreton to meet his sister and
+Martin Grimbal. This removed him out of the way, while Billy had been
+despatched to Okehampton for some harness, and Mr. Lyddon's daughter,
+alone in the secret, was spending the afternoon with her mother-in-law.
+
+So Miller walked over to the Red House and soon found himself waiting
+for John Grimbal in a cheerless but handsome dining-room. The apartment
+suggested little occupation. A desk stood in the window, and upon it
+were half a dozen documents under a paper-weight made from a horse's
+hoof. A fire burned in the broad grate; a row of chairs, upholstered in
+dark red leather, stood stiffly round; a dozen indifferent oil-paintings
+of dogs and horses filled large gold frames upon the walls; and upon a
+massive sideboard of black oak a few silver cups, won by Grimbal's dogs
+at various shows and coursing meetings, were displayed.
+
+Mr. Lyddon found himself kept waiting about ten minutes; then John
+entered, bade him a cold "good afternoon" without shaking hands, and
+placed an easy-chair for him beside the fire.
+
+"Would you object to me lighting my pipe, Jan Grimbal?" asked the miller
+humbly; and by way of answer the other took a box of matches from his
+pocket and handed it to the visitor.
+
+"Thank you, thank you; I'm obliged to you. Let me get a light, then I'll
+talk to 'e."
+
+He puffed for a minute or two, while Grimbal waited in silence for his
+guest to begin.
+
+"Now, wi'out any beatin' of the bush or waste of time, I'll speak. I be
+come 'bout Blanchard, as I dare say you guessed. The news of what he
+done nine or ten years ago comed to me just a month since. A month 't
+was, or might be three weeks. Like a bolt from the blue it falled 'pon
+me an' that's a fact. An' I heard how you knawed the thing--you as had
+such gude cause to hate un wance."
+
+"'Once?'"
+
+"Well, no man's hate can outlive his reason, surely? I was with 'e, tu,
+then; but a man what lets himself suffer lifelong trouble from a fule be
+a fule himself. Not that Blanchard 's all fule--far from it. He've
+ripened a little of late years--though slowly as fruit in a wet summer.
+Granted he bested you in the past an' your natural hope an' prayer was
+to be upsides wi' un some day. Well, that's all dead an' buried, ban't
+it? I hated the shadow of un in them days so bad as ever you did; but
+you gets to see more of the world, an' the men that walks in it when you
+'m moved away from things by the distance of a few years. Then you find
+how wan deed bears upon t' other. Will done no more than you'd 'a' done
+if the cases was altered. In fact, you 'm alike at some points, come to
+think of it."
+
+"Is that what you've walked over here to tell me?"
+
+"No; I'm here to ax 'e frank an' plain, as a sportsman an' a straight
+man wi' a gude heart most times, to tell me what you 'm gwaine to do
+'bout this job. I'm auld, an' I assure 'e you'll hate yourself if you
+give un up. 'T would be outside your carater to do it."
+
+"You say that! Would you harbour a convict from Princetown if you found
+him hiding on your farm?"
+
+"Ban't a like case. Theer 's the personal point of view, if you
+onderstand me. A man deserts from the army ten years ago, an' you, a
+sort o' amateur soldier, feels 't is your duty to give un to justice."
+
+"Well, isn't that what has happened?"
+
+"No fay! Nothing of the sort. If 't was your duty, why didn't you do it
+fust minute you found it out? If you'd writ to the authorities an' gived
+the man up fust moment, I might have said 't was a hard deed, but I'd
+never have dared to say 't weern't just. Awnly you done no such thing.
+You nursed the power an' sucked the thought, same as furriners suck at
+poppy poison. You played with the picture of revenge against a man you
+hated, an' let the idea of what you'd do fill your brain; an' then, when
+you wanted bigger doses, you told Phoebe what you knawed--reckoning as
+she'd tell Will bimebye. That's bad, Jan Grimbal--worse than poisoning
+foxes, by God! An' you knaw it."
+
+"Who are you, to judge me and my motives?"
+
+"An auld man, an' wan as be deeply interested in this business. Time was
+when we thought alike touching the bwoy; now we doan't; 'cause your
+knowledge of un hasn't grawed past the point wheer he downed us, an'
+mine has."
+
+"You're a fool to say so. D' you think I haven't watched the young
+brute these many years? Self-sufficient, ignorant, hot-headed, always in
+the wrong. What d' you find to praise in the clown? Look at his life.
+Failure! failure! failure! and making of enemies at every turn. Where
+would he be to-day but for you?"
+
+"Theer 's a rare gert singleness of purpose 'bout un."
+
+"A grand success he is, no doubt. I suppose you couldn't get on without
+him now. Yet you cursed the cub freely enough once."
+
+"Bitter speeches won't serve 'e, Grimbal; but they show me mighty clear
+what's hid in you. Your sawl 's torn every way by this thing, an' you
+turn an' turn again to it, like a dog to his vomit, yet the gude in 'e
+drags 'e away."
+
+"Better cut all that. You won't tell me what you've come for, so I'll
+tell you. You want me to promise not to move in this matter,--is that
+so?"
+
+"Why, not ezackly. I want more 'n that. I never thought for a minute you
+would do it, now you've let the time pass so far. I knaw you'll never
+act so ugly a paart now; but Will doan 't, an' he'll never b'lieve me
+if I told un."
+
+The other made a sound, half growl, half mirthless laugh.
+
+"You've taken it all for granted, then--you, who know more about what
+'s in my mind than I do myself? You're a fond old man; and if you'd
+wanted to screw me up to the pitch of taking the necessary trouble, you
+couldn't have gone a better way. I've been too busy to bother about the
+young rascal of late or he'd lie in gaol now."
+
+"Doan't say no such vain things! D' you think I caan't read what your
+face speaks so plain? A man's eyes tell the truth awftener than what his
+tongue does, for they 'm harder to break into lying. 'Tu busy'! You be
+foul to the very brainpan wi' this job an' you knaw it."
+
+"Is the hatred all on my side, d' you suppose? Curse the brute to hell!
+And you'd have me eat humble-pie to the man who 's wrecked my life?"
+
+"No such thing at all. All the hatred be on your side. He'd forgived 'e
+clean. Even now, though you 'm fretting his guts to fiddlestrings
+because of waiting for 'e, he feels no malice--no more than the caged
+rat feels 'gainst the man as be carrying him, anyway."
+
+"You're wrong there. He'd kill me to-morrow. He let me know it. In a
+weak moment I asked him the other day how his mother was; and he turned
+upon me like a mad dog, and told me to keep his name off my lips, and
+said he'd have my life if I gave him up."
+
+"That's coorious then, for he 's hungry to give himself up, so soon as
+the auld woman 's well again."
+
+"Talk! I suppose he sent you to whine for him?"
+
+"Not so. He'd have blocked my road if he'd guessed."
+
+"Well, I'm honest when I say I don't care a curse what he does or does
+not. Let him go his way. And as to proclaiming him, I shall do so when
+it pleases me. An odious crime that,--a traitor to his country."
+
+"Doan't become you nor me to dwell 'pon that, seeing how things was."
+
+Grimbal rose.
+
+"You think he 's a noble fellow, and that your daughter had a merciful
+escape. It isn't for me to suggest you are mistaken. Now I've no more
+time to spare, I'm afraid."
+
+The miller also rose, and as he prepared to depart he spoke a final
+word.
+
+"You 'm terrible pushed for time, by the looks of it. I knaw 't is hard
+in this life to find time to do right, though every man can make a
+'mazing mort o' leisure for t' other thing. But hear me: you 'm ruinin'
+yourself, body an' sawl, along o' this job--body an' sawl, like apples
+in a barrel rots each other. You 'm in a bad way, Jan Grimbal, an' I'm
+sorry for 'e--brick house an' horses an' dogs notwithstanding. Have a
+spring cleaning in that sulky brain o' yourn, my son, an' be a man wi'
+yourself, same as you be a man wi' the world."
+
+The other sneered.
+
+"Don't get hot. The air is cold. And as you've given so much good
+advice, take some, too. Mind your own business, and let your son-in-law
+mind his."
+
+Mr. Lyddon shook his head.
+
+"Such words do only prove me right. Look in your heart an' see how 't is
+with you that you can speak to an auld man so. 'T is common metal
+shawing up in 'e, an' I'm sorry to find it."
+
+He set off home without more words and, as chance ordered the incident,
+emerged from the avenue gates of the Red House while a covered vehicle
+passed by on the way from Moreton Hampstead. Its roof was piled with
+luggage, and inside sat Chris, her husband, and Will. They spied Mr.
+Lyddon and made room for him; but later on in the evening Will taxed the
+miller with his action.
+
+"I knawed right well wheer you'd come from," he said gloomily, "an' I'd
+'a' cut my right hand off rather than you should have done it. You did
+n't ought, Faither; for I'll have no living man come between me an'
+him."
+
+"I made it clear I was on my awn paart," explained Mr. Lyddon; but that
+night Will wrote a letter to his enemy and despatched it by a lad before
+breakfast on the following morning.
+
+     "Sir," he said, "this comes to say that Miller seen you yesterday
+     out of his own head, and if I had knowed he was coming I would have
+     took good care to prevent it.
+
+     "W. BLANCHARD."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+ACTION
+
+
+Time passed, and Mrs. Blanchard made a slow return to health. Her
+daughter assumed control of the sick-room, and Martin Grimbal was denied
+the satisfaction of seeing Chris settled in her future home for a period
+of nearly two months. Then, when the invalid became sufficiently
+restored to leave Chagford for change of air, both Martin and Chris
+accompanied her and spent a few weeks by the sea.
+
+Will, meantime, revolved upon his own affairs and suffered torments long
+drawn out. For these protracted troubles those of his own house were
+responsible, and both Phoebe and the miller greatly erred in their
+treatment of him at this season. For the woman there were indeed
+excuses, but Mr. Lyddon might have been expected to show more wisdom and
+better knowledge of a character at all times transparent enough. Phoebe,
+nearing maternal tribulation, threw a new obstacle in her husband's way,
+and implored him by all holy things, now that he had desisted from
+confession thus far, to keep his secret yet a little longer and wait for
+the birth of the child. She used every possible expedient to win this
+new undertaking from Will, and her father added his voice to hers. The
+miller's expressed wish, strongly urged, frequently repeated, at last
+triumphed, and against his own desire and mental promptings, Blanchard,
+at terrible cost to himself, had promised patience until June.
+
+Life, thus clouded and choked, wrought havoc with the man. His natural
+safety-valves were blocked, his nerves shattered, his temper poisoned.
+Primitive characteristics appeared as a result of this position, and he
+exhibited the ferocity of an over-driven tame beast, or a hunted wild
+one. In days long removed from this crisis he looked back with chill of
+body and shudder of mind to that nightmare springtime; and he never
+willingly permitted even those dearest to him to retrace the period.
+
+The struggle lasted long, but his nature beat Blanchard before the end,
+burst its bonds, shattered promises and undertakings, weakened marital
+love for a while, and set him free by one tremendous explosion and
+victory of natural force. There had come into his head of late a new
+sensation, as of busy fingers weaving threads within his skull and iron
+hands moulding the matter of his brain into new patterns. The demon
+things responsible for his torment only slept when he slept, or when, as
+had happened once or twice, he drank himself indifferent to all mundane
+matters. Yet he could not still them for long, and even Phoebe had heard
+mutterings and threats of the thread-spinners who were driving her
+husband mad.
+
+On an evening in late May she became seriously alarmed for his reason.
+Circumstances suddenly combined to strangle the last flickering breath
+of patience in Will, and the slender barriers were swept away in such a
+storm as even Phoebe's wide experience of him had never parallelled.
+Miller Lyddon was out, at a meeting in the village convened to determine
+after what fashion Chagford should celebrate the Sovereign's Jubilee;
+Billy also departed about private concerns, and Will and his wife had
+Monks Barton much to themselves. Even she irritated the suffering man at
+this season, and her sunken face and chatter about her own condition and
+future hopes of a son often worried him into sheer frenzy. His promise
+once exacted she rarely touched upon that matter, believing the less
+said the better, but he misunderstood her reticence and held it selfish.
+Indeed, Blanchard fretted and chafed alone now; for John Grimbal's
+sustained silence had long ago convinced Mr. Lyddon that the master of
+the Red House meant no active harm, and Phoebe readily grasped at the
+same conclusion.
+
+This night, however, the flood-gates crumbled, and Will, before a futile
+assertion from Phoebe touching the happy promise of the time to come and
+the cheerful spring weather, dashed down his pipe with an oath, clenched
+his hands, then leapt to his feet, shook his head, and strode about like
+a maniac.
+
+"Will! You've brawk un to shivers--the butivul wood pipe wi' amber that
+I gived 'e last birthday!"
+
+"Damn my birthday--a wisht day for me 't was! I've lived tu long--tu
+long by all my years, an' nobody cares wan salt tear that I be roastin'
+in hell-fire afore my time. I caan't stand it no more--no more at
+all--not for you or your faither or angels in heaven or ten million
+babies to be born into this blasted world--not if I was faither to 'em
+all. I must live my life free, or else I'll go in a madhouse. Free--do
+'e hear me? I've suffered enough and waited more 'n enough. Ban't months
+nor weeks neither--'t is a long, long lifetime. You talk o' time
+dragging! If you knawed--if you knawed! An' these devil-spinners allus
+knotting an' twisting. I could do things--I could--things man never
+dreamed. An' I will--for they 'm grawing and grawing, an' they'll burst
+my skull if I let 'em bide in it. Months ago I've sat on a fence
+unbeknawnst wheer men was shooting, an' whistled for death. So help me,
+'t is true. Me to do that! Theer 's a cur for 'e; an' yet ban't me
+neither, but the spinners in my head. Death 's a party easily called,
+mind you. A knife, or a pinch o' powder, or a drop o' deep water--they
+'ll bring un to your elbow in a moment. Awnly, if I done that, I'd go in
+company. Nobody should bide to laugh. Them as would cry might cry, but
+him as would laugh should come along o' me--he should, by God!"
+
+"Will, Will! It isn't my Will talking so?"
+
+"It be me, an' it ban't me. But I'm in earnest at last, an' speakin'
+truth. The spinners knaw, an' they 'm right. I'm sick to sheer hate o'
+my life; and you've helped to make me so--you and your faither likewise.
+This thing doan't tear your heart out of you an' grind your nerves to
+pulp as it should do if you was a true wife."
+
+"Oh, my dear, my lovey, how can 'e say or think it? You knaw what it has
+been to me."
+
+"I knaw you've thought all wrong 'pon it when you've thought at all. An'
+Miller, tu. You've prevailed wi' me to go on livin' a coward's life for
+countless ages o' time--me--me--creepin' on the earth wi' my tail
+between my legs an' knawin' I never set eyes on a man as ban't braver
+than myself. An' him--Grimbal--laughing, like the devil he is, to think
+on what my life must be!"
+
+"I caan't be no quicker. The cheel's movin' an' bracin' itself up an'
+makin' ready to come in the world, ban't it? I've told 'e so fifty
+times. It's little longer to wait."
+
+"It's no longer. It's nearer than sleep or food or drink. It's comin'
+'fore the moon sets. 'T is that or the madhouse--nothin' else. If you'd
+felt the fire as have been eatin' my thinking paarts o' late days you'd
+knaw. Ban't no use your cryin', for 't isn't love of me makes you.
+Rivers o' tears doan't turn me no more. I'm steel now--fust time for a
+month--an' while I'm steel I'll act like steel an' strike like steel.
+I've had shaky nights an' silly nights an' haunted nights, but my head
+'s clear for wance, an' I'll use it while 'tis."
+
+"Not to do no rash thing, Will? For Christ's sake, you won't hurt
+yourself or any other?"
+
+"I must meet him wance for all."
+
+"He 'm at the council 'bout Jubilee wi' faither an' parson an' the
+rest."
+
+"But he'll go home arter. An' I'll have 'Yes' or 'No' to-night--I will,
+if I've got to shake the word out of his sawl. I ban't gwaine to be
+driven lunatic for him or you or any. Death's a sight better than a soft
+head an' a lifetime o' dirt an' drivelling an' babbling, like the
+brainless beasts they feed an' fatten in asylums. That's worse cruelty
+than any I be gwaine to suffer at human hands--to be mewed in wan of
+them gashly mad-holes wi' the rack an' ruins o' empty flesh grinning an'
+gibbering 'pon me from all the corners o' the airth. I be sane now--sane
+enough to knaw I'm gwaine mad fast--an' I won't suffer it another hour.
+It's come crying and howling upon my mind like a storm this night, an'
+this night I'll end it."
+
+"Wait at least until the morning. See him then."
+
+"Go to bed, an' doan't goad me to more waiting, if you ever loved me.
+Get to bed--out of my sight! I've had enough of 'e and of all human
+things this many days. An' that's as near madness as I'm gwaine. What I
+do, I do to-night."
+
+She rose from her chair in sudden anger at his strange harshness, for
+the wife who has never heard an unkind word resents with passionate
+protest the sting of the first when it falls. Now genuine indignation
+inflamed Phoebe, and she spoke bitterly.
+
+"'Enough of me'! Ess fay! Like enough you have--a poor, patient creature
+sweatin' for 'e, an' thinkin' for 'e, an' blotting her eyes with tears
+for 'e, an' bearin' your childer an' your troubles, tu! 'Enough of me.'
+Ess, I'll get gone to my bed an' stiffen my joints wi' kneelin' in
+prayer for 'e, an' weary God's ear for a fule!"
+
+His answer was an action, and before she had done speaking he stretched
+above him and took his gun from its place on an old beam that extended
+across the ceiling.
+
+"What in God's name be that for? You wouldn't--?"
+
+"Shoot a fox? Why not? I'm a farmer now, and I'd kill best auld red Moor
+fox as ever gave a field forty minutes an' beat it. You was whinin'
+'bout the chicks awnly this marnin'. I'll sit under the woodstack a bit
+an' think 'fore I starts. Ban't no gude gwaine yet."
+
+Will's explanation of his deed was the true one, but Phoebe realised in
+some dim fashion that she stood within the shadow of a critical night
+and that action was called upon from her. Her anger waned a little, and
+her heart began to beat fast, but she acted with courage and
+promptitude.
+
+"Let un be to-night--auld fox, I mean. Theer 'm more chicks than young
+foxes, come to think of it; an' he 'm awnly doin' what you forget to
+do--fighting for his vixen an' cubs."
+
+She looked straight into Will's eyes, took the gun out of his hands,
+climbed on to a chair, and hung the weapon up again in its place.
+
+He laughed curiously, and helped his wife to the ground again.
+
+"Thank you," she said. "Now go an' do what you want to do, an' doan't
+forget the future happiness of women an' childer lies upon it." Her
+anger was nearly gone, as he spoke again.
+
+"How little you onderstand me arter all these years--an' never
+will--nobody never will but mother. What did 'e fear? That I'd draw
+trigger on the man from behind a tree, p'r'aps?"
+
+"No--not that, but that you might be driven to kill yourself along o'
+having such a bad wife."
+
+"Now we 'm both on the mad road," he said bitterly. Then he picked up
+his stick and, a moment later, went out into the night.
+
+Phoebe watched his tall figure pass over the river, and saw him
+silhouetted against dead silver of moonlit waters as he crossed the
+stepping-stones. Then she climbed for the gun again, hid it, and
+presently prepared for her father's return.
+
+"What butivul peace an quiet theer be in ministerin' to a gude faither,"
+she thought, "as compared wi' servin' a stormy husband!" Then sorrow
+changed to active fear, and that, in its turn, sank into a desolate
+weariness and indifference. She detected no semblance of justice in her
+husband's outburst; she failed to see how circumstances must sooner or
+late have precipitated his revolt; and she felt herself very cruelly
+misjudged, very gravely wronged.
+
+Meantime Blanchard passed through a hurricane of rage against his enemy
+much akin to that formerly recorded of John Grimbal himself, when the
+brute won to the top of him and he yearned for physical conflict. That
+night Will was resolved to get a definite response or come to some
+conclusion by force of arms. His thoughts carried him far, and before he
+took up his station within the grounds of the Red House, at a point from
+which the avenue approach might be controlled, he had already fallen
+into a frantic hunger for fight and a hope that his enemy would prove of
+like mind. He itched for assault and battery, and his heart clamoured to
+be clean in his breast again.
+
+Whatever might happen, he was determined to give himself up on the
+following day. He had done all he could for those he loved, but he was
+powerless to suffer more. He longed now to trample his foe into the
+dust, and, that accomplished, he would depart, well satisfied, and
+receive what punishment was due. His accumulated wrongs must be paid at
+last, and he fully determined, an hour before John Grimbal came
+homewards, that the payment should be such as he himself had received
+long years before on Rushford Bridge. His muscles throbbed for action as
+he sat and waited at the top of a sloping bank dotted with hawthorns
+that extended upwards from the edge of the avenue and terminated on the
+fringe of young coverts.
+
+And now, by a chance not uncommon, two separate series of circumstances
+were about to clash, while the shock engendered was destined to
+precipitate the climax of Will Blanchard's fortunes, in so far as this
+record is concerned. On the night that he thus raged and suffered the
+gall bred of long inaction to overflow, John Grimbal likewise came to a
+sudden conclusion with himself, and committed a deed of nature definite
+so far as it went.
+
+In connection with the approaching Jubilee rejoicings a spirit in some
+sense martial filled the air, and Grimbal with his yeomanry was destined
+to play a part. A transient comet-blaze of militarism often sparkles
+over fighting nations at any season of universal joy, and that more
+especially if the keystone of the land's constitution be a crown. This
+fire found material inflammable enough in the hearts of many Devonshire
+men, and before its warm impulse John Grimbal, inspired by a particular
+occasion, compounded with his soul at last. Rumoured on long tongues
+from the village ale-house, there had come to his ears the report of
+certain ill-considered utterances made by his enemy upon the events of
+the hour. They were only a hot-headed and very miserable man's foolish
+comments upon things in general and the approaching festival in
+particular, and they served but to illustrate the fact that no
+ill-educated and passionate soul can tolerate universal rejoicings,
+itself wretched; but Grimbal clutched at this proven disloyalty of an
+old deserter, and told himself that personal questions must weigh with
+him no more.
+
+"The sort of discontented brute that drifts into Socialism and all
+manner of wickedness," he thought. "The rascal must be muzzled once for
+all, and as a friend to the community I shall act, not as an enemy to
+him."
+
+This conclusion he came to on the evening of the day which saw
+Blanchard's final eruption, and he was amazed to find how
+straightforward and simple his course appeared when viewed from the
+impersonal standpoint of duty. His brother was due to dine with John
+Grimbal in half an hour, for both men were serving on a committee to
+meet that night upon the question of the local celebrations at Chagford,
+and they were going together. Time, however, remained for John to put
+his decision into action. He turned to his desk, therefore, and wrote.
+The words to be employed he knew by heart, for he had composed his
+letter many months before, and it was with him always; yet now, seen
+thus set out upon paper for the first time, it looked strange.
+
+     "RED HOUSE, CHAGFORD, DEVON.
+
+     "_To the Commandant, Royal Artillery, Plymouth._
+
+     "SIR,--It has come to my knowledge that the man, William Blanchard,
+     who enlisted in the Royal Artillery under the name of Tom Newcombe
+     and deserted from his battery when it was stationed at Shorncliffe
+     some ten years ago, now resides at this place on the farm of Monks
+     Barton, Chagford. My duty demands that I should lodge this
+     information, and I can, of course, substantiate it, though I have
+     reason to believe the deserter will not attempt to evade his just
+     punishment if apprehended. I have the honour to be,
+
+     "Your obedient servant,
+
+     "JOHN GRIMBAL,
+
+     "Capt. Dev. Yeomanry."
+
+He had just completed this communication when Martin arrived, and as his
+brother entered he instinctively pushed the letter out of sight. But a
+moment later he rebelled against himself for the act, knowing the ugly
+tacit admission represented by it. He dragged forth the letter,
+therefore, and greeted his brother by thrusting the note before him.
+
+"Read that," he said darkly; "it will surprise you, I think. I want to
+do nothing underhand, and as you're linked to these people for life
+now, it is just that you should hear what is going to happen. There's
+the knowledge I once hinted to you that I possessed concerning William
+Blanchard. I have waited and given him rope enough. Now he's hanged
+himself, as I knew he would, and I must act. A few days ago he spoke
+disrespectfully of the Queen before a dozen other loafers in a
+public-house. That's a sin I hold far greater than his sin against me.
+Read what I have just written."
+
+Martin gazed with mildness upon John's savage and defiant face. His
+brother's expression and demeanour by no means chimed with the judicial
+moderation of his speech. Then the antiquary perused the letter, and
+there fell no sound upon the silence, except that of a spluttering pen
+as John Grimbal addressed an envelope.
+
+Presently Martin dropped the letter on the desk before him, and his face
+was very white, his voice tremulous as he spoke.
+
+"This thing happened more than ten years ago."
+
+"It did; but don't imagine I have known it ten years."
+
+"God forbid! I think better of you. Yet, if only for my sake, reflect
+before you send this letter. Once done, you have ruined a life. I have
+seen Will several times since I came home, and now I understand the
+terrific change in him. He must have known that you know this. It was
+the last straw. He seems quite broken on the wheel of the world, and no
+wonder. To one of his nature, the past, since you discovered this
+terrible secret, must have been sheer torment."
+
+John Grimbal doubled up the letter and thrust it into the envelope,
+while Martin continued:
+
+"What do you reap? You're not a man to do an action of this sort and
+live afterwards as though you had not done it. I warn you, you intend a
+terribly dangerous thing. This may be the wreck of another soul besides
+Blanchard's. I know your real nature, though you've hidden it so close
+of late years. Post that letter, and your life's bitter for all time.
+Look into your heart, and don't pretend to deceive yourself."
+
+His brother lighted a match, burnt red wax, and sealed the letter with a
+signet ring.
+
+"Duty is duty," he said.
+
+"Yes, yes; right shall be done and this extraordinary thing made known
+in the right quarter. But don't let it come out through you; don't
+darken your future by such an act. Your personal relations with the man,
+John,--it's impossible you should do this after all these years."
+
+The other affixed a stamp to his letter.
+
+"Don't imagine personal considerations influence me. I'm a soldier, and
+I know what becomes a soldier. If I find a traitor to his Queen and
+country am I to pass upon the other side of the road and not do my duty
+because the individual happens to be a private enemy? You rate me low
+and misjudge me rather cruelly if you imagine that I am so weak."
+
+Martin gasped at this view of the position, instantly believed himself
+mistaken, and took John at his word. Thereon he came near blushing to
+think that he should have read such baseness into a brother's character.
+
+"I beg your pardon," he said. "I ought to be ashamed to have
+misunderstood you so. I could not escape the personal factor in this
+terrible business, but you, I see, have duly weighed it. I wronged you.
+Yes, I wronged you, as you say. The writing of that letter was a very
+courageous action, under the circumstances--as plucky a thing as ever
+man did, perhaps. Forgive me for taking so mean a view of it, and
+forgive me for even doubting your motives."
+
+"I want justice, and if I am misunderstood for doing my duty--why, that
+is no new thing. I can face that, as better men have done before me."
+
+There was a moment or two of silence; then Martin spoke, almost
+joyfully.
+
+"Thank God, I see a way out! It seldom happens that I am quick in any
+question of human actions, but for once, I detect a road by which right
+may be done and you still spared this terrible task. I do, indeed,
+because I know Blanchard better than you do. I can guess what he has
+been enduring of late, and I will show him how he may end the torture
+himself by doing the right thing even now."
+
+"It's fear of me scorching the man, not shame of his own crime."
+
+"Then, as the stronger, as a soldier, put him out of his misery and set
+your mind at ease. Believe me, you may do it without any reflection on
+yourself. Tell him you have decided to take no step in the affair, and
+leave the rest to me. I will wager I can prevail upon him to give
+himself up. I am singularly confident that I can bring it about. Then,
+if I fail, do what you consider to be right; but first give me leave to
+try and save you from this painful necessity."
+
+There followed a long silence. John Grimbal saw how much easier it was
+to deceive another than himself, and, before the spectacle of his
+deluded brother, felt that he appreciated his own real motives and
+incentives at their true worth. The more completely was Martin
+hoodwinked, the more apparent did the truth grow within John's mind.
+What was in reality responsible for his intended action never looked
+clearer than then, and as Martin spoke in all innocence of the courage
+that must be necessary to perform such a deed, Grimbal passed through
+the flash of a white light and caught a glimpse of his recent mental
+processes magnified by many degrees in the blinding ray. The spectacle
+sickened him a little, weakened him, touched the depths of him, stirred
+his nature. He answered presently in a voice harsh, abrupt, and deep.
+
+"I've lied often enough in my life," he said, "and may again, but I
+think never to you till to-day. You're such a clean-minded, big-hearted
+man that you don't understand a mind of my build--a mind that can't
+forgive, that can't forget, that's fed full for years on the thought of
+revenging that frightful blow in the past. What you feared and hinted
+just now was partly the truth, and I know it well enough. But that is
+only to say my motives in this matter mixed."
+
+"None but a brave man would admit so mucn, but now you wrong yourself,
+as I wronged you. We are alike. I, too, have sometimes in dark moments
+blamed myself for evil thoughts and evil deeds beyond my real deserts.
+So you. I know nothing but your sense of duty would make you post that
+letter."
+
+"We've wrecked each other's lives, he and I; only he's a boy, and his
+life's before him; I'm a man, and my life is lived, for I'm the sort
+that grows old early, and he's helped Time more than anybody knows but
+myself."
+
+"Don't say that. Happiness never comes when you are hungering most for
+it; sorrow never when you believe yourself best tuned to bear it. Once I
+thought as you do now. I waited long for my good fortune, and said
+'good-by' to all my hope of earthly delight."
+
+"You were easier to satisfy than I should have been. Yet you were
+constant, too,--constant as I was. We're built that way. More's the
+pity."
+
+"I have absolutely priceless blessings; my cup of happiness is full.
+Sometimes I ask myself how it comes about that one so little deserving
+has received so much; sometimes I waken in the very extremity of fear,
+for joy like mine seems greater than any living thing has a right to."
+
+"I'm glad one of us is happy."
+
+"I shall live to see you equally blessed."
+
+"It is impossible."
+
+There was a pause, then a gong rumbled in the hall, and the brothers
+went to dinner. Their conversation now ranged upon varied local topics,
+and it was not until the cloth had been removed according to
+old-fashioned custom, and fruit and wine set upon a shining table, that
+John returned to the crucial subject of the moment.
+
+He poured out a glass of port for Martin, and pushed the cigars towards
+him, then spoke,--
+
+"Drink. It's very good. And try one of those. I shall not post that
+letter."
+
+"Man, I knew it! I knew it well, without hearing so from you. Destroy
+the thing, dear fellow, and so take the first step to a peace I fear you
+have not known for many days. All this suffering will vanish quicker
+than a dream then. Justice is great, but mercy is greater. Yours is the
+privilege of mercy, and yet justice shall not suffer either--not if I
+know Will Blanchard."
+
+They talked long and drank more than usual, while the elder man's grim
+and moody spirit lightened a little before his determination and his
+wine. The reek of past passions, the wreckage of dead things, seemed to
+be sweeping out of his mind. He forgot the hour and their engagement
+until the time fixed for that conference was past. Then he looked at his
+watch, rose from the table, and hurried to the hall.
+
+"Let us not go," urged Martin. "They will do very well without us, I am
+sure."
+
+But John's only answer was to pull on his driving gloves. He anticipated
+some satisfaction from the committee meeting; he suspected, indeed, that
+he would be asked to take the chair at it, and, like most men, he was
+not averse to the exercise of a little power in a small corner.
+
+"We must go," he said. "I have important suggestions to make, especially
+concerning the volunteers. A sham fight on Scorhill would be a happy
+thought. We'll drive fast, and only be twenty minutes late."
+
+A dog-cart had been waiting half an hour, and soon the brothers quickly
+whirled down Red House avenue. A groom dropped from behind and opened
+the gate; then it was all his agility could accomplish to scramble into
+his seat again as a fine horse, swinging along at twenty miles an hour,
+trotted towards Chagford.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+A BATTLE
+
+
+Silent and motionless sat Blanchard, on the fringe of a bank at the
+coppice edge. He watched the stars move onward and the shadows cast by
+moonlight creep from west to north, from north to east. Hawthorn scented
+the night and stood like masses of virgin silver under the moon; from
+the Red House 'owl tree'--a pollarded elm, sacred to the wise bird--came
+mewing of brown owls; and once a white one struck, swift as a streak of
+feathered moonlight, on the copse edge, and passed so near to Blanchard
+that he saw the wretched shrew-mouse in its talons. "'Tis for the young
+birds somewheers," he thought; "an' so they'll thrive an' turn out
+braave owlets come bimebye; but the li'l, squeakin', blind shrews,
+what'll they do when no mother comes home-along to 'em?"
+
+He mused drearily upon this theme, but suddenly started, for there came
+the echo of slow steps in the underwood behind him. They sank into
+silence and set Will wondering as to what they might mean. Then another
+sound, that of a galloping horse and the crisp ring of wheels, reached
+him, and, believing that John Grimbal was come, he strung himself to the
+matter in hand. But the vehicle did not stop. A flash of yellow light
+leapt through the distance as a mail-cart rattled past upon its way to
+Moreton. This circumstance told Will the hour and he knew that his vigil
+could not be much longer protracted.
+
+Then death stalked abroad again, but this time in a form that awoke the
+watcher's deep-rooted instincts, took him clean out of himself, and
+angered him to passion, not in his own cause but another's. There came
+the sudden scream of a trapped hare,--that sound where terror and agony
+mingle in a cry half human,--and so still was the hour that Blanchard
+heard the beast's struggles though it was fifty yards distant. A hare in
+a trap at any season meant a poacher--a hated enemy of society in
+Blanchard's mind; and his instant thought was to bring the rascal to
+justice if he could. Now the recent footfall was explained and Will
+doubted not that the cruel cry which had scattered his reveries would
+quickly attract some hidden man responsible for it. The hare was caught
+by a wire set in a run at the edge of the wood, and now Blanchard
+crawled along on his stomach to within ten yards of the tragedy, and
+there waited under the shadow of a white-thorn at the edge of the woods.
+Within two minutes the bushes parted and, where the foliage of a young
+silver birch showered above lesser brushwood, a man with a small head
+and huge shoulders appeared. Seeing no danger he crept into the open,
+lifted his head to the moon, and revealed the person and features of Sam
+Bonus, the labourer with whom Will had quarrelled in times long past.
+Here, then, right ahead of him, appeared such a battle as Blanchard had
+desired, but with another foe than he anticipated. That accident
+mattered nothing, however. Will only saw a poacher, and to settle the
+business of such an one out of hand if possible was, in his judgment, a
+definite duty to be undertaken by every true man at any moment when
+opportunity offered.
+
+He walked suddenly from shadow and stood within three yards of the
+robber as Bonus raised the butt of his gun to kill the shrieking beast
+at his feet.
+
+"You! An' red-handed, by God! I knawed 't was no lies they told of 'e."
+
+The other started and turned and saw who stood against him.
+
+"Blanchard, is it? An' what be you doin' here? Come for same reason,
+p'r'aps?"
+
+"I'd make you pay, if 't was awnly for sayin' that! I'm a man to steal
+others' fur out of season, ban't I? But I doan't have no words wi' the
+likes o' you. I've took you fair an' square, anyways, an' will just ax
+if you be comin' wi'out a fuss, or am I to make 'e?"
+
+The other snarled.
+
+"You--you come a yard nearer an' I'll blaw your damned head--"
+
+But the threat was left unfinished, and its execution failed, for Will
+had been taught to take an armed man in his early days on the river, and
+had seen an old hand capture more than one desperate character. He knew
+that instantaneous action might get him within the muzzle of the gun and
+out of danger, and while Bonus spoke, he flew straight upon him with
+such unexpected celerity that Sam had no time to accomplish his purpose.
+He came down heavily with Blanchard on top of him, and his weapon fell
+from his hand. But the poacher was not done with. As they lay
+struggling, he found his foot clear and managed to kick Will twice on
+the leg above the knee. Then Blanchard, hanging like a dog to his foe,
+freed an arm, and hit hard more than once into Sam's face. A blow on the
+nose brought red blood that spurted over both men black as ink under the
+moonlight.
+
+It was not long before they broke away and rose from their first
+struggle on the ground, but Bonus finally got to his knees, then to his
+feet, and Will, as he did the same, knew by a sudden twinge in his leg
+that if the poacher made off it must now be beyond his power to follow.
+
+"No odds," he gasped, answering his thought aloud, while they wrestled.
+"If you've brawk me somewheers 't is no matter, for you 'm marked all
+right, an' them squinting eyes of yourn'll be blacker 'n sloes come
+marnin'."
+
+This obvious truth infuriated Bonus. He did not attempt to depart, but,
+catching sight of his gun, made a tremendous effort to reach it. The
+other saw this aim and exerted his strength in an opposite direction.
+They fought in silence awhile--growled and cursed, sweated and swayed,
+stamped and slipped and dripped blood under the dewy and
+hawthorn-scented night. Bonus used all his strength to reach the gun;
+Will sacrificed everything to his hold. He suffered the greater
+punishment for a while, because Sam fought with all his limbs, like a
+beast; but presently Blanchard threw the poacher heavily, and again they
+came down together, this time almost on the wretched beast that still
+struggled, held by the wire at hand. It had dragged the fur off its leg,
+and white nerve fibres, torn bare, glimmered in the red flesh under the
+moon.
+
+Both fighters were now growing weaker, and each knew that a few minutes
+more must decide the fortune of the battle. Bonus still fought for the
+gun, and now his weight began to tell. Then, as he got within reach, and
+stretched hand to grasp it, Blanchard, instead of dragging against him,
+threw all his force in the same direction, and Sam was shot clean over
+the gun. This time they twisted and Will fell underneath. Both
+simultaneously thrust a hand for the weapon; both gripped it, and then
+exerted their strength for possession. Will meant using it as a club if
+fate was kind; the other man, rating his own life at nothing, and,
+believing that he bore Blanchard the grudge of his own ruin, intended,
+at that red-hot moment, to keep his word and blow the other's brains out
+if he got a chance to do so.
+
+Then, unheard by the combatants, a distant gate was thrown open, two
+brilliant yellow discs of fire shone along the avenue below, and John
+Grimbal returned to his home. Suddenly, seeing figures fighting
+furiously on the edge of the hill not fifty yards away, he pulled up,
+and a din of conflict sounded in his ears as the rattle of hoof and
+wheel and harness ceased. Leaping down he ran to the scene of the
+conflict as fast as possible, but it was ended before he arrived. A gun
+suddenly exploded and flashed a red-hot tongue of flame across the
+night. A hundred echoes caught the detonation and as the discharge
+reverberated along the stony hills to Fingle Gorge, Will Blanchard
+staggered backwards and fell in a heap, while the poacher reeled, then
+steadied himself, and vanished under the woods.
+
+"Bring a lamp," shouted Grimbal, and a moment later his groom obeyed;
+but the fallen man was sitting up by the time John reached him, and the
+gun that had exploded was at his feet.
+
+"You 'm tu late by half a second," he gasped. "I fired myself when I
+seed the muzzle clear. Poachin' he was, but the man 's marked all right.
+Send p'liceman for Sam Bonus to-morrer, an' I lay you'll find a
+picter."
+
+"Blanchard!"
+
+"Ess fay, an' no harm done 'cept a stiff leg. Best to knock thicky poor
+twoad on the head. I heard the scream of un and comed along an' waited
+an' catched my gen'leman in the act."
+
+The groom held a light to the mangled hare.
+
+"Scat it on the head," said Will, "then give me a hand."
+
+He was helped to his feet; the servant went on before with the lamp, and
+Blanchard, finding himself able to walk without difficulty, proceeded,
+slowly supporting himself by the poacher's gun.
+
+Grimbal waited for him to speak and presently he did so.
+
+"Things falls out so different in this maze of a world from what man may
+count on."
+
+"How came it that you were here?"
+
+"Blamed if I can tell 'e till I gather my wits together. 'Pears half a
+century or so since I comed; yet ban't above two hour agone."
+
+"You didn't come to see Sam Bonus, I suppose?"
+
+"No fay! Never a man farther from my thought than him when I seed un
+poke up his carrot head under the moon. I was 'pon my awn affairs an'
+comed to see you. I wanted straight speech an' straight hitting; an' I
+got 'em, for that matter. An' fightin' 's gude for the blood, I
+reckon--anyway for my fashion blood."
+
+"You came to fight me, then?"
+
+"I did--if I could make 'e fight."
+
+"With that gun?"
+
+"With nought but a savage heart an' my two fistes. The gun belongs to
+Sam Bonus. Leastways it did, but 't is mine now--or yours, as the party
+most wronged."
+
+"Come this way and drink a drop of brandy before you go home. Glad you
+had some fighting as you wanted it so bad. I know what it feels like to
+be that way, too. But there wouldn't have been blows between us. My mind
+was made up. I wrote to Plymouth this afternoon. I wrote, and an hour
+later decided not to post the letter. I've changed my intentions
+altogether, because the point begins to appear in a new light. I'm sorry
+for a good few things that have happened of late years."
+
+Will breathed hard a moment; then he spoke slowly and not without more
+emotion than his words indicated.
+
+"That's straight speech--if you mean it. I never knawed how 't was that
+a sportsman, same as you be, could keep rakin' awver a job an' drive a
+plain chap o' the soil like me into hell for what I done ten year
+agone."
+
+"Let the past go. Forget it; banish it for all time as far as you have
+the power. Blame must be buried both sides. Here's the letter upon my
+desk. I'll burn it, and I'll try to burn the memory often years with it.
+Your road's clear for me."
+
+"Thank you," said Blanchard, very slowly. "I lay I'll never hear no
+better news than that on this airth. Now I'm free--free to do how I
+please, free to do it undriven."
+
+There was a long silence. Grimbal poured out half a tumbler of brandy,
+added soda water, then handed the stimulant to Will; and Blauchard,
+after drinking, sat in comfort a while, rubbed his swollen jaw, and
+scraped the dried blood of Bonus off his hands.
+
+"Why for did you chaange so sudden?" he asked, as Grimbal turned to his
+desk.
+
+"I could tell you, but it doesn't matter. A letter in the mind looks
+different to one on paper; and duty often changes its appearance, too,
+when a man is honest with himself. To be honest with yourself is the
+hardest sort of honesty. I've had speech with others about this--my
+brother more particularly."
+
+"I wish to God us could have settled it without no help from outside."
+
+Grimbal rang the bell, then answered.
+
+"As to settling it, I know nothing about that. I've settled with my own
+conscience--such as it is."
+
+"I'd come for 'Yes' or 'No.'"
+
+"Now you have a definite answer."
+
+"An' thank you. Then what 's it to be between us, when I come back? May
+I ax that? Them as ban't enemies no more might grow to be friends--eh?"
+
+What response Grimbal would have made is doubtful. He did not reply, for
+his servant, Lawrence Vallack, entered at the moment, and he turned
+abruptly upon the old man.
+
+"Where 's the letter I left upon my desk? It was directed to Plymouth."
+
+"All right, sir, all right; don't worrit. I've eyes in my head for my
+betters still, thank God. I seed un when I come to shut the shutters an'
+sent Joe post-haste to the box. 'T was in plenty of time for the mail."
+
+John emptied his lungs in a great respiration, half-sigh, half-groan. He
+could not speak. Only his fingers closed and he half lifted his hand as
+though to crush the smirking ancient. Then he dropped his arm and looked
+at Blanchard, asking the question with his eyes that he could find no
+words for.
+
+"I heard the mail go just 'fore the hare squealed," said Will stolidly,
+"an' the letter with it for certain."
+
+Grimbal started up and rushed to the hall while the other limped after
+him.
+
+"Doan't 'e do nothin' fulish. I believe you never meant to post un. Ess,
+I'll take your solemn word for that. An' if you didn't mean to send
+letter, 't is as if you hadn't sent un. For my mind weer fixed, whatever
+you might do."
+
+"Don't jaw, now! There 's time to stop the mail yet. I can get to
+Moreton as soon or sooner than that crawling cart if I ride. I won't be
+fooled like this!"
+
+He ran to the stables, called to the groom, clapped a saddle on the
+horse that had just brought him home, and in about three minutes was
+riding down the avenue, while his lad reached the gate and swung it open
+just in time. Then Grimbal galloped into the night, with heart and soul
+fixed upon his letter. He meant to recover it at any reasonable cost.
+The white road streaked away beneath him, and a breeze created by his
+own rapid progress steadied him as he hastened on. Presently at a
+hill-foot, he saw how to save a mile or more by short cuts over
+meadow-land, so left the highway, rode through a hayfield, and dashed
+from it by a gap into a second. Then he grunted and the sound was one of
+satisfaction, for his tremendous rate of progress had served its object
+and already, creeping on the main road far ahead, he saw the vehicle
+which held the mail.
+
+Meanwhile Blanchard and the man-servant stood and watched John Grimbal's
+furious departure.
+
+"Pity," said Will. "No call to do it. I've took his word, an' the end 's
+the same, letter or no letter. Now let me finish that theer brandy, then
+I'll go home."
+
+But Mr. Vallack heard nothing. He was gazing out into the night and
+shaking with fear.
+
+"High treason 'gainst the law of the land to lay a finger on the mail. A
+letter posted be like a stone flinged or a word spoken--out of our
+keeping for all time. An' me to blame for it. I'm a ruined man along o'
+taking tu much 'pon myself an' being tu eager for others. He'll fling me
+out, sure 's death. 'T is all up wi' me."
+
+"As to that, I reckon many a dog gets a kick wheer he thinks he 's
+earned a pat," said Will; "that's life, that is. An' maybe theer's sore
+hearts in dumb beasts, tu, sometimes, for a dog loves praise like a
+woman. He won't sack 'e. You done what 'peared your duty."
+
+Blanchard then left the house, slowly proceeded along the avenue and
+presently passed out on to the highroad. As he walked the pain of his
+leg diminished, but he put no strain upon it and proceeded very
+leisurely towards home. Great happiness broke into his mind, undimmed by
+aching bones and bruises. The reflection that he was reconciled to John
+Grimbal crowded out lesser thoughts. He knew the other had spoken truth,
+and accepted his headlong flight to arrest the mail as sufficient proof
+of it. Then he thought of the possibility of giving himself up before
+Grimbal's letter should come to be read.
+
+At home Phoebe was lying awake in misery waiting for him. She had
+brought up to their bedroom a great plate of cold bacon with vegetables
+and a pint of beer; and as Will slowly appeared she uttered a cry and
+embraced him with thanksgivings. Upon Blanchard's mind the return to his
+wife impressed various strange thoughts. He soothed her, comforted her,
+and assured her of his safety. But to him it seemed that he spoke with a
+stranger, for half a century of experience appeared to stretch between
+the present and his departure from Monks Barton about three hours
+before. His wife experienced similar sensations. That this cheerful,
+battered, hungry man could be the same who had stormed from her into the
+night a few short hours before, appeared impossible.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+A PAIR OF HANDCUFFS
+
+
+Mr. Blee, to do him justice, was usually the first afoot at Monks
+Barton, both winter and summer. The maids who slept near him needed no
+alarum, for his step on the stair and his high-pitched summons, "Now
+then, you lazy gals, what be snorin' theer for, an' the day broke?" was
+always sufficient to ensure their wakening.
+
+At an early hour of the morning that dawned upon Will's nocturnal
+adventures, Billy stood in the farmyard and surveyed the shining river
+to an accompaniment of many musical sounds. On Monks Barton thatches the
+pigeons cooed and bowed and gurgled to their ladies, cows lowed from the
+byres, cocks crew, and the mill-wheel, already launched upon the
+business of the day, panted from its dark habitation of dripping moss
+and fern.
+
+Billy sniffed the morning, then proceeded to a pig's sty, opened a door
+within it, and chuckled at the spectacle that greeted him.
+
+"Burnish it all! auld sow 's farrowed at last, then. Busy night for her,
+sure 'nough! An' so fine a litter as ever I seed, by the looks of it."
+
+He bustled off to get refreshment for the gaunt, new-made mother, and as
+he did so met Ted Chown, who now worked at Mr. Lyddon's, and had just
+arrived from his home in Chagford.
+
+"Marnin', sir; have 'e heard the news? Gert tidings up-long I 'sure 'e."
+
+"Not so gert as what I've got, I'll lay. Butivul litter 't is. Come an'
+give me a hand."
+
+"Bonus was catched poachin' last night to the Red House. An' he've had
+his faace smashed in, nose broke, an' all. He escaped arter; but he went
+to Doctor fust thing to-day an' got hisself plastered; an' then, knawin'
+'t weern't no use to hide, comed right along an' gived hisself up to
+faither."
+
+"My stars! An' no more'n what he desarved, that's certain."
+
+"But that ban't all, even. Maister Jan Grimbal's missing! He rode off
+last night, Laard knaws wheer, an' never a sign of un seed since.
+They've sent to the station 'bout it a'ready; an' they 'm scourin' the
+airth for un. An' 't was Maister Blanchard as fought wi' Bonus, for Sam
+said so."
+
+"Guy Fawkes an' angels! Here, you mix this. I must tell Miller an' run
+about a bit. Gwaine to be a gert day, by the looks of it!"
+
+He hurried into the house, met his master and began with breathless
+haste,--
+
+"Awful doin's! Awful doin's, Miller. Such a sweet-smellin' marnin', tu!
+Bear yourself stiff against it, for us caan't say what remains to be
+told."
+
+"What's wrong now? Doan't choke yourself. You 'm grawin' tu auld for all
+the excitements of modern life, Billy. Wheer's Will?"
+
+"You may well ax. Sleepin' still, I reckon, for he comed in long arter
+midnight. I was stirrin' at the time an' heard un. Sleepin' arter black
+deeds, if all they tell be true."
+
+"Black deeds!"
+
+"The bwoy Ted's just comed wi' it. 'T is this way: Bonus be at death's
+door wi' a smashed nose, an' Blanchard done it; an' Jan Grimbal's
+vanished off the faace o' the airth. Not a sign of un seed arter he
+drove away last night from the Jubilee gathering. An' if 't is murder,
+you'll be in the witness-box, knawin' the parties same as you do; an'
+the sow 's got a braave litter, though what's that arter such news?"
+
+"Guess you 'm dreamin', Blee," said Mr. Lyddon, as he took his hat and
+walked into the farmyard.
+
+Billy was hurt.
+
+"Dreamin', be I? I'm a man as dreams blue murders, of coourse! Tu auld
+to be relied on now, I s'pose. Theer! Theer!" he changed his voice and
+it ran into a cracked scream of excitement. "Theer! P'r'aps I'm
+dreamin', as Inspector Chown an' Constable Lamacraft be walkin' in the
+gate this instant moment!"
+
+But there was no mistaking this fact. Abraham Chown entered, marched
+solemnly to the party at the door, cried "Halt!" to his subordinate,
+then turned to Mr. Lyddon.
+
+"Good-day to you, Miller," he said, "though 't is a bad day, I'm
+fearin'. I be here for Will Blanchard, _alias_ Tom Newcombe."
+
+"If you mean my son-in-law, he 's not out of bed to my knawledge."
+
+"Dear sawls! Doan't 'e say 't is blue murder--doan't 'e say that!"
+implored Mr. Blee. His head shook and his tongue revolved round his
+lips.
+
+"Not as I knaws. We 'm actin' on instructions from the military to
+Plymouth."
+
+"Theer 's allus wickedness hid under a alias notwithstanding," declared
+Billy, rather disappointed; "have 'e found Jan Grimbal?"
+
+"They be searchin' for un. Jim Luke, Inspector to Moreton, an' his men
+be out beatin' the country. But I'm here, wi' my staff, for William
+Blanchard. March!"
+
+Lamacraft, thus addressed, proceeded a pace or two until stopped by Mr.
+Lyddon.
+
+"No call to go in. He'll come down. But I'm sore puzzled to knaw what
+this means, for awnly last night I heard tell from Jan Grimbal's awn
+lips that he'd chaanged his mind about a private matter bearin' on
+this."
+
+"I want the man, anyways, an' I be gwaine to have un," declared
+Inspector Chown. He brought a pair of handcuffs from his pocket and gave
+them to the constable.
+
+"Put up them gashly things, Abraham Chown," said the miller sternly.
+"Doan't 'e knaw Blanchard better 'n that?"
+
+"Handcuffed he'll be, whether he likes it or not," answered the other;
+"an' if theer's trouble, I bid all present an' any able-bodied men 'pon
+the premises to help me take him in the Queen's name."
+
+Billy hobbled round the corner, thrust two fingers into his mouth, and
+blew a quavering whistle; whereupon two labourers, working a few hundred
+yards off, immediately dropped their tools and joined him.
+
+"Run you here," he cried. "P'lice be corned to taake Will Blanchard, an'
+us must all give the Law a hand, for theer'll be blows struck if I knaw
+un."
+
+"Will Blanchard! What have he done?"
+
+"Been under a alias--that's the least of it, but--God, He knaws--it may
+rise to murder. 'T is our bounden duty to help Chown against un."
+
+"Be danged if I do!" said one of the men.
+
+"Nor me," declared the other. "Let Chown do his job hisself--an' get his
+jaw broke for his trouble."
+
+But they followed Mr. Blee to where the miller still argued against
+Lamacraft's entrance.
+
+"Why didn't they send soldiers for un? That's what he reckoned on,"
+said Mr. Lyddon.
+
+"'T is my job fust."
+
+"I'm sorry you've come in this high spirit. You knaw the man and ought
+to taake his word he'd go quiet and my guarantee for it."
+
+"I knaw my duty, an' doan't want no teachin' from you."
+
+"You're a fule!" said Miller, in some anger. "An' 't will take more 'n
+you an' that moon-faced lout to put them things on the man, or I'm much
+mistaken."
+
+He went indoors while the labourers laughed, and the younger constable
+blushed at the insult.
+
+"How do 'e like that, Peter Lamacraft?" asked a labourer.
+
+"No odds to me," answered the policeman, licking his hands nervously and
+looking at the door. "I ban't feared of nought said or done if I've got
+the Law behind me. An' you'm liable yourself if you doan't help."
+
+"Caan't wait no more," declared Mr. Chown. "If he's in bed, us'll take
+un in bed. Come on, you!"
+
+Thus ordered to proceed, Lamacraft set his face resolutely forward and
+was just entering the farm when Phoebe appeared. Her tears were dry,
+though her voice was unsteady and her eyelids red.
+
+"Gude mornin', Mr. Chown," she said.
+
+"Marnin', ma'am. Let us pass, if you please."
+
+"Are you coming in? Why?"
+
+"Us caan't bide no more, an' us caan't give no more reasons. The Law
+ban't 'spected to give reasons for its deeds, an' us won't be bamboozled
+an' put off a minute longer," answered Chown grimly. "March, I tell 'e,
+Peter Lamacraft."
+
+"You caan't see my husband."
+
+"But we'm gwaine to see un. He've got to see me, an' come along wi' me,
+tu. An' if he's wise, he'll come quiet an' keep his mouth shut. That
+much I'll tell un for his gude."
+
+"If you'll listen, I might make you onderstand how 'tis you caan't see
+Will," said Phoebe quietly. "You must knaw he runned away an' went
+soldiering before he married me. Then he comed back for love of me
+wi'out axin' any man's leave."
+
+"So much the worse, ma'am; he'm a desarter!"
+
+"The dark wickedness!" gasped Mr. Blee; "an' him dumb as a newt 'bout it
+all these years an' years! The conscience of un!"
+
+"Well, you needn't trouble any more," continued Phoebe to the policemen.
+"My husband be gwaine to take this matter into his awn hands now."
+
+Inspector Chown laughed.
+
+"That's gude, that is!--now he 'm blawn upon!"
+
+"He 's gwaine to give himself up--he caan't do more," said Phoebe,
+turning to her father who now reappeared.
+
+"Coourse he caan't do more. What more do 'e want?" the miller inquired.
+
+"Him," answered Mr. Chown. "No more an' no less; an' everything said
+will be used against him."
+
+"You glumpy auld Dowl!" growled a labouring man.
+
+"All right, all right. You just wait, all of 'e! Wheer's the man? How
+much longer be I to bide his pleasure? March! Damn it all! be the Law a
+laughing-stock?" The Inspector was growing very hot and excited.
+
+"He's gone," said Phoebe, as Mr. Lamacraft entered the farm, put one
+foot on the bottom step of the stairs, then turned for further orders.
+"He's gone, before light. He rested two hours or so, then us harnessed
+the trap an' he drove away to Moreton to take fust train to Plymouth by
+way o' Newton Abbot. An' he said as Ted Chown was to go in arter
+breakfast an' drive the trap home."
+
+"Couldn't tell me nothin' as had pleased me better," said the miller.
+"'T is a weight off me--an' off him I reckon. Now you 'm answered, my
+son; you can telegraph back as you corned wi' your auld handcuffs tu
+late by hours, an' that the man's on his way to give hisself up."
+
+"I've only got your word for it."
+
+"An' what better word should 'e have?" piped Billy, who in the space of
+half a minute had ranged himself alongside his master. "You to question
+the word o' Miller Lyddon, you crooked-hearted raven! Who was it spoke
+for 'e fifteen year ago an' got 'em to make 'e p'liceman 'cause you was
+tu big a fule to larn any other trade? Gert, thankless twoad! An' who
+was it let 'em keep the 'Green Man' awpen two nights in wan week arter
+closin' time, 'cause he wanted another drop hisself?"
+
+"Come you away," said the Inspector to his constable. "Ban't for the
+likes of we to have any talk wi' the likes o' they. But they'll hear
+more of this; an' if theer's been any hookem-snivey dealin's with the
+Law, they'll live to be sorry. An' you follow me likewise," he added to
+his son, who stood hard by. "You come wi' me, Ted, for you doan't do no
+more work for runaway soldiers, nor yet bald-headed auld antics like
+this here!"
+
+He pointed to Mr. Blee, then turned to depart.
+
+"Get off honest man's land, you black-bearded beast!" screamed Billy.
+"You 'm most like of any wan ever I heard tell of to do murder yourself;
+an' auld as I be, I'd crawl on my hands an' knees to see you scragged
+for 't, if 't was so far as the sun in heaven!"
+
+"That's libel," answered Mr. Chown, with cold and haughty authority;
+"an' you've put yourself in the grip of the Law by sayin' it, as you'll
+knaw before you 'm much aulder."
+
+Then, with this trifling advantage, he retreated, while Lamacraft and
+Ted brought up the rear.
+
+"So theer's an end of that. Now us'll fall to wi' no worse appetites,"
+declared Miller. "An' as to Will," he added, "'fore you chaps go, just
+mind an' judge no man till you knaw what's proved against him. Onless
+theer's worse behind than I've larned so far, I'm gwaine to stand by
+un."
+
+"An' me, tu!" said Mr. Blee, with a fine disregard for his recent
+utterances. "I've teached the chap purty nigh all he knaws an' I ban't
+gwaine to turn on un now, onless 't is proved blue murder. An' that
+Chown 's a disgrace to his cloth; an' I'd pull his ugly bat's ears on my
+awn behalf if I was a younger an' spryer man."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+SUSPENSE
+
+
+The fate of John Grimbal was learned within an hour or two of Inspector
+Chown's departure from Monks Barton; and by the time that Martin Grimbal
+had been apprised of the matter his brother already lay at the Red
+House.
+
+John had been found at daybreak upon the grass-land where he rode
+overnight on his journey to intercept the mail. A moment after he
+descried the distant cart, his horse had set foot in a hole; and upon
+the accident being discovered, the beast was found lying with a broken
+leg within twenty yards of its insensible master. His horse was shot,
+John Grimbal carried home with all despatch, and Doctor Parsons arrived
+as quickly as possible, to do all that might be done for the sufferer
+until an abler physician than himself reached the scene.
+
+Three dreary days saw Grimbal at the door of death, then a brief
+interval of consciousness rewarded unceasing care, and a rumour spread
+that he might yet survive. Martin, when immediate fear for his brother's
+life was relieved, busied himself about Blanchard, and went to Plymouth.
+There he saw Will, learned all facts concerning the letter, and did his
+best to win information of the prisoner's probable punishment. Fears,
+magnified rumours, expressed opinions, mostly erroneous, buzzed in the
+ears of the anxious party at Monks Barton. Then Martin Grimbal returned
+to Chagford and there came an evening when those most interested met
+after supper at the farm to hear all he could tell them.
+
+Long faces grouped round Martin as he made his statement in a grey June
+twilight. Mr. Blee and the miller smoked, Mrs. Blanchard sat with her
+hand in her daughter's, and Phoebe occupied a comfortable arm-chair by
+the wood fire. Between intervals of long silence came loud, juicy,
+sounds from Billy's pipe, and when light waned they still talked on
+until Chris stirred herself and sought the lamp.
+
+"They tell me," began Martin, "that a deserting soldier is punished
+according to his character and with regard to the fact whether he
+surrenders himself or is apprehended. Of course we know Will gave
+himself up, but then they will find out that he knew poor John's
+unfortunate letter had reached its destination--or at any rate started
+for it; and they may argue, not knowing the truth, that it was the fact
+of the information being finally despatched made Will surrender. They
+will say, I am afraid, as they said to me: 'Why did he wait until now if
+he meant to do the right thing? Why did he not give himself up long
+ago?'"
+
+"That's easy answered: to please others," explained Mr. Lyddon. "Fust
+theer was his promise to Phoebe, then his mother's illness, then his
+other promise, to bide till his wife was brought to bed. Looking back I
+see we was wrong to use our power against his awn wish; but so it
+stands."
+
+"I ought to go; I ought to be alongside un," moaned Phoebe; "I was at
+the bottom of everything from fust to last. For me he run away; for me
+he stopped away. Mine's the blame, an' them as judge him should knaw it
+an' hear me say so."
+
+"Caan't do no such vain thing as that," declared Mr. Blee. "'T was never
+allowed as a wife should be heard 'pon the doin's of her awn husband.
+'Cause why? She'd be one-sided--either plump for un through thick an'
+thin, or else all against un, as the case might stand."
+
+"As to the sentence," continued Martin, "if a man with a good character
+deserts and thinks better of it and goes back to his regiment, he is not
+as a rule tried by court-martial at all. Instead, he loses all his
+former service and has to begin to reckon his period of engagement--six
+or seven years perhaps--all over again. But a notoriously bad character
+is tried by court-martial in any case, whether he gives himself up or
+not; and he gets a punishment according to the badness of his past
+record. Such a man would have from eighty-four days' imprisonment, with
+hard labour, up to six months, or even a year, if he had deserted more
+than once. Then the out-and-out rascals are sentenced to be 'dismissed
+her Majesty's service.'"
+
+"But the real gude men," pleaded Phoebe--"them as had no whisper 'gainst
+'em, same as Will? They couldn't be hard 'pon them, 'specially if they
+knawed all?"
+
+"I should hope not; I'm sure not. You see the case is so unusual, as an
+officer explained to me, and such a great length of time has elapsed
+between the action and the judgment upon it. That is in Will's favour. A
+good soldier with a clean record who deserts and is apprehended does not
+get more than three months with hard labour and sometimes less. That's
+the worst that can happen, I hope."
+
+"What's hard labour to him?" murmured Billy, whose tact on occasions of
+universal sorrow was sometimes faulty. "'Tis the rankle of bein' in
+every blackguard's mouth that'll cut Will to the quick."
+
+"What blackguards say and think ban't no odds," declared Mrs. Blanchard.
+"'Tis better--far better he should do what he must do. The disgrace is
+in the minds of them that lick theer lips upon his sorrow. Let him pay
+for a wrong deed done, for the evil he did that gude might come of it. I
+see the right hand o' God holding' the li'l strings of my son's life,
+an' I knaw better'n any of 'e what'll be in the bwoy's heart now."
+
+"Yet, when all's said, 'tis a mournful sarcumstance an' sent for our
+chastening," contended Mr. Blee stoutly. "Us mustn't argue away the
+torment of it an' pretend 'tis nought. Ban't a pleasing thing,
+'specially at such a time when all the airth s gwaine daft wi' joy for
+the gracious gudeness o' God to the Queen o' England. In plain speech,
+'t is a damn dismal come-along-of-it, an' I've cried by night, auld
+though I am, to think o' the man's babes grawin' up wi' this round theer
+necks. An' wan to be born while he 'm put away! Theer 's a black
+picksher for 'e! Him doin' hard labour as the Law directs, an' his wife
+doin' hard labour, tu--in her lonely bed! Why, gormed if I--"
+
+"For God's sake shut your mouth, you horrible old man!" burst out
+Martin, as Phoebe hurried away in tears and Chris followed her. "You're
+a disgrace to humanity and I don't hesitate--I don't hesitate at all to
+say you have no proper feeling in you!"
+
+"Martin's right, Billy," declared Mr. Lyddon without emotion. "You 'm a
+thought tu quick to meet other people's troubles half way, as I've told
+'e before to-night. Ban't a comely trait in 'e. You've made her run off
+sobbing her poor, bruised heart out. As if she hadn't wept enough o'
+late. Do 'e think us caan't see what it all means an' the wisht cloud
+that's awver all our heads, lookin' darker by contrast wi' the happiness
+of the land, owing to the Jubilee of a gert Queen? Coourse we knaw.
+But't is poor wisdom to talk 'bout the blackness of a cloud to them as
+be tryin' to find its silver lining. If you caan't lighten trouble, best
+to hold your peace."
+
+"What's the use of cryin' 'peace' when us knaws in our hearts 'tis war?
+Us must look inside an' outside, an' count the cost same as I be doin'
+now," declared Mr. Blee. "Then to be catched up so harsh 'mong friends!
+Well, well, gude-night, all; I'll go to my rest. Hard words doan't
+break, though they may bruise. But I'll do my duty, whether or no."
+
+He rose and shuffled to the door, then looked round and opened his mouth
+to speak again. But he changed his mind, shook his head, snorted
+expressively, and disappeared.
+
+"A straange-fashioned chap," commented Mrs. Blanchard, "wi' sometimes a
+wise word stuck in his sour speech, like a gude currant in a bad
+dumpling."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+THE NIGHT OF JUBILEE
+
+
+Unnumbered joy fires were writing the nation's thanksgiving across the
+starry darkness of a night in June. Throughout the confines of
+Britain--on knolls arising beside populous towns, above the wild cliffs
+of our coasts, in low-lying lands, upon the banks of rivers, at the
+fringes of forests and over a thousand barren heaths, lonely wastes, and
+stony pinnacles of untamed hills, like some mundane galaxy of stars or
+many-tongued outbreak of conflagration, the bonfires glimmered. And
+their golden seed was sown so thickly, that from no pile of those
+hundreds then brightening the hours of darkness had it been possible to
+gaze into the night and see no other.
+
+Upon the shaggy fastnesses of Devon's central waste, within the bounds,
+metes, and precincts of Dartmoor Forest, there shone a whole
+constellation of little suns, and a wanderer in air might have counted a
+hundred without difficulty, whilst, for the beholders perched upon Yes
+Tor, High Wilhays, or the bosom of Cosdon during the fairness and
+clearness of that memorable night, fully threescore beacons flamed. All
+those granite giants within the field of man's activities, all the
+monsters whose enormous shades fell at dawn or evening time upon the
+hamlets and villages of the Moor, now carried on their lofty crowns the
+flames of rejoicing. Bonfires of varying size, according to the energy
+and importance of the communities responsible for them, dotted the
+circumference of the lonely region in a vast, irregular figure, but
+thinned and ceased towards the unpeopled heart of the waste. On Wattern,
+at Cranmere, upon Fur Tor, and under the hoary, haunted woods of
+Wistman, no glad beacons blazed or voices rang. There Nature, ignorant
+of epochs and heeding neither olympiad nor lustrum, cycle nor century,
+ruled alone; there, all self-centred, self-contained, unwitting of
+conscious existence and its little joys, her perfection above praise and
+more enduring than any chronicle of it, asking for no earthborn
+acclamations of her eternal reign, demanding only obedience from all on
+penalty of death, the Mother swayed her sceptre unseen. Seed and stone,
+blade and berry, hot blood and cold, did her bidding and slept or
+stirred at her ordinance. A nightjar harshly whirred beneath her
+footstool; wan tongues of flame rose and fell upon her quaking altars; a
+mountain fox, pattering quick-footed to the rabbit warren, caught light
+from those exhalations in his round, green eyes and barked.
+
+Humanity thronged and made merry around numberless crackling piles of
+fire. Men and women, boys and girls, most noisily rejoiced, and from
+each flaming centre of festivity a thin sound of human shouting and
+laughter streamed starward with the smoke.
+
+Removed by brief distance in space, the onlooker, without overmuch
+strain or imagination, might stride a pace or two backward in time and
+conceive himself for a moment as in the presence of those who similarly
+tended beacons on these granite heights of old. Then, truly, the object
+and occasion were widely different; then, perchance, in answer to evil
+rumour moving zigzag on black bat-wings through nights of fear, many a
+bale-fire had shot upwards, upon the keystone of Cosdon's solemn arch,
+beckoned like a bloody hand towards north and south, and cried danger to
+a thousand British warriors lurking in moor, and fen, and forest.
+Answering flames had leapt from Hay Tor, from Buckland Beacon, from
+Great Mis Tor in the west; and their warning, caught up elsewhere, would
+quickly penetrate to the heart of the South Hams, to the outlying
+ramparts of the Cornish wastes, to Exmoor and the coast-line of the
+north. But no laughter echoed about those old-time fires. Their lurid
+light smeared wolfskins, splashed on metal and untanned hide, illumined
+barbaric adornments, fierce faces, wild locks, and savage eyes. Anxious
+Celtic mothers and maidens stood beside their men, while fear and rage
+leapt along from woman's face to woman's face, as some gasping wretch,
+with twoscore miles of wilderness behind him, told of high-beaked
+monsters moving under banks of oars, of dire peril, of death and ruin,
+suddenly sprung in a night from behind the rim of the sea.
+
+Since then the peaks of the Moor have smiled or scowled under countless
+human fires, have flashed glad tidings or flamed ill news to many
+generations. And now, perched upon one enormous mass of stone, there
+towered upward a beacon of blazing furze and pine. In its heart were tar
+barrels and the monster bred heat enough to remind the granite beneath
+it of those fires that first moulded its elvan ingredients to a concrete
+whole and hurled them hither.
+
+About this eye of flame crowded those who had built it, and the roaring
+mass of red-hot timber and seething pitch represented the consummation
+of Chagford's festivities on the night of Jubilee. The flames, obedient
+to such light airs as were blowing, bent in unison with the black
+billows of smoke that wound above them. Great, trembling tongues
+separated from the mass and soared upward, gleaming as they vanished;
+sparks and jets, streams and stars of light, shot from the pile to
+illuminate the rolling depths of the smoke cloud, to fret its curtain
+with spangles and jewels of gold atid ruby, to weave strange, lurid
+lights into the very fabric of its volume. Far away, as the breezes drew
+them, fell a red glimmer of fire, where those charred fragments caught
+in the rush and hurled aloft, returned again to earth; and the whole
+incandescent structure, perched as it was upon the apex of Yes Tor,
+suggested at a brief distance a fiery top-knot of streaming flame on
+some vast and demoniac head thrust upward from the nether world.
+
+Great splendour of light gleamed upon a ring of human beings.
+Adventurous spirits leapt forth, fed the flames with faggots and furze
+and risked their hairy faces within the range of the bonfire's scorching
+breath. Alternate gleam and glow played fantastically upon the
+spectators, and, though for the most part they moved but little while
+their joy fire was at its height, the conflagration caused a sheer
+devil's dance of impish light and shadow to race over every face and
+form in the assemblage. The fantastic magician of the fire threw humps
+on to straight backs, flattened good round breasts, wrote wrinkles on
+smooth faces, turned eyes and lips into shining gems, made white teeth
+yellow, cast a grotesque spell of the unreal on young shapes, of the
+horrible upon old ones. A sort of monkey coarseness crept into the red,
+upturned faces; their proportions were distorted, their delicacy
+destroyed. Essential lines of figures were concealed by the inky
+shadows; unimportant features were thrown into a violent prominence; the
+clean fire impinged abruptly on a night of black shade, as sunrise on
+the moon. There was no atmosphere. Human noses poked weirdly out of
+nothing, human hands waved without arms, human heads moved without
+bodies, bodies bobbed along without legs. The heart-beat and furnace
+roar of the fire was tremendous, but the shouts of men, the shriller
+laughter of women, and the screams and yells of children could be heard
+through it, together with the pistol-like explosion of sap turned to
+steam, and rending its way from green wood. Other sounds also fretted
+the air, for a hundred yards distant--in a hut-circle--the Chagford
+drum-and-fife band lent its throb and squeak to the hour, and struggled
+amain to increase universal joy. So the fire flourished, and the
+plutonian rock-mass of the tor arose, the centre of a scene itself
+plutonian.
+
+Removed by many yards from the ring of human spectators, and scattered
+in wide order upon the flanks of the hill, stood tame beasts. Sheep
+huddled there and bleated amazement, their fleeces touched by the
+flicker of the distant fire; red heifers and steers also faced the flame
+and chewed the cud upon a spectacle outside all former experience; while
+inquisitive ponies drew up in a wide radius, snorted and sniffed with
+delicate, dilated nostrils at the unfamiliar smell of the breeze, threw
+up their little heads, fetched a compass at top speed and so returned;
+then crowded flank to flank, shoulder to shoulder, and again blankly
+gazed at the fire which reflected itself in the whites of their shifty
+eyes.
+
+Fitting the freakish antics of the red light, a carnival spirit, hard to
+rouse in northern hearts, awakened within this crowd of Devon men and
+women, old men and children. There was in their exhilaration some
+inspiration from the joyous circumstance they celebrated; and something,
+too, from the barrel. Dancing began and games, feeble by day but not
+lacking devil when pursued under cover of darkness. There were hugging
+and kissing, and yells of laughter when amorous couples who believed
+themselves safe were suddenly revealed lip to lip and heart to heart by
+an unkind flash of fire. Some, as their nature was, danced and screamed
+that flaming hour away; some sat blankly and smoked and gazed with less
+interest than the outer audience of dumb animals; some laboured amain to
+keep the bonfire at blaze. These last worked from habit and forgot their
+broadcloth. None bade them, but it was their life to be toiling; it came
+naturally to mind and muscle, and they laughed while they laboured and
+sweated. A dozen staid groups witnessed the scene from surrounding
+eminences, but did not join the merrymakers. Mr. Shorto-Champernowne,
+Doctor Parsons, and the ladies of their houses stood with their feet on
+a tumulus apart; and elsewhere Mr. Chapple, Charles Coomstock, Mr. Blee,
+and others, mostly ancient, sat on the granite, inspected the
+pandemonium spread before them, and criticised as experts who had seen
+bonfires lighted before the greater part of the present gathering was
+out of its cradle. But no cynic praising of past time to the
+disparagement of the present marked their opinions. Mr. Chapple indeed
+pronounced the fire brilliantly successful, and did not hesitate to
+declare that it capped all his experience in this direction.
+
+"A braave blaze," he said, "a blaze as gives the thoughtful eye an' nose
+a tidy guess at what the Pit's like to be. Ess, indeed, a religious
+fire, so to say; an' I warrant the prophet sat along just such another
+when he said man was born to trouble sure as the sparks fly up'ard."
+
+Somewhat earlier on the same night, under the northern ramparts of
+Dartmoor, and upon the long, creeping hill that rises aloft from
+Okehampton, then dips again, passes beneath the Belstones, and winds by
+Sticklepath and Zeal under Cosdon, there rattled a trap holding two men.
+From their conversation it appeared that one was a traveller who now
+returned southward from a journey.
+
+"Gert, gay, fanciful doin's to-night," said the driver, looking aloft
+where Cosdon Beacon swelled. "You can see the light from the blaze
+up-long, an' now an' again you can note a sign in the night like a
+red-hot wire drawed up out the airth. They 'm sky-rockets, I judge."
+
+"'T is a joyful night, sure 'nough."
+
+The driver illustrated a political ignorance quite common in rural
+districts ten years ago and not conspicuously rare to-day. He laboured
+under uneasy suspicions that the support of monarchy was a direct and
+dismal tax upon the pockets of the poor.
+
+"Pity all the fuss ban't about a better job," he said. "Wan auld,
+elderly lady 's so gude as another, come to think of it. Why shouldn't
+my mother have a jubilee?"
+
+"What for? 'Cause she've borne a damned fule?" asked the other man
+angrily. "If that's your way o' thought, best keep it in your thoughts.
+Anyhow, I'll knock your silly head off if I hears another word to that
+tune, so now you knaw."
+
+The speaker was above medium height and breadth, the man who drove him
+happened to be unusually small.
+
+"Well, well, no offence," said the latter.
+
+"There is offence; an' it I heard a lord o' the land talk that way
+to-night, I'd make un swallow every dirty word of it. To hell wi' your
+treason!"
+
+The driver changed the subject.
+
+"Now you can see a gude few new fires," he said. "That's the Throwleigh
+blaze; an' that, long ways off, be--"
+
+"Yes Tor by the look of it. All Chagford's traapsed up-long, I warn 'e,
+to-night."
+
+They were now approaching a turning of the ways and the traveller
+suddenly changed his destination.
+
+"Come to think of it, I'll go straight on," he said. "That'll save you a
+matter o' ten miles, tu. Drive ahead a bit Berry Down way. Theer I'll
+leave 'e an' you'll be back home in time to have some fun yet."
+
+The driver, rejoicing at this unhoped diminution of his labours, soon
+reached the foot of a rough by-road that ascends to the Moor between the
+homesteads of Berry Down and Creber.
+
+Yes Tor now arose on the left under its cap of flame, and the wayfarer,
+who carried no luggage, paid his fare, bid the other "good-night," and
+then vanished into the darkness.
+
+He passed between the sleeping farms, and only watch-dogs barked out of
+the silence, for Gidleigh folks were all abroad that night. Pressing
+onwards, the native hurried to Scorhill, then crossed the Teign below
+Batworthy Farm, passed through the farmyard, and so proceeded to the
+common beneath Yes Tor. He whistled as he went, then stopped a moment to
+listen. The first drone of music and remote laughter reached his ear. He
+hurried onwards until a gleam lighted his face; then he passed through
+the ring of beasts, still glaring fascinated around the fire; and
+finally he pushed among the people.
+
+He stood revealed and there arose a sudden whisper among some who knew
+him, but whom he knew not. One or two uttered startled cries at this
+apparition, for all associated the newcomer with events and occurrences
+widely remote from the joy of the hour. How he came among them now, and
+what event made it possible for him to stand in their midst a free man,
+not the wisest could guess.
+
+A name was carried from mouth to mouth, then shouted aloud, then greeted
+with a little cheer. It fell upon Mr. Blee's ear as he prepared to start
+homewards; and scarcely had the sound of it set him gasping when a big
+man grew out of the flame and shadow and stood before him with extended
+hand.
+
+"Burnish it all! You! Be it Blanchard or the ghost of un?"
+
+"The man hisself--so big as bull's beef, an' so free as thicky fire!"
+said Will.
+
+Riotous joy sprang and bubbled in his voice. He gripped Billy's hand
+till the old man jumped and wriggled.
+
+"Free! Gude God! Doan't tell me you've brawke loose--doan't 'e say that!
+Christ! if you haven't squashed my hand till theer's no feeling in it!
+Doan't 'e say you've runned away?"
+
+"No such thing," answered Will, now the centre of a little crowd. "I'll
+tell 'e, sawls all, if you mind to hear. 'Tis this way: Queen Victoria,
+as have given of the best she've got wi' both hands to the high men of
+the land, so they tell me, caan't forget nought, even at such a time as
+this here. She've made gert additions to all manner o' men; an' to me,
+an' the likes o' me she've given what's more precious than bein' lords
+or dukes. I'm free--me an' all as runned from the ranks. The Sovereign
+Queen's let deserters go free, if you can credit it; an' that's how I
+stand here this minute."
+
+A buzz and hum with cheers and some laughter and congratulations
+followed Will's announcement. Then the people scattered to spread his
+story, and Mr. Blee spoke.
+
+"Come you down home to wance. Ban't none up here as cares a rush 'bout
+'e but me. But theer 's a many anxious folks below. I comed up for auld
+sake's sake an' because ban't in reason to suppose I'll ever see another
+joy fire 'pon Yes Tor rock, at my time o' life. But us'll go an' carry
+this rare news to Chagford an' the Barton."
+
+They faded from the red radius of the fire and left it slowly dying.
+Will helped Billy off rough ground to the road. Then he set off at a
+speed altogether beyond the old man's power, so Mr. Blee resorted to
+stratagem.
+
+"'Bate your pace; 'bate your pace; I caan't travel that gait an' talk
+same time. Yet theer's a power o' fine things I might tell 'e if you'd
+listen."
+
+"'T is hard to walk slow towards a mother an' wife like what mine be,
+after near a month from 'em; but let's have your news, Billy, an' doan't
+croak, for God's sake. Say all's well wi' all."
+
+"I ban't no croaker, as you knaws. Happy, are 'e?--happy for wance? I
+suppose you'll say now, as you've said plenty times a'ready, that you 'm
+to the tail of your troubles for gude an' all--just in your auld, silly
+fashion?"
+
+"Not me, auld chap, never no more--so long as you 'm alive! Ha, ha,
+ha--that's wan for you! Theer! if 't isn't gude to laugh again!"
+
+"I be main glad as I've got no news to make 'e do anything else, though
+ban't often us can be prophets of gude nowadays. But if you've grawed a
+streak wiser of late, then theer's hope, even for a scatterbrain like
+you, the Lard bein' all-powerful. Not that jokes against such as me
+would please Him the better."
+
+"I've thought a lot in my time, Billy; an' I haven't done thinking yet.
+I've comed to reckon as I caan't do very well wi'out the world, though
+the world would fare easy enough wi'out me."
+
+Billy nodded.
+
+"That's sense so far as it goes," he admitted. "Obedience be hard to the
+young; to the auld it comes natural; to me allus was easy as dirt from
+my youth up. Obedience to betters in heaven an' airth. But you--you with
+your born luck--never heard tell of nothin' like it 't all. What's a fix
+to you? You goes in wan end an' walks out t' other, like a rabbit
+through a hedge. Theer you was--in such a tight pass as you might say
+neither God nor angels could get 'e free wi'out a Bible miracle, when,
+burnish it all! if the Jubilee Queen o' England doan't busy herself
+'bout 'e!"
+
+"'T is true as I'm walkin' by your side. I'd give a year o' my wages to
+knaw how I could shaw what I think about it."
+
+"You might thank her. 'T is all as humble folks can do most times when
+Queens or Squires or the A'mighty Hisself spares a thought to better us.
+Us can awnly say 'thank you.'"
+
+There was a silence of some duration; then Billy again bid his companion
+moderate his pace.
+
+"I'm forgetting all I've got to tell 'e, though I've news enough for a
+buke," he said.
+
+"How's Jan Grimbal, fust plaace?"
+
+"On his legs again an' out o' danger if the Lunnon doctor knaws
+anything. A hunderd guineas they say that chap have had! Your name was
+danced to a mad tune 'pon Grimbal's lips 'fore his senses corned back to
+un. Why for I caan't tell 'e. He've shook hands wi' Death for sartain
+while you was away."
+
+"An' mother, an' wife, an' Miller?"
+
+"Your mother be well--a steadfast woman her be. Joy doan't lift her up,
+an' sorrow doan't crush her. Theer's gert wisdom in her way of life. 'T
+is my awn, for that matter. Then Miller--well, he 'm grawin' auld an'
+doan't rate me quite so high as formerly--not that I judge anybody but
+myself. An' your missis--theer, if I haven't kept it for the last! 'Tis
+news four-an-twenty hour old now an' they wrote to 'e essterday, but I
+lay you missed the letter awin' to me--"
+
+"Get on!"
+
+"Well, she've brought 'e a bwoy--so now you've got both sorts--bwoy an'
+cheel. An' all doin' well as can be, though wisht work for her, thinkin'
+'pon you the while."
+
+Will stood still and uttered a triumphant but inarticulate
+sound--half-laugh, half-sob, half-thanksgiving. Then the man spoke, slow
+and deep,--
+
+"He shall go for a soldier!"
+
+"Theer! Now I knaw 't is Blanchard back an' no other! Hear me, will 'e;
+doan't plan no such uneven way of life for un."
+
+"By God, he shall!"
+
+The words came back over Will Blanchard's shoulder, for he was fast
+vanishing.
+
+"Might have knawed he wouldn't walk along wi' me arter that," thought
+Billy. Then he lifted up his voice and bawled to the diminishing figure,
+already no more than a darker blot on the darkness of night.
+
+"For the Lard's love go in quiet an' gradual, or you'll scare the life
+out of 'em all."
+
+And the answer came back,--
+
+"I knaw, I knaw; I ban't the man to do a rash deed!"
+
+Mr. Blee chuckled and plodded on through the night while Will strode far
+ahead.
+
+Presently he stood beside the wicket of Mrs. Blanchard's cottage and
+hesitated between two women. Despite circumstances, there came no
+uncertain answer from the deepest well-springs of him. He could not pass
+that gate just then. And so he stopped and turned and entered; and she,
+his mother, sitting in thought alone, heard a footfall upon the great
+nightly silence--a sudden, familiar footfall that echoed to her heart
+the music it loved best.
+
+THE END.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Children of the Mist, by Eden Phillpotts
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 14527 ***
diff --git a/14527-h/14527-h.htm b/14527-h/14527-h.htm
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5a66eb5
--- /dev/null
+++ b/14527-h/14527-h.htm
@@ -0,0 +1,16402 @@
+<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Transitional//EN"
+    "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-transitional.dtd">
+<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml">
+<head>
+<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=UTF-8" />
+<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Children of the Mist by
+Eden Phillpots</title>
+
+<style type="text/css">
+    /*<![CDATA[*/
+
+    <!--
+    body                 {margin-left: 7%; margin-right: 10%;}
+    p                    {text-indent: 2em; text-align: justify;}
+    h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6    {text-align: center;}
+    h1 {margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 0em}
+    h2 {margin-top: 4em; margin-bottom: 2em}
+    h3 {margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em}
+
+    pre                  {font-size: 0.7em;}
+
+    hr                   {text-align: center; width: 50%;}
+    hr.full              {width: 100%;}
+    hr.short             {text-align: center; width: 20%;}
+
+    .note {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; }
+
+    .pagenum {text-indent: 0px; position: absolute; left: 92%;  font-size: 8pt;}
+
+    .footnote { margin-right: 10%; margin-left: 10%;}
+
+    div.trans-note {border-style: solid; border-width: 1px;
+      margin: 3em 15%; padding: 1em; text-align: center;}
+
+    .illustrations {margin: 0.5em 10%; font-size: 0.9em;}
+
+    .author {text-align: right; margin-right: 5%;}
+    .center {text-align: center; }
+    .signed {text-align: right; margin-right: 5%;}
+    .dateline {text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-right: 5%;}
+    .fnheader {margin-top:5em; font-weight: bold;}
+    .i0 {text-indent: 0px}
+    .i2 {text-indent: 0px; margin-left: 2em}
+    .i4 {text-indent: 0px; margin-left: 4em}
+    .i6 {text-indent: 0px; margin-left: 6em}
+
+    .poem { text-indent: 0px; margin-left: 4em}
+    .thoughtBreak {margin-top: 3em}
+    ol.TOC {margin-left: 15%; list-style-type: upper-roman; position: relative;}
+    p.TOC {left-margin: 5%; text-indent: 0px}
+    li { margin-top: 0.53em; line-height: 1.2em }
+    -->
+    /*]]>*/
+</style>
+</head>
+<body>
+<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 14527 ***</div>
+
+<h1>CHILDREN OF THE MIST<br /><br />by<br /><br />EDEN PHILLPOTTS</h1>
+<h3>Author of &ldquo;Down Dartmoor Way,&rdquo; &ldquo;Some Everyday
+Folks,&rdquo; &ldquo;My Laughing Philosopher,&rdquo; &ldquo;Lying
+Prophets,&rdquo; etc.</h3>
+<h2>1898</h2>
+<p class="TOC">BOOK I: <a href="#I_I">THE BOY&rsquo;S ROMANCE</a></p>
+<ol class='TOC'>
+<li><a href="#I_I">THE PIXIES&rsquo; PARLOUR</a></li>
+<li><a href="#I_II">A CLEAR UNDERSTANDING</a></li>
+<li><a href="#I_III">EXIT WILL</a></li>
+<li><a href="#I_IV">BY THE RIVER</a></li>
+<li><a href="#I_V">THE INCIDENT OF MR. JOEL FORD</a></li>
+<li><a href="#I_VI">AN UNHAPPY POET</a></li>
+<li><a href="#I_VII">LIBATION TO POMONA</a></li>
+<li><a href="#I_VIII">A BROTHERS&rsquo; QUARREL</a></li>
+<li><a href="#I_IX">OUTSIDE EXETER GAOL</a></li>
+<li><a href="#I_X">THE BRINGING OF THE NEWS</a></li>
+<li><a href="#I_XI">LOVE AND GREY GRANITE</a></li>
+<li><a href="#I_XII">A STORY-BOOK</a></li>
+<li><a href="#I_XIII">THE MILLER&rsquo;S OFFER</a></li>
+<li><a href="#I_XIV">LOGIC</a></li>
+</ol>
+<p class="TOC">BOOK II: <a href="#II_I">HIS ENTERPRISE</a></p>
+<ol class='TOC'>
+<li><a href="#II_I">SPRINGTIME</a></li>
+<li><a href="#II_II">NEWTAKE FARM</a></li>
+<li><a href="#II_III">OVER A RIDING-WHIP</a></li>
+<li><a href="#II_IV">DEFEATED HOPES</a></li>
+<li><a href="#II_V">THE ZEAL OF SAM BONUS</a></li>
+<li><a href="#II_VI">A SWARM OF BEES</a></li>
+<li><a href="#II_VII">AN OFFER OF MARRIAGE</a></li>
+<li><a href="#II_VIII">MR. BLEE FORGETS HIMSELF</a></li>
+<li><a href="#II_IX">A DIFFERENCE WITH THE DUCHY</a></li>
+<li><a href="#II_X">CONNECTING LINKS</a></li>
+<li><a href="#II_XI">TOGETHER</a></li>
+<li><a href="#II_XII">THROUGH ONE GREAT DAY</a></li>
+<li><a href="#II_XIII">THE WILL</a></li>
+<li><a href="#II_XIV">A HUNDRED POUNDS</a></li>
+<li><a href="#II_XV">&ldquo;THE ANGEL OF THE DARKER DRINK&rdquo;</a></li>
+<li><a href="#II_XVI">BEFORE THE DAWN</a></li>
+<li><a href="#II_XVII">MISSING</a></li>
+</ol>
+<p class="TOC">BOOK III: <a href="#III_I">HIS GRANITE CROSS</a></p>
+<ol class='TOC'>
+<li><a href="#III_I">BABY</a></li>
+<li><a href="#III_II">THE KNIGHT OF FORLORN HOPES</a></li>
+<li><a href="#III_III">CONCERNING THE GATE-POST</a></li>
+<li><a href="#III_IV">MARTIN&rsquo;S RAID</a></li>
+<li><a href="#III_V">WINTER</a></li>
+<li><a href="#III_VI">THE CROSS UPREARED</a></li>
+<li><a href="#III_VII">GREY TWILIGHT</a></li>
+</ol>
+<p class="TOC">BOOK IV: <a href="#IV_I">HIS SECRET</a></p>
+<ol class='TOC'>
+<li><a href="#IV_I">A WANDERER RETURNS</a></li>
+<li><a href="#IV_II">HOPE RENEWED</a></li>
+<li><a href="#IV_III">ANSWERED</a></li>
+<li><a href="#IV_IV">THE END OF THE FIGHT</a></li>
+<li><a href="#IV_V">TWO MIGHTY SURPRISES</a></li>
+<li><a href="#IV_VI">THE SECRET OUT</a></li>
+<li><a href="#IV_VII">SMALL TIMOTHY</a></li>
+<li><a href="#IV_VIII">FLIGHT</a></li>
+<li><a href="#IV_IX">UNDER COSDON BEACON</a></li>
+<li><a href="#IV_X">BAD NEWS FOR BLANCHARD</a></li>
+<li><a href="#IV_XI">PHOEBE TAKES THOUGHT</a></li>
+<li><a href="#IV_XII">NEW YEAR&rsquo;S EVE AND NEW YEAR&rsquo;S DAY</a></li>
+<li><a href="#IV_XIII">MR. LYDDON&rsquo;S TACTICS</a></li>
+<li><a href="#IV_XIV">ACTION</a></li>
+<li><a href="#IV_XV">A BATTLE</a></li>
+<li><a href="#IV_XVI">A PAIR OF HANDCUFFS</a></li>
+<li><a href="#IV_XVII">SUSPENSE</a></li>
+<li><a href="#IV_XVIII">THE NIGHT OF JUBILEE</a></li>
+</ol>
+<h1>CHILDREN OF THE MIST</h1>
+<h2><a id="I_I" name="I_I"></a>BOOK I<br />
+THE BOY&rsquo;S ROMANCE<br />
+<br />CHAPTER I<br />
+THE PIXIES&rsquo; PARLOUR</h2>
+<p>Phoebe Lyddon frowned, and, as an instant protest, twin dimples peeped
+into life at the left corner of her bonny mouth. In regarding that attractive
+ripple the down-drawn eyebrows were forgotten until they rose again into
+their natural arches. A sweet, childish contour of face chimed with her
+expression; her full lips were bright as the bunch of ripe wood-strawberries
+at the breast of her cotton gown; her eyes as grey as Dartmoor mists; while,
+for the rest, a little round chin, a small, straight nose, and a high
+forehead, which Phoebe mourned and kept carefully concealed under masses of
+curly brown hair, were the sole features to be specially noted about her. She
+was a trifle below the standard of height proper to a girl of nineteen, but
+all compact, of soft, rounded lines, plump, fresh of colour, healthy, happy,
+sweet as a ripe apple.</p>
+<p>From a position upon swelling hillsides above the valley of a river, she
+scanned the scene beneath, made small her eyes to focus the distance, and so
+pursued a survey of meadow and woodland, yet without seeing what she sought.
+Beneath and beyond, separated from her standpoint by grasslands and a hedge
+of hazel, tangled thickets of blackthorn, of bracken, and of briar sank to
+the valley bottom. Therein wound tinkling Teign through the gorges of Fingle
+to the sea; and above it, where the land climbed upward on the other side,
+spread the Park of Whiddou, with expanses of sweet, stone-scattered herbage,
+with tracts of deep fern, coverts of oak, and occasional habitations for the
+deer.</p>
+<p>This spectacle, through a grey veil of fine rain, Phoebe noted at
+mid-afternoon of a day in early August; and, as she watched, there widened a
+rift under the sun&rsquo;s hidden throne, and a mighty, fan-shaped pencil of
+brightness straggled downwards, proceeded in solemn sweep across the valley,
+and lighted the depths of the gorge beyond with a radiance of misty silver.
+The music of jackdaws welcomed this first indication of improved weather;
+then Phoebe&rsquo;s sharp eyes beheld a phenomenon afar off through the
+momentary cessation of the rain. Three parts of a mile away, on a distant
+hillside, like the successive discharges of a dozen fowling-pieces, little
+blotches of smoke or mist suddenly appeared. Rapidly they followed each
+other, and sometimes the puffs of vapour were exploded together, sometimes
+separately. For a moment the girl felt puzzled; then she comprehended and
+laughed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis the silly auld sheep!&rdquo; she said to herself.
+&ldquo;They &rsquo;m shakin &rsquo;theer fleeces &rsquo;cause they knaw the
+rain&rsquo;s over-past. Bellwether did begin, I warrant, then all the rest
+done the same.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Each remote member of the flock thus freed its coat from the accumulated
+moisture of a long rainfall; then the huddled heap, in which they had
+combined to withstand the weather and show tail to the western storm, began
+to scatter. With coughs and sneezes the beasts wandered forward again, and
+pursued their business of grazing.</p>
+<p>Steadily the promises of the sky multiplied and Phoebe&rsquo;s impatience
+increased. Her position did not, however, depend for comfort upon the return
+of sunshine, for she stood out of the weather, where sundry giant rocks to
+the number of five arose in a fantastic pile. Nature&rsquo;s primal
+architects were responsible for the Pixies&rsquo; Parlour, and upon the awful
+morning of Dartmoor&rsquo;s creation these enormous masses had first been
+hurled to their present position&mdash;outposts of the eternal granite,
+though themselves widely removed from the central waste of the Moor. This
+particular and gigantic monument of the past stands with its feet in land
+long cultivated. Plough and harrow yearly skirt the Pixies&rsquo; Parlour; it
+rises to-day above yellow corn, to-morrow amid ripening roots; it crowns the
+succeeding generations of man&rsquo;s industry, and watches a ceaseless cycle
+of human toil. The rocks of which it is composed form a sort of rude chamber,
+sacred to fairy folk since a time before the memory of the living; briars and
+ivy-tods conceal a part of the fabric; a blackthorn, brushed at this season
+with purple fruit, rises above it; one shadowed ledge reveals the nightly
+roosting place of hawk or raven; and marks of steel on the stone show clearly
+where some great or small fragment of granite has been blasted from the
+parent pile for the need of man. Multi-coloured, massive, and picturesque,
+the Parlour, upon Phoebe Lyddon&rsquo;s visit to it, stood forth against the
+red bosom of naked land; for a fierce summer had early ripened the vanished
+harvest, and now its place was already ploughed again, while ashes of dead
+fire scattered upon the earth showed where weed and waste had been consumed
+after ingathering of the grain.</p>
+<p>Patches of August blue now lightened the aerial grey; then sunshine set a
+million gems twinkling on the great bejewelled bosom of the valley. Under
+this magic heat an almost instantaneous shadowy ghost of fresh vapour rose
+upon the riparian meadows, and out of it, swinging along with the energy of
+youth and high spirits, came a lad. Phoebe smiled and twinkled a white
+handkerchief to him, and he waved his hat and bettered his pace for
+answer.</p>
+<p>Soon Will Blanchard reached his sweetheart, and showed himself a brown,
+straight youngster, with curly hair, pugnacious nose, good shoulders, and a
+figure so well put together that his height was not apparent until he stood
+alongside another man. Will&rsquo;s eyes were grey as Phoebe&rsquo;s, but of
+a different expression; soft and unsettled, cloudy as the recent weather,
+full of the alternate mist and flash of a precious stone, one moment all
+a-dreaming, the next aglow. His natural look was at first sight a little
+stern until a man came to know it, then this impression waned and left a
+critic puzzled. The square cut of his face and abrupt angle of his jaw did
+not indeed belie Will Blanchard, but the man&rsquo;s smile magically
+dissipated this austerity of aspect, and no sudden sunshine ever brightened a
+dark day quicker than pleasure made bright his features. It was a sulky,
+sleepy, sweet, changeable face&mdash;very fascinating in the eyes of women.
+His musical laugh once fluttered sundry young bosoms, brightened many pretty
+eyes and cheeks, but Will&rsquo;s heart was Phoebe Lyddon&rsquo;s
+now&mdash;had been for six full months&mdash;and albeit a mere country boy in
+knowledge of the world, younger far than his one-and-twenty years of life,
+and wholly unskilled in those arts whose practice enables men to dwell
+together with friendship and harmony, yet Will Blanchard was quite old enough
+and wise enough and rich enough to wed, and make a husband of more than
+common quality at that&mdash;in his own opinion.</p>
+<p>Fortified by this conviction, and determined to wait no longer, he now
+came to see Phoebe. Within the sheltering arms of the Pixies&rsquo; Parlour
+he kissed her, pressed her against his wet velveteen jacket, then sat down
+under the rocks beside her.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You &rsquo;m comed wi&rsquo; the sun, dear Will.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ay&mdash;the weather breaks. I hope theer&rsquo;ll be a drop more
+water down the river bimebye. You got my letter all right?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess fay, else I shouldn&rsquo;t be here. And this tremendous matter
+in hand?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I thought you&rsquo;d guess what &rsquo;t was. I be weary o&rsquo;
+waitin&rsquo; for &rsquo;e. An&rsquo; as I comed of age last month, I&rsquo;m
+a man in law so well as larnin&rsquo;, and I&rsquo;m gwaine to speak to
+Miller Lyddon this very night.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Phoebe looked blank. There was a moment&rsquo;s silence while Will picked
+and ate the wood-strawberries in his sweetheart&rsquo;s dress.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Caan&rsquo;t &rsquo;e think o&rsquo; nothin&rsquo; wiser than to
+see faither?&rdquo; she said at last.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Theer ban&rsquo;t nothin&rsquo; wiser. He knaws we &rsquo;m
+tokened, and it&rsquo;s no manner o&rsquo; use him gwaine on pretendin&rsquo;
+to himself &rsquo;t isn&rsquo;t so. You &rsquo;m wife-old, and you&rsquo;ve
+made choice o&rsquo; me; and I&rsquo;m a ripe man, as have thought a lot in
+my time, and be earnin&rsquo; gude money and all. Besides, &rsquo;t is a
+dead-sure fact I&rsquo;ll have auld Morgan&rsquo;s place as head waterkeeper,
+an&rsquo; the cottage along with it, in fair time.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ban&rsquo;t for me to lift up no hindrances, but you knaw
+faither.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess, I do&mdash;for a very stiff-necked man.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Maybe &rsquo;t is so; but a gude faither to me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; a gude friend to me, for that matter. He aint got nothing
+&rsquo;gainst me, anyway&mdash;no more &rsquo;s any man living.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Awnly the youth and fieriness of &rsquo;e.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Me fiery! I lay you wouldn&rsquo;t find a cooler chap in
+Chagford.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You &rsquo;m a dinky bit comical-tempered now and again, dear
+heart.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He flushed, and the corners of his jaw thickened.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If a man was to say that, I&rsquo;d knock his words down his
+throat.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I knaw you would, my awn Will; an&rsquo; that&rsquo;s bein&rsquo;
+comical-tempered, ban&rsquo;t it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then perhaps I&rsquo;d best not to see your faither arter all, if
+you &rsquo;m that way o&rsquo; thinkin&rsquo;,&rdquo; he answered
+shortly.</p>
+<p>Then Phoebe purred to him and rubbed her cheek against his chin, whereon
+the glint vanished from his eyes, and they were soft again.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Mother&rsquo;s the awnly livin&rsquo; sawl what understands
+me,&rdquo; he said slowly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And I&mdash;I too, Will!&rdquo; cried Phoebe. &ldquo;Ess fay.
+I&rsquo;ll call you a holy angel if you please, an&rsquo; God knaws theer
+&rsquo;s not an angel in heaven I&rsquo;d have stead of &rsquo;e.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I ban&rsquo;t no angel,&rdquo; said Will gravely, &ldquo;and never
+set up for no such thing; but I&rsquo;ve thought a lot &rsquo;bout the world
+in general, and I&rsquo;m purty wise for a home-stayin&rsquo; chap, come to
+think on it; and it&rsquo;s borne in &rsquo;pon me of late days that the
+married state &rsquo;s a gude wan, and the sooner the better.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But a leap in the dark even for the wisest, Will?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So&rsquo;s every other step us takes for that matter. Look at them
+grasshoppers. Off they goes to glory and doan&rsquo;t knaw no more &rsquo;n
+the dead wheer they&rsquo;ll fetch up. I&rsquo;ve seed &rsquo;em by the river
+jump slap in the water, almost on to a trout&rsquo;s back. So us hops along
+and caan&rsquo;t say what&rsquo;s comin&rsquo; next. We &rsquo;m built to see
+just beyond our awn nose-ends and no further. That&rsquo;s
+philosophy.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ban&rsquo;t comfortin&rsquo; if &rsquo;t is,&rdquo; said
+Phoebe.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Whether or no, I&rsquo;ll see your faither &rsquo;fore night and
+have a plain answer. I&rsquo;m a straight, square man, so&rsquo;s the
+miller.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;ll speed poorly, I&rsquo;m fearin&rsquo;, but &rsquo;t is
+a honest thing; and I&rsquo;ll tell faither you &rsquo;m all the world to me.
+He doan&rsquo;t seem to knaw what it is for a gal to be nineteen year old
+somehow.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Solemnly Will rose, almost overweighted with the consciousness of what lay
+before him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We&rsquo;ll go home-along now. Doan&rsquo;t &rsquo;e tell him
+I&rsquo;m coming. I&rsquo;ll take him unbeknawnst. And you keep out the way
+till I be gone again.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Does your mother knaw, Will?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess, she an&rsquo; Chris both knaw I be gwaine to have it out this
+night. Mother sez I be right, but that Miller will send me packing wi&rsquo;
+a flea in my ear; Chris sez I be wrong to ax yet awhile.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You can see why that is; &rsquo;she &rsquo;s got to wait
+herself,&rdquo; said Phoebe, rather spitefully.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Waitin&rsquo; &rsquo;s well enough when it caan&rsquo;t be helped.
+But in my case, as a man of assured work and position in the plaace, I
+doan&rsquo;t hold it needful no more.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Together the young couple marched down over the meadows, gained the side
+of the river, and followed its windings to the west. Through a dip in the
+woods presently peeped the ancient stannary town of Chagford, from the summit
+of its own little eminence on the eastern confines of Dartmoor. Both Will and
+Phoebe dwelt within the parish, but some distance from the place itself. She
+lived at Monks Barton, a farm and mill beside the stream; he shared an
+adjacent cottage with his mother and sister. Only a bend of the river
+separated the dwellings of the lovers&mdash;where Rushford Bridge spanned the
+Teign and beech and fir rose above it.</p>
+<p>In a great glory of clearness after rain, boy and girl moved along
+together under the trees. The fisherman&rsquo;s path which they followed
+wound where wet granite shone and ivy glimmered beneath the forest; and the
+leaves still dripped briskly, making a patter of sound through the underwood,
+and marking a thousand circles and splashes in the smooth water beneath the
+banks of the stream. Against a purple-grey background of past rain the green
+of high summer shone bright and fresh, and each moss-clad rock and
+fern-fringed branch of the forest oaks sent forth its own incense of slender
+steam where the sunlight sparkled and sucked up the moisture. Scarce half a
+mile from Phoebe&rsquo;s home a shining yellow twig bent and flashed against
+the green, and a broad back appeared through a screen of alder by the
+water&rsquo;s edge.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;T is a rod,&rdquo; said Will. &ldquo;Bide a moment, and
+I&rsquo;ll take the number of his ticket. He &rsquo;m the first fisherman
+I&rsquo;ve seen to-day.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>As under-keeper or water-bailiff to the Fishing Association, young
+Blanchard&rsquo;s work consisted in endless perambulation of the
+river&rsquo;s bank, in sharp outlook for poacher and trespasser, and in the
+survey of fishermen&rsquo;s bridges, and other contrivances for anglers that
+occurred along the winding course of the waters. His also was the duty of
+noting the license numbers, and of surprising those immoral anglers who
+sought to kill fish illegally on distant reaches of the river. His keen eyes,
+great activity, and approved pluck well fitted Will for such duties. He often
+walked twenty miles a day, and fishermen said that he knew every big trout in
+the Teign from Fingle Bridge to the dark pools and rippling steps under
+Sittaford Tor, near the river&rsquo;s twin birthplaces. He also knew where
+the great peel rested, on their annual migration from sea to moor; where the
+kingfisher&rsquo;s nest of fish-bones lay hidden; where the otter had her
+home beneath the bank, and its inland vent-hole behind a silver birch.</p>
+<p>Will bid the angler &ldquo;good afternoon,&rdquo; and made a few general
+remarks on sport and the present unfavourable condition of the water, shrunk
+to mere ribbons of silver by a long summer drought. The fisherman was a
+stranger to Will&mdash;a handsome, stalwart man, with a heavy amber
+moustache, hard blue eyes, and a skin tanned red by hotter suns than English
+Augusts know. His disposition, also, as it seemed, reflected years of a
+tropic or subtropic existence, for this trivial meeting and momentary
+intrusion upon his solitude resulted in an explosion as sudden as
+unreasonable and unexpected.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Keep back, can&rsquo;t you?&rdquo; he exclaimed while the young
+keeper approached his side; &ldquo;who &rsquo;s going to catch fish with your
+lanky shadow across the water?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Will was up in arms instantly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Do &rsquo;e think I doan&rsquo;t knaw my business? Theer &rsquo;s
+my shadder &rsquo;pon the bank a mile behind you; an&rsquo; I didn&rsquo;t
+ope my mouth till you&rsquo;d fished the stickle to the bottom and missed two
+rises.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>This criticism angered the elder man, and he freed his tailfly fiercely
+from the rush-head that held it.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Mind your own affairs and get out of my sight, whoever you are.
+This river&rsquo;s not what it used to be by a good deal. Over-fished and
+poached, and not looked after, I&rsquo;ll swear.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Thus, in ignorance, the sportsman uttered words of all most like to set
+Will Blanchard&rsquo;s temper loose&mdash;a task sufficiently easy at the
+best of times.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What the hell d&rsquo; you knaw &rsquo;bout the river?&rdquo; he
+flamed out. &ldquo;And as to &rsquo;my affairs,&rsquo; &rsquo;t is my
+affairs, an&rsquo; I be water-bailiff, an&rsquo; I&rsquo;ll thank you for the
+number of your ticket&mdash;so now then!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What&rsquo;s become of Morgan?&rdquo; asked the other.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He &rsquo;m fust, I be second; and &rsquo;t is my job to take the
+license numbers.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Pity you&rsquo;re such an uncivil young cub, then.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Gimme your ticket directly minute!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m not going to.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The keeper looked wicked enough by this time, but he made a great effort
+to hold himself in.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why for not?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Because I didn&rsquo;t take one.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That ban&rsquo;t gwaine to do for me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ban&rsquo;t it? Then you&rsquo;ll have to go without any reason.
+Now run away and don&rsquo;t bleat so loud.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Look here,&rdquo; retorted Will, going straight up to the
+fisherman, and taking his measure with a flashing eye, &ldquo;You gimme your
+ticket number or your name an&rsquo; address, else I&rsquo;ll make
+&rsquo;e.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>They counted nearly the same inches, but the angler was the elder, and a
+man of more powerful build and massive frame than his younger opponent. His
+blue eyes and full, broad face spoke a pugnacity not less pronounced than the
+keeper&rsquo;s own finer features indicated; and thus these two, destined for
+long years to bulk largely each upon the life of the other, stood eye to eye
+for the first time. Will&rsquo;s temper was nearly gone, and now another
+sneer set it loose with sudden and startling result.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Make me, my young moorcock? Two more words and I&rsquo;ll throw you
+across the river!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The two words were not forthcoming, but Will dropped his stick and shot
+forward straight and strong as an angry dog. He closed before the stranger
+could dispose of his rod, gripped him with a strong wrestling hold, and
+cross-buttocked him heavily in the twinkling of an eye. The big man happily
+fell without hurt upon soft sand at the river&rsquo;s brink; but the
+indignity of this defeat roused his temper effectually. He grinned
+nevertheless as he rose again, shook the sand off his face, and licked his
+hands.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Good Devon, sure enough, my son; now I&rsquo;ll teach <i>you</i>
+something you never heard tell of, and break your damned fool&rsquo;s neck
+for you into the bargain!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>But Phoebe, who had wandered slowly on, returned quickly at the sound of
+the scuffle and high words. Now she fluttered between the combatants and
+rendered any further encounter for the time impossible. They could not close
+again with the girl between them, and the stranger, his anger holding its
+breath, glanced at her with sudden interest, stayed his angry growl, suffered
+rage to wane out of his eyes and frank admiration to appear in them.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Doan&rsquo;t be fighting!&rdquo; cried Phoebe.
+&ldquo;Whatever&rsquo;s the mischief, Will? Do bate your speed of hand!
+You&rsquo;ve thrawed the gentleman down, seemin&rsquo;ly.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Wheer &rsquo;s his ticket to then?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why, it isn&rsquo;t Miller Lyddon&rsquo;s young maid,
+surely!&rdquo; burst out the fisherman; &ldquo;not Phoebe grown to
+woman!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>A Devon accent marked the speech, suddenly dragged from him by
+surprise.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess, I be Phoebe Lyddon; but don&rsquo;t &rsquo;e fall &rsquo;pon
+each other again, for the Lard&rsquo;s sake,&rdquo; she said.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The boy &rsquo;s as tetchy in temper as a broody hen. I was only
+joking all the time, and see how he made me pay for my joke. But to think I
+should remember you! Grown from bud to pretty blossom, by God! And I danced
+you on my knee last time I saw you!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then you &rsquo;m wan of they two Grimbal brothers as was to be
+home again in Chagford to-day!&rdquo; exclaimed Will.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s so; Martin and I landed at Plymouth yesterday. We got
+to Chagford early this morning.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Will laughed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I never!&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Why, you be lodging with my awn
+mother at the cottage above Rushford Bridge! You was expected this
+marnin&rsquo;, but I couldn&rsquo;t wait for &rsquo;e. You &rsquo;m Jan
+Grimbal&mdash;eh?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Right! And you &rsquo;re a nice host, to be sure!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;T is solemn truth, you &rsquo;m biding under our roof, the
+&lsquo;Three Crowns&rsquo; bein&rsquo; full just now. And I&rsquo;m sorry I
+thrawed &rsquo;e; but you was that glumpy, and of course I didn&rsquo;t know
+&rsquo;e from Adam. I&rsquo;m Will Blanchard.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Never mind, Will, we&rsquo;ll try again some day. I could wrestle a
+bit once, and learned a new trick or two from a Yankee in Africa.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;ve come back &rsquo;mazin&rsquo; rich they say, Jan
+Grimbal?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So, so. Not millionaires, but all right&mdash;both of us, though
+I&rsquo;m the snug man of the two. We got to Africa at the right moment,
+before 1867, you know, the year that O&rsquo;Reilly saw a nigger-child
+playing with the first Kimberley diamond ever found. Up we went, the pair of
+us. Things have hummed since then, and claims and half-claims and
+quarter-claims are coming to be worth a Jew&rsquo;s eye. We&rsquo;re all
+right, anyway, and I&rsquo;ve got a stake out there yet.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You &rsquo;m well pleased to come back to dear li&rsquo;l Chagford
+after so many years of foreign paarts, I should think, Mr. Grimbal?&rdquo;
+said Phoebe.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ay, that I am. There&rsquo;s no place like Devon, in all the earth,
+and no spot like Chagford in Devon. I&rsquo;m too hard grit to wink an eyelid
+at sight of the old scenes again myself; but Martin, when he caught first
+sight of great rolling Cosdon crowning the land&mdash;why, his eyes were
+wetted, if you&rsquo;ll believe it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And you comed right off to fish the river fust thing,&rdquo; said
+Will admiringly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ay, couldn&rsquo;t help it. When I heard the water calling, it was
+more than my power to keep away. But you &rsquo;re cruel short of rain,
+seemingly, and of course the season &rsquo;s nearly over.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll shaw you dark hovers, wheer braave feesh be lying
+yet,&rdquo; promised Will; and the angler thanked him, foretelling a great
+friendship. Yet his eyes rarely roamed from Phoebe, and anon, as all three
+proceeded, John Grimbal stopped at the gate of Monks Barton and held the girl
+in conversation awhile. But first he despatched Will homewards with a message
+for his mother. &ldquo;Let Mrs. Blanchard know we&rsquo;ll feed at seven
+o&rsquo;clock off the best that she can get,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;and tell
+her not to bother about the liquor. I&rsquo;ll see to that myself.&rdquo;</p>
+<h2><a id="I_II" name="I_II"></a>CHAPTER II<br />
+A CLEAR UNDERSTANDING</h2>
+<p>Monks Barton, or Barton Monachorum, as the farm was called in a Tudor
+perambulation of Chagford, owed its name to traditions that holy men
+aforetime dwelt there, performed saintly deeds, and blessed a spring in the
+adjacent woods, whose waters from that date ever proved a magical medicament
+for &ldquo;striking&rdquo; of sore eyes. That the lands of the valley had
+once been in monastic possession was, however, probable enough; and some
+portions of the old farm did in truth rise upon the ruins of a still more
+ancient habitation long vanished. Monks Barton stood, a picturesque
+agglomeration of buildings, beside the river. The mill-wheel, fed by a stream
+taken from the Teign some distance up the valley and here returned again to
+the parent water, thundered on its solemn round in an eternal twinkling
+twilight of dripping ferns and green mosses; while hard by the dwelling-house
+stood and offered small diamond panes and one dormer-window to the south.
+Upon its whitewashed face three fruit-trees grew&mdash;a black plum, a
+cherry, a winter pear; and before the farmhouse stretched a yard sloping to
+the river ford, where a line of massive stepping-stones for foot-passengers
+crossed the water. On either side of this space, walled up from the edge of
+the stream, little gardens of raspberry and gooseberry bushes spread; and
+here, too, appeared a few apple-trees, a bed of herbs, a patch of onions,
+purple cabbages, and a giant hollyhock with sulphur-coloured blossoms that
+thrust his proud head upwards, a gentleman at large, and the practical
+countrymen of the kitchen-garden. The mill and outbuildings, the homestead
+and wood-stacks embraced a whole gamut of fine colour, ranging from the tawny
+and crimson of fretted brick and tile to varied greys of drying timber; from
+the cushions and pillows of moss and embroidery of houseleeks and valerian,
+that had flourished for fifty years on a ruined shippen, to the silver gleam
+of old thatches and the shining gold of new. Nor was the white face of the
+dwelling-house amiss. Only one cold, crude eye stared out from this
+time-tinctured scene; only one raw pentroof of corrugated iron blotted it,
+made poets sigh, artists swear, and Miller Lyddon contemplate more of the
+same upon his land.</p>
+<p>A clucking and grunting concourse of fowls and pigs shared the farmyard;
+blue pigeons claimed the roof; and now, in the westering light, with slow
+foot, sweet breath, and swelling udder, many kine, red as the ripe
+horse-chestnut, followed each other across the ford, assembled themselves
+together and lowed musically to the milkers. Phoebe Lyddon and John Grimbal
+still stood at the farm-gate, and they watched, as a boy and an aged man came
+forward with buckets and stools. Then, to the muffled thud of the water-wheel
+and the drone and murmur of the river, was added a purr of milk, foaming into
+tin pails, and sharp, thin monitions from the ancient, as he called the cows
+by their names and bid them be still.</p>
+<p>In John Grimbal, newly come from South Africa, this scene awakened a
+lively satisfaction and delight. It told him that he was home again; and so
+did the girl, though it seemed absurd to think that Phoebe had ever sat upon
+his knee and heard his big stories, when as yet he himself was a boy and the
+world still spread before him unconquered. He mused at the change and looked
+forward to bringing himself and his success in life before those who had
+known him in the past. He very well remembered who had encouraged his
+ambitions and spoken words of kindness and of hope; who also had sneered,
+criticised his designs unfavourably, and thrown cold water upon his projects.
+John Grimbal meant to make certain souls smart as he had smarted; but he
+feared his brother a little in this connection, and suspected that Martin
+would not assert himself among the friends of his youth, would not assume a
+position his riches warranted, would be content with too humble a manner of
+life.</p>
+<p>As a matter of fact, the ambition of neither extended much beyond a life
+of peace among the scenes of his childhood; but while the younger traveller
+returned with unuttered thanksgivings in his heart that he was privileged
+again to see the land he loved and henceforth dwell amid its cherished
+scenes, the greater energy and wider ambition of his brother planned a
+position of some prominence if not power. John was above all else a
+sportsman, and his programme embraced land, a stout new dwelling-house,
+preserves of game in a small way, some fishing, and the formation of a new
+rifle-corps at Chagford. This last enterprise he intended to be the serious
+business of life; but his mind was open to any new, agreeable impressions
+and, indeed, it received them at every turn. Phoebe Lyddon awoke a very vital
+train of thoughts, and when he left her, promising to come with his brother
+on the following day to see the miller, John Grimbal&rsquo;s impressionable
+heart was stamped with her pretty image, his ear still held the melody of her
+voice.</p>
+<p>He crossed the stepping-stones, sat down upon the bank to change his
+flies, and looked at the home of Phoebe without sentiment, yet not without
+pleasure. It lay all cuddled on the bosom of a green hill; to the west
+stretched meadows and orchard along the winding valley of the river; to the
+east extended more grass-land that emerged into ferny coombs and glades and
+river dells, all alive with the light of wild flowers and the music of birds,
+with the play of dusky sunshine in the still water, and of shadows on the
+shore.</p>
+<p>A little procession of white ducks sailed slowly up the river, and each as
+it passed twisted its head to peer up at the spectator. Presently the drake
+who led them touched bottom, and his red-gold webs appeared. Then he paddled
+ashore, lifted up his voice, waggled his tail, and with a crescendo of
+quacking conducted his harem into the farmyard. One lone Muscovy duck,
+perchance emulating the holy men of old in their self-communion, or else
+constrained by circumstance to a solitary life, appeared apart on a little
+island under the alders. A stranger in a strange land, he sat with bent head
+and red-rimmed, philosophic eyes, regarding his own breast while sunset
+lights fired the metallic lustre of his motley. Quite close to him a dead
+branch thrust upwards from the water, and the river swirled in oily play of
+wrinkles and dimples beyond it. Here, with some approach to his old skill,
+the angler presently cast a small brown moth. It fell lightly and neatly,
+cocked for a second, then turned helplessly over, wrecked in the sudden eddy
+as a natural insect had been. A fearless rise followed, and in less than half
+a minute a small trout was in the angler&rsquo;s net. John Grimbal landed
+this little fish carefully and regarded it with huge satisfaction before
+returning it to the river. Then, having accomplished the task set by sudden
+desire,&mdash;to catch a Teign trout again, feel it, smell it, see the ebony
+and crimson, the silver belly warming to gold on its sides and darkening to
+brown and olive above,&mdash;having by this act renewed sensations that had
+slept for fifteen years, he put up his rod and returned to his temporary
+quarters at the dwelling of Mrs. Blanchard.</p>
+<p>His brother was waiting in the little garden to welcome him. Martin walked
+up and down, smelled the flowers, and gazed with sober delight upon the
+surrounding scene. Already sunset fires had waned; but the high top of the
+fir that crowned Rushford Bridge still glowed with a great light on its red
+bark; an uprising Whiddon, where it lay afar off under the crown of
+Cranbrook, likewise shone out above the shadowed valley.</p>
+<p>Martin Grimbal approached his brother and laid his hand upon the
+fisherman&rsquo;s arm. He stood the smaller in stature, though of strong
+build. His clean-shaved face had burned much darker than John&rsquo;s; he was
+indeed coffee-brown and might have been mistaken for an Indian but for his
+eyes of ordinary slate-grey. Without any pretension to good looks, Martin
+Grimbal displayed what was better&mdash;an expression of such frank benignity
+and goodness that his kind trusted him and relied upon him by intuition.
+Honest and true to the verge of quixotism was this man in all dealings with
+his fellows, yet he proved a faulty student of character. First he was in a
+measure blinded by his own amiable qualities to acute knowledge of human
+nature; secondly, he was drawn away from humanity rather than not, for no
+cynic reason, but by the character of his personal predilections and
+pursuits.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve seen father&rsquo;s grave, John,&rdquo; were his first
+words to his brother. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s beside the mother&rsquo;s, but that
+old stone he put up to her must be moved and&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;All right, all right, old chap. Stones are in your line, not mine.
+Where&rsquo;s dinner? I want bread, not a stone, eh?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Martin did not laugh, but shrugged his shoulders in good-tempered fashion.
+His face had a measure of distinction his brother&rsquo;s lacked, and indeed,
+while wanting John&rsquo;s tremendous physical energy and robust
+determination, he possessed a finer intellect and instinct less animal. Even
+abroad, during their earlier enterprises, Martin had first provided brains
+sufficient for himself and John; but an accident of fortune suddenly favoured
+the elder; and while John took full care that Martin should benefit with
+himself, he was pleased henceforth to read into his superior luck a
+revelation of superior intelligence, and from that moment followed his own
+inclinations and judgment. He liked Martin no less, but never turned to him
+for counsel again after his own accidental good fortune; and henceforward
+assumed an elder brother&rsquo;s manner and a show of superior wisdom. In
+matters of the world and in knowledge of such human character as shall be
+found to congregate in civilisation&rsquo;s van, or where precious metals and
+precious stones have been discovered to abound, John Grimbal was undoubtedly
+the shrewder, more experienced man; and Martin felt very well content that
+his elder brother should take the lead. Since the advent of their prosperity
+a lively gratitude had animated his mind. The twain shared nothing save bonds
+of blood, love of their native land, and parity of ambition, first manifested
+in early desires to become independent. Together they had gone abroad,
+together they returned; and now each according to his genius designed to seek
+happiness where he expected to find it. John still held interests in South
+Africa, but Martin, content with less fortune, and mighty anxious to be free
+of all further business, realised his wealth and now knew the limits of his
+income.</p>
+<p>The brothers supped in good spirits and Will Blanchard&rsquo;s sister
+waited upon them. Chris was her &ldquo;brother in petticoats,&rdquo; people
+said, and indeed she resembled him greatly in face and disposition. But her
+eyes were brown, like her dead father&rsquo;s, and a gypsy splendour of black
+hair crowned her head. She was a year younger than Will, wholly wrapped up in
+him and one other.</p>
+<p>A familiarity, shy on Martin&rsquo;s side and patronising in John,
+obtained between the brothers and their pretty attendant, for she knew all
+about them and the very cottage in which their parents had dwelt and died.
+The girl came and went, answered John Grimbal&rsquo;s jests readily, and
+ministered to them as one not inferior to those she served. The elder
+man&rsquo;s blue eyes were full of earthy admiration. He picked his teeth
+between the courses and admired aloud, while Chris was from the room.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis wonderful how pretty all the women look, coming back to
+them after ten years of nigger girls. Roses and cream isn&rsquo;t in it with
+their skins, though this one&rsquo;s dark as a clear night&mdash;Spanish
+fashion.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Miss Blanchard seems very beautiful to me certainly,&rdquo;
+admitted Martin.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve seen only two maids&mdash;since setting foot in
+Chagford,&rdquo; continued his brother, &ldquo;and it would puzzle the devil
+to say which was best to look at.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Your heart will soon be lost, I&rsquo;ll wager&mdash;to a Chagford
+girl, I hope. I know you talked about flying high, but you might be happier
+to take a mate from&mdash;well, you understand.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s all very well to build theories on board ship about
+bettering myself socially and all that, but it&rsquo;s rot; I&rsquo;ll be
+knocked over by one of the country witches, I know I shall,&mdash;I feel it.
+I love the sound of the Devon on their lips, and the clear eyes of them, and
+the bright skin. &rsquo;Tis all I can do to keep from hugging the women, and
+that&rsquo;s a fact. But you, you cold-blooded beggar, your heart&rsquo;s
+still for the grey granite and the old ghostly stones, and creepy, lonely
+places on the Moor! We&rsquo;re that different, you and me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Martin nodded thoughtfully, and, the meal being now ended, both men
+strolled out of doors, then wandered down to smoke a pipe on Rushford Bridge
+and listen to the nightly murmur of the river. Darkness moved on the face of
+land and water; twilight had sucked all the colour away from the valley; and
+through the deepening monochrome of the murk there passed white mists with
+shadowy hands, and peeped blind pale eyes along the winding water, where its
+surface reflected the faded west. Nocturnal magic conjured the least meadow
+into an unmeasured sea of vapour; awoke naiads in the waters and dryads in
+the woods; transformed the solemn organ music of great beetles into songs of
+a roaming spirit; set unseen shapes stirring in the starlight; whispered of
+invisible, enchanted things, happy and unhappy, behind the silence.</p>
+<p>A man moved from the bridge as the brothers reached it. Then Will
+Blanchard, knocking out his pipe and taking a big inspiration, set his face
+steadily toward Monks Barton and that vital interview with Miller Lyddon now
+standing in the pathway of his life.</p>
+<p>He rapped at the farm door and a step came slowly down the stone-paved
+passage. Then Billy Blee, the miller&rsquo;s right-hand man, opened to him.
+Bent he was from the small of the back, with a highly coloured, much wrinkled
+visage, and ginger hair, bleached by time to a paler shade. His poll was bald
+and shining, and thick yellow whiskers met beneath a clean-shorn chin.
+Billy&rsquo;s shaggy eyebrows, little bright eyes, and long upper lip, taken
+with the tawny fringe under his chops, gave him the look of an ancient and
+gigantic lion-monkey; and indeed there was not lacking in him an ape-like
+twist, as shall appear.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Hullo! boy Blanchard! An&rsquo; what might you want?&rdquo; he
+asked.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;To see Miller.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Come in then; we&rsquo;m all alone in kitchen, him and me, awver
+our grog and game. What&rsquo;s the matter now?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A private word for Miller&rsquo;s ear,&rdquo; said Will
+cautiously.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Come you in then. Us&rsquo;ll do what we may for &rsquo;e. Auld
+heads be the best stepping-stones young folks can have, understood right;
+awnly the likes of you mostly chooses to splash through life on your awn damn
+silly roads.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Mr. Blee, whose friendship and familiarity with his master was of the
+closest, led on, and Will soon stood before Mr. Lyddon.</p>
+<p>The man who owned Monks Barton, and who there prosperously combined the
+callings of farmer and miller, had long enjoyed the esteem of the
+neighbourhood in which he dwelt, as had his ancestors before him, through
+many generations. He had won reputation for a sort of silent wisdom. He never
+advised any man ill, never hesitated to do a kindly action, and himself
+contrived to prosper year in, year out, no matter what period of depression
+might be passing over Chagford. Vincent Lyddon was a widower of
+sixty-five&mdash;a grey, thin, tall man, slow of speech and sleepy of eye. A
+weak mouth, and a high, round forehead, far smoother than his age had
+promised, were distinguishing physical features of him. His wife had been
+dead eighteen years, and of his two children one only survived. The elder, a
+boy toddling in early childhood at the water&rsquo;s edge, was unmissed until
+too late, and found drowned next day after a terrible night of agony for both
+parents. Indeed, Mrs. Lyddon never recovered from the shock, and Phoebe was
+but a year old when her mother died. Further, it need only be mentioned that
+the miller had heard of Will&rsquo;s courting more than once, but absolutely
+refused to allow the matter serious consideration. The romance was no more
+than philandering of children in his eyes.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Will&mdash;eh? Well, my son, and how can I serve you?&rdquo; asked
+the master of Monks Barton, kindly enough. He recrossed his legs, settled in
+his leather chair, and continued the smoking of a long clay pipe.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Just this, Mr. Lyddon,&rdquo; began Will abruptly. &ldquo;You calls
+me your &lsquo;son&rsquo; as a manner o&rsquo; speech, but I wants to be no
+less in fact.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You ban&rsquo;t here on that fool&rsquo;s errand, bwoy, surely? I
+thought I&rsquo;d made my mind clear enough to Phoebe six months
+ago.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Look you here now. I be earnin&rsquo; eighteen shillings a week
+an&rsquo; a bit awver; an&rsquo; I be sure of Morgan&rsquo;s berth as
+head-keeper presently; an&rsquo; I&rsquo;m a man as thinks.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s brave talk, but what have &rsquo;e saved, lad?&rdquo;
+inquired Mr. Blee.</p>
+<p>The lover looked round at him sharply.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I thought you was out the room,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I be come to
+talk to Miller, not you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Nay, nay, Billy can stay and see I&rsquo;m not tu hard &rsquo;pon
+&rsquo;e,&rdquo; declared Mr. Lyddon. &ldquo;He axed a proper question.
+What&rsquo;s put by to goody in the savings&rsquo; bank, Will?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well&mdash;five pounds; and &rsquo;t will be rose to ten by
+Christmas, I assure &rsquo;e.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Fi&rsquo; puns! an&rsquo; how far &rsquo;s that gwaine?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So far as us can make it, in coourse.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Doan&rsquo;t you see, sonny, this ban&rsquo;t a fair bargain?
+I&rsquo;m not a hard man&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;By gor! not hard enough by a powerful deal,&rdquo; said Billy.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not hard on youth; but this match, so to call it, looks like mere
+moonshine. Theer &rsquo;s nought <i>to</i> it I can see&mdash;both childer,
+and neither with as much sense as might sink a floatin&rsquo;
+straw.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We love each other wi&rsquo; all our hearts and have done more
+&rsquo;n half a year. Ban&rsquo;t that nothing?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I married when I was forty-two,&rdquo; remarked the miller,
+reflectively, looking down at his fox-head slippers, the work of
+Phoebe&rsquo;s fingers.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; a purty marryin&rsquo; time tu!&rdquo; declared Mr. Blee.
+&ldquo;Look at me,&rdquo; he continued, &ldquo;parlous near seventy, and a
+bacherlor-man yet.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not but Widow Comstock will have &rsquo;e if you ax her a bit
+oftener. Us all knows that,&rdquo; said the young lover, with great
+stratagem.</p>
+<p>Billy chuckled, and rubbed his wrinkles.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Time enough, time enough,&rdquo; he answered, &ldquo;but
+you&mdash;scarce out o&rsquo; clouts&mdash;why, &rsquo;t is playin&rsquo; at
+a holy thing, that&rsquo;s what &rsquo;t is&mdash;same as Miss Phoebe, when
+she was a li&rsquo;l wee cheel, played at bein&rsquo; parson in her
+night-gownd, and got welted for it, tu, by her gude faither.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We &rsquo;m both in earnest anyway&mdash;me and Phoebe.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So am I,&rdquo; replied the miller, sitting up and putting down his
+pipe; &ldquo;so am I in earnest, and wan word &rsquo;s gude as a hunderd in a
+pass like this. You must hear the truth, an&rsquo; that never broke no bones.
+You &rsquo;m no more fitted to have a wife than that tobacco-jar&mdash;a
+hot-headed, wild-fire of a bwoy&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A right Jack-o&rsquo;-Lantern, as everybody knaws,&rdquo; suggested
+Mr. Blee.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess fay, &rsquo;tis truth. Shifting and oncertain as the marsh
+gallopers on the moor bogs of a summer night. Awnly a youth&rsquo;s faults,
+you mind; but still faults. No, no, my lad, you&rsquo;ve got to fight your
+life&rsquo;s battle and win it, &rsquo;fore you&rsquo;m a mate for any gal;
+an&rsquo; you&rsquo;ve got to begin by fightin&rsquo; yourself, an&rsquo;
+breaking an&rsquo; taming yourself, an&rsquo; getting yourself well in hand.
+That&rsquo;s a matter of more than months for the best of us.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And then?&rdquo; said Will, &ldquo;after &rsquo;tis done? though
+I&rsquo;m not allowin&rsquo; I&rsquo;m anything but a ripe man as I stand
+here afore you now.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then I&rsquo;d say, &lsquo;I&rsquo;m glad to see you grawed into a
+credit to us all, Will Blanchard, and worth your place in the order o&rsquo;
+things; but you doan&rsquo;t marry Phoebe Lyddon&mdash;never, never, never,
+not while I&rsquo;m above ground.&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>His slow eyes looked calmly and kindly at Will, and he smiled into the
+hot, young, furious face.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s your last word then?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It is, my lad.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And you won&rsquo;t give a reason?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The reason is, &lsquo;what&rsquo;s bred in the bone comes out in
+the flesh.&rsquo; I knawed your faither. You&rsquo;m as volatile as him
+wi&rsquo;out his better paarts.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Leave him wheer he lies&mdash;underground. If he&rsquo;d lived
+&rsquo;stead of bein&rsquo; cut off from life, you&rsquo;d &rsquo;a&rsquo;
+bin proud to knaw him.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A gypsy-man and no better, Will,&rdquo; said Mr. Blee. &ldquo;Not
+but what he made a gude end, I allow.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then I&rsquo;ll be up and away. I&rsquo;ve spoke &rsquo;e fair,
+Miller&mdash;fair an&rsquo; straight&mdash;an&rsquo; so you to me. You
+won&rsquo;t allow this match. Then we&rsquo;ll wed wi&rsquo;out your
+blessin&rsquo;, an&rsquo; sorry I shall be.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If that&rsquo;s your tune, my young rascal, I&rsquo;ll speak again!
+Phoebe&rsquo;s under age, remember that, and so sure as you dare take her a
+yard from her awn door you&rsquo;ll suffer for it. &rsquo;Tis a clink job,
+you mind&mdash;a prison business; and what&rsquo;s more, you &rsquo;m pleased
+to speak so plain that I will tu, and tell &rsquo;e this. If you dare to lift
+up your eyes to my child again, or stop her in the way, or have speech with
+her, I&rsquo;ll set p&rsquo;liceman &rsquo;pon &rsquo;e! For a year and more
+she &rsquo;m not her awn mistress; and, at the end of that time, if she
+doan&rsquo;t get better sense than to tinker arter a harum-scarum young
+jackanapes like you, she ban&rsquo;t a true Lyddon. Now be off with &rsquo;e
+an&rsquo; doan&rsquo;t dare to look same way Phoebe &rsquo;s walkin&rsquo;,
+no more, else theer&rsquo;ll be trouble for &rsquo;e.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Wonnerful language, an&rsquo; in a nutshell,&rdquo; commented
+Billy, as, blowing rather hard, the miller made an end of his warning.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Us&rsquo;ll leave it theer, then, Mr. Lyddon; and you&rsquo;ll live
+to be sorry ever you said them words to me. Ess fay, you&rsquo;ll live to
+sing different; for when two &rsquo;s set &rsquo;pon a matter o&rsquo;
+marryin&rsquo;, ban&rsquo;t fathers nor mothers, nor yet angels, be gwaine to
+part &rsquo;em. Phoebe an&rsquo; me will be man an&rsquo; wife some day, sure
+&rsquo;s the sun &rsquo;s brighter &rsquo;n the mune. So now you knaw. Gude
+night to &rsquo;e.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He took up his hat and departed; Billy held up his hands in mute
+amazement; but the miller showed no emotion and relighted his pipe.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The rising generation do take my breath away twenty times a
+day,&rdquo; said Mr. Blee. &ldquo;To think o&rsquo; that bwoy, in li&rsquo;l
+frocks awnly yesterday, standin&rsquo; theer frontin&rsquo; two aged men
+wi&rsquo; such bouldacious language!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What would you do, Billy, if the gal was yourn?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Same as you, to a hair. Bid her drop the chap for gude &rsquo;n
+all. But theer &rsquo;s devil&rsquo;s pepper in that Blanchard. He
+ain&rsquo;t done with yet.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, well, he won&rsquo;t shorten my sleep, I promise you. Near
+two years is a long time to the young. Lord knaws wheer a light thing like
+him will be blawed to, come two years. Time &rsquo;s on my side for certain.
+And Phoebe &rsquo;s like to change also.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why, a woman&rsquo;s mind &rsquo;s no more &rsquo;n a feather in a
+gale of wind at her time o&rsquo; life; though to tell her so &rsquo;s the
+sure way to make her steadfast.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>A moment later Phoebe herself entered. She had heard Will depart and now,
+in a fever of impatience, crept with bright, questioning eyes to her
+father&rsquo;s chair. Whereupon Mr. Blee withdrew in a violent hurry. No one
+audibly desired him to do so, but a side-look from the girl was enough.</p>
+<h2><a id="I_III" name="I_III"></a>CHAPTER III<br />
+EXIT WILL</h2>
+<p>Phoebe&rsquo;s conversation with her father occupied a space of time
+extending over just two minutes. He met her eager eyes with a smile, patted
+her head, pinched her ear, and by his manner awakened a delicious flutter of
+hope in the girl before he spoke. When, therefore, Phoebe learned that Will
+was sent about his business for ever, and must henceforth be wholly dismissed
+from her mind, the shock and disappointment of such intelligence came as a
+cruel blow. She stood silent and thunderstruck before Miller Lyddon, a world
+of reproaches in her frightened eyes; then mutely the corners of her little
+mouth sank as she turned away and departed with her first great sorrow.</p>
+<p>Phoebe&rsquo;s earliest frantic thought had been to fly to Will, but she
+knew such a thing was impossible. There would surely be a letter from him on
+the following morning hidden within their secret pillar-box between two
+bricks of the mill wall. For that she must wait, and even in her misery she
+was glad that with Will, not herself, lay decision as to future action. She
+had expected some delay; she had believed that her father would impose stern
+restrictions of time and make a variety of conditions with her sweetheart;
+she had even hoped that Miller Lyddon might command lengthened patience for
+the sake of her headstrong, erratic Will&rsquo;s temper and character; but
+that he was to be banished in this crushing and summary fashion overwhelmed
+Phoebe, and that utterly. Her nature, however, was not one nourished from any
+very deep wells of character. She belonged to a class who suffer bitterly
+enough under sorrow, but the storm of it while tearing like a tropical
+tornado over heart and soul, leaves no traces that lapse of time cannot
+wholly and speedily obliterate. On them it may be said that fortune&rsquo;s
+sharpest strokes inflict no lasting scars; their dispositions are happily
+powerless to harbour the sustained agony that burrows and gnaws, poisons
+man&rsquo;s estimate of all human affairs, wrecks the stores of his
+experience, and stamps the cicatrix of a live, burning grief on brow and
+brain for ever. They find their own misery sufficiently exalted; but their
+temperament is unable to sustain a lifelong tribulation or elevate sorrow
+into tragedy. And their state is the more blessed. So Phoebe watered her
+couch with tears, prayed to God to hear her solemn promises of eternal
+fidelity, then slept and passed into a brief dreamland beyond sorrow&rsquo;s
+reach.</p>
+<p>Meantime young Blanchard took his stormy heart into a night of stars. The
+moon had risen; the sky was clear; the silvery silence remained unbroken save
+for the sound of the river, where it flowed under the shadows of great trees
+and beneath aerial bridges and banners of the meadow mists. Will strode
+through this scene, past his mother&rsquo;s cottage, and up a hill behind it,
+into the village. His mind presented in turn a dozen courses of action, and
+each was built upon the abiding foundation of Phoebe&rsquo;s sure
+faithfulness. That she would cling to him for ever the young man knew right
+well; no thought of a rival, therefore, entered into his calculations. The
+sole problem was how quickest to make Mr. Lyddon change his mind; how best to
+order his future that the miller should regard him as a responsible person,
+and one of weight in affairs. Not that Will held himself a slight man by any
+means; but he felt that he must straightway assert his individuality and
+convince the world in general and Miller Lyddon in particular of faulty
+judgment. He was very angry still as he retraced the recent conversation.
+Then, among those various fancies and projects in his mind, the wildest and
+most foolish stood out before him as both expedient and to be desired. His
+purpose in Chagford was to get advice from another man; but before he reached
+the village his own mind was established.</p>
+<p>Slated and thatched roofs glimmered under moonlight, and already the
+hamlet slept. A few cats crept like shadows through the deserted streets,
+from darkness into light, from light back to darkness; and one cottage
+window, before which Will Blanchard stood, still showed a candle behind a
+white blind. Most quaint and ancient was this habitation&mdash;of picturesque
+build, with tiny granite porch, small entrance, and venerable thatches that
+hung low above the upper windows. A few tall balsams quite served to fill the
+garden; indeed so small was it that from the roadway young Blanchard, by
+bending over the wooden fence, could easily reach the cottage window. This he
+did, tapped lightly, and then waited for the door to be opened.</p>
+<p>A man presently appeared and showed some surprise at the sight of his late
+visitor.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Let me in, Clem,&rdquo; said Will. &ldquo;I knawed you&rsquo;d be
+up, sitting readin&rsquo; and dreamin&rsquo;. &rsquo;T is no dreamin&rsquo;
+time for me though, by God! I be corned straight from seeing Miller
+&rsquo;bout Phoebe.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then I can very well guess what was last in your ears.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Clement Hicks spoke in an educated voice. He was smaller than Will but
+evidently older. Somewhat narrow of build and thin, he looked delicate,
+though in reality wiry and sound. He was dark of complexion, wore his hair
+long for a cottager, and kept both moustache and beard, though the latter was
+very scant and showed the outline of his small chin through it. A forehead
+remarkably lofty but not broad, mounted almost perpendicularly above the
+man&rsquo;s eyes; and these were large and dark and full of fire, though
+marred by a discontented expression. His mouth was full-lipped, his other
+features huddled rather meanly together under the high brow: but his face,
+while admittedly plain even to ugliness, was not commonplace; for its eyes
+were remarkable, and the cast of thought ennobled it as a whole.</p>
+<p>Will entered the cottage kitchen and began instantly to unfold his
+experiences.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You knaw me&mdash;a man with a level head, as leaps after looking,
+not afore. I put nothing but plain reason to him and he flouted me like you
+might a cheel. An&rsquo; I be gwaine to make him eat his words&mdash;such
+hard words as they was tu! Think of it! Me an&rsquo; Phoebe never to meet no
+more! The folly of sayin&rsquo; such a thing! Wouldn&rsquo;t &rsquo;e reckon
+that grey hairs knawed better than to fancy words can keep lovers
+apart?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Grey hairs cover old brains; and old brains forget what it feels
+like to have a body full o&rsquo; young blood. The best memory can&rsquo;t
+keep the feeling of youth fresh in a man.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, I ban&rsquo;t the hot-headed twoad Miller Lyddon thinks, or
+pretends he thinks, anyway. I&rsquo;ll shaw un! I can wait, an&rsquo; Phoebe
+can wait, an&rsquo; now she&rsquo;ll have to. I&rsquo;m gwaine
+away.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Going away. Why?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;To shaw what &rsquo;s in me. I ban&rsquo;t sorry for this for some
+things. Now no man shall say that I&rsquo;m a home-stayin&rsquo; gaby,
+tramping up an&rsquo; down Teign Vale for a living. I&rsquo;ll step out into
+the wide world, same as them Grimbals done. They &rsquo;m back again made of
+money, the pair of &rsquo;em.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It took them fifteen years and more, and they were marvellously
+lucky.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What then? I&rsquo;m as like to fare well as they. I&rsquo;ve
+worked out a far-reaching plan, but the first step I&rsquo;ve thought on
+&rsquo;s terrible coorious, an&rsquo; I reckon nobody but you&rsquo;d see how
+it led to better things. But you &rsquo;m book-larned and wise in your way,
+though I wish your wisdom had done more for yourself than it has. Anyway, you
+&rsquo;m tokened to Chris and will be one of the family some day perhaps when
+Mother Coomstock dies, so I&rsquo;ll leave my secret with you. But not a soul
+else&mdash;not mother even. So you must swear you&rsquo;ll never tell to man
+or woman or cheel what I&rsquo;ve done and wheer I be gone.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll swear if you like.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;By the livin&rsquo; God.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;By any God you believe is alive.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Say it, then.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;By the living God, I, Clement Hicks, bee-master of Chagford, Devon,
+swear to keep the secret of my friend and neighbour, William Blanchard,
+whatever it is.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And may He tear the life out of you if you so much as think to
+tell.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Hicks laughed and shook his hair from his forehead.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;re suspicious of the best friend you&rsquo;ve got in the
+world.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not a spark. But I want you to see what an awful solemn thing I
+reckon it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then may God rot me, and plague me, and let me roast in hell-fire
+with the rogues for ever and a day, if I so much as whisper your news to man
+or mouse! There, will that do?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No call to drag in hell fire, &rsquo;cause I knaw you doan&rsquo;t
+set no count on it. More doan&rsquo;t I. Hell&rsquo;s cold ashes now if all
+what you ve said is true. But you&rsquo;ve sworn all right and now I&rsquo;ll
+tell &rsquo;e.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He bent forward and whispered in the other&rsquo;s ear, whereon Hicks
+started in evident amazement and showed himself much concerned.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Good Heavens! Man alive, are you mad?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You doan&rsquo;t &rsquo;zactly look on ahead enough, Clem,&rdquo;
+said Will loftily. &ldquo;Ban&rsquo;t the thing itself&rsquo;s gwaine to make
+a fortune, but what comes of it. &rsquo;Tis a tidy stepping-stone
+lead-in&rsquo; to gert matters very often, as your books tell, I dare
+say.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It can&rsquo;t lead to anything whatever in your case but wasted
+years.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m best judge of that. I&rsquo;ve planned the road, and if I
+ban&rsquo;t home again inside ten year as good a man as Grimbal or any other
+I&rsquo;ll say I was wrong.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;re a bigger fool than even I thought,
+Blanchard.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Will&rsquo;s eye flashed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You &rsquo;m a tidy judge of a fule, I grant,&rdquo; he said
+angrily, &ldquo;or should be. But you &rsquo;m awnly wan more against me.
+You&rsquo;ll see you &rsquo;m wrong like the rest. Anyway, you&rsquo;ve got
+to mind what you&rsquo;ve sweared. An&rsquo; when mother an&rsquo; Chris ax
+&rsquo;e wheer I be, I&rsquo;ll thank you to say I&rsquo;m out in the world
+doin&rsquo; braave, an&rsquo; no more.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;As you like. It &rsquo;s idle, I know, trying to make you change
+your mind.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>A thin voice from an upper chamber of the cottage here interrupted their
+colloquy, and the mother of the bee-keeper reminded him that he was due early
+on the following day at Okehampton with honey, and that he ought long since
+to be asleep.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If that&rsquo;s Will Blanchard,&rdquo; she concluded, &ldquo;tell
+un to be off home to bed. What &rsquo;s the wisdom o&rsquo; turning night
+hours into day like this here?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;All right, mother,&rdquo; shouted Will. &ldquo;Gude-night to
+&rsquo;e. I be off this moment.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then bidding his friend farewell, he departed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Doan&rsquo;t think twice o&rsquo; what I said a minute since. I was
+hot &rsquo;cause you couldn&rsquo;t see no wisdom in my plan. But
+that&rsquo;s the way of folks. They belittle a chap&rsquo;s best thoughts and
+acts till the time comes for luck to turn an&rsquo; bring the fruit; then
+them as scoffed be the first to turn round smilin&rsquo; an&rsquo;
+handshaking and sayin&rsquo;, &rsquo;What did us say? Didn&rsquo;t us tell
+&rsquo;e so from the very beginning?&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Away went the youthful water-keeper, inspired with the prospect of his
+contemplated flight. He strode home at a rapid pace, to find all lights out
+and the household in bed. Then he drank half a pint of cider, ate some bread
+and cheese, and set about a letter to Phoebe.</p>
+<p>A little desk on a side-table, the common property of himself, his mother,
+and sister, was soon opened, and materials found. Then, in his own uncial
+characters, that always tended hopefully upward, and thus left a triangle of
+untouched paper at the bottom of every sheet, Will wrote a letter of two
+folios, or eight complete pages. In this he repeated the points of his
+conversation with Phoebe&rsquo;s father, told her to be patient, and
+announced that, satisfied of her unfailing love and steadfastness through
+all, he was about to pass into the wider world, and carve his way to
+prosperity and fortune. He hid particulars from her, but mentioned that
+Clement Hicks would forward any communications. Finally he bid her keep a
+stout heart and live contented in the certainty of ultimate happiness. He
+also advised Phoebe to forgive her father. &ldquo;I have already done it,
+honor bright,&rdquo; he wrote; &ldquo;&rsquo;t is a wise man&rsquo;s part to
+bear no malice, especially against an old grey body whose judgment
+&rsquo;pears to be gone bad for some reason.&rdquo; He also assured Phoebe
+that he was hers until death should separate them; in a postscript he desired
+her to break his departure softly to his mother if opportunity to do so
+occurred; and, finally, he was not ashamed to fill the empty triangles on
+each page with kisses, represented by triangles closely packed. Bearing this
+important communication, Will walked out again into the night, and soon his
+letter awaited Phoebe in the usual receptacle. He felt therein himself, half
+suspecting a note might await him, but there was nothing. He hesitated for a
+moment, then climbed the gate into Monks Barton farmyard, went softly and
+stood in the dark shadow of the mill-house. The moon shone full upon the face
+of the dwelling, and its three fruit-trees looked as though painted in
+profound black against the pale whitewash; while Phoebe&rsquo;s dormer-window
+framed the splendour of the reflected sky, and shone very brightly. The blind
+was down, and the maiden behind it had been asleep an hour or two; but Will
+pictured her as sobbing her heart out still. Perhaps he would never see her
+again. The path he had chosen to follow might take him over seas and through
+vast perils; indeed, it must do so if the success he desired was to be won.
+He felt something almost like a catch in his throat as he turned away and
+crossed the sleeping river. He glanced down through dreaming glades and saw
+one motionless silver spot on the dark waters beneath the alders. Sentiment
+was at its flood just then, and he spoke a few words under his breath.
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis thicky auld Muscovy duck, roostin&rsquo; on his li&rsquo;l
+island; poor lone devil wi&rsquo; never a mate to fight for nor friend to
+swim along with. Worse case than mine, come to think on it!&rdquo; Then an
+emotion, rare enough with him, vanished, and he sniffed the night air and
+felt his heart beat high at thoughts of what lay ahead.</p>
+<p>Will returned home, made fast the outer door, took off his boots, and went
+softly up a creaking stair. Loud and steady music came from the room where
+John Grimbal lay, and Blanchard smiled when he heard it. &ldquo;&rsquo;Tis
+the snore of a happy man with money in his purse,&rdquo; he thought. Then he
+stood by his mother&rsquo;s door, which she always kept ajar at night, and
+peeped in upon her. Damaris Blanchard slumbered with one arm on the coverlet,
+the other behind her head. She was a handsome woman still, and looked younger
+than her eight-and-forty years in the soft ambient light. &ldquo;Muneshine do
+make dear mother so purty as a queen,&rdquo; said Will to himself. And he
+would never wish her &ldquo;good-by,&rdquo; perhaps never see her again. He
+hastened with light, impulsive step into the room, thinking just to kiss the
+hand on the bed, but his mother stirred instantly and cried,
+&ldquo;Who&rsquo;s theer?&rdquo; with sleepy voice. Then she sat up and
+listened&mdash;a fair, grey-eyed woman in an old-fashioned night-cap. Her son
+had vanished before her eyes were opened, and now she turned and yawned and
+slept again.</p>
+<p>Will entered his own chamber near at hand, doffed for ever the velveteen
+uniform of water-keeper, and brought from a drawer an old suit of corduroy.
+Next he counted his slight store of money, set his &lsquo;alarum&rsquo; for
+four o&rsquo;clock, and, fifteen minutes later, was in bed and asleep, the
+time then being a little after midnight.</p>
+<h2><a id="I_IV" name="I_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV<br />
+BY THE RIVER</h2>
+<p>Clement Hicks paid an early visit to Will&rsquo;s home upon the following
+morning. He had already set out to Okehampton with ten pounds of honey in the
+comb, and at Mrs. Blanchard&rsquo;s cottage he stopped the little public
+vehicle which ran on market-days to the distant town. That the son of the
+house was up and away at dawn told his family nothing, for his movements were
+at all times erratic, and part of his duty consisted in appearing on the
+river at uncertain times and in unexpected localities. Clement Hicks often
+called for a moment upon his way to market, and Chris, who now greeted her
+lover, felt puzzled at the unusual gravity of his face. She turned pale when
+she heard his tremendous news; but the mother was of more Spartan temperament
+and received intelligence of Will&rsquo;s achievement without changing colour
+or ceasing from her occupation.</p>
+<p>Between Damaris Blanchard and her boy had always existed a perfect harmony
+of understanding, rare even in their beautiful relationship. The thoughts of
+son and mother chimed; not seldom they anticipated each other&rsquo;s words.
+The woman saw much of her dead husband reflected in Will and felt a moral
+conviction that through the storms of youth, high temper, and inexperience,
+he would surely pass to good things, by reason of the strenuous honesty and
+singleness of purpose that actuated him; he, on his side, admired the great
+calmness and self-possession of his mother. She was so steadfast, so strong,
+and wiser than any woman he had ever seen. With a fierce, volcanic affection
+Will Blanchard loved her. She and Phoebe alike shared his whole heart.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It is a manly way of life he has chosen, and that is all I may say.
+He is ambitious and strong, and I should be the last to think he has not done
+well to go into the world for a while,&rdquo; said Clement.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;When is he coming back again?&rdquo; asked Chris.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He spoke of ten years or so.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then &rsquo;twill be more or less,&rdquo; declared Mrs. Blanchard,
+calmly. &ldquo;Maybe a month, maybe five years, or fifteen, not ten, if he
+said ten. He&rsquo;ll shaw the gude gold he&rsquo;s made of, whether or no.
+I&rsquo;m happy in this and not surprised. &rsquo;Twas very like to come
+arter last night, if things went crooked.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis much as faither might have done,&rdquo; said Chris.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis much what he did do. Thank you for calling, Clem Hicks.
+Now best be away, else they&rsquo;ll drive off to Okehampton without
+&rsquo;e.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Clement departed, Chris wept as the full extent of her loss was impressed
+upon her, and Mrs. Blanchard went up to her son&rsquo;s room. There she
+discovered the velveteen suit with a card upon them: &ldquo;Hand over to Mr.
+Morgan, Head Water-keeper, Sandypark.&rdquo; She looked through his things,
+and found that he had taken nothing but his money, one suit of working
+clothes, and a red tie&mdash;her present to him on his birthday during the
+previous month. All his other possessions remained in their usual places.
+With none to see, the woman&rsquo;s eye moistened; then she sat down on
+Will&rsquo;s bed and her heart grew weak for one brief moment as she pictured
+him fighting the battle. It hurt her a little that he had told Clement Hicks
+his intention and hid it from his mother. Yet as a son, at least, he had
+never failed. However, all affairs of life were a matter of waiting, more or
+less, she told herself; and patience was easier to Damaris Blanchard than to
+most people. Under her highest uneasiness, maternal pride throbbed at thought
+of the manly independence indicated by her son&rsquo;s action. She returned
+to the duties of the day, but found herself restless, while continually
+admonishing Chris not to be so. Her thoughts drifted to Monks Barton and
+Will&rsquo;s meeting with his sweetheart&rsquo;s father. Presently, when her
+daughter went up to the village, Mrs. Blanchard put off her apron, donned the
+cotton sunbonnet that she always wore from choice, and walked over to see Mr.
+Lyddon. They were old friends, and presently Damaris listened sedately to the
+miller without taking offence at his directness of speech. He told the story
+of his decision and Will&rsquo;s final reply, while she nodded and even
+smiled once or twice in the course of the narrative.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You was both right, I reckon,&rdquo; she said placidly, looking
+into Mr. Lyddon&rsquo;s face. &ldquo;You was wise to mistrust, not
+knawin&rsquo; what&rsquo;s at the root of him; and he, being as he is, was in
+the right to tell &rsquo;e the race goes to the young. Wheer two hearts is
+bent on joining, &rsquo;tis join they will&mdash;if both keeps of a mind long
+enough.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s it, Damaris Blanchard; who&rsquo;s gwaine to
+b&rsquo;lieve that a bwoy an&rsquo; gal, like Will an&rsquo; Phoebe, do knaw
+theer minds? Mark me, they&rsquo;ll both chaange sweethearts a score of times
+yet &rsquo;fore they come to mate.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Caan&rsquo;t speak for your darter, Lyddon; but I knaw my son. A
+masterful bwoy, like his faither before him, wild sometimes an&rsquo; wayward
+tu, but not with women-folk. His faither loved in wan plaace awnly.
+He&rsquo;ll be true to your cheel whatever betides, or I&rsquo;m a
+fule.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What&rsquo;s the use of that if he ban&rsquo;t true to himself? No,
+no, I caan&rsquo;t see a happy ending to the tale however you look at it.
+Wish I could. I fear&rsquo;t was a ugly star twinkled awver his birthplace,
+ma&rsquo;am.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Twas all the stars of heaven, Miller,&rdquo; said the
+mother, frankly, &ldquo;for he was born in my husband&rsquo;s caravan in the
+auld days. We was camped up on the Moor, drawn into one of them
+roundy-poundies o&rsquo; grey granite stones set up by Phoenicians at the
+beginning of the world. Ess fay, a braave shiny night, wi&rsquo; the
+li&rsquo;l windows thrawed open to give me air. An&rsquo; &rsquo;pon
+Will&rsquo;s come-of-age birthday, last month, if us didn&rsquo;t all drive
+up theer an&rsquo; light a fire an&rsquo; drink a dish of tea in the
+identical spot! &rsquo;Tis out Newtake&rsquo; way.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Like a story-book.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Twas Clem Hicks, his thought, being a fanciful man. But
+I&rsquo;ll bid you gude-marnin&rsquo; now. Awnly mind this, as between
+friends and without a spark of malice: Will Blanchard means to marry your
+maid, sure as you&rsquo;m born, if awnly she keeps strong for him. It rests
+with her, Miller, not you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Much what your son said in sharper words. Well, you&rsquo;m out
+o&rsquo; reckoning for once, wise though you be most times; for if a
+maiden&rsquo;s happiness doan&rsquo;t rest with her faither, blamed if I see
+wheer it should. And to think such a man as me doan&rsquo;t knaw wiser
+&rsquo;n two childern who caan&rsquo;t number forty year between &rsquo;em is
+flat fulishness, surely?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I knaw Will,&rdquo; said Mrs. Blanchard, slowly and emphatically;
+&ldquo;I knaw un to the core, and that&rsquo;s to say more than you or
+anybody else can. A mother may read her son like print, but no faither can
+see to the bottom of a wife-old daughter&mdash;not if he was Solomon&rsquo;s
+self. So us&rsquo;ll wait an&rsquo; watch wi&rsquo;out being worse
+friends.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She went home again the happier for her conversation; but any thought that
+Mr. Lyddon might have been disposed to devote to her prophecy was for the
+time banished by the advent of John Grimbal and his brother.</p>
+<p>Like boys home from school, they dwelt in the present delight of their
+return, and postponed the varied duties awaiting them, to revel again in the
+old sights, sounds, and scents. To-day they were about an angling excursion,
+and the fishers&rsquo; road to Fingle lying through Monks Barton, both
+brothers stopped a while and waited upon their old friend of the mill,
+according to John&rsquo;s promise of the previous afternoon. Martin carried
+the creel and the ample luncheon it contained; John smoked a strong cigar and
+was only encumbered with his light fly-rod; the younger designed to accompany
+his brother through Fingle Valley; then leave him there, about his sport, and
+proceed alone to various places of natural and antiquarian interest. But John
+meant fishing and nothing else. To him great woods were no more than cover
+for fur and feathers; rivers and streams meant a vehicle for the display of a
+fly to trout, and only attracted him or the reverse, according to the fish
+they harboured. When the moorland waters spouted and churned, cherry red from
+their springs in the peat, he deemed them a noble spectacle; when, as at
+present, Teign herself had shrunk to a mere silver thread, and the fingerling
+trout splashed and wriggled half out of water in the shallows, he freely
+criticised its scanty volume and meagre depths.</p>
+<p>Miller Lyddon welcomed the men very heartily. He had been amongst those
+who dismissed them with hope to their battle against the world, and now he
+reminded them of his sanguine predictions. Will Blanchard&rsquo;s
+disappearance amused John Grimbal and he laughed when Billy Blee appeared
+red-hot with the news. Mr. Lyddon made no secret of his personal opinion of
+Blanchard, and all debated the probable design of the wanderer.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Maybe he&rsquo;s &rsquo;listed,&rdquo; said John, &ldquo;an&rsquo;
+a good thing too if he has. It makes a man of a young fellow. I&rsquo;m for
+conscription myself&mdash;always have been.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I be minded to think he&rsquo;ve joined the riders,&rdquo; declared
+Billy. &ldquo;Theer comed a circus here last month, with braave doin&rsquo;s
+in the way of horsemanship and Merry Andrews, and such like devilries. Us all
+goes to see it from miles round every year; an&rsquo; Will was theer. Circus
+folk do see the world in a way denied to most, and theer manner of life takes
+&rsquo;em even as far as Russia and the Indies I&rsquo;ve heard.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then there&rsquo;s the gypsy blood in him&mdash;&rdquo; declared
+Mr. Lyddon, &ldquo;that might send him roaming oversea, if nothing else
+did.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Or my great doings are like to have fired him,&rdquo; said John.
+&ldquo;How&rsquo;s Phoebe?&rdquo; he continued, dismissing Will. &ldquo;I saw
+her yesterday&mdash;a bowerly maiden she&rsquo;s grown&mdash;a prize for a
+better man that this wild youngster, now bolted God knaws where.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So I think,&rdquo; agreed the miller, &ldquo;an&rsquo; I hope
+she&rsquo;ll soon forget the searching grey eyes of un and his high-handed
+way o&rsquo; speech. Gals like such things. Dear, dear! though he made me so
+darned angry last night, I could have laughed in his faace more &rsquo;n
+wance.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Missy&rsquo;s under the weather this marnin&rsquo;,&rdquo; declared
+Billy. &ldquo;Who tawld her I ban&rsquo;t able to say, but she knawed
+he&rsquo;d gone just arter feedin&rsquo; the fowls, and she went down valley
+alone, so slow, wi&rsquo; her purty head that bent it looked as if her
+sunbonnet might be hiding an auld gran&rsquo;mother&rsquo;s poll.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She&rsquo;ll come round,&rdquo; said Martin; &ldquo;she&rsquo;s
+only a young girl yet.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And there &rsquo;s fish as good in the sea as ever came out, and
+better,&rdquo; declared his brother. &ldquo;She must wait for a man who is a
+man,&mdash;somebody of good sense and good standing, with property to his
+name.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Miller Lyddon noted with surprise and satisfaction John Grimbal&rsquo;s
+warmth of manner upon this question; he observed also the stout, hearty body
+of him, and the handsome face that crowned it. Then the brothers proceeded
+down-stream, and the master of Monks Barton looked after them and caught
+himself hoping that they might meet Phoebe.</p>
+<p>At a point where the river runs between a giant shoulder of heather-clad
+hill on one side and the ragged expanses of Whiddon Park upon the other, John
+clambered down to the streamside and began to fish, while Martin dawdled at
+hand and watched the sport. A pearly clearness, caught from the clouds,
+characterised earth as well as air, and proved that every world-picture
+depends for atmosphere and colour upon the sky-picture extended above it.
+Again there was movement and some music, for the magic of the wind in a
+landscape&rsquo;s nearer planes is responsible for both. The wooded valley
+lay under a grey and breezy forenoon; swaying alders marked each intermittent
+gust with a silver ripple of upturned foliage, and still reaches of the river
+similarly answered the wind with hurrying flickers and furrows of dimpled
+light. Through its transparent flood, where the waters ran in shadow and
+escaped reflections, the river revealed a bed of ruddy brown and rich amber.
+This harmonious colouring proceeded from the pebbly bottom, where a medley of
+warm agate tones spread and shimmered, like some far-reaching mosaic beneath
+the crystal. Above Teign&rsquo;s shrunken current extended oak and ash, while
+her banks bore splendid concourse of the wild water-loving dwellers in that
+happy valley. Meadowsweet nodded creamy crests; hemlock and fool&rsquo;s
+parsley and seeding willow-herb crowded together beneath far-scattered
+filigree of honeysuckles and brambles with berries, some ripe, some red;
+while the scarlet corals of briar and white bryony gemmed every riotous
+trailing thicket, dene, and dingle along the river&rsquo;s brink; and in the
+grassy spaces between rose little chrysoprase steeples of wood sage all set
+in shining fern. Upon the boulders in midstream subaqueous mosses, now
+revealed and starved by the drought, died hard, and the seeds of grasses,
+figworts, and persicarias thrust up flower and foliage, flourishing in
+unwonted spots from which the next freshet would rudely tear them. Insect
+life did not abundantly manifest itself, for the day was sunless; but now and
+again, with crisp rattle of his gauze wings, a dragon-fly flashed along the
+river. Through these scenes the Teign rolled drowsily and with feeble pulses.
+Upon one bank rose the confines of Whiddon; on the other, abrupt and
+interspersed with gulleys of shattered shale, ascended huge slopes whereon a
+whole summer of sunshine had scorched the heather to dry death. But fading
+purple still gleamed here and there in points and splashes, and the lesser
+furze, mingling therewith, scattered gold upon the tremendous acclivities
+even to the crown of fir-trees that towered remote and very blue upon the
+uplifted sky-line. Swallows, with white breasts flashing, circled over the
+river, and while their elevation above the water appeared at times
+tremendous, the abrupt steepness of the gorge was such that the birds almost
+brushed the hillside with their wings. A sledge, laden with the timber of
+barked sapling oaks, creaked and jingled over the rough road beside the
+stream; a man called to his horses and a dog barked beside him; then they
+disappeared and the spacious scene was again empty, save for its manifold
+wild life and music.</p>
+<p>John Grimbal fished, failed, and cursed the poor water and the lush wealth
+of the riverside that caught his fly at every critical moment. A few small
+trout he captured and returned; then, flinging down rod and net, he called to
+his brother for the luncheon-basket. Together they sat in the fern beside the
+river and ate heartily of the fare that Mrs. Blanchard had provided; then, as
+John was about to light a pipe, his brother, with a smile, produced a little
+wicker globe and handed it to him. This unexpected sight awoke sudden and
+keen appetite on the elder&rsquo;s face. He smacked his lips, swore a hearty
+oath of rejoicing, and held out an eager hand for the thing.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My God! to think I&rsquo;ll suck the smoke of that again,&mdash;the
+best baccy in the wide world!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The little receptacle contained a rough sort of sun-dried Kaffir tobacco,
+such as John and Martin had both smoked for the past fifteen years.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I thought it would be a treat. I brought home a few pounds,&rdquo;
+said the younger, smiling again at his brother&rsquo;s hungry delight. John
+cut into the case, loaded his pipe, and lighted it with a contented sign.
+Then he handed the rest back to its owner.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, no,&rdquo; said Martin. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll just have one fill,
+that&rsquo;s all. I brought this for you. &rsquo;T will atone for the poor
+sport. The creel I shall leave with you now, for I&rsquo;m away to Fingle
+Bridge and Prestonbury. We&rsquo;ll meet at nightfall.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Thereupon he set off down the valley, his mind full of early British
+encampments, while John sat and smoked and pondered upon his future. He built
+no castles in the air, but a solid country house of red brick, destined to
+stand in its own grounds near Chagford, and to have a snug game-cover or two
+about it, with a few good acres of arable land bordering on forest. Roots
+meant cover for partridges in John Grimbal&rsquo;s mind; beech and oak in
+autumn represented desirable food for pheasants; and corn, once garnered and
+out of the way, left stubble for all manner of game.</p>
+<p>Meantime, whilst he reviewed his future with his eyes on a blue cloud of
+tobacco smoke, Martin passed Phoebe Lyddon farther down the valley. Him she
+recognised as a stranger; but he, with his eyes engaged in no more than
+unconscious guarding of his footsteps, his mind buried in the fascinating
+problems of early British castramentation, did not look at her or mark a
+sorrowful young face still stained with tears.</p>
+<p>Into the gorge Phoebe had wandered after reading her sweetheart&rsquo;s
+letter. There, to the secret ear of the great Mother, instinct had drawn her
+and her grief; and now the earliest shock was over; a dull, numb pain of mind
+followed the first sorrow; unwonted exercise had made her weary; and physical
+hunger, not to be stayed by mental suffering, forced her to turn homewards.
+Red-eyed and unhappy she passed beside the river, a very picture of a woful
+lover.</p>
+<p>The sound of Phoebe&rsquo;s steps fell on John Grimbal&rsquo;s ear as he
+lay upon his back with crossed knees and his hands behind his head. He partly
+rose therefore, thrust his face above the fern, saw the wayfarer, and then
+sprang to his feet. The cause of her tearful expression and listless
+demeanour was known to him, but he ignored them and greeted her cheerily.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Can&rsquo;t catch anything big enough to keep, and
+sha&rsquo;n&rsquo;t until the rain comes,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;so
+I&rsquo;ll walk along with you, if you&rsquo;re going home.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He offered his hand; then, after Phoebe had shaken it, moved beside her
+and put up his rod as he went.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Saw your father this morning, and mighty glad I was to find him so
+blooming. To my eye he looks younger than my memory picture of him. But
+that&rsquo;s because I&rsquo;ve grown from boy to man, as you have from child
+to woman.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So I have, and &rsquo;t is a pity my faither doan&rsquo;t knaw
+it,&rdquo; answered Phoebe, smarting under her wrongs, and willing to
+chronicle them in a friendly ear. &ldquo;If I ban&rsquo;t full woman, who is?
+Yet I&rsquo;m treated like a baaby, as if I&rsquo;d got no &rsquo;pinions
+an&rsquo; feelings, and wasn&rsquo;t&mdash;wasn&rsquo;t auld enough to knaw
+what love meant.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Grimbal&rsquo;s eyes glowed at the picture of the girl&rsquo;s
+indignation, and he longed to put his arms round her and comfort her.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You must be wise and dutiful, Phoebe,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Will
+Blauchard&rsquo;s a plucky fellow to go off and face the world. And perhaps
+he&rsquo;ll be one of the lucky ones, like I was.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He will be, for certain, and so you&rsquo;d say if you knawed him
+same as I do. But the cruel waitin&rsquo;&mdash;years and years and
+years&mdash;&rsquo;t is enough to break a body&rsquo;s heart.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Her voice fluttered like bells in a wild wind; she trembled on the brink
+of tears; and he saw by little convulsive movements and the lump in her round
+throat that she could not yet regard her lot with patience. She brought out
+her pocket-handkerchief again, and the man noticed it was all wet and rolled
+into a ball.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Life&rsquo;s a blank thing at lovers&rsquo; parting,&rdquo; he
+said; &ldquo;but time rubs the rough edges off matters that fret our minds
+the worst. Days and nights, and plenty of &rsquo;em, are the best cure for
+all ills.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; the best cure for life tu! The awnly cure. Think of years
+an&rsquo; years without him. Yesterday us met up in Pixies&rsquo; Parlour
+yonder, an&rsquo; I was peart an&rsquo; proud as need be; to-day he&rsquo;s
+gone, and I feel auld and wisht and all full of weary wonder how I&rsquo;m
+gwaine to fare and if I&rsquo;llever see him again. &rsquo;T is
+cruel&mdash;bitter cruel for me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>That she could thus pity herself so soon argued a mind incapable of
+harbouring great sorrow for many years; and the man at her side, without
+appreciating this fact, yet, by a sort of intuition, suspected that
+Phoebe&rsquo;s grief, perhaps even her steadfastness of purpose, would suffer
+diminution before very great lapse of time. Without knowing why, he hoped it
+might be so. Her voice fell melodiously upon an ear long tuned to the whine
+of native women. It came from the lungs, was full and sweet, with a shy
+suddenness about it, like the cooing of wood doves. She half slipped at a
+stile, and he put out his hand and touched her waist and felt his heart
+throb. But Phoebe&rsquo;s eyes rarely met her new friend&rsquo;s. The girl
+looked with troubled brows ahead into the future, while she walked beside
+him; and he, upon her left hand, saw only the soft cheek, the pouting lips,
+and the dimples that came and went. Sometimes she looked up, however, and
+Grimbal noted how the flutter of past tears shook her round young breast,
+marked the spring of her step, the freedom of her gait, and the trim turn of
+her feet and ankles. After the flat-footed Kaffir girls, Phoebe&rsquo;s
+instep had a right noble arch in his estimation.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;To think that I, as never wronged faither in thought or deed,
+should be treated so hard! I&rsquo;ve been all the world to him since mother
+died, for he&rsquo;s said as much to many; yet he&rsquo;s risen up an&rsquo;
+done this, contrary to justice and right and Scripture, tu.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You must be patient, Phoebe, and respect his age, and let the
+matter rest till the time grows ripe. I can&rsquo;t advise you better than
+that.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Patient!&rsquo; My life&rsquo;s empty, I tell
+&rsquo;e&mdash;empty, hollow, tasteless wi&rsquo;out my Will.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, well, we&rsquo;ll see. I&rsquo;m going to build a big
+red-brick house presently, and buy land, and make a bit of a stir in my small
+way. You&rsquo;ve a pretty fancy in such things, I&rsquo;ll bet a dollar. You
+shall give me a helping hand&mdash;eh? You must tell me best way of setting
+up house. And you might help me as to furniture and suchlike if you had time
+for it. Will you, for an old friend?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Phoebe was slightly interested. She promised to do anything in her power
+that might cause Mr. Grimbal satisfaction; and he, very wisely, assured her
+that there was no salve for sorrow like unselfish labours on behalf of other
+people. He left her at the farm-gate, and tramped back to the Blanchard
+cottage with his mind busy enough. Presently he changed his clothes, and set
+a diamond in his necktie. Then he strolled away into the village, to see the
+well-remembered names above the little shop windows; to note curiously how
+Chagford market-place had shrunk and the houses dwindled since last he saw
+them; to call with hearty voice and rough greeting at this habitation and
+that; to introduce himself again among men and women who had known him of
+yore, and who, for the most part, quite failed to recognise in their bluff
+and burly visitor the lad who set forth from his father&rsquo;s cottage by
+the church so many years before.</p>
+<h2><a id="I_V" name="I_V"></a>CHAPTER V<br />
+THE INCIDENT OF MR. JOEL FORD</h2>
+<p>Of Blanchard family history a little more must be said. Timothy Blanchard,
+the husband of Damaris and father of Will and Chris, was in truth of the
+nomads, though not a right gypsy. As a lad, and at a time when the Romany
+folk enjoyed somewhat more importance and prosperity than of late years, he
+joined them, and by sheer force of character and mother wit succeeded in
+rising to power amongst the wanderers. The community with which he was
+connected for the most part confined its peregrinations to the West; and time
+saw Timothy Blanchard achieve success in his native country, acquire two
+caravans, develop trade on a regular &ldquo;circuit,&rdquo; and steadily save
+money in a small way; while his camp of some five-and-twenty souls&mdash;men,
+women, and numerous children&mdash;shared in their leader&rsquo;s prosperity.
+These earlier stages of the man&rsquo;s career embraced some strange
+circumstances, chief amongst them being his marriage. Damaris Ford was the
+daughter of a Moor farmer. Her girlhood had been spent in the dreary little
+homestead of &ldquo;Newtake,&rdquo; above Chagford, within the fringe of the
+great primeval wastes; and here, on his repeated journeys across the Moor,
+Tim Blanchard came to know her and love her well.</p>
+<p>Farmer Ford swore round oaths, and sent Blanchard and his caravans packing
+when the man approached him for his daughter&rsquo;s hand; but the girl
+herself was already won, and week after her lover&rsquo;s repulse Damaris
+vanished. She journeyed with her future husband to Exeter, wedded him, and
+became mistress of his house on wheels; then, for the space of four years,
+she lived the gypsy life, brought a son and daughter into the world, and
+tried without avail to obtain her father&rsquo;s forgiveness. That, however,
+she never had, though her mother communicated with her in fear and trembling;
+and when, by strange chance, on Will&rsquo;s advent, Damaris Blanchard was
+brought to bed near her old home, and became a mother in one of the venerable
+hut circles which plentifully scatter that lonely region, Mrs. Ford, apprised
+of the fact in secret, actually stole to her daughter&rsquo;s side by night
+and wept over her grandchild. Now the farmer and his wife were dead; Newtake
+at present stood without a tenant; and Mrs. Blanchard possessed no near
+relations save her children and one elder brother, Joel, to whom had passed
+their parent&rsquo;s small savings.</p>
+<p>Timothy Blanchard continued a wandering existence for the space of five
+years after his marriage; then he sold his caravans, settled in Chagford,
+bought the cottage by the river, rented some market-garden land, and pursued
+his busy and industrious way. Thus he prospered through ten more years,
+saving money, developing a variety of schemes, letting out on hire a steam
+thresher, and in various other ways adding to his store. The man was on the
+high road to genuine prosperity when death overtook him and put a period to
+his ambitions. He was snatched from mundane affairs leaving numerous schemes
+half developed and most of his money embarked in various enterprises.
+Unhappily Will was too young to continue his father&rsquo;s work, and though
+Mrs. Blanchard&rsquo;s brother, Joel Ford, administered the little estate to
+the best of his power, much had to be sacrificed. In the sequel Damaris found
+herself with a cottage, a garden, and an annual income of about fifty pounds
+a year. Her son was then twelve years of age, her daughter eighteen months
+younger. So she lived quietly and not without happiness, after the first
+sorrow of her husband&rsquo;s loss was in a measure softened by time.</p>
+<p>Of Mr. Joel Ford it now becomes necessary to speak. Combining the duties
+of attorney, house-agent, registrar of deaths, births, and marriages, and
+receiver of taxes and debts, the man lived a dingy life at Newton Abbot.
+Acid, cynical, and bald he was, very dry of mind and body, and but ten years
+older than Mrs. Blanchard, though he looked nearer seventy than sixty. To the
+Newton mind Mr. Ford was associated only with Quarter Day&mdash;that black,
+recurrent cloud on the horizon of every poor man&rsquo;s life. He dwelt with
+an elderly housekeeper&mdash;a widow of genial disposition; and indeed the
+attorney himself was not lacking in some urbanity of character, though few
+guessed it, for he kept all that was best in himself hidden under an unlovely
+crust. His better instincts took the shape of family affection. Damaris
+Blanchard and he were the last branches of one of the innumerable families of
+Ford to be found in Devon, and he had no small regard for his only living
+sister. His annual holiday from business&mdash;a period of a fortnight,
+sometimes extended to three weeks if the weather was more than commonly
+fair&mdash;he spent habitually at Chagford; and Will on these occasions
+devoted his leisure to his uncle, drove him on the Moor, and made him
+welcome. Will, indeed, was a favourite with Mr. Ford, and the lad&rsquo;s
+high spirits, real ignorance of the world, and eternal grave assumption of
+wisdom even tickled the man of business into a sort of dry cricket laughter
+upon occasions. When, therefore, a fortnight after young Blanchard&rsquo;s
+mysterious disappearance, Joel Ford arrived at his sister&rsquo;s cottage for
+the annual visit, he was as much concerned as his nature had power to make
+him at the news.</p>
+<p>For three weeks he stayed, missing the company of his nephew not a little;
+and his residence in Chagford had needed no special comment save for an
+important incident resulting therefrom.</p>
+<p>Phoebe Lyddon it was who in all innocence and ignorance set rolling a
+pebble that finally fell in thundering avalanches; and her chance word was
+uttered at her father&rsquo;s table on an occasion when John and Martin
+Grimbal were supping at Monks Barton.</p>
+<p>The returned natives, and more especially the elder, had been much at the
+mill since their reappearance. John, indeed, upon one pretext or another,
+scarcely spent a day without calling. His rough kindness appealed to Phoebe,
+who at first suspected no danger from it, while Mr. Lyddon encouraged the man
+and made him and his brother welcome at all times.</p>
+<p>John Grimbal, upon the morning that preceded the present supper party, had
+at last found a property to his taste. It might, indeed, have been designed
+for him. Near Whiddon it lay, in the valley of the Moreton Road, and
+consisted of a farm and the ruin of a Tudor mansion. The latter had been
+tenanted until the dawn of this century, but was since then fallen into
+decay. The farm lands stretched beneath the crown of Cranbrook, hard by the
+historic &ldquo;Bloody Meadow,&rdquo; a spot assigned to that skirmish
+between Royalist and Parliamentary forces during 1642 which cost brilliant
+young Sidney Godolphin his life. Here, or near at hand, the young man
+probably fell, with a musket-bullet in his leg, and subsequently expired at
+Chagford<a id="footnotetag1" name="footnotetag1">.</a><a href=
+"#footnote1"><sup>1</sup></a> leaving the &ldquo;misfortune of his death upon
+a place which could never otherwise have had a mention to the world,&rdquo;
+according to caustic Chancellor Clarendon.</p>
+<p>Upon the aforesaid ruins, fashioned after the form of a great E, out of
+compliment to the sovereign who occupied the throne at the period of the
+decayed fabric&rsquo;s erection, John Grimbal proposed to build his
+habitation of red brick and tile. The pertaining farm already had a tenant,
+and represented four hundred acres of arable land, with possibilities of
+development; snug woods wound along the boundaries of the estate and mingled
+their branches with others not more stately though sprung from the nobler
+domain of Whiddon; and Chagford was distant but a mile, or five
+minutes&rsquo; ride.</p>
+<p>Tongues wagged that evening concerning the Red House, as the ruin was
+called, and a question arose as to whom John Grimbal must apply for
+information respecting the property.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I noted on the board two names&mdash;one in London, one handy at
+Newton Abbot&mdash;a Mr. Joel Ford, of Wolborough Street.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Phoebe blushed where she sat and very nearly said, &ldquo;My Will&rsquo;s
+uncle!&rdquo; but thought better of it and kept silent. Meanwhile her father
+answered.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ford&rsquo;s an attorney, Mrs. Blanchard&rsquo;s brother, a maker
+of agreements between man and man, and a dusty, dry sort of chip, from all
+I&rsquo;ve heard tell. His father and mine were friends forty years and more
+agone. Old Ford had Newtake Farm on the Moor, and wore his fingers to the
+bone that his son might have good schooling and a learned
+profession.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;s in Chagford this very minute,&rdquo; said Phoebe.</p>
+<p>Then Mr. Blee spoke. On the occasion of any entertainment at Monks Barton
+he waited at table instead of eating with the family as usual. Now he
+addressed the company from his station behind Mr. Lyddon&rsquo;s chair.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Joel Ford&rsquo;s biding with his sister. A wonderful deep man, to
+my certain knowledge, an&rsquo; wears a merchant-like coat an&rsquo; shiny
+hat working days an&rsquo; Sabbaths alike. A snug man, I&rsquo;ll wager, if
+&rsquo;t is awnly by the token of broadcloth on week-days.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He looks for all the world like a yellow, shrivelled parchment
+himself. Regular gimlet eyes, too, and a very fitch for sharpness, though
+younger than his appearance might make you fancy,&rdquo; said the miller.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then I&rsquo;ll pay him a visit and see how things stand,&rdquo;
+declared John. &ldquo;Not that I&rsquo;d employ any but my own London lawyer,
+of course,&rdquo; he added, &ldquo;but this old chap can give me the
+information I require; no doubt.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess fay! an&rsquo; draw you a dockyment in all the cautiousness of
+the law&rsquo;s language,&rdquo; promised Billy Blee. &ldquo;&rsquo;T is a
+fact makes me mazed every time I think of it,&rdquo; he continued,
+&ldquo;that mere fleeting ink on the skin tored off a calf can be so set out
+to last to the trump of doom. Theer be parchments that laugh at the
+Queen&rsquo;s awn Privy Council and make the Court of Parliament look a mere
+fule afore &rsquo;em. But it doan&rsquo;t do to be &rsquo;feared o&rsquo;
+far-reachin&rsquo; oaths when you &rsquo;m signing such a matter, for
+&rsquo;t is in the essence of &rsquo;em that the parties should swear
+deep.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll mind what you say, Billy,&rdquo; promised Grimbal;
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll pump old Ford as dry as I can, then be off to London and
+get such a good, binding deed of purchase as you suggest.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>And it was this determination that presently led to a violent breach
+between the young man and his elder.</p>
+<p>John waited upon Mr. Ford, at Mrs. Blanchard&rsquo;s cottage, where he had
+first lodged with his brother on their return from abroad, and found the
+lawyer exceedingly pleasant when he learned the object of Grimbal&rsquo;s
+visit. Together they drove over to the Red House, and its intending tenant
+soon heard all there was to tell respecting price and the provisions under
+which the estate was to be disposed of. For this information he expressed
+proper gratitude, but gave no hint of his future actions.</p>
+<p>Mr. Ford heard nothing more for a fortnight. Then he ascertained that John
+Grimbal was in the metropolis, that the sale of the Red House and its lands
+had been conducted by the London agent, and that no penny of the handsome
+commission involved would accrue to him. This position of affairs greatly
+(and to some extent reasonably) angered the local man, and he did not forgive
+what he considered a very flagrant slight. Extreme acerbity was bred in him,
+and his mind, vindictive by nature, cherished from that hour a hearty
+detestation of John Grimbal. The old man, his annual holiday ruined by the
+circumstance, went home to Newton, vowing vague vengeance and little dreaming
+how soon opportunity would offer to deal his enemy a return blow; while the
+purchaser of the Red House laughed at Ford&rsquo;s angry letters, told him to
+his face that he was a greedy old rascal, and went on his way well pleased
+with himself and fully occupied with his affairs.</p>
+<p>Necessary preliminaries were hastened; an architect visited the crumbling
+fabric of the old Red House and set about his plans. Soon, upon the ancient
+foundations, a new dwelling began to rise. The ancient name was retained at
+Martin&rsquo;s entreaty and the surrounding property developed. A stir and
+hum crept through the domain. Here was planting of young birch and larch;
+here clearing of land; here mounds of manure steamed on neglected fallows.
+John Grimbal took up temporary quarters in the home farm that he might be
+upon the spot at all hours; and what with these great personal interests,
+good news of his property in Africa, and the growing distraction of one
+soft-voiced, grey-eyed girl, the man found his life a full and splendid
+thing.</p>
+<p>That he should admit Phoebe into his thoughts and ambitions was not
+unreasonable for two reasons: he knew himself to be heartily in love with her
+by this time, and he had heard from her father a definite statement upon the
+subject of Will Blanchard. Indeed, the miller, from motives of worldly
+wisdom, took an opportunity to let John Grimbal know the situation.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No shadow of any engagement at all,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I made
+it plain as a pikestaff to them both. It mustn&rsquo;t be thought I
+countenanced their crack-brained troth-plighting. &rsquo;T was by reason of
+my final &rsquo;Nay&rsquo; that Will went off. He &rsquo;s gone out of her
+life, and she &rsquo;m free as the air. I tell you this because you may have
+heard different, and you mix with the countryside and can contradict any man
+who gives out otherwise. And, mind you, I say it from no ill-will to the
+bwoy, but out of justice to my cheel.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Thus, to gain private ends, Mr. Lyddon spoke, and his information greatly
+heartened the listener. John had more than once sounded Phoebe on the subject
+of Will during the past few months, and was bound to confess that any chance
+he might possess appeared small; but he was deeply in love and a man
+accustomed to have his own way. Increasing portions of his time and thought
+were devoted to this ambition, and when Phoebe&rsquo;s father spoke as
+recorded, Grimbal jumped at the announcement and pushed for his own hand.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If a man that was a man, with a bit of land and a bit of stuff
+behind him, came along and asked to court her, &rsquo;t would be different, I
+suppose?&rdquo; he inquired.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;d wish just such a man might come, for her sake.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Supposing I asked if I might try to win Phoebe?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;d desire your gude speed, my son. Nothing could please, me
+better.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then I&rsquo;ve got you on my side?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You really mean it? Well, well! Gert news to be sure, an&rsquo; I
+be pleased as Punch to hear &rsquo;e. But take my word, for I&rsquo;m richer
+than you by many years in knawledge of the world, though I haven&rsquo;t seen
+so much of it. Go slow. Wait a while till that brown bwoy graws a bit dim in
+Phoebe&rsquo;s eyes. Your life &rsquo;s afore you, and the gal &rsquo;s
+scarce marriageable, to my thinking. Build your house and bide your
+time.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So be it; and if I don&rsquo;t win her presently, I
+sha&rsquo;n&rsquo;t deserve to.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess, but taake time, lad. She &rsquo;m a dutiful, gude maiden, and
+I&rsquo;d be sore to think my awn words won&rsquo;t carry their weight when
+the right moment comes for speaking &rsquo;em. Blanchard&rsquo;s business
+pulled down the corners of her purty mouth a bit; but young hearts
+caan&rsquo;t keep mournful for ever.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Billy Blee then took his turn on the argument. Thus far he had listened,
+and now, according to his custom, argued on the popular side and bent his
+sail to the prevalent wind of opinion.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You say right, Miller. &rsquo;T is out of nature that a maid should
+fret her innards to fiddlestrings &rsquo;bout a green bwoy when theer&rsquo;s
+ripe men waitin&rsquo; for her.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Never heard better sense,&rdquo; declared John Grimbal, in high
+good-humour; and from the red-letter hour of that conversation he let his
+love grow into a giant. A man of old-fashioned convictions, he honestly
+believed the parent wise who exercised all possible control over a child; and
+in this case personal interest prompted him the more strongly to that
+opinion. Common sense the world over was on his side, and no man with the
+facts before him had been likely to criticise Miller Lyddon on the course of
+action he thought proper to pursue for his daughter&rsquo;s ultimate
+happiness. That he reckoned without his host naturally escaped the
+father&rsquo;s thought at this juncture. Will Blanchard had dwindled in his
+mind to the mere memory of a headstrong youngster, now far removed from the
+scene of his stupidity and without further power to trouble. That he could
+advise John to wait a while until Will&rsquo;s shadow grew less in
+Phoebe&rsquo;s thought, argued kindness and delicacy of mind in Mr. Lyddon.
+Will he only saw and gauged as the rest of the world. He did not fathom all
+of him, as Mrs. Blanchard had said; while concerning Phoebe&rsquo;s inner
+heart and the possibilities of her character, at a pinch, he could speak with
+still less certainty. She was a virgin page, unturned, unscanned. No man knew
+her strength or weakness; she did not know it herself.</p>
+<p>Time progressed; the leaf fell and the long drought was followed by a mild
+autumn of heavy rains. John Grimbal&rsquo;s days were spent between the Red
+House and Monks Barton. His rod was put up; but he had already made friends
+and now shot many partridges. He spent long evenings in the society of Phoebe
+and her father at the farm; and the miller not seldom contrived to be called
+away on these occasions. Billy proved ever ready to assist, and thus the two
+old men did the best in their power to aid Grimbal&rsquo;s suit. In the
+great, comfortable kitchen, generally at some distance from each other,
+Phoebe and the squire of the new Red House would sit. She, now suspecting,
+was shy and uneasy; he, his wits quickened by love, displayed a tact and
+deftness of words not to have been anticipated from him. At first Phoebe took
+fire when Grimbal criticised Will in anything but a spirit of utmost
+friendliness; but it was vital to his own hopes that he should cloud the
+picture painted on her heart if he could; so, by degrees and with all the
+cleverness at his command, he dropped gall into poor Phoebe&rsquo;s cup in
+minute doses. He mourned the extreme improbability of Blanchard&rsquo;s
+success, grounding his doubt on Will&rsquo;s uneven character; he pictured
+Blanchard&rsquo;s fight with the world and showed how probable it was that he
+would make it a losing battle by his own peculiarities of temper. He declared
+the remoteness of happiness for Miss Lyddon in that direction to be extreme;
+he deplored the unstable nature of a young man&rsquo;s affection all the
+world over; and he made solid capital out of the fact that not once since his
+departure had her lover communicated with Phoebe. She argued against this
+that her father had forbidden it; but Mr. Grimbal overrode the objection, and
+asked what man in love would allow himself to be bound by such a command. As
+a matter of fact, Will had sent two messages at different times to his
+sweetheart. These came through Clement Hicks, and only conveyed the
+intelligence that the wanderer was well.</p>
+<p>So Phoebe suffered persistent courting and her soft mould of mind sank a
+little under the storm. Now, weary and weak, she hesitated; now a wave of
+strength fortified her spirit. That John Grimbal should be dogged and
+importunate she took as mere masculine characteristics, and the fact did not
+anger her against him; but what roused her secret indignation almost as often
+as they met was his half-hidden air of sanguine confidence. He was humble in
+a way, always the patient lover, but in his manner she detected an
+indefinable, irritating self-confidence&mdash;the demeanour of one who
+already knows himself a conqueror before the battle is fought.</p>
+<p>Thus the position gradually developed. As yet her father had not spoken to
+Phoebe or pretended to any knowledge of what was doing; but there came a
+night, at the end of November, when John Grimbal, the miller, and Billy sat
+and smoked at Monks Barton after Phoebe&rsquo;s departure to bed. Mr. Blee,
+very well knowing what matter moved the minds of his companions, spoke
+first.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Missy have put on a temperate way of late days it do seem. I most
+begin to think that cat-a-mountain of a bwoy &rsquo;s less in her thoughts
+than he was. She &rsquo;m larnin&rsquo; wisdom, as well she may wi&rsquo;
+sich a faither.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I doan&rsquo;t knaw what to think,&rdquo; answered Mr. Lyddon,
+somewhat gloomily. &ldquo;I ban&rsquo;t so much in her confidence as of auld
+days. Damaris Blanchard&rsquo;s right, like enough. A maid &rsquo;s tu deep
+even for the faither that got her, most times. A sweet, dear gal as ever was,
+for all that. How fares it, John? She never names &rsquo;e to me, though I do
+to her.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m biding my time, neighbour. I reckon &rsquo;t will be
+right one day. It only makes me feel a bit mean now and again to have to say
+hard things about young Blanchard. Still, while she &rsquo;s wrapped up
+there, I may whistle for her.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You &rsquo;m in the right,&rdquo; declared Billy. &ldquo;&rsquo;T
+is an auld sayin&rsquo; that all manner of dealings be fair in love,
+an&rsquo; true no doubt, though I&rsquo;m a bachelor myself an&rsquo; no
+prophet in such matters.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;All&rsquo;s fair for certain,&rdquo; admitted John, as though he
+had not before considered the position from this standpoint.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ay, an&rsquo; a darter&rsquo;s welfare lies in her faither&rsquo;s
+hand. Thank God, I&rsquo;m not a parent to my knowledge; but &rsquo;tis a
+difficult calling in life, an&rsquo; a young maiden gal, purty as a picksher,
+be a heavy load to a honest mind.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So I find it,&rdquo; said the miller.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;ve forbid Will&mdash;lock, stock, and
+barrel&mdash;therefore, of coourse, she &rsquo;s no right to think more of
+him, to begin with,&rdquo; continued the old man. It was a new idea.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Come to think of it, she hasn&rsquo;t&mdash;eh?&rdquo; asked
+John.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, that&rsquo;s true enough,&rdquo; admitted Mr. Lyddon.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I speak, though of low position, but well thought of an&rsquo; at
+Miller&rsquo;s right hand, so to say,&rdquo; continued Mr. Blee; &ldquo;so
+theer &rsquo;t is: Missy&rsquo;s in a dangerous pass. Eve&rsquo;s flesh be
+Eve&rsquo;s flesh, whether hid under flannel or silk, or shawed mother-naked
+to the sun after the manner of furrin cannibals. A gal &rsquo;s a gal;
+an&rsquo; if I was faither of such as your darter, I&rsquo;d count it my
+solemn duty to see her out of the dangers of life an&rsquo; tidily mated to a
+gude man. I&rsquo;d say to myself, &rsquo;Her&rsquo;ll graw to bless me for
+what I&rsquo;ve done, come a few years.&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>So Billy Blee, according to his golden rule, advised men upon the road
+they already desired to follow, and thus increased his reputation for sound
+sense and far-reaching wisdom.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s true, every word he says,&rdquo; declared John
+Grimbal.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I believe it,&rdquo; answered the miller; &ldquo;though God forbid
+any word or act of mine should bring wan tear to Phoebe&rsquo;s cheek. Yet,
+somehow, I doan&rsquo;t knaw but you &rsquo;m right.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I am, believe me. It&rsquo;s the truth. You want Phoebe&rsquo;s
+real happiness considered, and that now depends on&mdash;well, I&rsquo;ll say
+it out&mdash;on me. We have reached the point now when you must speak, as you
+promised to speak, and throw the weight of your influence on my side. Then,
+after you&rsquo;ve had your say, I&rsquo;ll have mine and put the great
+question.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Mr. Lyddon nodded his head and relapsed into taciturnity.</p>
+<h2><a id="I_VI" name="I_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI<br />
+AN UNHAPPY POET</h2>
+<p>That a man of many nerves, uncertain in temper and with no physical or
+temporal qualifications, should have won for himself the handsomest girl in
+Chagford caused the unreflective to marvel whenever they considered the
+point. But a better knowledge of Chris Blauchard had served in some measure
+to explain the wonder. Of all women, she was the least likely to do the thing
+predicted by experience. She had tremendous force of character for one scarce
+twenty years of age; indeed, she lived a superlative life, and the man,
+woman, child, or dog that came within radius of her existence presently
+formed a definite part of it, and was loved or detested according to
+circumstances. Neutrality she could not understand. If her interests were
+wide, her prejudices were strong. A certain unconscious high-handedness of
+manner made the circle of her friends small, but those who did love her were
+enthusiastic. Upon the whole, the number of those who liked her increased
+with years, and avowed enemies had no very definite reasons for aversion. Of
+her physical perfections none pretended two opinions; but the boys had always
+gone rather in fear of Chris, and the few men who had courted her during the
+past few years were all considerably her seniors. No real romance entered
+into this young woman&rsquo;s practical and bustling life until the advent of
+Clement Hicks, though she herself was the flame of hearts not a few before
+his coming.</p>
+<p>Neurotic, sensual, as was Chris herself in a healthy fashion, a man of
+varying moods, and perhaps the richer for faint glimmerings of the real fire,
+Hicks yet found himself no better than an aimless, helpless child before the
+demands of reality. Since boyhood he had lived out of touch with his
+environment. As bee-keeper and sign-writer he made a naked living for himself
+and his mother, and achieved success sufficient to keep a cottage roof over
+their heads, but that was all. Books were his only friends; the old stones of
+the Moor, the lonely wastes, the plaintive music of a solitary bird were the
+companions of his happiest days. He had wit enough to torture half his waking
+hours with self-analysis, and to grit his teeth at his own impotence. But
+there was no strength, no virile grip to take his fate in his own hands and
+mould it like a man. He only mourned his disadvantages, and sometimes blamed
+destiny, sometimes a congenital infirmity of purpose, for the dreary course
+of his life. Nature alone could charm his sullen moods, and that not always.
+Now and again she spread over the face of his existence a transitory
+contentment and a larger hope; but the first contact with facts swept it away
+again. His higher aspirations were neither deep nor enduring, and yet the
+man&rsquo;s love of nature was lofty and just, and represented all the
+religion he had. No moral principles guided him, conscience never pricked.
+Nevertheless, thus far he had been a clean liver and an honest man. Vice,
+because it affronted his sense of the beautiful and usually led towards
+death, did not attract him. He lived too deep in the lap of Nature to be
+deceived by the pseudo-realism then making its appearance in literature, and
+he laughed without mirth at these pictures from city-bred pens at that time
+paraded as the whole truth of the countryman&rsquo;s life. The later school
+was not then above the horizon; the brief and filthy spectacle of those who
+dragged their necrosis, marasmus, and gangrene of body and mind across the
+stage of art and literature, and shrieked Decay, had not as yet appeared to
+make men sicken; the plague-spot, now near healed, had scarce showed the
+faintest angry symptom of coming ill. Hicks might under no circumstances have
+been drawn in that direction, for his morbidity was of a different
+description. Art to this man appeared only in what was wholesome; it even
+embraced a guide to conduct, for it led him directly to Nature, and Nature
+emphatically taught him the value of obedience, the punishment of weakness,
+the reward for excess and every form of self-indulgence. But a softness in
+him shrank from these aspects of the Mother. He tried vainly and feebly to
+dig some rule of life from her smiles alone, to read a sermon into her happy
+hours of high summer sunshine. Beauty was his dream; he possessed natural
+taste, and had cultivated the same without judgment. His intricate
+disposition and extreme sensitiveness frightened him away from much effort at
+self-expression; yet not a few trifling scraps and shreds of lyric poetry had
+fallen from his pen in high moments. These, when the mood changed, he read
+again, and found dead, and usually destroyed. He was more easily discouraged
+than a child who sets out to tell its parent a story, and is all silence and
+shamefaced blushes at the first whisper of laughter or semblance of a smile.
+The works of poets dazed him, disheartened him, and secret ambitions toward
+performance grew dimmer with every book he laid his hands on. Ambition to
+create began to die; the dream scenery of his ill-controlled mental life more
+and more seldom took shape of words on paper; and there came a time when
+thought grew wholly wordless for him; a mere personal pleasure, selfish,
+useless, unsubstantial as the glimmer of mirage over desert sands.</p>
+<p>Into this futile life came Chris, like a breath of sweet air from off the
+deep sea. She lifted him clean out of his subjective existence, awoke a
+healthy, natural love, built on the ordinary emotions of humanity, galvanised
+self-respect and ambition into some activity, and presently inspired a pluck
+strong enough to propose marriage. That was two years ago; and the girl still
+loved this weakly soul with all her heart, found his language unlike that of
+any other man she had seen or heard, and even took some slight softening edge
+of culture into herself from him. Her common sense was absolutely powerless
+to probe even the crust of Clement&rsquo;s nature; but she was satisfied that
+his poetry must be a thing as marketable as that in printed books. Indeed, in
+an elated moment he had assured her that it was so. During the earlier stages
+of their attachment, she pestered him to write and sell his verses and make
+money, that their happiness might be hastened; while he, on the first budding
+of his love, and with the splendid assurance of its return, had promised all
+manner of things, and indeed undertaken to make poems that should be sent by
+post to the far-away place where they printed unknown poets, and paid them.
+Chris believed in Clement as a matter of course. His honey must at least be
+worth more to the world than that of his bees. Over her future husband she
+began at once to exercise the control of mistress and mother; and she loved
+him more dearly after they had been engaged a year than at the beginning of
+the contract. By that time she knew his disposition, and instead of
+displaying frantic impatience at it, as might have been predicted, her
+tolerance was extreme. She bore with Clem because she loved him with the full
+love proper to such a nature as her own; and, though she presently found
+herself powerless to modify his character in any practical degree, his gloomy
+and uneven mind never lessened the sturdy optimism of Chris herself, or her
+sure confidence that the future would unite them. Through her protracted
+engagement Mrs. Blanchard&rsquo;s daughter maintained a lively and sanguine
+cheerfulness. But seldom was it that she lost patience with the dreamer. Then
+her rare, indignant outbursts of commonplace and common sense, like a
+thunderstorm, sweetened the stagnant air of Clement&rsquo;s thoughts and
+awoke new, wholesome currents in his mind.</p>
+<p>As a rule, on the occasion of their frequent country walks, Clem and Chris
+found personal problems and private interests sufficient for all
+conversation, but it happened that upon a Sunday in mid-December, as they
+passed through the valley of the Teign, where the two main streams of that
+river mingle at the foothills of the Moor, the subject of Will and Phoebe for
+a time at least filled their thoughts. The hour was clear and bright, yet
+somewhat cheerless. The sun had already set, from the standpoint of all life
+in the valley, and darkness, hastening out of the east, merged the traceries
+of a million naked boughs into a thickening network of misty grey. The river
+beneath these woods churned in winter flood, while clear against its raving
+one robin sang little tinkling litanies from the branch of an alder.</p>
+<p>Chris stood upon Lee Bridge at the waters&rsquo; meeting and threw scraps
+of wood into the river; Clem sat upon the parapet, smoked his pipe, and noted
+with a lingering delight the play of his sweetheart&rsquo;s lips as her
+fingers strained to snap a tough twig. Then the girl spoke, continuing a
+conversation already entered upon.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Phoebe Lyddon&rsquo;s that weak in will. How far&rsquo;s such as
+her gwaine in life without some person else to lean upon?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If the ivy cannot find a tree it creeps along the ground,
+Chrissy.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess, it do; or else falls headlong awver the first bank it comes
+to. Phoebe&rsquo;s so helpless a maiden as ever made a picksher. I mind her
+at school in the days when we was childer together. Purty as them china
+figures you might buy off Cheap Jack, an&rsquo; just so tender. She&rsquo;d
+come up to dinky gals no bigger &rsquo;n herself an&rsquo; pull out her
+li&rsquo;l handkercher an&rsquo; ax &rsquo;em to be so kind as to blaw her
+nose for her! Now Will&rsquo;s gone, Lard knaws wheer she&rsquo;ll drift
+to.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;To John Grimbal. Any man could see that. Her father&rsquo;s set on
+it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why don&rsquo;t Will write to her and keep her heart up and give
+her a little news? &rsquo;Twould be meat an&rsquo; drink to her. Doan&rsquo;t
+matter &rsquo;bout mother an&rsquo; me. We&rsquo;ll take your word for it
+that Will wants to keep his ways secret. But a sweetheart&mdash;&rsquo;tis so
+differ&rsquo;nt. I wouldn&rsquo;t stand it!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I know right well you wouldn&rsquo;t. Will has his own way. We
+won&rsquo;t criticise him. But there&rsquo;s a masterful man in the
+running&mdash;a prosperous, loud-voiced, bull-necked bully of a man, and one
+not accustomed to take &rsquo;no&rsquo; for his answer. I&rsquo;m afraid of
+John Grimbal in this matter. I&rsquo;ve gone so far as to warn Will, but he
+writes back that he knows Phoebe.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Jan Grimbal&rsquo;s a very differ&rsquo;nt fashion of man to his
+brother; that I saw in a moment when they bided with us for a week, till the
+&rsquo;Three Crowns&rsquo; could take &rsquo;em in. I hate Jan&mdash;hate him
+cruel; but I like Martin. He puts me in mind o&rsquo; you, Clem, wi&rsquo;
+his nice way of speech and tender quickness for women. But it&rsquo;s Phoebe
+we&rsquo;m speaking of. I think you should write stern to Will an&rsquo;
+frighten him. It ban&rsquo;t fair fightin&rsquo;, that poor, dear Phoebe
+&rsquo;gainst the will o&rsquo; two strong men.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, she&rsquo;s had paltry food for a lover since he went away.
+He&rsquo;s got certain ideas, and she&rsquo;ll hear direct when&mdash;but
+there, I must shut my mouth, for I swore by fantastic oaths to say
+nothing.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He ought to write, whether or no. You tell Will that Jan Grimbal be
+about building a braave plaace up under Whiddon, and is looking for a wife at
+Monks Barton morning, noon, an&rsquo; evening. That&rsquo;s like to waken
+him. An&rsquo; tell him the miller&rsquo;s on t&rsquo;other side, and
+clacking Jan Grimbal into Phoebe&rsquo;s ear steadier than the noise of his
+awn water-wheel.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And she will grow weak, mark me. She sees that red-brick place
+rising out of the bare boughs, higher and higher, and knows that from floor
+to attics all may be hers if she likes to say the word. She hears great talk
+of drawing-rooms, and pictures, and pianos, and greenhouses full of rare
+flowers, and all the rest&mdash;why, just think of it!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ban&rsquo;t many gals as could stand &rsquo;gainst a piano, I
+daresay.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I only know one&mdash;mine.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Chris looked at him curiously.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You &rsquo;m right. An&rsquo; that, for some queer reason, puts me
+in mind of the other wan, Martin Grimbal. He was very pleasant to
+me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;s too late, thank God!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess, fay! An&rsquo; if he&rsquo;d comed afore &rsquo;e, Clem,
+he&rsquo;d been tu early. Theer&rsquo;s awnly wan man in the gert world for
+me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My gypsy!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But I didn&rsquo;t mean that. He wouldn&rsquo;t look at me, not
+even if I was a free woman. &rsquo;T was of you I thought when I talked to
+Mr. Grimbal. He&rsquo;m well-to-do, and be seekin&rsquo; a house in the
+higher quarter under Middledown. You an&rsquo; him have the same fancy for
+the auld stones. So you might grow into friends&mdash;eh, Clem?
+Couldn&rsquo;t it so fall out? He might serve to help&mdash;eh? You &rsquo;m
+two-and-thirty year auld next February, an&rsquo; it do look as though they
+silly bees ban&rsquo;t gwaine to put money enough in the bank to spell a
+weddin&rsquo; for us this thirty year to come. Theer&rsquo;s awnly your aunt,
+Widow Coomstock, as you can look to for a penny, and that tu doubtful to
+count on.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t name her, Chris. Good Lord! poor drunken old thing,
+with that crowd of hungry relations waiting like vultures round a dying
+camel! Never think of her. Money she has, but I sha&rsquo;n&rsquo;t see the
+colour of it, and I don&rsquo;t want to.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, let that bide. Martin Grimbal&rsquo;s the man in my
+thought.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What can I do there?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Doan&rsquo;t knaw, &rsquo;zactly; but things might fall out if he
+got to like you, being a bookish sort of man. Anyway, he&rsquo;s very willing
+to be friends, for that he told me. Doan&rsquo;t bear yourself like Lucifer
+afore him; but take the first chance to let him knaw your fortune&rsquo;s in
+need of mendin&rsquo;.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You say that! D&rsquo; you think self-respect is dead in me?&rdquo;
+he asked, half angry.</p>
+<p>There was no visible life about them, so she put her arms round him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I ax for love of &rsquo;e, dearie, an&rsquo; for want of &rsquo;e.
+Do &rsquo;e think waitin&rsquo; &rsquo;s sweeter for me than for
+you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then he calmed down again, sighed, returned the caress, touched her, and
+stroked her breast and shoulder with sudden earthly light in his great
+eyes.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It &rsquo;s hard to wait.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s why I say doan&rsquo;t lose chances that may mean a
+weddin&rsquo; for us, Clem. Theer &rsquo;s so much hid in &rsquo;e, if awnly
+the way to bring it out could be found.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A mine that won&rsquo;t pay working,&rdquo; he said bitterly, the
+passion fading out of eyes and voice. &ldquo;I know there &rsquo;s something
+hidden; I feel there &rsquo;s a twist of brain that ought to rise above
+keeping bees and take me higher than honey-combs. Yet look at hard truth. The
+clods round me get enough by their sweat to keep wives and feed children.
+I&rsquo;m only a penniless, backboneless, hand-to-mouth wretch, living on the
+work of laborious insects.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If it ban&rsquo;t your awn fault, then whose be it,
+Clem?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The fault of Chance&mdash;to pack my build of brains into the skull
+of a pauper. This poor, unfinished abortion of a head-piece of mine only
+dreams dreams that it cannot even set on paper for others to see.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;ve given up trying whether it can or not,
+seemin&rsquo;ly. I never hear tell of no verses now.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What &rsquo;s the good? But only last night, so it happens, I had a
+sort of a wild feeling to get something out of myself, and I scribbled for
+hours and hours and found a little morsel of a rhyme.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Will &rsquo;e read it to me?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He showed reluctance, but presently dragged a scrap of paper out of his,
+pocket. Not a small source of trouble was his sweetheart&rsquo;s criticism of
+his verses.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It was the common sight of a pair of lovers walking tongue-tied,
+you know. I call it &lsquo;A Devon Courting.&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He read the trifle slowly, with that grand, rolling sea-beat of an accent
+that Elizabeth once loved to hear on the lips of Raleigh and Drake.</p>
+<p class="poem">&ldquo;Birds gived awver singin&rsquo;,<br />
+Flittermice was wingin&rsquo;,<br />
+Mists lay on the meadows&mdash;<br />
+<span class="i2">A purty sight to see.</span><br />
+Down-long in the dimpsy, the dimpsy, the dimpsy,<br />
+<span class="i2">Down-long in the dimpsy</span><br />
+Theer went a maid wi&rsquo; me.<br />
+<br />
+&ldquo;Five gude mile o&rsquo; walkin&rsquo;,<br />
+Not wan word o&rsquo; talkin&rsquo;,<br />
+Then I axed a question<br />
+<span class="i2">And put the same to she.</span><br />
+Up-long in the owl-light, the owl-light, the owl-light,<br />
+<span class="i2">Up-long in the owl-light,</span><br />
+Theer corned my maid wi&rsquo; me.&rdquo;<br /></p>
+<p class="i0">&ldquo;But I wonder you write the common words, Clem&mdash;you
+who be so much tu clever to use &rsquo;em.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The words are well enough. They were not common once.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, you knaw best. Could &rsquo;e sell such a li&rsquo;l auld
+funny thing as that for money?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He shook his head.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No; it was only the toil of making it seemed good. It is
+worthless.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; to think how long it took &rsquo;e! If you&rsquo;d awnly
+put the time into big-fashioned verses full of the high words you&rsquo;ve
+got. But you knaw best. Did &rsquo;e hear anything of them rhymes &rsquo;bout
+the auld days you sent to Lunnon?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They sent them back again. I told you &rsquo;t was wasting three
+stamps. It &rsquo;s not for me, I know it. The world is full of dumb singers.
+Maybe I haven&rsquo;t got even a pinch of the fire that <i>must</i> break
+through and show its flame, no matter what mountains the earth tumbles on it.
+God knows I burn hot enough sometimes with great thoughts and wild longings
+for love and for sweeter life and for you; but my fires&mdash;whether they
+are soul-fires or body-fires&mdash;only burn my heart out.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She sighed and squeezed his hand, understanding little enough of what he
+said.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We must be patient. &rsquo;T is a solid thing, patience. I&rsquo;m
+puttin&rsquo; by pence; but it &rsquo;s so plaguy little a gal can earn, best
+o&rsquo; times and with the best will.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If I could only write the things I think! But they vanish before
+pen and paper and the need of words, as the mists of the night vanish before
+the hard, searching sun. I am ignorant of how to use words; and those in the
+world who might help me will never know of me. As for those around about,
+they reckon me three parts fool, with just a little gift of re-writing names
+over their dirty shop-fronts.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yet it &rsquo;s money. What did &rsquo;e get for that butivul fox
+wi&rsquo; the goose in his mouth you painted &rsquo;pon Mr. Lamacraft&rsquo;s
+sign to Sticklepath?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ten shillings.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s solid money.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It isn&rsquo;t now. I bought a book with it&mdash;a book of
+lies.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Chris was going to speak, but changed her mind and sighed instead.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, as our affairs be speeding so poorly, we&rsquo;d best to do
+some gude deed an&rsquo; look after this other coil. You must let Will knaw
+what &rsquo;s doin&rsquo; by letter this very night. &rsquo;T is awnly fair,
+you being set in trust for him.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Strange, these Grimbal brothers,&rdquo; mused Clement, as the
+lovers proceeded in the direction of Chagford. &ldquo;They come home with
+everything on God&rsquo;s earth that men might desire to win happiness, and,
+by the look of it, each marks his home-coming by falling in love with one he
+can&rsquo;t have.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Shaws the fairness of things, Clem; how the poor may chance to have
+what the rich caan&rsquo;t buy; so all look to stand equal.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Fairness, you call it? The damned, cynical irony of this whole
+passion-driven puppet-show&mdash;that&rsquo;s what it shows! The man who is
+loved cannot marry the woman he loves lest they both starve; the man who can
+give a woman half the world is loathed for his pains. Not that he &rsquo;s to
+be pitied like the pauper, for if you can&rsquo;t buy love you can buy women,
+and the wise ones know how to manufacture a very lasting substitute for the
+real thing.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You talk that black and bitter as though you was deep-read in all
+the wickedness of the world,&rdquo; said Chris; &ldquo;yet I knaw no man can
+say sweeter things than you sometimes.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Talk! It &rsquo;s all talk with me&mdash;all snarling and railing
+and whining at hard facts, like a viper wasting its venom on steel. I&rsquo;m
+sick of myself&mdash;weary of the old, stale round of my thoughts. Where can
+I wash and be clean? Chrissy, for God&rsquo;s sake, tell me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Put your hope in the Spring,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;an&rsquo; be
+busy for Will.&rdquo; In reality, with the approach of Christmas, affairs
+between Phoebe and the elder Grimbal had reached a point far in advance of
+that which Clement and Chris were concerned with. For more than three months,
+and under a steadily increasing weight of opposition, Miller Lyddon&rsquo;s
+daughter fought without shadow of yielding. Then came a time when the calm
+but determined iteration of her father&rsquo;s desires and the sledge-hammer
+love-making of John Grimbal began to leave an impression. Even then her love
+for Will was bright and strong, but her sense of helplessness fretted her
+nerves and temper, and her sweetheart&rsquo;s laconic messages, through the
+medium of another man, were sorry comfort in this hour of tribulation. With
+some reason she felt slighted. Neither considering Will&rsquo;s
+peculiarities, nor suspecting that his silence was only, the result of a whim
+or project, she began to resent it. Then John Grimbal caught her in a
+dangerous mood. Once she wavered, and he had the wisdom to leave her at the
+moment of victory. But on the next occasion of their meeting, he took good
+care to keep the advantage he had gained. Conscious of his own honest and
+generous intentions, Grimbal went on his way. The subtler manifestations of
+Phoebe&rsquo;s real attitude towards him escaped his observation; her
+reluctance he set down as resulting from the dying shadow of affection for
+Will Blanchard. That she would be very happy and proud and prosperous in the
+position of his wife, the lover was absolutely assured. He pursued her with
+the greater determination, in that he believed he was saving her from
+herself. What were some few months of vague uncertainty and girlish tears
+compared with a lifetime of prosperity and solid happiness? John Grimbal made
+Phoebe handsome presents of pretty and costly things after the first great
+victory. He pushed his advantage with tremendous vigour. His great face
+seemed reflected in Phoebe&rsquo;s eyes when she slept as when she woke; his
+voice was never out of her ears. Weary, hopeless, worn out, she prayed
+sometimes for strength of purpose. But it was a trait denied to her character
+and not to be bestowed at a breath. Her stability of defence, even as it
+stood, was remarkable and beyond expectation. Then the sure climax rolled in
+upon poor Phoebe. Twice she sought Clement Hicks with purpose to send an
+urgent message; on each occasion accident prevented a meeting; her father was
+always smiling and droning his desires into her ear; John Grimbal haunted
+her. His good-nature and kindness were hard to bear; his patience made her
+frantic. So the investment drew to its conclusion and the barriers crumbled,
+for the forces besieged were too weak and worn to restore them; while a last
+circumstance brought victory to the stronger and proclaimed the final
+overthrow.</p>
+<p>This culmination resulted from a visit to the spiritual head of
+Phoebe&rsquo;s dwelling-place. The Rev. James Shorto-Champernowne, Vicar of
+Chagford, made an appointment to discuss the position with Mr. Lyddon and his
+daughter. A sportsman of the old type, and a cleric of rare reputation for
+good sense and fairness to high and low, was Mr. Shorto-Champernowne, but it
+happened that his more tender emotions had been buried with a young wife
+these forty years, and children he had none. Nevertheless, taking the
+standpoint of parental discipline, he held Phoebe&rsquo;s alleged engagement
+a vain thing, not to be considered seriously. Moreover, he knew of
+Will&rsquo;s lapses in the past; and that was fatal.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My child, have little doubt that both religion and duty point in
+one direction and with no faltering hands,&rdquo; he said, in his stately
+way. &ldquo;Communicate with the young man, inform him that conversation with
+myself has taken place; then he can hardly maintain an attitude of doubt,
+either to the exalted convictions that have led to your decision, or to the
+propriety of it. And, further, do not omit an opportunity of well-doing, but
+conclude your letter with a word of counsel. Pray him to seek a Guide to his
+future life, the only Guide able to lead him aright. I mean his Mother
+Church. No man who turns his back upon her can be either virtuous or happy. I
+mourned his defection from our choir some years ago. You see I forget nobody.
+My eyes are everywhere, as they ought to be. Would that he could be whipped
+back to the House of God&mdash;with scorpions, if necessary! There is a
+cowardice, a lack of sportsmanlike feeling, if I may so express it, in these
+fallings away from the Church of our fathers. It denotes a failing of
+intellect amid the centres of human activity. There is a blight of unbelief
+abroad&mdash;a nebulous, pestilential rationalism. Acquaint him with these
+facts; they may serve to re-establish one whose temperament must be regarded
+as abnormal in the light of his great eccentricity of action. Now farewell,
+and God be with you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The rotund, grey-whiskered clergyman waved his hand; Miller Lyddon and his
+daughter left the vicarage; while both heard, as it seemed, his studied
+phrases and sonorous voice rolling after them all the way home. But poor
+Phoebe felt that the main issues as to conscience were now only too clear;
+her last anchor was wrenched from its hold, and that night, through a mist of
+unhappy tears, she succumbed, promised to marry John Grimbal and be queen of
+the red castle now rising under Cranbrook&rsquo;s distant heights.</p>
+<p>That we have dealt too scantily with her tragic experiences may be
+suspected; but the sequel will serve to show how these circumstances demand
+no greater elaboration than has been accorded to them.</p>
+<h2><a id="I_VII" name="I_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII<br />
+LIBATION TO POMONA</h2>
+<p>A WINTER moon threw black shadows from stock and stone, tree and cot in
+the valley of the Teign. Heavy snow had fallen, and moor-men, coming down
+from the highlands, declared it to lie three feet deep in the drifts. Now
+fine, sharp weather had succeeded the storm, and hard frost held both hill
+and vale.</p>
+<p>On Old Christmas Eve a party numbering some five-and-twenty persons
+assembled in the farmyard of Monks Barton, and Billy Blee, as master of the
+pending ceremonies, made them welcome. Some among them were aged, others
+youthful; indeed the company consisted mostly of old men and boys, a
+circumstance very easily understood when the nature of their enterprise is
+considered. The ancients were about to celebrate a venerable rite and
+sacrifice to a superstition, active in their boyhood, moribund at the date
+with which we are concerned, and to-day probably dead altogether. The sweet
+poet<a id="footnotetag2" name="footnotetag2"></a><a href=
+"#footnote2"><sup>2</sup></a> of Dean Prior mentions this quaint, old-time
+custom of &ldquo;christening&rdquo; or &ldquo;wassailing&rdquo; the
+fruit-trees among Christmas-Eve ceremonies; and doubtless when he dwelt in
+Devon the use was gloriously maintained; but an adult generation in the years
+of this narrative had certainly refused it much support. It was left to their
+grandfathers and their sons; and thus senility and youth preponderated in the
+present company. For the boys, this midnight fun with lantern and
+fowling-piece was good Christmas sport, and they came readily enough; to the
+old men their ceremonial possessed solid value, and from the musty storehouse
+of his memory every venerable soul amongst them could cite instances of the
+sovereign virtue hid in such a procedure.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A brave rally o&rsquo; neighbours, sure &rsquo;nough,&rdquo; cried
+Mr. Blee as he appeared amongst them. &ldquo;Be Gaffer Lezzard
+come?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Here, Billy.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Hast thy fire-arm, Lezzard?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess, &rsquo;t is here. My gran&rsquo;son&rsquo;s carrying of it;
+but I holds the powder-flask an&rsquo; caps, so no ruin be threatened to
+none.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Mr. Lezzard wore a black smock-frock, across the breast of which extended
+delicate and skilful needlework. His head was hidden under an old chimney-pot
+hat with a pea-cock&rsquo;s feather in it, and, against the cold, he had tied
+a tremendous woollen muffler round his neck and about his ears. The ends of
+it hung down over his coat, and the general effect of smock, comforter,
+gaitered shanks, boots tied up in straw, long nose, and shining spectacles,
+was that of some huge and ungainly bird, hopped from out a fairy-tale or a
+nightmare.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Be Maister Chappie here likewise?&rdquo; inquired Billy.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m waitin&rsquo;; an&rsquo; I&rsquo;ve got a fowling-piece,
+tu.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s gude then. I be gwaine to carry the auld blunderbuss
+what&rsquo;s been in Miller Lyddon&rsquo;s family since the years of his
+ancestors, and belonged to a coach-guard in the King&rsquo;s days. &rsquo;T
+is well suited to apple-christenin&rsquo;. The cider&rsquo;s here, in three
+o&rsquo; the biggest earth pitchers us&rsquo;a&rsquo; got, an&rsquo; the lads
+is ready to bring it along. The Maister Grimbals, as will be related to the
+family presently, be comin&rsquo; to see the custom, an&rsquo; Miller wants
+every man to step back-along arterwards an&rsquo; have a drop o&rsquo; the
+best, &rsquo;cordin&rsquo; to his usual gracious gudeness. Now, Lezzard, me
+an&rsquo; you&rsquo;ll lead the way.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Mr. Blee then shouldered his ancient weapon, the other veteran marched
+beside him, and the rest of the company followed in the direction of Chagford
+Bridge. They proceeded across the fields; and along the procession bobbed a
+lantern or two, while a few boys carried flaring torches. The light from
+these killed the moonbeams within a narrow radius, shot black tongues of
+smoke into the clear air, and set the meadows glimmering redly where
+contending radiance of moon and fire powdered the virgin snow with diamond
+and ruby. Snake-like the party wound along beside the river. Dogs barked;
+voices rang clear on the crystal night; now and again, with laughter and
+shout, the lads raced hither and thither from their stolid elders, and here
+and there jackets carried the mark of a snowball. Behind the procession a
+trampled grey line stretched out under the moonlight. Then all passed like
+some dim, magic pageant of a dream; the distant dark blot of naked woodlands
+swallowed them up, and the voices grew faint and ceased. Only the endless
+song of the river sounded, with a new note struck into it by the world of
+snow.</p>
+<p>For a few moments the valley was left empty, so empty that a fox, who had
+been prowling unsuccessfully about Monks Barton since dusk, took the
+opportunity to leave his hiding-place above the ducks&rsquo; pool, cross the
+meadows, and get him home to his earth two miles distant. He slunk with
+pattering foot across the snow, marking his way by little regular paw-pits
+and one straight line where his brush roughened the surface. Steam puffed in
+jets from his muzzle, and his empty belly made him angry with the world. At
+the edge of the woods he lifted his head, and the moonlight touched his green
+eyes. Then he recorded a protest against Providence in one eerie bark, and so
+vanished, before the weird sound had died.</p>
+<p>Phoebe Lyddon and her lover, having given the others some vantage of
+ground, followed them to their destination&mdash;Mr. Lyddon&rsquo;s famous
+orchard in Teign valley. The girl&rsquo;s dreary task of late had been to
+tell herself that she would surely love John Grimbal presently&mdash;love him
+as such a good man deserved to be loved. Only under the silence and in the
+loneliness of long nights, only in the small hours of day, when sleep would
+not come and pulses were weak, did Phoebe confess that contact with him hurt
+her, that his kisses made her giddy to sickness, that all his gifts put
+together were less to her than one treasure she was too weak to
+destroy&mdash;the last letter Will had written. Once or twice, not to her
+future husband, but to the miller, Phoebe had ventured faintly to question
+still the promise of this great step; but Mr. Lyddon quickly overruled all
+doubts, and assisted John Grimbal in his efforts to hasten the ceremony. Upon
+this day, Old Christmas Eve, the wedding-day lay not a month distant and,
+afterwards the husband designed to take his wife abroad for a trip to South
+Africa. Thus he would combine business and pleasure, and return in the spring
+to witness the completion of his house. Chagford highly approved the match,
+congratulated Phoebe on her fortune, and felt secretly gratified that a
+personage grown so important as John Grimbal should have chosen his
+life&rsquo;s partner from among the maidens of his native village.</p>
+<p>Now the pair walked over the snow; and silent and stealthy as the vanished
+fox, a grey figure followed after them. Dim as some moon-spirit against the
+brightness, this shape stole forward under the rough hedge that formed a bank
+and threw a shadow between meadow and stream. In repose the grey man, for a
+man it was, looked far less substantial than the stationary outlines of
+fences and trees; and when he moved it had needed a keen eye to see him at
+all. He mingled with the moonlight and snow, and became a part of a strange
+inversion of ordinary conditions; for in this white, hushed world the shadows
+alone seemed solid and material in their black nakedness, in their keen
+sharpness of line and limit, while things concrete and ponderable shone out a
+silvery medley of snow-capped, misty traceries, vague of outline, uncertain
+of shape, magically changed as to their relations by the unfamiliar carpet
+now spread between them.</p>
+<p>The grey figure kept Phoebe in sight, but followed a path of his own
+choosing. When she entered the woods he drew a little nearer, and thus
+followed, passing from shadow to shadow, scarce fifty yards behind.</p>
+<p>Meanwhile the main procession approached the scene of its labours. Martin
+Grimbal, attracted by the prospect of reading this page from an old Devonian
+superstition, was of the company. He walked with Billy Blee and Gaffer
+Lezzard; and these high priests, well pleased at their junior&rsquo;s
+attitude towards the ceremony, opened their hearts to him upon it.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;T is an ancient rite, auld as cider&mdash;maybe auld as
+Scripture, to, for anything I&rsquo;ve heard to the contrary,&rdquo; said Mr.
+Lezzard.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ay, so &rsquo;t is,&rdquo; declared Billy Blee, &ldquo;an&rsquo; a
+custom to little observed nowadays. But us might have better blooth in
+springtime an&rsquo; braaver apples come autumn if the trees was christened
+more regular. You doan&rsquo;t see no gert stock of sizable apples best
+o&rsquo; years now&mdash;li&rsquo;l scrubbly auld things most
+times.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; the cider from &rsquo;em&mdash;poor roapy muck, awnly fit
+to make &rsquo;e thirst for better drink,&rdquo; criticised Gaffer
+Lezzard.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis this way: theer&rsquo;s gert virtue in cider put to
+apple-tree roots on this particular night, accordin&rsquo; to the planets and
+such hidden things. Why so, I can&rsquo;t tell &rsquo;e, any more &rsquo;n
+anybody could tell &rsquo;e why the moon sails higher up the sky in winter
+than her do in summer; but so &rsquo;t is. An&rsquo; facts be facts. Why,
+theer&rsquo;s the auld &lsquo;Sam&rsquo;s Crab&rsquo; tree in this very
+orchard we&rsquo;m walkin&rsquo; to. I knawed that tree three year ago to
+give a hogshead an&rsquo; a half as near as damn it. That wan tree, mind,
+with no more than a few baskets of &lsquo;Redstreaks&rsquo; added.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; a shy bearer most times, tu,&rdquo; added Mr.
+Lezzard.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Just so; then come next year, by some mischance, me being indoors,
+if they didn&rsquo;t forget to christen un! An&rsquo;, burnish it all! theer
+wasn&rsquo;t fruit enough on the tree to fill your pockets!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Whether &rsquo;t is the firing into the branches, or the cider to
+the roots does gude, be a matter of doubt,&rdquo; continued Mr. Lezzard; but
+the other authority would not admit this.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They &rsquo;m like the halves of a flail, depend on it: wan no use
+wi&rsquo;out t&rsquo;other. Then theer&rsquo;s the singing of the auld song:
+who&rsquo;s gwaine to say that&rsquo;s the least part of it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;T is the three pious acts thrawn together in wan gude
+deed,&rdquo; summed up Mr. Lezzard; &ldquo;an&rsquo; if they&rsquo;d awnly
+let apples get ripe &rsquo;fore they break &rsquo;em, an&rsquo; go back to
+the straw for straining, &rsquo;stead of these tom-fule, new-fangled
+hair-cloths, us might get tidy cider still.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>By this time the gate of the orchard was reached; Gaffer Lezzard, Billy,
+and the other patriarch, Mr. Chapple,&mdash;a very fat old man,&mdash;loaded
+their weapons, and the perspiring cider-carriers set down their loads.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Now, you bwoys, give awver runnin&rsquo; &rsquo;bout like
+rabbits,&rdquo; cried out Mr. Chapple. &ldquo;You &rsquo;m here to sing while
+us pours cider an&rsquo; shoots in the trees; an&rsquo; not a drop
+you&rsquo;ll have if you doan&rsquo;t give tongue proper, so I tell
+&rsquo;e.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>At this rebuke the boys assembled, and there followed a hasty gabbling, to
+freshen the words in young and uncertain memories. Then a small vessel was
+dipped under floating toast, that covered the cider in the great pitchers,
+and the ceremony of christening the orchard began. Only the largest and most
+famous apple-bearers were thus saluted, for neither cider nor gunpowder
+sufficient to honour more than a fraction of the whole multitude existed in
+all Chagford. The orchard, viewed from the east, stretched in long lines,
+like the legions of some arboreal army; the moon set sparks and streaks of
+light on every snowy fork and bough; and at the northwestern foot of each
+tree a network of spidery shadow-patterns, sharp and black, extended upon the
+snow.</p>
+<p>Mr. Blee himself made the first libation, led the first chorus, and fired
+the first shot. Steaming cider poured from his mug, vanished, sucked in at
+the tree-foot, and left a black patch upon the snow at the hole of the trunk;
+then he stuck a fragment of sodden toast on a twig; after which the
+christening song rang out upon the night&mdash;ragged at first, but settling
+into resolute swing and improved time as its music proceeded. The lusty
+treble of the youngsters soon drowned the notes of their grandfathers; for
+the boys took their measure at a pace beyond the power of Gaffer Lezzard and
+his generation, and sang with heart and voice to keep themselves warm. The
+song has variants, but this was their version&mdash;</p>
+<p class="poem">&ldquo;Here &rsquo;s to thee, auld apple-tree,<br />
+Be sure you bud, be sure you blaw,<br />
+And bring forth apples good enough&mdash;<br />
+Hats full, caps full, three-bushel bags full,<br />
+<span class="i2">Pockets full and all&mdash;</span><br />
+Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!<br />
+<span class="i4">Hats full, caps full, three-bushel bags full,</span><br />
+<span class="i6">Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!&rdquo;</span></p>
+<p>Then Billy fired his blunderbuss, and a flame leapt from its bell mouth
+into the branches of the apple-tree, while surrounding high lands echoed its
+report with a reverberating bellow that rose and fell, and was flung from
+hill to hill, until it gradually faded upon the ear. The boys cheered again,
+everybody drank a drop of the cider, and from under a cloud of blue smoke,
+that hung flat as a pancake above them in the still air, all moved onward.
+Presently the party separated into three groups, each having a gunner to lead
+it, half a dozen boys to sing, and a dwindling jar of cider for the purposes
+of the ceremony. The divided choirs clashed their music, heard from a
+distance; the guns fired at intervals, each sending forth its own particular
+detonation and winning back a distinctive echo; then the companies separated
+widely and decreased to mere twinkling, torchlit points in the distance.
+Accumulated smoke from the scattered discharges hung in a sluggish haze
+between earth and moon, and a sharp smell of burnt powder tainted the
+sweetness of the frosty night.</p>
+<p>Upon this scene arrived John Grirnbal and his sweetheart. They stood for a
+while at the open orchard gate, gazed at the remote illumination, and heard
+the distant song. Then they returned to discussion of their own affairs;
+while at hand, unseen, the grey watcher moved impatiently and anxiously. The
+thing he desired did not come about, and he blew on his cold hands and swore
+under his breath. Only an orchard hedge now separated them, and he might have
+listened to Phoebe&rsquo;s soft speech had he crept ten yards nearer, while
+John Grimbal&rsquo;s voice he could not help hearing from time to time. The
+big man was just asking a question not easy to answer, when an unexpected
+interruption saved Phoebe from the difficulty of any reply.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Sometimes I half reckon a memory of that blessed boy still makes
+you glum, my dear. Is it so? Haven&rsquo;t you forgot him yet?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>As he spoke an explosion, differing much in sound from those which
+continued to startle the night, rang suddenly out of the distance. It arose
+from a spot on the confines of the orchard, and was sharp in tone&mdash;sharp
+almost as the human cries which followed it. Then the distant lights hastened
+towards the theatre of the catastrophe. &ldquo;What has happened?&rdquo;
+cried Phoebe, thankful enough to snatch conversation away from herself and
+her affairs.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Easy to guess. That broken report means a burst gun. One of those
+old fools has got excited, put too much powder into his blunderbuss and blown
+his head off, likely as not. No loss either!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Please, please go and see! Oh, if &rsquo;tis Billy Blee come to
+grief, faither will be lost. Do &rsquo;e run, Mr. Grimbal&mdash;Jan, I mean.
+If any grave matter&rsquo;s failed out, send them bwoys off red-hot for
+doctor.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Stop here, then. If any ugly thing has happened, there need be no
+occasion for you to see it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He departed hastily to where a distant galaxy of fiery eyes twinkled and
+tangled and moved this way and that, like the dying sparks on a piece of
+burnt paper.</p>
+<p>Then the patient grey shadow, rewarded by chance at last, found his
+opportunity, slipped into the hedge just above Grimbal&rsquo;s sweetheart,
+and spoke to her.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Phoebe, Phoebe Lyddon!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The voice, dropping out of empty air as it seemed, made Phoebe jump, and
+almost fall; but there was an arm gripped round her, and a pair of hot lips
+on hers before she had time to open her mouth or cry a word.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Will!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess, so I be, alive an&rsquo; kicking. No time for anything but
+business now. I&rsquo;ve followed &rsquo;e for this chance. Awnly heard four
+day ago &rsquo;bout the fix you&rsquo;d been drove to. An&rsquo; Clem&rsquo;s
+made it clear &rsquo;t was all my damn silly silence to blame. I had a gert
+thought in me and wasn&rsquo;t gwaine to write till&mdash;but that&rsquo;s
+awver an&rsquo; done, an&rsquo; a purty kettle of feesh, tu. We must faace
+this coil first.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Thank God, you can forgive me. I&rsquo;d never have had courage to
+ax &rsquo;e.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You was drove into it. I knaw there&rsquo;s awnly wan man in the
+world for &rsquo;e. Ban&rsquo;t nothin&rsquo; to forgive. I never ought to
+have left &rsquo;e&mdash;a far-seein&rsquo; man, same as me. Blast him!
+I&rsquo;d like to tear thicky damned fur off you, for I lay it comed from
+him.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They were killing me, Will; and never a word from you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I knaw, I knaw. What&rsquo;s wan girl against a parish full,
+an&rsquo; a blustering chap made o&rsquo; diamonds?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The things doan&rsquo;t warm me; they make me shiver. But
+now&mdash;you can forgive me&mdash;that&rsquo;s all I care for. What shall I
+do? How can I escape it? Oh, Will, say I can!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;In coourse you can. Awnly wan way, though; an&rsquo; that&rsquo;s
+why I&rsquo;m here. Us must be married right on end. Then he&rsquo;s got no
+more power over &rsquo;e than a drowned worm, nor Miller, nor any.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;To think you can forgive me enough to marry me after all my
+wickedness! I never dreamed theer was such a big heart in the world as
+yourn.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why, we promised, didn&rsquo;t us? We&rsquo;m built for each other.
+I knawed I&rsquo;d only got to come. An&rsquo; I have, at cost, tu, I promise
+&rsquo;e. Now we&rsquo;ll be upsides wi&rsquo; this tramp from furrin paarts,
+if awnly you do ezacally what I be gwaine to tell you. I&rsquo;d meant to
+write it, but I can speak it better as the chance has come.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Phoebe&rsquo;s heart glowed at this tremendous change in the position. She
+forgot everything before sight and sound of Will. The nature of her promises
+weakened to gossamer. Her first love was the only love for her, and his voice
+fortified her spirit and braced her nerves. A chance for happiness yet
+remained and she, who had endured enough, was strong in determination to win
+it yet at any cost if a woman could.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If you awnly knawed the half I&rsquo;ve suffered before they forced
+me, you&rsquo;d forgive,&rdquo; she said. His frank pardon she could hardly
+realise. It seemed altogether beyond the desert of her weakness.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Let that bide. It&rsquo;s the future now. Clem&rsquo;s told me
+everything. Awnly you and him an&rsquo; Chris knaw I&rsquo;m here. Chris will
+serve &rsquo;e. Us must play a hidden game, an&rsquo; fight this Grimbal chap
+as he fought me&mdash;behind back. Listen; to-day fortnight you an&rsquo; me
+&rsquo;m gwaine to be married afore the registrar to Newton Abbot. He
+&rsquo;m my awn Uncle Ford, as luck has it, an&rsquo; quite o&rsquo; my way
+o&rsquo; thinkin&rsquo; when I told him how &rsquo;t was, an&rsquo; that Jan
+Grimbal was gwaine to marry you against your will. He advised me, and
+I&rsquo;m biding in Newton for next two weeks, so as the thing comes out
+right by law. But you&rsquo;ve got to keep it still as death.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If I could awnly fly this instant moment with &rsquo;e!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You caan&rsquo;t. &rsquo;T would spoil all. You must stop home,
+an&rsquo; hear your banns put up with Grimbal, an&rsquo; all the rest of it.
+Wish I could! Meat an&rsquo; drink &rsquo;t would be, by God! But he&rsquo;ll
+get his pay all right. An&rsquo; afore the day comes, you nip off to Newton,
+an&rsquo; I&rsquo;ll meet &rsquo;e, an&rsquo; us&rsquo;ll be married in a
+wink, an&rsquo; you&rsquo;ll be back home again to Monks Barton &rsquo;fore
+you knaw it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Is that the awnly way? Oh, Will, how terrible!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;God knaws I&rsquo;ve done worse &rsquo;n that. But no man&rsquo;s
+gwaine to steal the maid of my choosin&rsquo; from me while I&rsquo;ve got
+brains and body to prevent it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Let me look at you, lovey&mdash;just the same, just the same!
+&rsquo;Tis glorious to hear your voice again. But this thin coat, so butivul
+in shaape, tu! You &rsquo;m a gentleman by the look of it; but &rsquo;t is
+summer wear, not winter.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess, &rsquo;tis cold enough; an&rsquo; I&rsquo;ve got to get back
+to Newton to-night. An&rsquo; never breathe that man&rsquo;s name no more.
+I&rsquo;ll shaw &rsquo;e wat &rsquo;s a man an&rsquo; what ban&rsquo;t. Steal
+my true love, would &rsquo;e?&mdash;God forgive un, I shaan&rsquo;t&mdash;not
+till we &rsquo;m man an&rsquo; wife, anyway. Then I might. Give &rsquo;e up!
+Be I a chap as chaanges? Never&mdash;never yet.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Phoebe wept at these words and pressed Will to her heart.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis strength, an&rsquo; fire, an&rsquo; racing blood in me
+to hear &rsquo;e, dear, braave heart. I was that weak without &rsquo;e. Now
+the world &rsquo;s a new plaace, an&rsquo; I doan&rsquo;t doubt fust thought
+was right, for all they said. I&rsquo;ll meet &rsquo;e as you bid me,
+an&rsquo; nothin&rsquo; shall ever keep me from &rsquo;e
+now&mdash;nothing!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;T is well said, Phoebe; an&rsquo; doan&rsquo;t let that
+anointed scamp kiss &rsquo;e more &rsquo;n he must. Be braave an&rsquo;
+cunnin&rsquo;, an&rsquo; keep Miller from smelling a rat. I&rsquo;d like to
+smash that man myself now wheer he stands,&mdash;Grimbal I mean,&mdash;but us
+must be wise for the present. Wipe your shiny eyes an&rsquo; keep a happy
+faace to &rsquo;em, an&rsquo; never let wan of the lot dream what&rsquo;s hid
+in &rsquo;e. Cock your li&rsquo;l nose high, an&rsquo; be peart an&rsquo;
+gay. An&rsquo; let un buy you what he will,&mdash;&rsquo;t is no odds; we can
+send his rubbish back again arter, when he knaws you&rsquo;m another
+man&rsquo;s wife. Gude-bye, Phoebe dearie; I&rsquo;ve done what &rsquo;peared
+to me a gert deed for love of &rsquo;e; but the sight of &rsquo;e brings it
+down into no mighty matter.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;ve saved my life, Will&mdash;saved all my days; an&rsquo;
+while I&rsquo;ve got a heart beating &rsquo;t will be yourn, an&rsquo;
+I&rsquo;ll work for &rsquo;e, an&rsquo; slave for &rsquo;e, an&rsquo; think
+for &rsquo;e, an&rsquo; love &rsquo;e so long as I live&mdash;an&rsquo; pray
+for &rsquo;e, tu, Will, my awn!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He parted from her as she spoke, and she, by an inspiration, hurried
+towards the approaching crowd that the trampled marks of the snow where she
+had been standing might not be noted under the gleam of torches and
+lanterns.</p>
+<p>John Grimbal&rsquo;s prophecy was happily not fulfilled in its gloomy
+completeness: nobody had blown his head off; but Billy Blee&rsquo;s
+prodigality of ammunition proved at last too much for the blunderbuss of the
+bygone coach-guard, and in its sudden annihilation a fragment had cut the
+gunner across the face, and a second inflicted a pretty deep flesh-wound on
+his arm. Neither injury was very serious, and the general escape, as John
+Grimbal pointed out, might be considered marvellous, for not a soul save
+Billy himself had been so much as scratched.</p>
+<p>With Martin Grimbal on one side and Mr. Chapple upon the other, the
+wounded veteran walked slowly and solemnly along. The dramatic moments of the
+hour were dear to him, and while tolerably confident at the bottom of his
+mind that no vital hurt had been done, he openly declared himself stricken to
+death, and revelled in a display of Christian fortitude and resignation that
+deceived everybody but John Grimbal. Billy gasped and gurgled, bid them see
+to the bandages, and reviewed his past life with ingenuous satisfaction.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah, sawls all! dead as a hammer in an hour. &rsquo;T is awver. I
+feel the life swelling out of me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t say that, Billy,&rdquo; cried Martin, in real concern.
+&ldquo;The blood&rsquo;s stopped flowing entirely now.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;For why? Theer&rsquo;s no more to come. My heart be pumping wind,
+lifeless wind; my lung-play&rsquo;s gone, tu, an&rsquo; my sight&rsquo;s come
+awver that coorious. Be Gaffer Lezzard nigh?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Here, alongside &rsquo;e, Bill.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Gimme your hand then, an&rsquo; let auld scores be wiped off in
+this shattering calamity. Us have differed wheer us could these twoscore
+years; but theer mustn&rsquo;t be no more ill-will wi&rsquo; me
+tremblin&rsquo; on the lip o&rsquo; the graave.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;None at all; if &rsquo;t wasn&rsquo;t for Widow Coomstock,&rdquo;
+said Gaffer Lezzard. &ldquo;You &rsquo;m tu pushing theer, an&rsquo; I say it
+even now, for truth&rsquo;s truth, though it be the last thing a man&rsquo;s
+ear holds.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Break it to her gentle,&rdquo; said Billy, ignoring the
+other&rsquo;s criticism; &ldquo;she&rsquo;m on in years, and have cast a
+kindly eye awver me since the early sixties. My propositions never was more
+than agreeable conversation to her, but it might have come. Tell her
+theer&rsquo;s a world beyond marriage customs, an&rsquo; us&rsquo;ll meet
+theer.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Old Lezzard showed a good deal of anger at this speech, but being in a
+minority fell back and held his peace.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Would &rsquo;e like to see passon, dear sawl?&rdquo; asked Mr.
+Chapple, who walked on Billy&rsquo;s left with his gun reversed, as though at
+a funeral.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Me an&rsquo; him be out, along o&rsquo; rheumatics keeping me from
+the House of God this month,&rdquo; said the sufferer, &ldquo;but at a solemn
+death-bed hour like this here, I&rsquo;d soon see un as not. Ban&rsquo;t no
+gert odds, for I forgive all mankind, and doan&rsquo;t feel no more malice
+than a bird in a tree.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;re a silly old ass,&rdquo; burst out Grimbal roughly.
+&ldquo;There&rsquo;s nothing worth naming the matter with you, and you know
+it better than we do. The Devil looks after his own, seemingly. Any other man
+would have been killed ten times over.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Billy whined and even wept at this harsh reproof. &ldquo;Ban&rsquo;t a
+very fair way to speak to an auld gunpowder-blawn piece, like what I be
+now,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;gormed if &rsquo;t is.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Very onhandsome of &rsquo;e, Mr. Grimbal,&rdquo; declared the stout
+Chappie; &ldquo;an&rsquo; you so young an&rsquo; in the prime of life,
+tu!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Here Phoebe met them, and Mr. Blee, observing the signs of tears upon her
+face, supposed that anxiety for him had wet her cheeks, and comforted his
+master&rsquo;s child.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Doan&rsquo;t &rsquo;e give way, missy. &rsquo;T is all wan,
+an&rsquo; I ban&rsquo;t &rsquo;feared of the tomb, as I&rsquo;ve tawld
+&rsquo;em. Us must rot, every bone of us, in our season, an&rsquo; &rsquo;t
+is awnly the thought of it, not the fear of it, turns the stomach. But
+what&rsquo;s a wamblyness of the innards, so long as a body&rsquo;s sawl be
+ripe for God?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A walkin&rsquo; sermon!&rdquo; said Mr. Chappie.</p>
+<p>Doctor Parsons was waiting for Billy at Monks Barton, and if John Grimbal
+had been brusque, the practitioner proved scarcely less so. He pronounced Mr.
+Blee but little hurt, bandaged his arm, plastered his head, and assured him
+that a pipe and a glass of spirits was all he needed to fortify his sinking
+spirit. The party ate and drank, raised a cheer for Miller Lyddon and then
+went homewards. Only Mr. Chappie and Gaffer Lezzard entered the house and had
+a wineglass or two of some special sloe gin. Mr. Lezzard thawed and grew
+amiable over this beverage, and Mr. Chappie repeated Billy&rsquo;s lofty
+sentiments at the approach of death for the benefit of Miller Lyddon.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;T is awnly my fearless disposition,&rdquo; declared the
+wounded man with great humility; &ldquo;no partic&rsquo;lar credit to me. I
+doan&rsquo;t care wan iotum for the thought of churchyard mould&mdash;not wan
+iotum. I knaw the value of gude rich soil tu well; an&rsquo; a man as grudges
+the rames<a id="footnotetag3" name="footnotetag3"></a><a href=
+"#footnote3"><sup>3</sup></a> of hisself to the airth that&rsquo;s kept un
+threescore years an&rsquo; ten&rsquo;s a carmudgeonly cuss,
+surely.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; so say I; theer&rsquo;s true wisdom in it,&rdquo;
+declared Mr. Chapple, while the miller nodded.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Theer be,&rdquo; concluded Gaffer Lezzard. &ldquo;I allus sez, in
+my clenching way, that I doan&rsquo;t care a farden damn what happens to my
+bones, if my everlasting future be well thought on by passon. So long as I
+catch the eye of un an&rsquo; see um beam &rsquo;pon me to church now
+an&rsquo; again, I&rsquo;m content with things as they are.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;As a saved sawl you &rsquo;m in so braave a way as the best; but,
+to say it without rudeness, as food for the land a man of your build be
+nought, Gaffer,&rdquo; argued Mr. Chapple, who viewed the veteran&rsquo;s
+withered anatomy from his own happy vantage ground of fifteen stone.</p>
+<p>But Gaffer Lezzard would by no means allow this.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ban&rsquo;t quantity awnly tells, my son. &rsquo;T is the aluminium
+in a man&rsquo;s bones that fats land&mdash;roots or grass or corn. Anybody
+of larnin&rsquo;, &rsquo;ll tell &rsquo;e that. Strip the belly off &rsquo;e,
+an&rsquo;, bone for bone, a lean man like me shaws as fair as you. No offence
+offered or taken, but a gross habit&rsquo;s mere clay and does more harm than
+gude underground.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Mr. Chapple in his turn resented this contemptuous dismissal of tissue as
+matter of no agricultural significance. The old men went wrangling home;
+Miller Lyddon and Billy retired to their beds; the moon departed behind the
+distant moors; and all the darkened valley slept in snow and starlight.</p>
+<h2><a id="I_VIII" name="I_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII<br />
+A BROTHERS&rsquo; QUARREL</h2>
+<p>Though Phoebe was surprised at Will Blanchard&rsquo;s mild attitude toward
+her weakness, she had been less so with more knowledge. Chris Blanchard and
+her lover were in some degree responsible for Will&rsquo;s lenity, and
+Clement&rsquo;s politic letter to the wanderer, when Phoebe&rsquo;s
+engagement was announced, had been framed in words best calculated to shield
+the Miller&rsquo;s sore-driven daughter. Hicks had thrown the blame on John
+Grimbal, on Mr. Lyddon, on everybody but Phoebe herself. Foremost indeed he
+had censured Will, and pointed out that his own sustained silence, however
+high-minded the reason of it, was a main factor in his sweetheart&rsquo;s
+sufferings and ultimate submission.</p>
+<p>In answer to this communication Blanchard magically reappeared, announced
+his determination to marry Phoebe by subterfuge, and, the deed accomplished,
+take his punishment, whatever it might be, with light heart. Given time to
+achieve a legal marriage, and Phoebe would at least be safe from the clutches
+of millionaires in general.</p>
+<p>Much had already been done by Will before he crept after the
+apple-christeners and accomplished his meeting with Phoebe. A week was passed
+since Clement wrote the final crushing news, and during that interval Will
+had been stopping with his uncle, Joel Ford, at Newton Abbot. Fate, hard till
+now, played him passing fair at last. The old Superintendent Registrar still
+had a soft corner in his heart for Will, and when he learnt the boy&rsquo;s
+trouble, though of cynic mind in all matters pertaining to matrimony, he
+chose to play the virtuous and enraged philosopher, much to his
+nephew&rsquo;s joy. Mr. Ford promised Will he should most certainly have the
+law&rsquo;s aid to checkmate his dishonourable adversary; he took a most
+serious view of the case and declared that all thinking men must sympathise
+with young Blanchard under such circumstances. But in private the old
+gentleman rubbed his hands, for here was the very opportunity he desired as
+much as a man well might&mdash;the chance to strike at one who had shamefully
+wronged him. His only trouble was how best to let John Grimbal know whom he
+had to thank for this tremendous reverse; for that deed he held necessary to
+complete his revenge.</p>
+<p>As to where Will had come from, or whither he was returning, after his
+marriage Joel Ford cared not. The youngster once wedded would be satisfied;
+and his uncle would be satisfied too. The procedure of marriage by license
+requires that one of the parties shall have resided within the
+Superintendent&rsquo;s district for a space of fifteen days preceding the
+giving of notice; then application in prescribed form is made to the
+Registrar; and his certificate and license are usually received one clear day
+later. Thus a resident in a district can be married at any time within
+eight-and-forty hours of his decision. Will Blanchard had to stop with his
+uncle nine or ten days more to complete the necessary fortnight, and as John
+Grimbal&rsquo;s marriage morning was as yet above three weeks distant,
+Phoebe&rsquo;s fate in no way depended upon him.</p>
+<p>Mr. Ford explained the position to Will, and the lover accepted it
+cheerfully.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;As to the marriage, that&rsquo;ll be hard and fast as a bench of
+bishops can make it; but wedding a woman under age, against the wish of her
+legal guardian, is an offence against the law. Nobody can undo the deed
+itself, but Miller Lyddon will have something to say afterwards. And
+there&rsquo;s that blustering blackguard, John Grimbal, to reckon with.
+Unscrupulous scoundrel! Just the sort to be lawless and vindictive if what
+you tell me concerning him is true.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And so he be; let un! Who cares a brass button for him? &rsquo;T is
+awnly Miller I thinks of. What&rsquo;s worst he can do?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Send you to prison, Will.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;For how long?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That I can&rsquo;t tell you exactly. Not for marrying his daughter
+of course, but for abduction&mdash;that&rsquo;s what he&rsquo;ll bring
+against you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; so he shall, uncle, an&rsquo; I&rsquo;ll save him all the
+trouble I can. That&rsquo;s no gert hardship&mdash;weeks, or months even.
+I&rsquo;ll go like a lark, knawin&rsquo; Phoebe&rsquo;s safe.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>So the matter stood and the days passed. Will&rsquo;s personal affairs,
+and the secret of the position from which he had come was known only to
+Clement Hicks. The lover talked of returning again thither after his
+marriage, but he remained vague on that point, and, indeed, modified his
+plans after the above recorded conversation with his uncle. Twice he wrote to
+Phoebe in the period of waiting, and the letter had been forwarded on both
+occasions through Clement. Two others knew what was afoot, and during that
+time of trial Phoebe found Chris her salvation. The stronger girl supported
+her sinking spirit and fortified her courage. Chris mightily enjoyed the
+whole romance, and among those circumstances that combined to make John
+Grimbal uneasy during the days of waiting was her constant presence at Monks
+Barton. There she came as Phoebe&rsquo;s friend, and the clear, bright eyes
+she often turned on him made him angry, he knew not why. As for Mrs.
+Blanchard, she had secretly learnt more than anybody suspected, for while
+Will first determined to tell her nothing until afterwards, a second thought
+rebuked him for hiding such a tremendous circumstance from his mother, and he
+wrote to her at full length from Newton, saying nothing indeed of the past
+but setting out the future in detail. Upon the subject Mrs. Blanchard kept
+her own counsel.</p>
+<p>Preparations for Phoebe&rsquo;s wedding moved apace, and she lived in a
+dim, heart-breaking dream. John Grimbal, despite her entreaties, continued to
+spend money upon her; yet each new gift brought nothing but tears. Grown
+desperate in his determination to win a little affection and regard before
+marriage, and bitterly conscious that he could command neither, the man plied
+her with what money would buy, and busied himself to bring her happiness in
+spite of herself. Troubled he was, nevertheless, and constantly sought the
+miller that he might listen to comforting assurances that he need be under no
+concern.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;T is natural in wan who&rsquo;s gwaine to say gude-bye to
+maidenhood so soon,&rdquo; declared Mr. Lyddon. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve thought
+&rsquo;bout her tears a deal. God knaws they hurt me more &rsquo;n they do
+her, or you either; but such sad whims and cloudy hours is proper to the
+time. Love for me&rsquo;s got a share in her sorrow, tu. &rsquo;T will all be
+well enough when she turns her back on the church-door an&rsquo; hears the
+weddin&rsquo;-bells a-clashing for her future joy. Doan&rsquo;t you come nigh
+her much during the next few weeks.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Two,&rdquo; corrected Mr. Grimbal, moodily.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Eh! Awnly two! Well, &rsquo;t is gert darkness for me, I promise
+you&mdash;gert darkness comin&rsquo; for Monks Barton wi&rsquo;out the
+butivul sound an&rsquo; sight of her no more. But bide away, theer&rsquo;s a
+gude man; bide away these coming few days. Her last maiden hours
+mustn&rsquo;t be all tears. But my gifts do awnly make her cry, tu, if
+that&rsquo;s consolation to &rsquo;e. It&rsquo;s the tenderness of her
+li&rsquo;l heart as brims awver at kindness.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>In reality, Phoebe&rsquo;s misery was of a complexion wholly different.
+The necessity for living thus had not appeared so tremendous until she found
+herself launched into this sea of terrible deception. In operation such
+sustained falsity came like to drive her mad. She could not count the lies
+each day brought forth; she was frightened to pray for forgiveness, knowing
+every morning must see a renewal of the tragedy. Hell seemed yawning for her,
+and the possibility of any ultimate happiness, reached over this awful road
+of mendacity and deceit, was more than her imagination could picture. With
+loss of self-respect, self-control likewise threatened to depart. She became
+physically weak, mentally hysterical. The strain told terribly on her nature;
+and Chris mourned to note a darkness like storm-cloud under her grey eyes,
+and unwonted pallor upon her cheek. Dr. Parsons saw Phoebe at this juncture,
+prescribed soothing draughts, and ordered rest and repose; but to Chris the
+invalid clung, and Mr. Lyddon was not a little puzzled that the sister of
+Phoebe&rsquo;s bygone sweetheart should now possess such power to ease her
+mind and soothe her troubled nerves.</p>
+<p>John Grimbal obeyed the injunction laid upon him and absented himself from
+Monks Barton. All was prepared for the ceremony. He had left his Red House
+farm and taken rooms for the present at &ldquo;The Three Crowns.&rdquo;
+Hither came his brother to see him four nights before the weddingday. Martin
+had promised to be best man, yet a shadow lay between the brothers, and John,
+his mind unnaturally jealous and suspicious from the nature of affairs with
+Phoebe, sulked of late in a conviction that Martin had watched his great step
+with unfraternal indifference and denied him the enthusiasm and
+congratulation proper to such an event.</p>
+<p>The younger man found his brother scanning a new black broadcloth coat
+when he entered. He praised it promptly, whereupon John flung it from him and
+showed no more interest in the garment. Martin, not to be offended, lighted
+his pipe, took an armchair beside the fire, and asked for some whiskey. This
+mollified the other a little; he produced spirits, loaded his own pipe, and
+asked the object of the visit.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A not over-pleasant business, John,&rdquo; returned his brother,
+frankly; &ldquo;but &rsquo;Least said, soonest mended.&rsquo; Only remember
+this, nothing must ever lessen our common regard. What I am going to say is
+inspired by my&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, yes&mdash;cut that. Spit it out and have done with it. I know
+there&rsquo;s been trouble in you for days. You can&rsquo;t hide your
+thoughts. You&rsquo;ve been grim as a death&rsquo;s-head for a
+month&mdash;ever since I was engaged, come to think of it. Now open your jaws
+and have done.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>John&rsquo;s aggressive and hectoring manner spoke volubly of his own lack
+of ease. Martin nerved himself to begin, holding it his duty, but secretly
+fearing the issue in the light of his brother&rsquo;s hard, set face.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;ve something bothering you too, old man. I&rsquo;m sure
+of it. God is aware I don&rsquo;t know much about women myself,
+but&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, dry up that rot! Don&rsquo;t think I&rsquo;m blind, if you are.
+Don&rsquo;t deceive yourself. There&rsquo;s a woman-hunger in you, too,
+though perhaps you haven&rsquo;t found it out yet. What about that Blanchard
+girl?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Martin flushed like a schoolboy; his hand went up over his mouth and chin
+as though to hide part of his guilt, and he looked alarmed and uneasy.</p>
+<p>John laughed without mirth at the other&rsquo;s ludicrous trepidation.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Good heavens! I&rsquo;ve done nothing surely to
+suggest&mdash;?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Nothing at all&mdash;except look as if you were going to have a fit
+every time you get within a mile of her. Lovers know the signs, I suppose.
+Don&rsquo;t pretend you&rsquo;re made of different stuff to the rest of us,
+that&rsquo;s all.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Martin removed his hand and gasped before the spectacle of what he had
+revealed to other eyes. Then, after a silence of fifteen seconds, he shut his
+mouth again, wiped his forehead with his hand, and spoke.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve been a silly fool. Only she&rsquo;s so wonderfully
+beautiful&mdash;don&rsquo;t you think so?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A gypsy all over&mdash;if you call that beautiful.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The other flushed up again, but made no retort.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Never mind me or anybody else. I want to speak to you about Phoebe,
+if I may, John. Who have I got to care about but you? I&rsquo;m only thinking
+of your happiness, for that&rsquo;s dearer to me than my own; and you know in
+your heart that I&rsquo;m speaking the truth when I say so.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Stick to your gate-posts and old walls and cow-comforts and dead
+stones. We all know you can look farther into Dartmoor granite than most men,
+if that&rsquo;s anything; but human beings are beyond you and always were.
+You&rsquo;d have come home a pauper but for me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;D&rsquo; you think I&rsquo;m not grateful? No man ever had a better
+brother than you, and you&rsquo;ve stood between me and trouble a thousand
+times. Now I want to stand between you and trouble.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What the deuce d&rsquo; you mean by naming Phoebe, then?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That is the trouble. Listen and don&rsquo;t shout me down.
+She&rsquo;s breaking her heart&mdash;blind or not blind, I see
+that&mdash;breaking her heart, not for you, but Will Blanchard. Nobody else
+has found it out; but I have, and I know it&rsquo;s my duty to tell you; and
+I&rsquo;ve done it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>An ugly twist came into John Grimbal&rsquo;s face. &ldquo;You&rsquo;ve
+done it; yes. Go on.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s all, brother, and from your manner I don&rsquo;t
+believe it&rsquo;s entirely news to you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then get you gone, damned snake in the grass! Get gone, &rsquo;fore
+I lay a hand on you! You to turn and bite <i>me!</i> Me, that&rsquo;s made
+you! I see it all&mdash;your blasted sheep&rsquo;s eyes at Chris Blanchard,
+and her always at Monks Barton! Don&rsquo;t lie about it,&rdquo; he roared,
+as Martin raised his hand to speak; &ldquo;not a word more will I hear from
+your traitor&rsquo;s lips. Get out of my sight, you sneaking hypocrite, and
+never call me &lsquo;brother&rsquo; no more, for I&rsquo;ll not own to
+it!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;ll be sorry for this, John.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And you too. You&rsquo;ll smart all your life long when you think
+of this dirty trick played against a brother who never did you no hurt. You
+to come between me and the girl that&rsquo;s promised to marry me! And for
+your own ends. A manly, brotherly plot, by God!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I swear, on my sacred honour, there&rsquo;s no plot against you.
+I&rsquo;ve never spoken to a soul about this thing, nor has a soul spoken of
+it to me; that&rsquo;s the truth.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Rot you, and your sacred honour too! Go, and take your lies with
+you, and keep your own friends henceforth, and never cross my threshold
+more&mdash;you or your sacred, stinking honour either.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Martin rose from his chair dazed and bewildered. He had seen his
+brother&rsquo;s passion wither up many a rascal in the past; but he himself
+had never suffered until now, and the savagery of this language hurled
+against his own pure motives staggered him. He, of course, knew nothing about
+Will Blanchard&rsquo;s enterprise, and his blundering and ill-judged effort
+to restrain his brother from marrying Phoebe was absolutely disinterested. It
+had been a tremendous task to him to speak on this delicate theme, and regard
+for John alone actuated him; now he departed without another word and went
+blankly to the little new stone house he had taken and furnished on the
+outskirts of Chagford under Middledown. He walked along the straight street
+of whitewashed cots that led him to his home, and reflected with dismay on
+this catastrophe. The conversation with his brother had scarcely occupied
+five minutes; its results promised to endure a lifetime.</p>
+<p>Meanwhile, and at the identical hour of this tremendous rupture, Chris
+Blanchard, well knowing that the morrow would witness Phoebe&rsquo;s secret
+marriage to her brother, walked down to see her. It happened that a small
+party filled the kitchen of Monks Barton, and the maid who answered her
+summons led Chris through the passage and upstairs to Phoebe&rsquo;s own
+door. There the girls spoke in murmurs together, while various sounds, all
+louder than their voices, proceeded from the kitchen below. There were
+assembled the miller, Billy Blee, Mr. Chapple, and one Abraham Chown, the
+police inspector of Chagford, a thin, black-bearded man, oppressed with the
+cares of his office.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They be arranging the programme of festive delights,&rdquo;
+explained Phoebe. &ldquo;My heart sinks in me every way I turn now. All the
+world seems thinking about what&rsquo;s to come; an&rsquo; I knaw it never
+will.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;T is a wonnerful straange thing to fall out. Never no such
+happened before, I reckon. But you &rsquo;m doin&rsquo; right by the man you
+love, an&rsquo; that&rsquo;s a thought for &rsquo;e more comfortin&rsquo;
+than gospel in a pass like this. A promise is a promise, and you&rsquo;ve got
+to think of all your life stretching out afore you. Will&rsquo;s jonic, take
+him the right way, and that you knaw how to do&mdash;a straight, true chap as
+should make any wife happy. Theer&rsquo;ll be waitin&rsquo; afterwards
+an&rsquo; gude need for all the patience you&rsquo;ve got; but wance the wife
+of un, allus the wife of un; that&rsquo;s a butivul thing to bear in
+mind.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;T is so; &rsquo;t is everything. An&rsquo; wance we&rsquo;m
+wed, I&rsquo;ll never tell a lie again, an&rsquo; atone for all I have told,
+an&rsquo; do right towards everybody.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You caan&rsquo;t say no fairer. Be any matter I can help &rsquo;e
+with?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Nothing. It&rsquo;s all easy. The train starts for Moreton at
+half-past nine. Sam Bonus be gwaine to drive me in, and bide theer for me
+till I come back from Newton. Faither&rsquo;s awnly too pleased to let me go.
+I said &rsquo;t was shopping.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; when you come home you&rsquo;ll tell him&mdash;Mr.
+Lyddon&mdash;straight?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Everything, an&rsquo; thank God for a clean breast
+again.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; Will?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Caan&rsquo;t say what he&rsquo;ll do after. Theer&rsquo;ll be no
+real marryin&rsquo; for us yet a while. Faither can have the law of Will
+presently,&mdash;that&rsquo;s all I knaw.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Trust Will to do the right thing; and mind, come what may to him,
+theer&rsquo;s allus Clem Hicks and me for friends.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ban&rsquo;t likely to be many others left, come to-morrow night.
+But I&rsquo;ve run away from my own thoughts to think of you and him often of
+late days. He&rsquo;ll get money and marry you, won&rsquo;t he, when his
+aunt, Mrs. Coomstock, dies?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No; I thought so tu, an&rsquo; hoped it wance; but Clem says what
+she&rsquo;ve got won&rsquo;t come his way. She&rsquo;s like as not to marry,
+tu&mdash;there &rsquo;m a lot of auld men tinkering after her, Billy Blee
+among &rsquo;em.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Sounds arose from beneath. They began with harsh and grating notes,
+interrupted by a violent hawking and spitting. Then followed renewal of the
+former unlovely noises. Presently, at a point in the song, for such it was,
+half a dozen other voices drowned the soloist in a chorus.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;T is Billy rehearsin&rsquo; moosic,&rdquo; explained Phoebe,
+with a sickly smile. &ldquo;He haven&rsquo;t singed for a score of years; but
+they&rsquo;ve awver-persuaded him and he&rsquo;s promised to give &rsquo;em
+an auld ballet on my wedding-day.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My stars! &rsquo;t is a gashly auld noise sure enough,&rdquo;
+criticised Phoebe&rsquo;s friend frankly; &ldquo;for all the world like a
+stuck pig screechin&rsquo;, or the hum of the threshin&rsquo; machine poor
+faither used to have, heard long ways off.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Quavering and quivering, with sudden painful flights into a cracked
+treble, Billy&rsquo;s effort came to the listeners.</p>
+<p class="poem">&ldquo;&rsquo;Twas on a Monday marnin&rsquo;<br />
+<span class="i2">Afore the break of day,</span><br />
+<span class="i2">That I tuked up my turmit-hoe</span><br />
+<span class="i2">An&rsquo; trudged dree mile away!&rdquo;</span></p>
+<p class="i0">Then a rollicking chorus, with rough music in it, surged to
+their ears&mdash;</p>
+<p class="poem">&ldquo;An&rsquo; the fly, gee hoppee!<br />
+The fly, gee whoppee!<br />
+The fly be on the turmits,<br />
+For &rsquo;t is all my eye for me to try<br />
+An&rsquo; keep min off the turmits!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Mr. Blee lashed his memory and slowly proceeded, while Chris, moved by a
+sort of sudden mother-instinct towards pale and tearful Phoebe, strained her
+to her bosom, hugged her very close, kissed her, and bid her be hopeful and
+happy.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Taake gude heart, for you &rsquo;m to mate the best man in all the
+airth but wan!&rdquo; she said; &ldquo;an&rsquo;, if &rsquo;t is awnly to
+keep Billy from singing in public, &rsquo;t is a mercy you ban&rsquo;t gwaine
+to take Jan Grimbal. Doan&rsquo;t &rsquo;e fear for him. There&rsquo;ll be a
+thunder-storm for sartain; then he&rsquo;ll calm down, as better &rsquo;n him
+have had to &rsquo;fore now, an&rsquo; find some other gal.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>With this comfort Chris caressed Phoebe once more, heartily pitying her
+helplessness, and wishing it in her power to undertake the approaching ordeal
+on the young bride&rsquo;s behalf. Then she departed, her eyes almost as dim
+as Phoebe&rsquo;s. For a moment she forgot her own helpless matrimonial
+projects in sorrow for her brother and his future wife. Marriage at the
+registry office represented to her, as to most women, an unlovely,
+uncomfortable, and unfinished ceremony. She had as easily pictured a funeral
+without the assistance of the Church as a wedding without it.</p>
+<h2><a id="I_IX" name="I_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX<br />
+OUTSIDE EXETER GAOL</h2>
+<p>Within less than twelve hours of the time when she bid Chris farewell
+Phoebe Lyddon was Phoebe Lyddon no more. Will met her at Newton; they
+immediately proceeded to his uncle&rsquo;s office; and the Registrar had made
+them man and wife in space of time so brief that the girl could hardly
+realise the terrific event was accomplished, and that henceforth she belonged
+to Will alone. Mr. Ford had his little joke afterwards in the shape of a
+wedding-breakfast and champagne. He was gratified at the event and rejoiced
+to be so handsomely and tremendously revenged on his unfortunate enemy. The
+young couple partook of the good things provided for them; but appetite was
+lacking to right enjoyment of the banquet, and Will and his wife much desired
+to escape and be alone.</p>
+<p>Presently they returned to the station and arrived there before
+Phoebe&rsquo;s train departed. Her husband then briefly explained the
+remarkable course of action he designed to pursue.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You must be a braave gal and think none the worse of me.
+But&rsquo;t is this way: I&rsquo;ve broke law, and a month or two, or six,
+maybe, in gaol have got to be done. Your faither will see to that.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Prison! O, Will! For marryin&rsquo; me?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, but for marryin&rsquo; you wi&rsquo;out axin&rsquo; leave.
+Miller Lyddon told me the upshot of taking you, if I done it; an&rsquo; I
+have; an&rsquo; he&rsquo;ll keep his word. So that&rsquo;s it. I doan&rsquo;t
+want to make no more trouble; an&rsquo; bein&rsquo; a man of resource
+I&rsquo;m gwaine up to Exeter by first train, so soon as you&rsquo;ve
+started. Then all bother in the matter will be saved Miller.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O Will! Must you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess fay, &rsquo;t is my duty. I&rsquo;ve thought it out through
+many hours. The time&rsquo;ll soon slip off; an&rsquo; then I&rsquo;ll come
+back an&rsquo; stand to work. Here&rsquo;s a empty carriage. Jump in. I can
+sit along with &rsquo;e for a few minutes.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How ever shall I begin? How shall I break it to them,
+dearie?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Hold up your li&rsquo;l hand,&rdquo; said Will with a laugh.
+&ldquo;Shaw &rsquo;em the gawld theer. That&rsquo;ll speak for &rsquo;e.
+&rsquo;S truth!&rdquo; he continued, with a gesture of supreme irritation,
+&ldquo;but it&rsquo;s a hard thing to be snatched apart like this&mdash;man
+an&rsquo; wife. If I was takin&rsquo; &rsquo;e home to some lew cot, all our
+very awn, how differ&rsquo;nt &rsquo;t would be!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You will some day.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So I will then. I&rsquo;ve got &rsquo;e for all time, an&rsquo; Jan
+Grimbal&rsquo;s missed &rsquo;e for all time. Damned if I ban&rsquo;t
+a&rsquo;most sorry for un!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So am I,&mdash;in a way,&mdash;as you are. My heart hurts me to
+think of him. He&rsquo;ll never forgive me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Me, you mean. Well, &rsquo;t is man to man, an&rsquo; I ban&rsquo;t
+feared of nothing on two legs. You just tell &rsquo;em that &rsquo;t was to
+be, that you never gived up lovin&rsquo; me, but was forced into lyin&rsquo;
+and such-like by the cruel way they pushed &rsquo;e. Shaw &rsquo;em the copy
+of the paper if they doan&rsquo;t b&rsquo;lieve the ring. An&rsquo; when
+Miller lifts up his voice to cuss me, tell un quiet that I knawed what must
+come of it, and be gone straight to Exeter Gaol to save un all further
+trouble. He&rsquo;ll see then I&rsquo;m a thinking, calculating man, though
+young in years.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Phoebe was now reduced to sighs and dry sobs. Will sat by her a little
+longer, patted her hands and spoke cheerfully. Then the train departed and he
+jumped from it as it moved and ran along the platform with a last earnest
+injunction.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;See mother first moment you can an&rsquo; explain how &rsquo;t is.
+Mother&rsquo;ll understand, for faither did similar identical, though he
+wasn&rsquo;t put in clink for it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He waved his hand and Phoebe passed homewards. Then the fire died out of
+his eyes and he sighed and turned. But no shadow of weakness manifested
+itself in his manner. His jaw hardened, he smote his leg with his stick, and,
+ascertaining the time of the next train to Exeter, went back to bid Mr. Ford
+farewell before setting about his business.</p>
+<p>Will told his uncle nothing concerning the contemplated action; and such
+silence was unfortunate, for had he spoken the old man&rsquo;s knowledge must
+have modified his fantastic design. Knowing that Will came mysteriously from
+regular employment which he declined to discuss, and assuming that he now
+designed returning to it, Mr. Ford troubled no more about him. So his nephew
+thanked the Registrar right heartily for all the goodness he had displayed in
+helping two people through the great crisis of their lives, and went on his
+way. His worldly possessions were represented by a new suit of blue serge
+which he wore, and a few trifles in a small carpet-bag.</p>
+<p>It was the past rather than the present or future which troubled Will on
+his journey to Exeter; and the secret of the last six months, whatever that
+might be, lay heavier on his mind than the ordeal immediately ahead of him.
+In this coming achievement he saw no shame; it was merely part payment for an
+action lawless but necessary. He prided himself always on a great spirit of
+justice, and justice demanded that henceforth he must consider the family
+into which he had thus unceremoniously introduced himself. To no man in the
+wide world did he feel more kindly disposed than to Miller Lyddon; and his
+purpose was now to save his father-in-law all the annoyance possible.</p>
+<p>Arrived at Exeter, Will walked cheerfully away to the County Gaol, a huge
+red-brick pile that scarce strikes so coldly upon the eye of the spectator as
+ordinary houses of detention. Grey and black echo the significance of a
+prison, but warm red brick strikes through the eye to the brain, and the
+colour inspires a genial train of ideas beyond reason&rsquo;s power instantly
+to banish. But the walls, if ruddy, were high, and the rows of small, remote
+windows, black as the eye-socket of a skull, stretched away in dreary
+iron-bound perspective where the sides of the main fabric rose upward to its
+chastened architectural adornments. Young Blanchard grunted to himself,
+gripped his stick, from one end of which was suspended his carpet-bag, and
+walked to the wicket at the side of the prison&rsquo;s main entrance. He rang
+a bell that jangled with tremendous echoes among the naked walls within; then
+there followed the rattle of locks as the sidegate opened, and a warder
+looked out to ask Will his business. The man was burly and of stout build,
+while his fat, bearded face, red as the gaol walls themselves, attracted
+Blanchard by its pleasant expression. Will&rsquo;s eyes brightened at the
+aspect of this janitor; he touched his hat very civilly, wished the man
+&ldquo;good afternoon,&rdquo; and was about to step in when the other stopped
+him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Doan&rsquo;t be in such a hurry, my son. What&rsquo;s brought
+&rsquo;e, an&rsquo; who do &rsquo;e want?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My business is private, mister; I wants to see the head
+man.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The Governor? Won&rsquo;t nobody less do? You can&rsquo;t see him
+without proper appointment. But maybe a smaller man might serve your
+turn?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Will reflected, then laughed at the warder with that sudden magic of face
+that even softened hard hearts towards him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;To be plain, mate, I&rsquo;m here to stop. You&rsquo;ll be sure to
+knaw &rsquo;bout it sooner or late, so I&rsquo;ll tell &rsquo;e now.
+I&rsquo;ve done a thing I must pay for, and &rsquo;t is a clink job, so
+I&rsquo;ve comed right along.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The warder grew rather sterner, and his eye instinctively roamed for a
+constable.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Best say no more, then. Awnly you&rsquo;ve comed to the wrong
+place. Police station&rsquo;s what you want, I reckon.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why for? This be County Gaol, ban&rsquo;t it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess, that&rsquo;s so; but we doan&rsquo;t take in folks for the
+axin&rsquo;. Tu many queer caraters about.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Will saw the man&rsquo;s eyes twinkle, yet he was puzzled at this
+unexpected problem.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Look here,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I like you, and I&rsquo;ll deal
+fair by you an&rsquo; tell you the rights of it. Step out here an&rsquo;
+listen.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Mind, what you sez will be used against you, then.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Theer ban&rsquo;t no secret in it, for that matter.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The husband thereupon related his recent achievement, and concluded
+thus:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So, having kicked up a mort o&rsquo; trouble, I doan&rsquo;t want
+to make no more&mdash;see? An&rsquo; I stepped here quiet to keep it out of
+the papers, an&rsquo; just take what punishment&rsquo;s right an&rsquo; vitty
+for marryin&rsquo; a maid wi&rsquo;out so much as by your leave. Now, then,
+caan&rsquo;t &rsquo;e do the rest?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He regarded the warder gravely and inquiringly, but as the red-faced man
+slowly sucked up the humour of the situation, his mouth expanded and his eyes
+almost disappeared. Then he spoke through outbursts and shakings of deep
+laughter.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh Lard! Wheerever was you born to?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Will flushed deeply, frowned, and clenched his fists at this question.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Shut your gert mouth!&rdquo; he said angrily. &ldquo;Doan&rsquo;t
+bellow like that, or I&rsquo;ll hit &rsquo;e awver the jaw! Do&rsquo;e think
+I want the whole of Exeter City to knaw my errand? What&rsquo;s theer to gape
+an&rsquo; snigger at? Caan&rsquo;t &rsquo;e treat a man civil?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>This reproof set the official off again, and only a furious demand from
+Blanchard to go about his business and tell the Governor he wanted an
+interview partially steadied him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;By Gor! you&rsquo;ll be the death of me. Caan&rsquo;t help
+it&mdash;honour bright&mdash;doan&rsquo;t mean no rudeness to you. Bless your
+young heart, an&rsquo; the gal&rsquo;s, whoever she be. Didn&rsquo;t &rsquo;e
+knaw? But theer! course you didn&rsquo;t, else you wouldn&rsquo;t be here.
+Why, &rsquo;t is purty near as hard to get in prison as out again.
+You&rsquo;ll have to be locked up, an&rsquo; tried by judge an&rsquo; jury,
+and plead guilty, and be sentenced, an&rsquo; the Lard He knaws what beside
+&rsquo;fore you come here. How do the lawyers an&rsquo; p&rsquo;licemen get
+their living?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s news. I hoped to save Miller Lyddon all such
+trouble.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why not try another way, an&rsquo; see if you can get the auld
+gentleman to forgive &rsquo;e?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not him. He&rsquo;ll have the law in due time.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, I&rsquo;m &rsquo;mazin&rsquo; sorry I caan&rsquo;t oblige
+&rsquo;e, for I&rsquo;m sure we&rsquo;d be gude friends, an&rsquo;
+you&rsquo;d cheer us all up butivul.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But you &rsquo;m certain it caan&rsquo;t be managed?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Positive.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then I&rsquo;ve done all a man can. You&rsquo;ll bear witness I
+wanted to come, won&rsquo;t &rsquo;e?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh yes, I&rsquo;ll take my oath o&rsquo; that. <i>I</i>
+shaan&rsquo;t forget &rsquo;e.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;All right. And if I&rsquo;m sent here again, bimebye, I&rsquo;ll
+look out for you, and I hopes you&rsquo;ll be as pleasant inside as
+now.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll promise that. Shall be awnly tu pleased to make you at
+home. I like you; though, to be frank, I reckon you&rsquo;m tu gnat-brained a
+chap to make a wife happy.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then you reckon a damned impedent thing! What d&rsquo; you knaw
+&rsquo;bout it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A tidy deal. I&rsquo;ve been married more years than you have
+hours, I lay.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Age ban&rsquo;t everything; &rsquo;t is the fashion brains in a
+man&rsquo;s head counts most.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s right enough. &rsquo;T is something to knaw that.
+Gude-bye to &rsquo;e, bwoy, an&rsquo; thank you for makin&rsquo; me laugh
+heartier than I have this month of Sundays.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;More fule you!&rdquo; declared Will; but he was too elated at the
+turn of affairs to be anything but amiable just now. Before the other
+disappeared, he stopped him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Shake hands, will &rsquo;e? I thank you for lightenin&rsquo; my
+mind&mdash;bein&rsquo; a man of law, in a manner of speakin&rsquo;. Ess,
+I&rsquo;m obliged to &rsquo;e. Of coourse I doan&rsquo;t <i>want</i> to come
+to prison &rsquo;zackly. That&rsquo;s common sense.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Most feel same as you. No doubt you&rsquo;re in the wrong, though
+the law caan&rsquo;t drop on honest, straightforrard matrimony to my
+knowledge. Maybe circumstances is for &rsquo;e.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess, they be&mdash;every jack wan of &rsquo;em!&rdquo; declared
+Will. &ldquo;An&rsquo; if I doan&rsquo;t come here to stop, I&rsquo;ll call
+in some day and tell &rsquo;e the upshot of this coil in a friendly
+way.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Do so, an&rsquo; bring your missis. Shall be delighted to see the
+pair of &rsquo;e any time. Ax for Thomas Bates.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Will nodded and marched off, while the warder returned to his post, and
+when he had again made fast the door behind him, permitted the full splendor
+of his recent experience to tumble over his soul in a laughter perhaps louder
+than any heard before or since within the confines of one of Her
+Majesty&rsquo;s prisons.</p>
+<h2><a id="I_X" name="I_X"></a>CHAPTER X<br />
+THE BRINGING OF THE NEWS</h2>
+<p>Phoebe meantime returned to Chagford, withdrew herself into her chamber,
+and feverishly busied brains and hands with a task commended that morning by
+Will when she had mentioned it to him. The various trinkets and objects of
+value lavished of late upon her by John Grimbal she made into a neat packet,
+and tied up a sealskin jacket and other furs in a second and more bulky
+parcel. With these and a letter she presently despatched a maid to Mr.
+Grimbal&rsquo;s temporary address. Phoebe&rsquo;s note explained how, weak
+and friendless until the sudden return of Will into her life, she had been
+thrown upon wickedness, falsehood, and deceit to win her own salvation in the
+face of all about her. She told him of the deed done that day, begged him to
+be patient and forget her, and implored him to forgive her husband, who had
+fought with the only weapons at his command. It was a feeble communication,
+and Phoebe thought that her love for Will might have inspired words more
+forcible; but relief annihilated any other emotion; she felt thankful that
+the lying, evasion, and prevarication of the last horrible ten days were at
+an end. From the nightmare of that time her poor, bruised conscience emerged
+sorely stricken; yet she felt that the battle now before her was a healthy
+thing by comparison, and might serve to brace her moral senses rather than
+not.</p>
+<p>At the tea-table she first met her father, and there were present also
+Billy Blee and Mr. Chapple. The latter had come to Monks Barton about a
+triumphal arch, already in course of erection at Chagford market-place, and
+his presence it was that precipitated her confession, and brought
+Phoebe&rsquo;s news like a thunderbolt upon the company.</p>
+<p>Mr. Chapple, looking up suddenly from the saucer that rested upon his
+outspread fingers and thumb, made a discovery, and spoke with some
+concern.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Faith, Missy, that&rsquo;s ill luck&mdash;a wisht thing to do
+indeed! Put un off, like a gude maid, for theer &rsquo;s many a wise
+sayin&rsquo; &rsquo;gainst it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What&rsquo;s her done?&rdquo; asked Billy anxiously.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Luke &rsquo;pon her weddin&rsquo; finger. &rsquo;Tis poor speed to
+put un on &rsquo;fore her lard an&rsquo; master do it, at the proper moment
+ordained by Scripture.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If she hasn&rsquo;t! Take un off, Miss Phoebe, do!&rdquo; begged
+Mr. Blee, in real trepidation; and the miller likewise commanded his daughter
+to remove her wedding-ring.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An auld wife&rsquo;s tale, but, all the same, shouldn&rsquo;t be
+theer till you &rsquo;m a married woman,&rdquo; he said.</p>
+<p>Thus challenged, the way was made smooth as possible for the young wife.
+She went over to her father, walked close to him, and put her plump little
+hand with its shining addition upon his shoulder.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Faither dear, I be a married woman. I had to tell lies and play
+false, but&rsquo;t was to you an&rsquo; Mr. Grimbal I&rsquo;ve been double,
+not to my husband that is. I was weak, and I&rsquo;ve been punished sore,
+but&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why, gal alive! what rigmarole &rsquo;s this? Married&mdash;ay,
+an&rsquo; so you shall be, in gude time. You &rsquo;m light-headed, lass, I
+do b&rsquo;lieve. But doan&rsquo;t fret, I&rsquo;ll have
+Doctor&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Hear me,&rdquo; she said, almost roughly. &ldquo;I kept my
+word&mdash;my first sacred word&mdash;to Will. I loved him, an&rsquo; none
+else but him; an&rsquo; &rsquo;tis done&mdash;I&rsquo;ve married him this
+marnin&rsquo;, for it had to be, an&rsquo; theer&rsquo;s the sign an&rsquo;
+token of it I&rsquo;ve brought along with me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She drew the copy of the register from her pocket, opened it with
+trembling fingers, set it before Mr. Lyddon, and waited for him to speak. But
+it was some time before he found words or wind to do so. Literally the fact
+had taken his breath. A curious expression, more grin than frown&mdash;an
+expression beyond his control in moments of high emotion&mdash;wrinkled his
+eyelids, stretched his lips, and revealed the perfect double row of his false
+teeth. His hand went forward to the blue paper now lying before him, then the
+fingers stopped half way and shook in the air. Twice he opened his mouth, but
+only a sharp expiration, between a sigh and a bark, escaped.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My God, you&rsquo;ve shook the sawl of un!&rdquo; cried Billy,
+starting forward, but the miller with an effort recovered his
+self-possession, scanned the paper, dropped it, and lifted up his voice in
+lamentation.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;True&mdash;past altering&mdash;&rsquo;t is a thing done! May God
+forgive you for this wicked deed, Phoebe Lyddon&mdash;I&rsquo;d never have
+b&rsquo;lieved it of &rsquo;e&mdash;never&mdash;not if an angel had tawld me.
+My awn that was, and my awnly one! My darter, my soft-eyed gal, the crown of
+my grey hairs, the last light of my life!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I pray you&rsquo;ll come to forgive me in time, dear faither. I
+doan&rsquo;t ax &rsquo;e to yet a while. I had to do it&mdash;a faithful
+promise. &rsquo;T was for pure love, faither; I lied for him&mdash;lied even
+to you; an&rsquo; my heart &rsquo;s been near to breakin&rsquo; for &rsquo;e
+these many days; but you&rsquo;d never have listened if I&rsquo;d told
+&rsquo;e.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Go,&rdquo; he said very quietly. &ldquo;I caan&rsquo;t abear the
+sight of&rsquo;e just now. An&rsquo; that poor fule, as thrawed his money in
+golden showers for &rsquo;e! Oh, my gude God, why for did &rsquo;E leave me
+any childern at all? Why didn&rsquo;t &rsquo;E take this cross-hearted wan
+when t&rsquo; other was snatched away? Why didn&rsquo;t &rsquo;E fill the cup
+of my sorrer to the brim at a filling an&rsquo; not drop by drop, to let un
+run awver now I be auld?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Phoebe turned to him in bitter tears, but the man&rsquo;s head was down on
+his hands beside his plate and cup, and he, too, wept, with a pitiful
+childish squeak between his sobs. Weakness so overwhelming and so
+unexpected&mdash;a father&rsquo;s sorrow manifested in this helpless feminine
+fashion&mdash;tore the girl&rsquo;s very heartstrings. She knelt beside him
+and put her arms about him; but he pushed her away and with some return of
+self-control and sternness again bid her depart from him. This Phoebe did,
+and there was silence, while Mr. Lyddon snuffled, steadied himself, wiped his
+face with a cotton handkerchief, and felt feebly for a pair of spectacles in
+his pocket. Mr. Chapple, meantime, had made bold to scan the paper with round
+eyes, and Billy, now seeing the miller in some part recovered, essayed to
+comfort him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Theer, theer, maister, doan&rsquo;t let this black
+come-along-o&rsquo;t quench &rsquo;e quite. That&rsquo;s better! You such a
+man o&rsquo; sense, tu! &rsquo;T was awver-ordained by Providence, though a
+artful thing in a young gal; but women be such itemy twoads best o&rsquo;
+times&mdash;stage-players by sex, they sez; an&rsquo; when love for a man be
+hid in &rsquo;em, gormed if they caan&rsquo;t fox the God as made
+&rsquo;em!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Her to do it! The unthankfulness, the cold cruelty of it! An&rsquo;
+me that was mother an&rsquo; father both to her&mdash;that did rock her
+cradle with these hands an&rsquo; wash the li&rsquo;l year-auld body of her.
+To forget all&mdash;all she owed! It cuts me that deep!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Deep as a wire into cheese, I lay. An&rsquo; well it may; but
+han&rsquo;t no new thing; you stablish yourself with that. The ways o&rsquo;
+women &rsquo;s like&mdash;&rsquo;t was a sayin&rsquo; of Solomon I
+caan&rsquo;t call home just this minute; but he knawed, you mind, none
+better. He had his awn petticoat trouble, same as any other Christian man
+given to women. What do &rsquo;e say, neighbour?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Billy, of opinion that Mr. Chapple should assist him in this painful duty,
+put the last question to his rotund friend, but the other, for answer, rose
+and prepared to depart.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I say,&rdquo; he answered, &ldquo;that I&rsquo;d best go up-along
+and stop they chaps buildin&rsquo; the triumphant arch. &rsquo;Pears
+won&rsquo;t be called for now. An&rsquo; theer&rsquo;s a tidy deal else to do
+likewise. Folks was comin&rsquo; in from the Moor half a score o&rsquo; miles
+for this merry-makin&rsquo;.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;T is a practical thought,&rdquo; said Billy. &ldquo;Them as
+come from far be like to seem fules if nothin&rsquo; &rsquo;s done. You go up
+the village an&rsquo; I&rsquo;ll follow &rsquo;e so quick as I
+can.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Mr. Chapple thereupon withdrew and Billy turned to the miller. Mr. Lyddon
+had wandered once and again up and down the kitchen, then fallen into his
+customary chair; and there he now sat, his elbows on his knees, his hands
+over his face. He was overwhelmed; his tears hurt him physically and his head
+throbbed. Twenty years seemed to have piled themselves upon his brow in as
+many minutes.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Sure I could shed water myself to see you like this here,&rdquo;
+said Mr. Blee, sympathetically; &ldquo;but &rsquo;t is wan of them eternal
+circumstances we &rsquo;m faaced with that all the rain falled of a wet
+winter won&rsquo;t wash away. Theer &rsquo;s the lines. They &rsquo;m a fact,
+same as the sun in heaven &rsquo;s a fact. God A&rsquo;mighty&rsquo;s Self
+couldn&rsquo;t undo it wi&rsquo;out some violent invention; an&rsquo; for
+that matter I doan&rsquo;t see tu clear how even Him be gwaine to magic a
+married woman into a spinster again; any more than He could turn a spinster
+into a married woman, onless some ordinary human man came forrard. You must
+faace it braave an&rsquo; strong. But that imp o&rsquo; Satan&mdash;that damn
+Blanchard bwoy! Theer! I caan&rsquo;t say what I think &rsquo;bout him. Arter
+all that&rsquo;s been done: the guests invited, the banns axed out, the
+victuals bought, and me retracin&rsquo; my ballet night arter night, for ten
+days, to get un to concert pitch&mdash;well, &rsquo;t is a matter tu deep for
+mere speech.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The&mdash;the young devil! I shall have no pity&mdash;not a spark.
+I wish to God he could hang for it!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;As to that, might act worse than leave it to Jan Grimbal.
+He&rsquo;ll do summat &rsquo;fore you&rsquo;ve done talkin&rsquo;, if I knaw
+un. An&rsquo; a son-in-law &rsquo;s a son-in-law, though he&rsquo;ve brought
+it to pass by a brigand deed same as this. &rsquo;T is a kicklish question
+what a man should do to the person of his darter&rsquo;s husband. You bide
+quiet an&rsquo; see what chances. Grimbal&rsquo;s like to take law into his
+awn hands, as any man of noble nature might in this quandary.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The disappointed lover&rsquo;s probable actions offered dreary food for
+thought, and the two old men were still conversing when a maid entered to lay
+the cloth for supper. Then Billy proceeded to the village and Mr. Lyddon,
+unnerved and restless, rambled aimlessly into the open air, addressed any man
+or woman who passed from the adjacent cottages, and querulously announced, to
+the astonishment of chance listeners, that his daughter&rsquo;s match was
+broken off.</p>
+<p>An hour later Phoebe reappeared in the kitchen and occupied her usual
+place at the supper-table. No one spoke a word, but the course of the meal
+was suddenly interrupted, for there came a knock at the farmhouse door, and
+without waiting to be answered, somebody lifted the latch, tramped down the
+stone passage, and entered the room.</p>
+<p>Now Phoebe, in the privacy of her little chamber beneath the thatch, had
+reflected miserably on the spectacle of her husband far away in a prison
+cell, with his curls cropped off and his shapely limbs clad convict-fashion.
+When, therefore, Will, and not John Grimbal, as she expected, stood before
+her, his wife was perhaps more astonished than any other body present. Young
+Blanchard appeared, however. He looked weary and hungry, for he had been on
+his legs during the greater part of the day and had forgotten to eat since
+his pretence of wedding-breakfast ten hours earlier. Now, newly returned from
+Exeter, he came straight to Monks Barton before going to his home.</p>
+<p>Billy Blee was the first to find his voice before this sudden apparition.
+His fork, amply laden, hung in the air as though his arm was turned to stone;
+with a mighty gulp he emptied his mouth and spoke.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Gormed if you ban&rsquo;t the most &rsquo;mazin&rsquo; piece ever
+comed out o&rsquo; Chagford!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Miller Lyddon,&rdquo; said Will, not heeding Mr. Blee, &ldquo;I be
+here to say wan word &rsquo;fore I goes out o&rsquo; your sight. You said
+you&rsquo;d have law of me if I took Phoebe; an&rsquo; that I done,
+&rsquo;cause we was of a mind. Now we &rsquo;m man an&rsquo; wife, an&rsquo;
+I&rsquo;m just back from prison, wheer I went straight to save you trouble.
+But theer &rsquo;s preambles an&rsquo; writs an&rsquo; what not. I shall be
+to mother&rsquo;s, an&rsquo; you can send Inspector Chown when you like. It
+had to come &rsquo;cause we was of a mind.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He looked proudly at Phoebe, but departed without speaking to her, and
+silence followed his going. Mr. Lyddon stared blankly at the door through
+which Will departed, then his rage broke forth.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Curse the wretch! Curse him to his dying day! An&rsquo; I&rsquo;ll
+do more&mdash;more than that. What he can suffer he shall, and if I&rsquo;ve
+got to pay my last shilling to get him punishment I&rsquo;ll do it&mdash;my
+last shilling I&rsquo;ll pay.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He had not regarded his daughter or spoken to her since his words at their
+first meeting; and now, still ignoring Phoebe&rsquo;s presence, he began
+eagerly debating with Billy Blee as to what law might have power to do. The
+girl, wisely enough, kept silence, ate a little food, and then went quietly
+away to her bed. She was secretly overjoyed at Will&rsquo;s return and near
+presence; but another visitor might be expected at any moment, and Phoebe
+knew that to be in bed before the arrival of John Grimbal would save her from
+the necessity of a meeting she much feared. She entered upon her
+wedding-night, therefore, while the voices below droned on, now rising, now
+falling; then, while she was saying her prayers with half her mind on them,
+the other half feverishly intent on a certain sound, it came. She heard the
+clink, clink of the gate, thrown wide open and now swinging backwards and
+forwards, striking the hasp each time; then a heavy step followed it, feet
+strode clanging down the passage, and the bull roar of a man&rsquo;s voice
+fell on her ear. Upon this she huddled under the clothes, but listened for a
+second at long intervals to hear when he departed. The thing that had
+happened, however, since her husband&rsquo;s departure and John
+Grimbal&rsquo;s arrival, remained happily hidden from Phoebe until next
+morning, by which time a climax in affairs was past and the outcome of tragic
+circumstances fully known.</p>
+<p>When Blanchard left the farm, he turned his steps very slowly homewards,
+and delayed some minutes on Rushford Bridge before appearing to his mother.
+For her voice he certainly yearned, and for her strong sense to throw light
+upon his future actions; but she did not know everything there was to be
+known and he felt that with himself, when all was said, lay decision as to
+his next step. While he reflected a new notion took shape and grew defined
+and seemed good to him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why not?&rdquo; he said to himself, aloud. &ldquo;Why not go back?
+Seeing the provocation&mdash;they might surely&mdash;?&rdquo; He pursued the
+idea silently and came to a determination. Yet the contemplated action was
+never destined to be performed, for now an accident so trifling as the chance
+glimmer of a lucifer match contributed to remodel the scheme of his life and
+wholly shatter immediate resolutions. Craving a whiff of tobacco, without
+which he had been since morning, Will lighted his pipe, and the twinkle of
+flame as he did so showed his face to a man passing across the bridge at that
+moment. He stopped in his stride, and a great bellow of wrath escaped him,
+half savage, half joyful.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;By God! I didn&rsquo;t think to meet so soon!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Here was a red-hot raving Nemesis indeed; and Will, while prepared for a
+speedy meeting with his enemy, neither expected nor desired an encounter just
+then. But it had come, and he knew what was before him. Grimbal, just
+returned from a long day&rsquo;s sport, rode back to his hotel in a good
+temper. He drank a brandy-and-soda at the bar, then went up to his rooms and
+found Phoebe&rsquo;s letter; whereupon, as he was in muddy pink, he set off
+straight for Monks Barton; and now he stood face to face with the man on
+earth he most desired to meet. By the light of his match Will saw a red coat,
+white teeth under a great yellow moustache, and a pair of mad, flaming eyes,
+hungry for something. He knew what was coming, moved quickly from the parapet
+of the bridge, and flung away his pipe to free his hands. As he did so the
+other was on him. Will warded one tremendous stroke from a hunting-crop; then
+they came to close quarters, and Grimbal, dropping his whip, got in a heavy
+half-arm blow on his enemy&rsquo;s face before they gripped in holds. The
+younger man, in no trim for battle, reeled and tried to break away; but the
+other had him fast, picked him clean off the ground, and, getting in his
+weight, used a Yankee throw, with intent to drop Will against the granite of
+the bridge. But though Blanchard went down like a child before the attack, he
+disappeared rather than fell; and in the pitchy night it seemed as though
+some amiable deity had caught up the vanquished into air. A sudden pressure
+of the low parapet against his own legs as he staggered forward, told John
+Grimbal what was done and, at the same moment, a tremendous splash in the
+water below indicated his enemy&rsquo;s dismal position. Teign, though not in
+flood at the time, ran high, and just below the bridge a deep pool opened
+out. Around it were rocks upon which rose the pillars of the bridge. No sound
+or cry followed Will Blanchard&rsquo;s fall; no further splash of a swimmer,
+or rustle on the river&rsquo;s bank, indicated any effort from him.
+Grimbal&rsquo;s first instincts were those of regret that revenge had proved
+so brief. His desire was past before he had tasted it. Then for a moment he
+hesitated, and the first raving lust to kill Phoebe&rsquo;s husband waned a
+trifle before the sudden conviction that he had done so. He crept down to the
+river, ploughed about to find the man, questioning what he should do if he
+did find him. His wrath waxed as he made search, and he told himself that he
+should only trample Blanchard deeper into water if he came upon him. He
+kicked here and there with his heavy boots; then abandoned the search and
+proceeded to Monks Barton.</p>
+<p>Into the presence of the miller he thundered, and for a time said nothing
+of the conflict from which he had come. The scene needs no special narration.
+Vain words and wishes, oaths and curses, filled John Grimbal&rsquo;s mouth.
+He stamped on the floor, finding it impossible to remain motionless, roared
+the others down, loaded the miller with bitter reproaches for his blindness,
+silenced Mr. Blee on every occasion when he attempted to join the discussion.
+The man, in fine, exhibited that furious, brute passion and rage to be
+expected from such a nature suddenly faced with complete dislocation of
+cherished hopes. His life had been a long record of success, and this
+tremendous reverse, on his first knowledge of it, came near to unhinge John
+Grimbal&rsquo;s mind. Storm succeeded storm, explosion followed upon
+explosion, and the thought of the vanity of such a display only rendered him
+more frantic. Then chance reminded the raging maniac of that thing he had
+done, and now, removed from the deed by a little time, he gloried in it.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Blast the devil&mdash;short shrift he got&mdash;given straight into
+my hand! I swore to kill him when I heard it; an&rsquo; I have&mdash;pitched
+him over the bridge and broken his blasted neck. I&rsquo;d burn in
+ragin&rsquo; hell through ten lifetimes to do it again. But that&rsquo;s done
+once for all. And you can tell your whore of a daughter she&rsquo;s a widow,
+not a wife!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;God be gude to us!&rdquo; cried Billy, while Mr. Lyddon started in
+dismay. &ldquo;Is this true you&rsquo;m tellin&rsquo;? Blue murder? An&rsquo;
+so, like&rsquo;s not, his awn mother&rsquo;ll find un when she goes to draw
+water in the marnin&rsquo;!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Let her, and his sister, too; and my God-damned brother! All in
+it&mdash;every cursed one of &rsquo;em. I&rsquo;d like&mdash;I&rsquo;d
+like&mdash;Christ&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He broke off, was silent for a moment, then strode out of the room towards
+the staircase. Mr. Lyddon heard him and rushed after him with Billy. They
+scrambled past and stood at the stair-foot while Grimbal glanced up in the
+direction of Phoebe&rsquo;s room, and then glared at the two old men.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why not, you doddering fools? Can you still stand by her, cursed
+jade of lies? My work&rsquo;s only half done! No man&rsquo;s ever betrayed me
+but he&rsquo;s suffered hell for it; and no woman shall.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He raged, and the two with beating hearts waited for him.</p>
+<p>Then suddenly laughing aloud, the man turned his back, and passed into the
+night without more words.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Mad, so mad as any zany!&rdquo; gasped Mr. Blee. &ldquo;Thank God
+the whim&rsquo;s took un to go. My innards was curdlin&rsquo; afore
+him!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The extravagance of Grimbal&rsquo;s rage had affected Mr. Lyddon also.
+With white and terrified face he crept after Grimbal, and watched that
+tornado of a man depart.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My stars! He do breathe forth threatenings and slaughters worse
+&rsquo;n in any Bible carater ever I read of,&rdquo; said the miller,
+&ldquo;and if what he sez be true&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll wager &rsquo;t is. Theer &rsquo;s method in him. Your
+son-in-law, if I may say it, be drownded, sure &rsquo;s death. What a
+world!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Get the lanterns and call Sam Bonus. He must stand to this door
+an&rsquo; let no man in while we &rsquo;m away. God send the chap ban&rsquo;t
+dead. I don&rsquo;t like for a long-cripple to suffer torture.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s your high religion. An&rsquo; I&rsquo;ll carry the
+brandy, for &rsquo;t is a liquor, when all &rsquo;s said, what &rsquo;s saved
+more bodies in this world than it &rsquo;s damned sawls in the next,
+an&rsquo; a thing pleasant, tu, used with sense&mdash;specially if a man can
+sleep &rsquo;fore &rsquo;t is dead in un.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Hurry, hurry! Every minute may mean life or death. I&rsquo;ll call
+Bonus; you get the lanterns.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Ten minutes later a huge labourer stood guard over Monks Barton, and the
+miller, with his man, entered upon their long and fruitless search. The thaw
+had come, but glimmering ridges of snow still outlined the bases of
+northern-facing hedges along the river. With infinite labour and some
+difficulty they explored the stream, then, wet and weary, returned by the
+southern bank to their starting-point at Rushford Bridge. Here Billy found a
+cloth cap by the water&rsquo;s edge, and that was the only evidence of
+Will&rsquo;s downfall. As they clambered up from the river Mr. Lyddon noted
+bright eyes shining across the night, and found that the windows of Mrs.
+Blanchard&rsquo;s cottage were illuminated.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They &rsquo;m waitin&rsquo; for him by the looks of it,&rdquo; he
+said. &ldquo;What ought us to do, I wonder?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Billy never objected to be the bearer of news, good or ill, so that it was
+sensational; but a thought struck him at seeing the lighted windows.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why, it may be he&rsquo;s theer! If so, then us might find Grimbal
+didn&rsquo;t slay un arter all. &rsquo;T was such a miz-maze o&rsquo; crooked
+words he let fly &rsquo;pon us, that perhaps us misread un.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I wish I thought so. Come. Us can ax that much.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>A few minutes later they stood at Mrs. Blanchard&rsquo;s door and knocked.
+The widow herself appeared, fully dressed, wide awake, and perfectly
+collected. Her manner told Mr. Lyddon nothing.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What might you want, Miller?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;T is Will. There&rsquo;s bin blows struck and violence done,
+I hear.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I can tell &rsquo;e the rest. The bwoy&rsquo;s paid his score
+an&rsquo; got full measure. He wanted to be even with you, tu, but they
+wouldn&rsquo;t let un.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If he ban&rsquo;t dead, I&rsquo;ll make him smart yet for his evil
+act.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I warned &rsquo;e. He was cheated behind his back, an&rsquo; played
+with the same cards what you did, and played better.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Wheer is he now? That&rsquo;s what I want to knaw.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Up in the house. They met on the bridge an&rsquo; Grimbal bested
+him, Will bein&rsquo; weary an&rsquo; empty-bellied. When the man flinged him
+in the stream, he got under the arch behind the rocks afore he lost his head
+for a time and went senseless. When he comed to he crawled up the croft and I
+let un in.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Thank God he&rsquo;s not dead; but punishment he shall have if
+theer&rsquo;s justice in the land.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Bide your time. He won&rsquo;t shirk it. But he&rsquo;s hurted
+proper; you might let Jan Grimbal knaw, &rsquo;t will ease his
+mind.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not it,&rdquo; declared Billy; &ldquo;he thought he&rsquo;d killed
+un; cracked the neck of un.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The blow &rsquo;pon his faace scatted abroad his left nostril; the
+fall brawked his arm, not his neck; an&rsquo; the spurs t&rsquo; other was
+wearin&rsquo; tored his leg to the bone. Doctor&rsquo;s seen un; so tell
+Grimbal. Theer&rsquo;s pleasure in such payment.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She spoke without emotion, and showed no passion against the master of the
+Red House. When Will had come to her, being once satisfied in her immediate
+motherly agony that his life was not endangered, she allowed her mind a sort
+of secret, fierce delight at his performance and its success in the main
+issue. She was proud of him at the bottom of her heart; but before other eyes
+bore herself with outward imperturbability.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;ll keep the gal, I reckon?&rdquo; she said quietly;
+&ldquo;if you can hold hand off Will till he&rsquo;m on his legs again,
+I&rsquo;d thank you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I shall do what I please, when I please; an&rsquo; my poor fule of
+a daughter stops with me as long as I&rsquo;ve got power to make
+her.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Hope you&rsquo;ll live to see things might have been
+worse.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s impossible. No worse evil could have fallen upon me.
+My grey hairs a laughing-stock, and your awn brother&rsquo;s hand in it. He
+knawed well enough the crime he was committing.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;ve a short memory, Miller. I lay Jan Grimbal knaws the
+reason if you doan&rsquo;t. The worm that can sting does, if you tread on it.
+Gude-night to &rsquo;e.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; how do you find yourself now?&rdquo; Billy inquired, as
+his master and he returned to Monks Barton.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Weary an&rsquo; sick, an&rsquo; filled with gall. Was it wrong to
+make the match, do &rsquo;e think, seein&rsquo; &rsquo;t was all for love of
+my cheel? Was I out to push so strong for it? I seem I done right, despite
+this awful mischance.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; so you did; an&rsquo; my feelin&rsquo;s be the same as
+yours to a split hair, though I&rsquo;ve got no language for em at this
+unnatural hour of marnin&rsquo;,&rdquo; said Billy.</p>
+<p>Then in silence, to the bobbing illumination of their lanterns, Mr. Lyddon
+and his familiar dragged their weary bodies home.</p>
+<h2><a id="I_XI" name="I_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI<br />
+LOVE AND GREY GRANITE</h2>
+<p>The lofty central area of Devon has ever presented a subject of
+fascination to geologists; and those evidences of early man which adorn
+Dartmoor to-day have similarly attracted antiquarian minds for many
+generations past. But the first-named student, although his researches plunge
+him into periods of mundane time inconceivably more remote than that with
+which the archaeologist is concerned, yet reaches conclusions more definite
+and arrives at a nearer approximation to truth than any who occupy themselves
+in the same area with manifold and mysterious indications of early
+humanity&rsquo;s sojourn. The granite upheaval during that awful revolt of
+matter represented by the creation of Dartmoor has been assigned to a period
+between the Carboniferous and Permian eras; but whether the womb of one
+colossal volcano or the product of a thousand lesser eruptions threw forth
+this granite monster, none may yet assert. Whether Dartmoor first appeared as
+a mighty shield, with one uprising spike in its midst, or as a target
+supporting many separate bosses cannot be declared; for the original aspect
+of the region has long vanished, though our worn and weathered land of tors
+still shadows, in its venerable desolation, those sublimer, more savage
+glories manifested ere the eye of man or beast existed to receive an image of
+them.</p>
+<p>But the earliest human problems presented by Devon&rsquo;s watershed admit
+of no sure solution, albeit they date from a time adjacent contrasted with
+that wherein the land was born. Nature&rsquo;s message still endures for man
+to read as his knowledge grows; but the records of our primal fellows have
+grown dim and uncertain as the centuries rolled over them. There exists,
+however, within the lofty, lonely kingdom of the granite, a chain of human
+evidences extending from prehistoric ages to the ruined shepherd&rsquo;s cot
+of yesterday. At many spots a spectator may perceive in one survey the stone
+ruin of the Danmonian&rsquo;s habitation, and hypaethral temple or forum, the
+heather-clad debris left by Elizabethan streamers of alluvial tin, the inky
+peat-ridges from which a moorman has just cut his winter firing. But the
+first-named objects, with kindred fragments that have similarly endured,
+chiefly fire imagination. Seen grey at gloaming time, golden through sunny
+dawns, partaking in those spectral transformations cast upon the moor by the
+movement of clouds, by the curtains of the rain, by the silver of breaking
+day, the monotone of night and the magic of the moon, these relics reveal
+themselves and stand as a link between the present and the far past. Mystery
+broods over them and the jealous wings of the ages hide a measure of their
+secret. Thus far these lonely rings of horrent stones and the alignments
+between them have concealed their story from modern man, and only in presence
+of the ancient pound, the foundations of a dwelling, the monolith that marked
+a stone-man&rsquo;s sepulchre, the robbed cairn and naked kistvaen, may we
+speak with greater certainty and, through the glimmering dawn of history and
+the records of Britain&rsquo;s earliest foes, burrow back to aboriginal man
+on Dartmoor. Then research and imagination rebuild the eternal rings of
+granite and, erecting upon them tall domes of thatch and skins on wattle
+ribs, conceive the early village like a cluster of gigantic mushrooms, whose
+cowls are uplifted in that rugged fastness through the night of time. We see
+Palaeolithic man sink into mother earth before the superior genius of his
+Neolithic successor; and we note the Damnonian shepherds flourishing in
+lonely lodges and preserving their flocks from the wolf, while Egypt&rsquo;s
+pyramids were still of modern creation, and the stars twinkled in strange
+constellations, above a world innocent as yet of the legends that would name
+them. The stone-workers have vanished away, but their labour endures; their
+fabricated flints still appear, brought to light from barrows and peat-ties,
+from the burrows of rabbits and the mounds of the antiquary mole; the ruins
+of their habitations, the theatres of their assemblies and unknown ceremonies
+still stand, and probably will continue so to do as long as Dartmoor&rsquo;s
+bosom lies bare to the storm and stress of the ages.</p>
+<p>Modern man has also fretted the wide expanse, has scratched its surface
+and dropped a little sweat and blood; but his mansion and his cot and his
+grave are no more; plutonic rock is the only tablet on which any human story
+has been scribbled to endure. Castles and manor-houses have vanished from the
+moorland confines like the cloudy palaces of a dream; the habitations of the
+mining folk shall not be seen to-day, and their handiwork quickly returns to
+primitive waste; fern and furze hide the robbed cairn and bury the shattered
+cross; flood and lightning and tempest roam over the darkness of a region
+sacred to them, and man stretches his hand for what Nature touches not; but
+the menhir yet stands erect, the &ldquo;sacred&rdquo; circles are circles
+still, and these, with like records of a dim past, present to thinking
+travellers the crown and first glory of the Moor. Integral portions of the
+ambient desolation are they&mdash;rude toys that infant humanity has left in
+Mother Nature&rsquo;s lap; and the spectacle of them twines a golden thread
+of human interest into the fabric of each lonely heath, each storm-scarred
+mountain-top and heron-haunted stream. Nothing is changed since skin-clad
+soldiers and shepherds strode these wastes, felt their hearts quicken at
+sight of women, or their hands clench over celt-headed spears before danger.
+Here the babies of the stone-folk, as the boys and girls to-day, stained
+their little mouths and ringers with fruit of briar and whortle; the ling
+bloomed then as now; the cotton-grass danced its tattered plume; the sphagnum
+mosses opened emerald-green eyes in marsh and quaking bog; and hoary granite
+scattered every ravine and desert valley. About those aboriginal men the Moor
+spread forth the same horizon of solemn enfolding hills, and where twinkle
+the red hides of the moor-man&rsquo;s heifers through upstanding fern, in
+sunny coombs and hawthorn thickets, yesterday the stone-man&rsquo;s cattle
+roamed and the little eyes of a hidden bear followed their motions. Here,
+indeed, the first that came in the flesh are the last to vanish in their
+memorials; here Nature, to whom the hut-circle of granite, all clad in
+Time&rsquo;s lichen livery of gold and grey, is no older than the mushroom
+ring shining like a necklace of pearls within it&mdash;Nature may follow what
+course she will, may build as she pleases, may probe to the heart of things,
+may pursue the eternal Law without let from the pigmies; and here, if
+anywhere from man&rsquo;s precarious standpoint, shall he perceive the
+immutable and observe a presentment of himself in those ephemera that dance
+above the burn at dawn, and ere twilight passes gather up their gauze wings
+and perish.</p>
+<p>According to individual temperament this pregnant region attracts and
+fascinates the human spectator or repels him. Martin Grimbal loved Dartmoor
+and, apart from ties of birth and early memories, his natural predilections
+found thereon full scope and play. He was familiar with most of those
+literary productions devoted to the land, and now developed an ambition to
+add some result of personal observation and research to extant achievements.
+He went to work with method and determination, and it was not until
+respectable accumulations of notes and memoranda already appeared as the
+result of his labours that the man finally&mdash;almost
+reluctantly&mdash;reconciled himself to the existence of another and deeper
+interest in his life than that furnished by the grey granite monuments of the
+Moor. Hide it from himself he could no longer, nor yet wholly from others. As
+in wild Devon it is difficult at any time to escape from the murmur of waters
+unseen, so now the steady flood of this disquieting emotion made music at all
+waking hours in Martin&rsquo;s archaeologic mind, shattered his most subtle
+theories unexpectedly, and oftentimes swept the granite clean out of his head
+on the flood of a golden river.</p>
+<p>After three months of this beautiful but disquieting experience, Martin
+resigned himself to the conclusion that he was in love with Chris Blanchard.
+He became very cautious and timid before the discovery. He feared much and
+contemplated the future with the utmost distrust. Doubt racked him; he
+checked himself from planning courses of conduct built on mad presumptions.
+By night, as a sort of debauch, in those hours when man is awake and fancy
+free, he conceived of a happy future with Chris and little children about
+him; at morning light, if any shadow of that fair vision returned, he blushed
+and looked round furtively, as though some thought-reader&rsquo;s cold eye
+must be sneering at such presumption. He despaired of finding neutral ground
+from which his dry mind could make itself attractive to a girl. Now and again
+he told himself that the new emotion must be crushed, in that it began to
+stand between him and the work he had set himself to do for his county; but
+during more sanguine moods he challenged this decision and finally, as was
+proper and right, the flood of the man&rsquo;s first love drowned menhir and
+hut-circle fathoms deep, and demanded all his attention at the cost of mental
+peace. An additional difficulty appeared in the fact that the Blanchard
+family were responsible for John Grimbal&rsquo;s misfortune; and Martin,
+without confusing the two circumstances, felt that before him really lay the
+problem of a wife or a brother. When first he heard of the event that set
+Chagford tongues wagging so briskly, he rightly judged that John would hold
+him one of the conspirators; and an engagement to Chris Blanchard must
+certainly confirm the baffled lover&rsquo;s suspicions and part the men for
+ever. But before those words, as they passed through his brain, Martin
+Grimbal stopped, as the peasant before a shrine. &ldquo;An engagement to
+Chris Blanchard!&rdquo; He was too much a man and too deep merged in love to
+hesitate before the possibility of such unutterable happiness.</p>
+<p>For his brother he mourned deeply enough, and when the thousand rumours
+bred of the battle on the bridge were hatched and fluttered over the
+countryside, Martin it was who exerted all his power to stay them. Most
+people were impressed with the tragic nature of the unfortunate John&rsquo;s
+disappointment; but his energetic measures since the event were held to pay
+all scores, and it was believed the matter would end without any more trouble
+from him. Clement Hicks entertained a different opinion, perhaps judging John
+Grimbal from the secrets of his own character; but Will expressed a lively
+faith that his rival must now cry quits, after his desperate and natural but
+unsuccessful attempt to render Phoebe a widow. The shattered youth took his
+broken bones very easily, and only grunted when he found that his wife was
+not permitted to visit him under any pretence whatever; while as for Phoebe,
+her wild sorrow gradually lessened and soon disappeared as each day brought a
+better account of Will. John Grimbal vanished on the trip which was to have
+witnessed his honeymoon. He pursued his original plans with the modification
+that Phoebe had no part in them, and it was understood that he would return
+to Chagford in the spring.</p>
+<p>Thus matters stood, and when his brother was gone and Will and Phoebe had
+been married a month, Martin, having suffered all that love could do
+meantime, considered he might now approach the Blanchards. Ignorantly he
+pursued an awkward course, for wholly unaware that Clement Hicks felt any
+interest in Will and his sister beyond that of friendship, Martin sought from
+him the general information he desired upon the subject of Chris, her family
+and concerns.</p>
+<p>Together the two men went upon various excursions to ancient relics that
+interested them both, though in different measure. It was long before Martin
+found courage to bring forth the words he desired to utter, but finally he
+managed to do so, in the bracing conditions that obtained on Cosdon Beacon
+upon the occasion of a visit to its summit. By this time he had grown
+friendly with Hicks and must have learnt all and more than he desired to know
+but for the bee-keeper&rsquo;s curious taciturnity. For some whim Clement
+never mentioned his engagement; it was a subject as absent from his
+conversation as his own extreme poverty; but while the last fact Martin had
+already guessed, the former remained utterly concealed from him. Neither did
+any chance discover it until some time afterwards.</p>
+<p>The hut-circles on Cosdon&rsquo;s south-eastern flank occupied
+Martin&rsquo;s pencil. Clement gazed once upon the drawing, then turned away,
+for no feeling or poetry inspired the work; it was merely very accurate. The
+sketches made, both men ascended immense Cosdon, where its crown of cairns
+frets the long summit; and here, to the sound of the wind in the dead
+heather, with all the wide world of Northern Devon extended beneath his gaze
+under a savage sunset, Martin found courage to speak. At first Hicks did not
+hear. His eyes were on the pageant of the sky and paid tribute of sad thought
+before an infinity of dying cloud splendours. But the antiquary repeated his
+remark. It related to Will Blanchard, and upon Clement dropping a
+monosyllabic reply his companion continued:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A very handsome fellow, too. Miss Blanchard puts me in mind of
+him.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They&rsquo;re much alike in some things. But though Chris knows her
+brother to be good to look at, you&rsquo;ll never get Will to praise her.
+Funny, isn&rsquo;t it? Yet to his Phoebe, she&rsquo;s the sun to a
+star.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I think so too indeed. In fact, Miss Blanchard is the most
+beautiful woman I ever saw.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Clement did not answer. He was gazing through the sunset at Chris, and as
+he looked he smiled, and the sadness lifted a little from off his face.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Strange some lucky fellow has not won her before now,&rdquo;
+proceeded the other, glancing away to hide the blush that followed his
+diplomacy.</p>
+<p>Here, by all experience and reason, and in the natural sequence of events
+Clement Hicks might have been expected to make his confession and rejoice in
+his prize, but for some cause, from some queer cross-current of disposition,
+he shut his mouth upon the greatest fact of his life. He answered, indeed,
+but his words conveyed a false impression. What sinister twist of mind was
+responsible for his silence he himself could not have explained; a mere
+senseless monkey-mischief seemed to inspire it. Martin had not deceived him,
+because the elder man was unused to probing a fellow-creature for facts or
+obtaining information otherwise than directly. Clement noted the false
+intonation and hesitation, recollected his sweetheart&rsquo;s allusion to
+Martin Grimbal, and read into his companion&rsquo;s question something
+closely akin to what in reality lay behind it. His discovery might have been
+expected to hasten rather than retard the truth, and a first impulse in any
+man had made the facts instantly clear; but Clement rarely acted on impulse.
+His character was subtle, disingenuous, secretive. Safe in absolute
+possession, the discovery of Martin&rsquo;s attachment did not flutter him.
+He laughed in his mind; then he pictured Chris the wife of this man, reviewed
+the worldly improvement in her position such a union must effect, and laughed
+no more. Finally he decided to hold his peace; but his motives for so doing
+were not clear even to himself.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he answered, &ldquo;but she&rsquo;s not one to give her
+hand without her heart.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>These words, from Martin&rsquo;s point of view, embraced a definite
+assurance that Chris was free; and, as they walked homewards, he kept silence
+upon this thought for the space of half an hour. The uneasy hopes and black
+fears of love circled him about. Perhaps his timorous mind, in some moods,
+had been almost relieved at declaration of the girl&rsquo;s engagement to
+another. But now the tremendous task of storming a virgin heart lay ahead of
+him, as he imagined. Torments unfelt by those of less sensitive mould also
+awaited Martin Grimbal. The self-assertive sort of man, who rates himself as
+not valueless, and whose love will not prevent callous calculation on the
+weight of his own person and purse upon the argument, is doubtless wise in
+his generation, and his sanguine temperament enables him to escape oceans of
+unrest, hurricanes of torment; but self-distrust and humility have their
+value, and those who are oppressed by them fall into no such pitiable extreme
+as that too hopeful lover on whose sanguine ear &ldquo;No&rdquo; falls like a
+thunderbolt from red lips that were already considered to have spoken
+&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo; A suitor who plunges from lofty peaks of assured victory
+into failure falls far indeed; but Martin Grimbal stood little chance of
+suffering in that sort as his brother John had done.</p>
+<p>The antiquary spoke presently, fearing he must seem too self-absorbed, but
+Clement had little to say. Yet a chance meeting twisted the conversation
+round to its former topic as they neared home. Upon Chagford Bridge appeared
+Miller Lyddon and Mr. Blee. The latter had been whitewashing the apple-tree
+stems&mdash;a course to which his master attached more importance than that
+pursued on Old Christmas Eve&mdash;and through the gathering dusk the trunks
+now stood out livid and wan as a regiment of ghosts.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Heard from your brother since he left?&rdquo; Mr. Lyddon inquired
+after evening greetings.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I cannot yet. I hope he may write, but you are more likely to hear
+than I.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not me. I&rsquo;m nothing to un now.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Things will come right. Don&rsquo;t let it prey on your mind. No
+woman ever made a good wife who didn&rsquo;t marry where her heart
+was,&rdquo; declared Martin, exhibiting some ignorance of the subject he
+presumed to discuss.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah! you was ag&rsquo;in&rsquo; us, I mind,&rdquo; said the miller,
+drawing in. &ldquo;He said as much that terrible night.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He was wrong&mdash;utterly. I only spoke for his good. I saw that
+your daughter couldn&rsquo;t stand the sight of him and shivered if he
+touched her. It was my duty to speak. Strange you didn&rsquo;t see
+too.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So easy to talk afterwards! I had her spoken word, hadn&rsquo;t I?
+She&rsquo;d never lied in all her life afore. Strange if I <i>had</i> seen, I
+reckon.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You frightened her into falsehood. Any girl might have been
+expected to lie in that position,&rdquo; said Clement coolly; then Mr. Blee,
+who had been fretting to join the conversation, burst into it unbidden.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Be gormed if I ban&rsquo;t like a cat on hot bricks to hear
+&rsquo;e! wan might think as Miller was the Devil hisself for cruelty instead
+o&rsquo; bein&rsquo;, as all knaws, the most muty-hearted<a id="footnotetag4"
+name="footnotetag4"></a><a href="#footnote4"><sup>4</sup></a> faither in
+Chagford.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;As to that, I doan&rsquo;t knaw, Billy,&rdquo; declared Mr. Lyddon
+stoutly; &ldquo;I be a man as metes out to the world same measure as I get
+from the world. Right is right, an&rsquo; law is law; an&rsquo; if I
+doan&rsquo;t have the law of Will Blanchard&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;There&rsquo;s little enough you can do, I believe,&rdquo; said
+Hicks; &ldquo;and what satisfaction lies in it, I should like to know, if
+it&rsquo;s not a rude question?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The old man answered with some bitterness, and explained his power.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;William Blanchard&rsquo;s done abduction, according to Lawyer
+Bellamy of Plymouth; an&rsquo; abduction&rsquo;s felony, and that&rsquo;s a
+big thing, however you look &rsquo;pon it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Long an&rsquo; short is,&rdquo; cut in Billy, who much desired to
+air a little of his new knowledge, &ldquo;that he can get a sentence inside
+the limits of two years, with or without hard labour; at mercy of judge and
+jury. That&rsquo;s his dose or not his dose, &rsquo;cording to the gracious
+gudeness of Miller.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Will&rsquo;s nearly ready to go,&rdquo; said Clement. &ldquo;Let
+his arm once be restored, and he&rsquo;ll do your hard labour with a good
+heart, I promise you. He wants to please Mr. Lyddon, and will tackle two
+months or two years or twenty.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Two an&rsquo; not a second less&mdash;with hard labour I&rsquo;ll
+wager, when all&rsquo;s taken into account.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why are you so hot, Billy Blee? You&rsquo;re none the
+worse.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Billy&rsquo;s very jealous for me, same as Elijah was for the Lard
+o&rsquo; Hosts,&rdquo; said Mr. Lyddon.</p>
+<p>Then Martin and Clement climbed the steep hill that lay between them and
+Chagford, while the miller and his man pursued their way through the
+valley.</p>
+<h2><a id="I_XII" name="I_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII<br />
+A STORY-BOOK</h2>
+<p>Despite the miller&rsquo;s explicit declaration, there was yet a doubt as
+to what he might do in the matter of Will Blanchard. Six weeks is a period of
+time that has often served to cool dispositions more fiery, purposes more
+inflexible than those of Mr. Lyddon, and his natural placidity of
+temperament, despite outbreaks, had begun to reassert itself. Billy Blee,
+misunderstanding his master in this, suspected that the first fires of rage
+were now sunk into a conflagration, not so visible, but deeper and therefore
+more dangerous to the sufferer, if not to other people. He failed to observe
+that each day of waiting lessened the miller&rsquo;s desire towards action,
+and he continued to urge some step against Will Blanchard, as the only road
+by which his master&rsquo;s peace of mind might be regained. He went further,
+and declared delay to be very dangerous for Mr. Lyddon&rsquo;s spleen and
+other physical organs. But though humanity still prevented any definite step,
+Billy&rsquo;s master so far adopted his advice as to see a solicitor and
+learn what the law&rsquo;s power might be in the matter. Now he knew, as was
+recorded in the previous chapter; and still Mr. Lyddon halted between two
+opinions. He usually spoke on the subject as he had spoken to Martin Grimbal
+and Clement Hicks; but in reality he felt less desire in the direction of
+revenge than he pretended. Undoubtedly his daughter contributed not a little
+to this irresolution of mind. During the period of Will&rsquo;s
+convalescence, his wife conducted herself with great tact and self-restraint.
+Deep love for her father not only inspired her, but also smoothed
+difficulties from a road not easy. Phoebe kept much out of sight until the
+miller&rsquo;s first dismay and sorrow had subsided; then she crept back into
+her old position and by a thousand deft deeds and proper speeches won him
+again unconsciously. She anticipated his unspoken desire, brightened his
+every-day life by unobtrusive actions, preserved a bright demeanour, never
+mentioned Will, and never contradicted her father when he did so.</p>
+<p>Thus the matter stood, and Mr. Lyddon held his hand until young Blanchard
+was abroad again and seeking work. Then he acted, as shall appear. Before
+that event, however, incidents befell Will&rsquo;s household, the first being
+an unexpected visit from Martin Grimbal; for the love-sick antiquary nerved
+himself to this great task a week after his excursion to Cosdon. He desired
+to see Will, and was admitted without comment by Mrs. Blanchard. The
+sufferer, who sat at the kitchen fire with his arm still in a sling, received
+Martin somewhat coldly, being ignorant of the visitor&rsquo;s friendly
+intentions. Chris was absent, and Will&rsquo;s mother, after hoping that Mr.
+Grimbal would not object to discuss his business in the kitchen, departed and
+left the men together.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Sit down,&rdquo; said Will. &ldquo;Be you come for your brother or
+yourself?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;For myself. I want to make my position clear. You must not
+associate me with John in this affair. In most things our interests were the
+same, and he has been a brother in a thousand to me; but concerning
+Miss&mdash;Mrs. Blanchard&mdash;he erred in my opinion&mdash;greatly
+erred&mdash;and I told him so. Our relations are unhappily strained, to my
+sorrow. I tell you this because I desire your friendship. It would be good to
+me to be friends with you and your family. I do not want to lose your esteem
+by a misunderstanding.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s fair speech, an&rsquo; I&rsquo;m glad to hear &rsquo;e
+say it, for it ban&rsquo;t my fault when a man quarrels wi&rsquo; me, as
+anybody will tell &rsquo;e. An&rsquo; mother an&rsquo; Chris will be glad.
+God knaws I never felt no anger &rsquo;gainst your brother, till he tried to
+take my girl away from me. Flesh an&rsquo; blood weern&rsquo;t gwaine to
+suffer that.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Under the circumstances, and with all the difficulties of your
+position, I never could blame you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Nor Phoebe,&rdquo; said the other warmly. &ldquo;I won&rsquo;t have
+wan word said against her. Absolute right she done. I&rsquo;m sick an&rsquo;
+savage, even now, to think of all she suffered for me. I grits my teeth by
+night when it comes to my mind the mort o&rsquo; grief an&rsquo; tears
+an&rsquo; pain heaped up for her&mdash;just because she loved wan chap
+an&rsquo; not another.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Let the past go and look forward. The future will be happy
+presently.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;In the long run &rsquo;t will for sure. Your brother&rsquo;s got
+all he wants, I reckon, an&rsquo; I doan&rsquo;t begrudge him a twinge; but I
+hope theer ban&rsquo;t no more wheer that comed from, for his awn sake,
+&rsquo;cause if us met unfriendly again, t&rsquo; other might go awver the
+bridge, an&rsquo; break worse &rsquo;n his arm.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, no, Blanchard, don&rsquo;t talk and think like that. Let the
+past go. My brother will return a wiser man, I pray, with his great
+disappointment dulled.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A gert disappointment! To be catched out stealin&rsquo;, an&rsquo;
+shawed up for a thief!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, forgive and forget. It&rsquo;s a valuable art&mdash;to learn
+to forget.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You wait till you &rsquo;m faaced wi&rsquo; such trouble, an&rsquo;
+try to forget! But we &rsquo;m friends, by your awn shawm&rsquo;, and I be
+glad &rsquo;t is so. Ax mother to step in from front the house, will
+&rsquo;e? I&rsquo;d wish her to know how we &rsquo;m
+standin&rsquo;.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Mrs. Blanchard appeared with her daughter, and subsequent conversation
+banished a haunting sense of disloyalty to his brother from Martin&rsquo;s
+mind. Chris never looked more splendid or more sweet than in that noon, new
+come from a walk with Clement Hicks. Martin listened to her voice, stayed as
+long as he dared, and then departed with many emotions breaking like a storm
+upon his lonely life. He began to long for her with overwhelming desire. He
+had scarcely looked at a woman till now, and this brown-eyed girl of twenty,
+so full of life, so beautiful, set his very soul helplessly adrift on the sea
+of love. Her sudden laugh, like Will&rsquo;s, but softer and more musical,
+echoed in the man&rsquo;s ear as he returned to his house and, in a ferment,
+tramped the empty rooms.</p>
+<p>His own requirements had been amply met by three apartments, furnished
+with sobriety and great poverty of invention; but now he pictured Chris
+singing here, tripping about with her bright eyes and active fingers. Like
+his brother before him, he fell back upon his money, and in imagination spent
+many pounds for one woman&rsquo;s delight. Then from this dream he tumbled
+back into reality and the recollection that his goddess must be wooed and
+won. No man ever yet failed to make love from ignorance how to begin, but the
+extent and difficulties of his undertaking weighed very heavily on Martin
+Grimbal at this juncture. To win even a measure of her friendship appeared a
+task almost hopeless. Nevertheless, through sleepless nights, he nerved
+himself to the tremendous attempt. There was not so much of
+self-consciousness in him, but a great store of self-distrust. Martin rated
+himself and his powers of pleasing very low; and unlike the tumultuous and
+volcanic methods of John, his genius disposed him to a courtship of most
+tardy development, most gradual ripening. To propose while a doubt existed of
+the answer struck him as a proceeding almost beyond the bounds of man&rsquo;s
+audacity. He told himself that time would surely show what chance or hope
+there might be, and that opportunity must be left to sneak from the battle at
+any moment when ultimate failure became too certainly indicated. In more
+sanguine moods, however, by moonlight, or alone on the high moors, greater
+bravery and determination awoke in him. At such times he would decide to
+purchase new clothes and take thought for externals generally. He also
+planned some studies in such concerns as pleased women if he could learn what
+they might be. His first deliberate if half-hearted attack relied for its
+effect upon a novel. Books, indeed, are priceless weapons in the armory of
+your timid lover; and let but the lady discover a little reciprocity, develop
+an unsuspected delight in literature, as often happens, and the most modest
+volume shall achieve a practical result as far beyond its intrinsic merit as
+above the writer&rsquo;s dream.</p>
+<p>Martin, then, primed with a work of fiction, prayed that Chris might prove
+a reader of such things, and called at Mrs. Blanchard&rsquo;s cottage exactly
+one fortnight after his former visit. Chance favoured him to an extent beyond
+his feeble powers to profit by. Will was out for a walk, and Mrs. Blanchard
+being also from home, Martin enjoyed conversation with Chris alone. He began
+well enough, while she listened and smiled. Then he lost his courage and
+lied, and dragging the novel from his pocket, asserted that he had bought the
+tale for her brother.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A story-book! I doubt Will never read no such matter in his life,
+Mr. Grimbal.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But get him to try. It&rsquo;s quite a new thing. There&rsquo;s a
+poaching adventure and so forth&mdash;all very finely done according to the
+critical journals.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;ll never sit down to that gert buke.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You read it then, and tell him if it is good.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Me! Well, I do read now and again, an&rsquo; stories tu; but Will
+wouldn&rsquo;t take my word. Now if Phoebe was to say &rsquo;t was braave
+readin&rsquo;, he&rsquo;d go for it fast enough.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I may leave it, at any rate?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Leave it, an&rsquo; thank you kindly.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How is Will getting on?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Quite well again. Awnly riled &rsquo;cause Mr. Lyddon lies so low.
+Clem told us what the miller can do, but us doan&rsquo;t knaw yet what he
+will do.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Perhaps he doesn&rsquo;t know himself,&rdquo; suggested Martin. The
+name of &ldquo;Clem,&rdquo; uttered thus carelessly by her, made him envious.
+Then, inspired by the circumstance, a request which fairly astounded the
+speaker by its valour dropped on his listener&rsquo;s ear.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;By the way, don&rsquo;t call me &lsquo;Mr. Grimbal.&rsquo; I hope
+you&rsquo;ll let me be &lsquo;Martin&rsquo; in a friendly way to you all, if
+you will be so very kind and not mind my asking.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The end of the sentence had its tail between its legs, but he got the
+words cleanly out, and his reward was great.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why, of course, if you&rsquo;d rather us did; an&rsquo; you can
+call me &lsquo;Chris&rsquo; if you mind to,&rdquo; she said, laughing.
+&ldquo;&rsquo;T is strange you took sides against your brother somehow to
+me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I haven&rsquo;t&mdash;I didn&rsquo;t&mdash;except in the matter of
+Phoebe. He was wrong there, and I told him so,&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He meant to end the sentence with the other&rsquo;s name, only the word
+stuck in his throat; but &ldquo;Miss Blanchard&rdquo; he would not say, after
+her permission, so left a gap.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;ll not forgive &rsquo;e that in a hurry.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not readily, but some day, I hope. Now I must really
+go&mdash;wasting your precious time like this; and I do hope you may read the
+book.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That Will may?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No&mdash;yes&mdash;both of you, in fact. And I&rsquo;ll come to
+know whether you liked it. Might I?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Whether Will liked it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She nodded and laughed, then the door hid her; while Martin Grimbal went
+his way treading upon air. Those labourers whom he met received from him such
+a &ldquo;Good evening!&rdquo; that the small parties, dropping back on
+Chagford from their outlying toil, grinned inquiringly, they hardly knew at
+what.</p>
+<p>Meantime, Chris Blanchard reflected, and the laughter faded out of her
+eyes, leaving them grave and a little troubled. She was sufficiently familiar
+with lovers&rsquo; ways. The bold, the uncouth, the humble, and timorous were
+alike within her experience. She watched this kind-faced man grow hot and
+cold as he spoke to her, noted the admixture of temerity and fear that
+divided his mind and appeared in his words. She had seen his lips tremble and
+refuse to pronounce her name; and she rightly judged that he would possibly
+repeat it aloud to himself more than once before he slept that night. Chris
+was no flirt, and now heartily regretted her light and friendly banter upon
+the man&rsquo;s departure. &ldquo;I be a silly fule, an&rsquo; wouldn&rsquo;t
+whisper a word of this to any but Clem,&rdquo; she thought, &ldquo;for it may
+be nothing but the nervous way of un, an&rsquo; such a chap &rsquo;s a right
+to seek a sight further &rsquo;n me for a wife; an&rsquo; yet they all
+&rsquo;pear the same, an&rsquo; act the same soft sort o&rsquo; style when
+they &rsquo;m like it.&rdquo; Then she considered that, seeing what
+friendship already obtained between Clement and Martin Grimbal, it was
+strange the latter still went in ignorance. &ldquo;Anyways, if I&rsquo;m not
+wrong, the sooner he &rsquo;m told the better, for he&rsquo;s a proper
+fashioned man,&rdquo; she thought.</p>
+<p>While Chris was still revolving this matter in her mind, Mrs. Blanchard
+returned with some news.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Postmistress stepped out of the office wi&rsquo; this as I corned
+down the village,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;&rsquo;T is from Mrs. Watson, I
+fancy.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Her daughter brought a light, and the letter was perused. &ldquo;Uncle
+&rsquo;s took bad,&rdquo; Mrs. Blanchard presently announced;
+&ldquo;an&rsquo; sends to say as he wants me to go along an&rsquo; help Sarah
+Watson nurse un.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Him ill! I never thought he was made of stuff to be ill.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I must go, whether or no. I&rsquo;ll take the coach to Moreton
+to-morrow.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Mrs. Blanchard mentally traversed her wardrobe as she drank tea, and had
+already packed in anticipation before the meal was ended. Will, on returning,
+was much perturbed at this bad news, for since his own marriage Uncle Ford
+had become a hero among men to him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What&rsquo;s amiss she doan&rsquo;t say&mdash;Mrs. Watson&mdash;but
+it&rsquo;s more &rsquo;n a fleabite else he wouldn&rsquo;t take his bed. But
+I hopes I&rsquo;ll have un to rights again in a week or so. &rsquo;Mind me to
+take a bottle of last summer&rsquo;s Marshmally brew, Chris. Doctors laugh at
+such physic, but I knaw what I knaw.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Wonder if&rsquo;t would better him to see me?&rdquo; mused
+Will.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, no; no call for that. You&rsquo;ll be fit to stand to work by
+Monday, so mind your business an&rsquo; traapse round an&rsquo; look for it.
+Theer &rsquo;s plenty doin&rsquo; &rsquo;pon the land now, an&rsquo; I want
+to hear you&rsquo; ve got a job &rsquo;fore I come home. Husbands must work
+for two; an&rsquo; Phoebe&rsquo;ll be on your hands come less than a couple
+o&rsquo; years.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;One year and five months and seven days &rsquo;t is.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Very well. You&rsquo;ve got to mind a brace of things meantime; to
+make a vitty home for her by the sweat of your body, an&rsquo; to keep your
+hands off her till she &rsquo;m free to come to &rsquo;e.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Big things both, though I ban&rsquo;t afeared of myself afore
+&rsquo;em. I&rsquo;ve thought a lot in my time, an&rsquo; be allowed to have
+sense an&rsquo; spirit for that matter.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Spirit, ess fay, same as your faither afore you; but not so much
+sense as us can see wi&rsquo;out lightin&rsquo; cannel.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Wonder if Uncle Joel be so warm a man as he&rsquo;d have us think
+sometimes of an evenin&rsquo; arter his hot whiskey an&rsquo; water?&rdquo;
+said Chris.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t &rsquo;e count on no come-by-chance from him.
+He&rsquo;s got money, that I knaw, but ban&rsquo;t gwaine to pass our way,
+for he tawld me so in as many words. Sarah Watson will reap what he&rsquo;s
+sawed; an&rsquo; who shall grumble? He &rsquo;m a just man, though not of the
+accepted way o&rsquo; thinkin&rsquo;.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why for didn&rsquo;t he marry her?&rdquo; asked Will.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Caan&rsquo;t tell&rsquo;e, more&rsquo;n the dead. Just a whim. I
+asked her same question, when I was last to Newton, an&rsquo; she said
+&rsquo;t was to save the price of a licence she reckoned, though in his way
+of life he might have got matrimony cheap as any man. But theer &rsquo;t is.
+Her &rsquo;s bin gude as a wife to un&mdash;an&rsquo; better &rsquo;n
+many&mdash;this fifteen year.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A very kind woman to me while I was biding along with uncle,&rdquo;
+said Will. &ldquo;All the same you should have some of the money.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m well as I be. An&rsquo; this dead-man-shoe talk&rsquo;s
+vain an&rsquo; giddy. I lay he&rsquo;m long ways from death, an&rsquo; the
+further the better. Now I be gwaine to pack my box &rsquo;fore
+supper.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Mrs. Blanchard withdrew, and Chris, suddenly recollecting it, mentioned
+Martin Grimbal&rsquo;s visit. Will laughed and read a page or two of the
+story-book, then went out of doors to see Clement Hicks; and his sister, with
+a spare hour before her while a rabbit roasted, sat near the spit and
+occupied her mind with thought.</p>
+<p>Will&rsquo;s business related to himself. He was weary of waiting for Mr.
+Lyddon, and though he had taken care to let Phoebe know by Chris that his arm
+was well and strong enough for the worst that might be found for it to do, no
+notice was taken of his message, no sign escaped the miller.</p>
+<p>All interested persons had their own theories upon this silence. Mrs.
+Blanchard suspected that Mr. Lyddon would do nothing at all, and Will readily
+accepted this belief; but he found it impossible to wait with patience for
+its verification. This indeed was the harder to him because Clement Hicks
+predicted a different issue and foretold an action of most malignant sort on
+the miller&rsquo;s part. What ground existed for attributing any such deed to
+Mr. Lyddon was not manifest, but the bee-keeper stuck to it that Will&rsquo;s
+father-in-law would only wait until he was in good employment and then
+proceed to his confusion.</p>
+<p>This conviction he now repeated.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;s going to make you smart before he&rsquo;s done with you,
+if human nature&rsquo;s a factor to rely upon. It&rsquo;s clear to
+me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I doan&rsquo;t think so ill of un. An&rsquo; yet I ban&rsquo;t
+wishful to leave it to chance. You, an&rsquo; you awnly, knaw what lies hid
+in the past behind me. The question is, should I take that into account now,
+or go ahead as if it never had failed out?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Let it alone, as it has let you alone. Never rake it up again, and
+forget it if you can. That&rsquo;s my advice to you. Forget you
+ever&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Hush!&rdquo; said Will. &ldquo;I&rsquo;d rather not hear the word,
+even &rsquo;pon your lips.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>They then discussed the main matter from the opposite vantage-grounds of
+minds remote in every particular; but no promising procedure suggested itself
+to either man, and it was not until upon his homeward way that Will, unaided,
+arrived at an obvious and very simple conclusion. With some glee he welcomed
+this idea.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll just wait till Monday night,&rdquo; he said to himself,
+&ldquo;an&rsquo; then I&rsquo;ll step right down to Miller, an&rsquo; ax un
+what&rsquo;s in the wind, an&rsquo; if I can help his hand. Then he must
+speak if he&rsquo;s a man.&rdquo;</p>
+<h2><a id="I_XIII" name="I_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII<br />
+THE MILLER&rsquo;S OFFER</h2>
+<p>Will, followed his determination and proceeded to Monks Barton on the
+following Monday evening, at an hour when he knew that Mr. Lyddon would have
+finished supper and be occupied about a pipe or a game of cards with Mr.
+Blee. The old men occasionally passed an hour at &ldquo;oaks&rdquo; or
+&ldquo;cribbage&rdquo; before retiring, but on this occasion they were
+engaged in conversation, and both looked up with some surprise when Blanchard
+appeared.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&mdash;you here again!&rdquo; said the miller, and his mouth
+remained slightly open after the words.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You &rsquo;m allus setting sober hair on end&mdash;blessed if you
+ain&rsquo;t!&rdquo; was Billy&rsquo;s comment.</p>
+<p>Will, for his part, made no introductory speeches, but went straight to
+the point.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Theer&rsquo;s my arm,&rdquo; he said, thrusting it out before him.
+&ldquo;&rsquo;T is mended so neat that Doctor Parsons says no Lunnon
+bone-setter could have done it better. So I&rsquo;ve comed just to say
+theer&rsquo;s no call for longer waitin&rsquo;. &rsquo;T was a sportsmanlike
+thing in you, Miller Lyddon, to bide same as you did; and now, if you&rsquo;d
+set the law movin&rsquo; an&rsquo; get the job out o&rsquo; hand, I&rsquo;d
+thank you kindly. You see, if they put me in for two year, &rsquo;t will
+leave mighty li&rsquo;l time to get a home ready for Phoebe against the day
+she comes of age.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You needn&rsquo;t be at any trouble about that.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But I shall be. Do &rsquo;e think my wife&rsquo;s gwaine to be any
+differ&rsquo;nt to lesser folks? A home she&rsquo;ll have, an&rsquo; a
+braave, vitty home, tu, though I&rsquo;ve got to sweat blood for it. So if
+you&rsquo;d take your bite so soon as convenient, you&rsquo;d sarve
+me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I doan&rsquo;t say you &rsquo;m axin&rsquo; anything
+onreasonable,&rdquo; said Mr. Lyddon, thoughtfully. &ldquo;An&rsquo; what
+might you think o&rsquo;doin, when you comes out o&rsquo; prison?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;First gude work that offers.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Maybe you doan&rsquo;t kuaw that chaps whose last job was on the
+treadmill finds it uncommon hard to get another?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Depends what they was theer for, I should reckon, Miller&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not a bit of it. Gaol-birds is all feathered alike inside clink,
+an&rsquo; honest men feathers &rsquo;em all alike when they come out,&rdquo;
+declared Will&rsquo;s father-in-law.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A sheer Cain, as no man will touch by the hand&mdash;that&rsquo;s
+what you&rsquo;ll be,&rdquo; added Billy, without apparent regret.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If that&rsquo;s so,&rdquo; said Will, very calmly,
+&ldquo;you&rsquo;d best to think twice &rsquo;fore you sends me. I&rsquo;ve
+done a high-handed deed, bein&rsquo; forced into the same by happenings here
+when I went off last summer; but &rsquo;t is auld history now. I&rsquo;d like
+to be a credit to &rsquo;e some time, not a misery for all time. Why
+not&mdash;?&rdquo; He was going to suggest a course of action more favourable
+to himself than that promised; but it struck him suddenly that any attitude
+other than the one in which he had come savoured of snivelling for mercy. So
+he stopped, left a break of silence, and proceeded with less earnestness in
+his voice.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;ve had a matter of eight weeks to decide in, so I thought
+I might ax&rsquo;e, man to man, what&rsquo;s gwaine to be done.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I have decided,&rdquo; said the miller coldly; &ldquo;I decided a
+week ago.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Billy started and his blue eyes blinked inquiringly. He sniffed his
+surprise and said &ldquo;Well!&rdquo; under his breath.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess, &rsquo;t is so, I didn&rsquo;t tell &rsquo;e, Blee,
+&rsquo;cause I reckoned you&rsquo;d try an&rsquo; turn me from my purpose,
+which wasn&rsquo;t to be done.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Never&mdash;not me. I&rsquo;m allus in flat agreement with
+&rsquo;e, same as any wise man finds hisself all times.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, doan&rsquo;t &rsquo;e take it ill, me keepin&rsquo; it to
+myself.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, no&mdash;awnly seem&rsquo; how&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If it &rsquo;s all the same,&rdquo; interrupted Will,
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;d like to knaw what you &rsquo;m gwaine for to do.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m gwaine to do nort, Will Blanchard&mdash;nort at all. God
+He knaws you &rsquo;ve wronged me, an&rsquo; more &rsquo;n me, an&rsquo;
+her&mdash;Phoebe&mdash;worst of all; but I&rsquo;ll lift no hand
+ag&rsquo;in&rsquo; you. Bide free an&rsquo; go forrard your awn
+way&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;To the Dowl!&rdquo; concluded Billy.</p>
+<p>There was a silence, then Will spoke with some emotion.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You &rsquo;m a big, just man, Miller Lyddon; an&rsquo; if theer was
+anything could make me sorry for the past&mdash;which theer
+ban&rsquo;t&mdash;&rsquo;t would be to knaw you&rsquo;ve forgived
+me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He ain&rsquo;t done no such thing!&rdquo; burst out Mr. Blee.
+&ldquo;Tellin&rsquo; &rsquo;e to go to the Dowl ban&rsquo;t forgivin&rsquo;
+of &rsquo;e!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That was your word,&rdquo; answered Will hotly, &ldquo;an&rsquo; if
+you didn&rsquo;t open your ugly mouth so wide, an&rsquo; shaw such a
+&rsquo;mazing poor crop o&rsquo; teeth same time, me an&rsquo; Miller might
+come to onderstanding. I be here to see him, not you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Gar! you &rsquo;m a beast of a bwoy, looked at anyhow, an&rsquo; I
+wouldn&rsquo;t have no dealin&rsquo;s with &rsquo;e for money,&rdquo; snorted
+the old man.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Theer we&rsquo;ll leave it then, Blanchard,&rdquo; said Mr. Lyddon,
+as Will turned his back upon the last speaker without answering him.
+&ldquo;Go your way an&rsquo; try to be a better man; but doan&rsquo;t ax me
+to forget what &rsquo;s passed&mdash;no, nor forgive it, not yet. I&rsquo;ll
+come to a Christian sight of it some day, God willin&rsquo;; but it &rsquo;s
+all I can say that I bear you no ill-will.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; I&rsquo;m beholden enough for that. You wait an&rsquo;
+keep your eye on me. I&rsquo;ll shaw you what&rsquo;s in me yet. I&rsquo;ll
+surprise &rsquo;e, I promise. Nobody in these paarts &rsquo;cept mother,
+knaws what &rsquo;s in me. But, wi&rsquo;out boastful words, I&rsquo;ll prove
+it. Because, Miller, I may assure &rsquo;e I&rsquo;m a man as have thought a
+lot in my time &rsquo;bout things in general.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess, you&rsquo;m a deep thinker, I doan&rsquo;t doubt. Now best to
+go; an&rsquo;, mind, no dealins wi&rsquo; Phoebe, for that I won&rsquo;t
+stand.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve thought that out, tu. I&rsquo;ll give &rsquo;e my word
+of honour &rsquo;pon that.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Best to seek work t&rsquo;other side the Moor, if you ax me. Then
+you&rsquo;ll be out the way.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;As to that, I&rsquo;d guessed maybe Martin Grimbal, as have proved
+a gert friend to me an&rsquo; be quite o&rsquo; my way o&rsquo; thinking,
+might offer garden work while I looked round. Theer ban&rsquo;t a spark
+o&rsquo; pride in me&mdash;tu much sense, I hope, for that.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The miller sighed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;ve done a far-reachin&rsquo; thing, as hits a man from
+all sorts o&rsquo; plaaces, like the echo in Teign Valley. I caan&rsquo;t see
+no end to it yet.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Martin Grimbal&rsquo;s took on Wat Widdicombe, so you needn&rsquo;t
+fule yourself he&rsquo;ll give &rsquo;e work,&rdquo; snapped Mr. Blee.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, theer be others.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>And then that sudden smile, half sly, half sweet, leapt to Will&rsquo;s
+eyes and brightened all his grave face, as the sun gladdens a grey sky after
+rain.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Look now, Miller Lyddon, why for shouldn&rsquo;t you, the biggest
+man to Chagford, give me a bit of work? I ban&rsquo;t no caddlin&rsquo;<a id=
+"footnotetag5" name="footnotetag5"></a><a href="#footnote5"><sup>5</sup></a>
+chap, an&rsquo; for you&mdash;by God, I&rsquo;d dig a mountain flat if you
+axed me!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, I be gormed!&rdquo; gasped Billy. It was a condition, though
+whether physical or mental he only knew, to which Will reduced Mr. Blee upon
+every occasion of their meeting.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You hold your jaw an&rsquo; let me talk to Mr. Lyddon. &rsquo;Tis
+like this, come to look at it: who should work for &rsquo;e same as what I
+would? Who should think for my wife&rsquo;s faither wi&rsquo; more of his
+heart than me? I&rsquo;d glory to do a bit of work for &rsquo;e&mdash;aye, I
+would so, high or low; an&rsquo; do it in a way to make you rub your
+eyes!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Billy saw the first-formed negative die still-born on his master&rsquo;s
+lips. He began to cry out volubly that Monks Barton was over-manned, and that
+scandal would blast every opening bud on the farm if such a thing happened.
+Will glared at him, and in another moment Mr. Blee might have suffered
+physically had not the miller lifted his hand and bid both be silent.</p>
+<p>For a full minute no man spoke, while in Mr. Lyddon&rsquo;s mind proceeded
+a strange battle of ideas. Will&rsquo;s audacity awakened less resentment
+than might have been foreseen. The man had bent before the shock of his
+daughter&rsquo;s secret marriage and was now returning to his customary
+mental condition. Any great altitude of love or extremity of hate was beyond
+Mr. Lyddon&rsquo;s calibre. Life slipped away and left his forehead smooth.
+Sorrow brought no great scars, joy no particular exaltation. This temperament
+he had transmitted to Phoebe; and now she came into his mind and largely
+influenced him. A dozen times he opened his mind to say &ldquo;No,&rdquo; but
+did not say it. Personal amiability could hardly have overcome natural
+dislike of Blanchard at such a moment, but the unexpected usually happens
+when weak natures are called upon to make sudden decisions; and though such
+may change their resolve again and again at a later date and before new
+aspects of the problem, their first hasty determination will often be the
+last another had predicted from them.</p>
+<p>A very curious result accrued from Mr. Lyddon&rsquo;s mental conflict, and
+it was reached by an accidental train of thought. He told himself that his
+conclusion was generous to the extreme of the Christian ideal; he assured
+himself that few men so placed had ever before acted with such notable
+magnanimity; but under this repeated mental asseveration there spoke another
+voice which he stifled to the best of his power. The utterance of this
+monitor may best be judged from what followed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If I gave you work you&rsquo;d stand to it, Will Blanchard?&rdquo;
+he asked at length.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Try me!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Whatsoever it might be?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Try me. Ban&rsquo;t for me to choose.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I will, then. Come to-morrow by five, an&rsquo; Billy shall show
+&rsquo;e what&rsquo;s to do.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>It would be difficult to say which, of those who heard the miller&rsquo;s
+resolve received it with most astonishment. Will&rsquo;s voice was almost
+tremulous.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;ll never be sorry, never. I couldn&rsquo;t have hoped
+such a thing. Caan&rsquo;t think how I comed to ax it. An&rsquo;
+yet&mdash;but I&rsquo;ll buckle to anything and everything, so help me.
+I&rsquo;ll think for &rsquo;e an&rsquo; labour for &rsquo;e as no hireling
+that was ever born could, I will. An&rsquo; you&rsquo;ve done a big,
+grand-fashion thing, an&rsquo; I&rsquo;m yours, body an&rsquo; bones, for it;
+an&rsquo; you&rsquo;ll never regret it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The young man was really moved by an issue so unexpected. He had uttered
+his suggestion on the spur of the moment, as he uttered most things, and such
+a reception argued a greatness of heart and generosity of spirit quite
+unparalleled in his experience. So he departed wishing all good on Mr. Lyddon
+and meaning all good with his whole soul and strength.</p>
+<p>When he had gone the miller spoke; but contrary to custom, he did not look
+into Mr. Blee&rsquo;s face while so doing.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;m astonished, Billy,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;an&rsquo; so
+be I, come to think of it. But I&rsquo;m gettin&rsquo; tu auld to fret my
+life away with vain strife. I be gwaine to prove un. He&rsquo;d stand to
+anything, eh? &rsquo;Twas his word.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; well he might.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Can &rsquo;e picture Blanchard cleaning out the pigs&rsquo;
+house?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No fay!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Or worse?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>They consulted, and it presently appeared that Mr. Lyddon deliberately
+designed to set Will about the most degrading task the farm could
+furnish.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Twill sting the very life of un!&rdquo; said Billy
+gleefully, and he proceeded to arrange an extremely trying programme for Will
+Blanchard.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Doan&rsquo;t think any small spite leads me to this way of dealing
+with un,&rdquo; explained Mr. Lyddon, who knew right well that it was so.
+&ldquo;But &rsquo;tis to probe the stuff he&rsquo;s made of. Nothing should
+be tu hard for un arter what he&rsquo;ve done, eh?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;m right. &rsquo;Tis true wisdom to chastise the man this
+way if us can, an&rsquo; shake his wicked pride.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Billy&rsquo;s genius lent itself most happily to this scheme. He applauded
+the miller&rsquo;s resolution until his master himself began to believe that
+the idea was not unjust; he ranged airily, like a blue-fly, from one
+agglomeration of ordure to another; and he finally suggested a task, not
+necessary to dwell on, but which reached the utmost height or depth of
+originality in connection with such a subject. Mr. Lyddon laboured under some
+shadow of doubt, but he quickly agreed when his man reminded him of the past
+course of events.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis nothin&rsquo;, when all&rsquo;s said. Who&rsquo;d doubt
+if he&rsquo;d got to choose between that or two year in gaol? He&rsquo;m
+lucky, and I&rsquo;ll tell un so come the marnin&rsquo;.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Thus matters were left, and the miller retired in some secret shame, for
+he had planned an act which, if great in the world&rsquo;s eye, had yet a
+dark side from his own inner view of it; but Mr. Blee suffered no pang from
+conscience upon the question. He heartily disliked Blanchard, and he
+contemplated the morrow with keen satisfaction. If his sharp tongue had power
+to deepen the wound awaiting Will&rsquo;s self-respect, that power would
+certainly be exercised.</p>
+<p>Meantime the youth himself passed homeward in a glow of admiration for Mr.
+Lyddon.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;d lay down my life smilin&rsquo; for un,&rdquo; he told
+Chris, who was astounded at his news. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll think for un,
+an&rsquo; act for un, till he&rsquo;ll feel I&rsquo;m his very right hand.
+An&rsquo; if I doan&rsquo;t put a spoke in yellow Billy&rsquo;s wheel, call
+me a fule. Snarling auld swine! But Miller! Theer&rsquo;s gude workin&rsquo;
+religion in that man; he&rsquo;m a shining light for sartain.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>They talked late upon this wondrous turn of fortune, then Will recollected
+his mother and nothing would serve but that he wrote instantly to tell her of
+the news.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;ll cheer up uncle, tu, I lay,&rdquo; he said.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A letter comed while you was out,&rdquo; answered Chris;
+&ldquo;he&rsquo;m holding his awn, but &rsquo;tis doubtful yet how things be
+gwaine to fare in the upshot.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Be it as &rsquo;twill, mother can do more &rsquo;n any other living
+woman could for un,&rdquo; declared Will.</p>
+<h2><a id="I_XIV" name="I_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV<br />
+LOGIC</h2>
+<p>As Mr. Blee looked out upon a grey morning, the sallows leaping from
+silver to gold, from bud to blossom, scattered brightness through the dawn,
+and the lemon catkins of the hazel, the russet tassels of alders, brought
+light along the river, warmth into the world. A bell beat five from Chagford
+Church tower, and the notes came drowsily through morning mists. Then quick
+steps followed on the last stroke of the hour and Will stood by Billy&rsquo;s
+side in Monks Barton farmyard. The old man raised his eyes from contemplation
+of a spade and barrow, bid Blanchard &ldquo;Good morning&rdquo; with
+simulated heartiness, and led the way to work, while Will followed, bringing
+the tools. They passed into a shrubbery of syringa bushes twenty yards
+distant, and the younger man, whose humour had been exceedingly amiable until
+that moment, now flushed to his eyes before the spectacle of his labour.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Do &rsquo;e mean that Miller&rsquo;s got nothin&rsquo; for me to do
+but this?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Plenty, plenty, I &rsquo;sure &rsquo;e; but that ban&rsquo;t your
+business, be it? Theer&rsquo;s the work, an&rsquo; I&rsquo;d rather
+&rsquo;twas yourn than mine. Light your pipe an&rsquo; go ahead. Not a purty
+job, more &rsquo;tis; but beggars mustn&rsquo;t be choosers in this hard
+world.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Billy bolted after these remarks. He heard a growl behind him, but did not
+look round. Half an hour later, he crept back again by a circuitous route,
+watched Will awhile unseen, then stole grinning away to milk the cows.</p>
+<p>The young man, honestly thunderstruck at the task planned for him, judged
+that thinking would not mend matters, and so began to work quickly without
+stopping to reflect. But his thoughts could not be controlled, any more than
+his disposition changed. A growing consciousness of deep and deliberate
+insult surged up in him. The more he brooded the slower he worked, and
+finally anger mastered determination. He flung down his spade, saluted a red
+sunrise with the worst language at his command, and strode down to the river.
+Here, for some time and until blue smoke began to climb from the kitchen
+chimney of the farm, Will paced about; then with a remarkable effort returned
+to his task. He actually started again, and might have carried the matter to
+completion; but an evil demon was abroad, and Billy, spying the young man at
+work anew, reappeared.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;m makin&rsquo; poor speed, my son,&rdquo; he said,
+viewing the other&rsquo;s progress with affected displeasure.</p>
+<p>It proved enough, for Will&rsquo;s smouldering fires were ready to leap at
+any fuel.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Go to blue, blazing hell!&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;You&rsquo;m at
+the bottom of this business, I&rsquo;ll lay a pound. Get out o&rsquo; my
+sight, you hookem-snivey auld devil, or I&rsquo;ll rub your dirty ginger poll
+in it, sure&rsquo;s death!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My stars! theer&rsquo;s crooked words! Do &rsquo;e try an&rsquo;
+keep tighter hand on your temper, Blanchard. A man should knaw hisself
+anyways &rsquo;fore he has the damn fulishness to take a wife. An&rsquo; if
+you ax me&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Mr. Blee&rsquo;s remarks were here brutally arrested, for the contents of
+Will&rsquo;s spade saluted his furrowed features, and quite obliterated the
+old man. He fled roaring, and the other flung his spade twenty yards away,
+overturned his wheelbarrow, and again strode to the river. He was fairly
+bubbling and boiling now, nor did the business of cleaning gaiters and boots,
+arms and hands, restore him to peace. A black pig gazed upon him and grunted
+as he came up from the water. It seemed to him a reincarnation of Billy, and
+he kicked it hard. It fled screaming and limping, while Will, his rage at
+full flood, proceeded through the farmyard on his way home. But here, by
+unhappy chance, stood Mr. Lyddon watching his daughter feed the fowls. Her
+husband ran full upon Phoebe, and she blushed in a great wave of joy until
+the black scowl upon his face told her that something was amiss. His evident
+anger made her start, and the involuntary action upset her bowl of grain. For
+a moment she stood motionless, looking upon him in fear, while at her feet
+fought and struggled a cloud of feathered things around the yellow corn.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If you&rsquo;ve done your job, Will, may&rsquo;st come and shaake
+Phoebe by the hand,&rdquo; said Mr. Lyddon nervously, while he pretended not
+to notice the other&rsquo;s passion.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I haven&rsquo;t done it; and if I had, is a scavenger&rsquo;s hand
+fit to touch hers?&rdquo; thundered Blanchard. &ldquo;I thought you was a man
+to swear by, and follow through thick an&rsquo; thin,&rdquo; he continued,
+&ldquo;but you ban&rsquo;t. You&rsquo;m a mean, ill-minded sawl, as would
+trample on your awn flesh an&rsquo; blood, if you got the chance. Do your awn
+dirty work. Who be I that you should call on me to wallow in filth to please
+your sour spite?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You hear him, you hear him!&rdquo; cried out the miller, now angry
+enough himself. &ldquo;That&rsquo;s how I&rsquo;m sarved for returnin&rsquo;
+gude to his evil. I&rsquo;ve treated un as no man else on God&rsquo;s airth
+would have done; and this is what I gets. He&rsquo;s mad, an&rsquo;
+that&rsquo;s to speak kind of the wretch!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The young wife could only look helplessly from one to the other. That
+morning had dawned very brightly for her. A rumour of what was to happen
+reached her on rising, but the short-lived hope was quickly shattered, and
+though she had not seen him since their wedding-day, Phoebe was stung into
+bitterness against Will at this juncture. She knew nothing of particulars,
+but saw him now pouring harsh reproaches on her father, and paying the
+miller&rsquo;s unexampled generosity with hard and cruel words. So she spoke
+to her husband.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, Will, Will, to say such things! Do &rsquo;e love me no better
+&rsquo;n that? To slight dear faither arter all he&rsquo;s
+forgiven!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If you think I&rsquo;m wrong, say it, Phoebe,&rdquo; he answered
+shortly. &ldquo;If you&rsquo;m against me, tu&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;Against you!&rsquo; How can you speak so?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No matter what I say. Be you on his side or mine? &rsquo;Cause
+I&rsquo;ve a right to knaw.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Caan&rsquo;t &rsquo;e see &rsquo;twas faither&rsquo;s gert, braave,
+generous thought to give &rsquo;e work, an&rsquo; shaw a lesson of gudeness?
+An&rsquo; then we meet again&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess fay&mdash;happy meetin&rsquo; for wife an&rsquo; husband, me up
+to the eyes in&mdash;Theer, any fule can see &rsquo;twas done a purpose to
+shame me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;re a fule to say it! &rsquo;Tis your silly pride&rsquo;s
+gwaine to ruin all your life, an&rsquo; mine, tu. Who&rsquo;s to help you if
+you&rsquo;ve allus got the black monkey on your shoulder like this
+here?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;m a overbearin&rsquo;, headstrong madman,&rdquo; summed
+up the miller, still white with wrath; &ldquo;an&rsquo; I&rsquo;ve done with
+&rsquo;e now for all time. You&rsquo;ve had your chance an&rsquo; thrawed it
+away.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He put this on me because I was poor an&rsquo; without
+work.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He didn&rsquo;t,&rdquo; cried the girl, whose emotions for a moment
+took her clean from Will to her father. &ldquo;He never dreamed o&rsquo;
+doin&rsquo; any such thing. He couldn&rsquo;t insult a beggar-man; an&rsquo;
+you knaw it. &rsquo;Tis all your ugly, wicked temper!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then I&rsquo;ll take myself off, an&rsquo; my temper, tu,&rdquo;
+said Will, and prepared to do so; while Mr. Lyddon listened to husband and
+wife, and his last hope for the future dwindled and died, as he heard them
+quarrel with high voices. His daughter clung to him and supported his action,
+though what it had been she did not know.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Caan&rsquo;t &rsquo;e see you&rsquo;re breakin&rsquo;
+faither&rsquo;s heart all awver again just as &rsquo;twas
+mendin&rsquo;?&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Caan&rsquo;t &rsquo;e sing smaller, if
+&rsquo;tis awnly for thought of me? Doan&rsquo;t, for God&rsquo;s love, fling
+away like this.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I met un man to man, an&rsquo; did his will with a gude thankful
+heart, an&rsquo; comed in the dawn to faace a job as&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Tweren&rsquo;t the job, an&rsquo; you knaw it,&rdquo; broke
+in Mr. Lyddon. &ldquo;I wanted to prove &rsquo;e an&rsquo; all your fine
+promises; an&rsquo; now I knaw their worth, an&rsquo; your worth. An&rsquo; I
+curse the day ever my darter was born in the world, when I think she&rsquo;m
+your wife, an&rsquo; no law can break it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He turned and went into the house, and Phoebe stood alone with her
+husband.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Theer!&rdquo; cried Will. &ldquo;You&rsquo;ve heard un. That was in
+his heart when he spoke me so fair. An&rsquo; if you think like he do, say
+it. Lard knaws I doan&rsquo;t want &rsquo;e no more, if you doan&rsquo;t want
+me!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Will! How can you! An&rsquo; us not met since our marriage-day. But
+you&rsquo;m cruel, cruel to poor faither.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Say so, an&rsquo; think so; an&rsquo; b&rsquo;lieve all they tell
+&rsquo;e &rsquo;gainst your lawful husband; an&rsquo; gude-bye. If
+you&rsquo;m so poor-spirited as to see your man do thicky work, you choosed
+wrong. Not that &rsquo;tis any gert odds. Stop along wi&rsquo; your faither
+as you loves so much better &rsquo;n me. An&rsquo; doan&rsquo;t you fear
+I&rsquo;ll ever cross his threshold again to anger un, for I&rsquo;d rather
+blaw my brains out than do it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He shook and stuttered with passion; his eyes glowed, his lips changed
+from their natural colour to a leaden blue. He groped for the gate when he
+reached it, and passed quickly out, heedless of Phoebe&rsquo;s sorrowful cry
+to him. He heard her light step following and only hastened his speed for
+answer. Then, hurrying from her, a wave of change suddenly flowed upon his
+furious mind, and he began to be very sorry. Presently he stopped and turned,
+but she had stayed her progress by now, and for a moment&rsquo;s space stood
+and watched him, bathed in tears. At the moment when he hesitated and looked
+back, however, his wife herself had turned away and moved homewards. Had she
+been standing in one place, Will&rsquo;s purposes would perchance have faded
+to air, and his arm been round her in a moment; but now he only saw Phoebe
+retreating slowly to Monks Barton; and he let her go.</p>
+<p>Blanchard went home to breakfast, and though Chris discovered that
+something was amiss, she knew him too well to ask any questions. He ate in
+silence, the past storm still heaving in a ground-swell through his mind.
+That his wife should have stood up against him was a sore thought. It
+bewildered the youth utterly, and that she might be ignorant of all details
+did not occur to him. Presently he told his wrongs to Chris, and grew very
+hot again in the recital. She sympathised deeply, held him right to be angry,
+and grew angry herself.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He &rsquo;m daft,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;an&rsquo; I&rsquo;d think
+harder of him than I do, but that he&rsquo;s led by the nose. &rsquo;Twas
+that auld weasel, Billy Blee, gived him the wink to set you on a task he
+knawed you&rsquo;d never carry through.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Theer&rsquo;s truth in that,&rdquo; said Will; then he recollected
+his last meeting with the miller&rsquo;s man, and suddenly roared with
+laughter.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Struth! What a picter he was! He agged an&rsquo; agged at me
+till I got fair mad, an&rsquo;&mdash;well, I spiled his meal, I do
+b&rsquo;lieve.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>His merriment died away slowly in a series of long-drawn chuckles. Then he
+lighted his pipe, watched Chris cleaning the cups and plates, and grew glum
+again.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Twas axin&rsquo; me&mdash;a penniless chap; that was the
+devil of it. If I&rsquo;d been a moneyed man wi&rsquo;out compulsion to work,
+then I&rsquo;d have been free to say &lsquo;No,&rsquo; an&rsquo; no harm
+done. De&rsquo;e follow?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m thankful you done as you did. But wheer shall &rsquo;e
+turn now?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Doan&rsquo;t knaw. I&rsquo;ll lay I&rsquo;ll soon find
+work.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Theer&rsquo;s some of the upland farms might be wanting
+harrowin&rsquo; an&rsquo; seed plantin&rsquo; done.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Who&rsquo;s to Newtake, Gran&rsquo;faither Ford&rsquo;s auld
+plaace, I wonder?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis empty. The last folks left &rsquo;fore you went away.
+Couldn&rsquo;t squeeze bare life out of it. That&rsquo;s the fourth party as
+have tried an&rsquo; failed.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yet gran&rsquo;faither done all right.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He was a wonnerful man of business, an&rsquo; lived on a straw a
+day, as mother says. But the rest&mdash;they come an&rsquo; go an&rsquo; just
+bury gude money theer to no better purpose than the gawld at a rainbow
+foot.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, I&rsquo;ll go up in the village an&rsquo; look around before
+Miller&rsquo;s got time to say any word against me. He&rsquo;ll spoil my
+market if he can, I knaw.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;d never dare!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;d have taken my oath he wouldn&rsquo;t essterday. Now I
+think differ&rsquo;nt. He never meant friendship; he awnly wanted for me to
+smart. Clem Hicks was right.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Theer&rsquo;s Mr. Grimbal might give &rsquo;e work, I think. Go
+an&rsquo; ax un, an&rsquo; tell un I sent &rsquo;e.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>A moment later Chris was sorry she had made this remark.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What be talkin&rsquo; &rsquo;bout?&rdquo; Will asked bluntly.
+&ldquo;Tell un <i>you</i> sent me?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Martin wants to be friends.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;Martin,&rsquo; is it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He axed me to call un so.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Do he knaw you&rsquo;m tokened to Clem?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Caan&rsquo;t say. It almost &rsquo;peared as if he didn&rsquo;t
+last time he called.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then sooner he do the better. Axed you to call un
+&rsquo;Martin&rsquo;!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He stopped and mused, then spoke again.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Our love-makin&rsquo;s a poor business, sure enough. I&rsquo;ve got
+what I wanted an&rsquo;, arter this marnin&rsquo;, could &rsquo;most find it
+in me to wish my cake was dough again; an&rsquo; you&mdash;you ain&rsquo;t
+got what you want, an&rsquo; ban&rsquo;t no gert sign you will, for
+Clem&rsquo;s the weakest hand at turnin&rsquo; a penny ever I met.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll wait for un, whether or no,&rdquo; said Chris, fiercely.
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll wait, if need be, till we&rsquo;m both tottling auld
+mumpheads!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess; an&rsquo; when Martin Grimbal knaws that is so, &rsquo;twill
+be time enough to ax un for work, I dare say,&mdash;not sooner. Better he
+should give Clem work than me. I&rsquo;d thought of him myself, for that
+matter.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve axed Clem to ax un long ago, but he
+won&rsquo;t.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll go and see Clem right away. &rsquo;Tis funny he never
+let the man knaw &rsquo;bout you. Should have been the first thing he tawld
+un.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Perhaps he thought &rsquo;twas so far off that&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Doan&rsquo;t care what he thought. Weern&rsquo;t plain
+dealin&rsquo; to bide quiet about that, an&rsquo; I shall tell un
+so.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, doan&rsquo;t &rsquo;e quarrel with Clem. He&rsquo;m
+&rsquo;bout the awnly friend you&rsquo;ve got left now.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve got mother an&rsquo; you. I&rsquo;m all right. I can see
+as straight as any man, an&rsquo; all my brain-work in the past ban&rsquo;t
+gwaine to be wasted &rsquo;cause wan auld miller fellow happens to put a mean
+trick on me. I&rsquo;m above caring. I just goes along and remembers that
+people has their failings.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We must make allowance for other folk.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So us must; an&rsquo; I be allus doin&rsquo; it; so why the hell
+doan&rsquo;t they make allowance for me? That&rsquo;s why I boil awver now
+an&rsquo; again&mdash;damn it! I gets nought but kicks for my
+halfpence&mdash;allus have; an&rsquo; I won&rsquo;t stand it from mortal man
+much longer!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Chris kept her face, for Will&rsquo;s views on conduct and man&rsquo;s
+whole duty to man were no new thing.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Us must keep patient, Will, &rsquo;specially with the
+auld.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I be patient. It &rsquo;mazes me, looking back, to see what I have
+suffered in my time. But a man&rsquo;s a man, not a post or a holy angel. Us
+wouldn&rsquo;t hear such a deal about angels&rsquo; tempers either if
+they&rsquo;d got to faace all us have.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s profanity an&rsquo; wickedness.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis truth. Any fule can be a saint inside heaven; an&rsquo;
+them that was born theer and have flown &rsquo;bout theer all theer time,
+like birds in a wood, did ought to be even-tempered. What&rsquo;s to
+cross&rsquo;em?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You shouldn&rsquo;t say such things!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Suddenly a light came into his eyes.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I doan&rsquo;t envy &rsquo;em anyway. Think what it must be never
+to have no mother to love &rsquo;e! They &rsquo;m poor, motherless twoads,
+for all their gold crowns an&rsquo; purple wings.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Will! whatever will &rsquo;e say next? Best go to Clem. An&rsquo;
+forget what I spoke &rsquo;bout Martin Grimbal an&rsquo; work. You was
+wiser&rsquo;n me in that.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I s&rsquo;pose so. If a man ban&rsquo;t wiser &rsquo;n his sister,
+he&rsquo;s like to have poor speed in life,&rdquo; said Will.</p>
+<p>Then he departed, but the events of that day were still very far from an
+end, and despite the warning of Chris, her brother soon stood on the verge of
+another quarrel. It needed little to wake fresh storms in his breast and he
+criticised Clement&rsquo;s reticence on the subject of his engagement in so
+dictatorial and hectoring a manner that the elder man quickly became
+incensed. They wrangled for half an hour, Hicks in satirical humour, Will
+loud with assurances that he would have no underhand dealings where any
+member of his family was concerned. Clement presently watched the other tramp
+off, and in his mind was a dim thought. Could Blanchard forget the past so
+quickly? Did he recollect that he, Clement Hicks, shared knowledge of it?
+&ldquo;He&rsquo;s a fool, whichever way you look at him,&rdquo; thought the
+poet; &ldquo;but hardly such a fool as to forget that, or risk angering me of
+all men.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Later in the day Will called at a tap-room, drank half a pint of beer, and
+detailed his injuries for the benefit of those in the bar. He asked what man
+amongst them, situated as he had been, had acted otherwise; and a few, caring
+not a straw either way, declared he had showed good pluck and was to be
+commended; But the bulky Mr. Chapple&mdash;he who assisted Billy Blee in
+wassailing Miller Lyddon&rsquo;s apple-trees&mdash;stoutly criticised Will,
+and told him that his conduct was much to blame. The younger argued against
+this decision and explained, with the most luminous diction at his command,
+that &rsquo;twas in the offering of such a task to a penniless man its sting
+and offence appeared.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He knawed I was at low ebb an&rsquo; not able to pick an&rsquo;
+choose. So he gives me a starvin&rsquo; man&rsquo;s job. If I&rsquo;d been in
+easy circumstances an&rsquo; able to say &lsquo;Yes&rsquo; or
+&lsquo;No&rsquo; at choice, I&rsquo;d never have blamed un.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Nonsense and stuff!&rdquo; declared Mr. Chapple.
+&ldquo;Theer&rsquo;s not a shadow of shame in it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;m Miller&rsquo;s friend, of coourse,&rdquo; said
+Will.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis so plain as a pike, I think!&rdquo; squeaked a
+hare-lipped young man of weak intellect who was also present.
+&ldquo;Blanchard be right for sartain.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Theer! If soft Gurney sees my drift it must be pretty plain,&rdquo;
+said Will, in triumph.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But as &rsquo;tis awnly him that does, lad,&rdquo; commented Mr.
+Chapple, drily, &ldquo;caan&rsquo;t say you&rsquo;ve got any call to be
+better pleased. Go you back an&rsquo; do the job, like a wise man.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;d clear the peat out o&rsquo; Cranmere Pool sooner!&rdquo;
+said Will.</p>
+<p>And he turned homewards again, wretched enough, yet fiercely prodding his
+temper when it flagged, and telling himself repeatedly that he had acted as
+became a man of spirit and of judgment. Then, upon a day sufficiently leaden
+and dreary until that moment, burst forth sudden splendours, and Will&rsquo;s
+life, from a standpoint of extreme sobriety in time, instantly passed to rare
+brightness. Between the spot on the highway where Chris met him and his
+arrival at home, the youth enjoyed half a lifetime of glorious hopes and
+ambitions; but a cloud indeed shadowed all this overwhelming joy in that the
+event responsible for his change of fortune was itself sad.</p>
+<p>While yet twenty yards from her brother Chris cried the news to him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;s dead&mdash;Uncle&mdash;he went quite sudden at the end;
+an&rsquo; he&rsquo;m to lie to Chagford wi&rsquo; gran&rsquo;faither
+an&rsquo; gran&rsquo;mother.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Dead! My God! An&rsquo; I never seed un more! The best friend to me
+ever I had&mdash;leastways I thought so till this marnin&rsquo;.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You may think so still.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess, so I do. A kind man inside his skin. I knawed un
+better&rsquo;n most people&mdash;an&rsquo; he meant well when he married me,
+out of pure love to us both.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;s left nobody no money but Mrs. Watson and you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If &rsquo;tis five pound, &rsquo;tis welcome to-day; an&rsquo; if
+&rsquo;tis five shillin&rsquo;, I&rsquo;ll thank un an&rsquo; spend it
+&rsquo;pon a ring to wear for un. He was a gude auld blid, an&rsquo;
+I&rsquo;m sorry he&rsquo;s gone.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Will, Uncle&rsquo;s left &rsquo;e a thousand pound!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What! You&rsquo;m jokin&rsquo;.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Solemn truth. &rsquo;Tis in mother&rsquo;s letter.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>A rush of joy lighted up the young man&rsquo;s face. He said not a word;
+then his eyes grew moist.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;To think as he could have loved a daft fule like me so well as
+that! Me&mdash;that never done nothin&rsquo;&mdash;no, not so much as to
+catch a dish of trout for un, now an&rsquo; again, when he was
+here.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You couldn&rsquo;t, bein&rsquo; water-keeper.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What matter for that? I ought to have poached for un, seein&rsquo;
+the manner of man he was.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He kept silence for a while, then burst out&mdash;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll buy the braavest marble stone can be cut. Nobody shall
+do it but me, wi&rsquo; doves or anchors or some such thing on it, to make it
+a fine sight so long as the world goes on.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Theer&rsquo;s plenty room &rsquo;pon the auld slate, for that
+matter,&rdquo; said Chris.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Damn the auld slate! The man shall have white marble carvings, I
+tell &rsquo;e, if I&rsquo;ve got to spend half the money buying &rsquo;em. He
+b&rsquo;lieved in me; he knawed I&rsquo;d come to gude; an&rsquo; I&rsquo;m
+grateful to un.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>During the evening Will was unusually silent and much busied with thought.
+He knew little of the value of money, and a thousand pounds to his mind
+represented possibilities wholly beyond the real power of that sum to
+achieve. Chris presently visited the vicarage, and after their supper,
+brother and sister sat late and discussed the days to come. When the girl
+retired, Will&rsquo;s thoughts for a moment concerned themselves with the
+immediate past rather than the future; and then it was that he caught himself
+blankly before his own argument of the morning. To him the force of the
+contention, now that his position was magically changed, appeared strong as
+before. A little sophistry had doubtless extricated him from this dilemma,
+but his nature was innocent of it, and his face grew longer as the conclusion
+confronting him became more clear. From his own logic&mdash;a mysterious
+abstraction, doubtless&mdash;he found it difficult to escape without loss of
+self-respect. He still held that the deed, impossible to him as a pauper,
+might be performed without sacrifice of dignity or importance by a man of his
+present fortune. So the muddle-headed youth saw his duty straight ahead of
+him; and he regretted it heartily, but did not attempt to escape from it.</p>
+<p>Ten minutes later, in his working clothes, he set out to Monks Barton,
+carrying an old horn lantern that had swung behind his father&rsquo;s caravan
+twenty years before. At the farm all lights were out save one in the kitchen;
+but Will went about his business as silently as possible, and presently found
+the spade where he had flung it, the barrow where he had overthrown it in the
+morning. So he set to work, his pipe under his nose, his thoughts afar off in
+a golden paradise built of Uncle Ford&rsquo;s sovereigns.</p>
+<p>Billy Blee, whose attic window faced out upon the northern side of the
+farm, had gone to bed, but he was still awake, and the grunt of a wheelbarrow
+quickly roused him. Gazing into the night he guessed what was doing, dragged
+on his trousers, and hurried down-stairs to his master.</p>
+<p>The miller sat with his head on his hand. His pipe was out and the
+&ldquo;night-cap&rdquo; Phoebe had mixed for him long ago, remained
+untasted.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Guy Fawkes an &rsquo;angels! here&rsquo;s a thing! If that
+Jack-o&rsquo;-lantern of a bwoy ban&rsquo;t back again. He&rsquo;m
+delvin&rsquo; theer, for all the world like a hobgoblin demon, red as blood
+in the flicker of the light. I fancied&rsquo;t was the Dowl hisself. But
+&rsquo;t is Blanchard, sure. Theer&rsquo;s some dark thought under it,
+I&rsquo;ll lay, or else he wants to come around &rsquo;e again.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>His master doubted not that Billy was dreaming, but he went aloft and
+looked to convince himself. In silence and darkness they watched Will at
+work. Then Mr. Blee asked a question as the miller turned to go.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What in thunder do it mean?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;God knaws, I doan&rsquo;t. The man or bwoy, or whatever you call
+un, beats me. I ban&rsquo;t built to tackle such a piece as him. He&rsquo;s
+took a year off my life to-day. Go to your bed, Billy, an&rsquo; let un
+bide.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Gormed if I wouldn&rsquo;t like to slip down an&rsquo; scat un ower
+the head for what he done to me this marnin&rsquo;. Such an auld man as me,
+tu! weak in the hams this ten year.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But strong in the speech. Maybe you pricked him with a bitter word,
+an&rsquo;&mdash;theer, theer, if I ban&rsquo;t standin&rsquo; up for the chap
+now! Yet if I&rsquo;ve wished un dead wance, I have fifty times since I first
+heard tell of un. Get to bed. I s&rsquo;pose us&rsquo;ll knaw his drift come
+to-morrow.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Mr. Lyddon and Billy retired, and both slept ere Will Blanchard&rsquo;s
+work was done. Upon its completion he sought the cold nocturnal waters of the
+river, and then did a thing he had planned an hour before. Entering the
+farmyard, he flung a small stone at Phoebe&rsquo;s window in the thatch, then
+another. But the first had roused his wife, for she lay above in wakefulness
+and sorrow. She peeped out, saw Blanchard, knew him in the lantern light, and
+opened the window.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Will, my awn Will!&rdquo; she said, with a throbbing voice.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess fay, lovey! I knawed you&rsquo;d sleep sweeter for
+hearin&rsquo; tell I&rsquo;ve done the work.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Done it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Truth.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It was a cruel, wicked shame; an&rsquo; the blame&rsquo;s Billy
+Blee&rsquo;s, an&rsquo; I&rsquo;ve cried my eyes out since I heard what they
+set you to do; an&rsquo; I&rsquo;ve said what I thought; an&rsquo; I&rsquo;m
+sorry to bitterness about this marnin&rsquo;, dear Will.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;T is all wan now. I&rsquo;ve comed into a mort of money, my
+Uncle Ford bein&rsquo; suddenly dead.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, Will, I could a&rsquo;most jump out the window!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;T would be easier for me to come up-long.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, no; not for the world, Will!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why for not? An&rsquo; you that lovely, twinklin&rsquo; in your
+white gownd, an&rsquo; me your lawful husband, an&rsquo; a man o&rsquo;
+money! Damned if I ain&rsquo;t got a mind to climb up by the
+pear-tree!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You mustn&rsquo;t, you mustn&rsquo;t! Go away, dear, sweet Will.
+An&rsquo; I&rsquo;m so thankful you&rsquo;ve forgiven me for being so wicked,
+dear heart.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Everybody&rsquo;ll ax to be forgiven now, I reckon; but
+you&mdash;theer ban&rsquo;t nothin&rsquo; to forgive you for. You can tell
+your faither I&rsquo;ve forgived un to-morrow, an&rsquo; tell un I&rsquo;m
+rich, tu. &rsquo;T will ease his mind. Theer, an&rsquo; theer, an
+theer!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Will kissed his hand thrice, then vanished, and his wife shut her window
+and, kneeling, prayed out thankful prayers.</p>
+<p>As her husband crossed Rushford Bridge, his thought sped backward through
+the storm and sunshine of past events. But chiefly he remembered the struggle
+with John Grimbal and its sequel. For a moment he glanced below into the dark
+water.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;T is awver an&rsquo; past, awver an&rsquo; past,&rdquo; he
+said to himself. &ldquo;I be at the tail of all my troubles now, for
+theer&rsquo;s nought gude money an&rsquo; gude sense caan&rsquo;t do between
+&rsquo;em.&rdquo;</p>
+<h2><a id="II_I" name="II_I"></a>BOOK II<br />
+HIS ENTERPRISE<br />
+<br />CHAPTER I<br />
+SPRINGTIME</h2>
+<p>Nature, waking at the song of woodland birds to find herself naked,
+fashioned with flying fingers such a robe of young green and amber, hyacinth
+and pearl as only she can weave or wear. A scent of the season rose from
+multitudinous &ldquo;buds, and bells, and stars without a name&rdquo;; while
+the little world of Devon, vale and forest, upland and heathery waste,
+rejoiced in the new life, as it rang and rippled with music and colour even
+to the granite thrones of the Moor. Down by the margin of Teign, where she
+murmured through a vale of wakening leaves and reflected asphodels bending
+above her brink, the valley was born again in a very pageant of golden green
+that dappled all the grey woods, clothed branch and bough anew, ran
+flower-footed over the meadow, hid nests of happy birds in every dell and
+dingle, and spread luxuriant life above the ruin of the year that was gone. A
+song of hope filled each fair noon; no wasted energy, no unfulfilled intent
+as yet saddened the eye; no stunted, ruined nursling of Nature yet spoke
+unsuccess; no canker-bitten bud marked the cold finger of failure; for in
+that first rush of life all the earthborn host had set forth, if not equal,
+at least together. The primroses twinkled true on downy coral stems and the
+stars of anemone, celandine, and daisy opened perfect. Countless consummate,
+lustrous things were leaping, mingling, and uncurling, aloft and below, in
+the mazes of the wood, at the margins of the water. Verdant spears and blades
+expanded; fair fans opened and tendrils twined; simultaneous showers of
+heart-shaped, arrow-shaped, flame-shaped foliage, all pure emerald and
+translucent beryl, made opulent outpouring of that new life which now pulsed
+through the Mother&rsquo;s million veins. Diaphanous mist wreaths and tender
+showers wooed the Spring; under silver gauze of vernal rain rang wild rapture
+of thrushes, laughter of woodpeckers, chime and chatter of jackdaws from the
+rock, secret crooning of the cushat in the pines. From dawn till dusk the
+sweet air was winnowed by busy wings; from dawn till dusk the hum and murmur
+of life ceased not. Infinite possibility, infinite promise, marked the time;
+and man shared a great new hope with the beasts and birds, and wild violet of
+the wood. Blood and sap raced gloriously together, while a chorus of
+conscious and unconscious creation sang the anthem of the Spring in solemn
+strophe and antistrophe.</p>
+<p>As life&rsquo;s litany rises once again, and before the thunder of that
+music rolling from the valleys to the hills, human reason yearly hesitates
+for a moment, while hope cries out anew above the frosty lessons of
+experience. For a brief hour the thinker, perhaps wisely, turns from memory,
+as from a cloud that blots the present with its shadow, and spends a little
+moment in this world of opal lights and azure shades. He forgets that Nature
+adorned the bough for other purpose than his joy; forgets that strange
+creatures, with many legs and hungry mouths, will presently tatter each
+musical dome of rustling green; forgets that he gazes upon a battlefield
+awaiting savage armies, which will fill high Summer with ceaseless war, to
+strew the fair earth with slain. He suffers dead Winter to bury her dead,
+seeks the wine of life that brims in the chalices of Spring flowers: plucks
+blade and blossom, and is a child again, if Time has so dealt with him that
+for a little he can thus far retrace his steps; and, lastly, he turns once
+more to the Mother he has forgotten, to find that she has not forgotten him.
+The whisper of her passing in a greenwood glade is the murmur of waters
+invisible and of life unseen; the scent of her garment comes sweet on the
+bloom of the blackthorn; high heaven and lowly forget-me-not alike mirror the
+blue of her wonderful eyes; and the gleam of the sunshine on rippling rivers
+and dreaming clouds reflects the gold of her hair. She moves a queen who,
+passing through one fair corner of her world-wide kingdom, joys in it. She,
+the sovereign of the universe, reigns here too, over the buds and the birds,
+and the happy, unconsidered life of weald and wold. Each busy atom and
+unfolding frond is dear to her; each warm nest and hidden burrow inspires
+like measure of her care and delight; and at this time, if ever, we may think
+of Nature as forgetting Death for one magic moment, as sharing the wide joy
+of her wakening world, as greeting the young mother of the year&rsquo;s
+hopes, as pressing to her bosom the babes of Spring with many a sunny smile
+and rainbowed tear.</p>
+<p>Through the woods in Teign Valley passed Clement Hicks and his sweetheart
+about a fortnight after Lawyer Ford had been laid to rest in Chagford
+Churchyard. Chris talked about her brother and the great enterprise he had
+determined upon. She supported Will and spoke with sanguine words of his
+future; but Clement regarded the project differently.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;To lease Newtake Farm is a fool&rsquo;s trick,&rdquo; he said.
+&ldquo;Everybody knows the last experiments there. The place has been empty
+for ten months, and those who touched it in recent years only broke their
+hearts and wasted their substance.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, they weern&rsquo;t such men as Will. Theer&rsquo;s a fitness
+about it, tu; for Will&rsquo;s awn gran&rsquo;faither prospered at Newtake;
+an&rsquo; if he could get a living, another may. Mother do like the thought
+of Will being there somehow.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I know it. The sentiment of the thing has rather blinded her
+natural keen judgment. Curious that I should criticise sentiment in another
+person; but it &rsquo;s like my cranky, contrary way. Only I was thinking of
+Will&rsquo;s thousand pounds. Newtake will suck it out of his pocket quicker
+than Cranmere sucks up a Spring shower.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, I&rsquo;m more hopeful. He knows the value of money;
+an&rsquo; Phoebe will help him when she comes up. The months slip by so
+quickly. By the time I&rsquo;ve got the cobwebs out of the farm an&rsquo;
+made the auld rooms water-sweet, I dare say theer&rsquo;ll be talk of his
+wife joining him.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You going up! This is the first I&rsquo;ve heard of it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I meant to tell &rsquo;e to-day. Mother is willing and I&rsquo;m
+awnly tu glad. A man&rsquo;s a poor left-handed thing &rsquo;bout a house.
+I&rsquo;d do more &rsquo;n that for Will.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Pity he doesn&rsquo;t think and do something for you. Surely a
+little of this money&mdash;?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Doan&rsquo;t &rsquo;e touch on that, Clem. Us had a braave talk
+&rsquo;pon it, for he wanted to make over two hundred pound to me, but I
+wouldn&rsquo;t dream of it, and you wouldn&rsquo;t have liked me tu. You
+&rsquo;m the last to envy another&rsquo;s fair fortune.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I do envy any man fortune. Why should I starve, waiting for you,
+and&mdash;?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Hush!&rdquo; she said, as though she had spoken to a little child.
+&ldquo;I won&rsquo;t hear no wild words to-day in all this gude gold
+sunshine.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;God damn everything!&rdquo; he burst out. &ldquo;What a poor,
+impotent wretch He&rsquo;s made me&mdash;a thing to bruise its useless hands
+beating the door that will never open! It maddens me&mdash;especially when
+all the world&rsquo;s happy, like to-day&mdash;all happy but me. And you so
+loyal and true! What a fool you are to stick to me and let me curse you all
+your life!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Doan&rsquo;t &rsquo;e, doan&rsquo;t &rsquo;e, Clem,&rdquo; said
+Chris wearily. She was growing well accustomed to these ebullitions.
+&ldquo;Doan&rsquo;t grudge Will his awn. Our turn will come, an&rsquo;
+perhaps sooner than we think for. Look round &rsquo;pon the sweet fresh airth
+an&rsquo; budding flowers. Spring do put heart into a body. We &rsquo;m young
+yet, and I&rsquo;ll wait for &rsquo;e if &rsquo;t is till the crack o&rsquo;
+doom.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Life&rsquo;s such a cursed short thing at best&mdash;just a stormy
+day between two nights, one as long as past time, the other all eternity.
+Have you seen a mole come up from the ground, wallow helplessly a moment or
+two, half blind in the daylight, then sink back into the earth, leaving only
+a mound? That&rsquo;s our life, yours and mine; and Fate grudges that even
+these few poor hours, which make the sum of it, should be spent together.
+Think how long a man and woman can live side by side at best. Yet every
+Sunday of your life you go to church and babble about a watchful, loving
+Maker!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I doan&rsquo;t know, Clem. You an&rsquo; me ban&rsquo;t everybody.
+You&rsquo;ve told me yourself as God do play a big game, and it doan&rsquo;t
+become this man or that woman to reckon their-selves more important than they
+truly be.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A great game, yes; but a cursed poor game&mdash;for a God. The
+counters don&rsquo;t matter, I know; they&rsquo;ll soon be broken up and
+flung away; and the sooner the better. It&rsquo;s living hell to be born into
+a world where there&rsquo;s no justice&mdash;none for king or
+tinker.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Sit alongside of me and smell the primrosen an&rsquo; watch thicky
+kingfisher catching the li&rsquo;l trout. I doan&rsquo;t like &rsquo;e in
+these bitter moods, Clem, when your talk&rsquo;s all dead ashes.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He sat by her and looked out over the river. It was flooded in sunlight,
+fringed with uncurling green.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m sick and weary of life without you. &lsquo;Conscious
+existence is a failure,&rsquo; and the man who found that out and said it was
+wise. I wish I was a bird or beast&mdash;or nothing. All the world is mating
+but you and me. Nature hates me because I survive from year to year, not
+being fit to. The dumb things do her greater credit than ever I can.
+The&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Now, I&rsquo;ll go&mdash;on my solemn word, I&rsquo;ll go&mdash;if
+you grumble any more! Essterday you was so different, and said you&rsquo;d
+fallen in love with Miss Spring, and pretended to speak to her and make me
+jealous. You didn&rsquo;t do that, but you made me laugh. An&rsquo; you
+promised a purty verse for me. Did &rsquo;e make it up after all? I lay
+not.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, I did. I wasted two or three hours over it last
+night.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Might &rsquo;e get ten shillings for it, like t&rsquo;
+other?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s not worth the paper it&rsquo;s on, unless you like it.
+Your praise is better than money to me. Nobody wants any thoughts of mine.
+Why should they?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not when they &rsquo;m all sour an&rsquo; poor, same as now; but
+essterday you spoke like to a picture-book. Theer&rsquo;s many might have
+took gude from what you said then.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He pulled a scrap of paper from his pocket and flung it into her lap.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I call it &rsquo;Spring Rain,&rsquo;&rdquo; he said.
+&ldquo;Yesterday the world was grey, and I was happy; to-day the world is all
+gold, and I&rsquo;m finding life harder and heavier than usual. Read it out
+slowly to me. It was meant to be read to the song of the river, and never a
+prettier voice read a rhyme than yours.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Chris smoothed the paper and recited her lover&rsquo;s lyrics. They had
+some shadow of music in them and echoed Clem&rsquo;s love of beautiful
+things; but they lacked inspiration or much skill.</p>
+<p class="poem">&ldquo;&rsquo;Neath unnumbered crystal arrows&mdash;<br />
+<span class="i2">Crystal arrows from the quiver</span><br />
+<span class="i2">Of a cloud&mdash;the waters shiver</span><br />
+In the woodland&rsquo;s dim domain;<br />
+And the whispering of the rain<br />
+Tinkles sweet on silver Teign&mdash;<br />
+<span class="i4">Tinkles on the river.</span><br />
+<br />
+&rdquo;Through unnumbered sweet recesses&mdash;<br />
+<span class="i2">Sweet recesses soft in lining</span><br />
+<span class="i2">Of green moss with ivy twining&mdash;</span><br />
+Daffodils, a sparkling train,<br />
+Twinkle through the whispering rain,<br />
+Twinkle bright by silver Teign,<br />
+<span class="i4">With a starry shining.</span><br />
+<br />
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Mid unnumbered little leaf-buds&mdash;<br />
+<span class="i2">Little leaf-buds surely bringing</span><br />
+<span class="i2">Spring once more&mdash;song birds are winging;</span><br />
+And their mellow notes again<br />
+Throb across the whispering rain,<br />
+Till the banks of silver Teign<br />
+<span class="i4">Echo with their singing.&rdquo;</span></p>
+<p>Chris, having read, made customary cheerful comment according to her
+limitations.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;T is just like essterday&mdash;butivul grawing weather, but
+&rsquo;pears to me it&rsquo;s plain facts more &rsquo;n poetry. Anybody could
+come to the streamside and see it all for themselves.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Many are far away, pent in bricks and mortar, yearning deep to see
+the dance of the Spring, and chained out of sight of it. This might bring one
+glimpse to them.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; so it might, if you sold it for a bit of money. Then it
+could be printed out for &rsquo;em like t&rsquo;other was.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You don&rsquo;t understand&mdash;you won&rsquo;t
+understand&mdash;even you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I caan&rsquo;t please &rsquo;e to-day. I likes the li&rsquo;l
+verses ever so. You do make such things seem butivul to my
+ear&mdash;an&rsquo; so true as a photograph.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Clem shivered and stretched his hand for the paper. Then, in a moment, he
+had torn it into twenty pieces and sent the fragments afloat.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;There! Let her take them to the sea with her. She understands.
+Maybe she&rsquo;ll find a cool corner for me too before many days are
+passed.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Chris began to feel her patience failing.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What, in God&rsquo;s name, have I done to &rsquo;e you should treat
+me like this?&rdquo; she asked, with fire in her eyes.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Been fool enough to love me,&rdquo; he answered. &ldquo;But
+it&rsquo;s never too late for a woman to change her mind. Leave a sinking
+ship, or rather a ship that never got properly launched, but, sticking out of
+its element, was left to rot. Why don&rsquo;t you leave me, Chris?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She stroked his hand, then picked it up and laid her soft cheek against
+it.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not till the end of the world comes for wan of us, Clem. I&rsquo;ll
+love &rsquo;e always, and the better and deeper &rsquo;cause you &rsquo;m so
+wisht an&rsquo; unlucky somehow. But you &rsquo;m tu wise to be miserable all
+your time.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You ought to make me a man if anything could. I burn away with
+hopes and hopes, and more hopes for the future, and miss the paltry thing at
+hand that might save me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then miss it no more, love; seek closer, an&rsquo; seek sharper.
+Maybe gude work an&rsquo; gude money &rsquo;s awnly waitin&rsquo; for
+&rsquo;e to find it. Doan&rsquo;t look at the moon an&rsquo; stars so much;
+think of me, an&rsquo; look lower.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Slowly the beauty of the hour and the sweet-hearted girl at his elbow
+threw some sunshine into Clement&rsquo;s moody heart. For a little while the
+melancholy and shiftless dreamer grew happier. He promised renewed activity
+in the future, and undertook, as a first step towards Martin Grimbal, to
+inform the antiquary of that great fact which his foolish whim had thus far
+concealed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Chance might have got it to his ears through more channels than
+one, you would have thought; but he&rsquo;s a taciturn man, asks no
+questions, and invites no confidences. I like him the better for it. Next
+week, come what may, I&rsquo;ll speak to him and tell him the truth, like a
+plain, blunt man.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Do &rsquo;e that very thing,&rdquo; urged Chris. &ldquo;Say
+we&rsquo;m lovers these two year an&rsquo; more; an&rsquo; that you&rsquo;d
+be glad to wed me if your way o&rsquo; life was bettered. Ban&rsquo;t
+beggin&rsquo;, as he knaws, for nobody doubts you&rsquo;m the most
+book-learned man in Chagford after parson.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Together they followed the winding of the river and proceeded through the
+valley, by wood, and stile, and meadow, until they reached Rushford Bridge.
+Here they delayed a moment at the parapet and, while they did so, John
+Grimbal passed on foot alone.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;His house is growing,&rdquo; said Clement, as they proceeded to
+Mrs. Blanchard&rsquo;s cottage.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Aye, and his hearth will be as cold as his heart&mdash;the wretch!
+Well he may turn his hard face away from me and remember what fell out on
+this identical spot! But for God&rsquo;s gude grace he&rsquo;d have been
+hanged to Exeter &rsquo;fore now.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You can&rsquo;t put yourself in his shoes, Chris; no woman can.
+Think what the world looked like to him after his loss. The girl he wanted
+was so near. His hands were stretched out for her; his heart was full of her.
+Then to see her slip away.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; quite right, tu; as you was the first to say at the time.
+Who&rsquo;s gwaine to pity a thief who loses the purse he&rsquo;s stole, or a
+poacher that fires &rsquo;pon another man&rsquo;s bird an&rsquo; misses
+it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;All the same, I doubt he would have made a better husband for
+Phoebe Lyddon than ever your brother will.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>His sweetheart gasped at criticism so unexpected.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&mdash;you to say that! You, Will&rsquo;s awn friend!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s true; and you know it as well as anybody. He has so
+little common sense.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>But Chris flamed up in an instant. Nothing the man&rsquo;s cranky temper
+could do had power to irritate her long. Nothing he might say concerning
+himself or her annoyed her for five minutes; but, upon the subject of her
+brother, not even from Clem did Chris care to hear a disparaging word or
+unfavourable comment. And this criticism, of all others, levelled against
+Will angered her to instant bitter answer before she had time to measure the
+weight of her words.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Common sense&rsquo;! Perhaps you&rsquo;ll be so kind as to
+give Will Blanchard a li&rsquo;l of your awn&mdash;you being so rich in it.
+Best look at home, and see what you can spare!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>So the lovers&rsquo; quarrel which had been steadily brewing under the
+sunshine now bubbled over and lowered thunder-black for the moment, as such
+storms will.</p>
+<p>Clement Hicks, perfectly calm now that his sweetheart&rsquo;s temper was
+gone, marched off; and Chris, slamming the cottage door, vanished, without
+taking any further leave of him than that recorded in her last utterance.</p>
+<h2><a id="II_II" name="II_II"></a>CHAPTER II<br />
+NEWTAKE FARM</h2>
+<p>Clement Hicks told the truth when he said that Mrs. Blanchard fell
+something short of her usual sound judgment and sagacity in the matter of
+Will&rsquo;s enterprise. The home of childhood is often apt enough to
+exercise magic, far-reaching attraction, and even influence a mind for the
+most part unsentimental. To Damaris the thought of her son winning his living
+where her father had done so was pleasant and in accordance with eternal
+fitness. Not without emotion did she accompany Will to Newtake Farm while yet
+the proposed bargain awaited completion; not without strange awakenings in
+the dormant recesses of her memory did Will&rsquo;s mother pass and pass
+again through the scenes of her earliest days. From the three stone steps, or
+&ldquo;upping stock,&rdquo; at the farmhouse door, whereat a thousand times
+she had seen her father mount his horse, to the environment of the farmyard;
+from the strange, winding staircase of solid granite that connected upper and
+lower storeys, to each mean chamber in Newtake, did Mrs. Blanchard&rsquo;s
+eyes roam thoughtfully amid the ghosts of recollections. Her girl&rsquo;s
+life returned and the occasional bright days gleamed forth again, vivid by
+contrast with the prevailing grey. So active became thought that to relieve
+her mind she spoke to Will.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The li&rsquo;l chamber over the door was mine,&rdquo; she said;
+&ldquo;an&rsquo; your poor uncle had the next. I can just mind him, allus at
+his books, to his faither&rsquo;s pride. Then he went away to Newton to join
+some lawyer body an&rsquo; larn his business. An&rsquo; I mind the two small
+maids as was my elder sisters and comed betwixt me an&rsquo; Joel. Both
+died&mdash;like candles blawed out roughly by the wind. They wasn&rsquo;t
+made o&rsquo; the stuff to stand Dartymoor winters.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She paused for a few moments, then proceeded:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Theer, to west of the yard, is a croft as had corn in it wan year,
+though &rsquo;tis permanent grass now, seemin&rsquo;ly. Your faither corned
+through theer like a snake by night more&rsquo;n wance; an&rsquo; oftentimes
+I crept down house, shivering wi&rsquo; fear an&rsquo; love, to meet him
+under moonlight while the auld folks slept. Tim he&rsquo;d grawed to a power
+wi&rsquo; the gypsy people by that time; but faither was allus hard against
+un. He hated wanderers in tents or &rsquo;pon wheels, or even sea-gwaine
+sailor-men&mdash;he carried it that far. Then comed a peep o&rsquo; day when
+Tim&rsquo;s bonny yellow caravan &rsquo;peared around the corner of that
+windin&rsquo; road what goes all across the Moor. At the first stirring of
+light, I was ready an&rsquo; skipped out; an&rsquo;, to this hour, I mind the
+last thing as touched me kindly was the red tongue of the sheep-dog. He ran a
+mile after the van, unhappy-like; then Tim ordered un away, an&rsquo; he
+stood in the white road an&rsquo; held up his paw an&rsquo; axed a question
+as plain as a human. So Tim hit un hard wi&rsquo; a gert stone, an&rsquo; he
+yelped an&rsquo; gived me up for lost, an&rsquo; bolted home wi&rsquo; his
+tail between his legs an&rsquo; his eye thrawed back full of sadness over his
+shoulder. Ess fay! I can see the dust puffin&rsquo; up under his pads in the
+grey dawn so clear as I can see you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Again she stopped, but only for breath.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They never answered my writings. Faither wouldn&rsquo;t an&rsquo;
+mother didn&rsquo;t dare. But when I was near my time, Timothy, reckoning
+they&rsquo;d yield then if ever, arranged to be in Chagford when I should be
+brought to bed. Yet &rsquo;twas ordained differ&rsquo;nt, an&rsquo; the
+roundy-poundy, wheer the caravan was drawed up when the moment corned, be
+just round theer on Metherill hill, as you knaws. So it happened right under
+the very walls of Newtake. In the stone circle you comed; an&rsquo; by night
+arterwards, sweatin&rsquo; for terror, your gran&rsquo;mother, as had heard
+tell of it, sneaked from Newtake to kiss me an&rsquo; press you to her body.
+Faither never knawed till long arter; an&rsquo; though mother used to say she
+heard un forgive me on his death-bed, &rsquo;twas her awn pious wish echoing
+in her awn ears I reckon. But that&rsquo;s all awver an&rsquo;
+done.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Mrs. Blanchard now sank into silent perambulation of the deserted
+chambers. In the kitchen the whitewash was grimy, the ceiling and windows
+unclean. Ashes of a peat fire still lay upon the cracked hearthstone, and a
+pair of worn-out boots, left by a tramp or the last tenant, stood on the
+window-sill. Dust and filth were everywhere, but no indication of dampness or
+decay.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A proper auld rogue&rsquo;s-roost of dirt &rsquo;tis just
+now,&rdquo; said Will; &ldquo;but a few pound spent in the right way will do
+a deal for it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; soap an&rsquo; water more,&rdquo; declared Mrs.
+Blanchard, escaping from her reverie. &ldquo;What&rsquo;s to be spent
+landlord must spend,&rdquo; she continued. &ldquo;A little whitewash, and
+some plaster to fill them holes wheer woodwork&rsquo;s poking through the
+ceiling, an&rsquo; you&rsquo;ll be vitty again. &rsquo;Tis lonesome-like now,
+along o&rsquo; being deserted, an&rsquo; you&rsquo;ll hear the rats galloping
+an&rsquo; gallyarding by night, but &rsquo;twill soon be all it was
+again&mdash;a dear li&rsquo;l auld plaace, sure enough!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She eyed the desolation affectionately.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Theer&rsquo;s money in it, any way, for what wan man can do another
+can.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Aye, I hope so, I b&rsquo;lieve &rsquo;tis so; but you&rsquo;ll
+have to live hard, an&rsquo; work hard, an&rsquo; be hard, if you wants to
+prosper here. Your gran&rsquo;faither stood to the work like a giant,
+an&rsquo; the sharpest-fashion weather hurt him no worse than if he&rsquo;d
+been a granite tor. Steel-built to his heart&rsquo;s core, an&rsquo; needed
+to be.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; I be a stern, far-seein&rsquo; man, same as him.
+&rsquo;Tis generally knawn I&rsquo;m no fule; and my heart&rsquo;s grawed
+hard, tu of late days, along wi&rsquo; the troubles life&rsquo;s
+brought.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She shook her head.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;m your faither&rsquo;s son, not your
+gran&rsquo;faither&rsquo;s. Tim was flesh an&rsquo; blood, same as you.
+T&rsquo;other was stone. Stone&rsquo;s best, when you&rsquo;ve got to fight
+wi&rsquo; stone; but if flesh an&rsquo; blood suffers more, it joys more, tu.
+I wouldn&rsquo;t have &rsquo;e differ&rsquo;nt&mdash;not to them as loves
+&rsquo;e, any way.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I sha&rsquo;n&rsquo;t change; an&rsquo; if I did to all the world
+else, &rsquo;twouldn&rsquo;t be to you, mother. You knaw that, I reckon.
+I&rsquo;m hopeful; I&rsquo;m more; I&rsquo;m &rsquo;bout as certain of fair
+fortune as a man can be. Venwell rights<a id="footnotetag6" name=
+"footnotetag6"></a><a href="#footnote6"><sup>6</sup></a> be mine, and
+theer&rsquo;s no better moorland grazing than round these paarts. The
+farm-land looks a bit foul, along o&rsquo; being let go to rack, but
+us&rsquo;ll soon have that clean again, an&rsquo; some gude stuff into it,
+tu. My awn work&rsquo;ll be staring me in the faace before summer; an&rsquo;
+by the time Phoebe do come to be mistress, nobody&rsquo;ll knaw Newtake, I
+promise &rsquo;e.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Mrs. Blanchard viewed with some uneasiness the spectacle of valley-born
+and valley-nurtured Phoebe taking up her abode on the high lands. For herself
+she loved them well, and the Moor possessed no terrors for her; but she had
+wit to guess that her daughter-in-law would think and feel differently.
+Indeed, neither woman nor man might reasonably be blamed for viewing the farm
+without delight when first brought within the radius of its influence.</p>
+<p>Newtake stood, a squat and unlovely erection, under a tar-pitched roof of
+slate. Its stone walls were coated with a stucco composition, which included
+tallow as an ingredient and ensured remarkable warmth and dryness. Before its
+face there stretched a winding road of white flint, that climbed from the
+village, five miles distant, and soon vanished amid the undulations of the
+hills; while, opposite, steep heathery slopes and grassy coombs ascended
+abruptly to masses of weathered granite; and at the rear a hillside, whereon
+Metherill&rsquo;s scattered hut-circles made incursions even into the fields
+of the farm, fell to the banks of Southern Teign where she babbled between
+banks of brake-fern and heather. Swelling and sinking solemnly along the sky,
+Dartmoor surrounded Newtake. At the entrance of the yard stood a broken
+five-barred gate between twin masses of granite; then appeared a ragged
+outbuilding or two, with roofs of lichen-covered slate; and upon one side, in
+a row, grew three sycamores, bent out of all uprightness by years of western
+winds, and coated as to their trunks with grey lichen. Behind a cowyard of
+shattered stone pavement and cracked mud stood the farm itself, and around it
+extended the fields belonging thereto. They were six or seven in number, and
+embraced some five-and-fifty acres of land, mostly indifferent meadow.</p>
+<p>Seen from the winding road, or from the bird&rsquo;s-eye elevation of the
+adjacent tor, Newtake, with its mean ship-pens and sties, outbuildings and
+little crofts, all huddled together, poverty-stricken, time-fretted,
+wind-worn, and sad of colour, appeared a mere forlorn fragment of
+civilisation left derelict upon the savage bosom of an untamable land. It
+might have represented some forsaken, night-foundered abode of men, torn by
+earthquake or magic spell from a region wholly different, and dropped and
+stranded here. It sulked solitary, remote, and forgotten; its black roof
+frowned over its windows, and green tears, dribbling down its walls in time
+past, had left their traces, as though even spring sunlight was powerless to
+eradicate the black memories of winters past, or soften the bitter certainty
+of others yet to come. The fields, snatched from the Moor in time long past,
+now showed a desire to return to their wild mother again. The bars of
+cultivation were broken and the land struggled to escape. Scabious would
+presently throw a mauve pallor over more than one meadow croft; in another,
+waters rose and rushes and yellow iris flourished and defied husbandry;
+elsewhere stubble, left unploughed by the last defeated farmer, gleamed
+silver-grey through a growth of weeds; while at every point the Moor thrust
+forward hands laden with briar and heather. They surmounted the low stone
+walls and fed and flourished upon the clods and peat that crowned them.
+Nature waved early gold of the greater furze in the van of her oncoming, and
+sent her wild winds to sprinkle croft and hay-field, ploughed land and potato
+patch, with thistledown and the seeds of the knapweed and rattle and bracken
+fern. These heathen things and a thousand others, in all the early vigour of
+spring, rose triumphant above the meek cultivation. They trampled it,
+strangled it, choked it, and maddened the agriculturist by their sturdy and
+stubborn persistence. A forlorn, pathetic blot upon the land of the mist was
+Newtake, seen even under conditions of sunlight and fair weather; but beheld
+beneath autumnal rains, observed at seasons of deep snow or in the dead waste
+of frozen winters, its apparition rendered the most heavy-hearted less sad
+before the discovery that there existed a human abode more hateful, a human
+outlook more oppressive, than their own.</p>
+<p>To-day heavy moorland vapours wrapped Newtake in ghostly raiment, yet no
+forlorn emotions clouded the survey of those who now wandered about the
+lifeless farm. In the mind of one, here retracing the course of her
+maidenhood, this scene, if sad, was beautiful. The sycamores, whose brown
+spikes had burst into green on a low bough or two, were the trees she loved
+best in the world; the naked field on the hillside, wherein a great stone
+ring shone grey through the silver arms of the mist, represented the theatre
+of her life&rsquo;s romance. There she had stolen oftentimes to her lover,
+and in another such, not far distant, had her son been born. Thoughts of
+little sisters rose in the naked kitchen, with the memory of a flat-breasted,
+wild-eyed mother, who did man&rsquo;s work; of a father, who spoke seldom and
+never twice&mdash;a father whose heavy foot upon the threshold sent his
+children scuttling like rabbits to hidden lairs and dens. She remembered the
+dogs; the bright gun-barrel above the chimney-piece; the steam of clothes
+hung to dry after many a soaking in &ldquo;soft&rdquo; weather; the reek of
+the peat; the brown eyes and steaming nostrils of the bullocks, that
+sometimes looked through the kitchen window in icy winter twilights, as
+though they would willingly change their byres for the warmth within.</p>
+<p>Mrs. Blanchard enjoyed the thought that her son should reanimate these
+scenes of her own childhood; and he, burning with energy and zeal, and not
+dead to his own significance as a man of money, saw promises of prosperity on
+either hand. It lay with him, he told his heart, to win smiling fatness from
+this hungry region. Right well he knew how it came about that those who had
+preceded him had failed, missed their opportunities, fooled themselves, and
+flung away their chances. Evidences of their ignorance stared at him from the
+curtains of the mist, but he knew better; he was a man who had thought a bit
+in his time and had his head screwed on the right way, thank God. These facts
+he poured into his mother&rsquo;s ear, and she smiled thoughtfully, noted the
+changes time had wrought, and indicated to him those things the landlord
+might reasonably be expected to do before Will should sign and seal.</p>
+<p>The survey ended, her son helped Damaris into a little market-cart, which
+he had bought for her upon coming into his fortune. A staid pony, also his
+purchase, completed the equipage, and presently Mrs. Blanchard drove
+comfortably away; while Will, who yet proposed to tramp, for the twentieth
+time, each acre of Newtake land, watched her depart, then turned to continue
+his researches. A world of thought rested on his brown face. Arrived at each
+little field, he licked his pencil, and made notes in a massive new
+pocketbook. He strode along like a conqueror of kingdoms, frowned and
+scratched his curly head as problem after problem rose, smiled when he solved
+them, and entered the solution in his book. For the wide world was full of
+young green, and this sanguine youth soared lark-high in soul under his happy
+circumstances. Will breathed out kindness to all mankind just at present, and
+now before that approaching welfare he saw writ largely in beggarly Newtake,
+before the rosy dawn which Hope spread over this cemetery of other
+men&rsquo;s dead aspirations, he felt his heart swell to the world. Two
+clouds only darkened his horizon then. One was the necessity of beginning the
+new life without his life&rsquo;s partner; while the other, formerly
+tremendous enough, had long since shrunk to a shadow on the horizon of the
+past. His secret still remained, but that circumstance was too remote to
+shadow the new enterprise. It existed, however, and its recurrence wove
+occasional gloomy patterns into the web of Will Blanchard&rsquo;s
+thought.</p>
+<h2><a id="II_III" name="II_III"></a>CHAPTER III<br />
+OVER A RIDING-WHIP</h2>
+<p>Will completed his survey and already saw, in his mind&rsquo;s eye, a
+brave masque of autumn gold spreading above the lean lands of Newtake. From
+this spectacle to that of garnered harvests and great gleaming stacks
+bursting with fatness the transition was natural and easy. He pictured kine
+in the farmyard, many sheep upon the hills, and Phoebe with such geese,
+ducks, and turkeys as should make her quite forget the poultry of Monks
+Barton. Then, having built castles in the air until his imagination was
+exhausted, Will shut the outer gate with the touch of possession, turned a
+moment to see how Newtake looked from the roadway, found only the shadow of
+it looming through the mist, and so departed, whistling and slapping his
+gaiters with an ash sapling.</p>
+<p>It happened that beside a gate which closed the moorland precincts to
+prevent cattle from wandering, a horseman stood, and as the pedestrian passed
+him in the gathering gloaming, he dropped his hunting-stock while making an
+effort to open the gate without dismounting.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Bide wheer you be!&rdquo; said Will; &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll pick un up
+an&rsquo; ope the gate for &rsquo;e.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He did so and handed the whip back to its owner. Then each recognised the
+other, and there was a moment of silence.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis you, Jan Grimbal, is it?&rdquo; asked the younger.
+&ldquo;I didn&rsquo;t knaw &rsquo;e in the dimpsy light.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He hesitated, and his words when they came halted somewhat, but his
+meaning was evident.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m glad you&rsquo;m back to home. I&rsquo;ll forget all
+what&rsquo;s gone, if you will. &rsquo;Twas give an&rsquo; take, I
+s&rsquo;pose. I took my awn anyway, an&rsquo; you comed near killing me
+for&rsquo;t, so we&rsquo;m upsides now, eh? We&rsquo;m men o&rsquo; the world
+likewise. So&mdash;so shall us shake hands an&rsquo; let bygones be, Jan
+Grimbal?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He half raised his hand, and looked up, with a smile at the corner of his
+lip ready to jump into life if the rider should accept his friendship. But
+Grimbal&rsquo;s response was otherwise.</p>
+<p>To say little goodness dwelt in this man had been untrue, but recent
+events and the first shattering reverse that life brought him proved
+sufficient to sour his very soul and eclipse a sun which aforetime shone with
+great geniality because unclouded. Fate hits such men particularly hard when
+her delayed blow falls. Existences long attuned to success and level fortune;
+lives which have passed through five-and-thirty years of their allotted span
+without much sorrow, without sharp thorns in the flesh, without those
+carking, gnawing trials of mind and body which Time stores up for all
+humanity&mdash;such feel disaster when it does reach them with a bitterness
+unknown by those who have been in misery&rsquo;s school from youth. Poverty
+does not bite the poor as it bites him who has known riches and afterwards
+fights destitution; feeble physical circumstances do not crush the congenital
+invalid, but they often come near to break the heart of a man who, until
+their black advent, has known nothing but rude health; great reverses in the
+vital issues of life and fortune fail to obliterate one who knows their faces
+of old, but the first enemy&rsquo;s cannon on Time&rsquo;s road must ever
+bring ugly shock to him who has advanced far and happily without meeting any
+such thing.</p>
+<p>Grimbal&rsquo;s existence had been of a rough-and-ready sort shone over by
+success. Philosophy he lacked, for life had never turned his mind that way;
+religion was likewise absent from him; and his recent tremendous
+disappointment thus thundered upon a mind devoid of any machinery to resist
+it. The possession of Phoebe Lyddon had come to be an accepted and
+accomplished fact; he chose her for his own, to share the good things Fortune
+had showered into his lap&mdash;to share them and be a crowning glory of
+them. The overthrow of this scheme at the moment of realisation upset his
+estimate of life in general and set him adrift and rudderless, in the
+hurricane of his first great reverse. Of selfish temperament, and doubly so
+by the accident of consistent success, the wintry wind of this calamity slew
+and then swept John Grimbal&rsquo;s common sense before it, like a dead leaf.
+All that was worst in him rose to the top upon his trouble, and since
+Will&rsquo;s marriage the bad had been winning on the good and thrusting it
+deeper and deeper out of sight or immediate possibility of recovery. At all
+times John Grimbal&rsquo;s inferior characteristics were most prominently
+displayed, and superficial students of character usually rated him lower than
+others really worse than himself, but who had wit to parade their best
+traits. Now, however, he rode and strode the country a mere scowling ruffian,
+with his uppermost emotions still stamped on his face. The calamity also bred
+an unsuspected sensitiveness in him, and he smarted often under the
+reflection of what others must be thinking. His capability towards
+vindictiveness proved very considerable. Formerly his anger against his
+fellow-men had been as a thunder-storm, tremendous but brief in duration;
+now, before this bolt of his own forging, a steady, malignant activity
+germinated and spread through the whole tissue of his mind.</p>
+<p>Those distractions open to a man of Grimbal&rsquo;s calibre presently
+blunted the edge of his loss, and successful developments of business also
+served to occupy him during the visit he paid to Africa; but no interests as
+yet had arisen to obscure or dull his hatred of Will Blanchard. The original
+blaze of rage sank to a steady, abiding fire, less obviously tremendous than
+that first conflagration, but in reality hotter. In a nature unsubtle,
+revenge will not flourish as a grand passion for any length of time. It must
+reach its outlet quickly and attain to its ambition without overmuch delay,
+else it shrivels and withers to a mere stubborn, perhaps lifelong,
+enmity&mdash;a dwarfish, mulish thing, devoid of any tragic splendour. But up
+to the point that John Grimbal had reached as yet, his character, though
+commonplace in most affairs, had unexpectedly quickened to a condition quite
+profound where his revenge was concerned.</p>
+<p>He still cherished the certainty of a crushing retaliation. He was glad he
+had not done Blanchard any lifelong injury; he was glad the man yet lived for
+time and him to busy themselves about; he was even glad (and herein appeared
+the unsuspected subtlety) that Will had prospered and come by a little show
+of fortune. Half unconsciously he hoped for the boy something of his own
+experiences, and had determined with himself&mdash;in a spirit very
+melodramatic but perfectly sincere at present&mdash;to ruin his enemy if
+patience and determination could accomplish it.</p>
+<p>In this mood, with his wrongs sharpened by return to Chagford and his
+purposes red-hot, John Grimbal now ran against his dearest foe, received the
+horsewhip from him, and listened to his offer of peace.</p>
+<p>He still kept silence and Will lowered the half-lifted arm and spoke
+again.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;As you please. I can bide very easy without your gude
+word.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s well, then,&rdquo; said the other, in his big voice,
+as his hands tightened. &ldquo;We&rsquo;ve met again. I&rsquo;m glad I
+didn&rsquo;t break your neck, for your heart&rsquo;s left to break, and by
+the living God I&rsquo;ll break it! I can wait. I&rsquo;m older than you, but
+young enough. Remember, I&rsquo;ll run you down sooner or later. I&rsquo;ve
+hunted most things, and men aren&rsquo;t the cleverest beasts and
+you&rsquo;re not the cleverest man I&rsquo;ve bested in my time. You beat
+me&mdash;I know it&mdash;but it would have been better for you if you
+hadn&rsquo;t been born. There&rsquo;s the truth for your country ears, you
+damned young hound. I&rsquo;ll fight fair and I&rsquo;ll fight to the finish.
+Sport&mdash;that&rsquo;s what it is. The birds and the beasts and the fish
+have their close time; but there won&rsquo;t be any close time for you, not
+while I can think and work against you. So now you know. D&rsquo; you hear
+me?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess,&rdquo; said Will, meeting the other&rsquo;s fierce eyes;
+&ldquo;I hear &rsquo;e, an&rsquo; so might the dead in Chagford
+buryin&rsquo;-ground. You hollers loud enough. I ban&rsquo;t &rsquo;feared of
+nothing a hatch-mouthed,<a id="footnotetag7" name="footnotetag7"></a><a href=
+"#footnote7"><sup>7</sup></a> crooked-minded man, same as you be, can do.
+An&rsquo; if I&rsquo;m a hound, you &rsquo;m a dirty red fox, an&rsquo;
+everybody knaws who comes out top when they meet. Steal my gal, would
+&rsquo;e? Gaw your ways, an&rsquo; mend your ways, an&rsquo; swallow your
+bile. I doan&rsquo;t care a flicker o&rsquo; wildfire for
+&rsquo;e!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>John Grimbal heard only the beginning of this speech, for he turned his
+back on Will and rode away while the younger man still shouted after him.
+Blanchard was in a rage, and would have liked to make a third trial of
+strength with his enemy on the spot, but the rider vanished and Will quickly
+cooled as he went down the hill to Chagford. The remembrance of this
+interview, for all his scorn, chilled him when he reflected on John
+Grimbal&rsquo;s threats. He feared nothing indeed, but here was another
+cloud, and a black one, blown violently back from below the horizon of his
+life to the very zenith. Malignity of this type was strange to him and
+differed widely from the petty bickerings, jealousies, and strifes of
+ordinary country existence. It discouraged him to feel in his hour of
+universal contentment that a strong, bitter foe would now be at hand, forever
+watching to bring ruin on him at the first opportunity. As he walked home he
+asked himself how he should feel and act in Grimbal&rsquo;s shoes, and tried
+to look at the position from his enemy&rsquo;s standpoint. Of course he told
+himself that he would have accepted defeat with right philosophy. It was a
+just fix for a man to find himself in,&mdash;a proper punishment for a mean
+act. Arguing thus, from the right side of the hedge, he forgot what wiser men
+have forgotten, that there is no disputing about man&rsquo;s affection for
+woman, there is no transposition of the standpoint, there is no looking
+through another&rsquo;s eyes upon a girl. Many have loved, and many have
+rendered vivid pictures of the emotion, touched with insight of genius and
+universally proclaimed true to nature from general experience; but no two men
+love alike, and neither you nor another man can better say how a third feels
+under the yoke, estimate his thrall, or foretell his actions, despite your
+own experience, than can one sufferer from gout, though it has torn him half
+a hundred times, gauge the qualities of another&rsquo;s torment under the
+same disease. Will could not guess what John Grimbal had felt for Phoebe; he
+knew nothing of the other&rsquo;s disposition, because, young in knowledge of
+the world and a boy still, despite his age, it was beyond him to appreciate
+even remotely the mind of a man fifteen years older than himself&mdash;a man
+of very different temper and one whose life had been such as we have just
+described.</p>
+<p>Home went Blanchard, and kept his meeting secret. His mother, returning
+long before him, was already in some argument with Chris concerning the
+disposal of certain articles of furniture, the pristine splendour of which
+had been worn off at Newtake five-and-thirty years before. At Farmer
+Ford&rsquo;s death these things passed to his son, and he, not requiring
+them, had made them over to Damaris.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They was flam-new when first my parents married and comed to
+Newtake, many a year ago; and now I want &rsquo;em to go back theer.
+They&rsquo;ve seed three generations, an&rsquo; I&rsquo;d be well pleased
+that a fourth should kick its li&rsquo;l boots out against them. They
+&rsquo;m stout enough yet. Sweat went to building of chairs an&rsquo; tables
+in them days; now it&rsquo;s steam. Besides, &rsquo;twill save Will&rsquo;s
+pocket a tidy bit.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Chris, however, though she could deny Will nothing, was divided here, for
+why should her mother part from those trifles which contributed to the ample
+adornment of her cottage? Certain stout horsehair furniture and a piano were
+the objects Mrs. Blanchard chiefly desired should go to Newtake. The piano,
+indeed, had never been there before. It was a present to Damaris from her
+dead husband, who purchased the instrument second-hand for five pounds at a
+farm sale. Its wiry jingle spoke of evolution from harpsichord or spinet to
+the modern instrument; its yellow keys, from which the ivory in some cases
+was missing, and its high back, stained silk front, and fretted veneer
+indicated age; while above the keyboard a label, now growing indistinct, set
+forth that one &ldquo;William Harper, of Red Lion Street, Maker of
+piano-fortes to his late Majesty&rdquo; was responsible for the instrument
+very early in the century.</p>
+<p>Now Will joined the discussion, but his mother would take no denial.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;These chairs and sofa be yours, and the piano&rsquo;s my present to
+Phoebe. She&rsquo;ll play to you of a Sunday afternoon belike.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; it&rsquo;s here she&rsquo;ll do it; for my
+Sundays&rsquo;ll be spent along with you, of coourse, &rsquo;cept when you
+comes up to my farm to spend &rsquo;em. That&rsquo;s what I hope&rsquo;ll
+fall out; an&rsquo; I want to see Miller theer, tu, after he&rsquo;ve found
+I&rsquo;m right and he&rsquo;m wrong.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>But the event proved that, even in his new capacity as a man of money and
+a landholder, Will was not to win much ground with Mr. Lyddon. Two
+circumstances contributed to the continued conflict, and just as Phoebe was
+congratulating herself and others upon the increasing amity between her
+father and her husband matters fell out which caused the miller to give up
+all hope of Will for the hundredth time. First came the occupancy of Newtake
+at a rent Mr. Lyddon considered excessive; and then followed a circumstance
+that touched the miller himself, for, by the offer of two shillings more a
+week than he received at Monks Barton, Will tempted into his service a
+labourer held in great esteem by his father-in-law.</p>
+<p>Sam Bonus appeared the incarnation of red Devon earth, built up on solid
+beef and mutton. His tanned face was framed in crisp black hair that no razor
+had ever touched; his eyes were deep-set and bright; his narrow brow was
+wrinkled, not with thought, but as the ape&rsquo;s. A remarkably tall and
+powerful frame supported Sam&rsquo;s little head. He laboured like a horse
+and gave as little trouble, triumphed in feats of brute strength, laughed at
+a day&rsquo;s work, never knew ache or pain. He had always greatly admired
+Blanchard, and, faced with the tempting bait of a florin a week more than his
+present wage, abandoned Monks Barton and readily followed Will to the Moor.
+His defection was greatly deplored, and though Will told Mr. Blee what he
+intended beforehand, and made no secret of his design to secure Sam if
+possible, Billy discredited the information until too late. Then the miller
+heard of his loss, and, not unnaturally, took the business ill.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Gormed if it ban&rsquo;t open robbery!&rdquo; declared Mr. Blee, as
+he sat and discussed the matter with his master one evening, &ldquo;an&rsquo;
+the thankless, ill-convenient twoad to go to Blanchard, of all
+men!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;ll be out of work again soon enough. And he needn&rsquo;t
+come back to me when he is. I won&rsquo;t take him on no more.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Twould be contrary to human nature if you did.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Human nature!&rdquo; snapped the miller, with extreme irritation.
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Twould puzzle Solomon to say what&rsquo;s come over human
+nature of late days.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis a nut wi&rsquo; a maggot in it,&rdquo; mused Billy:
+&ldquo;three parts rotten, the rest sweet. An&rsquo; all owing to fantastic
+inventions an&rsquo; new ways of believin&rsquo; in God wi&rsquo;out
+church-gwaine, as parson said Sunday. Such things do certainly Play hell with
+human nature, in a manner o&rsquo; speakin&rsquo;. I reckon the uprising men
+an&rsquo; women&rsquo;s wickeder than us, as sucked our mothers in quieter
+times afore the railroads.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Bonus is such a fule!&rdquo; said Mr. Lyddon, harking back to his
+loss. &ldquo;Yet I thought he belonged to the gude old-fashioned
+sort.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I told un he was out in his reckoning, that he&rsquo;d be left in
+the cold bimebye, so sure as Blanchard was Blanchard and Newtake was Newtake;
+but he awnly girned his gert, ear-wide girn, an&rsquo; said he knawed
+better.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;To think of more gude money bein&rsquo; buried up theer!
+You&rsquo;ve heard my view of all ground wi&rsquo; granite under it. Such a
+deal ought to have been done wi&rsquo; that thousand pound.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oughts are noughts, onless they&rsquo;ve strokes to
+&rsquo;em,&rdquo; declared Billy. &ldquo;&rsquo;Tis a poor lookout, for
+he&rsquo;m the sort as buys experience in the hardest market. Then, when
+it&rsquo;s got, he&rsquo;ll be a pauper man, with what he knaws useless for
+want o&rsquo; what&rsquo;s spent gettin&rsquo; it. Theer&rsquo;s the thought
+o&rsquo; Miss Phoebe, tu,&mdash;Mrs. Blanchard, I should say. Caan&rsquo;t
+see her biding up to Newtake nohow, come the hard weather.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Wedlock an&rsquo; winter tames maids an&rsquo;
+beastes,&rsquo;&rdquo; said Mr. Lyddon bitterly. &ldquo;A true saw
+that.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess; an&rsquo; when &rsquo;tis wedlock wi&rsquo; Blanchard,
+an&rsquo; winter on Dartymoor, &rsquo;twould tame the daughter of the Dowl,
+if he had wan.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Billy laughed at this thought. His back rounded as he sat in his chair,
+his head seemed to rise off his lower jaw, and the yellow frill of hair under
+his chin stood stiffly out.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;s my son-in-law; you &rsquo;pear to forget that,
+Blee,&rdquo; said Mr. Lyddon; &ldquo;I&rsquo;m sure I wish I could, if
+&rsquo;twas even now an&rsquo; again.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Thereupon Billy straightened his face and cast both rancour and merriment
+to the winds.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why, so he be; an&rsquo; grey hairs should allus make allowance for
+the young youths; though I ain&rsquo;t forgot that spadeful o&rsquo; muck
+yet, an&rsquo; never shall. But theer&rsquo;s poison in bwoy&rsquo;s blood
+what awnly works out of the brain come forty. I&rsquo;m sure I wish nothing
+but well to un. He&rsquo;s got his saving graces, same as all of us, if we
+could but see &rsquo;em; an&rsquo; come what may, God looks arter His awn
+chosen fules, so theer&rsquo;s hope even for Blanchard.&rdquo; &ldquo;Cold
+consolation,&rdquo; said Mr. Lyddon wearily; &ldquo;but&rsquo;t is all
+we&rsquo;ve got. Two nights since I dreamt I saw un starvin&rsquo; on a
+dunghill. &rsquo;T was a parable, I judge, an&rsquo; meant Newtake
+Farm.&rdquo;</p>
+<h2><a id="II_IV" name="II_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV<br />
+DEFEATED HOPES</h2>
+<p>Below Newtake Farm the river Teign wound, with many a foaming fall and
+singing rapid, to confluence with her twin sister in the valley beneath.
+Here, at a certain spot, above the forest and beneath the farm, stood Martin
+Grimbal on a bright afternoon in May. Over his head rose a rowan, in a soft
+cloud of serrated foliage, with clusters of grey-green flower buds already
+foretelling the crimson to come; about his feet a silver army of uncurling
+fronds brightened the earth and softened the sharp edges of the boulders
+scattered down the coomb. Here the lover waited to the music of a cuckoo, and
+his eyes ever turned towards a stile at the edge of the pine woods, two
+hundred yards distant from him.</p>
+<p>The hour was one of tremendous possibilities, because Fate had been
+occupied with Martin through many days, and now he stood on the brink of
+great joy or sorrow. Clement Hicks had never spoken to him. During his
+quarrel with Chris, which lasted a fortnight, the bee-keeper purposely
+abstained from doing her bidding, while after their reconciliation every
+other matter in the world was swallowed up for a time in the delight of
+renewed love-making. The girl, assuming throughout these long weeks that
+Martin now knew all, had met him in frank and kindly spirit on those
+occasions when he planned to enjoy her society, and this open warmth awoke
+renewed heart for Grimbal, who into her genial friendship read promise and
+from it recruited hope. His love now dominated his spiritual being and filled
+his life. Grey granite was grey granite only, and no more. During his long
+walks by pillar-stone, remote row, and lonely circle, Chris, and Chris alone,
+occupied his brain. He debated the advisability of approaching Will, then
+turned rather to the thought of sounding Mrs. Blanchard, and finally nerved
+himself to right action and determined to address Chris. He felt this present
+heart-shaking suspense must be laid at rest, for the peace of his soul, and
+therefore he took his courage in his hands and faced the ordeal.</p>
+<p>That day Chris was going up to Newtake. She had not yet settled there,
+though her brother and Sam Bonus were already upon the ground, but the girl
+came and went, busying her fingers with a hundred small matters that daily
+increased the comfort of the little farm. Her way lay usually by the coomb,
+and Martin, having learned that she was visiting Will on the occasion in
+question, set out before her and awaited her here, beside the river, in a
+lonely spot between the moorland above and the forest below. He felt
+physically nervous, yet hope brightened his mind, though he tried to strangle
+it. Worn and weary with his long struggle, he paced up and down, now looking
+to the stile, now casting dissatisfied glances upon his own person. Shaving
+with more than usual care, he had cut his chin deeply, and, though he knew it
+not, the wound had bled again since he left home and ruined both his collar
+and a new tie, put on for the occasion.</p>
+<p>Presently he saw her. A sunbonnet bobbed at the stile and Chris appeared,
+bearing a roll of chintz for Newtake blinds. In her other hand she carried
+half a dozen bluebells from the woods, and she came with the free gait
+acquired in keeping stride through long tramps with Will when yet her frocks
+were short. Martin loved her characteristic speed in walking. So Diana
+doubtless moved. The spring sunshine had found Chris and the clear, soft
+brown of her cheek was the most beautiful thing in nature to the antiquary.
+He knew her face so well now: the dainty poise of her head, the light of her
+eyes, the dark curls that always clustered in the same places, the little
+updrawing at the corner of her mouth as she smiled, the sudden gleam of her
+teeth when she laughed, and the abrupt transitions of her expression from
+repose to gladness, from gladness back again into repose.</p>
+<p>She saw the man before she reached him, and waved her bluebells to show
+that she had done so. Then he rose from his granite seat and took off his hat
+and stood with it off, while his heart thundered, his eye watered, and his
+mouth twitched. But he was outwardly calm by the time Chris reached him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What a surprise to find &rsquo;e here, Martin! Yet not much,
+neither, for wheer the auld stones be, theer you &rsquo;m to be
+expected.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How are you, Chris? But I needn&rsquo;t ask. Yes, I&rsquo;m fond of
+the stones.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well you may be. They talk to &rsquo;e like friends, seemingly.
+An&rsquo; even I knaw a sight more &rsquo;bout &rsquo;em now. You&rsquo;ve
+made me feel so differ&rsquo;nt to &rsquo;em, you caan&rsquo;t
+think.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;For that matter,&rdquo; he answered, leaping at the chance,
+&ldquo;you&rsquo;ve made me feel different to them.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why, how could I, Martin?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll tell you. Would you mind sitting down here, just for a
+moment? I won&rsquo;t keep you. I&rsquo;ve no right to ask for a minute of
+your time; but there&rsquo;s dry moss upon it&mdash;I mean the stone; and I
+was waiting on purpose, if you&rsquo;ll forgive me for waylaying you like
+this. There&rsquo;s a little thing&mdash;a big thing, I mean&mdash;the
+biggest&mdash;too big for words almost, yet it wants words&mdash;and yet
+sometimes it doesn&rsquo;t&mdash;at least&mdash;I&mdash;would you sit
+here?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He was breathing rather hard, and his words were tripping. Managing his
+voice ill, the tones of it ran away from bass to shrill treble. She saw it
+all at a glance, and realised that Martin had been blundering on, in pure
+ignorance and pure love, all these weary weeks. She sat down silently and her
+mind moved like light along the wide gamut of fifty emotions in a second.
+Anger and sorrow strove together,&mdash;anger with Clem and his callous,
+cynic silence, sorrow for the panting wretch before her. Chris opened her
+mouth to speak, then realised where her flying thoughts had taken her and
+that, as yet, Martin Grimbal had said nothing. Her unmaidenly attitude and
+the sudden reflection that she was about to refuse one before he had asked
+her, awoke a hysteric inclination to laugh, then a longing to cry. But all
+the anxious-visaged man before her noted was a blush that waved like auroral
+light from the girl&rsquo;s neck to her cheek, from her cheek to her
+forehead. That he saw, and thought it was love, and thanked the Lord in his
+clumsy fashion aloud.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;God be praised! I do think you guess&mdash;I do think you guess!
+But oh, my dear, my dear, you don&rsquo;t know what &rsquo;s in my heart for
+you. My little pearl of a Chris, can you care for such a bear of a man? Can
+you let me labour all my life long to make your days good to you? I love you
+so&mdash;I do. I never thought when the moment came I should find tongue to
+speak it, but I have; and now I could say it fifty thousand times. I&rsquo;d
+just be proud to tie your shoe-string, Chris, my dear, and be your old slave
+and&mdash;Chris! my Chris! I&rsquo;ve hurt you; I&rsquo;ve made you cry! Was
+I&mdash;was I all wrong? Don&rsquo;t, don&rsquo;t&mdash;I&rsquo;ll
+go&mdash;Oh, my darling one, God knows I wouldn&rsquo;t&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He broke off blankly and stood half sorrowful, half joyous. He knew he had
+no right as yet to go to the comfort of the girl now sobbing beside him, but
+hope was not dead. And Chris, overcome by this outpouring of love, now
+suffered very deep sorrow, while she turned away from him and hid her face
+and wept. The poor distracted fool still failed to guess the truth, for he
+knew tint tears are the outcome of happiness as well as misery. He waited,
+open-mouthed, he murmured something&mdash;God knows what&mdash;then he went
+close and thought to touch her waist, but feared and laid his hand gently on
+her shoulder.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t &rsquo;e!&rdquo; she said; and he began to understand
+and to struggle with himself to lessen her difficulty.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Forgive me&mdash;forgive me if you can, Chris. Was I all wrong?
+Then I ought to have known better&mdash;but even an old stick like
+me&mdash;before you, Chris. Somehow I&mdash;but don&rsquo;t cry. I
+wouldn&rsquo;t have brought the tears to your eyes for all the
+world&mdash;dense idiot I am&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, no, no; no such thing &rsquo;t all, Martin. &rsquo;Tis I was
+cruel not to see you didn&rsquo;t knaw. You&rsquo;ve been treated ill,
+an&rsquo; I&rsquo;m cryin&rsquo; that such a gude&mdash;gude, braave,
+big-hearted man as you, should be brought to this for a fule of a gal like
+me. I ban&rsquo;t worthy a handshake from &rsquo;e, or a kind word.
+An&rsquo;&mdash;an&rsquo;&mdash;Clem Hicks&mdash;Clem be tokened to me these
+two year an&rsquo; more. He&rsquo;m the best man in the world; an&rsquo; I
+hate un for not tellin&rsquo;
+&rsquo;e&mdash;an&rsquo;&mdash;an&rsquo;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Chris sobbed herself to the end of her tears; and the man took his
+trial&mdash;like a man. His only thought was the sadness his blunder had
+brought with it for her. To misread her blush seemed in his humility a crime.
+His consistent unselfishness blinded him, for an instant at least, to his own
+grief. He blamed himself and asked pardon and prepared to get away out of her
+sight as soon as possible.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Forgive me, Chris&mdash;I needn&rsquo;t ask you twice, I
+know&mdash;such a stupid thing&mdash;I didn&rsquo;t understand&mdash;I never
+observed: but more shame to me. I ought to have seen, of course. Anybody else
+would&mdash;any man of proper feeling.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How could &rsquo;e see it with a secret chap like him? He ought to
+have told &rsquo;e; I bid un speak months since; an&rsquo; I thought he had;
+an&rsquo; I hate un for not doing it!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But you mustn&rsquo;t. Don&rsquo;t cry any more, and forget all
+about it. I could almost laugh to think how blind I&rsquo;ve been.
+We&rsquo;ll both laugh next time we meet. If you&rsquo;re happy, then
+I&rsquo;ll laugh always. That&rsquo;s all I care for. Now I know you
+&rsquo;re happy again, I&rsquo;m happy, too, Chris&mdash;honour bright. And
+I&rsquo;ll be a friend still&mdash;remember that&mdash;always&mdash;to
+you&mdash;to you and him.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I hate un, I say.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why, he didn&rsquo;t give me credit for being such a bat&mdash;such
+a mole. Now I must be away. We&rsquo;ll meet pretty soon, I expect. Just
+forget this afternoon as though it had never been, even though it&rsquo;s
+such a jolly sunny one. And remember me as a friend&mdash;a friend still for
+all my foolishness. Good-by for the present. Good-by.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He nodded, making the parting a slight thing and not missing the ludicrous
+in his anxiety to spare her pain. He went down the valley, leaving her
+sitting alone. He assumed a jaunty air and did not look round, but hastened
+off to the stile. Never in his most light-hearted moments had he walked thus
+or struck right and left at the leaves and shrubs with such a clumsy
+affectation of nonchalance. Thus he played the fool until out of sight; then
+his head came down, and his feet dragged, and his walk and mien grew years
+older than his age. He stopped presently and stood still, staring upon the
+silence. Westering sunlight winnowed through the underwood, splashed into its
+sombre depths and brightened the sobriety of a grey carpet dotted with dead
+cones. Sweet scents floated downward upon the sad whisper that lives in every
+pine forest; then came suddenly a crisp rattle of little claws and a tiny
+barking, where two red squirrels made love, high aloft, amid the grey lichens
+and emerald haze of a great larch that gleamed like a green lamp through the
+night of the dark surrounding foliage.</p>
+<p>Martin Grimbal dropped his stick and flung down his body in the hushed and
+hidden dreamland of the wood. Now he knew that his hope had lied to him, that
+the judgment he prided himself upon, and which had prompted him to this great
+deed, was at fault. The more than common tact and delicacy of feeling he had
+sometimes suspected he possessed in rare, exalted moments, were now shown
+vain ideas born from his own conceit; and the event had proved him no more
+subtle, clever, or far-seeing than other men. Indeed, he rated himself as an
+abject blunderer and thought he saw how a great overwhelming fear, at the
+bottom of his worship of Chris, had been the only true note in all that past
+war of emotions. But he had refused to listen and pushed forward; and now he
+stood thus. Looking back in the light of his defeat, his previous temerity
+amazed him. His own ugliness, awkwardness, and general unfitness to be the
+husband of Chris were ideas now thrust upward in all honesty to the top of
+his mind. No mock modesty or simulated delicacy inspired them, for after
+defeat a man is frank with himself. Whatever he may have pretended before he
+puts his love to the test, however he may have blinded himself as to his real
+feelings and beliefs before he offers his heart, after the event has ended
+unfavourably his real soul stands naked before him and, according to his
+character, he decides whether himself or the girl is the fool. Grimbal
+criticised his own audacity with scanty compassion now; and the thought of
+the tears of Chris made him clench one hand and smash it hard again and again
+into the palm of the other. No passionate protest rose in his mind against
+the selfish silence of Clement Hicks; he only saw his own blindness and
+magnified it into an absolute offence against Chris. Presently, as the
+sunlight sank lower, and the straight stems of the pines glimmered red-gold
+against the deepening gloom, Martin retraced the scene that was past and
+recalled her words and actions, her tears, the trembling of her mouth, and
+that gesture when the wild flowers dropped from her hand and her fingers went
+up to cover her eyes. Then a sudden desire mastered him: to possess the
+purple of her bluebell bouquet. He knew she would not pick it up again when
+he was gone; so he returned, stood in that theatre of Fate beneath the rowan,
+saw where her body had pressed the grass, and found the fading flowers.</p>
+<p>Then he turned to tramp home, with the truth gnawing his heart at last.
+The excitement was over, all flutter of hope and fear at rest. Only that
+bitter fact of failure remained, with the knowledge that one, but yesterday
+so essential and so near, had now vanished like a rainbow beyond his
+reach.</p>
+<p>Martin&rsquo;s eyes were opened in the light of this experience. John came
+into his mind, and estimating his brother&rsquo;s sufferings by his own, the
+stricken man found room in his sad heart for pity.</p>
+<h2><a id="II_V" name="II_V"></a>CHAPTER V<br />
+THE ZEAL OF SAM BONUS</h2>
+<p>Under conditions of spring and summer Newtake Farm flattered Will&rsquo;s
+hopes not a little. He worked like a giant, appropriated some of that credit
+belonging to fine weather, and viewed the future with very considerable
+tranquillity. Of beasts he purchased wisely, being guided in that matter by
+Mr. Lyddon; but for the rest he was content to take his own advice. Already
+his ambition extended beyond the present limits of his domain; already he
+contemplated the possibility of reclaiming some of the outlying waste and
+enlarging his borders. If the Duchy might spread greedy fingers and inclose
+&ldquo;newtakes,&rdquo; why not the Venville tenants? Many besides Will asked
+themselves that question; the position was indeed fruitful of disputes in
+various districts, especially on certain questions involving cattle; and no
+moorland Quarter breathed forth greater discontent against the powers than
+that of which Chagford was the central parish.</p>
+<p>Sam Bonus, inspired by his master&rsquo;s sanguine survey of life, toiled
+amain, believed all that Will predicted, and approved each enterprise he
+planned; while as for Chris, in due time she settled at Newtake and undertook
+woman&rsquo;s work there with her customary thoroughness and energy. To her
+lot fell the poultry, the pair of fox-hound puppies that Will undertook to
+keep for the neighbouring hunt, and all the interior economy and control of
+the little household.</p>
+<p>On Sundays Phoebe heard of the splendid doings at Newtake; upon which she
+envied Chris her labours, and longed to be at Will&rsquo;s right hand. For
+the present, however, Miller Lyddon refused his daughter permission even to
+visit the farm; and she obeyed, despite her husband&rsquo;s indignant
+protests.</p>
+<p>Thus matters stood while the sun shone brightly from summer skies. Will,
+when he visited Chagford market, talked to the grizzled farmers, elaborated
+his experience, shook his head or nodded it knowingly as they, in their turn,
+discussed the business of life, paid due respect to their wisdom, and offered
+a little of his own in exchange for it. That the older men lacked pluck was
+his secret conviction. The valley folk were braver; but the upland
+agriculturists, all save himself, went in fear. Their eyes were careworn,
+their caution extreme; behind the summer they saw another shadow forever
+moving; and the annual struggle with those ice-bound or water-logged months
+of the early year, while as yet the Moor had nothing for their stock, left
+them wearied and spiritless when the splendour of the summer came. They
+farmed furtively, snatching at such good as appeared, distrusting their own
+husbandry, fattening the land with reluctance, cowering under the shadow of
+withered hopes and disappointments too numerous to count. Will pitied this
+mean spirit and, unfamiliar with wet autumns and hard winters on the high
+land, laughed at his fellow-countrymen. But they were kind and bid him be
+cautious and keep his little nest-egg snug.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Tie it up in stout leather, my son,&rdquo; said a farmer from
+Gidleigh. &ldquo;Ay, an&rsquo; fasten the bag wi&rsquo; a knot as&rsquo;ll
+take &rsquo;e half an hour to undo; an&rsquo; remember, the less you open it,
+the better for your peace of mind.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>All of which good counsel Blanchard received with expressions of
+gratitude, yet secretly held to be but the croaking of a past generation,
+stranded far behind that wave of progress on which he himself was advancing
+crest-high.</p>
+<p>It happened one evening, when Clement Hicks visited Newtake to go for a
+walk under the full moon with Chris, that he learnt she was away for a few
+days. This fact had been mentioned to Clement; but he forgot it, and now
+found himself here, with only Will and Sam Bonus for company. He accepted the
+young farmer&rsquo;s invitation to supper, and the result proved unlucky in
+more directions than one. During this meal Clem railed in surly vein against
+the whole order of things as it affected himself, and made egotistical
+complaint as to the hardness of life; then, when his host began to offer
+advice, he grew savage and taunted Will with his own unearned good fortune.
+Blanchard, weary after a day of tremendous physical exertion, made sharp
+answer. He felt his old admiration for Clem Hicks much lessened of late, and
+it nettled him not a little that his friend should thus attribute his present
+position to the mere accident of a windfall. He was heartily sick of the
+other&rsquo;s endless complaints, and now spoke roughly and to the point.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What the devil&rsquo;s the gude of this eternal bleat? You&rsquo;m
+allus snarlin&rsquo; an&rsquo; gnashin&rsquo; your teeth &rsquo;gainst God,
+like a rat bitin&rsquo; the stick that&rsquo;s killin&rsquo; it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And why should God kill me? You&rsquo;ve grown so wise of late,
+perhaps you know.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why shouldn&rsquo;t He? Why shouldn&rsquo;t He kill you, or any
+other man, if He wants the room of un for a better? Not that I believe
+parson&rsquo;s stuff more &rsquo;n you; but grizzlin&rsquo; your guts to
+fiddlestrings won&rsquo;t mend your fortune. Best to put your time into work,
+&rsquo;stead o&rsquo; talk&mdash;same as me an&rsquo; Bonus. And as for my
+money, you knaw right well if theer&rsquo;d been two thousand &rsquo;stead of
+wan, I&rsquo;d have shared it with Chris.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Easy to say! If there had been two, you would have said, &rsquo;If
+it was only four&rsquo;! That&rsquo;s human nature.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ban&rsquo;t my nature, anyway, to tell a lie!&rdquo; burst out
+Will.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Perhaps it&rsquo;s your nature to do worse. What were you about
+last Christmas?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Blanchard set down knife and fork and looked the other in the face. None
+had heard this, for Bonus, his meal ended, went off to the little tallet over
+a cattle-byre which was his private apartment.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;d rip that up again&mdash;you, who swore never to
+open&rsquo; your mouth upon it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;re frightened now.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not of you, anyway. But you&rsquo;d best not to come up here no
+more. I&rsquo;m weary of you; I don&rsquo;t fear you worse than a blind worm;
+but such as you are, you&rsquo;ve grawed against me since my luck comed. I
+wish Chris would drop you as easy as I can, for you&rsquo;m teachin&rsquo;
+her to waste her life, same as you waste yours.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Very well, I&rsquo;ll go. We&rsquo;re enemies henceforth, since you
+wish it so.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Blamed if you ban&rsquo;t enough to weary Job!
+&rsquo;Enemies&rsquo;! It&rsquo;s like a child talkin&rsquo;.
+&rsquo;Enemies&rsquo;! D&rsquo;you think I care a damn wan way or
+t&rsquo;other? You&rsquo;m so bad as Jan Grimbal wi&rsquo; his big
+play-actin&rsquo; talk. He&rsquo;m gwaine to cut my tether some day.
+P&rsquo;r&rsquo;aps you&rsquo;ll go an&rsquo; help un to do it! The past is
+done, an&rsquo; no man who weern&rsquo;t devil all through would go back on
+such a oath as you sweared to me. An&rsquo; you won&rsquo;t. As to
+what&rsquo;s to come, you can&rsquo;t hurt a straight plain-dealer, same as
+me, though you&rsquo;m free an&rsquo; welcome to try if you please
+to.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The future may take care of itself; and for your straight speaking
+I&rsquo;ll give you mine. Go your way and I&rsquo;ll go my way; but until you
+beg my forgiveness for this night&rsquo;s talk I&rsquo;ll never cross your
+threshold again, or speak to you, or think of you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Clement rose from his unfinished food, picked up his hat, and vanished,
+and Will, dismissing the matter with a toss of his head and a contemptuous
+expiration of breath, gave the poet&rsquo;s plate of cold potato and bacon to
+a sheep-dog and lighted his pipe.</p>
+<p>Not ten hours later, while yet some irritation at the beekeeper&rsquo;s
+spleen troubled Blanchard&rsquo;s thoughts as he laboured upon his land, a
+voice saluted him from the highway and he saw a friend.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; gude-marnin&rsquo; to you, Martin. Another braave day,
+sure &rsquo;nough. Climb awver the hedge. You&rsquo;m movin&rsquo; early.
+Ban&rsquo;t eight o&rsquo;clock.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m off to the &lsquo;Grey Wethers,&rsquo; those old ruined
+circles under Sittaford Tor, you know. But I meant a visit to you as well.
+Bonus was in the farmyard and brought me with him.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess fay, us works, I tell &rsquo;e. We&rsquo;m fightin&rsquo; the
+rabbits now. The li&rsquo;l varmints have had it all theer way tu long; but
+this wire netting&rsquo;ll keep &rsquo;em out the corn next year an&rsquo;
+the turnips come autumn. How be you fearin&rsquo;? I aint seen &rsquo;e this
+longful time.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, thank you; and as busy as you in my way. I&rsquo;m going to
+write a book about the Dartmoor stones.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;S truth! Be you? Who&rsquo;ll read it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t know yet. And, after all, I have found out little that
+sharper eyes haven&rsquo;t discovered already. Still, it fills my time. And
+it is that I&rsquo;m here about.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You can go down awver my land to the hut-circles an&rsquo; welcome
+whenever you mind to.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Sure of it, and thank you; but it&rsquo;s another thing just
+now&mdash;your brother-in-law to be. I think perhaps, if he has leisure, he
+might be useful to me. A very clever fellow, Hicks.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>But Will was in no humour to hear Clement praised just then, or suggest
+schemes for his advancement.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;m a weak sapling of a man, if you ax me. Allus
+grumblin&rsquo;, an&rsquo; soft wi&rsquo; it&mdash;as I knaw&mdash;none
+better,&rdquo; said Blanchard, watching Bonus struggle with the rabbit
+netting.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;s out of his element, I think&mdash;a student&mdash;a
+bookish man, like myself.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;As like you as chalk&rsquo;s like cheese&mdash;no more. His temper,
+tu! A bull in spring&rsquo;s a fule to him. I&rsquo;m weary of him an&rsquo;
+his cleverness.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You see, if I may venture to say so, Chris&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I knaw all &rsquo;bout that. &rsquo;Tis like your gudeness to try
+an&rsquo; put a li&rsquo;l money in his pocket wi&rsquo;out stepping on his
+corns. They &rsquo;m tokened. Young people &rsquo;s so muddle-headed. Bees
+indeed! Nice things to keep a wife an&rsquo; bring up a fam&rsquo;ly on!
+An&rsquo; he do nothin&rsquo; but write rhymes, an&rsquo; tear &rsquo;em up
+again, an&rsquo; cuss his luck, wi&rsquo;out tryin&rsquo; to mend it. I
+thought something of un wance, when I was no more &rsquo;n a bwoy, but as I
+get up in years I see the emptiness of un.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He would grow happy and sweeter-hearted if he could marry your
+sister.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not him! Of course, if it&rsquo;s got to be, it will be. I
+ban&rsquo;t gwaine to see Chris graw into an auld maid. An&rsquo; come
+bimebye, when I&rsquo;ve saved a few hunderd, I shall set &rsquo;em up
+myself. But she&rsquo;s makin&rsquo; a big mistake, an&rsquo;, to a friend, I
+doan&rsquo;t mind tellin&rsquo; &rsquo;e &rsquo;tis so.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I hope you&rsquo;re wrong. They&rsquo;ll be happy together. They
+have great love each for the other. But, of course, that&rsquo;s nothing to
+do with me. I merely want Hicks to undertake some clerical work for me, as a
+matter of business, and I thought you might tell me the best way to tackle
+him without hurting his feelings. He&rsquo;s a proud man, I fancy.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess; an&rsquo; pride&rsquo;s a purty fulish coat for poverty,
+ban&rsquo;t it? I&rsquo;ve gived that man as gude advice as ever I gived any
+man; but what&rsquo;s well-thought-out wisdom to the likes of him? Get un a
+job if you mind to. I shouldn&rsquo;t&mdash;not till he shaws better metal
+and grips the facts o&rsquo; life wi&rsquo; a tighter hand.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll sound him as delicately as I can. It may be that his
+self-respect would strengthen if he found his talents appreciated and able to
+command a little money. He wants something of that sort&mdash;eh?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Doan&rsquo;t knaw but what a hiding wouldn&rsquo;t be so gude for
+un as anything,&rdquo; mused Will. There was no animosity in the reflection.
+His ill-temper had long since vanished, and he considered Clement as he might
+have considered a young, wayward dog which had erred and brought itself
+within reach of the lash.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I was welted in my time hard an&rsquo; often, an&rsquo; be none the
+worse,&rdquo; he continued.</p>
+<p>Martin smiled and shook his head.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Might have served him once; too late now for that remedy, I
+fear.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>There was a brief pause, then Will changed the conversation abruptly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How&rsquo;s your brother Jan?&rdquo; he asked.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;s furnishing his new house and busy about the formation of
+a volunteer corps. I met him not long since in Fingle Gorge.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Be you friends now, if I may ax?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I tried to be. We live and learn. Things happened to me a while ago
+that taught me what I didn&rsquo;t know. I spoke to him and reminded him of
+the long years in Africa. Blood&rsquo;s thicker than water,
+Blanchard.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So &rsquo;tis. What did he make of it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He looked up and hesitated. Then he shook his head and set his face
+against me, and said he would not have my friendship as a gift.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;s a gude hater.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Time will bring the best of him to the top again some day. I
+understand him, I think. We possess more in common than people suppose. We
+feel deeply and haven&rsquo;t a grain of philosophy between us.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, I reckon I&rsquo;ve allus been inclined to deep ways of
+thought myself; and work up here, wi&rsquo; nothing to break your thoughts
+but the sight of a hawk or the twinkle of a rabbit&rsquo;s scut, be very
+ripening to the mind. If awnly Phoebe was here! Sometimes I&rsquo;m in a mood
+to ramp down-long an&rsquo; hale her home, whether or no. But I sweats the
+longing out o&rsquo; me wi&rsquo; work.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The day will soon come. Time drags with me just now, somehow, but
+it races with you, I&rsquo;ll warrant. I must get on with my book, and see
+Hicks and try and persuade him to help me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis like your big nature to put it that way. You&rsquo;rn tu
+soft-hearted a man to dwell in a house all alone. Let the dead stones bide,
+Martin, an&rsquo; look round for a wife. Theer&rsquo;s more gude advice.
+Blamed if I doan&rsquo;t advise everybody nowadays! Us must all come to it.
+Look round about an&rsquo; try to love a woman. &rsquo;T will surprise
+&rsquo;e an&rsquo; spoil sleep if you can bring yourself to it. But the
+cuddlin&rsquo; of a soft gal doan&rsquo;t weaken man&rsquo;s thews and sinews
+neither. It hardens &rsquo;em, I reckon, an&rsquo; puts fight in the most
+poor-spirited twoad as ever failed in love. &rsquo;Tis a manly thing,
+an&rsquo; &rsquo;boldens the heart like; an&rsquo;, arter she&rsquo;s said
+&lsquo;Yes&rsquo; to &rsquo;e, you&rsquo;ll find a wonnerful change come
+awver life. &rsquo;Tis all her, then. The most awnself<a id="footnotetag8"
+name="footnotetag8"></a><a href="#footnote8"><sup>8</sup></a> man feels it
+more or less, an&rsquo; gets shook out of his shell. You&rsquo;ll knaw some
+day. Of course I speaks as wan auld in love an&rsquo; married into the
+bargain.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You speak from experience, I know. And is Phoebe as wise as you,
+Will?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Waitin&rsquo; be harder for a wummon. They&rsquo;ve less to busy
+the mind, an&rsquo; less mind to busy, for that matter.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s ungallant.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I doan&rsquo;t knaw. &rsquo;Tis true, anyway. I shouldn&rsquo;t
+have failed in love wi&rsquo; her if she&rsquo;d been cleverer&rsquo;n
+me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Or she with you, perhaps?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;P&rsquo;r&rsquo;aps not. Anyway as it stands we&rsquo;m halves of a
+whole: made for man and wife. I reckon I weern&rsquo;t wan to miss my way in
+love like some poor fules, as wastes it wheer they might see&rsquo;t
+wasn&rsquo;t wanted if they&rsquo;d got eyes in their heads.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What it is to be so wise!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Will laughed joyously in his wisdom.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Very gude of &rsquo;e to say that. &rsquo;Tis a happy thing to have
+sense enough. Not but we larn an&rsquo; larn.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So we should. Well, I must be off now. I&rsquo;m safe on the Moor
+to-day!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess, by the looks of it. Theer&rsquo;ll likely come some mist after
+noon, but shouldn&rsquo;t be very thick.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>So they parted, Blanchard having unconsciously sown the seed of an ugly
+crop that would take long in reaping. His remarks concerning Clement Hicks
+were safe enough with Martin, but another had heard them as he worked within
+earshot of his master. Bonus, though his judgment was scanty, entertained a
+profound admiration for Will; and thus it came about, that a few days later,
+when in Chagford, he called at the &ldquo;Green Man&rdquo; and made some
+grave mischief while he sang his master&rsquo;s praises. He extolled the
+glorious promise of Newtake, and the great improvements already visible
+thereon; he reflected not a little of Will&rsquo;s own flamboyant manner to
+the secret entertainment of those gathered in the bar, and presently he drew
+down upon himself some censure.</p>
+<p>Abraham Chown, the police inspector, first shook his head and prophesied
+speedy destruction of all these hopes; and then Gaffer Lezzard criticised
+still more forcibly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;All this big-mouthed talk&rsquo;s cracklin&rsquo; of thorns under a
+potsherd,&rdquo; hesaid. &ldquo;You an&rsquo; him be just two childern
+playin&rsquo; at shop in the gutter, an&rsquo; the gutter&rsquo;s wheer
+you&rsquo;ll find yourselves &rsquo;fore you think to. What do the man
+<i>knaw?</i> Nothin&rsquo;.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Blanchard&rsquo;s a far-seein&rsquo; chap,&rdquo; answered Sam
+Bonus stoutly. &ldquo;An&rsquo; a gude master; an&rsquo; us&rsquo;ll stick
+together, fair or foul.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You may think it, but wait,&rdquo; said a small man in the corner.
+Charles Coomstock, nephew of the widow of that name already mentioned, was a
+wheelwright by trade and went lame, owing to an accident with hot iron in
+youth.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ax Clem,&rdquo; continued Mr. Coomstock. &ldquo;For all his cranky
+ways he knaws Blanchard better&rsquo;n most of us, an&rsquo; I heard un size
+up the chap t&rsquo;other day in a word. He said he hadn&rsquo;t wit enough
+to keep his brains sweet.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;m a braave wan to talk,&rdquo; fired back Bonus.
+&ldquo;Him! A poor luny as caan&rsquo;t scrape brass to keep a wife on.
+Blanchard, or me either, could crack un in half like a dead stick.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not that that&rsquo;s anything for or against,&rdquo; declared
+Gaffer Lezzard. &ldquo;Power of hand&rsquo;s nought against brain.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It gaws a tidy long way &rsquo;pon Dartymoor, however,&rdquo;
+declared Bonus. &ldquo;An&rsquo; Blanchard doan&rsquo;t set no
+&rsquo;mazin&rsquo; store on Hicks neither, if it comes to words. I heard un
+say awnly t&rsquo;other forenoon that the man was a weak saplin&rsquo;, allus
+grumblin&rsquo;, an&rsquo; might be better for a gude hiding.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Now Charles Coomstock did not love his cousin Clement. Indeed, none of
+those who had, or imagined they had, any shadow of right to a place in Mary
+Coomstock&rsquo;s will cared much for others similarly situated; but the
+little wheelwright was by nature a spreader of rumours and reports&mdash;an
+intelligencer, malignant from choice. He treasured this assertion, therefore,
+together with one or two others. Sam, now at his third glass, felt his heart
+warm to Will. He would have fought with tongue or fist on his behalf, and
+presently added to the mischief he had already done.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;To shaw &rsquo;e, neighbours, just the man he is, I may tell
+&rsquo;e that a larned piece like Martin Grimbal ackshually comed all the way
+to Newtake not long since to ax advice of un. An&rsquo; &rsquo;twas on the
+identical matter of this same Hicks. Mr. Grimbal wanted to give un some work
+to do, &rsquo;bout a book or some such item; an&rsquo; Will he ups and sez,
+&lsquo;Doan&rsquo;t,&rsquo; just short an&rsquo; straight like that theer.
+&lsquo;Doan&rsquo;t,&rsquo; he sez. &lsquo;Let un shaw what&rsquo;s in un
+first&rsquo;; an&rsquo; t&rsquo;other nodded when he said it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Having now attested his regard for the master of Newtake, Sam jogged off.
+He was pleased with himself, proud of having silenced more than one
+detractor, and as his little brain turned the matter over, his lips parted in
+a grin.</p>
+<p>Coomstock meanwhile had limped into the cottage where Clement lived with
+his mother. He did not garble his news, for it needed no artistic touch; and,
+with nice sense of his perfect and effective instrument, he realised the
+weapon was amply sharp enough without whetting, and employed the story as it
+came into his hand. But Mr. Coomstock was a little surprised and disappointed
+at his cousin&rsquo;s reserve and self-restraint. He had hoped for a hearty
+outburst of wrath and the assurance of wide-spreading animosity, yet no such
+thing happened, and the talebearer presently departed in some surprise. Mrs.
+Hicks, indeed, had shrilled forth a torrent of indignation upon the sole
+subject equal to raising such an emotion in her breast, for Clem was her only
+son. The man, however, took it calmly, or appeared to do so; and even when
+Charles Coomstock was gone he refused to discuss the matter more.</p>
+<p>But had his cousin, with Asmodeus-flight, beheld Clement during the
+subsequent hours which he spent alone, it is possible that the wheelwright
+had felt amply repaid for his trouble. Not until dawn stole grey along the
+village street; not until sparrows in the thatch above him began their
+salutation to the morning; not until Chagford rookery had sent forth a
+harmonious multitude to the hills and valleys did Clement&rsquo;s aching eyes
+find sleep. For hours he tossed and turned, now trembling with rage, now
+prompted by some golden thread in the tangled mazes of his mind to discredit
+the thing reported. Blanchard, as it seemed, had come deliberately and
+maliciously between him and an opportunity to win work. He burnt to know what
+he should do; and, like a flame of forked light against the sombre background
+of his passion, came the thought of another who hated Blanchard too.
+Will&rsquo;s secret glowed and gleamed like the writing on the wall; looking
+out, Hicks saw it stamped on the dark earth and across the starry night; and
+he wished to God that the letters might so remain to be read by the world
+when it wakened. Finally he slept and dreamed that he had been to the Red
+House, that he had spoken to John Grimbal, and returned home again with a bag
+of gold.</p>
+<p>When his mother came to call him he was lying half uncovered in a wild
+confusion of scattered bed-clothes; and his arms and body were jerking as a
+dog&rsquo;s that dreams. She saw a sort of convulsion pinch and pucker his
+face; then he made some inarticulate sounds&mdash;as it were a frantic
+negation; and then the noise of his own cry awakened him. He looked wildly
+round and lifted his hands as though he expected to find them full.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Where is it? Where is it? The bag of money? I won&rsquo;t&mdash;I
+can&rsquo;t&mdash;Where is it, I say?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I wish I knawed, lovey. Dream-gawld, I&rsquo;m afeared.
+You&rsquo;ve bin lying cold, an&rsquo; that do allus breed bad thoughts in
+sleep. &rsquo;Tis late; I done breakfast an hour ago. An&rsquo; Okehampton
+day, tu. Coach&rsquo;ll be along in twenty minutes.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He sighed and dragged the clothes over himself.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;d best go to-day, mother. The ride will do you good, and
+I have plenty to fill my time at home.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Mrs. Hicks brightened perceptibly before this prospect. She was a little,
+faded woman, with a brown face and red-rimmed, weak eyes, washed by many
+years of sorrow to the palest nondescript colour. She crept through the world
+with no ambition but to die out of the poorhouse, no prayer but a petition
+that the parish might not bury her at the end, no joy save in her son. Life
+at best was a dreary business for her, and an occasional trip to Okehampton
+represented about the only brightness that ever crept into it. Now she
+bustled off full of excitement to get the honey, and, having put on a
+withered bonnet and black shawl, presently stood and waited for the
+omnibus.</p>
+<p>Her son dwelt with his thoughts that day, and for him there was no peace
+or pleasure. Full twenty times he determined to visit Newtake at once and
+have it out with Will; but his infirmity of purpose acted like a drag upon
+this resolution, and his pride also contributed a force against it. Once he
+actually started, and climbed up Middledown to reach the Moor beyond; then he
+changed his mind again as new fires of enmity swept through it. His wrongs
+rankled black and bitter; and, faint under them, he presently turned and went
+home shivering though the day was hot.</p>
+<h2><a id="II_VI" name="II_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI<br />
+A SWARM OF BEES</h2>
+<p>Above Chagford rise those lofty outposts of Dartmoor, named respectively
+Nattadown and Middledown. The first lies nearer to the village, and upon its
+side, beneath a fir wood which crowns one spur, spread steep wastes of fern
+and furze. This spot was a favourite one with Clement Hicks, and a fortnight
+after the incidents last related he sat there smoking his pipe, while his
+eyes roved upon the scene subtended before him. The hill fell abruptly away,
+and near the bottom glimmered whitewashed cots along a winding road. Still
+lower down extended marshy common land, laced with twinkling watercourses and
+dotted with geese; while beyond, in many a rise and fall and verdant
+undulation, the country rolled onwards through Teign valley and upwards
+towards the Moor. The expanse seen from this lofty standpoint extended like a
+mighty map, here revealing a patchwork of multicoloured fields, here
+exhibiting tracts of wild waste and wood, here beautifully indicating by a
+misty line, seen across ascending planes of forest, the course of the distant
+river, here revealing the glitter of remote waters damaskeened with gold.
+Little farms and outlying habitations were scattered upon the land; and
+beyond them, rising steadily to the sky-line, the regions of the Moor
+revealed their larger attributes, wider expanses, more savage and abrupt
+configurations of barren heath and weathered tor. The day passed gradually
+from gloom to brightness, and the distance, already bathed in light, gleamed
+out of a more sombre setting, where the foreground still reflected the
+shadows of departing clouds, like a picture of great sunshine framed in
+darkness. But the last vapours quickly vanished; the day grew very hot and,
+as the sky indicated noon, all things beneath Clement&rsquo;s eyes were
+soaked in a splendour of June sunlight. He watched a black thread lying
+across a meadow five miles away. First it stretched barely visible athwart
+the distance green; in half an hour it thickened without apparent means;
+within an hour it had absorbed an eighth part at least of the entire space.
+Though the time was very unusual for tilling of land, Hicks knew that the
+combined operations of three horses, a man, and a plough were responsible for
+this apparition, and he speculated as to how many tremendous physical and
+spiritual affairs of life are thus wrought by agents not visible to the
+beholder. Thus were his own thoughts twisted back to those speculations which
+now perpetually haunted them like the incubus of a dream. What would Will
+Blanchard say if he woke some morning to find his secret in John
+Grimbal&rsquo;s keeping? And, did any such thing happen, there must certainly
+be a mystery about it; for Blanchard could no more prove how his enemy came
+to learn his secret than might some urban stranger guess how the dark line
+grew without visible means on the arable ground under Gidleigh.</p>
+<p>From these dangerous thoughts he was roused by the sight of a woman
+struggling up the steep hill towards him. The figure came slowly on, and
+moved with some difficulty. This much Hicks noted, and then suddenly realised
+that he beheld his mother. She knew his haunt and doubtless sought him now.
+Rising, therefore, he hastened to meet her and shorten her arduous climb.
+Mrs. Hicks was breathless when Clement reached her, and paused a while, with
+her hand pressed to her side, before she could speak. At length she addressed
+him, still panting between the syllables.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My heart&rsquo;s a pit-pat! Hurry, hurry, for the Lard&rsquo;s
+sake! The bees be playin&rsquo;<a id="footnotetag9" name=
+"footnotetag9"></a><a href="#footnote9"><sup>9</sup></a> an&rsquo;
+they&rsquo;ll call Johnson if you ban&rsquo;t theer directly
+minute!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Johnson, a thatcher, was the only other man in Chagford who shared any
+knowledge of apiarian lore with Clement.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Sorry you should have had the journey only for that, mother.
+&rsquo;Twas so unlikely a morning, I never thought to hear of a swarm to-day.
+I&rsquo;ll start at once, and you go home quietly. You&rsquo;re sadly out of
+breath. Where is it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;To the Red House&mdash;Mr. Grimbal&rsquo;s. It may lead to the
+handlin&rsquo; of his hives for all us can say, if you do the job vitty, as
+you &rsquo;m bound to.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;John Grimbal&rsquo;s!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Hicks stood still as though this announcement had turned him into
+stone.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess fay! Why do &rsquo;e stand glazin&rsquo; like that? A chap rode
+out for &rsquo;e &rsquo;pon horseback; an&rsquo; a bit o&rsquo; time be lost
+a&rsquo;ready. They &rsquo;m swarmin&rsquo; in the orchard, an&rsquo; nobody
+knaws more &rsquo;n the dead what to be at.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I won&rsquo;t go. Let them get Johnson.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;Won&rsquo;t go&rsquo;! An&rsquo; five shillin&rsquo;
+hangin&rsquo; to it, an&rsquo; Lard knaws what more in time to come!
+&lsquo;Won&rsquo;t go&rsquo;! An&rsquo; my poor legs throbbin&rsquo;
+something cruel with climbin&rsquo; for &rsquo;e!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&mdash;I&rsquo;m not going there&mdash;not to that man. I have
+reason.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O my gude God!&rdquo; burst out the old woman, &ldquo;what&rsquo;ll
+&rsquo;e do next? An&rsquo; me&mdash;as worked so hard to find
+&rsquo;e&mdash;an&rsquo; so auld as I am! Please, please, Clem, for your
+mother&mdash;please. Theer&rsquo;s bin so little money in the house of late
+days, an&rsquo; less to come. Doan&rsquo;t, if you love me, as I knaws well
+you do, turn your back &rsquo;pon the scant work as falls in best o&rsquo;
+times.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The man reflected with troubled eyes, and his mother took his arm and
+tried to pull him down the hill.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Is John Grimbal at home?&rdquo; he asked.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How shude I knaw? An&rsquo; what matter if he is? Your business is
+with the bees, not him. An&rsquo; you&rsquo;ve got no quarrel with him
+because that Blanchard have. After what Will done against you, you
+needn&rsquo;t be so squeamish as to make his enemies yourn.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My business is with the bees&mdash;as you say, mother,&rdquo; he
+answered slowly, repeating her words.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Coourse &rsquo;tis! Who knaws a half of what you knaw &rsquo;bout
+&rsquo;em? That&rsquo;s my awn braave Clem! Why, there might be a mort
+o&rsquo; gude money for a man like you at the Red House!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll go. My business is with the bees. You walk along slowly,
+or sit down a while and get your breath again. I&rsquo;ll hurry.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She praised him and blessed him, crying after him as he
+departed,&mdash;&ldquo;You&rsquo;ll find all set out for &rsquo;e&mdash;veil,
+an&rsquo; gloves, an&rsquo; a couple of bee-butts to your hand.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The man did not reply, but soon stumbled down the steep hill and vanished;
+then five-and-twenty minutes later, with the implements of his trade, he
+stood at the gate of the Red House, entered, and hastened along the newly
+planted avenue.</p>
+<p>John Grimbal had not yet gone into residence, but he dwelt at present in
+his home farm hard by; and from this direction he now appeared to meet the
+bee-keeper. The spectacle of Grimbal, stern, grave, and older of manner than
+formerly, impressed Hicks not a little. In silence, after the first
+salutation, they proceeded towards an adjacent orchard; and from here as they
+approached arose an extravagant and savage din, as though a dozen baited
+dogs, each with a tin kettle at his tail, were madly galloping down some
+stone-paved street, and hurtling one against the other as they ran.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They can stop that row,&rdquo; said Hicks. &ldquo;&rsquo;Tis an
+old-fashioned notion that it hurries swarming, but I never found it do
+so.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You know best, though beating on tin pots and cans at such a
+time&rsquo;s a custom as old as the hills.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And vain as many others equally old. I have a different method to
+hurry swarming.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Now they passed over the snows of a million fallen petals, while yet good
+store of flowers hung upon the trees. June basked in the heart of the orchard
+and a delicious green sweetness and freshness marked the moment. Crimson and
+cream, all splashed with sunlight, here bloomed against a sky of summer blue,
+here took a shade from the new-born leaves and a shadow from branch and
+bough. To the eye, a mottled, dimpled glory of apple-blossom spread above
+grey trunks and twisted branches, shone through deep vistas of the orchard,
+brightened all the distance; while upon the ear, now growing and deepening,
+arose one sustained and musical susurration of innumerable wings.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You will be wise to stay here,&rdquo; said Hicks. He himself
+stopped a moment, opened his bag, put on his veil and gloves, and tucked his
+trousers inside his stockings.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not I. I wish to see the hiving.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Twenty yards distant a play of light and glint and twinkle of many frantic
+bees converged upon one spot, as stars numerically increase towards the heart
+of a cluster. The sky was full of flying insects, and their wings sparkled
+brightly in the sun; though aloft, with only the blue for background, they
+appeared as mere dark points filling the air in every direction. The swarm
+hung at the very heart of a little glade. Here two ancient apple-trees stood
+apart, and from one low bough, stretched at right angles to the parent stem,
+and not devoid of leaves and blossoms, there depended a grey-brown mass from
+which a twinkling, flashing fire leaped forth as from gems bedded in the
+matrix. Each transparent wing added to the dazzle under direct sunlight; the
+whole agglomeration of life was in form like a bunch of grapes, and where it
+thinned away to a point the bees dropped off by their own weight into the
+grass below, then rose again and either flew aloft in wide and circling
+flight or rushed headlong upon the swarm once more. Across the iridescent
+cluster passed a gleam and glow of peacock and iris, opal and
+mother-of-pearl; while from its heart ascended a deep murmur, telling of
+tremendous and accumulated energy suddenly launched into this peaceful glade
+of apple-blossom and ambient green. The frenzy of the moment held all that
+little laborious people. There was none of the concerted action to be
+observed at warping, or simultaneous motion of birds in air and fishes in
+water; but each unit of the shining army dashed on its own erratic orbit,
+flying and circling, rushing hither and thither, and sooner or later
+returning to join the queen upon the bough.</p>
+<p>The glory of the moment dominated one and all. It was their hour&mdash;a
+brief, mad ecstasy in short lives of ceaseless toil. To-day they desisted
+from their labours, and the wild-flowers of the waste places, and the
+old-world flowers in cottage gardens were alike forgotten. Yet their year had
+already seen much work and would see more. Sweet pollen from many a bluebell
+and anemone was stored and sealed for a generation unborn; the asphodels and
+violets, the velvet wallflower and yellow crocuses had already yielded
+treasure; and now new honey jewels were trembling in the trumpets of the
+honeysuckle, at the heart of the wild rose, within the deep cups of the
+candid and orange lilies, amid the fairy caps of columbines, and the petals
+of clove-pinks. There the bees now living laboured, and those that followed
+would find their sweets in the clover,&mdash;scarlet and purple and
+white,&mdash;in the foxgloves, in the upland deserts of the heather with
+their oases of euphrasy and sweet wild thyme.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Is it a true swarm or a cast?&rdquo; inquired John Grimbal.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A swarm, without much question, though it dawned an unlikely day
+for an old queen to leave the hive. Still, the weather came over splendid
+enough by noon, and they knew it was going to. Where are your butts? You see,
+young maiden queens go further afield than old ones. The latter take but a
+short flight for choice.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;There they are,&rdquo; said Grimbal, pointing to a row of thatched
+hives not far off. &ldquo;So that should be an old queen, by your showing. Is
+she there?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I fancy so by the look of them. If the queen doesn&rsquo;t join,
+the bees break up, of course, and go back to the butt. But I&rsquo;ve brought
+a couple of queens with me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve seen a good few drones about the board
+lately.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Sure sign of swarming at this season. Inside, if you could look,
+you&rsquo;d find plenty of queen cells, and some capped over. You&rsquo;d
+come across a murder or two as well. The old queens make short work of the
+young ones sometimes.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Woman-like.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Hicks admitted the criticism was just. Then, being now upon his own
+ground, he continued to talk, and talk well, until he won a surly compliment
+from his employer.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;re a bee-master, in truth! Nobody&rsquo;ll deny you
+that.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Clement laughed rather bitterly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, a king of bees. Not a great kingdom for man to
+rule.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The other studied his dark, unhappy face. Trouble had quickened
+Grimbal&rsquo;s own perceptions, and made him a more accurate judge of sorrow
+when he saw it than of yore.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;ve tried to do greater things and failed, perhaps,&rdquo;
+he said.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why, perhaps I have. A man&rsquo;s a hive himself, I&rsquo;ve
+thought sometimes&mdash;a hive of swarming, seething thoughts and experiences
+and passions, that come and go as easily as any bees, and store the heart and
+brain.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not with honey, I&rsquo;ll swear.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No&mdash;gall mostly.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And every hive&rsquo;s got a queen bee too, for that matter,&rdquo;
+said Grimbal, rather pleased at his wit responsible for the image.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes; and the queens take each other&rsquo;s places quick enough,
+for we&rsquo;re fickle brutes.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A strange swarm we hive in our hearts, God knows.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And it eats out our hearts for our pains.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;ve found out that, have you?&rdquo; asked John
+curiously.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Long ago.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Everybody does, sooner or later.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>There was a pause. Overhead the multitude dwindled while the great
+glimmering cluster on the tree correspondingly increased, and the fierce
+humming of the bees was like the sound of a fire. Clement feared nothing, but
+he had seen few face a hiving without some distrust. The man beside him,
+however, stood with his hands in his pockets, indifferent and quite
+unprotected.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You will be wiser to stand farther away, Mr. Grimbal. You&rsquo;re
+unlikely to come off scot-free if you keep so close.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What do I care? I&rsquo;ve been stung by worse than
+insects.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And I also,&rdquo; answered Clement, with such evident passion that
+the other grew a little interested. He had evidently pricked a sore point in
+this moody creature.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Was it a woman stung you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, no; don&rsquo;t heed me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Clement was on guard over himself again. &ldquo;Your business is with
+bees&rdquo;&mdash;his mother&rsquo;s words echoed in his mind to the pulsing
+monotone of the swarm. He tried to change the subject, sent for a pail of
+water, and drew a large syringe from his bag, though the circumstances really
+rendered this unnecessary. But John Grimbal, always finding a sort of
+pleasure in his own torment, took occasion to cross-question Clement.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I suppose I&rsquo;m laughed at still in Chagford, am I not? Not
+that it matters to me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t think so; an object of envy, rather, for good wives
+are easier to get than great riches.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s your opinion, is it? I&rsquo;m not so sure. Are you
+married?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Going to be, I&rsquo;ll wager, if you think good wives can be
+picked off blackberry bushes.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t say that at all. But I am going to be married
+certainly. I&rsquo;m fortunate and unfortunate. I&rsquo;ve won a prize,
+but&mdash;well, honey&rsquo;s cheap. I must wait.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;D&rsquo; you trust her? Is waiting so easy?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, I trust her, as I trust the sun to swing up out of the east
+to-morrow, to set in the west to-night. She&rsquo;s the only being of my own
+breed I do trust. As for the other question, no&mdash;waiting isn&rsquo;t
+easy.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Nor yet wise. I shouldn&rsquo;t wait. Tell me who she is. Women
+interest me, and the taking of &rsquo;em in marriage.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Hicks hesitated. Here he was drifting helpless under this man&rsquo;s hard
+eyes&mdash;helpless and yet not unwilling. He told himself that he was safe
+enough and could put a stop on his mouth when he pleased. Besides, John
+Grimbal was not only unaware that the bee-keeper knew anything against
+Blanchard, but had yet to learn that anybody else did,&mdash;that there even
+existed facts unfavourable to him. Something, however, told Hicks that
+mention of the common enemy would result from this present meeting, and the
+other&rsquo;s last word brought the danger, if danger it might be, a step
+nearer. Clement hesitated before replying to the question; then he answered
+it.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Chris Blanchard,&rdquo; he said shortly, &ldquo;though that
+won&rsquo;t interest you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But it does&mdash;a good deal. I&rsquo;ve wondered, some time, why
+I didn&rsquo;t hear my own brother was going to marry her. He got struck all
+of a heap there, to my certain knowledge. However, he &rsquo;s escaped. The
+Lord be good to you, and I take my advice to marry back again. Think twice,
+if she&rsquo;s made of the same stuff as her brother.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, by God! Is the moon made of the same stuff as the marsh
+lights?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Concentrated bitterness rang in the words, and a man much less acute than
+Grimbal had guessed he stood before an enemy of Will. John saw the bee-keeper
+start at this crucial moment; he observed that Hicks had said a thing he much
+regretted and uttered what he now wished unspoken. But the confession was
+torn bare and laid out naked under Grimbal&rsquo;s eyes, and he knew that
+another man besides himself hated Will. The discovery made his face grow
+redder than usual. He pulled at his great moustache and thrust it between his
+teeth and gnawed it. But he contrived to hide the emotion in his mind from
+Clement Hicks, and the other did not suspect, though he regretted his own
+passion. Grimbals next words further disarmed him. He appeared to know
+nothing whatever about Will, though his successful rival interested him
+still.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They call the man Jack-o&rsquo;-Lantern, don&rsquo;t they?
+Why?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I can&rsquo;t tell you. It may be, though, that he is erratic and
+uncertain in his ways. You cannot predict what he will do next.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s nothing against him. He&rsquo;s farming on the Moor
+now, isn&rsquo;t he?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Where did he come from when he dropped out of the clouds to marry
+Phoebe Lyddon?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The question was not asked with the least idea of its enormous
+significance. Grimbal had no notion that any mystery hung over that autumn
+time during which he made love to Phoebe and Will was absent from Chagford.
+He doubted not that for the asking he could learn how Will had occupied
+himself; but the subject did not interest him, and he never dreamed the
+period held a secret. The sudden consternation bred in Hicks by this question
+astounded him not a little. Indeed, each man amazed the other, Grimbal by his
+question, Hicks by the attitude which he assumed before it.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m sure I haven&rsquo;t the least idea,&rdquo; he answered;
+but his voice and manner had already told Grimbal all he cared to learn at
+the moment; and that was more than his wildest hopes had even risen to. He
+saw in the other&rsquo;s face a hidden thing, and by his demeanour that it
+was an important one. Indeed, the bee-keeper&rsquo;s hesitation and evident
+alarm before this chance question proclaimed the secret vital. For the
+present, and before Clement&rsquo;s evident alarm, Grimbal dismissed the
+matter lightly; but he chose to say a few more words upon it, for the express
+purpose of setting Hicks again at his ease.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You don&rsquo;t like your future brother-in-law?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, yes, I do. We&rsquo;ve been friends all our lives&mdash;all
+our lives. I like him well, and am going to marry his sister&mdash;only I see
+his faults, and he sees mine&mdash;that&rsquo;s all.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Take my advice and shut your eyes to his faults. That&rsquo;s the
+best way if you are marrying into his family. I&rsquo;ve got cause to think
+ill enough of the scamp, as you know and everybody knows; but life&rsquo;s
+too short for remembering ill turns.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>A weight rolled off Clement&rsquo;s heart. For a moment he had feared that
+the man knew something; but now he began to suspect Grimbal&rsquo;s question
+to be what in reality it was&mdash;casual interrogation, without any shadow
+of knowledge behind it. Hicks therefore breathed again and trusted that his
+own emotion had not been very apparent. Then, taking the water, he shot a
+thin shower into the air, an operation often employed to hasten swarming, and
+possibly calculated to alarm the bees into apprehension of rain.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Do wasps ever get into the hives?&rdquo; asked Mr. Grimbal
+abruptly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Aye, they do; and wax-moths and ants, and even mice. These things
+eat the honey and riddle and ruin the comb. Then birds eat the bees, and
+spiders catch them. Honey-bees do nothing but good that I can see, yet Nature
+&rsquo;s pleased to fill the world with their enemies. Queen and drone and
+the poor unsexed workers&mdash;all have their troubles; and so has the little
+world of the hive. Yet during the few weeks of a bee&rsquo;s life he does an
+amount of work beyond imagination to guess at.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And still finds time to steal from the hives of his
+fellows?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why, yes, if the sweets are exposed and can be tasted for nothing.
+Most of us might turn robbers on the same terms. Now I can take them, and a
+splendid swarm, too&mdash;finest I&rsquo;ve seen this year.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The business of getting the glittering bunch of bees into a hive was then
+proceeded with, and soon Clement had shaken the mass into a big straw butt,
+his performance being completely successful. In less than half an hour all
+was done, and Hicks began to remove his veil and shake a bee or two off the
+rim of his hat.</p>
+<p>John Grimbal rubbed his cheek, where a bee had stung him under the eye,
+and regarded Hicks thoughtfully.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If you happen to want work at any time, it might be within my power
+to find you some here,&rdquo; he said, handing the bee-master five shillings.
+Clement thanked his employer and declared he would not forget the offer; he
+then departed, and John Grimbal returned to his farm.</p>
+<h2><a id="II_VII" name="II_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII<br />
+AN OFFER OF MARRIAGE</h2>
+<p>Billy Blee, who has appeared thus far as a disinterested spectator of
+other people&rsquo;s affairs, had yet his own active and personal interests
+in life. Them he pursued, at odd times, and in odd ways, with admirable
+pertinacity; and as a crisis is now upon him and chance knits the outcome of
+it into the main fabric of this narrative, Billy and his actions command
+attention.</p>
+<p>Allusion has already been made, and that frequently, to one Widow
+Coomstock, whose attractions of income, and the ancillary circumstance of an
+ample though elderly person, had won for her certain admirers more ancient
+than herself. Once butt-woman, or sextoness, of Chagford Church, the lady had
+dwelt alone, as Miss Mary Reed, for fifty-five years&mdash;not because
+opportunity to change her state was denied her, but owing to the fact that
+experience of life rendered her averse to all family responsibilities. Mary
+Reed had seen her sister, the present Mrs. Hicks, take a husband, had watched
+the result of that step; and this, with a hundred parallel instances of
+misery following on matrimony, had determined her against it. But when old
+Benjamin Coomstock, the timber merchant and coal-dealer, became a widower,
+this ripe maiden, long known to him, was approached before his wife&rsquo;s
+grave became ready for a stone. To Chagford&rsquo;s amazement he so far
+bemeaned himself as to offer the sextoness his hand, and she accepted it.
+Then, left a widow after two years with her husband, Mary Coomstock
+languished a while, and changed her methods of life somewhat. The roomy
+dwelling-house of her late partner became her property and a sufficient
+income went with it. Mr. Coomstock&rsquo;s business had been sold in his
+lifetime; the money was invested, and its amount no man knew, though rumour,
+which usually magnifies such matters, spoke of a very handsome figure; and
+Mrs. Coomstock&rsquo;s lavish manner of life lent confirmation to the report.
+But though mundane affairs had thus progressed with her, the woman&rsquo;s
+marriage was responsible for very grave mental and moral deterioration.
+Prosperity, and the sudden exchange of a somewhat laborious life for the ease
+and comfort of independence, played havoc with Widow Coomstock. She grew lax,
+gross in habit and mind, self-indulgent, and ill-tempered. When her husband
+died her old friends lost sight of her, while only those who had reason to
+hope for a reward still kept in touch with her, and indeed forced themselves
+upon her notice. Everybody predicted she would take another husband; but,
+though it was now nearly eight years since Mr. Coomstock&rsquo;s death, his
+widow still remained one. Gaffer Lezzard and Billy Blee had long pursued her
+with varying advantage, and the latter, though his proposals were declined,
+yet saw in each refusal an indication to encourage future hope.</p>
+<p>Now, urged thereto by whispers that Mr. Lezzard had grown the richer by
+three hundred pounds on the death of a younger brother in Australia, Billy
+determined upon another attack. He also was worth something&mdash;less indeed
+than three hundred pounds; though, seeing that he had been earning reasonably
+good wages for half a century, the fact argued but poor thrift in Mr. Blee.
+Of course Gaffer Lezzard&rsquo;s alleged legacy could hardly be a sum to
+count with Mrs. Coomstock, he told himself; yet his rival was a man of wide
+experience and an oily tongue: while, apart from any question of opposition,
+he felt that another offer of marriage might now be made with decorum, seeing
+that it was a full year since the last. Mr. Blee therefore begged for a
+half-holiday, put on his broadcloth, blacked his boots, anointed his
+lion-monkey fringe and scanty locks with pomatum, and set forth. Mrs.
+Coomstock&rsquo;s house stood on the hill rising into the village from
+Chagford Bridge. A kitchen garden spread behind it; in front pale purple
+poppies had the ill-kept garden to themselves.</p>
+<p>As he approached, Mr. Blee felt a leaden weight about his newly polished
+boots, and a distinct flutter at the heart, or in a less poetical portion of
+his frame.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Same auld feeling,&rdquo; he reflected. &ldquo;Gormed if I
+ban&rsquo;t gettin&rsquo; sweaty &rsquo;fore the plaace comes in sight!
+&rsquo;Tis just the sinkin&rsquo; at the navel, like what I had when I smoked
+my first pipe, five-and-forty years agone!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The approach of another man steadied Billy, and on recognising him Mr.
+Blee forgot all about his former emotions and gasped in the clutch of a new
+one. It was Mr. Lezzard, evidently under some impulse of genial exhilaration.
+There hung an air of aggression about him, but, though he moved like a
+conqueror, his gait was unsteady and his progress slow. He had wit to guess
+Billy&rsquo;s errand, however, for he grinned, and leaning against the hedge
+waved his stick in the air above his head.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Aw, Jimmery! if it ban&rsquo;t Blee; an&rsquo; prinked out for a
+weddin&rsquo;, tu, by the looks of it!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not yourn, anyway,&rdquo; snapped back the suitor.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, us caan&rsquo;t say &rsquo;zactly&mdash;world &rsquo;s full
+o&rsquo; novelties.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Best pull yourself together, Gaffer, or bad-hearted folks might say
+you was bosky-eyed.<a id="footnotetag10" name="footnotetag10"></a><a href=
+"#footnote10"><sup>10</sup></a> That ban&rsquo;t no novelty anyway, but
+&rsquo;t is early yet to be drunk&mdash;just three o&rsquo;clock by the
+church.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Mr. Blee marched on without waiting for a reply. He knew Lezzard to be
+more than seventy years old and usually regarded the ancient man&rsquo;s
+rivalry with contempt; but he felt uneasy for a few moments, until the front
+door of Mrs. Coomstock&rsquo;s dwelling was opened to him by the lady
+herself.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My stars! You? What a terrible coorious thing!&rdquo; she said.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why for?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Come in the parlour. Theer! coorious ban&rsquo;t the
+word!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She laughed, a silly laugh and loud. Then she shambled before him to the
+sitting-room, and Billy, familiar enough with the apartment, noticed a bottle
+of gin in an unusual position upon the table. The liquor stood, with two
+glasses and a jug of water, between the Coomstock family Bible, on its green
+worsted mat, and a glass shade containing the stuffed carcass of a
+fox-terrier. The animal was moth-eaten and its eyes had fallen out. It could
+be considered in no sense decorative; but sentiment allowed the corpse this
+central position in a sorry scheme of adornment, for the late timber merchant
+had loved it. Upon Mrs. Coomstock&rsquo;s parlour walls hung Biblical German
+prints in frames of sickly yellow wood; along the window-ledge geraniums and
+begonias flourished, though gardeners had wondered to see their luxuriance,
+for the windows were seldom opened.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;It never rains but it pours,&rsquo;&rdquo; said Widow
+Coomstock. She giggled again and looked at Billy. She was very fat, and the
+red of her face deepened to purple unevenly about the sides of her nose. Her
+eyes were bright and black. She had opened a button or two at the top of her
+dress, and her general appearance, from her grey hair to her slattern heels,
+was disordered. Her cap had fallen off on to the ground, and Mr. Blee noticed
+that her parting was as a broad turnpike road much tramped upon by Time. The
+room smelt stuffy beyond its wont and reeked not only of spirits but tobacco.
+This Billy sniffed inquiringly, and Mrs. Coomstock observed the action.
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Twas Lezzard,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I like to see a man in
+comfort. You can smoke if you mind to. Coomstock always done it, and a
+man&rsquo;s no man without, though a dirty habit wheer they doan&rsquo;t use
+a spittoon.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She smiled, but to herself, and was lost in thought a moment. He saw her
+eyes very bright and her head wagging. Then she looked at him and laughed
+again.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;m a fine figure of a man, tu,&rdquo; she said, apropos of
+nothing in particular. But the newcomer understood. He rumpled his hair and
+snorted and frowned at the empty glasses.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Have a drop?&rdquo; suggested Mrs. Coomstock; but Billy, of opinion
+that his love had already enjoyed refreshment sufficient for the time,
+refused and answered her former remark.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A fine figure?&mdash;yes, Mary Coomstock, though not so fine for a
+man as you for a woman. Still, a warm-blooded chap an&rsquo; younger than my
+years.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve got my share o&rsquo; warm blood, tu, Billy.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>It was apparent. Mrs. Coomstock&rsquo;s plump neck bulged in creases over
+the dirty scrap of white linen that represented a collar, while her massive
+bust seemed bursting through her apparel.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Coourse,&rdquo; said Mr. Blee, &ldquo;an&rsquo; your share,
+an&rsquo; more &rsquo;n your share o&rsquo; brains, tu. He had bad
+luck&mdash;Coomstock&mdash;the worse fortune as ever fell to a Chaggyford
+man, I reckon.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How do &rsquo;e come at that, then?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;To get &rsquo;e, an&rsquo; lose &rsquo;e again inside two year.
+That&rsquo;s ill luck if ever I seen it. Death&rsquo;s a envious twoad. Two
+short year of you; an&rsquo; then up comes a tumour on his neck unbeknawnst,
+an&rsquo; off he goes, like a spring lamb.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; so he did. I waked from sleep an&rsquo; bid un rise, but
+theer weern&rsquo;t no more risin&rsquo; for him till the
+Judgment.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Death&rsquo;s no courtier. He&rsquo;ll let a day-labourer go so
+peaceful an&rsquo; butivul as a child full o&rsquo; milk goes to sleep; while
+he&rsquo;ll take a gert lord or dook, wi&rsquo; lands an&rsquo; moneys,
+an&rsquo; strangle un by inches, an&rsquo; give un the hell of a
+twistin&rsquo;. You caan&rsquo;t buy a easy death seemin&rsquo;ly.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A gude husband he was, but jealous,&rdquo; said Mrs. Coomstock, her
+thoughts busy among past years; and Billy immediately fell in with this
+view.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then you&rsquo;m well rid of un. Theer&rsquo;s as gude in the world
+alive any minute as ever was afore or will be again.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Let &rsquo;em stop in the world then. I doan&rsquo;t want
+&rsquo;em.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>This sentiment amused the widow herself more than Billy. She laughed
+uproariously, raised her glass to her lips unconsciously, found it empty,
+grew instantly grave upon the discovery, set it down again, and sighed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s a wicked world,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Sure as
+men&rsquo;s in a plaace they brings trouble an&rsquo; wickedness. An&rsquo;
+yet I&rsquo;ve heard theer&rsquo;s more women than men on the airth when
+all&rsquo;s said.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;God A&rsquo;mighty likes &rsquo;em best, I reckon,&rdquo; declared
+Mr. Blee.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not but what &rsquo;t would be a lonesome plaace wi&rsquo;out the
+lords of creation,&rdquo; conceded the widow.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess fay, you &rsquo;m right theer; but the beauty of things is that
+none need n&rsquo;t be lonely, placed same as you be.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;Once bit twice shy,&rsquo;&rdquo; said Mrs. Coomstock. Then
+she laughed again. &ldquo;I said them very words to Lezzard not an hour
+since.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; what might he have answered?&rdquo; inquired Billy
+without, however, showing particular interest to know.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He said he wasn&rsquo;t bit. His wife was a proper
+creature.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Bah! second-hand gudes&mdash;that&rsquo;s what Lezzard be&mdash;a
+widow-man an&rsquo; eighty if a day. A poor, coffin-ripe auld blid, wi&rsquo;
+wan leg in the graave any time this twenty year.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Mrs. Coomstock&rsquo;s frame heaved at this tremendous criticism. She
+gurgled and gazed at Billy with her eyes watering and her mouth open.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You say that! Eighty an&rsquo; coffin-ripe!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ban&rsquo;t no ontruth, neither. A man &rsquo;s allus ready for his
+elm overcoat arter threescore an&rsquo; ten. I heard the noise of his
+breathin&rsquo; paarts when he had brown kitty in the fall three years ago,
+an&rsquo; awnly thrawed it off thanks to the gracious gudeness of Miller
+Lyddon, who sent rich stock for soup by my hand. But to hear un, you might
+have thought theer was a wapsies&rsquo; nest in the man&rsquo;s
+lungs.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I doan&rsquo;t want to be nuss to a chap at my time of life, in
+coourse.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No fay; &rsquo;t is the man&rsquo;s paart to look arter his wife,
+if you ax me. I be a plain bachelor as never thought of a female serious
+&rsquo;fore I seed you. An&rsquo; I&rsquo;ve got a heart in me, tu.
+Ban&rsquo;t no auld, rubbishy, worn-out thing, neither, but a tough,
+love-tight heart&mdash;at least so &rsquo;t was till I seed you in your weeds
+eight year agone.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Eight year a widow! An&rsquo; so I have been. Well, Blee,
+you&rsquo;ve got a powerful command of words, anyways. That I&rsquo;ll grant
+you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;T is the gert subject, Mary.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He moved nearer and put down his hat and stick; she exhibited trepidation,
+not wholly assumed. Then she helped herself to more spirits.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A drop I must have to steady me. You men make a woman&rsquo;s heart
+go flutterin&rsquo; all over her buzzom, like a flea under
+her&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She stopped and laughed, then drank. Presently setting down the glass
+again, she leered in a manner frankly animal at Mr. Blee, and told him to say
+what he might have to say and be quick about it. He fired a little at this
+invitation, licked his lips, cleared his throat, and cast a nervous glance or
+two at the window. But nobody appeared; no thunder-visaged Lezzard frowned
+over the geraniums. Gaffer indeed was sound asleep, half a mile off, upon one
+of those seats set in the open air for the pleasure and convenience of
+wayfarers about the village. So Billy rose, crossed to the large sofa whereon
+Mrs. Coomstock sat, plumped down boldly beside her and endeavoured to get his
+arm round the wide central circumference of her person. She suffered this
+courageous attempt without objection. Then Billy gently squeezed her, and she
+wriggled and opened her mouth and shut her eyes.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Say the word and do a wise thing,&rdquo; he urged. &ldquo;Say the
+word, Mary, an&rsquo; think o&rsquo; me here as master, a-keeping all your
+damn relations off by word of command.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She laughed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;When I be gone you&rsquo;ll see some sour looks, I
+reckon.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Nothing doan&rsquo;t matter then; &rsquo;t is while you &rsquo;m
+here I&rsquo;d protect &rsquo;e &rsquo;gainst &rsquo;em. Look, see!
+ban&rsquo;t often I goes down on my knees, &rsquo;cause a man risin&rsquo; in
+years, same as me, can pray to God more dignified sittin&rsquo;; but now I
+will.&rdquo; He slid gingerly down, and only a tremor showed the stab his
+gallantry cost him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You &rsquo;m a masterful auld shaver, sure &rsquo;nough!&rdquo;
+said Mrs. Coomstock, regarding Billy with a look half fish like, half
+affectionate.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Rise me up, then,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Rise me up, an&rsquo; do
+it quick. If you love me, as I see you do by the faace of you, rise me up,
+Mary, an&rsquo; say the word wance for all time. I&rsquo;ll be a gude husband
+to &rsquo;e an&rsquo; you&rsquo;ll bless the day you took me, though I sez it
+as shouldn&rsquo;t.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She allowed her fat left hand, with the late Mr. Coomstock&rsquo;s
+wedding-ring almost buried in her third finger, to remain with Billy&rsquo;s;
+and by the aid of it and the sofa he now got on his legs again. Then he sat
+down beside her once more and courageously set his yellow muzzle against her
+red cheek. The widow remained passive under this caress, and Mr. Blee, having
+kissed her thrice, rubbed his mouth and spoke.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Theer! &rsquo;T is signed and sealed, an&rsquo; I&rsquo;ll have no
+drawin&rsquo; back now.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But&mdash;but&mdash;Lezzard, Billy. I do like &rsquo;e&mdash;I
+caan&rsquo;t hide it from &rsquo;e, try as I will&mdash;but
+him&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I knawed he was t&rsquo;other. I tell you, forget un. His
+marryin&rsquo; days be awver. Dammy, the man&rsquo;s &rsquo;most chuckle
+headed wi&rsquo; age! Let un go his way an&rsquo; say his prayers
+&rsquo;gainst the trump o&rsquo; God. An&rsquo; it&rsquo;ll take un his time
+to pass Peter when all &rsquo;s done&mdash;a bad auld chap in his day. Not
+that I&rsquo;d soil your ears with it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He said much the same &rsquo;bout you. When you was at
+Drewsteignton, twenty year agone&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A lie&mdash;a wicked, strammin&rsquo;, gert lie, with no more truth
+to it than a auld song! He &rsquo;m a venomous beast to call home such a
+thing arter all these years.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If I did take &rsquo;e, you&rsquo;d be a gude an&rsquo; faithful
+husband, Billy, not a gad-about?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Cut my legs off if I go gaddin&rsquo; further than to do your
+errands.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; you&rsquo;ll keep these here buzzin&rsquo; parties off
+me? Cuss &rsquo;em! They make my life a burden.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Doan&rsquo;t fear that. I&rsquo;ll larn &rsquo;em!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Theer &rsquo;s awnly wan I can bide of the whole
+lot&mdash;an&rsquo; that&rsquo;s my awn nephew, Clem Hicks. He&rsquo;ll drink
+his drop o&rsquo; liquor an&rsquo; keep his mouth shut, an&rsquo; listen to
+me a-talkin&rsquo; as a young man should. T&rsquo;others are allus
+yelpin&rsquo; out how fond they be of me, and how they&rsquo;d go to the
+world&rsquo;s end for me. I hate the sight of &rsquo;em.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A time-servin&rsquo; crew, Mary; an&rsquo; Clement Hicks no better
+&rsquo;n the rest, mark my word, though your sister&rsquo;s son. &rsquo;T is
+cupboard love wi&rsquo; all. But money ban&rsquo;t nothin&rsquo; to me.
+I&rsquo;ve been well contented with enough all my life, though &rsquo;t is
+few can say with truth that enough satisfies &rsquo;em.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Lezzard said money was nothin&rsquo; to him neither, having plenty
+of his awn. &rsquo;T was my pusson, not my pocket, as he&rsquo;d falled in
+love with.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Burnish it all! Theer &rsquo;s a shameful speech! &lsquo;Your
+pusson&rsquo;! Him! I&rsquo;ll tell you what Lezzard is&mdash;just a damn
+evil disposition kep&rsquo; in by skin an&rsquo; bones&mdash;that&rsquo;s
+Lezzard. &lsquo;Your pusson&rsquo;!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m afraid I&rsquo;ve encouraged him a little. You&rsquo;ve
+been so backward in mentioning the subject of late. But I&rsquo;m sure I
+didn&rsquo;t knaw as he&rsquo;d got a evil disposition.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, &rsquo;t is so. An&rsquo; &rsquo;t is awnly your bigness of
+heart, as wouldn&rsquo;t hurt a beetle, makes you speak kind of the boozy
+auld sweep. I&rsquo;ll soon shaw un wheer he&rsquo;s out if he thinks you
+&rsquo;m tinkering arter him!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He couldn&rsquo;t bring an action for breach, or anything o&rsquo;
+that, could he?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;At his time of life! What Justice would give ear to un? An&rsquo;
+the shame of it!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Perhaps he misunderstood. You men jump so at a
+conclusion.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Leave that to me. I&rsquo;ll clear his brains double-quick; aye,
+an&rsquo; make un jump for somethin&rsquo;!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then I suppose it&rsquo;s got to be. I&rsquo;m yourn, Billy,
+an&rsquo; theer needn&rsquo;t be any long waitin&rsquo; neither. To think of
+another weddin&rsquo; an&rsquo; another husband! Just a drop or I shall cry.
+It&rsquo;s such a supporting thing to a lone female.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Whether Mrs. Coomstock meant marriage or Plymouth gin, Billy did not stop
+to inquire. He helped her, filled Lezzard&rsquo;s empty glass for himself,
+and then, finding his future wife thick of speech, bleared of eye, and
+evidently disposed to slumber, he departed and left her to sleep off her
+varied emotions.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll mighty soon change all that,&rdquo; thought Mr. Blee.
+&ldquo;To note a fine woman in liquor &rsquo;s the frightfullest sight in all
+nature, so to say. Not but what with Lezzard a-pawin&rsquo; of her &rsquo;t
+was enough to drive her to it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>That night the lover announced his triumph, whereon Phoebe congratulated
+him and Miller Lyddon shook his head.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;T is an awful experiment, Billy, at your age,&rdquo; he
+declared.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why, so &rsquo;t is; but I&rsquo;ve weighed the subject in my mind
+for years and years, an &rsquo;t wasn&rsquo;t till Mary Coomstock comed to be
+widowed that I thought I&rsquo;d found the woman at last. &rsquo;T was
+lookin&rsquo; tremendous high, I knaw, but theer &rsquo;t is; she&rsquo;ll
+have me. She &rsquo;m no young giglet neither, as would lead me a
+devil&rsquo;s dance, but a pusson in full blooth with ripe mind.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She drinks. I doan&rsquo;t want to hurt your feelings; but
+everybody says it is so,&rdquo; declared the miller.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What everybody sez, nobody did ought to believe,&rdquo; returned
+Mr. Blee stoutly. &ldquo;She &rsquo;m a gude, lonely sawl, as wants a man
+round the house to keep off her relations, same as us has a dog to keep down
+varmints in general. Theer &rsquo;s the Hickses, an&rsquo; Chowns, an&rsquo;
+Coomstocks all a-stickin&rsquo; up theer tails an&rsquo; a-purrin&rsquo;
+an&rsquo; a-rubbin&rsquo; theerselves against the door-posts of the plaace
+like cats what smells feesh. I won&rsquo;t have none of it. I&rsquo;ll dwell
+along wi&rsquo; she an&rsquo; play a husband&rsquo;s part, an&rsquo; comfort
+the decline of her like a man, I warn &rsquo;e.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why, Mrs. Coomstock &rsquo;s not so auld as all that, Billy,&rdquo;
+said Phoebe. &ldquo;Chris has often told me she&rsquo;s only sixty-two or
+three.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>But he shook his head.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ban&rsquo;t a subject for a loving man to say much on, awnly truth
+&rsquo;s truth. I seed it written in the Coomstock Bible wan day. Fifty-five
+she were when she married first. Well, ban&rsquo;t in reason she twald the
+naked truth &rsquo;bout it, an&rsquo; who&rsquo;d blame her on such a
+delicate point? No, I&rsquo;d judge her as near my awn age as possible;
+an&rsquo; to speak truth, not so well preserved as what I be.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How&rsquo;s Monks Barton gwaine to fare without &rsquo;e,
+Blee?&rdquo; whined the miller.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;As to that, be gormed if I knaw how I&rsquo;ll fare wi&rsquo;out
+the farm. But love&mdash;well, theer &rsquo;t is. Theer &rsquo;s money to it,
+I knaw, but what do that signify? Nothin&rsquo; to me. You&rsquo;ll see me
+frequent as I ride here an&rsquo; theer&mdash;horse, saddle, stirrups,
+an&rsquo; all complete; though God He knaws wheer my knees&rsquo;ll go when
+my boots be fixed in stirrups. But a man must use &rsquo;em if theer &rsquo;s
+the dignity of money to be kept up. &rsquo;T is just wan of them
+oncomfortable things riches brings with it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>While Miller Lyddon still argued with Billy against the step he now
+designed, there arrived from Chagford the stout Mr. Chappie, with his mouth
+full of news.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;More weddin&rsquo;s,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I comed down-long to
+tell &rsquo;e, lest you shouldn&rsquo;t knaw till to-morrow an&rsquo; so fall
+behind the times. Widow Coomstock &rsquo;s thrawed up the sponge and gived
+herself to that importuneous auld Lezzard. To think o&rsquo; such a
+Methuselah as him&mdash;aulder than the century&mdash;fillin&rsquo; the eye
+o&rsquo; that full-bodied&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s a black lie&mdash;blacker &rsquo;n hell&mdash;an&rsquo;
+if&rsquo;t was anybody but you brought the news I&rsquo;d hit un awver the
+jaw!&rdquo; burst out Mr. Blee, in a fury.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He tawld me hisself. He&rsquo;s tellin&rsquo; everybody hisself. It
+comed to a climax to-day. The auld bird&rsquo;s hoppin&rsquo; all awver the
+village so proud as a jackdaw as have stole a shiny button. He&rsquo;m
+bustin&rsquo; wi&rsquo; it in fact.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll bust un! An&rsquo; his news, tu. An&rsquo; you can say,
+when you&rsquo;m axed, &rsquo;t is the foulest lie ever falled out of wicked
+lips.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Billy now took his hat and stick from their corner and marched to the door
+without more words.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No violence, mind now, no violence,&rdquo; begged Mr. Lyddon.
+&ldquo;This love-making &rsquo;s like to wreck the end of my life, wan way or
+another, yet. &rsquo;T is bad enough with the young; but when it comes to
+auld, bald-headed fules like you an&rsquo; Lezzard&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;As to violence, I wouldn&rsquo;t touch un wi&rsquo; the end of a
+dung-fork&mdash;I wouldn&rsquo;t. But I&rsquo;m gwaine to lay his lie wance
+an&rsquo; for all. I be off to parson this instant moment. An&rsquo; when my
+banns of marriage be hollered out next Sunday marnin&rsquo;, then us&rsquo;ll
+knaw who &rsquo;m gwaine to marry Mother Coomstock an&rsquo; who ban&rsquo;t.
+I can work out my awn salvation wi&rsquo; fear an&rsquo; tremblin&rsquo; so
+well as any other man; an&rsquo; you&rsquo;ll see what that God-forsaken auld
+piece looks like come Sunday when he hears what&rsquo;s done an&rsquo;
+caan&rsquo;t do nought but just swallow his gall an&rsquo; chew &rsquo;pon
+it.&rdquo;</p>
+<h2><a id="II_VIII" name="II_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII<br />
+MR. BLEE FORGETS HIMSELF</h2>
+<p>The Rev. James Shorto-Champernowne made no difficulty about Billy&rsquo;s
+banns of marriage, although he doubtless held a private opinion upon the
+wisdom of such a step, and also knew that Mrs. Coomstock was now a very
+different woman from the sextoness of former days. He expressed a hope,
+however, that Mr. Blee would make his future wife become a regular
+church-goer again after the ceremony; and Billy took it upon himself to
+promise as much for her. There the matter ended until the following Sunday,
+when a sensation, unparalleled in the archives of St. Michael&rsquo;s,
+awaited the morning worshippers.</p>
+<p>Under chiming of bells the customary congregation arrived, and a
+perceptible wave of sensation swept from pew to pew at the appearance of more
+than one unfamiliar face. Of regular attendants we may note Mrs. Blanchard
+and Chris, Martin Grimbal, Mr. Lyddon, and his daughter. Mr. Blee usually sat
+towards the back of the church at a point immediately behind those benches
+devoted to the boys. Here he kept perfect order among the lads, and had done
+so for many years. Occasionally it became necessary to turn a youngster out
+of church, and Billy&rsquo;s procedure at such a time was masterly; but of
+opinion to-day that he was a public character, he chose a more conspicuous
+position, and accepted Mr. Lyddon&rsquo;s invitation to take a seat in the
+miller&rsquo;s own pew. He felt he owed this prominence, not only to himself,
+but to Mrs. Coomstock. She, good soul, had been somewhat evasive and
+indefinite in her manner since accepting Billy, and her condition of nerves
+on Sunday morning proved such that she found herself quite unable to attend
+the house of prayer, although she had promised to do so. She sent her two
+servants, however, and, spending the time in private between spirtual and
+spirituous consolations of Bible and bottle, the widow soon passed into a
+temporary exaltation ending in unconsciousness. Thus her maids found her on
+returning from church.</p>
+<p>Excitement within the holy edifice reached fever-heat when a most unwonted
+worshipper appeared in the venerable shape of Mr. Lezzard. He was supported
+by his married daughter and his grandson. They sought and found a very
+prominent position under the lectern, and it was immediately apparent that no
+mere conventional attendance for the purpose of praising their Maker had
+drawn Mr. Lezzard and his relations. Indeed he had long been of the Baptist
+party, though it derived but little lustre from him. Much whispering passed
+among the trio. Then his daughter, having found the place she sought in a
+prayer-book, handed it to Mr. Lezzard, and he made a big cross in pencil upon
+the page and bent the volume backwards so that its binding cracked very
+audibly. Gaffer then looked about him with a boldness he was far from
+feeling; but the spectacle of Mr. Blee, hard by, fortified his spirit. He
+glared across the aisle and Billy glared back.</p>
+<p>Then the bells stopped, the organ droned, and there came a clatter of iron
+nails on the tiled floor. Boys and men proceeded to the choir stalls and Mr.
+Shorto-Champernowne fluttered behind, with his sermon in his hand. Like a
+stately galleon of the olden time he swept along the aisle, then reached his
+place, cast one keen glance over the assembled congregation, and slowly
+sinking upon his hassock enveloped his face and whiskers in snowy lawn and
+prayed a while.</p>
+<p>The service began and that critical moment after the second lesson was
+reached with dreadful celerity. Doctor Parsons, having read a chapter from
+the New Testament, which he emerged from the congregation to do, and which he
+did ill, though he prided himself upon his elocution, returned to his seat as
+the Vicar rose, adjusted his double eyeglasses and gave out a notice as
+follows:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I publish the banns of marriage between William Blee, Bachelor, and
+Mary Coomstock, Widow, both of this parish. If any of you know cause, or just
+impediment, why these two persons should not be joined together in holy
+matrimony, ye are to declare it. This is for the first time of
+asking.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>There was a momentary pause. Then, nudged by his daughter, who had grown
+very pale, Gaffer Lezzard rose. His head shook and he presented the
+appearance of a man upon the verge of palsy. He held up his hand, struggled
+with his vocal organs and at last exploded these words, sudden, tremulous,
+and shrill:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I deny it an&rsquo; I defy it! The wummon be mine!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Mr. Lezzard succumbed instantly after this effort. Indeed, he went down as
+though shot through the head. He wagged and gasped and whispered to his
+grandson,&mdash;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Wheer&rsquo;s the brandy to?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Whereupon this boy produced a medicine bottle half full of spirits, and
+his grandfather, with shaking fingers, removed the cork and drank the
+contents. Meantime the Vicar had begun to speak; but he suffered another
+interruption. Billy, tearing himself from the miller&rsquo;s restraining
+hand, leapt to his feet, literally shaking with rage. He was dead to his
+position, oblivious of every fact save that his banns of marriage had been
+forbidden before the assembled Christians of Chagford. He had waited to find
+a wife until he was sixty years old&mdash;for this!</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&mdash;<i>you</i> to do it! You to get up afore this rally
+o&rsquo; gentlefolks an&rsquo; forbid my holy banns, you wrinkled, crinkled,
+baggering auld lizard! Gormed if I doan&rsquo;t wring your&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Silence in the house of God!&rdquo; thundered Mr.
+Shorto-Champernowne, with tones so resonant that they woke rafter echoes the
+organ itself had never roused. &ldquo;Silence, and cease this sacrilegious
+brawling, or the consequences will be unutterably serious! Let those
+involved,&rdquo; he concluded more calmly, &ldquo;appear before me in the
+vestry after divine service is at an end.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Having frowned, in a very tragic manner, both on Mr. Blee and Mr. Lezzard,
+the Vicar proceeded with the service; but though Gaffer remained in his place
+Billy did not. He rose, jammed on his hat, glared at everybody, and assumed
+an expression curiously similar to that of a stone demon which grinned from
+the groining of two arches immediately above him. He then departed, growling
+to himself and shaking his fists, in another awful silence; for the Vicar
+ceased when he rose, and not until Billy disappeared and his footfall was
+heard no more did the angry clergyman proceed.</p>
+<p>A buzz and hubbub, mostly of laughter, ascended when presently Mr.
+Shorto-Champernowne&rsquo;s parishioners returned to the air; and any chance
+spectator beholding them had certainly judged he stood before an audience now
+dismissed from a theatre rather than the congregation of a church.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Glad Will weern&rsquo;t theer, I&rsquo;m sure,&rdquo; said Mrs.
+Blanchard. &ldquo;He&rsquo;d &rsquo;a&rsquo; laughed out loud an&rsquo; made
+bad worse. Chris did as &rsquo;t was, awnly parson&rsquo;s roarin&rsquo;
+luckily drowned it. And Mr. Martin Grimbal, whose eye I catched, was put to
+it to help smilin&rsquo;.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ban&rsquo;t often he laughs, anyway,&rdquo; said Phoebe, who walked
+homewards with her father and the Blanchards; whereon Chris, from being in a
+boisterous vein of merriment, grew grave. Together all returned to the
+valley. Will was due in half an hour from Newtake, and Phoebe, as a special
+favour, had been permitted to dine at Mrs. Blanchard&rsquo;s cottage with her
+husband and his family. Clement Hicks had also promised to be of the party;
+but that was before the trouble of the previous week, and Chris knew he would
+not come.</p>
+<p>Meantime, Gaffer Lezzard, supported by two generations of his family,
+explained his reasons for objecting to Mr. Blee&rsquo;s proposed
+marriage.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Mrs. Coomstock be engaged, right and reg&rsquo;lar, to me,&rdquo;
+he declared. &ldquo;She&rsquo;d gived me her word &rsquo;fore ever Blee axed
+her. I seed her essterday, to hear final &rsquo;pon the subjec&rsquo;,
+an&rsquo; she tawld me straight, bein&rsquo; sober as you at the time, as
+&rsquo;t was <i>me</i> she wanted an&rsquo; meant for to have. She was
+excited t&rsquo; other day an&rsquo; not mistress of herself ezacally;
+an&rsquo; the crafty twoad took advantage of it, an&rsquo; jawed, an&rsquo;
+made her drink an&rsquo; drink till her didn&rsquo;t knaw what her was
+sayin&rsquo; or doin&rsquo;. But she&rsquo;m mine, an&rsquo; she&rsquo;ll
+tell &rsquo;e same as what I do; so theer&rsquo;s an end on
+&rsquo;t.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll see Mrs. Coomstock,&rdquo; said the Vicar. &ldquo;I,
+myself will visit her to-morrow.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Canst punish this man for tryin&rsquo; to taake her from
+me?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Permit yourself no mean desires in the direction of revenge. For
+the present I decline to say more upon the subject. If it were possible to
+punish, and I am not prepared to say it is not, it would be for brawling in
+the house of God. After an experience extending over forty years, I may
+declare that I never saw any such disreputable and horrifying
+spectacle.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>So the Lezzard family withdrew and, on the following day, Mrs. Coomstock
+passed through most painful experiences.</p>
+<p>To the clergyman, with many sighs and tears, she explained that Mr.
+Lezzard&rsquo;s character had been maligned by Mr. Blee, that before the
+younger veteran she had almost feared for her life, and been driven to accept
+him out of sheer terror at his importunity. But when facts came to her ears
+afterwards, she found that Mr. Lezzard was in reality all he had declared
+himself to be, and therefore returned to him, threw over Mr. Blee, and begged
+the other to forbid the banns, if as she secretly learnt, though not from
+Billy himself, they were to be called on that Sunday. The poor woman&rsquo;s
+ears tingled under Mr. Shorto-Champernowne&rsquo;s sonorous reproof; but he
+departed at last, and by the time that Billy called, during the same day, she
+had imbibed Dutch courage sufficient to face him and tell him she had changed
+her mind. She had erred&mdash;she confessed it. She had been far from well at
+the time and, upon reconsideration of the proposal, had felt she would never
+be able to make Mr. Blee happy, or enjoy happiness with him.</p>
+<p>As a matter of fact, Mrs. Coomstock had accepted both suitors on one and
+the same afternoon. First Gaffer, who had made repeated but rather vague
+allusion to a sum of three hundred pounds in ready money, was taken
+definitely; while upon his departure, the widow, only dimly conscious of what
+was settled with her former admirer, said, &ldquo;Yes&rdquo; to Billy in his
+turn. Had a third suitor called on that event-ful afternoon, it is quite
+possible Mrs. Coomstock would have accepted him also.</p>
+<p>The conversation with Mr. Blee was of short duration, and ended by Billy
+calling down a comprehensive curse on the faithless one and returning to
+Monks Barton. He had attached little importance to Lezzard&rsquo;s public
+protest, upon subsequent consideration and after the first shock of hearing
+it; but there was no possibility of doubting what he now learned from Mrs.
+Coomstock&rsquo;s own lips. That she had in reality changed her mind appeared
+only too certain.</p>
+<p>So he went home again in the last extremity of fury, and Phoebe, who was
+alone at the time, found herself swept by the hurricane of his wrath. He
+entered snorting and puffing, flung his hat on the settle, his stick into the
+corner; then, dropping into a seat by the fire, he began taking off his
+gaiters with much snuffling and mumbling and repeated inarticulate explosions
+of breath. This cat-like splutter always indicated deep feeling in Mr. Blee,
+and Phoebe asked with concern what was the matter now.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Matter? Tchut&mdash;Tchut&mdash;Theer ban&rsquo;t no
+God&mdash;that&rsquo;s what&rsquo;s the matter!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Billy! How can you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She&rsquo;m gwaine to marry t&rsquo;other, arter all! From her awn
+lips I&rsquo;ve heard it! That&rsquo;s what I get for being a church member
+from the womb! That&rsquo;s my reward! God, indeed! Be them the ways o&rsquo;
+a plain-dealin&rsquo; God, who knaws what&rsquo;s doin&rsquo; in human
+hearts? No fay! Bunkum an&rsquo; rot! I&rsquo;ll never lift my voice in hymn
+nor psalm no more, nor pray a line o&rsquo; prayer again. Who be I to be
+treated like that? Drunken auld cat! I cussed her&mdash;I cussed her!
+Wouldn&rsquo;t marry her now if she axed wi&rsquo; her mouth in the dirt.
+Wheer&rsquo;s justice to? Tell me that. Me in church, keepin&rsquo; order
+&rsquo;mong the damn boys generation arter generation, and him never inside
+the door since he buried his wife. An&rsquo; parson siding wi&rsquo; un,
+I&rsquo;ll wager. Mother Coomstock &rsquo;ll give un hell&rsquo;s delights,
+that&rsquo;s wan gude thought. A precious pair of &rsquo;em! Tchut!
+Gar!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I doan&rsquo;t really think you could have loved Mrs. Coomstock
+overmuch, Billy, if you can talk so ugly an&rsquo; crooked &rsquo;bout
+her,&rdquo; said Phoebe.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I did, I tell &rsquo;e&mdash;for years an&rsquo; years. I went down
+on my knees to the bitch&mdash;I wish I hadn&rsquo;t; I&rsquo;ll be sorry for
+that to my dying day. I kissed her, tu,&mdash;s&rsquo; elp me, I did. You
+mightn&rsquo;t think it, but I did&mdash;a faace like a frost-bitten
+beetroot, as &rsquo;t is!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Doan&rsquo;t &rsquo;e, please, say such horrible things. You must
+be wise about it. You see, they say Mr. Lezzard has more money than you. At
+least, so Mrs. Coomstock told her nephew, Clement Hicks. Every one of her
+relations is savage about it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well they may be. Why doan&rsquo;t they lock her up? If she
+ban&rsquo;t mad, nobody ever was. &rsquo;Money&rsquo;! Lezzard! Lying
+auld&mdash;auld&mdash;Tchut! Not money enough to pay for a graave to hide his
+rotten bones, I lay. Oh, &rsquo;t is enough to&mdash;theer, what &rsquo;s the
+use of talkin&rsquo;? Tchut&mdash;Tchut!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>At this point Phoebe, fearing even greater extravagances in Mr.
+Blee&rsquo;s language, left him to consider his misfortunes alone. Long he
+continued in the profoundest indignation, and it was not until Miller Lyddon
+returned, heard the news, and heartily congratulated Billy on a merciful
+escape, that the old man grew a little calmer under his disappointment, and
+moderated the bitterness and profanity of his remarks.</p>
+<h2><a id="II_IX" name="II_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX<br />
+A DIFFERENCE WITH THE DUCHY</h2>
+<p>Newtake Farm, by reason of Will&rsquo;s recent occupancy, could offer no
+very considerable return during his first year as tenant; but that he
+understood and accepted, and the tribulation which now fell upon him was of
+his own making. To begin with, Sam Bonus vanished from the scene. On
+learning, soon after the event, that Bonus had discussed Hicks and himself at
+Chagford, and detailed his private conversation with Martin Grimbal,
+Blanchard, in a fury, swept off to the loft where his man slept, roused him
+from rest, threw down the balance of his wages, and dismissed him on the
+spot. He would hear no word in explanation, and having administered a
+passionate rebuke, departed as he had come, like a whirlwind. Sam, smarting
+under this injustice, found the devil wake in him through that sleepless
+night, and had there stood rick or stack within reach of revenge, he might
+have dealt his master a return blow before morning. As usual, after the lapse
+of hours, Will cooled down, modified his first fiery indignation, and
+determined, yet without changing his mind, to give Bonus an opportunity of
+explaining the thing he had done. Chris had brought the news from Clement
+himself, and Will, knowing that his personal relations with Clement were
+already strained, felt that in justice to his servant he must be heard upon
+the question. But, when he sought Sam Bonus, though still the dawn was only
+grey, he found the world fuller for him by another enemy, for the man had
+taken him at his word and departed. During that day and the next Will made
+some effort to see Bonus, but nothing came of it, so, dismissing the matter
+from his mind, he hired a new labourer&mdash;one Teddy Chown, son of Abraham
+Chown, the Inspector of Police&mdash;and pursued his way.</p>
+<p>Then his unbounded energy led him into difficulties of a graver sort. Will
+had long cast covetous eyes on a tract of moorland immediately adjoining
+Newtake, and there being little to do at the moment, he conceived the
+adventurous design of reclaiming it. The patch was an acre and a half in
+extent&mdash;a beggarly, barren region, where the heather thinned away and
+the black earth shone with water and disintegrated granite. Quartz particles
+glimmered over it; at the centre black pools of stagnant water marked an
+abandoned peat cutting; any spot less calculated to attract an agricultural
+eye would have been hard to imagine; but Blanchard set to work, began to fill
+the greedy quag in the midst with tons of soil, and soon caused the place to
+look business-like&mdash;at least in his own estimation. As for the Duchy, he
+did not trouble himself. The Duchy itself was always reclaiming land without
+considering the rights and wrongs of the discontented Venville tenants, and
+Will knew of many a &ldquo;newtake&rdquo; besides this he contemplated.
+Indeed, had not the whole farm, of which he was now master, been rescued from
+the Moor in time past? He worked hard, therefore, and his new assistant,
+though not a Bonus, proved stout and active. Chris, who still dwelt with her
+brother, was sworn to secrecy respecting Will&rsquo;s venture; and so lonely
+a region did the farm occupy that not until he had put a good month of work
+into the adjacent waste were any of those in authority aware of the young
+farmer&rsquo;s performance.</p>
+<p>A day came when the new land was cleaned, partly ploughed, and wholly
+surrounded by a fence of split stumps, presently to be connected by wires. At
+these Chown was working, while Will had just arrived with a load of earth to
+add to the many tons already poured upon that hungry central patch. He held
+the tailboard of the cart in his hand and was about to remove it; when,
+looking up, his heart fluttered a moment despite his sturdy consciousness of
+right. On the moor above him rode grey old Vogwell, the Duchy&rsquo;s man.
+His long beard fluttered in the wind, and Will heard the thud of his
+horse&rsquo;s hoofs as he cantered quickly to the scene, passed between two
+of the stakes, and drew up alongside Blanchard.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Marnin&rsquo;, Mr. Vogwell! Fine weather, to be sure, an&rsquo;
+gude for the peat next month; but bad for roots, an&rsquo; no mistake. Will
+&rsquo;e have a drink?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Mr. Vogwell gazed sternly about him, then fixed his little bright eyes on
+the culprit.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What do this mean, Will Blanchard?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, why not? Duchy steals all the gude land from Venwell men; why
+for shouldn&rsquo;t us taake a little of the bad? This here weern&rsquo;t no
+gude to man or mouse. Ban&rsquo;t &rsquo;nough green stuff for a rabbit
+&rsquo;pon it. So I just thought I&rsquo;d give it a lick an&rsquo; a promise
+o&rsquo; more later on.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;A lick an&rsquo; a promise&rsquo;! You&rsquo;ve wasted a
+month&rsquo;s work on it, to the least.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, p&rsquo;raps I have&mdash;though ban&rsquo;t wasted. Do
+&rsquo;e think, Mr. Vogwell, as the Duchy might be disposed to give me a
+hand?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Will generally tackled difficulties in this audacious fashion, and a laugh
+already began to brighten his eye; but the other quenched it.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You fool! You knawed you was doin&rsquo; wrong better&rsquo;n I can
+tell you&mdash;an&rsquo; such a plaace! A babe could see you &rsquo;m
+workin&rsquo; awver living springs. You caan&rsquo;t fill un even now in the
+drouth, an&rsquo; come autumn an&rsquo; rain &rsquo;t will all be bog
+again.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Nothing of the sort,&rdquo; flamed out Will, quite forgetting his
+recent assertion as to the poverty of the place. &ldquo;Do &rsquo;e think,
+you, as awnly rides awver the Moor, knaws more about soil than I as works on
+it? &rsquo;Twill be gude proofy land bimebye&mdash;so good as any Princetown
+way, wheer the prison men reclaim, an&rsquo; wheer theer&rsquo;s grass this
+minute as carries a bullock to the acre. First I&rsquo;ll plant rye, then
+swedes, then maybe more swedes, then barley; an&rsquo;, with the barley,
+I&rsquo;ll sow the permanent grass to follow. That&rsquo;s gude rotation of
+crops for Dartymoor, as I knaw an&rsquo; you doan&rsquo;t; an&rsquo; if the
+Duchy encloses the best to rob our things<a id="footnotetag11" name=
+"footnotetag11"></a><a href="#footnote11"><sup>11</sup></a>, why for
+shouldn&rsquo;t we&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;ll do. I caan&rsquo;t bide here listenin&rsquo; to your
+child&rsquo;s-talk all the marnin&rsquo;. What Duchy does an&rsquo;
+doan&rsquo;t do is for higher &rsquo;n you or me to decide. If this was any
+man&rsquo;s work but yours I&rsquo;d tell Duchy this night; but bein&rsquo;
+you, I&rsquo;ll keep mute. Awnly mind, when I comes this way a fortnight
+hence, let me see these postes gone an&rsquo; your plough an&rsquo; cart
+t&rsquo; other side that wall. An&rsquo; you&rsquo;ll thank me, when
+you&rsquo;ve come to more sense, for stoppin&rsquo; this wild-goose chase.
+Now I&rsquo;ll have a drop o&rsquo; cider, if it&rsquo;s all the same to
+you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Will opened a stone jar which lay under his coat at hand, and answered as
+he poured cider into a horn mug for Mr. Vogwell&mdash;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Here&rsquo;s your drink; but I won&rsquo;t take your orders, so I
+tell &rsquo;e. Damn the Duchy, as steals moor an&rsquo; common wheer it
+pleases an&rsquo; then grudges a man his toil.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s the spirit as&rsquo;ll land &rsquo;e in the poorhouse,
+Will Blanchard,&rdquo; said Mr. Vogwell calmly; &ldquo;and that&rsquo;s such
+a job as might send &rsquo;e to the County Asylum,&rdquo; he added, pointing
+to the operations around him. &ldquo;As to damning Duchy,&rdquo; he
+continued, &ldquo;you might as well damn the sun or moon. They&rsquo;d care
+as little. Theer &rsquo;m some varmints so small that, though they bite
+&rsquo;e with all their might, you never knaw it; an&rsquo; so &rsquo;t is
+wi&rsquo; you an&rsquo; Duchy. Mind now, a fortnight. Thank &rsquo;e&mdash;so
+gude cider as ever I tasted; an&rsquo; doan&rsquo;t &rsquo;e tear an&rsquo;
+rage, my son. What&rsquo;s the use?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Twould be use, though, if us all raged together.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But you won&rsquo;t get none to follow. &rsquo;Tis all talk. Duchy
+haven&rsquo;t got no bones to break or sawl to lose; an&rsquo; moormen
+haven&rsquo;t got brains enough to do aught in the matter but jaw.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; all for a royal prince, as doan&rsquo;t knaw difference
+between yether an&rsquo; fuzz, I lay,&rdquo; growled Will. &ldquo;Small blame
+to moormen for being radical-minded these days. Who wouldn&rsquo;t, treated
+same as us?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Best not talk on such high subjects, Will Blanchard, or you might
+get in trouble. A fortnight, mind. Gude marnin&rsquo; to &rsquo;e.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The Duchy&rsquo;s man rode off and Will stood angry and irresolute. Then,
+seeing Mr. Vogwell was still observing him, he ostentatiously turned to the
+cart and tipped up his load of earth. But when the representative of power
+had disappeared&mdash;his horse and himself apparently sinking into rather
+than behind a heather ridge&mdash;Will&rsquo;s energy died and his mood
+changed. He had fooled himself about this enterprise until the present, but
+he could no longer do so. Now he sat down on the earth he had brought, let
+his horse drag the cart after it, as it wandered in search of some green
+thing, and suffered a storm of futile indignation to darken his spirit.</p>
+<p>Blanchard&rsquo;s unseasoned mind had, in truth, scarcely reached the
+second milestone upon the road of man&rsquo;s experience. Some arrive early
+at the mental standpoint where the five senses meet and merge in that sixth
+or common sense, which may be defined as an integral of the others, and which
+is manifested by those who possess it in a just application of all the
+experience won from life. But of common sense Will had none. He could
+understand laziness and wickedness being made to suffer; he could read
+Nature&rsquo;s more self-evident lessons blazoned across every meadow,
+displayed in every living organism&mdash;that error is instantly punished,
+that poor food starves the best seed, that too much water is as bad as too
+little, that the race is to the strong, and so forth; but he could not
+understand why hard work should go unrewarded, why good intentions should
+breed bad results, why the effect of energy, self-denial, right ambitions,
+and other excellent qualities is governed by chance; why the prizes in the
+great lottery fall to the wise, not to the well-meaning. He knew himself for
+a hard worker and a man who accomplished, in all honesty, the best within his
+power. What his hand found to do he did with his might; and the fact that his
+head, as often as not, prompted his hand to the wrong thing escaped him. He
+regarded his life as exemplary, felt that he was doing all that might in
+reason be demanded, and confidently looked towards Providence to do the rest.
+To find Providence unwilling to help him brought a wave of riotous
+indignation through his mind on each occasion of making that discovery. These
+waves, sweeping at irregular intervals over Will, left the mark of their high
+tides, and his mind, now swinging like a pendulum before this last buffet
+dealt by Fate in semblance of the Duchy&rsquo;s man, plunged him into a huge
+discontent with all things. He was ripe for mischief and would have
+quarrelled with his shadow; but he did worse&mdash;he quarrelled with his
+mother.</p>
+<p>She visited him that afternoon, viewed his shattered scheme, and listened
+as Will poured the great outrage upon her ear. Coming up at his express
+invitation to learn the secret, which he had kept from her that her joy might
+be the greater, Mrs. Blanchard only arrived in time to see his
+disappointment. She knew the Duchy for a bad enemy, and perhaps at the bottom
+of her conservative heart felt no particular delight at the spectacle of
+Newtake enlarging its borders. She therefore held that everything was for the
+best, and counselled patience; whereupon her son, with a month&rsquo;s wasted
+toil staring him in the face, rebelled and took her unconcerned demeanour
+ill. Damaris also brought a letter from Phoebe, and this added fuel to the
+flame. Will dwelt upon his wife&rsquo;s absence bitterly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Job&rsquo;s self never suffered that, for I read &rsquo;bout what
+he went through awnly last night, for somethin&rsquo; to kill an hour in the
+evenin&rsquo;. An&rsquo; I won&rsquo;t suffer it. It&rsquo;s contrary to
+nature, an&rsquo; if Phoebe ban&rsquo;t here come winter I&rsquo;ll go down
+an&rsquo; bring her, willy-nilly.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Time&rsquo;ll pass soon enough, my son. Next summer will be here
+quick. Then her&rsquo;ll have grawin&rsquo; corn to look at and fine crops
+risin&rsquo;, an&rsquo; more things feedin&rsquo; on the Moor in sight of her
+eyes. You see, upland farms do look a little thin to them who have lived all
+their time in the fatness of the valleys.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If I was bidin&rsquo; in one of them stone roundy-poundies, with
+nothin&rsquo; but a dog-kennel for a home, she ought to be shoulder to
+shoulder wi&rsquo; me. Did you leave my faither cause other people
+didn&rsquo;t love un?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That was differ&rsquo;nt. Theer s Miller Lyddon. I could much wish
+you seed more of him an&rsquo; let un come by a better &rsquo;pinion of
+&rsquo;e. &rsquo;T s awnly worldly wisdom, true; but&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m sick to death o&rsquo; worldly wisdom! What&rsquo;s it
+done for me? I stand to work nine an&rsquo; ten hour a day, an&rsquo; not
+wi&rsquo;out my share o&rsquo; worldly wisdom, neither. Then I&rsquo;m played
+with an&rsquo; left to whistle, I ban&rsquo;t gwaine to think so much, I tell
+&rsquo;e. It awnly hurts a man&rsquo;s head, an&rsquo; keeps him wakin&rsquo;
+o&rsquo; nights. Life&rsquo;s guess-work, by the looks of it, an&rsquo; a
+fule&rsquo;s so like to draw a prize as the wisest.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s not the talk as&rsquo;ll make Newtake pay, Will. You
+&rsquo;m worse than poor Blee to Monks Barton. He&rsquo;s gwaine round
+givin&rsquo; out theer ban&rsquo;t no God &rsquo;t all, &rsquo;cause Mrs.
+Coomstock took auld Lezzard &rsquo;stead of him.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You may laugh if you like, mother. &rsquo;Tis the fashion to laugh
+at me seemin&rsquo;ly. But I doan&rsquo;t care. Awnly you&rsquo;ll be sorry
+some day, so sure as you sit in thicky chair. Now, as you&rsquo;ve
+nothin&rsquo; but blame, best to go back home. I&rsquo;ll put your pony in
+the shafts. &rsquo;Twas a pity you corned so far for so little.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He went off, his breast heaving, while the woman followed him with her
+eyes and smiled when he was out of sight. She knew him so well, and already
+pictured her repentant son next Sunday. Then Will would be at his
+mother&rsquo;s cottage, and cut the bit of beef at dinner, and fuss over her
+comfort according to his custom.</p>
+<p>She went into the farmyard and took the pony from him and led it back into
+the stall. Then she returned to him and put her arm through his and
+spoke.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Light your pipe, lovey, an&rsquo; walk a li&rsquo;l way along down
+to the stones on the hill, wheer you was born. Your auld mother wants to talk
+to &rsquo;e.&rdquo;</p>
+<h2><a id="II_X" name="II_X"></a>CHAPTER X<br />
+CONNECTING LINKS</h2>
+<p>Spaces of time extending over rather more than a year may now be dismissed
+in a chapter.</p>
+<p>Chris Blanchard, distracted between Will and her lover, stayed on at
+Newtake after the estrangement, with a hope that she might succeed in healing
+the breach between them; but her importunity failed of its good object, and
+there came an August night when she found her own position at her
+brother&rsquo;s farm grow no longer tenable.</p>
+<p>The blinds were up, and rays from the lamp shot a broad band of light into
+the farmyard, while now and again great white moths struck soft blows against
+the closed window, then vanished again into the night. Will smoked and Chris
+pleaded until a point, beyond which her brother&rsquo;s patience could not
+go, was reached. Irritation grew and grew before her ceaseless entreaty on
+Clement&rsquo;s behalf; for the thousandth time she begged him to write a
+letter of apology and explanation of the trouble bred by Sam Bonus; and he,
+suddenly rising, smashed down his clay pipe and swore by all his gods he
+would hear the name of Hicks mentioned in his house no more. Thus challenged
+to choose between her lover and her brother, the girl did not hesitate.
+Something of Will&rsquo;s own spirit informed her; she took him at his word
+and returned home next morning, leaving him to manage his own household
+affairs henceforth as best he might.</p>
+<p>Upon the way to Chagford Chris chanced to meet with Martin Grimbal, and,
+having long since accepted his offer of friendship, she did not hesitate to
+tell him of her present sorrow and invite his sympathy. From ignorance rather
+than selfishness did Chris take Martin literally when he had hoped in the
+past they might remain friends, and their intercourse was always maintained
+by her when chance put one in the other&rsquo;s way&mdash;at a cost to the
+man beyond her power to guess.</p>
+<p>Now he walked beside her, and she explained how only a word was wanting
+between Will and Clement which neither would speak. Hicks had forgiven Will,
+but he refused to visit Newtake until he received an apology from the master
+of it; and Blanchard bore no ill-will to Clement, but declined to apologise
+for the past. These facts Martin listened to, while the blood beat like a
+tide within his temples, and a mist dimmed his eyes as the girl laid her
+brown hand upon his arm now and again, to accentuate a point. At such moments
+the truth tightened upon his soul and much distressed him.</p>
+<p>The antiquary had abandoned any attempt to forget Chris, or cease from
+worshipping her with all his heart and soul; but the emotion now muzzled and
+chained out of sight he held of nobler composition than that earlier love
+which yearned for possession. Those dreary months that dragged between the
+present and his first disappointment had served as foundations for new
+developments of character in the man. He existed through a period of
+unutterable despair and loneliness; then the fruits of bygone battles fought
+and won came to his aid, and long-past years of self-denial and self-control
+fortified his spirit. The reasonableness of Martin Grimbal lifted him slowly
+but steadily from the ashes of disappointment; even his natural humility
+helped him, and he told himself he had no more than his desert. Presently,
+with efforts the very vigour of which served as tonic to character, he began
+to wrestle at the granite again and resume his archaeologic studies. Speaking
+in general terms, his mind was notably sweetened and widened by his
+experience; and, resulting from his own failure to reach happiness, there
+awoke in him a charity and sympathy for others, a fellow-feeling with
+humanity, remarkable in one whose enthusiasm for human nature was not large,
+whose ruling passion, until the circumstance of love tinctured it, had led
+him by ways which the bulk of men had pronounced arid and unsatisfying. Now
+this larger insight was making a finer character of him and planting, even at
+the core of his professional pursuits, something deeper than is generally to
+be found there. His experience, in fact, was telling upon his work, and he
+began slowly to combine with the labour of the yard-measure and the pencil,
+the spade and the camera, just thoughts on the subject of those human
+generations who ruled the Moor aforetime, who lived and loved and laboured
+there full many a day before Saxon keel first grated on British shingle.</p>
+<p>To Chris did Martin listen attentively. Until the present time he had
+taken Will&rsquo;s advice and made no offer of work to Clement; but now he
+determined to do so, although he knew this action must mean speedy marriage
+for Chris. Love, that often enough can shake a lifetime of morality, that can
+set ethics and right conduct and duty playing a devil&rsquo;s dance in the
+victim&rsquo;s soul, that can change the practised customs of a man&rsquo;s
+life and send cherished opinions, accepted beliefs, and approved dogmas
+spinning into chaos before its fiery onslaught&mdash;love did not thus
+overpower Martin Grimbal. His old-fashioned mind was no armour against it,
+and in that the passion proved true; religion appeared similarly powerless to
+influence him; yet now his extreme humility, his natural sense of justice and
+the dimensions of his passion itself combined to lead him by a lofty road.
+Chris desired another man, and Martin Grimbal, loving her to that point where
+her perfect happiness dominated and, indeed, became his own, determined that
+his love should bear fruit worthy of its object.</p>
+<p>This kindly design was frustrated, however, and the antiquary himself
+denied power to achieve the good action that he proposed, for on visiting
+Clement in person and inviting his aid in the clerical portions of a
+considerable work on moorland antiquities, the poet refused to assist.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You come too late,&rdquo; he said coldly. &ldquo;I would not help
+you now if I could, Martin Grimbal. Don&rsquo;t imagine pride or any such
+motive keeps me from doing so. The true reason you may guess.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Indeed! I can do nothing of the sort. What reason is there against
+your accepting an offer to do remunerative and intellectual work in your
+leisure hours&mdash;work that may last ten years for all I can see to the
+contrary?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The reason is that you invited another man&rsquo;s judgment upon
+me, instead of taking your own. Better follow Will Blanchard&rsquo;s advice
+still. Don&rsquo;t think I&rsquo;m blind. It is Chris who has made you do
+this.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;re a very difficult man to deal with, really. Consider my
+suggestion, Hicks, and all it might mean. I desire nothing but your
+welfare.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Which is only to say you are offering me charity.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Martin looked at the other quietly, then took his hat and departed. At the
+door he said a last word.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t want to think this is final. You would be very useful
+to me, or I should not have asked you to aid my labour. Let me hear from you
+within a week.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>But Clement was firm in his folly; while, although they met on more than
+one occasion, and John Grimbal repeated his offer of regular work, the
+bee-keeper refused that proposal, also. He made some small sums out of the
+Red House hives, but would not undertake any regular daily labour there.
+Clement&rsquo;s refusal of Martin resulted from his own weak pride and
+self-conscious stupidity; but a more subtle tangle of conflicting motives was
+responsible for his action in respect of the elder Grimbal&rsquo;s
+invitation. Some loyalty to the man whom he so cordially disliked still
+inhabited his mind, and with it a very considerable distrust of himself. He
+partly suspected the reason of John Grimbal&rsquo;s offer of work, and the
+possibility of sudden temptation provoking from him utterance of words best
+left unsaid could not be ignored after his former experience at the hiving of
+the swarm.</p>
+<p>So he went his way and told nobody&mdash;not even Chris&mdash;of these
+opportunities and his action concerning them. Such reticence made two women
+sad. Chris, after her conversation with Martin, doubted not but that he would
+make some effort, and, hearing nothing as time passed, assumed he had changed
+his mind; while Mrs. Hicks, who had greatly hoped that Clement&rsquo;s visit
+to the Red House might result in regular employment, felt disappointed when
+no such thing occurred.</p>
+<p>The union of Mr. Lezzard and Mrs. Coomstock was duly accomplished to a
+chorus of frantic expostulation on the part of those interested in the
+widow&rsquo;s fortune. Mr. Shorto-Champernowne, having convinced himself that
+the old woman was in earnest, could find no sufficient reason for doing
+otherwise than he was asked, and finally united the couple. To Newton Abbot
+they went for their honeymoon, and tribulation haunted them from the first.
+Mrs. Lezzard refused her husband permission to inquire any particulars of her
+affairs from her lawyer&mdash;a young man who had succeeded Mr. Joel
+Ford&mdash;while the Gaffer, on his side, parried all his lady&rsquo;s
+endeavours to learn more of the small fortune concerning which he had spoken
+not seldom before marriage. Presently they returned to Chagford, and life
+resolved itself into an unlovely thing for both of them. Time brought no
+better understanding or mutual confidence; on the contrary, they never ceased
+from wrangling over money and Mrs. Lezzard&rsquo;s increasing propensity
+towards drink. The old man suffered most, and as his alleged three hundred
+pounds did not appear, being, indeed, a mere lover&rsquo;s effort of
+imagination, his wife bitterly resented marriage under such false pretences,
+and was never weary of protesting. Of her own affairs she refused to tell her
+husband anything, but as Mr. Lezzard was found to possess no money at all, it
+became necessary to provide him with a bare competence for the credit of the
+family. He did his best to win a little more regard and consideration, in the
+hope that when his wife passed away the reward of devotion might be reaped;
+but she never forgave him, expressed the conviction that she would outlive
+him by many years, and exhausted her ingenuity to make the old man rue his
+bargain. Only one experience, and that repeated as surely as Mr. Blee met Mr.
+Lezzard, was more trying to the latter than all the accumulated misfortune of
+his sorry state&mdash;Gaffer&rsquo;s own miseries appeared absolutely trivial
+by comparison with Mr. Blee&rsquo;s comments upon them.</p>
+<p>With another year Blanchard and Hicks became in some sort reconciled,
+though the former friendship was never renewed. The winter proved a severe
+one, and Will experienced a steady drain on his capital, but he comforted
+himself in thoughts of the spring, watched his wheat dapple the dark ground
+with green, and also foretold exceptional crops of hay when summer should
+return. The great event of his wife&rsquo;s advent at Newtake occupied most
+of his reflections; while as for Phoebe herself the matter was never out of
+her mind. She lived for the day in June that should see her by her
+husband&rsquo;s side; but Miller Lyddon showed no knowledge of the
+significance of Phoebe&rsquo;s twenty-first birthday; and when Will brought
+up the matter, upon an occasion of meeting with his father-in-law, the miller
+deprecated any haste.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Time enough&mdash;time enough,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;You
+doan&rsquo;t want no wife to Newtake these years to come, while I <i>do</i>
+want a darter to home.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>So Phoebe, albeit the course of operations was fully planned, forbore to
+tell her father anything, and suffered the day to drift nearer and nearer
+without expressly indicating the event it was to witness.</p>
+<h2><a id="II_XI" name="II_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI<br />
+TOGETHER</h2>
+<p>Though not free from various temporal problems that daily demanded
+solution, Will very readily allowed his mind a holiday from all affairs of
+business during the fortnight that preceded his wife&rsquo;s arrival at
+Newtake. What whitewash could do was done; a carpet, long since purchased but
+not laid down till now, adorned the miniature parlour; while out of doors,
+becoming suddenly conscious that not a blossom would greet Phoebe&rsquo;s
+eyes, Will set about the manufacture of a flower-bed under the kitchen
+window, bound the plat with neat red tiles, and planted therein half a dozen
+larkspurs&mdash;Phoebe&rsquo;s favourite flower&mdash;with other happy
+beauties of early summer. The effort looked raw and unhappy, however, and as
+ill luck would have it, these various plants did not take kindly to their
+changed life, and greeted Phoebe with hanging heads.</p>
+<p>But the great morning came at last, and Will, rising, with the curious
+thought that he would never sleep in the middle of his bed again, donned his
+best dark-brown velveteens and a new pair of leathern gaiters, then walked
+out into the air, where Chown was milking the cows. The day dawned as
+brightly as the events it heralded, and Will, knowing that his mother and
+Chris would be early at Newtake, strolled out to meet them. Over against the
+farm rose moorland crowned by stone, and from off their granite couches grey
+mists blushing to red now rose with lazy deliberation and vanished under the
+sun&rsquo;s kiss. A vast, sweet, diamond-twinkling freshness filled the Moor;
+blue shadows lay in the dewy coombs, and sun-fires gleamed along the heather
+ridges. No heath-bell as yet had budded, but the flame of the whins splashed
+many undulations, and the tender foliage of the whortleberry, where it grew
+on exposed granite, was nearly scarlet and flashed jewel-bright in the rich
+texture of the waste. Will saw his cattle pass to their haunts, sniffed the
+savour of them on the wind, and enjoyed the thought of being their possessor;
+then his eyes turned to the valley and the road which wound upwards from it
+under great light. A speck at length appeared three parts of a mile distant
+and away started Blauchard, springing down the hillside to intercept it. His
+heart sang within him; here was a glorious day that could never come again,
+and he meant to live it gloriously.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Marnin&rsquo;, mother! Marnin&rsquo;, Chris! Let me get in between
+&rsquo;e. Breakfast will be most ready by time we&rsquo;m home. I knawed you
+d keep your word such a rare fashion day!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Will soon sat between the two women, while Mrs. Blanchard&rsquo;s pony
+regulated its own pace and three tongues chattered behind it. A dozen brown
+paper parcels occupied the body of the little cart, for Damaris had insisted
+that the wedding feast should be of her providing. It was proposed that Chris
+and her mother should spend the day at Newtake and depart after drinking tea;
+while Phoebe was to arrive in a fly at one o&rsquo;clock.</p>
+<p>After breakfast Chris busied herself indoors and occupied her quick
+fingers in putting a dozen finishing touches; while Mrs. Blanchard walked
+round the farm beside Will, viewed with outspoken approval or secret distrust
+those evidences of success and failure spread about her, and passed the
+abandoned attempt to reclaim land without a word or sign that she remembered.
+Will crowed like a happy child; his mother poured advice into his unheeding
+ears; and then a cart lumbered up with a great surprise in it. True to her
+intention Mrs. Blanchard had chosen the day of Phoebe &rsquo;s arrival to
+send the old piano to Newtake, and now it was triumphantly trundled into the
+parlour, while Will protested and admired. It added not a little to the solid
+splendour of the apartment, and Mrs. Blanchard viewed it with placid but
+genuine satisfaction. Its tarnished veneer and red face looked like an old
+honest friend, so Will declared, and he doubted not that his wife would
+rejoice as he did.</p>
+<p>Presently the cart destined to bring Phoebe&rsquo;s boxes started for
+Chagford under Ted Chown&rsquo;s direction. It was a new cart, and the owner
+hoped that sight of it, with &ldquo;William Blanchard, Newtake,&rdquo; nobly
+displayed on the tail-board, would please his father-in-law.</p>
+<p>Meantime, at Monks Barton the great day had likewise dawned, but Phoebe,
+from cowardice rather than philosophy, did not mention what was to happen
+until the appearance of Chown made it necessary to do so.</p>
+<p>Mr. Blee was the first to stand bewildered before Ted&rsquo;s blunt
+announcement that he had come for Mrs. Blanchard&rsquo;s luggage.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What luggage? What the douce be talkin&rsquo; &rsquo;bout?&rdquo;
+he asked.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why, everything, I s&rsquo;pose. She &rsquo;m comin&rsquo; home
+to-day&mdash;that&rsquo;s knawn, ban&rsquo;t it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Gormed if &rsquo;tis! Not by me, anyways&mdash;nor Miller,
+neither.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then Phoebe appeared and Billy heard the truth.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My! An&rsquo; to keep it that quiet! Theer&rsquo;ll be a tidy
+upstore when Miller comes to hear tell&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>But Mr. Lyddon was at the door and Phoebe answered his questioning
+eyes.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My birthday, dear faither. You must remember&mdash;why, you was the
+first to give me joy of it! Twenty-one to-day, an&rsquo; I must go&mdash;I
+must&mdash;&rsquo;tis my duty afore everything.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The old man&rsquo;s jaw fell and he looked the picture of sorrowful
+surprise.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But&mdash;but to spring it like this! Why to-day? Why to-day?
+It&rsquo;s madness and it&rsquo;s cruelty to fly from your home the first
+living moment you&rsquo;ve got the power. I&rsquo;d counted on a merry
+evenin,&rsquo; tu, an&rsquo; axed more &rsquo;n wan to drink your gude
+health.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Many&rsquo;s the merry evenings us&rsquo;ll have, dear faither,
+please God; but a husband&rsquo;s a husband. He&rsquo;ve been that wonnerful
+patient, tu, for such as him. &rsquo;T was my fault for not remindin&rsquo;
+you. An&rsquo; yet I did, now an&rsquo; again, but you wouldn&rsquo;t see it.
+Yet you knawed in your heart, an&rsquo; I didn&rsquo;t like to pain &rsquo;e
+dwellin&rsquo; on it overmuch.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How did I knaw? I didn&rsquo;t knaw nothin&rsquo; &rsquo;t all
+&rsquo;bout it. How should I? Me grawin&rsquo; aulder an&rsquo; aulder,
+an&rsquo; leanin&rsquo; more an&rsquo; more &rsquo;pon &rsquo;e at every
+turn. An&rsquo; him no friend to me&mdash;he &rsquo;s never sought to win
+me&mdash;he &rsquo;s&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Doan&rsquo;t &rsquo;e taake on &rsquo;bout Will, dearie;
+you&rsquo;ll come to knaw un better bimebye. I ban&rsquo;t gwaine so far
+arter all; an&rsquo; it&rsquo;s got to be.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then the miller worked himself into a passion, dared Chown to take his
+daughter&rsquo;s boxes, and made a scene very painful to witness and quite
+futile in its effect. Phoebe could be strong at times, and a life&rsquo;s
+knowledge of her father helped her now. She told Chown to get the boxes and
+bade Billy help him; she then followed Mr. Lyddon, who was rambling away,
+according to his custom at moments of great sorrow, to pour his troubles into
+any ear that would listen. She put her arm through his, drew him to the
+riverside and spoke words that showed she had developed mentally of late. She
+was a woman with her father, cooed pleasantly to him, foretold good things,
+and implored him to have greater care of his health and her love than to
+court illness by this display of passion. Such treatment had sufficed to calm
+the miller in many of his moods, for she possessed great power to soothe him,
+and Mr. Lyddon now set increased store upon his daughter&rsquo;s judgment;
+but to-day, before this dreadful calamity, every word and affectionate device
+was fruitless and only made the matter worse. He stormed on, and
+Phoebe&rsquo;s superior manner vanished as he did so, for she could only play
+such a part if quite unopposed in it. Now her father silenced her, frightened
+her, and dared her to leave him; but his tragic temper changed when they
+returned to the farm and he found his daughter&rsquo;s goods were really
+gone. Then the old man grew very silent, for the inexorable certainty of the
+thing about to happen was brought home to him at last.</p>
+<p>Before a closed hackney carriage from the hotel arrived to carry Phoebe to
+Newtake, Miller Lyddon passed through a variety of moods, and another
+outburst succeeded his sentimental silence. When the vehicle was at the gate,
+however, his daughter found tears in his eyes upon entering the kitchen
+suddenly to wish him &ldquo;good-by.&rdquo; But he brushed them away at sight
+of her, and spoke roughly and told her to be gone and find the difference
+between a good father and a bad husband.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Go to the misery of your awn choosin&rsquo;; go to him an&rsquo;
+the rubbish-heap he calls a farm! Thankless an&rsquo;
+ontrue,&mdash;go,&mdash;an&rsquo; look to me in the future to keep you out of
+the poorhouse and no more. An&rsquo; that for your mother&rsquo;s
+sake&mdash;not yourn.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, Faither!&rdquo; she cried, &ldquo;doan&rsquo;t let them be the
+last words I hear &rsquo;pon your lips. &rsquo;T is cruel, for sure
+I&rsquo;ve been a gude darter to &rsquo;e, or tried to
+be&mdash;an&rsquo;&mdash;an&rsquo;&mdash;please, dear faither, just say you
+wish us well&mdash;me an&rsquo; my husband. Please say that much. I
+doan&rsquo;t ax more.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>But he rose and left her without any answer. It was then Phoebe&rsquo;s
+turn to weep, and blinded with tears she slipped and hurt her knee getting
+into the coach. Billy thereupon offered his aid, helped her, handed her
+little white fox terrier m after her, and saw that the door was properly
+closed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Be o&rsquo; good cheer,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;though I
+caan&rsquo;t offer &rsquo;e much prospects of easy life in double harness
+wi&rsquo; Will Blanchard. But, as I used to say in my church-gwaine days,
+&lsquo;God tempers the wind to the shorn lamb.&rsquo; Be it as &rsquo;twill,
+I dare say theer &rsquo;s many peaceful years o&rsquo; calm,
+black-wearin&rsquo; widowhood afore &rsquo;e yet, for chaps like him do
+shorten theer days a deal by such a tearin&rsquo;, high-coloured, passionate
+way of life.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Mr. Blee opened the gate, the maids waved their handkerchiefs and wept,
+and not far distant, as he heard the vehicle containing his daughter depart,
+Mr. Lyddon would have given half that he had to recall the spoken word.
+Phoebe once gone, his anger vanished and his love for her won on him like
+sunshine after storm. Angry, indeed, he still was, but with himself.</p>
+<p>For Phoebe, curiosity and love dried her tears as she passed upward
+towards the Moor. Then, the wild land reached, she put her head out of the
+window and saw Newtake beech trees in the distance. Already the foliage of
+them seemed a little tattered and thin, and their meagreness of vesture and
+solitary appearance depressed the spectator again before she arrived at
+them.</p>
+<p>But the gate, thrown widely open, was reached at last, and there stood
+Will and Mrs. Blanchard, Chris, Ted Chown, and the great bobtailed sheep-dog,
+&ldquo;Ship,&rdquo; to welcome her. With much emotion poor Phoebe alighted,
+tottered and fell into the bear-hug of her husband, while the women also
+kissed her and murmured over her in their sweet, broad Devon tongue. Then
+something made Will laugh, and his merriment struck the right note; but Ship
+fell foul of Phoebe&rsquo;s little terrier and there was a growl, then a yelp
+and a scuffling, dusty battle amid frightened fowls, whose protests added to
+the tumult. Upon this conflict descended Will&rsquo;s sapling with sounding
+thuds administered impartially, and from the skirmish the smaller beast
+emerged lame and crying, while the sheep-dog licked the blood off his nose
+and went to heel with a red light glimmering through his pale blue eyes.</p>
+<p>Happiness returned indoors and Phoebe, all blushes and praises, inspected
+her new home and the preparations made within it for her pleasure. Perhaps
+she simulated more joy than the moment brought, for such a day, dreamed of
+through years, was sure in its realisation to prove something of an
+anti-climax after the cruel nature of all such events. Despite Chris and her
+ceaseless efforts to keep joy at the flood, a listlessness stole over the
+little party as the day wore on. Phoebe found her voice not to be relied upon
+and felt herself drifting into that state between laughter and tears which
+craves solitude for its exhibition. The cows came home to be milked, and
+there seemed but few of them after the great procession at Monks Barton. Yet
+Will demanded her separate praises for each beast. In the little garden he
+had made, budding flowers, untimely transplanted, hung their heads. But she
+admired with extravagant adjectives, and picked a blossom and set it in her
+dress. Anon the sun set, with no soft lights and shadows amidst the valley
+trees she knew, when sunset and twilight played hide-and-seek beside the
+river, but slowly, solemnly, in hard, clean, illimitable glory upon horizons
+of granite and heather. The peat glowed as though it were red-hot, and night
+brooded on the eastern face of every hill. Only a jangling bell broke the
+startling stillness then, and, through long weeks afterwards the girl yearned
+for the song of the river, as one who has long slept by another&rsquo;s side
+sadly yearns for the sound of their breathing by night, when they are taken
+away. Phoebe had little imagination, but she guessed already that the life
+before her must differ widely from that spent under her father&rsquo;s roof.
+Despite the sunshine of the time and the real joy of being united to her
+husband at last, she saw on every side more evidences of practical life than
+she had before anticipated. But these braced her rather than not, and she
+told herself truly that the sadness at bottom of her heart just then was
+wholly begotten of the past and her departure from home. Deep unrest came
+upon her as she walked with her husband and listened to his glad voice. She
+longed greatly to be alone with him that her heart might be relieved. She
+wanted his arms round her; she wanted to cry and let him kiss the tears
+away.</p>
+<p>Damaris Blanchard very fully understood much that was passing through her
+daugher-in-law&rsquo;s mind, and she hastened her departure after an early
+cup of tea. She took a last look at all the good things she had provided for
+the wedding supper&mdash;a meal she declared must not be shared with Will and
+Phoebe&mdash;and so made ready to depart. It was then her turn, and her bosom
+throbbed with just one dumb, fleeting shadow of fear that found words before
+her second thought had time to suppress them.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You won&rsquo;t love me no less, eh, Will?&rdquo; she whispered,
+holding his hand between hers; and he saw her grey eyes almost frightened in
+the gloaming.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My God, no! No, mother; a man must have a dirty li&rsquo;l heart in
+un if it ban&rsquo;t big enough to hold mother an&rsquo; wife.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She gripped his hand tighter.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess fay, I knaw, I knaw; but doan&rsquo;t &rsquo;e put your mother
+first now,&mdash;ban&rsquo;t nature. God bless an&rsquo; keep the both of
+&rsquo;e. &rsquo;Twill allus be my prayer.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The cart rattled away, Chris driving, and such silence as Phoebe had never
+known held the darkening land. She noted a yellow star against the sombre
+ridge of the world, felt Will&rsquo;s arm round her and turned to him,
+seeking that comfort and support her nature cried out for.</p>
+<p>Infinitely tender and loving was her husband then, and jubilant, too, at
+first; but a little later, when Chown had been packed off to his own
+apartment, with not a few delicacies he had never bargained for, the
+conversation flagged and the banquet also.</p>
+<p>The table was laden with two capons, a ham, a great sugared cake, a whole
+Dutch cheese, an old-fashioned cut-glass decanter containing brown sherry,
+and two green wine-glasses for its reception; yet these luxuries tempted
+neither husband nor wife to much enjoyment of them. Indeed Phoebe&rsquo;s
+obvious lowness of spirits presently found its echo in Will. The silences
+grew longer and longer; then the husband set down his knife and fork, and
+leaving the head of the table went round to his wife&rsquo;s side and took
+her hand and squeezed it, but did not speak. She turned to him and he saw her
+shut her eyes and give a little shiver. Then a tear flashed upon her lashes
+and twinkled boldly down, followed by another.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Phoebe! My awn li&rsquo;l wummon! This be a wisht
+home-comin&rsquo;! What the plague&rsquo;s the matter wi&rsquo;
+us?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Doan&rsquo;t &rsquo;e mind, dear heart. I&rsquo;m happy as a bird
+under these silly tears. But &rsquo;twas the leavin&rsquo; o&rsquo; faither,
+an&rsquo; him so hard, an&rsquo; me lovin&rsquo; him so dear,
+an&rsquo;&mdash;an&rsquo;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Doan&rsquo;t &rsquo;e break your heart &rsquo;bout him. He&rsquo;ll
+come round right enough. &rsquo;Twas awnly the pang o&rsquo; your gwaine
+away, like the drawin&rsquo; of a tooth.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Everybody else in the world knaws I ought to be here,&rdquo; sobbed
+Phoebe, &ldquo;but faither, he won&rsquo;t see it. An&rsquo; I caan&rsquo;t
+get un out of my mind to-night, sitting that mournfui an&rsquo; desolate,
+wi&rsquo; his ear deaf to Billy&rsquo;s noise an&rsquo; his thoughts up
+here.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If he won&rsquo;t onderstand the ways of marriage, blessed if I see
+how we can make him. Surely to God, &rsquo;twas time I had my awn?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess, dear Will, but coming to-day, &rsquo;pon top of my gert joy,
+faither&rsquo;s sorrow seemed so terrible-like.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;ll get awver it, an&rsquo; so will you, bless you. Drink
+up some of this braave stuff mother left. Sherry &rsquo;t is, real wine, as
+will comfort &rsquo;e, my li&rsquo;l love. &rsquo;Tis I be gwaine to make
+your happiness henceforward, mind; an&rsquo; as for Miller, he belongs to an
+auld-fashioned generation of mankind, and it&rsquo;s our place to make
+allowances. Auld folk doan&rsquo;t knaw an&rsquo; won&rsquo;t larn. But
+he&rsquo;ll come to knaw wan solid thing, if no more; an&rsquo; that is as
+his darter&rsquo;ll have so gude a husband as she&rsquo;ve got faither,
+though I sez it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis just what he said I shouldn&rsquo;t, Will.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Nevermind, forgive un, an&rsquo; drink up your wine; &rsquo;twill
+hearten &rsquo;e.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>A dog barked, a gate clinked, and there came the sound of a horse&rsquo;s
+hoofs, then of a man dismounting.</p>
+<p>Will told the rest of the story afterwards to Mrs. Blanchard.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;&rsquo;Tis faither,&rsquo; cries Phoebe, an&rsquo; turns so
+pale as a whitewashed wall in moonlight. &lsquo;Never!&rsquo; I sez. But she
+knawed the step of un, an&rsquo; twinkled up from off her chair, an&rsquo;
+&rsquo;fore ever the auld man reached the door, &rsquo;t was awpen. In he
+comed, like a lamb o&rsquo; gentleness, an&rsquo; said never a word for a
+bit, then fetched out a little purse wi&rsquo; twenty gawld sovereigns in it.
+An&rsquo; us all had some fine talk for more&rsquo;n an hour, an&rsquo; he
+was proper faither to me, if you&rsquo;ll credit it; an&rsquo; he drinked a
+glass o&rsquo; your wine, mother, an&rsquo; said he never tasted none better
+and not much so gude. Then us seed un off, an&rsquo; Phoebe cried again, poor
+twoad, but for sheer happiness this time. So now the future&rsquo;s clear as
+sunlight, an&rsquo; we&rsquo;m all friends&mdash;&rsquo;cept here an&rsquo;
+theer.&rdquo;</p>
+<h2><a id="II_XII" name="II_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII<br />
+THROUGH ONE GREAT DAY</h2>
+<p>Just within the woods of Teign Valley, at a point not far distant from
+that where Will Blanchard met John Grimbal for the first time, and wrestled
+with him beside the river, there rises a tall bank, covered with fern,
+shadowed by oak trees. A mossy bridle-path winds below, while beyond it, seen
+through a screen of wych-elms and hazel, extend the outlying meadows of Monks
+Barton.</p>
+<p>Upon this bank, making &ldquo;sunshine in a shady place,&rdquo; reclined
+Chris, beneath a harmony of many greens, where the single, double, and triple
+shadows of the manifold leaves above her created a complex play of light and
+shade all splashed and gemmed with little sun discs. Drowsy noon-day peace
+marked the hour; Chris had some work in her hand, but was not engaged upon
+it; and Clement, who lolled beside her, likewise did nothing. His eyes were
+upon a mare and foal in the meadow below. The matron proceeded slowly,
+grazing as she went, while her lanky youngster nibbled at this or that
+inviting tuft, then raced joyously in wide circles and, returning, sought his
+mother&rsquo;s milk with the selfish roughness of youth.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Happy as birds, they be,&rdquo; said Chris, referring to the young
+pair at Newtake. &ldquo;It do make me long for us to be man an&rsquo; wife,
+Clem, when I see &rsquo;em.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We&rsquo;re that now, save for the hocus-pocus of the parsons you
+set such store by.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, I&rsquo;ll never believe it makes no difference.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A cumbrous, stupid, human contrivance like marriage! Was ever man
+and woman happier for being bound that way? Can free things feel their hearts
+beat closer because they are chained to one another by an effete
+dogma?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I doan&rsquo;t onderstand all that talk, sweetheart, an&rsquo; you
+knaw I don&rsquo;t; but till some wise body invents a better-fashion way of
+joining man an&rsquo; maid than marriage, us must taake it as
+&rsquo;tis.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;There is a better way&mdash;Nature&rsquo;s.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She shook her head.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If us could dwell in a hole at a tree-root, an&rsquo; eat roots
+an&rsquo; berries; but we&rsquo;m thinking creatures in a Christian
+land.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She stretched herself out comfortably and smiled up at him where he sat
+with his chin in his hands. Then, looking down, he saw the delicious outline
+of her and his eyes grew hot.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;God&rsquo;s love! How long must it be?&rdquo; he cried; then,
+before she could speak, he clipped her passionately to him and hugged her
+closely.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Dearie, you&rsquo;m squeezin&rsquo; my breath out o&rsquo;
+me!&rdquo; cried Chris, well used to these sudden storms and not averse to
+them. &ldquo;We must bide patient an&rsquo; hold in our hearts,&rdquo; she
+said, lying in his arms with her face close to his. &ldquo;&rsquo;Twill be
+all the more butivul when we&rsquo;m mated. Ess fay! I love &rsquo;e allus,
+but I love &rsquo;e better in this fiery mood than on the ice-cold days when
+you won&rsquo;t so much as hold my hand.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The cold mood&rsquo;s the better notwithstanding, and colder yet
+would be better yet, and clay-cold best of all.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>But he held her still, and pressed his beard against her brown neck. Then
+the sound of a trotting horse reached his ears, he started up, looked below,
+and saw John Grimbal passing by. Their eyes met, for the horseman chanced to
+glance up as Clement thrust his head above the fern; but Chris was invisible
+and remained so.</p>
+<p>Grimbal stopped and greeted the bee-keeper.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Have you forgotten your undertaking to see my hives once a
+month?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, I meant coming next week.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, as it happens I want to speak with you, and the present
+time&rsquo;s as good as another. I suppose you were only lying there
+dreaming?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s all. I&rsquo;ll come and walk along beside your
+horse.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He squeezed his sweetheart&rsquo;s hand, whispered a promise to return
+immediately, then rose and stumbled down the bank, leaving Chris throned
+aloft in the fern. For a considerable time John Grimbal said nothing, then he
+began suddenly,&mdash;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I suppose you know the Applebirds are leaving my farm?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, Mrs. Applebird told my mother. Going to
+Sticklepath.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not easy to get a tenant to take their place.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Is it not? Such a farm as yours? I should have thought there need
+be no difficulty.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;There are tenants and tenants. How would you like it&mdash;you and
+your mother? Then you could marry and be comfortable. No doubt Chris
+Blanchard would make a splendid farmer&rsquo;s wife.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It would be like walking into paradise for me;
+but&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The rent needn&rsquo;t bother you. My first care is a good tenant.
+Besides, rent may take other shapes than pounds, shillings, and
+pence.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Hicks started.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I see,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;you can&rsquo;t forget the chance
+word I spoke in anger so long ago.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I can&rsquo;t, because it happened to be just the word I wanted to
+hear. My quarrel with Will Blanchard&rsquo;s no business of yours. The
+man&rsquo;s your enemy too; and you&rsquo;re a fool to stand in your own
+light, You know something that I don&rsquo;t know, concerning those weeks
+during which he disappeared. Well, tell me. You can only live your life once.
+Why let it run to rot when the Red House Farm wants a tenant? A man you
+despise, too.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No. I promised. Besides, you wouldn&rsquo;t be contented with the
+knowledge; you&rsquo;d act on it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Grimbal showed a lightning-quick perception of this admission; and Hicks,
+too late, saw that the other had realised its force. Then he made an effort
+to modify his assertion.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;When I say &lsquo;you&rsquo;d act on it,&rsquo; I mean that you
+might try to, though I much doubt really if anything I could tell you would
+damage Blanchard.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If you think that, then there can be no conscientious objection to
+telling me. Besides, I don&rsquo;t say I should act on the knowledge. I
+don&rsquo;t say I shall or I shall not. All you ve got to do is to say
+whether you&rsquo;ll take the Red House Farm at a nominal rent from
+Michaelmas.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, man, no. You&rsquo;ve met me in a bad moment, too, if you only
+knew. But think of it&mdash;brother and sister; and I, in order to marry the
+woman, betray the man. That&rsquo;s what it comes to. Such things don&rsquo;t
+happen.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You re speaking plainly, at any rate. We ought to understand each
+other to-day, if ever. I&rsquo;ll make you the same offer for less return.
+Tell me where he was during those weeks&mdash;that&rsquo;s all. You
+needn&rsquo;t tell what he was doing.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If you knew one, you&rsquo;d find out the other. Once and for all,
+I&rsquo;ll tell you nothing. By an accidental question you discovered that I
+knew something. That was not my fault. But more you never will know from
+me&mdash;farm or no farm.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;re a fool for your pains. And the end will be the same.
+The information must reach me. You&rsquo;re a coward at heart, for it&rsquo;s
+fear, not any tomfoolery of morals, that keeps your mouth shut. Don&rsquo;t
+deceive yourself. I&rsquo;ve often talked with you before to-day, and I know
+you think as I do.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What&rsquo;s that to do with it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Everything. &lsquo;Good&rsquo; and &lsquo;evil&rsquo; are only two
+words, and what is man&rsquo;s good and what is man&rsquo;s evil takes
+something cleverer than man to know. It&rsquo;s no nonsense of
+&lsquo;right&rsquo; and &lsquo;wrong&rsquo; that&rsquo;s keeping you from a
+happy home and a wife. What is it then?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Hicks was silent a moment, then made answer.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know. I don&rsquo;t know any more than you do.
+Something has come over me; I can&rsquo;t tell you what. I&rsquo;m more
+surprised than you are at my silence; but there it is. Why the devil I
+don&rsquo;t speak I don&rsquo;t know. I only know I&rsquo;m not going to. Our
+characters are beyond our own power to understand.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If you don&rsquo;t know, I&rsquo;ll tell you. You&rsquo;re
+frightened that he will find out. You&rsquo;re afraid of him.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s vain trying to anger me into speaking,&rdquo; answered
+the other, showing not a little anger the while; &ldquo;I&rsquo;m dumb
+henceforward.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I hope you&rsquo;ll let your brain influence you towards reason.
+&rsquo;Tis a fool&rsquo;s trick to turn your back on the chance of a
+lifetime. Better think twice. And second thoughts are like to prove best
+worth following. You know where to find me at any rate. I&rsquo;ll give you
+six weeks to decide about it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>John Grimbal waited, hoping that Hicks might yet change his mind before he
+took his leave; but the bee-keeper made no answer. His companion therefore
+broke into a sharp trot and left him. Whereupon Clement stood still a moment,
+then he turned back and, forgetting all about Chris, proceeded slowly
+homewards to Chagford, deep in thought and heartily astonished at himself. No
+one could have prompted his enemy to a more critical moment for this great
+attack; no demon could have sent the master of the Red House with a more
+tempting proposal; and yet Hicks found himself resisting the lure without any
+particular effort or struggle. On the one side this man had offered him all
+the things his blood and brain craved; on the other his life still stretched
+drearily forward, and nothing in it indicated he was nearer his ambition by a
+hair&rsquo;s-breadth than a year before. Yet he refused to pay the price. It
+amazed him to find his determination so fixed against betrayal of Will. He
+honestly wondered at himself. The decision was bred from a curious condition
+of mind quite beyond his power to comprehend. He certainly recoiled from
+exposure of Blanchard&rsquo;s secret, yet coldly asked himself what
+unsuspected strand of character held him back. It was not fear and it was not
+regard for his sweetheart&rsquo;s brother; he did not know what it was. He
+scoffed at the ideas of honour or conscience. These abstractions had
+possessed weight in earlier years, but not now. And yet, while he assured
+himself that no tie of temporal or eternal interest kept him silent, the
+temptation to tell seemed much less on this occasion than in the past when he
+took a swarm of John Grimbal&rsquo;s bees. Then, indeed, his mind was aflame
+with bitter provocation. He affected a cynical attitude to the position and
+laughed without mirth at a theory that suddenly appeared in his mind.
+Perchance this steadfastness of purpose resulted, after all, from that
+artificial thing, &ldquo;conscience,&rdquo; which men catch at the
+impressionable age when they have infantile ailments and pray at a
+mother&rsquo;s knee. If so, surely reason must banish such folly before
+another dawn and send him hot-foot at daybreak to the Red House. He would
+wait and watch himself and see.</p>
+<p>His reflections were here cut short, for a shrill voice broke in upon
+them, and Clement, now within a hundred yards of his own cottage door, saw
+Mr. Lezzard before him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;At last I&rsquo;ve found &rsquo;e! Been huntin&rsquo; this longful
+time, tu. The Missis wants &rsquo;e&mdash;your aunt I should say.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Wants me?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess. &rsquo;T is wan o&rsquo; her bad days, wi&rsquo; her liver
+an&rsquo; lights a bitin&rsquo; at her like savage creatures. She&rsquo;m set
+on seein&rsquo; you, an&rsquo; if I go home-along without &rsquo;e,
+she&rsquo;ll awnly cuss.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What can she want me for?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She &rsquo;s sick &rsquo;n&rsquo; taken a turn for the wuss, last
+few days. Doctor Parsons doan&rsquo;t reckon she can hold out much longer.
+&rsquo;Tis the drink&mdash;she&rsquo;m soaked in it, like a
+sponge.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll come,&rdquo; said Hicks, and half an hour later he
+approached his aunt&rsquo;s dwelling and entered it.</p>
+<p>Mrs. Lezzard was now sunk into a condition of chronic crapulence which
+could only end in one way. Her husband had been ordered again and again to
+keep all liquor from her, but, truth to tell, he made no very sustained
+effort to do so. The old man was sufficiently oppressed by his own physical
+troubles, and as the only happiness earth now held for him must depend on the
+departure of his wife, he watched her drinking herself to death without
+concern and even smiled in secret at the possibility of some happy, quiet,
+and affluent years when she was gone.</p>
+<p>Mrs. Lezzard lay on the sofa in her parlour, and a great peony-coloured
+face with coal-black eyes in it greeted Clement. She gave him her hand and
+bid her husband be gone. Then, when Gaffer had vanished, his wife turned to
+her nephew.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve sent for you, Clem Hicks, for more reasons than wan. I
+be gwaine down the hill fast, along o&rsquo; marryin&rsquo; this cursed
+mommet<a id="footnotetag12" name="footnotetag12"></a><a href=
+"#footnote12"><sup>12</sup></a> of a man, Lezzard. He lied about his
+money&mdash;him a pauper all the time; and now he waits and watches me
+o&rsquo; nights, when he thinks I&rsquo;m drunk or dreamin&rsquo; an&rsquo; I
+ban&rsquo;t neither. He watches, wi&rsquo; his auld, mangy poll
+shakin&rsquo;, an&rsquo; the night-lamp flingin&rsquo; the black shadow of un
+&rsquo;gainst the bed curtain an&rsquo; shawin&rsquo; wheer his wan front
+tooth sticks up like a yellow stone in a charred field. Blast un to hell!
+He&rsquo;m waitin&rsquo; for my money, an&rsquo; I&rsquo;ve told un
+he&rsquo;s to have it. But &rsquo;twas only to make the sting bite deeper
+when the time comes. Not a penny&mdash;not a farthing&mdash;him or any of
+&rsquo;em.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t get angry with him. He&rsquo;s not worth it. Tell me if
+I can help you and how. You&rsquo;ll be up and about again soon, I
+hope.&rdquo; &ldquo;Never. Not me. Doctor Parsons be to blame. I hate that
+man. He knawed it was weakness of heart that called for drink after
+Coonistock died; an&rsquo; he let me go on an&rsquo; on&mdash;just to gain
+his own dark ends. You&rsquo;ll see, you&rsquo;ll see. But that reminds me.
+Of all my relations you an&rsquo; your mother&rsquo;s all I care for; because
+you&rsquo;m of my awn blood an&rsquo; you&rsquo;ve let me bide, an&rsquo;
+haven&rsquo;t been allus watchin&rsquo; an&rsquo; waitin&rsquo; an&rsquo;
+divin&rsquo; me to the bottle. An&rsquo; the man I was fule enough to take in
+his dotage be worst of all.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Forget about these things. Anger&rsquo;s bad for you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Forget! Well, so I will forget, when I ve told &rsquo;e. I had the
+young man what does my business, since old Ford died, awver here last week,
+an&rsquo; what there is will be yourn&mdash;every stiver yourn. Not the
+business, of course; that was sold when Coonistock died; but what I could
+leave I have. You expected nothin,&rsquo; an&rsquo; by God! you shall have
+all!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She saw his face and hastened to lessen the force of the announcement in
+some degree.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ban&rsquo;t much, mind, far less than you might think for&mdash;far
+less. Theer&rsquo;s things I was driven to do&mdash;a lone woman wi&rsquo;out
+a soul to care. An&rsquo; wan was&mdash;but you&rsquo;ll hear in gude time,
+you&rsquo;ll hear. It concerns Doctor Parsons.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I can&rsquo;t believe my senses. If you only knew what happened to
+me this morning. And if you only knew what absolute paupers we
+are&mdash;mother and I. Not that I would confess it to any living soul but
+you. And how can I thank you? Words are such vain things.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ban&rsquo;t no call to thank me. &rsquo;Tis more from hatred of
+t&rsquo; others than love of you, when all&rsquo;s said. An&rsquo; it
+ban&rsquo;t no gert gold mine. But I&rsquo;d like to be laid along wi&rsquo;
+Coomstock; an&rsquo; doan&rsquo;t, for God&rsquo;s love, bury Lezzard
+wi&rsquo; me; an&rsquo; I want them words on auld George Mundy&rsquo;s graave
+set &rsquo;pon mine&mdash;not just writ, but cut in a slate or some such
+lasting thing. &rsquo;Tis a tidy tomb he&rsquo;ve got, wi&rsquo; a cherub
+angel, an&rsquo; I&rsquo;d like the same. You&rsquo;ll find a copy o&rsquo;
+the words in the desk there. My maid took it down last Sunday. I minded the
+general meaning, but couldn&rsquo;t call home the rhymes. Read it out, will
+&rsquo;e?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Clement opened the desk, and found and read the paper. It contained a
+verse not uncommon upon the tombstones of the last rural generation in
+Devon:</p>
+<p class="poem">&ldquo;Ye standers-by, the thread is spun;<br />
+All pomp and pride I e&rsquo;er did shun;<br />
+Rich and poor alike must die;<br />
+Peasants and kings in dust must lie;<br />
+The best physicians cannot save<br />
+Themselves or patients from the Grave.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Them&rsquo;s the words, an&rsquo; I&rsquo;ve chose &rsquo;em so as
+Doctor Parsons shall have a smack in the faace when I&rsquo;m gone. Not that
+he&rsquo;s wan o&rsquo; the &rsquo;best physicians&rsquo; by a mighty long
+way; but he&rsquo;ll knaw I was thinking of him, an&rsquo; gnash his teeth, I
+hope, every time he sees the stone. I owe him that&mdash;an&rsquo; more
+&rsquo;n that, as you&rsquo;ll see when I&rsquo;m gone.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You mustn&rsquo;t talk of going, aunt&mdash;not for many a day.
+You&rsquo;re a young woman for these parts. You must take
+care&mdash;that&rsquo;s all.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>But he saw death in her face while he spoke, and could scarcely hide the
+frantic jubilation her promise had awakened in him. The news swept him along
+on a flood of novel thoughts. Coming as it did immediately upon his refusal
+to betray Will Blanchard, the circumstance looked, even in the eyes of Hicks,
+like a reward, an interposition of Providence on his behalf. He doubted not
+but that the bulk of mankind would so regard it. There arose within him
+old-fashioned ideas concerning right and wrong&mdash;clear notions that
+brought a current of air through his mind and blew away much rotting foliage
+and evil fruit. This sun-dawn of prosperity transformed the man for a moment,
+even awoke some just ethical thoughts in him.</p>
+<p>His reverie was interrupted, for, on the way from Mrs. Lezzard&rsquo;s
+home, Clement met Doctor Parsons himself and asked concerning his
+aunt&rsquo;s true condition.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She gave you the facts as they are,&rdquo; declared the medical
+man. &ldquo;Nothing can save her. She&rsquo;s had <i>delirium tremens</i>
+Lord knows how often. A fortnight to a month&mdash;that&rsquo;s all. Nature
+loves these forlorn hopes and tinkers away at them in a manner that often
+causes me to rub my eyes. But you can&rsquo;t make bricks without straw.
+Nature will find the game &rsquo;s up in a few days; then she&rsquo;ll waste
+no more time, and your aunt will be gone.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Home went Clement Hicks, placed his mother in a whirl of mental rejoicing
+at this tremendous news, then set out for Chris. Their compact of the
+morning&mdash;that she should await his return in the woods&mdash;he quite
+forgot; but Mrs. Blanchard reminded him and added that Chris had returned in
+no very good humour, then trudged up to Newtake to see Phoebe. Cool and calm
+the widow stood before Clement&rsquo;s announcement, expressed her
+gratification, and gave him joy of the promised change in his life.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Glad enough am I to hear tell of this. But you&rsquo;ll act
+just&mdash;eh? You won&rsquo;t forget that poor auld blid, Lezzard? If
+she&rsquo;m gwaine to leave un out the account altogether, he&rsquo;ll be
+worse off than the foxes. His son&rsquo;s gone to foreign paarts an&rsquo;
+his darter&rsquo;s lyin&rsquo;-in&mdash;not that her husband would spare a
+crust o&rsquo; bread for auld Lezzard, best o&rsquo; times.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Trust me to do what&rsquo;s right. Now I&rsquo;ll go and see after
+Chris.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; make it up with Will while sun shines on &rsquo;e.
+It&rsquo;s so easy, come gude fortune, to feel your heart swellin&rsquo; out
+to others.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We are good friends now.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Do&rsquo;e think I doan&rsquo;t knaw better? Your quarrel&rsquo;s
+patched for the sake of us women. Have a real make-up, I mean.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I will, then. I&rsquo;ll be what I was to him, if he&rsquo;ll let
+me. I&rsquo;ll forgive everything that&rsquo;s past&mdash;everything and
+every body.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So do. An&rsquo; doan&rsquo;t &rsquo;e tell no more of them hard
+sayings &rsquo;gainst powers an&rsquo; principalities an&rsquo; Providence.
+Us be all looked arter, &rsquo;cording to the unknawn planning of God.
+How&rsquo;s Mrs. Lezzard?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She&rsquo;ll be dead in a fortnight&mdash;perhaps less. As likely
+as not I might marry Chris before the next new moon.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Doan&rsquo;t think &rsquo;pon that yet. Be cool, an&rsquo; keep
+your heart in bounds. &rsquo;T is allus the way wi&rsquo; such as you, who
+never hope nothing. Theer comes a matter as takes &rsquo;em out of
+themselves, then they get drunk with hope, all of a sudden, an&rsquo; flies
+higher than the most sanguine folks, an&rsquo; builds castles &rsquo;pon
+clouds. Theer&rsquo;s the diggin&rsquo; of a graave between you and Chris
+yet. Doan&rsquo;t forget that.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You can&rsquo;t evade solid facts.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, but solid facts, seen close, often put on a differ&rsquo;nt
+faace to what they did far-ways off.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You won&rsquo;t dishearten me, mother; I&rsquo;m a happy man for
+once.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Be you? God forbid I should cloud &rsquo;e then; awnly keep wise as
+well as happy, an&rsquo; doan&rsquo;t fill Chris with tu gert a shaw of pomps
+an&rsquo; splendours. Put it away till it comes. Our dreams &rsquo;bout the
+future &rsquo;s allus a long sight better or worse than the future
+itself.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t forbid dreaming. That&rsquo;s the sole happiness
+I&rsquo;ve ever had until now.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Happiness, you call it? &rsquo;T is awnly a painted tinsel o&rsquo;
+the mind, and coming from it into reality is like waking arter tu much drink.
+So I&rsquo;ve heard my husband say scores o&rsquo; times&mdash;him
+bein&rsquo; a man much given to overhopefulness in his younger
+days&mdash;same as Will is now.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Clement departed, and presently found himself with the cooler breezes of
+the high lands upon his hot forehead. They put him in mind of Mrs. Blanchard
+again, and their tendency, as hers had been, was to moderate his ardour; but
+that seemed impossible just now. Magnificent sunshine spread over the great
+wastes of the Moor; and through it, long before he reached Newtake, Clement
+saw his sweetheart returning. For a little time he seemed intoxicated and no
+longer his own master. The fires of the morning woke in him again at sight of
+her. They met and kissed, and he promised her some terrific news, but did not
+tell it then. He lived in the butterfly fever of the moment, and presently
+imparted the fever to her. They left the road and got away into the lonely
+heather; then he told her that they would be man and wife within a
+fortnight.</p>
+<p>They sat close together, far from every eye, in the shade of a thorn bush
+that rose beside a lonely stone.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Within the very shadow of marriage, and you are frightened of me
+still! Frightened to let me pick an apple over the orchard wall when I am
+going through the gate for my own the next moment! Listen! I hear our wedding
+bells!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Only the little lizard and the hovering hawk with gold eyes saw them.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Our wedding bells!&rdquo; said Chris. Towards set of sun Hicks saw
+his sweetheart to her mother&rsquo;s cottage. His ecstatic joys were sobered
+now, and his gratitude a little lessened.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;To think what marvels o&rsquo; happiness be in store for us, Clem,
+my awn!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes&mdash;not more than we deserve, either. God knows, if there
+&rsquo;s any justice, it was your turn and mine to come by a little of the
+happiness that falls to the lot of men and women.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I doan&rsquo;t see how highest heaven&rsquo;s gwaine to be better
+than our married life, so long as you love me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Heaven! Don&rsquo;t compare them. What&rsquo;s eternity if
+you&rsquo;re half a ghost, half a bird? That&rsquo;s the bribe thrown
+out,&mdash;to be a cold-blooded, perfect thing, and passionless as a musical
+box. Give me hot blood that flows and throbs; give me love, and a
+woman&rsquo;s breast to lean on. One great day on earth, such as this has
+been, is better than a million ages of sexless perfection in heaven. A vain
+reward it was that Christ offered. It seemed highest perfection to Him,
+doubtless; but He judged the world by Himself. The Camel-driver was wiser. He
+promised actual, healthy flesh in paradise&mdash;flesh that should never know
+an ache or pain&mdash;eternal flesh, and the joys of it. We can understand
+that, but where&rsquo;s the joy of being a spirit? I cling to the flesh I
+have, for I know that Nature will very soon want back the dust she has lent
+me.&rdquo;</p>
+<h2><a id="II_XIII" name="II_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII<br />
+THE WILL</h2>
+<p>Agreeably to the prediction of Doctor Parsons, Mrs. Lezzard&rsquo;s
+journey was ended in less than three weeks of her conversation with Clement
+Hicks. Then came a night when she made an ugly end; and with morning a group
+of gossips stood about the drawn blinds, licked their lips over the details,
+and generally derived that satisfaction from death common to their class.
+Indeed, this ghoulish gusto is not restricted to humble folk alone. The
+instinct lies somewhere at the root of human nature, together with many
+another morbid vein and trait not readily to be analysed or understood. Only
+educated persons conceal it.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She had deliriums just at the end,&rdquo; said Martha, her maid.
+&ldquo;She called out in a voice as I never heard afore, an&rsquo; mistook
+her husband for the Dowl.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Poor sawl! Death&rsquo;s such a struggle at the finish for the
+full-blooded kind. Doctor tawld me that if she&rsquo;d had the leastest bit
+o&rsquo;liver left, he could &rsquo;a&rsquo; saved her; but &rsquo;twas all
+soaked up by neat brandy, leaving nought but a vacuum or some such fatal
+thing.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Her hadn&rsquo;t the use of her innards for a full fortnight! Think
+o&rsquo; that! Aw. dallybuttons! It do make me cream all awver to hear tell
+of!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>So they piled horror upon horror; then came Clement Hicks, as one having
+authority, and bade them begone. The ill-omened fowls hopped off; relations
+began to collect; there was an atmosphere of suppressed electricity about the
+place, and certain women openly criticised the prominent attitude Hicks saw
+fit to assume. This, however, did not trouble him. He wrote to the lawyer at
+Newton, fixed a day for the funeral, and then turned his attention to Mr.
+Lezzard. The ancient resented Clement&rsquo;s interference not a little, but
+Hicks speedily convinced him that his animosity mattered nothing. The
+bee-keeper found this little taste of power not unpleasant. He knew that
+everything was his own property, and he enjoyed the hate and suspicion in the
+eyes of those about him. The hungry crowd haunted him, but he refused it any
+information. Mr. Lezzard picked a quarrel, but he speedily silenced the old
+man, and told him frankly that upon his good behaviour must depend his future
+position. Crushed and mystified, the widower whispered to those interested
+with himself in his wife&rsquo;s estate; and so, before the reading of the
+will, there slowly grew a very deep suspicion and hearty hatred of Clement
+Hicks. None had considered him in connection with Mrs. Lezzard&rsquo;s
+fortune, for he always kept aloof from her; but women cannot easily shut
+their lips over such tremendous matters of news, and so it came about that
+some whisper from Chris or dark utterance from old Mrs. Hicks got wind, and a
+rumour grew that the bee-keeper was the dead woman&rsquo;s heir.</p>
+<p>Facts contributed colour to the suspicion, for it was known that Clement
+had of late given Chris one or two pretty presents, and a ring that cost
+gold. His savings were suspected to justify 110 such luxuries; yet that a
+speedy change in his manner of life might be expected was also manifest from
+the fact that he had been looking into the question of a new stone cottage,
+on the edge of the Moor, where the heather in high summer would ripple to the
+very doors of his beehives.</p>
+<p>The distrust created by these facts was quickly set at rest, for Mrs.
+Lezzard sank under ground within four days of her dissolution; then, after
+the eating of funeral baked meats, those interested assembled in the parlour
+to hear the will. The crowd whispered and growled, and looked gloomily across
+at Hicks and the little figure of his mother who had come in rusty black to
+witness his triumph. Then a young lawyer from Newton adjusted his spectacles,
+rustled his papers, and poured himself out a glass of grocer&rsquo;s port
+before proceeding. But his task involved no strain upon him, and was indeed
+completed within five minutes. Black disappointment, dismay, and despair were
+the seeds sown by that unimpassioned voice; and at his conclusion a silence
+as blank as any that reigned in the ears of the dead fell upon those who
+listened&mdash;on those who had hoped so much and were confronted with so
+little.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The will is remarkably concise. Mrs. Lezzard makes sundry bitter
+statements which I think none will blame me for not repeating, though all may
+see them here who desire so to do; she then constitutes Mr. Clement Hicks,
+her nephew, sole residuary legatee. There is no condition, no codicil; but I
+have regretfully to add that Mr. Hicks wins little but this barren expression
+of good-will from the testatrix; for the sufficient reason that she had
+nothing to leave. She laboured under various delusions, among others that her
+financial position was very different from what is the case. Upon her first
+husband&rsquo;s death, Mrs. Coomstock, as she was then, made an arrangement
+with my late senior partner, Mr. Joel Ford, and purchased an annuity. This
+absorbed nearly all her capital; the rest she lost in an undesirable
+speculation of her own choosing. I am amazed at the present extent of her
+obligations. This dwelling-house, for instance, is mortgaged to her medical
+man, Doctor Parsons, of Chagford. There is barely money to meet the debts.
+Some fifty or sixty pounds in my hands will be absorbed by the calls of the
+estate. Mrs. Lezzard&rsquo;s tastes&mdash;I sorrow to say it&mdash;were
+expensive in some directions. There is an item of ten pounds twelve shillings
+for&mdash;for brandy, if I may be pardoned for speaking plainly. The funeral
+also appears to have been conducted on a scale more lavish than circumstances
+warranted. However, there should be sufficient to defray the cost, and I am
+sure nobody will blame Mr. Hicks for showing this last respect to an amiable
+if eccentric woman. There is nothing to add except that I shall be delighted
+to answer any questions&mdash;any questions at all.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>A few moments later, the lawyer mounted his dog-cart and rattled off to
+enjoy a pleasant drive homeward.</p>
+<p>Then the company spoke its mind, and Mary Lezzard&rsquo;s clay might well
+have turned under that bitter hornet-buzz of vituperation. Some said little,
+but had not strength or self-command to hide tears; some cursed and swore.
+Mr. Lezzard wept unheeded; Mrs. Hicks likewise wept. Clement sat staring into
+the flushed faces and angry eyes, neither seeing the rage manifested before
+him, nor hearing the coarse volleys of reproach. Then in his turn he
+attracted attention; and hard words, wasted on the dead, hurtled like hail
+round his ears, with acid laughter, and bitter sneers at his own tremendous
+awakening. Stung to the quick, the lame wheelwright, Charles Coomstock,
+gloated on the spectacle of Clement&rsquo;s dark hour, and heaped abuse upon
+his round-eyed, miserable mother. The raw of his own wound found a sort of
+salve in this attack; and all the other poor, coarse creatures similarly
+found comfort in their disappointment from a sight of more terrific
+mortification than their own. Venomous utterances fell about Clement Hicks,
+but he neither heard nor heeded: his mind was far away with Chris, and the
+small shot of the Coomstocks and the thunder of the Chowns alike flew
+harmlessly past him. He saw his sweetheart&rsquo;s sorrow, and her grief, as
+yet unborn, was the only fact that much hurt him now. The gall in his own
+soul only began to sicken him when his eye rested on his mother. Then he rose
+and departed to his home, while the little, snuffling woman ran at his heels,
+like a dog.</p>
+<p>Not until he had escaped the tempest of voices, and was hidden from the
+world, did the bee-keeper allow his own cruel disappointment to appear. Then,
+while his mother wept, he lifted up his voice and cursed God. As his
+relations had won comfort by swearing at him, so now he soothed his soul
+unconsciously in blasphemies. Then followed a silence, and his mother dared
+to blame him and remind him of an error.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You wouldn&rsquo;t turn the bee-butts when she died, though I
+begged and prayed of &rsquo;e. Oh, if you&rsquo;d awnly done what an auld
+woman, an&rsquo; she your mother, had told &rsquo;e! Not so much as a piece
+of crape would &rsquo;e suffer me to tie &rsquo;pon &rsquo;em. An&rsquo; I
+knawed all the while the hidden power o&rsquo; bees.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Presently he left her, and went to tell Chris. She greeted him eagerly,
+then turned pale and even terrified as she saw the black news in his
+face.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Just a gull and laughing-stock for the gods again, that&rsquo;s
+all, Chris. How easily they fool us from their thrones, don&rsquo;t they? And
+our pitiful hopes and ambitions and poor pathetic little plans for happiness
+shrivel and die, and strew their stinking corpses along the road that was
+going to be so gorgeous. The time to spill the cup is when the lip begins to
+tremble and water for it&mdash;not sooner&mdash;the gods know! And now
+all&rsquo;s changed&mdash;excepting only the memory of things done that had
+better been left undone.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But&mdash;but we shall be married at once, Clem?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He shook his head.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How can you ask it? My poor little all&mdash;twenty pounds&mdash;is
+gone on twopenny-halfpenny presents during the past week or two. It seemed so
+little compared to the fortune that was coming. It&rsquo;s all over. The
+great day is further off by twenty pounds than it was before that poor
+drunken old fool lied to me. Yet she didn&rsquo;t lie either; she only
+forgot; you can&rsquo;t swim in brandy for nothing.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Fear, not disappointment, dominated the woman before him as she heard.
+Sheer terror made her grip his arm and scream to him hysterically. Then she
+wept wild, savage tears and called to God to kill her quickly. For a time she
+parried every question, but an outburst so strangely unlike Chris Blanchard
+had its roots deeper than the crushing temporary disaster which he had
+brought with him. Clement, suspecting, importuned for the truth, gathered it
+from her, then passed away into the dusk, faced with the greatest problem
+that existence had as yet set him. Crushed, and crushed unutterably, he
+returned home oppressed with a biting sense of his own damnable fate. He
+moved as one distracted, incoherent, savage, alone. The glorious palace he
+had raised for his happiness crumbled into vast ruins; hope was dead and
+putrid; and only the results of wild actions, achieved on false assumptions,
+faced him. Now, rising out of his brief midsummer madness, the man saw a
+ghost; and he greeted it with groan as bitter as ever wrung human heart.</p>
+<p>Miller Lyddon sat that night alone until Mr. Blee returned to supper.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Gert news! Gert news!&rdquo; he shouted, while yet in the passage;
+&ldquo;sweatin&rsquo; for joy an&rsquo; haste, I be!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>His eyes sparkled, his face shone, his words tripped each other up by the
+heels.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Be gormed if ban&rsquo;t a &rsquo;mazin&rsquo; world! She&rsquo;ve
+left nought&mdash;dammy&mdash;less than nought, for the house be mortgaged
+sea-deep to Doctor, an&rsquo; theer&rsquo;s other debts. Not a penny for
+nobody&mdash;nothin&rsquo; but empty bottles&mdash;an&rsquo; to think as I
+thought so poor o&rsquo; God as to say theer weern&rsquo;t none! What a
+ramshackle plaace the world is!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No money at all? Mrs. Lezzard&mdash;it can&rsquo;t be!&rdquo;
+declared Mr. Lyddon.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But it is, by gum! A braave tantara &rsquo;mongst the fam&rsquo;ly,
+I tell &rsquo;e. Not a stiver&mdash;all ate up in a &rsquo;nuity, an&rsquo;
+her&mdash;artful limb!&mdash;just died on the last penny o&rsquo; the
+quarter&rsquo;s payment. An&rsquo; Lezzard left at the work&rsquo;us
+door&mdash;poor auld zawk! An&rsquo; him fourscore an&rsquo; never been
+eggicated an&rsquo; never larned nothin&rsquo;!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;To think it might have been your trouble, Blee!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s it, that&rsquo;s it! That&rsquo;s what I be full of!
+Awnly for the watchin&rsquo; Lard, I&rsquo;d been fixed in the hole myself.
+Just picture it! Me a-cussin&rsquo; o&rsquo; Christ to blazes an&rsquo;
+lettin&rsquo; on theer wasn&rsquo;t no such Pusson; an&rsquo; Him, wide
+awake, a-keepin&rsquo; me out o&rsquo; harm&rsquo;s way, even arter the banns
+was called! Theer&rsquo;s a God for &rsquo;e! Watchin&rsquo; day an&rsquo;
+night to see as I comed by no harm! That&rsquo;s what &rsquo;t is to have
+laid by a tidy mort o&rsquo; righteousness &rsquo;gainst a evil
+hour!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You &rsquo;m well out of it, sure enough.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess, &rsquo;t is so. I misjudged the Lard shocking, an&rsquo;
+I&rsquo;m man enough to up and say it, thank God. He was right an&rsquo; I
+was wrong; an&rsquo; lookin&rsquo; back, I sees it. So I&rsquo;ll come back
+to the fold, like the piece of silver what was lost; an&rsquo; theer&rsquo;ll
+be joy in heaven, as well theer may be. Burnish it all! I&rsquo;ll go along
+to church &rsquo;fore all men&rsquo;s eyes next Lard&rsquo;s Day ever
+is.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A gude thought, tu. Religion&rsquo;s a sort of benefit society, if
+you look at it, an&rsquo; the church be the bank wheer us pays in
+subscriptions Sundays.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; blamed gude interest us gets for the money,&rdquo;
+declared Mr. Blee. &ldquo;Not but what I&rsquo;ve drawed a bit heavy on my
+draft of late, along o&rsquo; pretendin&rsquo; to heathen ways an&rsquo;
+thoughts what I never really held with; but &rsquo;t is all wan now an&rsquo;
+I lay I&rsquo;ll soon set the account right, wi&rsquo; a balance in my
+favour, tu. Seein&rsquo; how shameful I was used, ban&rsquo;t likely no gert
+things will be laid against me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And auld Lezzard will go to the Union?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A very fittin&rsquo; plaace for un, come to think on &rsquo;t.
+Awver-balanced for sheer greed of gawld he was. My! what a wild-goose chase!
+An the things he&rsquo;ve said to me! Not that I&rsquo;d allow
+myself&mdash;awuly from common humanity I must see un an&rsquo; let un knaw I
+bear no more malice than a bird on a bough.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>They drank, Billy deeper than usual. He was marvellously excited and
+cheerful. He greeted God like an old friend returned to him from a journey;
+and that night before retiring he stood stiffly beside his bed and covered
+his face in his hands and prayed a prayer familiar among his generation.</p>
+<p class="poem">&ldquo;Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John,<br />
+Bless the bed that I lie on,<br />
+Four cornders to my bed,<br />
+Four angels overspread<br />
+Two tu foot an&rsquo; two tu head,<br />
+An&rsquo; all to carry me when I&rsquo;m dead.<br />
+An&rsquo; when I&rsquo;m dead an&rsquo; in my graave,<br />
+<span class="i2">An&rsquo; all my bones be rotten.</span><br />
+The greedy worms my flaish shall ate,<br />
+<span class="i2">An&rsquo; I shall be forgotten;</span><br />
+<span class="i4">For Christ&rsquo;s sake. Amen.&rdquo;</span></p>
+<p>Having sucked from repetition of this ancient twaddle exactly that sort of
+satisfaction the French or Roman peasant wins from a babble of a dead
+language over beads, Billy retired with many a grunt and sigh of
+satisfaction.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It do hearten the spirit to come direct to the Throne,&rdquo; he
+reflected; &ldquo;an&rsquo; the wonder is how ever I could fare for near two
+year wi&rsquo;out my prayers. Yet, though I got my monkey up an&rsquo; let
+Jehovah slide, He knawed of my past gudeness, all set down in the Book
+o&rsquo; Life. An&rsquo; now I&rsquo;ve owned up as I was wrong; which is all
+even the saints can do; &rsquo;cause Judgment Day, for the very best of us,
+will awnly be a matter o&rsquo; owning up.&rdquo;</p>
+<h2><a id="II_XIV" name="II_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV<br />
+A HUNDRED POUNDS</h2>
+<p>The maddening recollection of things done wrought upon Clement Hicks until
+it bred in him a distracted frenzy and blinded his judgment. He lost all
+sense of proportion in his endeavour to come at a right course of action, and
+a mind long inclined towards one road now readily drifted upon it. To recover
+the position had been quite possible, and there were not wanting those ready
+and eager to assist him; but at this crisis in his fortune the man lost all
+power of reflection or self-control. The necessity for instant action
+clamoured to him through daylight and darkness; delay drove him hourly into a
+hysterical condition approaching frenzy, and every road to escape save one
+appeared bolted and barred against him. But, try as he might, his miseries
+could not be hidden, and Will Blanchard, among others, sympathised very
+heartily with the great disappointment that had now fallen upon Chris and her
+sweetheart. His sister&rsquo;s attitude had astonished both him and his
+mother. They fancied that Blanchards were made of sterner stuff; but Chris
+went down before the blow in a manner very unexpected. She seemed dazed and
+unable to recover from it. Her old elastic spirit was crushed, and a great
+sorrow looked from her eyes.</p>
+<p>Neither Will nor her mother could rouse her, and so it came about that
+thinking how best he could play a brother&rsquo;s part, the master of Newtake
+decided on a notable deed and held that the hour for it must be delayed no
+longer. He debated the circumstance from every point of view, examined his
+accounts, inspected the exact figures represented by the remainder of his
+uncle&rsquo;s legacy and then broke the matter to Phoebe. To his mother he
+had already spoken concerning the intention, and she approved it, though
+without knowing particulars. Phoebe, however, happened to be quite as
+familiar with Will&rsquo;s affairs as Will himself, and while his
+determination to give Clement and Chris a hundred pounds was easily come at
+and most cheering to his heart, the necessity of breaking the news to his
+wife appeared not so easy or pleasant. Indeed, Will approached the task with
+some trepidation, for a recent event made it doubly difficult. They sat
+together one night, after six weeks of married life, and he plunged into the
+matter.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis sad them two being kept apart like this,&rdquo; he said
+abruptly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis so. Nobody feels it more&rsquo;n me. Matters was hard
+with us, and now they &rsquo;m all smooth and the future seems fairly bright,
+tu.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Very bright,&rdquo; he said stoutly. &ldquo;The hay&rsquo;s best
+ever come off my ground, thanks to the manure from Monks Barton; and look at
+the wurzels! Miller hisself said he&rsquo;ve never seed a more promising
+crop, high or low. An&rsquo; the things be in prime kelter, tu; an&rsquo;
+better than four hunderd pound of uncle&rsquo;s money still left.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Long may it be left, I&rsquo;m sure. &rsquo;Tis terrible work
+dipping into it, an&rsquo; I looks at both sides of a halfpenny &rsquo;fore I
+spend it. Wish you would. You&rsquo;m tu generous, Will. But accounts are
+that difficult.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>This was not the spirit of the hour, however.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I was gwaine to say that out of all our happiness an&rsquo; fortune
+we might let a little bubble awver for Chris&mdash;eh? She&rsquo;m such a
+gude gal, an&rsquo; you love her so dearly as what I do
+a&rsquo;most.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Phoebe read the project in a flash, but yet invited her husband to
+explain.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What d&rsquo;you mean?&rdquo; she asked distrustfully and
+coldly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I can see in your face you knaw well enough. That four-hunderd-odd
+pound. I&rsquo;ve sometimes thought I should have given Chris a bit of the
+windfall when first it comed. But now&mdash;well, theer&rsquo;s this cruel
+coil failed on &rsquo;em. You knaw the hardness of waiting. &rsquo;Twould be
+a butivul thing to let &rsquo;em marry an&rsquo; feel&rsquo;t was thanks to
+us.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You want to go giving them money?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not &rsquo;give&rsquo; &rsquo;zactly. Us&rsquo;ll call it a loan,
+till the time they see their way clearer.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Phoebe sighed and was silent for a while.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Poor dears,&rdquo; she said at length. &ldquo;I feel for &rsquo;em
+in my heart, same as you do; yet somehow it doan&rsquo;t look
+right.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not right, Phoebe?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not wise, then. Remember what you say the winters be up
+here&mdash;such dreary months with no money coming in and all gwaine out to
+keep life in the things.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis a black, bitin&rsquo; business on the high
+farms&mdash;caan&rsquo;t deny that.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Money flies so.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then let some fly to a gude end. You knaw I&rsquo;m a hard, keen
+man where other people be concerned, most times.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>His wife laughed frankly, and he grew red.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Damn it, Phoebe, doan&rsquo;t you take me like that else
+you&rsquo;ll get the rough edge of my tongue. &rsquo;Tis for you to agree
+with what I&rsquo;m pleased to say, not contradict it. I <i>be</i> a hard,
+keen man, and knaws the value of money as well as another. But Chris is my
+awn sister, an&rsquo; the long an&rsquo; the short is, I&rsquo;m gwaine to
+give Clem Hicks a hunderd pound.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Will! It&rsquo;s not reasonable, it&rsquo;s not fair&mdash;us
+working so hard an&rsquo;&mdash;an&rsquo;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They &rsquo;m to have it, anyway.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Her breath caught in a little, helpless gasp. Without a word she picked up
+the material in her hands, huddled it up, and thrust it across the table
+towards him. Then the passion faded out of his face, his eyes softened and
+grew dreamy, he smiled, and rubbed his brown cheek with the flannel.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My awn, li&rsquo;l clever woman, as have set about the fashioning
+of a bairn so soon! God bless &rsquo;e, an&rsquo; bless &rsquo;e an&rsquo; be
+gude to &rsquo;e, an&rsquo; the wee thing coming!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He put his arm round her and patted her hair and purred softly to her;
+whereupon she relented and kissed him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You knaw best, Will, dearie; you nearly allus knaw best; but your
+heart&rsquo;s bigger &rsquo;n your pocket&mdash;an&rsquo; a li&rsquo;l child
+do call so loud for the spendin&rsquo; o&rsquo; money.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Aye, I knaw, I knaw; &rsquo;tis a parent&rsquo;s plaace to stand up
+for his offspring through fire an&rsquo; water; an&rsquo; I reckon I
+won&rsquo;t be the worst faither as ever was, either. I can mind the time
+when I was young myself. Stern but kind&rsquo;s the right rule. Us&rsquo;ll
+bring un up in the proper way, an&rsquo; teach un to use his
+onderstandin&rsquo; an&rsquo; allus knuckle down &rsquo;fore his elders. To
+tell &rsquo;e truth, Phoebe, I&rsquo;ve a notion I might train up a cheel
+better&rsquo;n some men.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, Will, I think so, tu. But &rsquo;tis food an&rsquo; clothes
+an&rsquo; li&rsquo;l boots an&rsquo; such-like comes first. A hunderd pounds
+be such a mort o&rsquo; money.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Twill set &rsquo;em up in a fair way.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Fifty wouldn&rsquo;t hardly do, p&rsquo;r&rsquo;aps?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Hardly. I like to carry a job through clean an&rsquo; vitty while
+I&rsquo;m on it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;ve got such a big spirit.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;As to that, money so spent ban&rsquo;t lost&mdash;&rsquo;tis all in
+the fam&rsquo;ly.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Of course &rsquo;tis a gude advertisement for you. Folk&rsquo;ll
+think you&rsquo;m prosperin&rsquo; an&rsquo; look up to you more.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, some might, though I doan&rsquo;t &rsquo;zactly mean it like
+that. Yet the putting out o&rsquo; three figures o&rsquo; money must make
+neighbours ope their eyes. Not that I want anybody to knaw either.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>So, against her judgment, Phoebe was won over, and presently she and her
+husband made merry at prospect of the great thing contemplated. Will imitated
+Clement&rsquo;s short, glum, and graceless manner before the gift; Phoebe
+began to spend the money and plan the bee-keeper&rsquo;s cottage when Chris
+should enter it as a bride; and thus, having enjoyed an hour of delight the
+most pure and perfect that can fall to human lot, the young couple
+retired.</p>
+<p>Elsewhere defeat and desolation marked the efforts of the luckless poet to
+improve his position. All thoughts drifted towards the Red House, and when,
+struggling from this dark temptation, he turned to Martin Grimbal rather than
+his brother, Fate crushed this hope also. The antiquary was not in Chagford,
+and Clement recollected that Martin had told him he designed some visits to
+the doom rings of Iceland, and other contemporary remains of primeval man in
+Brittany and in Ireland. To find him at present was impossible, for he had
+left no address, and his housekeeper only knew that he would be out of
+England until the autumn.</p>
+<p>Now the necessity for action gained gigantically upon Hicks, and spun a
+net of subtle sophistry that soon had the poor wretch enmeshed beyond
+possibility of escape. He assured himself that the problem was reduced to a
+mere question of justice to a woman. A sacrifice must be made between one
+whom he loved better than anything in the world, and one for whom he cared
+not at all. That these two persons chanced to be brother and sister was an
+unfortunate accident, but could not be held a circumstance strong enough to
+modify his determination. He had, indeed, solemnly sworn to Will to keep his
+secret, but what mattered that before this more crushing, urgent duty to
+Chris? His manhood cried out to him to protect her. Nothing else signified in
+the least; the future&mdash;the best that he could hope for&mdash;might be
+ashy and hopeless now; but it was with the immediate present and his duty
+that he found himself concerned. There remained but one grim way; and,
+through such overwhelming, shattering storm and stress as falls to the lot of
+few, he finally took it. To marry at any cost and starve afterwards if
+necessary, had been the more simple plan; and that course of action must
+first have occurred to any other man but this; to him, however, it did not
+occur. The crying, shrieking need for money was the thing that stunned him
+and petrified him. Shattered and tossed to the brink of aberration, stretched
+at frightful mental tension for a fortnight, he finally succumbed, and told
+himself that his defeat was victory.</p>
+<p>He wrote to John Grimbal, explained that he desired to see him on the
+morrow, and the master of the Red House, familiar with recent affairs,
+rightly guessed that Hicks had changed his mind. Excited beyond measure, the
+victor fixed a place for their conversation, and it was a strange one.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Meet me at Oke Tor,&rdquo; he wrote. &ldquo;By an accident I shall
+be in the Taw Marshes to-morrow, and will ride to you some time in the
+afternoon.&mdash;J.G.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Thus, upon a day when Will Blanchard called at Mrs. Hicks&rsquo;s cottage,
+Clement had already started for his remote destination on the Moor. With some
+unconscious patronage Will saluted Mrs. Hicks and called for Clement. Then he
+slapped down a flat envelope under the widow&rsquo;s eyes.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Us have thought a lot about this trouble, mother, an&rsquo;
+Phoebe&rsquo;s hit on as braave a notion as need be. You see, Clem&rsquo;s my
+close friend again now, an&rsquo; Chris be my sister; so what&rsquo;s more
+fittin&rsquo; than that I should set up the young people? An&rsquo; so I
+shall, an&rsquo; here&rsquo;s a matter of Bank of England notes as will repay
+the countin&rsquo;. Give &rsquo;em to Clem wi&rsquo; my respects.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then Will suffered a surprise. The little woman before him swelled and
+expanded, her narrow bosom rose, her thin lips tightened, and into her dim
+eyes there came pride and brightness. It was her hour of triumph, and she
+felt a giantess as she stood regarding the envelope and Will. Him she had
+never liked since his difference with her son concerning Martin Grimbal, and
+now, richer for certain news of that morning, she gloried to throw the gift
+back.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Take your money again, bwoy. No Hicks ever wanted charity yet,
+least of all from a Blanchard. Pick it up; and it&rsquo;s lucky Clement
+ban&rsquo;t home, for he&rsquo;d have said some harsh words, I&rsquo;m
+thinking. Keep it &rsquo;gainst the rainy days up to Newtake. And it may
+surprise &rsquo;e to knaw that my son&rsquo;s worth be getting found out at
+last. It won&rsquo;t be so long &rsquo;fore he takes awver Squire
+Grimbal&rsquo;s farm to the Red House. What do &rsquo;e think o&rsquo; that?
+He&rsquo;ve gone to see un this very day &rsquo;bout it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, well! This be news, and no mistake&mdash;gude news, tu, I
+s&rsquo;pose. Jan Grimbal! An&rsquo; what Clem doan&rsquo;t knaw &rsquo;bout
+farmin&rsquo;, I&rsquo;ll be mighty pleased to teach un, I&rsquo;m
+sure.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No call to worry yourself; Clem doan&rsquo;t want no other right
+arm than his awn.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Chris shall have the money, then; an&rsquo; gude luck to &rsquo;em
+both, say I.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He departed, with great astonishment the main emotion of his mind. Nothing
+could well have happened to surprise him more, and now he felt that he should
+rejoice, but found it difficult to do so.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Braave news, no doubt,&rdquo; he reflected, &ldquo;an&rsquo; yet,
+come to think on it, I&rsquo;d so soon the devil had given him a job as
+Grimbal. Besides, to choose him! What do Clement knaw &rsquo;bout
+farmin&rsquo;? Just so much as I knaw &rsquo;bout verse-writin&rsquo;,
+an&rsquo; no more.&rdquo;</p>
+<h2><a id="II_XV" name="II_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV<br />
+&ldquo;THE ANGEL OF THE DARKER DRINK&rdquo;</h2>
+<p>Patches of mist all full of silver light moved like lonely living things
+on the face of the high Moor. Here they dispersed and scattered, here they
+approached and mingled together, here they stretched forth pearly fingers
+above the shining granite, and changed their shapes at the whim of every
+passing breeze; but the tendency of each shining, protean mass was to rise to
+the sun, and presently each valley and coomb lay clear, while the cool
+vapours wound in luminous and downy undulations along the highest points of
+the land before vanishing into air.</p>
+<p>A solitary figure passed over the great waste. He took his way northward
+and moved across Scorhill, leaving Wattern Tor to the left. Beneath its
+ragged ridges, in a vast granite amphitheatre, twinkled the cool
+birth-springs of the little Wallabrook, and the water here looked leaden
+under shade, here sparkled with silver at the margin of a cloud shadow, here
+shone golden bright amid the dancing heads of the cotton-grass under
+unclouded sunlight. The mist wreaths had wholly departed before noon, and
+only a few vast mountains of summer gold moved lazily along the upper
+chambers of the air. A huge and solitary shadow overtook the man and spread
+itself directly about him, then swept onwards; infinite silence encompassed
+him; once from a distant hillside a voice cried to him, where women and
+children moved like drab specks and gathered the ripe whortleberries that now
+wove purple patterns into the fabric of the Moor; but he heeded not the cry;
+and other sound there was none save the occasional and mournful note of some
+lonely yellowhammer perched upon a whin. Into the prevalent olive-brown of
+the heath there had now stolen an indication of a magic change at hand, for
+into the sober monotone crept a gauzy shadow, a tremor of wakening
+flower-life, half pearl, half palest pink, yet more than either. Upon the
+immediate foreground it rippled into defined points of blossom, which already
+twinkled through all the dull foliage; in the middle distance it faded; afar
+off it trembled as a palpable haze of light under the impalpable reeling of
+the summer air. A week or less would see the annual miracle peformed again
+and witness that spacious and solemn region in all the amethystine glories of
+the ling. Fiercely hot grew the day, and the distances, so distinct through
+mist rifts and wreaths in the clearness of early morning, now
+retreated&mdash;mountain upon mountain, wide waste on waste&mdash;as the sun
+climbed to the zenith. Detail vanished, the Moor stretched shimmering to the
+horizon; only now and again from some lofty point of his pilgrimage did the
+traveller discover chance cultivation through a dip in the untamed region he
+traversed. Then to the far east and north, the map of fertile Devon billowed
+and rolled in one enormous misty mosaic,&mdash;billowed and rolled all
+opalescent under the dancing atmosphere and July haze, rolled and swept to
+the sky-line, where, huddled by perspective into the appearance of density,
+hung long silver tangles of infinitely remote and dazzling cloud against the
+blue.</p>
+<p>From that distant sponge in the central waste, from Cranmere, mother of
+moorland rivers, the man presently noted wrinkles of pure gold trickling down
+a hillside two miles off. Here sunshine touched the river Taw, still an
+infant thing not far advanced on the journey from its fount; but the play of
+light upon the stream, invisible save for this finger of the sun, indicated
+to the solitary that he approached his destination. Presently he stood on the
+side of lofty Steeperton and surveyed that vast valley known as Taw Marsh,
+which lies between the western foothills of Cosdon Beacon and the Belstone
+Tors to the north. The ragged manes of the latter hills wind through the
+valley in one lengthy ridge, and extend to a tremendous castellated mass of
+stone, by name Oke Tor.</p>
+<p>This erection, with its battlements and embrasures, outlying scarps and
+counterscarps, remarkably suggests the deliberate and calculated creation of
+man. It stands upon a little solitary hill at the head of Taw Marsh, and wins
+its name from the East Okement River which runs through the valley on its
+western flank. Above wide fen and marsh it rises, yet seen from
+Steeperton&rsquo;s vaster altitude, Oke Tor looks no greater than some
+fantastic child-castle built by a Brobding-nagian baby with granite bricks.
+Below it on this July day the waste of bog-land was puckered with brown
+tracts of naked soil, and seamed and scarred with peat-cuttings. Here and
+there drying turfs were propped in pairs and dotted the hillsides; emerald
+patches of moss jewelled the prevailing sobriety of the valley, a single
+curlew, with rising and falling crescendos of sound, flew here and there
+under needless anxiety, and far away on White Hill and the enormous breast of
+Cosdon glimmered grey stone ghosts from the past,&mdash;track-lines and
+circles and pounds,&mdash;the work of those children of the mist who laboured
+here when the world was younger, whose duty now lay under the new-born light
+of the budding heath. White specks dotted the undulations where flocks roamed
+free; in the marsh, red cattle sought pasture, and now was heard the
+jingle-jangle of a sheep-bell, and now the cry of bellowing kine.</p>
+<p>Like a dark incarnation of suffering over this expansive scene passed
+Clement Hicks to the meeting with John Grimbal. His unrest was accentuated by
+the extreme sunlit peace of the Moor, and as he sat on Steeperton and gazed
+with dark eyes into the marshes below, there appeared in his face the
+battlefield of past struggles, the graves of past hopes. A dead apathy of
+mind and muscle succeeded his mental exertion and passion of thought.
+Increased age marked him, as though Time, thrusting all at once upon him
+bitter experiences usually spread over many years of a man&rsquo;s life, had
+weighed him down, humped his back, thinned his hair, and furrowed his
+forehead under the load. Within his eyes, behind the reflected blue of the
+sky, as he raised them to it, sat mad misery; and an almost tetanic movement
+of limb, which rendered it impossible for him to keep motionless even in his
+present recumbent position, denoted the unnatural excitation of his nerves.
+The throb and spasm of the past still beat against his heart. Like a circular
+storm in mid-ocean, he told himself that the tempest had not wholly ended,
+but might reawaken, overwhelm him, and sweep him back into the turmoil again.
+As he thought, and his eye roved for a rider on a brown horse, the poor
+wretch was fighting still. Yesterday fixed determination marked his
+movements, and his mind was made up; to-day, after a night not devoid of
+sleep, it seemed that everything that was best in him had awakened refreshed,
+and that each mile of the long tramp across Dartmoor had represented another
+battle fought with his fate. Justice, Justice for himself and the woman he
+loved, was the cry raised more than once aloud in sharp agony on that great
+silence. And only the drone of the shining-winged things and the dry rustle
+of the grasshoppers answered him.</p>
+<p>Like the rest of the sore-smitten and wounded world, he screamed to the
+sky for Justice, and, like the rest of the world, forgot or did not know that
+Justice is only a part of Truth, and therefore as far beyond man&rsquo;s
+reach as Truth itself. Justice can only be conceived by humanity, and that
+man should even imagine any abstraction so glorious is wonderful, and to his
+credit. But Justice lies not only beyond our power to mete to our fellows; it
+forms no part of the Creator&rsquo;s methods with us or this particular mote
+in the beam of the Universe. Man has never received Justice, as he
+understands it, and never will; and his own poor, flagrant, fallible travesty
+of it, erected to save him from himself, and called Law, more nearly
+approximates to Justice than the treatment which has ever been apportioned to
+humanity. Before this eternal spectacle of illogical austerity, therefore,
+man, in self-defence and to comfort his craving and his weakness, has clung
+to the cheerful conceit of immortality; has pathetically credited the First
+Cause with a grand ultimate intention concerning each suffering atom; has
+assured himself that eternity shall wipe away all tears and blood, shall
+reward the actors in this puppet-show with golden crowns and nobler parts in
+a nobler playhouse. Human dreams of justice are responsible for this yearning
+towards another life, not the dogmas of religion; and the conviction
+undoubtedly has to be thanked for much individual right conduct. But it
+happens that an increasing number of intellects can find solace in these
+theories no longer; it happens that the liberty of free thought (which is the
+only liberty man may claim) will not longer be bound with these puny chains.
+Many detect no just argument for a future life; they admit that adequate
+estimate of abstract Justice is beyond them; they suspect that Justice is a
+human conceit; and they see no cause why its attributes should be credited to
+the Creator in His dealings with the created, for the sufficient reason that
+Justice has never been consistently exhibited by Him. The natural conclusion
+of such thought need not be pursued here. Suffice it that, taking their stand
+on pure reason, such thinkers deny the least evidence of any life beyond the
+grave; to them, therefore, this ephemeral progression is the beginning and
+the end, and they live every precious moment with a yearning zest beyond the
+power of conventional intellects to conceive.</p>
+<p>Of such was Clement Hicks. And yet in this dark hour he cried for Justice,
+not knowing to whom or to what he cried. Right judgment was dead at last. He
+rose and shook his head in mute answer to the voices still clamouring to his
+consciousness. They moaned and reverberated and mingled with the distant
+music of the bellwether, but his mind was made up irrevocably now; he had
+determined to do the thing he had come to do. He told himself nothing much
+mattered any more; he laughed as he rose and wiped the sweat off his face,
+and passed down Steeperton through debris of granite. &ldquo;Life&rsquo;s
+only a breath and then&mdash;Nothing,&rdquo; he thought; &ldquo;but it will
+be interesting to see how much more bitterness and agony those that pull the
+strings can cram into my days. I shall watch from the outside now. A man is
+never happy so long as he takes a personal interest in life. Henceforth
+I&rsquo;ll stand outside and care no more, and laugh and laugh on through the
+years. We&rsquo;re greater than the Devil that made us; for we can laugh at
+all his cursed cruelty&mdash;we can laugh, and we can die laughing, and we
+can die when we please. Yes, that&rsquo;s one thing he can&rsquo;t
+do&mdash;torment us an hour more than we choose.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Suicide was always a familiar thought with this man, but it had never been
+farther from his mind than of late. Cowardly in himself, his love for Chris
+Blanchard was too great to suffer even the shadow of self-slaughter to tempt
+him at the present moment. What might happen in the future, he could not
+tell; but while her happiness was threatened and her life&rsquo;s welfare
+hung in the balance, his place was by her side. Then he looked into Will
+Blanchard&rsquo;s future and asked himself what was the worst that could
+result from his pending treachery. He did not know and wished time had
+permitted him to make inquiries. But his soul was too weary to care. He only
+looked for the ordeal to be ended; his aching eyes, now bent on his temporal
+environment, ranged widely for the spectacle of a rider on a brown horse.</p>
+<p>A red flag flapped from a lofty pole at the foot of Steeperton, but Hicks,
+to whom the object and its significance were familiar, paid no heed and
+passed on towards Oke Tor. On one side the mass rose gradually up by steps
+and turrets; on the other, the granite beetled into a low cliff springing
+abruptly from the turf. Within its clefts and crannies there grew ferns, and
+to the north-east, sheltered under ledges from the hot sun, cattle and ponies
+usually stood or reclined upon such a summer day as this, and waited for the
+oncoming cool of evening before returning to pasture. On the present
+occasion, however, no stamp of hoof, snort of nostril, whisk of tail, and hum
+of flies denoted the presence of beasts. For some reason they had been driven
+elsewhere. Clement climbed the Tor, then stood upon its highest point, and
+turning his back to the sun, scanned the wide rolling distances over which he
+had tramped, and sought fruitlessly for an approaching horseman. But no
+particular hour had been specified, and he knew not and cared not how long he
+might have to wait.</p>
+<p>In a direction quite contrary to that on which the eyes of Hicks were set,
+sat John Grimbal upon his horse and talked with another man. They occupied a
+position at the lower-most end of Taw Marsh, beneath the Belstones; and they
+watched some seventy artillerymen busily preparing for certain operations of
+a nature to specially interest the master of the Red House. Indeed the
+pending proceedings had usually occupied his mind, to total exclusion of all
+other affairs; but to-day even more momentous events awaited him in the
+immediate future, and he looked from his companion along the great valley to
+where Oke Tor appeared, shrunk to a mere grey stone at the farther end. Of
+John Grimbal&rsquo;s life, it may now be said that it drifted into a
+confirmed and bitter misogyny. He saw no women, spoke of the sex with
+disrespect, and chose his few friends among men whose sporting and warlike
+instincts chimed with his own. Sport he pursued with dogged pertinacity, but
+the greater part of his leisure was devoted to the formation of a yeomanry
+corps at Chagford, and in this design he had made good progress. He still
+kept his wrongs sternly before his mind, and when the old bitterness began to
+grow blunted, deliberately sharpened it again, strangling alike the good work
+of time and all emotions of rising contentment and returning peace. Where was
+the wife whose musical voice and bright eyes should welcome his daily
+home-coming? Where were the laughing and pattering-footed little ones? Of
+these priceless treasures the man on the Moor had robbed him. His great house
+was empty and cheerless. Thus he could always blow the smouldering fires into
+active flame by a little musing on the past; but how long it might be
+possible to sustain his passion for revenge under this artificial stimulation
+of memory remained to be seen. As yet, at any rate, the contemplation of Will
+Blanchard&rsquo;s ruin was good to Grimbal, and the accident of his discovery
+that Clement Hicks knew some secret facts to his enemy&rsquo;s disadvantage
+served vastly to quicken the lust for a great revenge. From the first he had
+determined to drag Clement&rsquo;s secret out of him sooner or later, and
+had, until his recent offer of the Red House Farm, practised remarkable
+patience. Since then, however, a flicker of apparent prosperity which
+overtook the bee-keeper appeared to diminish Grimbal&rsquo;s chances
+perceptibly; but with the sudden downfall of Clement&rsquo;s hopes the
+other&rsquo;s ends grew nearer again, and at the last it had scarcely
+surprised him to receive the proposal of Hicks. So now he stood within an
+hour or two of the desired knowledge, and his mind was consequently a little
+abstracted from the matter in hand.</p>
+<p>The battery, consisting of four field-guns, was brought into action in the
+direction of the upper end of the valley, while Major Tremayne, its
+commanding officer and John Grimbal&rsquo;s acquaintance, explained to the
+amateur all that he did not know. During the previous week the master of the
+Red House and other officers of the local yeomanry interested in military
+matters had dined at the mess of those artillery officers then encamped at
+Okehampton for the annual practice on Dartmoor; and the outcome of that
+entertainment was an invitation to witness some shooting during the
+forthcoming week.</p>
+<p>The gunners in their dark blue uniforms swarmed busily round four shining
+sixteen-pounders, while Major Tremayne conversed with his friend. He was a
+handsome, large-limbed man, with kindly eyes.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Where&rsquo;s your target?&rdquo; asked Grimbal, as he scanned the
+deep distance of the valley.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Away there under that grey mass of rock. We&rsquo;ve got to guess
+at the range as you know; then find it. I should judge the distance at about
+two miles&mdash;an extreme limit. Take my glass and you&rsquo;ll note a line
+of earthworks thrown up on this side of the stone. That is intended to
+represent a redoubt and we&rsquo;re going to shell it and slay the dummy men
+posted inside.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I can see without the glass. The rock is called Oke Tor, and
+I&rsquo;m going to meet a man there this afternoon.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Good; then you&rsquo;ll be able to observe the results at close
+quarters. They&rsquo;ll surprise you. Now we are going to begin. Is your
+horse all right? He looks shifty, and the guns make a devil of a
+row.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Steady as time. He&rsquo;s smelt powder before to-day.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Major Tremayne now adjusted his field-glasses, and carefully inspected
+distant earthworks stretched below the northern buttresses of Oke Tor. He
+estimated the range, which he communicated to the battery; then after a
+slight delay came the roar and bellow of the guns as they were fired in slow
+succession.</p>
+<p>But the Major&rsquo;s estimate proved too liberal, for the ranging rounds
+fell far beyond the target, and dropped into the lofty side of
+Steeperton.</p>
+<p>The elevation of the guns was accordingly reduced, and Grimbal noted the
+profound silence in the battery as each busy soldier performed his appointed
+task.</p>
+<p>At the next round shells burst a little too short of the earthworks, and
+again a slight modification in the range was made. Now missiles began to
+descend in and around the distant redoubt, and each as it exploded dealt out
+shattering destruction to the dummy men which represented an enemy. One
+projectile smashed against the side of Oke Tor, and sent back the ringing
+sound of its tremendous impact.</p>
+<p>Subsequent practice, now that the range was found, produced results above
+the average in accuracy, and Major Tremayne&rsquo;s good-humour
+increased.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Five running plump into the redoubt! That&rsquo;s what we can do
+when we try,&rdquo; he said to Grimbal, while the amateur awarded his meed of
+praise and admiration.</p>
+<p>Anon the business was at an end; the battery limbered up; the guns, each
+drawn by six stout horses, disappeared with many a jolt over the uneven
+ground, as the soldiers clinked and clashed away to their camp on the high
+land above Okehamptou.</p>
+<p>Under the raw smell of burnt powder Major Tremayne took leave of Grimbal
+and the rest; each man went his way; and John, pursuing a bridle-path through
+the marshes of the Taw, proceeded slowly to his appointment.</p>
+<p>An unexpected spring retarded Grimbal&rsquo;s progress and made a
+considerable detour necessary. At length, however, he approached Oke Tor,
+marked the tremendous havoc of the firing, and noted a great grey splash upon
+the granite, where one shell had abraded its weathered face.</p>
+<p>John Grimbal dismounted, tied up his horse, then climbed to the top of the
+Tor, and searched for an approaching pedestrian. Nobody was visible save one
+man only; amounted soldier riding round to strike the red warning flags
+posted widely about the ranges. Grimbal descended and approached the southern
+side, there to sit on the fine intermingled turf and moss and smoke a cigar
+until his man should arrive. But rounding the point of the low cliff, he
+found that Hicks was already there.</p>
+<p>Clement, his hat off, reclined upon his back with his face lifted to the
+sky. Where his head rested, the wild thyme grew, and one great, black
+bumble-bee boomed at a deaf ear as it clumsily struggled in the purple
+blossoms. He lay almost naturally, but some distortion of his neck and a film
+upon his open eyes proclaimed that the man neither woke nor slept.</p>
+<p>His lonely death was on this wise. Standing at the edge of the highest
+point of Oke Tor, with his back to the distant guns, he had crowned the
+artillerymen&rsquo;s target, himself invisible. At that moment firing began,
+and the first shell, suddenly shrieking scarcely twenty yards above his head,
+had caused Hicks to start and turn abruptly. With this action he lost his
+balance; then a projection of the granite struck his back as he fell and
+brought him heavily to the earth upon his head.</p>
+<p>Now the sun, creeping westerly, already threw a ruddiness over the Moor,
+and this warm light touching the dead man&rsquo;s cheek brought thither a hue
+never visible in life, and imparted to the features a placidity very
+startling by contrast with the circumstances of his sudden and violent
+end.</p>
+<h2><a id="II_XVI" name="II_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI<br />
+BEFORE THE DAWN</h2>
+<p>It proclaims the attitude of John Grimbal to his enemy that thus suddenly
+confronted with the corpse of a man whom he believed in life, his first
+emotion should have betokened bitter disappointment and even anger. Will
+Blanchard&rsquo;s secret, great or small, was safe enough for the present;
+and the hand stretched eagerly for revenge clutched air.</p>
+<p>Convincing himself that Hicks was dead, Grimbal galloped off towards
+Belstone village, the nearest centre of civilisation. There he reported the
+facts, directed police and labourers where to find the body and where to
+carry it, and subsequently rode swiftly back to Chagford. Arrived at the
+market-place, he acquainted Abraham Chown, the representative of the Devon
+constabulary, with his news, and finally writing a brief statement at the
+police station before leaving it, Grimbal returned home.</p>
+<p>Not until after dark was the impatient mother made aware of her
+son&rsquo;s end, and she had scarcely received the intelligence before he
+came home to her&mdash;with no triumphant news of the Red House Farm, but
+dead, on a sheep-hurdle. Like summer lightning Clement&rsquo;s fate leapt
+through the length and breadth of Chagford. It penetrated to the vicarage; it
+reached outlying farms; it arrived at Monks Barton, was whispered near Mrs.
+Blanchard&rsquo;s cottage by the Teign, and, in the early morning of the
+following day, reached Newtake.</p>
+<p>Then Will, galloping to the village while dawn was yet grey, met Doctor
+Parsons, and heard the truth of these uncertain rumours which had reached
+him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It seems clear enough when Grimbal&rsquo;s statement comes to be
+read,&rdquo; explained the medical man. &ldquo;He had arranged a meeting with
+poor Hicks on Oke Tor, and, when he went to keep his appointment, found the
+unfortunate man lying under the rocks quite dead. The spot, I must tell you,
+was near a target of the soldiers at Okehampton, and John Grimbal first
+suspected that Hicks, heedless of the red warning flags, had wandered into
+the line of fire and been actually slain by a projectile. But nothing of that
+sort happened. I have seen him. The unfortunate man evidently slipped and
+fell from some considerable height upon his head. His neck is dislocated and
+the base of the skull badly fractured.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Have you seen my poor sister?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I was called last night while at Mrs. Hicks&rsquo;s cottage, and
+went almost at once. It&rsquo;s very terrible&mdash;very. She&rsquo;ll get
+brain fever if we&rsquo;re not careful. Such a shock! She was walking alone,
+down in the croft by the river&mdash;all in a tremendously heavy dew too. She
+was dry-eyed and raved, poor girl. I may say she was insane at that sad
+moment. &lsquo;Weep for yourself!&rsquo; she said to me. &lsquo;Let this
+place weep for itself, for there&rsquo;s a great man has died. He was here
+and lived here and nobody knew&mdash;nobody but his mother and I knew what he
+was. He had to beg his bread almost, and God let him; but the sin of it is on
+those around him&mdash;you and the rest.&rsquo; So she spoke, poor child.
+These are not exactly her words, but something like them. I got her indoors
+to her mother and sent her a draught. I&rsquo;ve just come from confining
+Mrs. Woods, and I&rsquo;ll walk down and see your sister now before I go home
+if you like. I hope she may be sleeping.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Will readily agreed to this suggestion; and together the two men proceeded
+to the valley.</p>
+<p>But many things had happened since the night. When Doctor Parsons left
+Mrs. Blanchard, she had prevailed upon Chris to go to bed, and then herself
+departed to the village and sat with Mrs. Hicks for an hour. Returning, she
+found her daughter apparently asleep, and, rather than wake her, left the
+doctor&rsquo;s draught unopened; yet Chris had only simulated slumber, and as
+soon as her mother retreated to her own bed, she rose, dressed, crept from
+the house, and hastened through the night to where her lover lay.</p>
+<p>The first awful stroke had fallen, but the elasticity of the human mind
+which at first throws off and off such terrible shocks, and only after the
+length of many hours finally accepts them as fact, saved Chris Blanchard from
+going mad. Happily she could not thus soon realise the truth. It recurred,
+like the blows of a sledge, upon her brain, but between these cruel reminders
+of the catastrophe, the knowledge of Clement&rsquo;s death escaped her memory
+entirely, and more than once, while roaming the dew alone, she asked herself
+suddenly what she was doing and why she was there. Then the mournful answer
+knelled to her heart, and the recurrent spasms of that first agony slowly,
+surely settled into one dead pain, as the truth was seared into her
+knowledge. A frenzied burst of anger succeeded, and under its influence she
+spoke to Doctor Parsons, who approached her beside the river and with tact
+and patience at length prevailed upon her to enter her home. She cursed the
+land that had borne him, the hamlet wherein he had dwelt; and her mother, not
+amazed at her fierce grief, found each convulsive ebullition of sorrow
+natural to the dark hour, and soothed her as best she could. Then the elder
+woman departed a while, not knowing the truth and feeling such a course
+embraced the deeper wisdom.</p>
+<p>Left alone, her future rose before Chris, as she sat upon her bed and saw
+the time to come glimmer out of the night in colours more ashy than the
+moonbeams on the cotton blind. Yet, as she looked her face burned, and one
+flame, vivid enough, flickered through all the future; the light on her own
+cheeks. Her position as it faced her from various points of view acted upon
+her physical being&mdash;suffocated her and brought a scream to her lips.
+There was nobody to hear it, nobody to see the girl tear her hair, rise from
+her couch, fall quivering, face downward, on the little strip of carpet
+beside her bed. Who could know even a little of what this meant to her? Women
+had often lost the men they loved, but never, never like this. So she assured
+herself. Past sorrows and fears dwindled to mere shadows now; for the awful
+future&mdash;the crushing months to come, rose grim and horrible on the
+horizon of Time, laden with greater terrors than she could face and live.</p>
+<p>Alone, Chris told herself she might have withstood the oncoming
+tribulation&mdash;struggled through the storms of suffering and kept her
+broken heart company as other women had done before and must again; but she
+would not be alone. A little hand was stretching out of the loneliness she
+yearned for; a little voice was crying out of the solitude she craved. The
+shadows that might have sheltered her were full of hard eyes; the secret
+places would only echo a world&rsquo;s cruel laughter now&mdash;that world
+which had let her loved one die uncared for, that world so pitiless to such
+as she. Her thoughts were alternately defiant and fearful; then, before the
+picture of her mother and Will, her emotions dwindled from the tragic and
+became of a sort that weeping could relieve. Tears, now mercifully released
+from their fountains, softened her bruised soul for a time and moderated the
+physical strain of her agony. She lay long, half-naked, sobbing her heart
+out. Then came the mad desire to be back with Clement at any cost, and
+profound pity for him overwhelmed her mind to the exclusion of further sorrow
+for herself. She forgot herself wholly in grief that he was gone. She would
+never hear him speak or laugh again; never again kiss the trouble from his
+eyes; never feel the warm breath of him, the hand-grip of him. He was dead;
+and she saw him lying straight and cold in a padded coffin, with his hands
+crossed and cerecloth stiffly tying up his jaws. He would sink into the
+silence that dwelt under the roots of the green grass; while she must go on
+and fight the world, and in fighting it, bring down upon his grave bitter
+words and sharp censures from the lips of those who did not understand.</p>
+<p>Before which reflection Death came closer and looked kind; and the thought
+of his hand was cool and comforting, as the hand of a grey moor mist sweeping
+over the heath after fiery days of cloudless sun. Death stood very near and
+beckoned at the dark portals of her thought. Behind him there shone a great
+light, and in the light stood Clem; but the Shadow filled all the foreground.
+To go to her loved one, to die quickly and take their mutual secret with her,
+seemed a right and a precious thought just then; to go, to die, while yet he
+lay above the earth, was a determination that had even a little power to
+solace her agony. She thought of meeting him standing alone, strange,
+friendless on the other side of the grave; she told herself that actual duty,
+if not the vast love she bore him, pointed along the unknown road he had so
+recently followed. It was but justice to him. Then she could laugh at Time
+and Fate and the juggling unseen Controller who had played with him and her,
+had wrecked their little lives, forced their little passions under a sham
+security, then snapped the thread on which she hung for everything, killed
+the better part of herself, and left her all alone without a hand to shield
+or a heart to pity. In the darkness, as the moon stole away and her chamber
+window blackened, she sounded all sorrow&rsquo;s wide and solemn diapason;
+and the living sank into shadows before her mind&rsquo;s accentuated and
+vivid picture of the dead. Future life loomed along one desolate pathway that
+led to pain and shame and griefs as yet untasted. The rocks beside the way
+hid shadowy shapes of the unfriendly; for no mother&rsquo;s kindly hand would
+support her, no brother&rsquo;s stout arm would be lifted for her when they
+knew. No pure, noble, fellow-creature might be asked for aid, not one might
+be expected to succour and cherish in the great strait sweeping towards her.
+Some indeed there were to look to for the moment, but their voices and their
+eyes would harden presently, when they knew.</p>
+<p>She told herself they must never know; and the solution to the problem of
+how to keep her secret appeared upon the threshold of the unknown road her
+lover had already travelled. Now, at the echo of the lowest notes, while she
+lay with uneven pulses and shaking limbs, it seemed that she was faced with
+the parting of the ways and must make instant choice. Time would not wait for
+her and cared nothing whether she chose life or death for her road. She
+struggled with red thoughts, and fever burnt her lips and stabbed her
+forehead. Clement was gone. In this supreme hour no fellow-creature could
+fortify her courage or direct her tottering judgment. Once she thought of
+prayer and turned from it shuddering with a passionate determination to pray
+no more. Then the vision of Death shadowed her and she felt his brief sting
+would be nothing beside the endless torment of living. Dangerous thoughts
+developed quickly in her and grew to giants. Something clamoured to her and
+cried that delay, even of hours, was impossible and must be fatal to secrecy.
+A feverish yearning to get it over, and that quickly, mastered her, and she
+began huddling on some clothes.</p>
+<p>Then it was that the sudden sound of the cottage door being shut and
+bolted reached her ear. Mrs. Blanchard had returned and knowing that she
+would approach in a moment, Chris flung herself on the bed and pretended to
+be sleeping soundly. It was not until her mother withdrew and herself
+slumbered half an hour later that the distracted woman arose, dressed
+herself, and silently left the house as we have said.</p>
+<p>She heard the river calling to her, and through its murmur sounded the
+voice of her loved one from afar. The moon shone clear and the valley was
+full of vapoury gauze. A wild longing to see him once more in the flesh
+before she followed him in the spirit gained upon Chris, and she moved slowly
+up the hill to the village. Then, as she went, born of the mists upon the
+meadows, and the great light and the moony gossamers diamonded with dew,
+there rose his dear shape and moved with her along the way. But his face was
+hidden, and he vanished at the first outposts of the hamlet as she passed
+into Chagford alone. The cottage shadows fell velvety black in a shining
+silence; their thatches were streaked, their slates meshed with silver; their
+whitewashed walls looked strangely awake and alert and surrounded the woman
+with a sort of blind, hushed stare. One solitary patch of light peered like a
+weary eye from that side of the street which lay in shadow, and Chris,
+passing through the unbolted cottage door, walked up the narrow passage
+within and softly entered.</p>
+<p>Condolence and tears and buzz of sorrowful friends had passed away with
+the stroke of midnight. Now Mrs. Hicks sat alone with her dead and gazed upon
+his calm features and vaguely wondered how, after a life of such
+disappointment and failure and bitter discontent, he could look so peaceful.
+She knew every line that thought and trouble had ruled upon his face; she
+remembered their coming; and now, between her fits of grief, she scanned him
+close and saw that Death had wiped away the furrows here and there, and
+smoothed his forehead and rolled back the years from off him until his face
+reminded her of the strange, wayward child who was wont to live a life apart
+from his fellows, like some wild wood creature, and who had passed almost
+friendless through his boyhood. Fully he had filled her widowed life, and
+been at least a loving child, a good son. On him her withered hopes had
+depended, and, even in their darkest hours, he had laughed at her dread of
+the workhouse, and assured her that while head and hands remained to him she
+need not fear, but should enjoy the independence of a home. Now this sole
+prop and stay was gone&mdash;gone, just as the black cloud had broken and
+Fate relented.</p>
+<p>The old woman sat beside him stricken, shrivelled, almost reptilian in her
+red-eyed, motionless misery. Only her eyes moved in her wrinkled, brown face,
+and reflected the candle standing on the mantelpiece above his head. She sat
+with her hands crooked over one another in her lap, like some image wrought
+of ebony and dark oak. Once a large house-spider suddenly and silently
+appeared upon the sheet that covered the breast of the dead. It flashed along
+for a foot or two, then sat motionless; and she, whose inclination was to
+loathe such things unutterably, put forth her hand and caught it without a
+tremor and crushed it while its hairy legs wriggled between her fingers.</p>
+<p>To the robbed mother came Chris, silent as a ghost. Only the old
+woman&rsquo;s eyes moved as the girl entered, fell down by the bier, and
+buried her face in the pillow that supported her lover&rsquo;s head. Thus, in
+profound silence, both remained awhile, until Chris lifted herself and looked
+in the dead face and almost started to see the strange content stamped on
+it.</p>
+<p>Then Mrs. Hicks began to speak in a high-pitched voice which broke now and
+again as her bosom heaved after past tears.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The awnly son of his mother, an&rsquo; she a widow wummon;
+an&rsquo; theer &rsquo;s no Christ now to work for the love of the poor. I be
+shattered wi&rsquo; many groans an&rsquo; tears, Chris Blanchard, same as you
+be. You knawed him&mdash;awnly you an&rsquo; me; but you &rsquo;m young yet,
+an&rsquo; memory&rsquo;s so weak in young brains that you&rsquo;ll outlive it
+all an&rsquo; forget.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Never, never, mother! Theer &rsquo;s no more life for me&mdash;not
+here. He&rsquo;s callin&rsquo; to me&mdash;callin&rsquo; an&rsquo;
+callin&rsquo; from yonder.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;ll outlive an&rsquo; forget,&rdquo; repeated the other.
+&ldquo;I cannot, bein&rsquo; as I am. An&rsquo;, mind this, when you pray to
+Heaven, ax for gold an&rsquo; diamonds, ax for houses an&rsquo; lands, ax for
+the fat of the airth; an&rsquo; ax loud. No harm in axin&rsquo;. Awnly
+doan&rsquo;t pitch your prayers tu dirt low, for ban&rsquo;t the hardness of
+a thing stops God. You &rsquo;m as likely or onlikely to get a big answer as
+a little. See the blessin&rsquo; flowin&rsquo; in streams for some folks!
+They do live braave an&rsquo; happy, with gude health, an&rsquo; gude wives,
+an&rsquo; money, an&rsquo; the fruits of the land; they do get butivul
+childer, as graws up like the corners of the temple; an&rsquo; when they come
+to die, they shut their eyes &rsquo;pon kind faaces an&rsquo; lie in lead
+an&rsquo; oak under polished marble. All that be theers; an&rsquo; what was
+his&mdash;my son&rsquo;s?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;God forgot him,&rdquo; sobbed Chris, &ldquo;an&rsquo; the world
+forgot him&mdash;all but you an&rsquo; me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The old woman shifted her hands wearily.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Theer&rsquo;s a mort for God to bear in mind, but &rsquo;t is hard,
+here an&rsquo; there, wheer He slips awver some lowly party an&rsquo; misses
+a humble whisper. Clamour if you want to be heard; doan&rsquo;t go with bated
+breath same as I done. &rsquo;T was awnly a li&rsquo;l thing I axed,
+an&rsquo; axed it twice a day on my knees, ever since my man died
+twenty-three year agone. An&rsquo; often as not thrice Sundays, so you may
+count up the number of times I axed if you mind to. Awnly a li&rsquo;l
+rubbishy thing you might have thought: just to bring his fair share o&rsquo;
+prosperity to Clem an&rsquo; keep my bones out the poorhouse at the end. But
+my bwoy &rsquo;s brawk his neck by a cruel death, an&rsquo; I must wear the
+blue cotton.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, no, mother.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess. Not that it looks so hard as it did. This makes it
+easy&mdash;&rdquo; and she put her hand on her son&rsquo;s forehead and left
+it there a moment.</p>
+<p>Presently she continued:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I axed Clem to turn the bee-butts at my sister&rsquo;s
+passing&mdash;Mrs. Lezzard. But he wouldn&rsquo;t; an&rsquo; now
+they&rsquo;ll be turned for him. Wise though the man was, he set no store on
+the dark, hidden meaning of honey-bees at times of death. Now the creatures
+be masterless, same as you an&rsquo; me; an&rsquo; they&rsquo;ll knaw it;
+an&rsquo; you&rsquo;ll see many an&rsquo; many a-murmuring on his graave
+&rsquo;fore the grass graws green theer; for they see more &rsquo;n what we
+can.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She relapsed into motionless silence and, herself now wholly tearless,
+watched the tears of Chris, who had sunk down on the floor between the mother
+and son.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why for do <i>you</i> cry an&rsquo; wring your hands so
+hard?&rdquo; she asked suddenly. &ldquo;You&rsquo;m awnly a girl
+yet&mdash;young an&rsquo; soft-cheeked wi&rsquo; braave bonny eyes.
+Theer&rsquo;ll be many a man&rsquo;s breast for you to comfort your head on.
+But me! Think o&rsquo; what&rsquo;s tearin&rsquo; my auld heart to
+tatters&mdash;me, so bleared an&rsquo; ugly an&rsquo; lonely. God knaws
+God&rsquo;s self couldn&rsquo;t bring no balm to me&mdash;none, till I huddle
+under the airth arter un; but you&mdash;your wound won&rsquo;t show by time
+the snaw comes again.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You forget when you loved a man first if you says such a thing as
+that.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Theer&rsquo;s no eternal, lasting fashion o&rsquo; love but a
+mother&rsquo;s to her awn male childer,&rdquo; croaked the other.
+&ldquo;Sweethearts&rsquo; love is a thing o&rsquo; the blood&mdash;a trick
+o&rsquo; Nature to tickle us poor human things into breeding &rsquo;gainst
+our better wisdom; but what a mother feels doan&rsquo;t hang on no such
+broken reed. It&rsquo;s deeper down; it&rsquo;s hell an&rsquo; heaven both to
+wance; it&rsquo;s life; an&rsquo; to lose it is death. See! Essterday
+I&rsquo;d &rsquo;a&rsquo; fought an&rsquo; screamed an&rsquo; took on like a
+gude un to be fetched away to the Union; but come they put him in the ground,
+I&rsquo;ll go so quiet as a lamb.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Another silence followed; then the aged widow pursued her theme, at first
+in the same dreary, cracked monotone, then deepening to passion.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I tell you a gude wife will do &rsquo;most anything for a husband
+an&rsquo; give her body an&rsquo; soul to un; but she expects summat in
+return. She wants his love an&rsquo; worship for hers; but a mother do give
+all&mdash;all&mdash;all&mdash;an&rsquo; never axes nothin&rsquo; for it. Just
+a kiss maybe, an&rsquo; a brightening eye, or a kind word. That&rsquo;s her
+pay, an&rsquo; better&rsquo;n gawld, tu. She&rsquo;m purty nigh satisfied
+wi&rsquo; what would satisfy a dog, come to think on it. &rsquo;T is her joy
+to fret an&rsquo; fume an&rsquo; pine o&rsquo; nights for un, an&rsquo; tire
+the A&rsquo;mighty&rsquo;s ear wi&rsquo; plans an&rsquo; suggestions for un;
+aye, think an&rsquo; sweat an&rsquo; starve for un all times. &rsquo;T is her
+joy, I tell &rsquo;e, to smooth his road, an&rsquo; catch the brambles by his
+way an&rsquo; let &rsquo;em bury their thorns in her flesh so he
+shaa&rsquo;n&rsquo;t feel &rsquo;em; &rsquo;t is her joy to hear him babble
+of all his hopes an&rsquo; delights; an&rsquo; when the time comes
+she&rsquo;ll taake the maid of his heart to her awn, though maybe &rsquo;t is
+breakin&rsquo; wi&rsquo; fear that he&rsquo;ll forget her in the light of the
+young eyes. Ax your awn mother if what I sez ban&rsquo;t God&rsquo;s truth.
+We as got the bwoys be content wi&rsquo; that little. We awnly want to help
+theer young shoulders wi&rsquo; our auld wans, to fight for &rsquo;em to the
+last. We&rsquo;ll let theer wives have the love, we will, an&rsquo; ax no
+questions an&rsquo;&mdash;an&rsquo; we&rsquo;ll break our hearts when the
+cheel &rsquo;s took out o&rsquo; his turn&mdash;break our hearts by
+inches&mdash;same as I be doin&rsquo; now.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; doan&rsquo;t I love, tu? Weern&rsquo;t he all the world
+to me, tu? Isn&rsquo;t my heart broken so well as yours?&rdquo; sobbed
+Chris.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Hear this, you wummon as talks of a broken heart,&rdquo; answered
+the elder almost harshly. &ldquo;Wait&mdash;wait till you &rsquo;m the mother
+of a li&rsquo;l man-cheel, an&rsquo; see the shining eyes of un
+a-lookin&rsquo; into yourn while your nipple&rsquo;s bein&rsquo; squeezed by
+his naked gums, an&rsquo; you laugh at what you suffered for un, an&rsquo;
+hug un to you. Wait till he&rsquo;m grawed from baby to bwoy, from bwoy to
+man; wait till he&rsquo;m all you&rsquo;ve got left in the cold, starved
+winter of a sorrowful life; an&rsquo; wait till he&rsquo;m brought home to
+&rsquo;e like this here, while you&rsquo;ve been sittin&rsquo; laughin&rsquo;
+to yourself an&rsquo; countin&rsquo; dream gawld. Then turn about to find the
+tears that&rsquo;ll comfort &rsquo;e, an&rsquo; the prayers that&rsquo;ll
+soothe &rsquo;e, and the God that&rsquo;ll lift &rsquo;e up; but you
+won&rsquo;t find &rsquo;em, Chris Blanchard.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The girl listened to this utterance, and it filled her with a sort of
+weird wonder as at a revelation of heredity. Mrs. Hicks had ever been
+taciturn before her, and now this rapid outpouring of thoughts and phrases
+echoed like the very speech of the dead. Thus had Clement talked, and the
+girl dimly marvelled without understanding. The impression passed, and there
+awoke in Chris a sudden determination to whisper to this bereaved woman what
+she could not even tell her own mother. A second thought had probably changed
+her intention, but she did not wait for any second thought. She acted on
+impulse, rose, put her arms round the widow, and murmured her secret. The
+other started violently and broke her motionless posture before this
+intelligence.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Christ! And he knawed&mdash;my son?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He knawed.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then you needn&rsquo;t whisper it. There&rsquo;s awnly us three
+here.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; no others must knaw. You&rsquo;ll never tell&mdash;never?
+You swear that?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Me tell! No, no. To think! Then theer&rsquo;s real sorrow for you,
+tu, poor soul&mdash;real, grawin&rsquo; sorrow tu. Differ&rsquo;nt from mine,
+but real enough. Yet&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She relapsed into a stone-like repose. No facial muscle moved, but the
+expression of her mind appeared in her eyes and there gradually grew a hungry
+look in them&mdash;as of a starving thing confronted with food. The
+realisation of these new facts took a long time. No action accompanied it; no
+wrinkle deepened; no line of the dejected figure lifted; but when she spoke
+again her voice had greatly changed and become softer and very tremulous.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O my dear God! &rsquo;t will be a bit of Clement! Had &rsquo;e
+thought o&rsquo; that?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then she rose suddenly to her feet and expression came to her face&mdash;a
+very wonderful expression wherein were blended fear, awe, and something of
+vague but violent joy&mdash;as though one suddenly beheld a loved ghost from
+the dead.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;T is as if all of un weern&rsquo;t quite lost! A li&rsquo;l
+left&mdash;a cheel of his! Wummon! You&rsquo;m a holy thing to me&mdash;a
+holy thing evermore! You&rsquo;m bearin&rsquo; sunshine for your summertime
+and my winter&mdash;if God so wills!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then she lifted up her voice and cried to Chris with a strange cry, and
+knelt down at her feet and kissed her hands and stroked them.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Go to un,&rdquo; she said, leaping up; &ldquo;go to Clem, an&rsquo;
+tell un, in his ear, that I knaw. It&rsquo;ll reach him if you whisper it.
+His soul ban&rsquo;t so very far aways yet. Tell un I knaw, tu&mdash;you
+an&rsquo; me. He&rsquo;d glory that I knawed. An&rsquo; pray henceforrard, as
+I shall, for a bwoy. Ax God for a bwoy&mdash;ax wi&rsquo;out ceasin&rsquo;
+for a son full o&rsquo; Clem. Our sorrows might win to the Everlasting Ear
+this wance. But, for Christ&rsquo;s sake, ax like wan who has a right to, not
+fawning an&rsquo; humble.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The woman was transfigured as the significance of this news filled her
+mind. She wept before a splendid possibility. It fired her eyes and
+straightened her shrivelled stature. For a while her frantic utterances
+almost inspired Chris with the shadow of similar emotions; but another side
+of the picture knew no dawn. This the widow ignored&mdash;indeed it had not
+entered her head since her first comment on the confession. Now, however, the
+girl reminded her,&mdash;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You forget a little what this must be to me, mother.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Light in darkness.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I hadn&rsquo;t thought that; an the gert world won&rsquo;t pity me,
+as you did when I first told you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You ban&rsquo;t feared o&rsquo; the world, be you? The world forgot
+un. &rsquo;T was your awn word. What&rsquo;s the world to you, knawin&rsquo;
+what you knaw? Do &rsquo;e want to be treated soft by what was allus
+hell-hard to him? Four-and-thirty short years he lived, then the world
+beginned to ope its eyes to his paarts, an&rsquo; awnly then&mdash;tu late,
+when the thread of his days was spun. What&rsquo;s the world to you and why
+should you care for its word, Chris Blanchard?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Because I am Chris Blanchard,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I was gwaine
+to kill myself, but thought to see his dear face wance more before I done it.
+Now&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Kill yourself! God&rsquo;s mercy! &rsquo;T will be killing Clem
+again if you do! You caan&rsquo;t; you wouldn&rsquo;t dare; theer&rsquo;s
+black damnation in it an&rsquo; flat murder now. Hear me, for Christ&rsquo;s
+sake, if that&rsquo;s the awful thought in you: you&rsquo;m God&rsquo;s
+chosen tool in this&mdash;chosen to suffer an&rsquo; bring a bwoy in the
+world&mdash;Clem&rsquo;s bwoy. Doan&rsquo;t you see how&rsquo;t is?
+&rsquo;Kill yourself&rsquo;! How can &rsquo;e dream it? You&rsquo;ve got to
+bring a bwoy, I tell &rsquo;e, to keep us from both gwaine stark mad.
+&rsquo;T was foreordained he should leave his holy likeness. God&rsquo;s
+truth! You should be proud &rsquo;stead o&rsquo; fearful&mdash;such a man as
+he was. Hold your head high an&rsquo; pray when none&rsquo;s lookin&rsquo;,
+pray through every wakin&rsquo; hour an&rsquo; watch yourself as you&rsquo;d
+watch the case of a golden jewel. What wise brain will think hard of you for
+followin&rsquo; the chosen path? What odds if a babe&rsquo;s got ringless
+under the stars or in a lawful four-post bed? Who married Adam an&rsquo; Eve?
+You was the wife of un &rsquo;cordin&rsquo; to the first plan o&rsquo; the
+livin&rsquo; God; an&rsquo; if He changed His lofty mind when&rsquo;t was tu
+late, blame doan&rsquo;t fall on you or the dead. Think of a baaby&mdash;his
+baaby&mdash;under your breast! Think of meetin&rsquo; him in time to come,
+wi&rsquo; another soul got in sheer love! Better to faace the people
+an&rsquo; let the bairn come to fulness o&rsquo; life than fly them an&rsquo;
+cut your days short an&rsquo; go into the next world empty-handed.
+Caan&rsquo;t you see it? What would Clem say? He&rsquo;d judge you
+hard&mdash;such a lover o&rsquo; li&rsquo;l childer as him. &rsquo;T is the
+first framework of an immortal soul you&rsquo;ve got unfoldin&rsquo;, like a
+rosebud hid in the green, an&rsquo; ban&rsquo;t for you to nip that life for
+your awn whim an&rsquo; let the angels in heaven be fewer by wan. You must
+live. An&rsquo; the bwoy&rsquo;ll graw into a tower of strength for
+&rsquo;e&mdash;a tower of strength an&rsquo; a glass belike wheer
+you&rsquo;ll see Clem rose again.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The shame of it. My mother and Will&mdash;Will who&rsquo;s a hard
+judge, an&rsquo; such a clean man.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;Clean&rsquo;! Christ A&rsquo;mighty! You&rsquo;d madden a
+saint of heaven! Weern&rsquo;t Clem clean, tu? If God sends fire-fire breaks
+out&mdash;sweet, livin&rsquo; fire. You must go through with it&mdash;aye,
+an&rsquo; call the bwoy Clem, tu. Be you shamed of him as he lies here? Be
+you feared of anything the airth can do to you when you look at him? Do
+&rsquo;e think Heaven&rsquo;s allus hard? No, I tell &rsquo;e, not to the
+young&mdash;not to the young. The wind&rsquo;s mostly tempered to the shorn
+lamb, though the auld ewe do oftentimes sting for it, an&rsquo; get the seeds
+o&rsquo; death arter shearing. Wait, and be strong, till you feel
+Clem&rsquo;s baaby in your arms. That&rsquo;ll be reward enough, an&rsquo;
+you won&rsquo;t care no more for the world then. His son, mind; who be you to
+take life, an&rsquo; break the buds of Clem&rsquo;s plantin&rsquo;? Worse
+than to go in another&rsquo;s garden an&rsquo; tear down green
+fruit.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>So she pleaded volubly, with an electric increase of vitality, and
+continued to pour out a torrent of words, until Chris solemnly promised,
+before God and the dead, that she would not take her life. Having done so,
+some new design informed her.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I must go,&rdquo; she said; &ldquo;the moon has set and dawn is
+near. Dying be so easy; living so hard. But live I will; I swear it, though
+theer&rsquo;s awnly my poor mad brain to shaw how.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Clem&rsquo;s son, mind. An&rsquo; let me be the first to see it,
+for I feel&rsquo;t will be the gude pleasure of God I should.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; you promise to say no word, whatever betides, an&rsquo;
+whatever you hear?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Dumb I&rsquo;ll be, as him theer&mdash;dumb, countin&rsquo; the
+weeks an&rsquo; months.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Day&rsquo;s broke, an&rsquo; I must go home-along,&rdquo; said
+Chris. She repeated the words mechanically, then moved away without any
+formal farewell. At the door she turned, hastened back, kissed the dead
+man&rsquo;s face again, and then departed, while the other woman looked at
+her but spoke no more.</p>
+<p>Alone, with the struggle over and her object won, the mother shrank and
+dwindled again and grew older momentarily. Then she relapsed into the same
+posture as before, and anon, tears bred of new thoughts began to trickle
+painfully from their parched fountains. She did not move, but let them roll
+unwiped away. Presently her head sank back, her cap fell off and white hair
+dropped about her face.</p>
+<p>Fingers of light seemed lifting the edges of the blind. They gained
+strength as the candle waned, and presently at cock-crow, when unnumbered
+clarions proclaimed morning, grey dawn with golden eyes brightened upon a
+dead man and an ancient woman fast asleep beside him.</p>
+<h2><a id="II_XVII" name="II_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII<br />
+MISSING</h2>
+<p>John Grimbal, actuated by some whim, or else conscious that under the
+circumstances decorum demanded his attendance, was present at the funeral of
+Clement Hicks. Some cynic interest he derived from the spectacle of young
+Blanchard among the bearers; and indeed, as may be supposed, few had felt
+this tragic termination of his friend&rsquo;s life more than Will. Very
+genuine remorse darkened his days, and he blamed himself bitterly enough for
+all past differences with the dead. It was in a mood at once contrite and
+sorrowful that he listened to the echo of falling clod, and during that
+solemn sound mentally traversed the whole course of his relations with his
+sister&rsquo;s lover. Of himself he thought not at all, and no shadowy
+suspicion of relief crossed his mind upon the reflection that the knowledge
+of those fateful weeks long past was now unshared. In all his quarrels with
+Clement, no possibility of the man breaking his oath once troubled
+Will&rsquo;s mind; and now profound sorrow at his friend&rsquo;s death and
+deep sympathy with Chris were the emotions that entirely filled the young
+farmer&rsquo;s heart.</p>
+<p>Grimbal watched his enemy as the service beside the grave proceeded. Once
+a malignant thought darkened his face, and he mused on what the result might
+be if he hinted to Blanchard the nature of his frustrated business with Hicks
+at Oke Tor. All Chagford had heard was that the master of the Red House
+intended to accept Clement Hicks as tenant of his home farm. The fact
+surprised many, but none looked behind it for any mystery, and Will least of
+all. Grimbal&rsquo;s thoughts developed upon his first idea; and he asked
+himself the consequence if, instead of telling Blanchard that he had gone to
+learn his secret, he should pretend that it was already in his possession.
+The notion shone for a moment only, then went out. First it showed itself
+absolutely futile, for he could do no more than threaten, and the other must
+speedily discover that in reality he knew nothing; and secondly, some shadow
+of feeling made Grimbal hesitate. His desire for revenge was now developing
+on new lines, and while his purpose remained unshaken, his last defeat had
+taught him patience. Partly from motives of policy, partly, strange as it may
+seem, from his instincts as a sportsman, he determined to let the matter of
+Hicks lie buried. For the dead man&rsquo;s good name he cared nothing,
+however, and victory over Will was only the more desired for this
+postponement. His black tenacity of purpose won strength from the repulse,
+but the problem for the time being was removed from its former sphere of
+active hatred towards his foe. How long this attitude would last, and what
+idiosyncrasy of character led to it, matters little. The fact remained that
+Grimbal&rsquo;s mental posture towards Blanchard now more nearly resembled
+that which he wore to his other interests in life. The circumstance still
+stood first, but partook of the nature of his emotions towards matters of
+sport. When a heavy trout had beaten him more than once, Grimbal would repair
+again and again to its particular haunt and leave no legitimate plan for its
+destruction untried. But any unsportsmanlike method of capturing or slaying
+bird, beast, or fish enraged him. So he left the churchyard with a sullen
+determination to pursue his sinister purpose straightforwardly.</p>
+<p>All interested in Clement Hicks attended the funeral, including his mother
+and Chris. The last had yielded to Mrs. Blanchard&rsquo;s desire and promised
+to stop at home; but she changed her mind and conducted herself at the
+ceremony with a stoic fortitude. This she achieved only by an effort of will
+which separated her consciousness entirely from her environment and alike
+blinded her eyes and deafened her ears to the mournful sights and sounds
+around her. With her own future every fibre of her mind was occupied; and as
+they lowered her lover&rsquo;s coffin into the earth a line of action leapt
+into her brain.</p>
+<p>Less than four-and-twenty hours later it seemed that the last act of the
+tragedy had begun. Then, hoarse as the raven that croaked Duncan&rsquo;s
+coming, Mr. Blee returned to Monks Barton from an early visit to the village.
+Phoebe was staying with her father for a fortnight, and it was she who met
+the old man as he paddled breathlessly home.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;More gert news!&rdquo; he gasped; &ldquo;if it ban&rsquo;t too much
+for wan in your way o&rsquo; health.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Nothing wrong at Newtake?&rdquo; cried Phoebe, turning pale.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, no; but family news for all that.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The girl raised her hand to her heart, and Miller Lyddon, attracted by
+Billy&rsquo;s excited voice, hastened to his daughter and put his arm round
+her.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Out with it,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I see news in &rsquo;e.
+What&rsquo;s the worst or best?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Bad, bad as heart can wish. A peck o&rsquo; trouble, by the looks
+of it. Chris Blanchard be gone&mdash;vanished like a dream! Mother Blanchard
+called her this marnin&rsquo;, an&rsquo; found her bed not so much as
+creased. She&rsquo;ve flown, an&rsquo; there&rsquo;s a braave upstore
+&rsquo;bout it, for every Blanchard&rsquo;s wrong in the head more or less,
+beggin&rsquo; your pardon, missis, as be awnly wan by marriage.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But no sign? No word or anything left?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Nothing; an&rsquo; theer&rsquo;s a purty strong faith she&rsquo;m
+in the river, poor lamb. Theer&rsquo;s draggin&rsquo; gwaine to be done in
+the ugly bits. I heard tell of it to the village, wheer I&rsquo;d just
+stepped up to see auld Lezzard moved to the work&rsquo;ouse. A wonnerful
+coorious, rackety world, sure &rsquo;nough! Do make me giddy.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Does Will know?&rdquo; asked Mr. Lyddon.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;His mother&rsquo;s sent post-haste for un. I doubt he &rsquo;m to
+the cottage by now. Such a gude, purty gal as she was, tu! An&rsquo; so mute
+as a twoad at the buryin&rsquo;, wi&rsquo; never a tear to soften the graave
+dust. For why? She knawed she&rsquo;d be alongside her man again &rsquo;fore
+the moon waned. An&rsquo; I hope she may be. But &rsquo;t was cross-roads
+an&rsquo; a hawthorn stake in my young days. Them barbarous ancient fashions
+be awver, thank God, though whether us lives in more religious times is a
+question, when you see the things what happens every hour on the
+twenty-four.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I must go to them,&rdquo; cried Phoebe.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll go; you stop at home quietly, and don&rsquo;t fret your
+mind,&rdquo; answered her father.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Us must all do what us can&mdash;every manjack. I be gwaine
+corpse-searchin&rsquo; down valley wi&rsquo; Chapple, an&rsquo; that
+&rsquo;mazin&rsquo; water-dog of hisn; an&rsquo; if &rsquo;t is my hand
+brings her out the Teign, &rsquo;t will be done in a kind, Christian manner,
+for she&rsquo;s in God&rsquo;s image yet, same as us; an&rsquo; ugly though a
+drownin&rsquo; be, it won&rsquo;t turn me from my duty.&rdquo;</p>
+<h2><a id="III_I" name="III_I"></a>BOOK III<br />
+HIS GRANITE CROSS<br />
+<br />CHAPTER I<br />
+BABY</h2>
+<p>Succeeding upon the tumultuous incidents of Clement&rsquo;s death and
+Chris Blanchard&rsquo;s disappearance, there followed a period of calm in the
+lives of those from whom this narrative is gleaned. Such transient peace
+proved the greater in so far as Damaris and her son were concerned, by reason
+of an incident which befell Will on the evening of his sister&rsquo;s
+departure. Dead she certainly was not, nor did she mean to die; for, upon
+returning to Newtake after hours of fruitless searching, Blanchard found a
+communication awaiting him there, though no shadow of evidence was
+forthcoming to show how it had reached the farm. Upon the ledge of the window
+he discovered it when he returned, and read the message at a glance:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t you nor mother fear nothing for me, nor seek me out,
+for it would be vain. I&rsquo;m well, and I&rsquo;m so happy as ever I shall
+be, and perhaps I&rsquo;ll come home-along some day.&mdash;CHRIS.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>On this challenge Will acted, ignored his sister&rsquo;s entreaty to
+attempt no such thing, and set out upon a resolute search of nearly two
+months&rsquo; duration. He toiled amain into the late autumn, but no hint or
+shadow of her rewarded the quest, and sustained failure in an enterprise
+where his heart was set, for his mother&rsquo;s sake and his own, acted upon
+the man&rsquo;s character, and indeed wrought marked changes in him. Despite
+the letter of Chris, hope died in Will, and he openly held his sister dead;
+but Mrs. Blanchard, while sufficiently distressed before her daughter&rsquo;s
+flight, never feared for her life, and doubted not that she would return in
+such time as it pleased her to do so.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Her nature be same as yours an&rsquo; your faither&rsquo;s afore
+you. When he&rsquo;d got the black monkey on his shoulder he&rsquo;d
+oftentimes leave the vans for a week and tramp the very heart o&rsquo; the
+Moor alone. Fatigue of body often salves a sore mind. He loved thunder
+o&rsquo; dark nights&mdash;my husband did&mdash;and was better for it
+seemin&rsquo;ly. Chris be safe, I do think, though it&rsquo;s a heart-deep
+stroke this for me, &rsquo;cause I judge she caan&rsquo;t &rsquo;zactly love
+me as I thought, or else she&rsquo;d never have left me. Still, the cold
+world, what she knaws so little &rsquo;bout, will drive her back to them as
+love her, come presently.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>So, with greater philosophy than her son could muster, Damaris practised
+patience; while Will, after a perambulation of the country from north to
+south, from west to east, after weeks on the lonely heaths and hiding-places
+of the ultimate Moor, after visits to remote hamlets and inquiries at a
+hundred separate farmhouses, returned to Newtake, worn, disappointed, and
+gloomy to a degree beyond the experience of those who knew him. Neither did
+the cloud speedily evaporate, as was most usual with his transient phases of
+depression. Circumstances combined to deepen it, and as the winter crowded
+down more quickly than usual, its leaden months of scanty daylight and cold
+rains left their mark on Will as time had never done before.</p>
+<p>During those few and sombre days which represented the epact of the dying
+year, Martin Grimbal returned to Chagford. He had extended his investigations
+beyond the time originally allotted to them, and now came back to his home
+with plenty of fresh material, and even one or two new theories for his book.
+He had received no communications during his absence, and the news of the
+bee-keeper&rsquo;s death and his sweetheart&rsquo;s disappearance, suddenly
+delivered by his housekeeper, went far to overwhelm him. It danced joy up
+again through the grey granite. For a brief hour splendid vistas of happiness
+reopened, and his laborious life swept suddenly into a bright region that he
+had gazed into longingly aforetime and lost for ever. He fought with himself
+to keep down this rosy-fledged hope; but it leapt in him, a young giant born
+at a word. The significance of the freedom of Chris staggered him. To find
+her was the cry of his heart, and, as Will had done before him, he
+straightway set out upon a systematic attempt to discover the missing girl.
+Of such uncertain temper was Blanchard&rsquo;s mind at this season, however,
+that he picked a quarrel out of Martin&rsquo;s design, and questioned the
+antiquary&rsquo;s right to busy himself upon an undertaking which the brother
+of Chris had already failed to accomplish.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She belonged to me, not to you,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;an&rsquo; I
+done all a man could do to find her. See her again we sha&rsquo;n&rsquo;t,
+that&rsquo;s my feelin&rsquo;, despite what she wrote to me and left so
+mysterious on the window. Madness comed awver her, I reckon, an&rsquo;
+she&rsquo;ve taken her life, an&rsquo; theer ban&rsquo;t no call for you or
+any other man to rip up the matter again. Let it bide as &rsquo;t is. Such
+black doin&rsquo;s be best set to rest.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>But, while Martin did not seek or desire Will&rsquo;s advice in the
+matter, he was surprised at the young farmer&rsquo;s attitude, and it
+extracted something in the nature of a confession from him, for there was
+little, he told himself, that need longer be hidden from the woman&rsquo;s
+brother.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I can speak now, at least to you, Will,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I
+can tell you, at any rate. Chris was all the world to me&mdash;all the world,
+and accident kept me from knowing she belonged to another man until too late.
+Now that he has gone, poor fellow, she almost seems within reach again. You
+know what it is to love. I can&rsquo;t and won&rsquo;t believe she has taken
+her life. Something tells me she lives, and I am not going to take any
+man&rsquo;s word about it. I must satisfy myself.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Thereupon Blanchard became more reasonable, withdrew his objections and
+expressed a very heartfelt hope that Martin might succeed where he had
+failed. The lover entered methodically upon his quest and conducted the
+inquiry with a rigorous closeness and scrupulous patience quite beyond
+Will&rsquo;s power despite his equally earnest intentions. For six months
+Martin pursued his hope, and few saw or heard anything of him during that
+period.</p>
+<p>Once, during the early summer, Will chanced upon John Grimbal at the first
+meeting of the otter hounds in Teign Vale; but though the younger purposely
+edged near his enemy where he stood, and hoped that some word might fall to
+indicate their ancient enmity dead, John said nothing, and his blue eyes were
+hard and as devoid of all emotion as turquoise beads when they met the
+farmer&rsquo;s face for one fraction of time.</p>
+<p>Before this incident, however, there had arisen upon Will&rsquo;s life the
+splendour of paternity. A time came when, through one endless night and
+silver April morning, he had tramped his kitchen floor as a tiger its cage,
+and left a scratched pathway on the stones. Then his mother hasted from aloft
+and reported the arrival of a rare baby boy.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Phoebe &rsquo;s doin&rsquo; braave, an&rsquo; she prays of &rsquo;e
+to go downlong fust thing an&rsquo; tell Miller all &rsquo;s well. Doctor
+Parsons hisself says &rsquo;t is a &rsquo;mazing fine cheel, so it
+ban&rsquo;t any mere word of mine as wouldn&rsquo;t weigh, me bein&rsquo; the
+gran&rsquo;mother.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>They talked a little while of the newcomer, then, thankful for an
+opportunity to be active after his long suspense, the father hurried away,
+mounted a horse, and soon rattled down the valleys into Chagford, at a pace
+which found his beast dead lame on the following day. Mighty was the
+exhilaration of that wild gallop as he sped past cot and farm under morning
+sunshine with his great news. Labouring men and chance wayfarers were
+overtaken from time to time. Some Will knew, some he had never seen, but to
+the ear of each and all without discrimination he shouted his intelligence.
+Not a few waved their hats and nodded and remembered the great day in their
+own lives; one laughed and cried &ldquo;Bravo!&rdquo; sundry, who knew him
+not, marvelled and took him for a lunatic.</p>
+<p>Arrived at Chagford, familiar forms greeted Will in the market-place, and
+again he bawled his information without dismounting.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A son &rsquo;tis, Chapple&mdash;comed an hour ago&mdash;a brave
+li&rsquo;l bwoy, so they tell!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Gude luck to it, then! An&rsquo; now you&rsquo;m a parent, you
+must&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>But Will was out of earshot, and Mr. Chapple wasted no more breath.</p>
+<p>Into Monks Barton the farmer presently clattered, threw himself off his
+horse, tramped indoors, and shouted for his father-in-law in tones that made
+the oak beams ring. Then the miller, with Mr. Blee behind him, hastened to
+hear what Will had come to tell.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;All right, all right with Phoebe?&rdquo; were Mr. Lyddon&rsquo;s
+first words, and he was white and shaking as he put the question.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Right as ninepence, faither&mdash;gran&rsquo;faither, I should say.
+A butivul li&rsquo;l man she&rsquo;ve got&mdash;out o&rsquo; the common fine,
+Parsons says, as ought to knaw&mdash;fat as a slug wi&rsquo;
+&rsquo;mazin&rsquo; dark curls on his wee head, though my mother says
+&rsquo;tis awnly a sort o&rsquo; catch-crop, an&rsquo; not the lasting hair
+as&rsquo;ll come arter.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A bwoy! Glory be!&rdquo; said Mr. Blee. &ldquo;If theer&rsquo;s
+awnly a bit o&rsquo; the gracious gudeness of his gran&rsquo;faither in un,
+&rsquo;twill prove a prosperous infant.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Thank God for a happy end to all my prayers,&rdquo; said Mr.
+Lyddon. &ldquo;Billy, get Will something to eat an&rsquo; drink. I guess
+he&rsquo;s hungry an&rsquo; starved.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Caan&rsquo;t eat, Miller; but I&rsquo;ll have a drop of the best,
+if it&rsquo;s all the same to you. Us must drink their healths, both of
+&rsquo;em. As for me &rsquo;tis a gert thing to be the faither of a cheel
+as&rsquo;ll graw into a man some day, an&rsquo; may even be a historical
+character, awnly give un time.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So &rsquo;tis a gert thing. Sit down; doan&rsquo;t tramp about. I
+lay you&rsquo;ve been on your feet enough these late hours.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Will obeyed, but proceeded with his theme, and though his feet were still
+his hands were not.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Us be faced wi&rsquo; the upbringing an&rsquo; edication of un. I
+mean him to be brought up to a power o&rsquo; knowledge, for theer&rsquo;s
+nothin&rsquo; like it. Doan&rsquo;t you think I be gwaine to shirk
+doin&rsquo; the right thing by un&rsquo;, Miller, &rsquo;cause it aint so. If
+&rsquo;twas my last fi&rsquo;-pun&rsquo; note was called up for larnin&rsquo;
+him, he&rsquo;d have it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Theer&rsquo;s no gert hurry yet,&rdquo; declared Billy.
+&ldquo;Awnly you&rsquo;m right to look in the future and weigh the debt every
+man owes to the cheel he gets. He&rsquo;ll never cost you less thought or
+halfpence than he do to-day, an&rsquo;, wi&rsquo;out croakin&rsquo; at such a
+gay time, I will say he&rsquo;ll graw into a greater care an&rsquo; trouble,
+every breath he draws.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not him! Not the way I&rsquo;m gwaine to bring un up. Stern
+an&rsquo; strict an&rsquo; no nonsense, I promise &rsquo;e&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s right. Tame un from the breast. I&rsquo;d like for my
+paart to think as the very sapling be grawin&rsquo; now as&rsquo;ll give his
+li&rsquo;l behind its fust lesson in the ways o&rsquo; duty,&rdquo; declared
+Mr. Blee. &ldquo;Theer &rsquo;s certain things you must be flint-hard about,
+an&rsquo; fust comes lying. Doan&rsquo;t let un lie; flog it out of un;
+an&rsquo; mind, &rsquo;tis better for your arm to ache than for his soul to
+burn.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You leave me to do right by un. You caan&rsquo;t teach me, Billy,
+not bein&rsquo; a parent; though I allow what you say is true
+enough.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; set un to work early; get un into ways o&rsquo; work so
+soon as he&rsquo;s able to wear corduroys. An&rsquo; doan&rsquo;t never let
+un be cruel to beastes; an&rsquo; doan&rsquo;t let un&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Theer, theer!&rdquo; cried Mr. Lyddon. &ldquo;Have done with
+&rsquo;e! You speak as fules both, settin&rsquo; out rules o&rsquo; life for
+an hour-old babe. You talk to his mother about taming of un an&rsquo; grawing
+saplings for his better bringing-up. She&rsquo;ll tell &rsquo;e a thing or
+two. Just mind the slowness o&rsquo; growth in the human young. &rsquo;T will
+be years before theer&rsquo;s enough of un to beat.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They do come very gradual to fulness o&rsquo; body an&rsquo;
+reason,&rdquo; admitted Billy; &ldquo;and &rsquo;t is gude it should be so;
+&rsquo;t is well all men an&rsquo; women &rsquo;s got to be childer fust, for
+they brings brightness an&rsquo; joy &rsquo;pon the earth as babies, though
+&rsquo;t is mostly changed when they &rsquo;m grawed up. If us could awnly
+foretell the turnin&rsquo; out o&rsquo; childern, an&rsquo; knaw which
+&rsquo;t was best to drown an&rsquo; which to save in tender youth, what a
+differ&rsquo;nt world this would be!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They &rsquo;m poor li&rsquo;l twoads at fust, no doubt,&rdquo; said
+Will to his father-in-law.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess, indeed they be. &rsquo;T is a coorious circumstance, but
+generally allowed, that humans are the awnly creatures o&rsquo; God wi&rsquo;
+understandin&rsquo;, an&rsquo; yet they comes into the world more helpless
+an&rsquo; brainless, an&rsquo; bides longer helpless an&rsquo; brainless than
+any other beast knawn.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Shouldn&rsquo;t call &rsquo;em &lsquo;beastes&rsquo; &rsquo;zactly,
+seem&rsquo; they&rsquo;ve got the Holy Ghost from the church font ever
+after,&rdquo; objected Billy. &ldquo;&rsquo;T is the differ&rsquo;nce between
+a babe an&rsquo; a pup or a kitten. The wan gets God into un at
+christenin&rsquo;, t&rsquo; other wouldn&rsquo;t have no Holy Ghost in un if
+you baptised un over a hunderd times. For why? They &rsquo;m not built in the
+Image.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;When all&rsquo;s said, you caan&rsquo;t look tu far ahead or be tu
+forehanded wi&rsquo; bwoys,&rdquo; resumed Will. &ldquo;Gallopin&rsquo;
+down-long I said to myself, &lsquo;Theer&rsquo;s things he may do an&rsquo;
+things he may not do. He shall choose his awn road in reason, but he must be
+guided by me in the choice.&rsquo; I won&rsquo;t let un go for a
+sailor&mdash;never. I&rsquo;ll cut un off wi&rsquo; a shillin&rsquo; if he
+thinks of it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Time enough when he can walk an&rsquo; talk, I reckon,&rdquo; said
+Billy, who, seeing how his master viewed the matter, now caught Mr.
+Lyddon&rsquo;s manner.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess, that&rsquo;s very well,&rdquo; continued Will, &ldquo;but time
+flies that fast wi&rsquo; childer. Then I thought, &lsquo;He&rsquo;ll come to
+marry some day, sure&rsquo;s Fate.&rsquo; Myself, I believe in tolerable
+early marryin&rsquo;s.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;By God! I knaw it!&rdquo; retorted Mr. Lyddon, with an expression
+wherein appeared mingled feelings not a few; &ldquo;Ess, fay! You&rsquo;m
+right theer. I should take Time by the forelock if I was you, an&rsquo; see
+if you can find a maiden as&rsquo;ll suit un while you go back-along through
+the village.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Awnly, as &rsquo;tis better for the man to number more years than
+the wummon,&rdquo; added Billy, &ldquo;it might be wise to bide a week or
+two, so&rsquo;s he shall have a bit start of his lady.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Now, you&rsquo;m fulin me! An&rsquo; I caan&rsquo;t stay no more
+whether or no, &rsquo;cause I was promised to see Phoebe an&rsquo; my son in
+the arternoon. Us be gwaine to call un Vincent William Blanchard, arter you
+an&rsquo; me, Miller; an&rsquo; if it had been a gal, us meant to call un
+arter mother; an&rsquo; I do thank God &rsquo;bout the wee bwoy in all solemn
+soberness, &rsquo;cause &rsquo;tis the fust real gude thing as have falled to
+us since the gwaine of poor Chris. &rsquo;Twill be a joy to my mother
+an&rsquo; a gude gran&rsquo;son to you, I hope.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Go home, go home,&rdquo; said Mr. Lyddon. &ldquo;Get along with
+&rsquo;e this minute, an&rsquo; tell your wife I&rsquo;m greatly pleased,
+an&rsquo; shall come to see her mighty soon. Let us knaw every day how she
+fares&mdash;an&rsquo;&mdash;an&rsquo;&mdash;I&rsquo;m glad as you called the
+laddie arter me. &rsquo;Twas a seemly thought.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Will departed, and his mind roamed over various splendid futures for his
+baby. Already he saw it a tall, straight, splendid man, not a hair shorter
+than his own six feet two inches. He hoped that it would possess his natural
+wisdom, augmented by Phoebe&rsquo;s marvellous management of figures and
+accounts. He also desired for it a measure of his mother&rsquo;s calm and
+stately self-possession before the problems of life, and he had no objection
+that his son should reflect Miller Lyddon&rsquo;s many and amiable
+virtues.</p>
+<p>He returned home, and his mother presently bid him come to see Phoebe.
+Then a sudden nervousness overtook Will, tough though he was. The door shut,
+and husband and wife were alone together, for Damaris disappeared. But where
+were all those great and splendid pictures of the future? Vanished, vanished
+in a mist. Will&rsquo;s breast heaved; he saw Phoebe&rsquo;s star-bright eyes
+peeping at him, and he touched the treasure beside her&mdash;oh, so small it
+was!</p>
+<p>He bent his head low over them, kissed his wife shyly, and peeped with
+proper timidity under the flannel.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Look, look, Will, dearie! Did &rsquo;e ever see aught like un?
+An&rsquo; come evenin&rsquo;, he &rsquo;m gwaine to have his fust li&rsquo;l
+drink!&rdquo;</p>
+<h2><a id="III_II" name="III_II"></a>CHAPTER II<br />
+THE KNIGHT OF FORLORN HOPES</h2>
+<p>The child brought all a child should bring to Newtake, though it could not
+hide the fact that Will Blanchard drifted daily a little nearer to the end of
+his resources. But occasional success still flattered his ambition, and he
+worked hard and honestly. In this respect at least the man proved various
+fears unfounded, yet the result of his work rarely took shape of sovereigns.
+He marvelled at the extraordinary steadiness with which ill-fortune clung to
+Newtake and cursed when, on two quarter-days out of the annual four, another
+dip had to be made into the dwindling residue of his uncle&rsquo;s bequest.
+Some three hundred pounds yet remained when young Blanchard entered upon a
+further stage of his career,&mdash;that most fitly recorded as happening
+within the shadow of a granite cross.</p>
+<p>After long months of absence from home, Martin Grimbal returned, silent,
+unsuccessful, and sad. Upon the foundations of facts he had built many
+tentative dwelling-places for hope; but all had crumbled, failure crowned his
+labours, and as far from the reach of his discovery seemed the secret of
+Chris as the secrets of the sacred circles, stone avenues, and empty,
+hypaethral chambers of the Moor. Spiritless and bitterly discouraged, he
+returned after such labours as Will had dreamed not of; and his life,
+succeeding upon this deep disappointment, seemed far advanced towards its end
+in Martin&rsquo;s eyes&mdash;a journey whose brightest incidents, happiest
+places of rest, most precious companions were all left behind. This second
+death of hope aged the man in truth and sowed his hair with grey. Now only a
+melancholy memory of one very beautiful and very sad remained to him. Chris
+indeed promised to return, but he told himself that such a woman had never
+left an unhappy mother for such period of time if power to come home still
+belonged to her. Then, surveying the past, he taxed himself heavily with a
+deliberate and cruel share in it. Why had he taken the advice of Blanchard
+and delayed his offer of work to Hicks? He told himself that it was because
+he knew such a step would definitely deprive him of Chris for ever; and
+therein he charged himself with offences that his nature was above
+committing. Then he burst into bitter blame of Will, and at a weak
+moment&mdash;for nothing is weaker than the rare weakness of a strong
+man&mdash;he childishly upbraided the farmer with that fateful advice
+concerning Clement, and called down upon his head deep censure for the
+subsequent catastrophe. Will, as may be imagined, proved not slow to resent
+such an attack with heart and voice. A great heat of vain recrimination
+followed, and the men broke into open strife.</p>
+<p>Sick with himself at this pitiable lapse, shaken in his self-respect,
+desolate, unsettled, and uncertain of the very foundations on which he had
+hitherto planted his life, the elder man existed through a black month, then
+braced himself again, looked out into the world, set his dusty desk in order,
+and sought once more amidst the relics of the past for comfort and
+consolation. He threw himself upon his book and told himself that it must
+surely reward his pains; he toiled mightily at his lonely task, and added a
+little to man&rsquo;s knowledge.</p>
+<p>Once it happened that the Rev. Shorto-Champernowne met Martin. Riding over
+the Moor after a visit to his clerical colleague of Gidleigh, the clergyman
+trotted through Scorhill Circle, above northern Teign, and seeing a
+well-known parishioner, drew up a while.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How prosper your profound studies?&rdquo; he inquired. &ldquo;Do
+these evidences of aboriginal races lead you to any conclusions of note? For
+my part, I am not wholly devoid of suspicion that a man might better employ
+his time, though I should not presume to make any such suggestion to
+you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You may be right; but one is generally unwise to stamp on his
+ruling passion if it takes him along an intellectual road. These cryptic
+stones are my life. I want to get the secret of them or find at least a
+little of it. What are these lonely rings? Where are we standing now? In a
+place of worship, where men prayed to the thunder and the sun and stars? Or a
+council chamber? Or a court of justice, that has seen many a doom pronounced,
+much red blood flow? Or is it a grave? &rsquo;T is the fashion to reject the
+notion that they represent any religious purpose; yet I cannot see any
+argument against the theory. I go on peeping and prying after a spark of
+truth. I probe here, and in the fallen circle yonder towards Cosdon; I follow
+the stone rows to Fernworthy; I trudge again and again to the Grey
+Wethers&mdash;that shattered double ring on Sittaford Tor. I eat them up with
+my eyes and repeople the heath with those who raised them. Some clay a gleam
+of light may come. And if it does, it will reach me through deep study on
+those stone men of old. It is along the human side of my investigations I
+shall learn, if I learn anything at all.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I hope you may achieve your purpose, though the memoranda and data
+are scanty. Your name is mentioned in the <i>Western Morning News</i> as a
+painstaking inquirer.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yet when theories demand proof&mdash;that&rsquo;s the
+rub!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, indeed. You are a knight of forlorn hopes, Grimbal,&rdquo;
+answered the Vicar, alluding to Martin&rsquo;s past search for Chris as much
+as to his present archaeologic ambitions. Then he trotted on over the river,
+and the pedestrian remained as before seated upon a recumbent stone in the
+midst of the circle of Scorhill. Silent he sat and gazed into the lichens of
+grey and gold that crowned each rude pillar of the lonely ring. These, as it
+seemed, were the very eyes of the granite, but to Martin they represented but
+the cloak of yesterday, beneath which centuries of secrets were hidden. Only
+the stones and the eternal west wind, that had seen them set up and still
+blew over them, could tell him anything he sought to know.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A Knight of Forlorn Hopes,&rdquo; mused the man. &ldquo;So it is,
+so it is. The grasshopper, rattling his little kettledrum there, knows nearly
+as much of this hoary secret as I do; and the bird, that prunes his wing on
+the porphyry, and is gone again. Not till some Damnonian spirit rises from
+the barrow, not till some chieftain of these vanished hosts shall take shape
+out of the mists and speak, may we glean a grain of this buried knowledge.
+And who to-day would believe ten thousand Damnonian ghosts, if they stirred
+here once again and thronged the Moor and the moss and the ruined stone
+villages with their moonbeam shapes?</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Gone for ever; and she&mdash;my Chris&mdash;my dear&mdash;is she to
+dwell in the darkness for all time, too? O God, I would rather hear one
+whisper of her voice, feel one touch of her brown hand, than learn the primal
+truth of every dumb stone wonder in the world!&rdquo;</p>
+<h2><a id="III_III" name="III_III"></a>CHAPTER III<br />
+CONCERNING THE GATE-POST</h2>
+<p>So that good store of roots and hay continue for the cattle during those
+months of early spring while yet the Moor is barren; so that the potato-patch
+prospers and the oats ripen well; so that neither pony nor bullock is lost in
+the shaking bogs, and late summer is dry enough to allow of ample
+peat-storing&mdash;when all these conditions prevail, your moorman counts his
+year a fat one. The upland farmers of Devon are in great measure armed
+against the bolts of chance by the nature of their lives, the grey character
+of even their most cheerful experiences and the poverty of their highest
+ambitions. Their aspirations, becoming speedily cowed by ill-requited toil
+and eternal hardship, quickly dwarf and shrink, until even the most sanguine
+seldom extend hope much beyond necessity.</p>
+<p>Will grumbled, growled, and fought on, while Phoebe, who knew how nobly
+the valleys repaid husbandry, mourned in secret that his energetic labours
+here could but produce such meagre results. Very gradually their environment
+stamped its frosty seal on man and woman; and by the time that little Will
+was two years old his parents viewed life, its good and its evil, much as
+other Moor folks contemplated it. Phoebe&rsquo;s heart was still sweet
+enough, but she grew more selfish for herself and her own, more self-centred
+in great Will and little Will. They filled her existence to the gradual
+exclusion of wider sympathies. Miller Lyddon had given his grandson a silver
+mug on the day he was baptised, though since that time the old man held more
+aloof from the life of Newtake than Phoebe understood. Sometimes she wondered
+that he had never offered to assist her husband practically, but Will much
+resented the suggestion when Phoebe submitted it to him. There was no need
+for any such thing, he declared. As for him, transitory ambitions and hopes
+gleamed up in his career as formerly, though less often. So man and wife
+found their larger natures somewhat crushed by the various immediate problems
+that each day brought along with it. Beyond the narrow horizon of their own
+concerns they rarely looked, and Chagford people, noting the change, declared
+that life at Newtake was tying their tongues and lining their foreheads. Will
+certainly grew more taciturn, less free of advice, perhaps less frank than
+formerly. A sort of strangeness shadowed him, and only his mother or his son
+could dispel it. The latter soon learnt to understand his father&rsquo;s many
+moods, and would laugh or cry, show joy or fear, according to the tune of the
+man&rsquo;s voice.</p>
+<p>There came an evening in mid-September when Will sat at the open hearth
+and smoked, with his eyes fixed on a fire of scads.<a id="footnotetag13"
+name="footnotetag13"></a><a href="#footnote13"><sup>13</sup></a> He remained
+very silent, and Phoebe, busy about a small coat of red cloth, to keep the
+cold from her little son&rsquo;s bones during the coming winter, knew that it
+was not one of her husband&rsquo;s happiest evenings. His eyes were looking
+through the fire and the wall behind it, through the wastes and wildernesses
+beyond, through the granite hills to the far-away edge of the world, where
+Fate sat spinning the threads of the lives of his loved ones. Threads they
+looked, in his gloomy survey of that night, much deformed with knot and
+tangle, for the Spinner cared nothing at all about them. She suffered each to
+wind heedlessly away; she minded not that they were ugly; she spared no
+strand of gold or silver from her skein of human happiness to brighten the
+grey fabric of them. So it seemed to Will, and his temper chimed with the
+rough night. The wind howled and growled down the chimney, uttered many a
+sudden yell and ghostly moan, struck with claws invisible at the glowing
+heart of the peat fire, and sent red sparks dancing from a corona of faint
+blue flame.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Winter&rsquo;s comin&rsquo; quick,&rdquo; said Phoebe, biting her
+thread.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess, winter&rsquo;s allus comin&rsquo; up here. The fight begins
+again so soon as ever &rsquo;t is awver&mdash;again and again and again,
+&rsquo;cordin&rsquo; to the workin&rsquo; years of a man&rsquo;s life. Then
+he turns on his back for gude an&rsquo; all, an&rsquo; takes his rest, wheer
+theer&rsquo;s no more seasons, nor frost, nor sunshine, in the world
+under.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;m glumpy, dear heart. What&rsquo;s amiss? What&rsquo;s
+crossed &rsquo;e? Tell me, an&rsquo; I lay I&rsquo;ll find a word to smooth
+it away. Nothin&rsquo; contrary happened to market?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, no&mdash;awnly my nature. When the wind&rsquo;s spelling winter
+in the chimbley, an&rsquo; the yether&rsquo;s dead again, &rsquo;t is wisht
+lookin&rsquo; forrard. The airth &rsquo;s allus dyin&rsquo;, an&rsquo; the
+life of her be that short, an&rsquo; grubbing of bare food an&rsquo; rent out
+of her is sour work after many years. Thank God I&rsquo;m a hopeful,
+far-seem&rsquo; chap, an&rsquo; sound as a bell; but I doan&rsquo;t make
+money for all my sweat, that&rsquo;s the mystery.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You will some day. Luck be gwaine to turn &rsquo;fore long, I hope.
+An&rsquo; us have got what&rsquo;s better &rsquo;n money, what caan&rsquo;t
+be bought.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The li&rsquo;l bwoy?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Aye; if us hadn&rsquo;t nothin&rsquo; but him, theer&rsquo;s many
+would envy our lot.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Childer&rsquo;s no such gert blessin&rsquo;, neither.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Will! How can you say it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I do say it. We &rsquo;m awnly used to keep up the breed, then
+thrawed o&rsquo; wan side. I&rsquo;m sick o&rsquo; men an&rsquo; women folks.
+Theer&rsquo;s too many of &rsquo;em.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But childer&mdash;our li&rsquo;l Will. The moosic of un be sweeter
+than song o&rsquo; birds all times, an&rsquo; you&rsquo;d be fust to say so
+if you wasn&rsquo;t out of yourself.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He &rsquo;m a braave, small lad enough; but theer again! Why should
+he have been pitched into this here home? He might have been put in a palace
+just as easy, an&rsquo; born of a royal queen mother, &rsquo;stead o&rsquo;
+you; he might have opened his eyes &rsquo;pon marble walls an&rsquo; jewels
+an&rsquo; precious stones, &rsquo;stead of whitewash an&rsquo; a peat fire.
+Be that baaby gwaine to thank us for bringing him in the world, come he graw
+up? Not him! Why should he?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But he will. We &rsquo;m his faither an&rsquo; mother. Do &rsquo;e
+love your mother less for bearin&rsquo; you in a gypsy van? Li&rsquo;l
+Will&rsquo;s to pay us noble for all our toil some day, an&rsquo; be a joy to
+our grey hairs an&rsquo; a prop to our auld age, please God.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ha, ha!&mdash;story-books! Gi&rsquo; me a cup o&rsquo; milk; then
+us&rsquo;ll go to bed.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She obeyed; he piled turf upon the hearth, to keep the fire alight until
+morning, then took up the candle and followed Phoebe through another chamber,
+half-scullery, half-storehouse, into which descended the staircase from
+above. Here hung the pale carcase of a newly slain pig, suspended by its hind
+legs from a loop in the ceiling; and Phoebe, many of whose little delicacies
+of manner had vanished of late, patted the carcase lovingly, like the good
+farmer&rsquo;s wife she was.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Wish theer was more so big in the sties,&rdquo; she said.</p>
+<p>Arrived at her bedside, the woman prayed before sinking to rest within
+reach of her child&rsquo;s cot; while Will, troubling Heaven with no petition
+or thanksgiving, was in bed five minutes sooner than his wife.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Gude-night, lad,&rdquo; said Phoebe, as she put the candle out, but
+her husband only returned an inarticulate grunt for answer, being already
+within the portal of sleep.</p>
+<p>A fair morning followed on the tempestuous night, and Winter, who had
+surely whispered her coming under the darkness, vanished again at dawn. The
+Moor still provided forage, but all light was gone out of the heather, though
+the standing fern shone yellow under the sun, and the recumbent bracken shed
+a rich russet in broad patches over the dewy green where Will had chopped it
+down and left it to dry for winter fodder. He was very late this year in
+stacking the fern, and designed that labour for his morning&rsquo;s
+occupation.</p>
+<p>Ted Chown chanced to be away for a week&rsquo;s holiday, so Will entered
+his farmyard early. The variable weather of his mind rarely stood for long at
+storm, but, unlike the morning, he had awakened in no happy mood.</p>
+<p>A child&rsquo;s voice served for a time to smooth his brow, now clouded
+from survey of a broken spring in his market-cart; then came the lesser Will
+with a small china mug for his morning drink. Phoebe watched him sturdily
+tramp across the yard, and the greater Will laughed to see his son&rsquo;s
+alarm before the sudden stampede of a belated heifer, which now hastened
+through the open gate to join its companions on the hillside.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Cooshey, cooshey won&rsquo;t hurt &rsquo;e, my li&rsquo;l
+bud!&rdquo; cried Phoebe, as Ship jumped and barked at the lumbering beast.
+Then the child doubled round a dung-heap and fled to his father&rsquo;s arms.
+From the byre a cow with a full udder softly lowed, and now small Will had a
+cup of warm milk; then, with his red mouth like a rosebud in mist and his
+father&rsquo;s smile magically and laughably reproduced upon his little face,
+he trotted back to his mother.</p>
+<p>A moment later Will, still milking, heard himself loudly called from the
+gate. The voice he knew well enough, but it was pitched unusually high, and
+denoted a condition of excitement and impatience very seldom to be met with
+in its possessor. Martin Grimbal, for it was he, did not observe Blanchard,
+as the farmer emerged from the byre. His eye was bent in startled and
+critical scrutiny of a granite post, to which the front gate of Newtake
+latched, and he continued shouting aloud until Will stood beside him. Then he
+appeared on his hands and knees beside the gate-post. He had flung down his
+stick and satchel; his mouth was slightly open; his cap rested on the side of
+his head; his face seemed transfigured before some overwhelming
+discovery.</p>
+<p>Relations were still strained between these men; and Will did not forget
+the fact, though it had evidently escaped Martin in his present
+excitement.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What the deuce be doin&rsquo; now?&rdquo; asked Blanchard
+abruptly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Man alive! A marvel! Look here&mdash;to think I have passed this
+stone a hundred times and never noticed!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He rose, brushed his muddy knees, still gazing at the gate-post, then took
+a trowel from his bag and began to cut away the turf about the base of
+it.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Let that bide!&rdquo; called out the master sharply. &ldquo;What be
+&rsquo;bout, delving theer?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I forgot you didn&rsquo;t know. I was coming to see you on my way
+to the Moor. I wanted a drink and a handshake. We mustn&rsquo;t be enemies,
+and I&rsquo;m heartily sorry for what I said&mdash;heartily. But here&rsquo;s
+a fitting object to build new friendship on. I just caught sight of the
+incisions through a fortunate gleam of early morning light. Come this side
+and see for yourself. To think you had what a moorman would reckon good
+fortune at your gate and never guessed it!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Fortune at my gate? Wheer to? I aint heard nothin&rsquo; of
+it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Here, man, here! D&rsquo; you see this post?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not bein&rsquo; blind, I do.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yet you were blind, and so was I. There &rsquo;s excuse for
+you&mdash;none for me. It&rsquo;s a cross! Yes, a priceless old Christian
+cross, buried here head downward by some profane soul in the distant past,
+who found it of size and shape to make a gate-post. They are common enough in
+Cornwall, but very rare in Devon. It&rsquo;s a great&mdash;a remarkable
+discovery in fact, and I&rsquo;m right glad I found it on your threshold; for
+we may be friends again beside this symbol fittingly enough&mdash;eh,
+Will?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Bother your rot,&rdquo; answered the other coldly, and quite
+unimpassioned before Martin&rsquo;s eloquence. &ldquo;You doubted my judgment
+not long since and said hard things and bad things; now I take leave to doubt
+yours. How do &rsquo;e knaw this here &rsquo;s a cross any more than t&rsquo;
+other post the gate hangs on?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Martin, recalled to reality and the presence of a man till then
+unfriendly, blushed and shrank into himself a little. His voice showed that
+he suffered pain.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I read granite as you read sheep and soil and a crop ripening above
+ground or below&mdash;it&rsquo;s my business,&rdquo; he explained, not
+without constraint, while the enthusiasm died away out of his voice and the
+fire from his face. &ldquo;See now, Will, try and follow me. Note these very
+faint lines, where the green moss takes the place of the lichen. These are
+fretted grooves&mdash;you can trace them to the earth, and on a
+&lsquo;rubbing,&rsquo; as we call it, they would be plainer still. They
+indicate to me incisions down the sides of a cross-shaft. They are all that
+many years of weathering have left. Look at the shape too: the stone grows
+slightly thinner every way towards the ground. What is hidden we can&rsquo;t
+say yet, but I pray that the arms may be at least still indicated. You see it
+is the base sticking into the air, and more&rsquo;s the pity, a part has
+gone, for I can trace the incisions to the top. God knows the past history of
+it, but&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Perhaps He do and perhaps He doan&rsquo;t,&rdquo; interrupted the
+farmer. &ldquo;Perhaps it weer a cross an&rsquo; perhaps it weern&rsquo;t;
+anyway it&rsquo;s my gate-post now, an&rsquo; as to diggin&rsquo; it up, you
+may be surprised to knaw it, Martin Grimbal, but I&rsquo;ll see you damned
+fust! I&rsquo;m weary of all this bunkum &rsquo;bout auld stones an&rsquo;
+circles an&rsquo; the rest; I&rsquo;m sick an&rsquo; tired o&rsquo;
+leavin&rsquo; my work a hunderd times in summer months to shaw gaping fules
+from Lunnon an&rsquo; Lard knaws wheer, them roundy-poundies &rsquo;pon my
+land. &rsquo;Tis all rot, as every moorman knaws; yet you an&rsquo; such as
+you screams if us dares to put a finger to the stone nowadays. Ban&rsquo;t
+the granite ours under Venwell? You knaw it is; an&rsquo; because
+dead-an&rsquo;-gone folk, half-monkeys belike, fashioned their homes
+an&rsquo; holes out of it, be that any cause why it shouldn&rsquo;t be
+handled to-day? They&rsquo;ve had their use of it; now &rsquo;tis our turn;
+an &rsquo;tis awnly such as you be, as comes here in shining summer, when the
+land puts on a lying faace, as though it didn&rsquo;t knaw weather an&rsquo;
+winter&mdash;&rsquo;tis awnly such as you must cry out against us of the soil
+if we dares to set wan stone &rsquo;pon another to make a wall or to keep the
+blasted rabbits out the young wheat.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Your attitude is one-sided, Will,&rdquo; said Martin Grimbal
+gently; &ldquo;besides, remember this is a cross. We&rsquo;re dealing with a
+relic of our faith, take my word for it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Faith be damned! What&rsquo;s a cross to me? &rsquo;Tisdoin&rsquo;
+more gude wheer&rsquo;t is than ever it done afore, I&rsquo;ll
+swear.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I hope you&rsquo;ll live to see you&rsquo;re wrong, Blanchard.
+I&rsquo;ve met you in an evil hour it seems. You&rsquo;re not yourself. Think
+about it. There&rsquo;s no hurry. You pride yourself on your common sense as
+a rule. I&rsquo;m sure it will come to your rescue. Granted this discovery is
+nothing to you, yet think what it means to me. If I&rsquo;d found a diamond
+mine I couldn&rsquo;t be better pleased&mdash;not half so pleased as
+now.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Will reflected a moment; but the other had not knowledge of character to
+observe or realise that he was slowly becoming reasonable.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So I do pride myself on my common sense, an&rsquo; I&rsquo;ve some
+right to. A cross is a cross&mdash;I allow that&mdash;and whatever I may
+think, I ban&rsquo;t so small-minded as to fall foul of them as think
+differ&rsquo;nt. My awn mother be a church-goer for that matter, an&rsquo;
+you&rsquo;ll look far ways for her equal. But of coourse I knaw what I knaw.
+Me an&rsquo; Hicks talked out matters of religion so dry as chaff.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yet a cross means much to many, and always will while the land
+continues to call itself Christian.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I knaw, I knaw. &rsquo;Twill call itself Christian long arter your
+time an&rsquo; mine; as to bein&rsquo; Christian&mdash;that&rsquo;s another
+story. Clem Hicks lightened such matters to me&mdash;fule though he was in
+the ordering of his awn life. But s&rsquo;pose you digs the post up, for
+argeyment&rsquo;s sake. What about me, as have to go out &rsquo;pon the Moor
+an&rsquo; blast another new wan out the virgin granite wi&rsquo; gunpowder?
+Do&rsquo;e think I&rsquo;ve nothin&rsquo; better to do with my time than
+that?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Here, in his supreme anxiety and eagerness, forgetting the manner of man
+he argued with, Martin made a fatal mistake.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s reasonable and business-like,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I
+wouldn&rsquo;t have you suffer for lost time, which is part of your living.
+I&rsquo;ll give you ten pounds for the stone, Will, and that should more than
+pay for your time and for the new post.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He glanced into the other&rsquo;s face and instantly saw his error. The
+farmer&rsquo;s countenance clouded and his features darkened until he looked
+like an angry Redskin. His eyes glinted steel-bright under a ferocious frown;
+the squareness of his jaw became much marked.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You dare to say that, do&rsquo;e? An&rsquo; me as good a man,
+an&rsquo; better, than you or your brother either! Money&mdash;you remind me
+I&rsquo;m&mdash;Theer! You can go to blue, blazin&rsquo; hell for your
+granite crosses&mdash;that&rsquo;s wheer you can go&mdash;you or any other
+poking, prying pelican! Offer money to me, would &rsquo;e? Who be you, or any
+other man, to offer me money for wasted time? As if I was a road scavenger or
+another man&rsquo;s servant! God&rsquo;s truth! you forget who you&rsquo;m
+talkin&rsquo; to!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;This is to purposely misunderstand me, Blanchard. I never, never,
+meant any such thing. Am I one to gratuitously insult or offend another?
+Typical this! Your cursed temper it is that keeps you back in the world and
+makes a failure of you,&rdquo; answered the student of stones, his own temper
+nearly lost under exceptional provocation.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Who says I be a failure?&rdquo; roared Will in return. &ldquo;What
+do you know, you grey, dreamin&rsquo; fule, as to whether I&rsquo;m
+successful or not so? Get you gone off my land or&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll go, and readily enough. I believe you&rsquo;re mad.
+That&rsquo;s the conclusion I&rsquo;m reluctantly driven to&mdash;mad. But
+don&rsquo;t for an instant imagine your lunatic stupidity is going to stand
+between the world and this discovery, because it isn&rsquo;t.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He strapped on his satchel, picked up his stick, put his hat on straight,
+and prepared to depart, breathing hard.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Go,&rdquo; snorted Will; &ldquo;go to your auld stones&mdash;they
+&rsquo;m the awnly fit comp&rsquo;ny for &rsquo;e. Bruise your silly shins
+against &rsquo;em, an&rsquo; ax &rsquo;em if a moorman&rsquo;s in the right
+or wrong to paart wi&rsquo; his gate-post to the fust fule as wants
+it!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Martin Grimbal strode off without replying, and Will, in a sort of grim
+good-humour at this victory, returned to milking his cows. The encounter, for
+some obscure reason, restored him to amiability. He reviewed his own dismal
+part in it with considerable satisfaction, and, after going indoors and
+eating a remarkably good breakfast, he lighted his pipe and, in the most
+benignant of moods, went out with a horse and cart to gather withered
+fern.</p>
+<h2><a id="III_IV" name="III_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV<br />
+MARTIN&rsquo;S RAID</h2>
+<p>Mrs. Blanchard now dwelt alone, and all her remaining interests in life
+were clustered about Will. She perceived that his enterprise by no means
+promised to fulfil the hopes of those who loved him, and realised too late
+that the qualities which enabled her father to wrest a living from the
+moorland farm were lacking in her son. He, of course, explained it otherwise,
+and pointed to the changes of the times and an universal fall in the price of
+agricultural produce. His mother cast about in secret how to help him, but no
+means appeared until, upon an evening some ten days after Blanchard&rsquo;s
+quarrel with Grimbal over the gate-post, she suddenly determined to visit
+Monks Barton and discuss the position with Miller Lyddon.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I want to have a bit of a tell with &rsquo;e,&rdquo; she said,
+&ldquo;&rsquo;pon a matter so near to your heart as mine. Awnly you&rsquo;ve
+got power an&rsquo; I haven&rsquo;t.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I knaw what you&rsquo;m come about before you speak,&rdquo;
+answered the other.&ldquo; Sit you down an&rsquo; us&rsquo;ll have a gude
+airing of ideas. But I&rsquo;m sorry we won&rsquo;t get the value o&rsquo;
+Billy Blee&rsquo;s thoughts &rsquo;pon the point, for he&rsquo;s away
+to-night.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Damaris rather rejoiced than sorrowed in this circumstance, but she was
+too wise to say so.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A far-thinkin&rsquo; man, no doubt,&rdquo; she admitted.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He is; an&rsquo; &rsquo;t is straange your comin&rsquo; just this
+night, for Blee&rsquo;s away on a matter touching Will more or less,
+an&rsquo; doan&rsquo;t reckon to be home &rsquo;fore light.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What coorious-fashion job be that then?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Caan&rsquo;t tell &rsquo;e the facts. I&rsquo;m under a promise not
+to open my mouth, but theer&rsquo;s no gert harm. Martin Grimbal&rsquo;s
+foremost in the thing so you may judge it ban&rsquo;t no wrong act, and he
+axed Billy to help him at my advice. You see it&rsquo;s necessary to force
+your son&rsquo;s hand sometimes. He&rsquo;m that stubborn when his
+mind&rsquo;s fixed.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A firm man, an&rsquo; loves his mother out the common well. A gude
+son, a gude husband, a gude faither, a hard worker. How many men&rsquo;s all
+that to wance, Miller?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He is so&mdash;all&mdash;an&rsquo; yet&mdash;the man have got his
+faults, speaking generally.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s awnly to say he be a man; an&rsquo; if you
+caan&rsquo;t find words for the faults, &rsquo;t is clear they ban&rsquo;t
+worth namin&rsquo;.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I can find words easy enough, I assure &rsquo;e; but a man&rsquo;s
+a fule to waste breath criticising the ways of a son to his mother&mdash;if
+so be he&rsquo;s a gude son.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What fault theer is belongs to me. I was set on his gwaine to
+Newtake as master, like his gran&rsquo;faither afore him. I urged the step
+hot, and I liked the thought of it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So did he&mdash;else he wouldn&rsquo;t have gone.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You caan&rsquo;t say that. He might have done different but for
+love of me. &rsquo;T is I as have stood in his way in this thing.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Doan&rsquo;t fret yourself with such a thought, Mrs. Blanchard;
+Will&rsquo;s the sort as steers his awn ship. Theer&rsquo;s no blame
+&rsquo;pon you. An&rsquo; for that matter, if your faither saved gude money
+at Newtake, why caan&rsquo;t Will?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Times be changed. You&rsquo;ve got to make two blades o&rsquo;
+grass graw wheer wan did use, if you wants to live nowadays.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Hard work won&rsquo;t hurt him.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But it will if he reckons&rsquo;t is all wasted work. What&rsquo;s
+more bitter than toiling to no account, an&rsquo; <i>knawin</i> all the while
+you be?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not all wasted work, surely?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They wouldn&rsquo;t allow it for the world. He&rsquo;s that gay
+afore me, an&rsquo; Phoebe keeps a stiff upper lip, tu; but I go up
+unexpected now an&rsquo; again an&rsquo; pop in unawares an&rsquo; sees the
+truth. You with your letter or message aforehand, doan&rsquo;t find out
+nothing, an&rsquo; won&rsquo;t.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;m out o&rsquo; luck, I allow. What&rsquo;s the exact
+reason?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;ll find it in the Book, same as I done. I knaw you set
+gert store &rsquo;pon the Word. Well, then, &rsquo;them the Lard loveth He
+chasteneth.&rsquo; That&rsquo;s why Will&rsquo;s languishin&rsquo; like.
+&rsquo;T won&rsquo;t last for ever.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah! But theer&rsquo;s other texts to other purpose. Not that I want
+&rsquo;e to dream my Phoebe&rsquo;s less to me than your son to you.
+I&rsquo;ve got my eye on &rsquo;em, an&rsquo; that&rsquo;s the truth;
+an&rsquo; on my li&rsquo;l grandson, tu.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Theer&rsquo;s gert things buddin&rsquo; in that bwoy.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I hope so. I set much store on him. Doan&rsquo;t you worrit,
+mother, for the party to Newtake be bound up very close wi&rsquo; my
+happiness, an&rsquo; if they was wisht, ban&rsquo;t me as would long be
+merry. I be gwaine to give Master Will rope enough to hang himself, having a
+grudge or two against him yet; then, when the job&rsquo;s done, an&rsquo;
+he&rsquo;s learnt the hard lesson to the dregs, I&rsquo;ll cut un down in
+gude time an&rsquo; preach a sarmon to him while he&rsquo;s in a mood to larn
+wisdom. He&rsquo;s picking up plenty of information, you be sure&mdash;things
+that will be useful bimebye: the value of money, the shortness o&rsquo; the
+distance it travels, the hardness o&rsquo; Moor ground, an&rsquo; men&rsquo;s
+hearts, an&rsquo; such-like branches of larning. Let him bide, an&rsquo;
+trust me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The mother was rendered at once uneasy and elated by this speech. That, if
+only for his wife and son&rsquo;s sake, Will would never be allowed to fail
+entirely seemed good to know; but she feared, and, before the patronising
+manner of the old man, felt alarm for the future. She well knew how Will
+would receive any offer of assistance tendered in this spirit.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Like your gude self so to promise; but remember he &rsquo;m of a
+lofty mind and fiery.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Stiff-necked he be, for certain; but he may graw quiet &rsquo;fore
+you think it. Nothing tames a man so quick as to see his woman and childer
+folk hungry&mdash;eh? An&rsquo; specially if &rsquo;t is thanks to his awn
+mistakes.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Mrs. Blanchard flushed and felt a wave of anger surging through her
+breast. But she choked it down.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You &rsquo;m hard in the grain, Lyddon&mdash;so them often be
+who&rsquo;ve lived over long as widow men. Theer &rsquo;s a power o&rsquo;
+gude in my Will, an&rsquo; your eyes will be opened to see it some day. He
+&rsquo;m young an&rsquo; hopeful by nature; an&rsquo; such as him, as allus
+looks up to gert things, feels a come down worse than others who be content
+to crawl. He &rsquo;m changing, an&rsquo; I knaw it, an&rsquo; I&rsquo;ve
+shed more &rsquo;n wan tear awver it, bein&rsquo; on the edge of age myself
+now, an&rsquo; not so strong-minded as I was &rsquo;fore Chris went. He
+&rsquo;m changing, an&rsquo; the gert Moor have made his blood beat slower, I
+reckon, an&rsquo; froze his young hope a bit.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He &rsquo;s grawiug aulder, that&rsquo;s all. &rsquo;T is right as
+he should chatter less an&rsquo; think more.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I suppose so; yet a mother feels a cold cloud come awver her heart
+to watch a cheel fighting the battle an&rsquo; not winning it. Specially when
+she can awnly look on an&rsquo; do nothin&rsquo;.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Doan&rsquo;t you fear. You &rsquo;m low in spirit, else you&rsquo;d
+never have spoke so open; but I thank you for tellin&rsquo; me that things be
+tighter to Newtake than I guessed. You leave the rest to me. I knaw how far
+to let &rsquo;em go; an&rsquo; if we doan&rsquo;t agree &rsquo;pon that
+question, you must credit me with the best judgment, an&rsquo; not think no
+worse of me for helpin&rsquo; in my awn way an&rsquo; awn time.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>With which promise Mrs. Blanchard was contented. Surveying the position in
+the solitude of her home, she felt there was much to be thankful for. Yet she
+puzzled her heart and head to find schemes by which the miller&rsquo;s
+charity might be escaped. She considered her own means, and pictured her few
+possessions sold at auction; she had already offered to go and dwell at
+Newtake and dispose of her cottage. But Will exploded so violently when the
+suggestion reached his ears that she never repeated it.</p>
+<p>While the widow thus bent her thoughts upon her son, and gradually sank to
+sleep with the problems of the moment unsolved, a remarkable series of
+incidents made the night strange at Newtake Farm.</p>
+<p>Roused suddenly a little after twelve o&rsquo;clock by an unusual sound,
+Phoebe woke with a start and cried to her husband:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Will&mdash;Will, do hark to Ship! He &rsquo;m barkin&rsquo; that
+savage!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Will turned and growled sleepily that it was nothing, but the bark
+continued, so he left his bed and looked out of the window. A waning moon had
+just thrust one glimmering point above the sombre flank of the hill. It
+ascended as he watched, dispensed a sinister illumination, and like some
+remote bale-fire hung above the bosom of the nocturnal Moor. His dog still
+barked, and in the silence Will could hear a clink and thud as it leapt to
+the limit of its chain. Then out of the night a lantern danced at Newtake
+gate, and Blanchard, his eyes now trained to the gloom, discovered several
+figures moving about it.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Baggered if it bau&rsquo;t that damned Grimbal come arter my
+gate-post,&rdquo; he gasped, launched instantly to high wakefulness by the
+suspicion. Then, dragging on his trousers, and thrusting the tail of his
+nightshirt inside them, he tumbled down-stairs, with passion truly
+formidable, and hastened naked footed through the farmyard.</p>
+<p>Four men blankly awaited him. Ignoring their leader&mdash;none other than
+Martin himself&mdash;he turned upon Mr. Blee, who chanced to be nearest, and
+struck from his hand a pick.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What be these blasted hookem-snivey dealings, then?&rdquo; Will
+thundered out, &ldquo;an&rsquo; who be you, you auld twisted thorn, to come
+here stealin&rsquo; my stone in the dead o&rsquo; night?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Billy&rsquo;s little eyes danced in the lantern fire, and he answered
+hastily before Martin had time to speak.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, to be plain, the moon and the dog&rsquo;s played us false,
+an&rsquo; you&rsquo;d best to knaw the truth fust as last. Mr.
+Grimbal&rsquo;s writ you two straight, fair letters &rsquo;bout this job, so
+he&rsquo;ve explained to me, an&rsquo; you never so much as answered neither;
+so, seem&rsquo; this here&rsquo;s a right Christian cross, ban&rsquo;t decent
+it should bide head down&rsquo;ards for all time. An&rsquo; Mr. Grimbal have
+brought up a flam-new granite post, hasp an&rsquo; all
+complete&mdash;&rsquo;t is in the cart theer&mdash;an&rsquo; he called on me
+as a discreet, aged man to help un, an&rsquo; so I did; an&rsquo; Peter
+Bassett an&rsquo; Sam Bonus here corned likewise, by my engagement, to do the
+heavy work an&rsquo; aid in a gude deed.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Dig an inch, wan of &rsquo;e, and I&rsquo;ll shaw what&rsquo;s a
+gude deed! I doan&rsquo;t want no talk with you or them hulking gert fules.
+&rsquo;T is you I&rsquo;d ax, Martin Grimbal, by what right you&rsquo;m
+here.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You wouldn&rsquo;t answer my letters, and I couldn&rsquo;t find it
+in my heart to leave an important matter like this. I know I wasn&rsquo;t
+wise, but you don&rsquo;t understand what a priceless thing this is. I
+thought you&rsquo;d find the new one in the morning and laugh at it. For
+God&rsquo;s sake be reasonable and sensible, Blanchard, and let me take it
+away. There&rsquo;s a new post I&rsquo;ll have set up. It&rsquo;s here
+waiting. I can&rsquo;t do more.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But you&rsquo;ll do a darned sight less. Right&rsquo;s right,
+an&rsquo; stealin&rsquo;s stealin&rsquo;. You wasn&rsquo;t wise, as you
+say&mdash;far from it. You&rsquo;m in the wrong now, an&rsquo; you knaw it,
+whatever you was before. A nice bobbery! Why doan&rsquo;t he take my plough
+or wan of the bullocks? Damned thieves, the lot of&rsquo;e!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Doan&rsquo;t cock your nose so high, Farmer,&rdquo; said Bonus, who
+had never spoken to Will since he left Newtake; &ldquo;&rsquo;t is very
+onhandsome of &rsquo;e to be tellin&rsquo; like this to
+gentle-folks.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Gentlefolks! Gentlefolks would ax your help, wouldn&rsquo;t they?
+You, as be no better than a common poacher since I turned &rsquo;e off! You
+shut your mouth and go home-long, an&rsquo; mind your awn business, an&rsquo;
+keep out o&rsquo; the game preserves. Law&rsquo;s law, as you&rsquo;m like to
+find sooner&rsquo;n most folks.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>This pointed allusion to certain rumours concerning the labourer&rsquo;s
+present way of life angered Bonus not a little, but it also silenced him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Law&rsquo;s law, as you truly say, Will Blanchard,&rdquo; answered
+Mr. Blee, &ldquo;an&rsquo; theer it do lie in a nutshell. A man&rsquo;s
+gate-post is his awn as a common, natural gate-post; but bein&rsquo; a
+sainted cross o&rsquo; the Lard sticked in the airth upsy-down by some
+ancient devilry, &rsquo;t is no gate-post, nor yet every-day moor-stone, but
+just the common property of all Christian souls.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;m out o&rsquo; bias to harden your heart, Mr. Blanchard,
+when this gentleman sez &rsquo;t is what &rsquo;t is,&rdquo; ventured the man
+Peter Bassett, slowly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; so you be, Blanchard, an&rsquo; &rsquo;t is a awful deed
+every ways, an&rsquo; you&rsquo;ll larn it some day. You did ought to be
+merry an&rsquo; glad to hear such a thing &rsquo;s been found &rsquo;pon
+Newtake. Think o&rsquo; the fortune a cross o&rsquo; Christ brings to
+&rsquo;e!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; how much has it brought, you auld fule?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Gude or bad, you&rsquo;ll be a sight wuss off it you leave it wheer
+&rsquo;t is, now you knaw. Theer&rsquo;ll be hell to pay if it&rsquo;s let
+bide now, sure as eggs is eggs an&rsquo; winter, winter. You&rsquo;ll rue it;
+you&rsquo;ll gnash awver it; &rsquo;t will turn against &rsquo;e an&rsquo;
+rot the root an&rsquo; blight the ear an&rsquo; starve the things an&rsquo;
+break your heart. Mark me, you&rsquo;m doin&rsquo; a cutthroat deed an&rsquo;
+killin&rsquo; all your awn luck by leavin&rsquo; it here an hour
+longer.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>But Will showed no alarm at Mr. Blee&rsquo;s predictions.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Be it as &rsquo;t will, you doan&rsquo;t touch my stone&mdash;cross
+or no cross. Damn the cross! An&rsquo; you tu, every wan of &rsquo;e, dirty
+night birds!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then Martin, who had waited, half hoping that Billy&rsquo;s argument might
+carry weight, spoke and ended the scene.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We&rsquo;ll talk no more and we&rsquo;ll do no more,&rdquo; he
+said. &ldquo;You&rsquo;re wrong in a hundred ways to leave this precious
+stone to shut a gate and keep in cows, Blanchard. But if you wouldn&rsquo;t
+heed my letters, I suppose you won&rsquo;t heed my voice.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why the devil should I heed your letters? I told &rsquo;e wance for
+all, didn&rsquo;t I? Be I a man as changes my mind like a cheel?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Crooked words won&rsquo;t help &rsquo;e, Farmer,&rdquo; said the
+stolid Bassett. &ldquo;You &rsquo;m wrong, an&rsquo; you knaw right well you
+&rsquo;m wrong, an&rsquo; theer&rsquo;ll come a day of reckoning for
+&rsquo;e, sure &rsquo;s we &rsquo;m in a Christian land.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Let it come, an&rsquo; leave me to meet it. An&rsquo; now, clear
+out o&rsquo; this, every wan, or I&rsquo;ll loose the dog &rsquo;pon
+&rsquo;e!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He turned hurriedly as he spoke and fetched the bobtailed sheep-dog on its
+chain. This he fastened to the stone, then watched the defeated raiders
+depart. Grimbal had already walked away alone, after directing that a post
+which he had brought to supersede the cross, should be left at the side of
+the road. Now, having obeyed his command, Mr. Blee, Bonus, and Bassett
+climbed into the cart and slowly passed away homewards. The moon had risen
+clear of earth and threw light sufficient to show Bassett&rsquo;s white smock
+still gleaming through the night as Will beheld his enemies depart.</p>
+<p>Ten minutes later, while he washed his feet, the farmer told Phoebe of the
+whole matter, including his earlier meeting with Martin, and the
+antiquary&rsquo;s offer of money. Upon this subject his wife found herself in
+complete disagreement with Blanchard, and did not hesitate to say so.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Martin Grimbal &rsquo;s so gude a friend as any man could have,
+an&rsquo; you did n&rsquo;t ought to have bullyragged him that way,&rdquo;
+she declared.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You say that! Ban&rsquo;t a man to speak his mind to thieves
+an&rsquo; robbers?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No such thing. &rsquo;T is a sacred stone an&rsquo; not your
+property at all. To refuse ten pound for it!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Hold your noise, then, an&rsquo; let me mind my business my awn
+way,&rdquo; he answered roughly, getting back to bed; but Phoebe was roused
+and had no intention of speaking less than her mind.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You &rsquo;m a knaw-nought gert fule,&rdquo; she said,
+&ldquo;an&rsquo; so full of silly pride as a turkey-cock. What &rsquo;s the
+stone to you if Grimbal wants it? An&rsquo; him taking such a mint of trouble
+to come by it. What right have you to fling away ten pounds like that,
+an&rsquo; what &rsquo;s the harm to earn gude money honest? Wonder you
+ban&rsquo;t shamed to sell anything. &rsquo;T is enough these times for a
+body to say wan thing for you to say t&rsquo;other.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>This rebuke from a tongue that scarcely ever uttered a harsh word startled
+Will not a little. He was silent for half a minute, then made reply.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You can speak like that&mdash;you, my awn wife&mdash;you, as ought
+to be heart an&rsquo; soul with me in everything I do? An&rsquo; the husband
+I am to &rsquo;e. Then I should reckon I be fairly alone in the world,
+an&rsquo; no mistake&mdash;&rsquo;cept for mother.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Phoebe did not answer him. Her spark of anger was gone and she was passing
+quickly from temper to tears.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;T is queer to me how short of friends I &rsquo;pear to be
+gettin&rsquo;,&rdquo; confessed Will gloomily. &ldquo;I must be
+differ&rsquo;nt to what I fancied for I allus felt I could do with a
+waggon-load of friends. Yet they &rsquo;m droppin&rsquo; off. Coourse I knaw
+why well enough, tu. They&rsquo;ve had wind o&rsquo; tight times to Newtake,
+though how they should I caan&rsquo;t say, for the farm &rsquo;s got a
+prosperous look to my eye, an&rsquo; them as drops in dinnertime most often
+finds meat on the table. Straange a man what takes such level views as me
+should fall out wi&rsquo; his elders so much.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;T is theer fault as often as yours; an&rsquo; you&rsquo;ve
+got me as well as your mother, Will; an&rsquo; you&rsquo;ve got your son.
+Childern knaw the gude from the bad, same as dogs, in a way hid from grawn
+folks. Look how the li&rsquo;l thing do run to &rsquo;e &rsquo;fore anybody
+in the world.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So he do; an&rsquo; if you &rsquo;m wise enough to see that, you
+ought to be wise enough to see I&rsquo;m right &rsquo;bout the gate-post. Who
+&rsquo;s Martin Grimbal to offer me money? A self-made man, same as me. Yet
+he might have had it, an&rsquo; welcome if he&rsquo;d axed proper.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Of course, if you put it so, Will.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Theer &rsquo;s no ways else to put it as I can see.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But for your awn peace of mind it might be wisest to dig the cross
+up. I listened by the window an&rsquo; heard Billy Blee tellin&rsquo; of
+awful cusses, an&rsquo; he &rsquo;s wise wi&rsquo;out knawin&rsquo; it
+sometimes.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s all witchcraft an&rsquo; stuff an&rsquo; nonsense,
+an&rsquo; you ought to knaw better, Phoebe. &rsquo;T is as bad as setting
+store on the flight o&rsquo; magpies, or gettin&rsquo; a dead tooth from the
+churchyard to cure toothache, an&rsquo; such-like folly.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ban&rsquo;t folly allus, Will; theer &rsquo;s auld tried wisdom in
+some ancient sayings.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, you guide your road by my light if you want to be happy.
+&rsquo;T is for you I uses all my thinking brain day an&rsquo;
+night&mdash;for your gude an&rsquo; the li&rsquo;l man&rsquo;s.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I knaw&mdash;I knaw right well &rsquo;t is so, dear Will, an&rsquo;
+I&rsquo;m sorry I spoke so quick.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll forgive &rsquo;e before you axes me, sweetheart. Awnly
+you must larn to trust me, an&rsquo; theer &rsquo;s no call for you to fear.
+Us must speak out sometimes, an&rsquo; I did just now, an&rsquo; &rsquo;t is
+odds but some of them chaps, Grimbal included, may have got a penn&rsquo;orth
+o&rsquo; wisdom from me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So &rsquo;t is, then,&rdquo; she said, cuddling to him;
+&ldquo;an&rsquo; you&rsquo;ll do well to sleep now; an&rsquo;&mdash;an&rsquo;
+never tell again, Will, you&rsquo;ve got nobody but your mother while
+I&rsquo;m above ground, &rsquo;cause it&rsquo;s against justice an&rsquo;
+truth an&rsquo; very terrible for me to hear.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;T was a thoughtless speech,&rdquo; admitted Will,
+&ldquo;an&rsquo; I&rsquo;m sorry I spake it. &rsquo;T was a hasty word
+an&rsquo; not to be took serious.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>They slept, while the moon wove wan harmonies of ebony and silver into
+Newtake. A wind woke, proclaiming morning, as yet invisible; and when it
+rustled dead leaves or turned a chimney-cowl, the dog at the gate stirred and
+growled and grated his chain against the granite cross.</p>
+<h2><a id="III_V" name="III_V"></a>CHAPTER V<br />
+WINTER</h2>
+<p>As Christmas again approached, adverse conditions of weather brought like
+anxieties to a hundred moormen besides Will Blanchard, but the widespread
+nature of the trouble by no means diminished his individual concern. A summer
+of unusual splendour had passed unblessed away, for the sustained drought
+represented scanty hay and an aftermath of meagre description. Cereals were
+poor, with very little straw, and the heavy rains of November arrived too
+late to save acres of starved roots on high grounds. Thus the year became
+responsible for one prosperous product alone: rarely was it possible to dry
+so well those stores gathered from the peat beds. Huge fires, indeed, glowed
+upon many a hearth, but the glory of them served only to illumine anxious
+faces. A hard winter was threatened, and the succeeding spring already
+appeared as no vision to welcome, but a hungry spectre to dread.</p>
+<p>Then, with the last week of the old year, winter swept westerly on
+hyperborean winds, and when these were passed a tremendous frost won upon the
+world. Day followed day of weak, clear sunshine and low temperature. The sun,
+upon his shortest journeys, showed a fiery face as he sulked along the stony
+ridges of the Moor, and gazed over the ice-chained wilderness, the frozen
+waters, and the dark mosses that never froze, but lowered black, like wounds
+on a white skin. Dartmoor slept insensible under granite and ice; no
+sheep-bell made music; no flocks wandered at will; only the wind moaned in
+the dead bells of the heather; only the foxes slunk round cot and farm; only
+the shaggy ponies stamped and snorted under the lee of the tors and thrust
+their smoking muzzles into sheltered clefts and crannies for the withered
+green stuff that kept life in them. Snow presently softened the outlines of
+the hills, set silver caps on the granite, and brought the distant horizon
+nearer to the eye under crystal-clear atmosphere. Many a wanderer, thus
+deceived, plodded hopefully forward at sight of smoke above a roof-tree, only
+to find his bourne, that seemed so near, still weary miles away. The high
+Moors were a throne for death. Cold below freezing-point endured throughout
+the hours of light and grew into a giant when the sun and his winter glory
+had huddled below the hills.</p>
+<p>Newtake squatted like a toad upon this weary waste. Its crofts were bare
+and frozen two feet deep; its sycamores were naked save for snow in the
+larger forks, and one shivering concourse of dead leaves, where a bough had
+been broken untimely, and thus held the foliage. Suffering almost animate
+peered from its leaded windows; the building scowled; cattle lowed through
+the hours of day, and a steam arose from their red hides as they crowded
+together for warmth. Often it gleamed mistily in the light of Will&rsquo;s
+lantern when at the dead icy hour before dawn he went out to his beasts. Then
+he would rub their noses, and speak to them cheerfully, and note their
+congealed vapours where these had ascended and frozen in shining spidery
+hands of ice upon the walls and rafters of the byre. Fowls, silver-spangled
+and black, scratched at the earth from habit, fought for the daily grain with
+a ferocity the summer never saw, stalked spiritless in puffed plumage about
+the farmyard and collected with subdued clucking upon their roosts in a barn
+above the farmyard carts as soon as the sun had dipped behind the hills.
+Ducks complained vocally, and as they slipped on the glassy pond they quacked
+out a mournful protest against the times.</p>
+<p>The snow which fell did not melt, but shone under the red sunshine,
+powdered into dust beneath hoof and heel; every cart-rut was full of thin
+white ice, like ground window-glass, that cracked drily and split and tinkled
+to hobnails or iron-shod wheel. The snow from the house-top, thawed by the
+warmth within, ran dribbling from the eaves and froze into icicles as thick
+as a man&rsquo;s arm. These glittered almost to the ground and refracted the
+sunshine in their prisms.</p>
+<p>Warm-blooded life suffered for the most part silently, but the inanimate
+fabric of the farm complained with many a creak and crack and groan in the
+night watches, while Time&rsquo;s servant the frost gnawed busily at old
+timbers and thrust steel fingers into brick and mortar. Only the hut-circles,
+grey glimmering through the snow on Metherill, laughed at those cruel nights,
+as the Neolithic men who built them may have laughed at the desperate weather
+of their day; and the cross beside Blanchard&rsquo;s gate, though an infant
+in age beside them, being fashioned of like material, similarly endured. Of
+more lasting substance was this stone than an iron tongue stuck into it to
+latch the gate, for the metal fretted fast and shed rust in an orange streak
+upon the granite.</p>
+<p>Where first this relic had risen, when yet its craftsman&rsquo;s work was
+perfect and before the centuries had diminished its just proportions, no
+living man might say. Martin Grimbal suspected that it had marked a
+meeting-place, indicated some Cistercian way, commemorated a notable deed, or
+served to direct the moorland pilgrim upon his road to that trinity of great
+monasteries which flourished aforetime at Plympton, at Tavistock, and at
+Buckland of the Monks; but between its first uprising and its last, a
+duration of many years doubtless extended.</p>
+<p>The antiquary&rsquo;s purpose had been to rescue the relic, judge, by
+close study of the hidden part, to what date it might be assigned, then
+investigate the history of Newtake Farm, and endeavour to trace the cross if
+possible. After his second repulse, however, and following upon a
+conversation with Phoebe, whom he met at Chagford, Martin permitted the
+matter to remain in abeyance. Now he set about regaining Will&rsquo;s
+friendship&rsquo;in a gradual and natural manner. That done, he trusted to
+disinter the coveted granite at some future date and set it up on sanctified
+ground in Chagford churchyard, if the true nature of the relic justified that
+course. For the present, however, he designed no step, for his purpose was to
+visit the Channel Islands early in the new year, that he might study their
+testimony to prehistoric times.</p>
+<p>A winter, to cite whose parallel men looked back full twenty years, still
+held the land, though February had nearly run. Blanchard daily debated the
+utmost possibility of his resources with Phoebe, and fought the inclement
+weather for his early lambs. Such light as came into life at Newtake was
+furnished by little Will, who danced merrily through ice and snow, like a
+scarlet flower in his brilliant coat. The cold pleased him; he trod the
+slippery duck pond in triumph, his bread-and-milk never failed. To Phoebe her
+maternal right in the infant seemed recompense sufficient for all those
+tribulations existence just now brought with it; from which conviction
+resulted her steady courage and cheerfulness. Her husband&rsquo;s nebulous
+rationalism clouded Phoebe&rsquo;s religious views not at all. She daily
+prayed to Christ for her child&rsquo;s welfare, and went to church whenever
+she could, at the express command of her father. A flash of folly from Will
+had combined with hard weather to keep the miller from any visit to Newtake.
+Mr. Lyddon, on the beginning of the great frost, had sent two pairs of thick
+blankets from the Monks Barton stores to Phoebe, and Will, opening the parcel
+during his wife&rsquo;s absence, resented the gift exceedingly, and returned
+it by the bearer with a curt message of thanks and the information that he
+did not need them. Much hurt, the donor turned his face from Newtake for six
+weeks after this incident, and Phoebe, who knew nothing of the matter,
+marvelled at her father&rsquo;s lengthy and unusual silence.</p>
+<p>As for Will, during these black days, the steadfast good temper of his
+wife almost irritated him; but he saw the prime source of her courage, and
+himself loved their small son dearly. Once a stray journal fell into his
+hands, and upon an article dealing with emigration he built secret castles in
+the air, and grew more happy for the space of a week. His mother ailed a
+little through the winter, and he often visited her. But in her presence he
+resolutely put off gloom, spoke with sanguine tongue of the prosperity he
+foresaw during the coming spring, and always foretold the frost must break
+within four-and-twenty-hours. Damaris Blanchard was therefore deceived in
+some measure, and when Will spent five shillings upon a photograph of his
+son, she felt that the Newtake prospects must at least be more favourable
+than she feared, and let the circumstance of the picture be generally
+known.</p>
+<p>Not until the middle of March came a thaw, and then unchained waters and
+melted snows roared and tumbled from the hills through every coomb and
+valley. Each gorge, each declivity contributed an unwonted torrent; the
+quaking bogs shivered as though beneath them monsters turned in sleep or
+writhed in agony; the hoarse cry of Teign betokened new tribulations to the
+ears of those who understood; and over the Moor there rolled and crowded down
+a sodden mantle of mist, within whose chilly heart every elevation of note
+vanished for days together. Wrapped in impenetrable folds were the high
+lands, and the gigantic vapour stretched a million dripping tentacles over
+forests and wastes into the valleys beneath. Now it crept even to the heart
+of the woods; now it stealthily dislimned in lonely places; now it redoubled
+its density and dominated all things. The soil steamed and exuded vapour as a
+soaked sponge, and upon its surcharged surface splashes and streaks and
+sheets of water shone pallid and ash-coloured, like blind eyes, under the
+eternal mists and rains. These accumulations threw back the last glimmer of
+twilight and caught the first grey signal of approaching dawn; while the
+land, contrariwise, had welcomed night while yet wan sunsets struggled with
+the rain, and continued to cherish darkness long after morning was in the
+sky. Every rut and hollow, every scooped cup on the tors was brimming now;
+springs unnumbered and unknown had burst their secret places; the water
+floods tumbled and thundered until their rough laughter rang like a knell in
+the ears of the husbandmen; and beneath crocketed pinnacles of half a hundred
+church towers rose the mournful murmur of prayer for fair weather.</p>
+<p>There came an afternoon in late March when Mr. Blee returned to Monks
+Barton from Chagford, stamped the mud off his boots and leggings, shook his
+brown umbrella, and entered the kitchen to find his master reading the
+Bible.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis all set down, Blee,&rdquo; exclaimed Mr. Lyddon with the
+triumphant voice of a discoverer. &ldquo;These latter rains be displayed in
+the Book, according to my theory that everything &rsquo;s theer!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Pity you didn&rsquo;t find &rsquo;em out afore they comed; then us
+might have bought the tarpaulins cheap in autumn, &rsquo;stead of
+payin&rsquo; through the nose for &rsquo;em last month. Now &rsquo;t is fancy
+figures for everything built to keep out rain. Rabbit that umberella!
+It&rsquo;s springed a leak, an&rsquo; the water&rsquo;s got down my
+neck.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Have some hot spirits, then, an&rsquo; listen to this&mdash;all set
+out in Isaiah forty-one&mdash;eighteen: &lsquo;I will open rivers in high
+places and fountains in the midst of the valleys; I will make the wilderness
+a pool of water and the dry land springs of water.&rsquo; Theer! If that
+ban&rsquo;t a picter of the present plague o&rsquo; rain, what should
+be?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So &rsquo;t is; an&rsquo; the fountains in the midst of the valleys
+be the awfullest part. Burnish it all! The high land had the worst of the
+winter, but we in the low coombs be gwaine to get the worst o&rsquo; the
+spring&mdash;safe as water allus runs down-long.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;T will find its awn level, which the prophet
+knawed.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I wish he knawed how soon.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;T is in the Word, I&rsquo;ll wager. I may come upon it
+yet.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The airth be damn near drowned, an&rsquo; the air&rsquo;s thick
+like a washin&rsquo;-day everywheers, an&rsquo; a terrible braave sight
+o&rsquo; rain unshed in the elements yet.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;T will pass, sure as Noah seed a rainbow.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess, &rsquo;t will pass; but Monks Barton&rsquo;s like to be washed
+to Fingle Bridge fust. Oceans o&rsquo; work waitin&rsquo;, but what can us be
+at? Theer ban&rsquo;t a bit o&rsquo; land you couldn&rsquo;t most swim
+across.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Widespread trouble, sure &rsquo;nough&mdash;all awver the South
+Hams, high an&rsquo; low.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;By the same token, I met Will Blanchard an hour agone. Gwaine in
+the dispensary, he was. The li&rsquo;l bwoy&rsquo;s queer&mdash;no gert ill,
+but a bit of a tisseck on the lungs. He got playin&rsquo; &rsquo;bout, busy
+as a rook, in the dirt, and catched cold.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Miller Lyddon was much concerned at this bad news.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, my gude God!&rdquo; he exclaimed, &ldquo;that&rsquo;s worse
+hearin&rsquo; than all or any you could have fetched down. What do Doctor
+say?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Wasn&rsquo;t worth while to call un up, so Will thought.
+Ban&rsquo;t nothin&rsquo; to kill a beetle, or I lay the mother of un would
+have Doctor mighty soon. Will reckoned to get un a dose of
+physic&mdash;an&rsquo; a few sweeties. Nature&rsquo;s all for the young buds.
+He won&rsquo;t come to no hurt.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Fust thing morning send a lad riding to Newtake,&rdquo; ordered Mr.
+Lyddon. &ldquo;Theer&rsquo;s no sleep for me to-night, no, nor any more at
+all till I hear tell the dear tibby-lamb&rsquo;s well again. &rsquo;Pon my
+soul, I wonder that headstrong man doan&rsquo;t doctor the cheel
+hisself.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Maybe he will. Ban&rsquo;t nothin &rsquo;s beyond him.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll go silly now. If awnly Mrs. Blanchard was up theer
+wi&rsquo; Phoebe.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Doan&rsquo;t you grizzle about it. The bwoy be gwaine to make auld
+bones yet&mdash;hard as a nut he be. Give un years an&rsquo; he&rsquo;ll help
+carry you to the graave in the fulness of time, I promise &rsquo;e,&rdquo;
+said Billy, in his comforting way.</p>
+<h2><a id="III_VI" name="III_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI<br />
+THE CROSS UPREARED</h2>
+<p>Mr. Blee had but reported Will correctly, and it was not until some hours
+later that the child at Newtake caused his parents any alarm. Then he awoke
+in evident suffering, and Will, at Phoebe&rsquo;s frantic entreaty, arose and
+was soon galloping down through the night for Doctor Parsons.</p>
+<p>His thundering knock fell upon the physician&rsquo;s door, and a moment
+later a window above him was opened.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why can&rsquo;t you ring the bell instead of making that fiendish
+noise, and waking the whole house? Who is it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Blanchard, from Newtake.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What&rsquo;s wrong?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;T is my bwoy. He&rsquo;ve got something amiss with his
+breathing parts by the looks of it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Doan&rsquo;t delay. Gert fear comed to his mother under the
+darkness, &rsquo;cause he seemed nicely when he went to sleep, then woke up
+worse. So I felt us had better not wait till morning.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll be with you in five minutes.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Soon the Doctor appeared down a lane from the rear of the house. He was
+leading his horse by the bridle.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m better mounted than you,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;so
+I&rsquo;ll push forward. Every minute saved is gained.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Will thanked him, and Doctor Parsons disappeared. When the father reached
+home, it was to hear that his child was seriously ill, though nothing of a
+final nature could be done to combat the sickness until it assumed a more
+definite form.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s a grave case,&rdquo; said the physician, drearily in the
+dawn, as he pulled on his gloves and discussed the matter with Will before
+departing. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll be up again to-night. We mustn&rsquo;t overlook
+the proverbial vitality of the young, but if you are wise you will school
+your mind and your wife&rsquo;s to be resigned. You understand.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He stroked his peaked naval beard, shook his head, then mounted his horse
+and was gone.</p>
+<p>From that day forward life stood still at Newtake, in so far as it is
+possible for life to do so, and a long-drawn weariness of many words dragged
+dully of a hundred pages would be necessary to reflect that tale of noctural
+terrors and daylight respites, of intermittent fears, of nerve-shattering
+suspense, and of the ebb and flow of hope through a fortnight of time.
+Overtaxed and overwrought, Phoebe ceased to be of much service in the
+sick-room after a week without sleep; Will did all that he could, which was
+little enough; but his mother took her place in the house unquestioned at
+this juncture, and ruled under Doctor Parsons. The struggle seemed to make
+her younger again, to rub off the slow-gathering rust of age and charm up all
+her stores of sense and energy.</p>
+<p>So they battled for that young life. More than once a shriek from Phoebe
+would echo to the farm that little Will was gone; and yet he lived; many a
+time the child&rsquo;s father in his strength surveyed the perishing atom,
+and prayed to take the burden, all too heavy for a baby&rsquo;s shoulders. In
+one mood he supplicated, in another cursed Heaven for its cruelty.</p>
+<p>There came a morning in early April when their physician, visiting Newtake
+before noon, broke it to husband and wife that the child could scarcely
+survive another day. He promised to return in the evening, and left them to
+their despair. Mrs. Blanchard, however, refused to credit this assurance, and
+cried to them to be hopeful still.</p>
+<p>In the afternoon Mr. Blee rode up from Monks Barton. Daily a messenger
+visited Newtake for Mr. Lyddon&rsquo;s satisfaction, but it was not often
+that Billy came. Now he arrived, however, entered the kitchen, and set down a
+basket laden with good things. The apartment lacked its old polish and
+cleanliness. The whitewash was very dirty; the little eight-day clock on the
+mantelpiece had run down; the begonias in pots on the window-ledge were at
+death&rsquo;s door for water. Between two of them a lean cat stretched in the
+sun and licked its paws; beside the fire lay Ship with his nose on the
+ground; and Will sat close by, a fortnight&rsquo;s beard upon his chin. He
+looked listlessly up as Mr. Blee entered and nodded but did not speak.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, what &rsquo;s the best news? I&rsquo;ve brought &rsquo;e
+fair-fashioned weather at any rate. The air &rsquo;s so soft as milk, even up
+here, an&rsquo; you can see the green things grawin&rsquo; to make up for
+lost time. Sun was proper hot on my face as I travelled along. How be the
+poor little lad?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Alive, that&rsquo;s all. Doctor&rsquo;s thrawed un awver
+now.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Never! Yet I&rsquo;ve knawed even Parsons to make mistakes.
+I&rsquo;ve brought &rsquo;e a braave bunch o&rsquo; berries, got by the
+gracious gudeness of Miller from Newton Abbot; also a jelly; also a bottle
+o&rsquo; brandy&mdash;the auld stuff from down cellar&mdash;I brushed the
+Dartmoor dew, as &rsquo;t is called, off the bottle myself; also a fowl for
+the missis.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No call to have come. &rsquo;T is all awver bar the end.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Never say it while the child&rsquo;s livin&rsquo;! They &rsquo;m
+magical li&rsquo;l twoads for givin&rsquo; a doctor the lie. You &rsquo;m
+wisht an&rsquo; weary along o&rsquo; night watchings.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Us must faace it. Ban&rsquo;t no oncommon thing. Hope&rsquo;s dead
+in me these many days; an&rsquo; dying now in Phoebe&mdash;dying cruel by
+inches. She caan&rsquo;t bring herself to say &lsquo;gude-by&rsquo; to the
+li&rsquo;l darling bwoy.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What mother could? What do Mrs. Blanchard the elder say?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She plucks up &rsquo;bout it. She &rsquo;m awver
+hopeful.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Doan&rsquo;t say so! A very wise woman her.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Phoebe entered at this moment, and Mr. Blee turned from where he was
+standing by his basket.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I be cheerin&rsquo; your gude man up,&rdquo; he said.</p>
+<p>She sighed, and sat down wearily near Will.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve brought &rsquo;e a chick for your awn eatin&rsquo;
+an&rsquo;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Here a scuffle and snarling and spitting interrupted Billy. The hungry
+cat, finding a fowl almost under its nose, had leapt to the ground with it,
+and the dog observed the action. Might is right in hungry communities; Ship
+asserted himself, and almost before the visitor realised what had happened,
+poor Phoebe&rsquo;s chicken was gone.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Out on the blamed thieves!&rdquo; cried Billy, astounded at such
+manners. He was going to strike the dog, but Will stopped him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Let un bide,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;He didn&rsquo;t take it,
+an&rsquo; since it weern&rsquo;t for Phoebe, better him had it than the cat.
+He works for his livin&rsquo;, she doan&rsquo;t.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Such gwaines-on &rsquo;mongst dumb beasts o&rsquo; the field I
+never seen!&rdquo; protested Billy; &ldquo;an&rsquo; chickens worth what they
+be this spring!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Presently conversation drifted into a channel that enabled the desperate,
+powerless man to use his brains and employ his muscles; while for the mother
+it furnished a fresh gleam of hope built upon faith. Billy it was who brought
+about this consummation. Led by Phoebe he ascended to the sick-room and bid
+Mrs. Blanchard &ldquo;good-day.&rdquo; She sat with the insensible child on
+her lap by the fire, where a long-spouted kettle sent forth jets of
+steam.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;This here jelly what I&rsquo;ve brought would put life in a corpse
+I do b&rsquo;lieve; an&rsquo; them butivul grapes, tu,&mdash;they&rsquo;ll
+cool his fever to rights, I should judge.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He &rsquo;m past all that,&rdquo; said Phoebe.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Never!&rdquo; cried the other woman. &ldquo;He&rsquo;m a bit easier
+to my thinkin&rsquo;.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Let me take un then,&rdquo; said the mother. &ldquo;You&rsquo;m
+most blind for sleep.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not a bit of it. I&rsquo;ll have forty winks later, after
+Doctor&rsquo;s been again.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Will here entered, sat down by his mother, and stroked the child&rsquo;s
+little limp hand.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He ban&rsquo;t fightin&rsquo; so hard, by the looks of it,&rdquo;
+he said.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No more he is. Come he sleep like this till dark, I lay he&rsquo;ll
+do braave.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Nobody spoke for some minutes, then Billy, having pondered the point in
+silence, suddenly relieved his mind and attacked Will, to the astonishment of
+all present.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis a black thought for you to knaw this trouble&rsquo;s of
+your awn wicked hatching, Farmer,&rdquo; he said abruptly; &ldquo;though it
+ban&rsquo;t a very likely time to say so, perhaps. Yet theer&rsquo;s life
+still, so I speak.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Will glared speechless; but Billy knew himself too puny and too venerable
+to fear rough handling. He regarded the angry man before him without fear,
+and explained his allusion.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You may glaze &rsquo;pon me, an&rsquo; stick your savage eyes out
+your head; but that doan&rsquo;t alter truth. &rsquo;T &rsquo;as awnly a bit
+ago in the fall as I told un what would awvertake un,&rdquo; he continued,
+turning to the women. &ldquo;He left the cross what Mr. Grimbal found
+upsy-down in the airth; he stood up afore the company an&rsquo; damned the
+glory of all Christian men. Ess fay, he done that fearful thing, an&rsquo; if
+&rsquo;t weern&rsquo;t enough to turn the Lard&rsquo;s hand from un, what
+was? Snug an&rsquo; vitty he weer afore that, so far as anybody knawed;
+an&rsquo; since&mdash;why, troubles have tumbled &rsquo;pon each
+other&rsquo;s tails like apple-dranes out of a nest.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The face of Phoebe was lighted with some eagerness, some deep anxiety, and
+not a little passion as she listened to this harangue.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You mean that gate-stone brought this upon us?&rdquo; she
+asked.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, no, never,&rdquo; declared Damaris; &ldquo;&rsquo;t is contrary
+to all reason.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;T is true, whether or no; an&rsquo; any fule, let alone a
+man as knaws like I do, would tell &rsquo;e the same. &rsquo;T is common
+sense if you axes me. Your man was told &rsquo;t was a blessed cross,
+an&rsquo; he flouted the lot of us an&rsquo; left it wheer &rsquo;t was.
+&rsquo;T is a challenge, if you come to think of it, a scoffin&rsquo; of the
+A&rsquo;mighty to the very face of Un. I wouldn&rsquo;t stand it myself if I
+was Him.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Will, do &rsquo;e hear Mr. Blee?&rdquo; asked Phoebe.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I hear un. &rsquo;T is tu late now, even if what he said was true,
+which it ban&rsquo;t.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Never tu late to do a gude deed,&rdquo; declared Billy;
+&ldquo;an&rsquo; you&rsquo;ll have to come to it, or you&rsquo;ll get the
+skin cussed off your back afore you &rsquo;m done with. Gormed if ever I seed
+sich a man as you! Theer be some gude points about &rsquo;e, as everything
+must have from God A&rsquo;mighty&rsquo;s workshop, down to poisonous
+varmints. But certain sure am I that you don&rsquo;t ought to think twice
+&rsquo;pon this job.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Do &rsquo;e mean it might even make the differ&rsquo;nee between
+life an&rsquo; death to the bwoy?&rdquo; asked Phoebe breathlessly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I do. Just all that.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Will&mdash;for God&rsquo;s love, Will!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What do &rsquo;e say, mother?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It may be truth. Strange things fall out. Yet it never hurted my
+parents in the past.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;For why?&rdquo; asked Billy. &ldquo;&rsquo;Cause they didn&rsquo;t
+knaw &rsquo;t was theer, so allowance was made by the Watching Eye. Now
+&rsquo;t is differ&rsquo;nt, an&rsquo; His rage be waxing.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Your blessed God &rsquo;s got no common sense, then&mdash;an&rsquo;
+that&rsquo;s all I&rsquo;ve got to say &rsquo;bout it. What would you have me
+do?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Will put the question to Mr. Blee, but his wife it was who answered, being
+now worked up to a pitch of frenzy at the delay.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Go! Dig&mdash;dig as you never digged afore! Dig the holy stone out
+the ground direckly minute! Now, now, Will, &rsquo;fore the life&rsquo;s out
+of his li&rsquo;l flutterin&rsquo; body. Lay bare the cross, an&rsquo; drag
+un out for God in heaven to see! Doan&rsquo;t stand clackin&rsquo; theer,
+when every moment&rsquo;s worth more&rsquo;n gawld.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So like&rsquo;s not He&rsquo;ll forgive &rsquo;e if &rsquo;e
+do,&rdquo; argued Mr. Blee. &ldquo;Allowed the Lard o&rsquo; Hosts graws a
+bit short in His temper now an&rsquo; again, as with them gormed Israelites,
+an&rsquo; sich like, an&rsquo; small blame to Him; but He&rsquo;s all for
+mercy at heart, &rsquo;cordin&rsquo; to the opinion of these times, so
+you&rsquo;d best to dig.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why doan&rsquo;t he strike me down if I&rsquo;ve angered
+Him&mdash;not this innocent cheel?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The sins of the fathers be visited&mdash;&rdquo; began Mr. Blee
+glibly, when Mrs. Blanchard interrupted.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ban&rsquo;t the time to argue, Will. Do it, an&rsquo; do it sharp,
+if&rsquo;t will add wan grain o&rsquo; hope to the baaby&rsquo;s
+chance.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The younger woman&rsquo;s sufferings rose to a frantic half-hushed scream
+at the protracted delay.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O Christ, why for do &rsquo;e hold back? Ban&rsquo;t anything worth
+tryin&rsquo; for your awn son? I&rsquo;d scratch the stone out wi&rsquo; my
+raw, bleedin&rsquo; finger-bones if I was a man. Do &rsquo;e want to send me
+mad? Do &rsquo;e want to make me hate the sight of &rsquo;e? Go&mdash;go for
+love of your mother, if not of me!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; I&rsquo;ll help,&rdquo; said Billy, &ldquo;an&rsquo; that
+chap messin&rsquo; about in the yard can lend a hand likewise. I be a cracked
+vessel myself for strength, an&rsquo; past heavy work, but my best is yours
+to call &rsquo;pon in this pass.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Will turned and left the sick-room without more words, while Billy
+followed him.</p>
+<p>The farmer fetched two picks and a shovel, called Ted Chown and a minute
+later had struck the first blow towards restoration of his granite cross. All
+laboured with their utmost power, and Will, who had flung off his coat and
+waistcoat, bared his arms, tightened his belt, and did the work of two men.
+The manual labour sweetened his mind a little, and scoured it of some
+bitterness. While Mr. Blee, with many a grunt and groan, removed the soil as
+the others broke it away, Blanchard, during these moments of enforced
+idleness, looked hungrily at the little window of the upper chamber where all
+his hopes and interests were centred. Then he swung his pick again.</p>
+<p>Presently a ray of sunlight brightened Newtake, and contributed to soothe
+the toiling father. He read promise into it, and when three feet below the
+surface indications of cross-arms appeared upon the stone, Will felt still
+more heartened. Grimbal&rsquo;s prediction was now verified; and it remained
+only to prove Billy&rsquo;s prophecy also true. His tremendous physical
+exertions, the bright setting sunshine, and the discovery of the cross
+affected Will strangely. His mind swung round from frank irreligion, to a
+sort of superstitious credulity, awestricken yet joyful, that made him cling
+to the saving virtue of the stone. Because Martin had been right in his
+assertion concerning the gate-post, Blanchard felt a hazy conviction that
+Blee&rsquo;s estimate of the stone&rsquo;s virtue must also prove correct. He
+saw his wife at the window, and waved to her, and cried aloud that the cross
+was uncovered.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A poor thing in holy relics, sure &rsquo;nough,&rdquo; said Billy,
+wiping his forehead.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But a cross&mdash;a clear cross? Keep workin&rsquo;, Chown, will
+&rsquo;e? You still think &rsquo;twill serve, doan&rsquo;t &rsquo;e,
+Blee?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No room for doubt, though woful out o&rsquo; repair,&rdquo;
+answered Billy, occupied with the ancient monument. &ldquo;Just the stumps
+o&rsquo; the arms left, but more&rsquo;n enough to swear by.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>All laboured on; then the stone suddenly subsided and fell in such a
+manner that with some sloping of one side of the excavated pit they were able
+to drag it out.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Something&rsquo;s talking to me as us have done the wan thing
+needful,&rdquo; murmured Will, in a subdued voice, but with more light than
+the sunset on his face. &ldquo;Something&rsquo;s hurting me bad that I said
+what I said in the chamber, an&rsquo; thought what I thought. God&rsquo;s
+nigher than us might think, minding what small creatures we be. I hope
+He&rsquo;ll forgive them words.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;s a peacock for eyes, as be well knawn,&rdquo; declared
+Mr. Blee. &ldquo;An&rsquo; He&rsquo;ve got His various manners an&rsquo;
+customs o&rsquo; handlin&rsquo; the human race. Some He softens wi&rsquo;
+gude things an&rsquo; gude fortune till they be bound to turn to Him for
+sheer shame; others He breaks &rsquo;pon the rocks of His wrath till they
+falls on their knees an&rsquo; squeals for forgiveness. I&rsquo;ve seed it
+both ways scores o&rsquo; times; an&rsquo; if your little lad &rsquo;s spared
+to &rsquo;e, you&rsquo;ll be brought to the Lard by a easier way than you
+deserve, Blanchard.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I knaw, I knaw, Mr. Blee. He &rsquo;m surely gwaine to let us keep
+li&rsquo;l Willy, an&rsquo; win us to heaven for all time.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The cross now lay at their feet, and Billy was about to return to the
+house and see how matters prospered, when Will bade him stay a little
+longer.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not yet,&rdquo; he said.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What more&rsquo;s to do?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I feel a kind o&rsquo; message like to set it plumb-true under the
+sky. Us caan&rsquo;t lift it, but if I pull a plank or two out o&rsquo; the
+pig&rsquo;s house an&rsquo; put a harrow chain round &rsquo;em, we could get
+the cross on an&rsquo; let a horse pull un up theer to the hill, and set un
+up. Then us would have done all man can.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He pointed to the bosom of the adjacent hill, now glowing in great sunset
+light.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Starve me! but you &rsquo;m wise. Us&rsquo;ll set the thing up
+under the A&rsquo;mighty&rsquo;s eye. &rsquo;Twill serve&mdash;mark my words.
+&rsquo;Twill turn the purpose of the Lard o&rsquo; Hosts, or I&rsquo;m no
+prophet.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis in my head you &rsquo;m right. I be lifted up in a way I
+never was.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The Lard &rsquo;s found &rsquo;e by the looks of it,&rdquo; said
+Billy critically, &ldquo;either that, or you &rsquo;m light-headed for want
+of sleep. But truly I think He&rsquo;ve called &rsquo;e. Now &rsquo;t is for
+you to answer.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>They cleaned the cross with a bucket or two of water, then dragged it
+half-way up the hill, and, where a rabbit burrow lessened labour, raised
+their venerable monument under the afterglow.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It do look as if it had been part o&rsquo; the view for all
+time,&rdquo; declared Ted Chown, as the party retreated a few paces; and,
+indeed, the stone rose harmoniously upon its new site, and might have stood
+an immemorial feature of the scene.</p>
+<p>Blanchard stayed not a moment when the work was done but strode to Newtake
+like a jubilant giant, while Mr. Blee and Chown, with the horse, tools, and
+rough sledge, followed more slowly.</p>
+<p>The father proceeded homewards at tremendous speed; a glorious hope filled
+his heart, sharing the same with sorrow and repentance. He mumbled shamefaced
+prayers as he went, speaking half to himself, half to Heaven. He rambled on
+from a petition for forgiveness into a broken thanksgiving for the mercy he
+already regarded as granted. His labours, the glamour of the present
+achievement, and the previous long strain upon his mind and body, united to
+smother reason for one feverish hour. Will walked blindly forward, now with
+his eyes upon the window under Newtake&rsquo;s dark roof below him, now
+turning to catch sight of the grey cross uplifted on the hill above. A great
+sweeping sea of change was tumbling through his intellect, and old
+convictions with scraps of assured wisdom suffered shipwreck in it. His mind
+was exalted before the certainty of unutterable blessing; his soul clung to
+the splendid assurance of a Personal God who had wrought actively upon his
+behalf, and received his belated atonement.</p>
+<p>Far behind, Mr. Blee was improving the occasion for benefit of young Ted
+Chown.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;See how he do stride the hill wi&rsquo; his head held high, same as
+Moses when he went down-long from the Mount. Look at un an&rsquo; do
+likewise, Teddy; for theer goes a man as have grasped God! &rsquo;Tis a gert,
+gay day in human life when it comes.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Will Blanchard hurried through the farm gate, where it swung idly with its
+sacred support gone forever; then he drew a great breath and glanced upwards
+before proceeding into the darkness of the unlighted house. As he did so
+wheels grated at the entrance, and he knew that Doctor Parsons must be just
+behind him. Above stairs the sick-room was still unlighted, the long-necked
+kettle still puffed steam, but the fire had shrunk, and Will&rsquo;s first
+word was a protest that it had been allowed to sink so low. Then he looked
+round, and the rainbow in his heart faded and died. Damaris sat like a stone
+woman by the window; Phoebe lay upon the bed and hugged a little body in a
+blanket. Her hair had fallen down; out of the great shadows he saw the white
+blur on her face, and heard her voice sound strange as she cried
+monotonously, in a tone from which the first passion had vanished through an
+hour of iteration.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O God, give un back to me; O God, spare un; O kind God, give my
+li&rsquo;l bwoy back.&rdquo;</p>
+<h2><a id="III_VII" name="III_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII<br />
+GREY TWILIGHT</h2>
+<p>In the soft earth they laid him, &ldquo;the little child whose heart had
+fallen asleep,&rdquo; and from piling of a miniature mound, from a small
+brown tumulus, now quite hid under primroses, violets, and the white anemones
+of the woods, Will Blanchard and his mother slowly returned to Newtake. He
+wore his black coat; she was also dressed in black; the solitary mourning
+coach dragged slowly up the hill to the Moor, and elsewhere another like it
+conveyed Mr. Lyddon homeward.</p>
+<p>Neither mother nor son had any heart to speak. The man&rsquo;s soul was up
+in arms; he had rebelled against his life, and since the death of his boy,
+while Phoebe remained inert in her desolation and languished under a mental
+and bodily paralysis wherein she had starved to death but for those about
+her, he, on the contrary, found muscle and mind clamouring for heroic
+movement. He was feverishly busy upon the farm, and ranged in thought with a
+savage activity among the great concerns of men. His ill-regulated mind,
+smarting under the blows of Chance, whirled from that past transient wave of
+superstitious emotion into an opposite extreme. Now he was ashamed of his
+weakness, and suffered convictions proper to the narrowness of an immature
+intellect to overwhelm him. He assured himself that his tribulations were not
+compatible with the existence of a Supreme Being. Like poor humanity the wide
+world over, his judgment became vitiated, his views distorted under the
+stroke of personal sorrow, and, beneath the pressure of that gigantic egotism
+which ever palsies the mind of man at sudden loss of what he holds dearest
+upon earth, poor Blanchard cried in his heart there was no God.</p>
+<p>Here we are faced with a curious parallel, offered within the limits of
+this narrative. As the old labourer, Blee, had arrived at the same
+conclusion, then modified it and returned to a creed in the light of
+subsequent events, so now Will had found himself, on the evening of his
+child&rsquo;s funeral, with fresh interests aroused and recent convictions
+shaken. An incipient negation of Deity, built upon the trumpery basis of his
+personal misfortunes, was almost shattered within the week that saw its first
+existence. A mystery developed in his path, and startling incidents awoke a
+new train of credulity akin to that already manifested over the ancient
+cross. The man&rsquo;s uneven mind was tossed from one extreme of opinion to
+the other, and that element of superstition, from which no untutored
+intellect in the lap of Nature is free, now found fresh food and put forth a
+strong root within him.</p>
+<p>Returning home, Will approached Phoebe with a purpose to detail the sad,
+short scene in Chagford churchyard, but his voice rendered her hysterical, so
+he left her with his mother, put on his working clothes, and wandered out
+into the farmyard. Presently he found himself idly regarding a new gate-post:
+that which Martin Grimbal formerly brought and left hard by the farm. Ted
+Chown had occupied himself in erecting it during the morning.</p>
+<p>The spectacle reminded Will of another, and he lifted his eyes to the
+cross on the undulation spread before him. As he did so some object appeared
+to flutter out of sight not far above it, among the rocks and loose
+&lsquo;clatters&rsquo; beneath the summit of the tor. This incident did not
+hold Will&rsquo;s mind, but, prompted to motion, restless, and in the power
+of dark thoughts, he wandered up the Moor, tramped through the heather, and
+unwittingly passed within a yard of the monument he had raised upon the hill.
+He stood a moment and looked at the cross, then cursed and spat upon it. The
+action spoke definitely of a mental chaos unexampled in one who, until that
+time, had never lacked abundant self-respect. His deed done, it struck Will
+Blanchard like a blow; he marvelled bitterly at himself, he knew such an act
+was pitiful, and remembered that the brain responsible for it was his own.
+Then he clenched his hands and turned away, and stood and stared out over the
+world.</p>
+<p>A wild, south-west wind blew, and fitful rain-storms sped separately
+across the waste. Over the horizon clouds massed darkly, and the wildernesses
+spread beneath them were of an inflamed purple. The seat of the sun was
+heavily obscured at this moment, and the highest illumination cast from sky
+to earth broke from the north. The effect thus imparted to the scene, though
+in reality no more than usual, affected the mind as unnatural, and even
+sinister in its operation of unwonted chiaro-oscuro. Presently the sullen
+clearness of the distance was swept and softened by a storm. Another, falling
+some miles nearer, became superimposed upon it. Immediately the darkness of
+the horizon lifted and light generally increased, though every outline of the
+hills themselves vanished under falling rain. The turmoil of the clouds
+proceeded, and after another squall had passed there followed an aerial
+battle amid towers and pinnacles and tottering precipices of sheer gloom. The
+centre of illumination wheeled swiftly round to the sun as the storm
+travelled north, then a few huge silver spokes of wan sunshine turned
+irregularly upon the stone-strewn desert.</p>
+<p>Will watched this elemental unrest, and it served to soothe that greater
+storm of sorrows and self-condemnation then raging within him. His nature
+found consolation here, the cool hand of the Mother touched his forehead as
+she passed in her robe of rain, and for the first time since childhood the
+man hid his face and wept.</p>
+<p>Presently he moved forward again, walked to the valleys and wandered
+towards southern Teign, unconsciously calmed by his own random movements and
+the river&rsquo;s song. Anon, he entered the lands of Metherill, and soon
+afterwards, without deliberate intention, moved through that Damnonian
+village which lies there. A moment later and he stood in the hut-circle where
+he himself had been born. Its double stone courses spread around him, hiding
+the burrows of the rabbits; and sprung from between two granite blocks, brave
+in spring verdure, with the rain twinkling in little nests of flower buds as
+yet invisible, there rose a hawthorn. Within the stones a ewe stood and
+suckled its young, but there was no other sign of life. Then Blanchard,
+sitting here to rest and turning his eyes whither he had come, again noticed
+some sudden movement, but, looking intently at the spot, he saw nothing and
+returned to his own thoughts. Sitting motionless Will retraced the brief
+course of his career through long hours of thought; and though his spirit
+bubbled to white heat more than once during the survey, yet subdued currents
+of sense wound amid his later reflections. Crushed for a moment under the
+heavy load of life and its lessons, he presented a picture familiar enough,
+desirable enough, necessary enough to all humanity, yet pathetic as
+exemplified in the young and unintelligent and hopeful. It was the picture of
+the dawn of patience&mdash;a patience sprung from no religious inspiration,
+but representing Will&rsquo;s tacit acknowledgment of defeat in his earlier
+battles with the world. The emotion did not banish his present rebellion
+against Fate and evil fortune undeserved; but it caused him to look upon life
+from a man&rsquo;s standpoint rather than a child&rsquo;s, and did him a
+priceless service by shaking to their foundations his self-confidence and
+self-esteem. Selfish at least he was not from a masculine standard, and now
+his thoughts returned to Phoebe in her misery, and he rose and retraced his
+steps with a purpose to comfort her if he could.</p>
+<p>The day began to draw in. Unshed rains massed on the high tors, but
+towards the west one great band of primrose sky rolled out above the vanished
+sun and lighted a million little amber lamps in the hanging crystals of the
+rain. They twinkled on thorns and briars, on the grass, the silver crosiers
+of uncurling ferns, and all the rusty-red young heather.</p>
+<p>Then it was that rising from his meditations and turning homeward, the man
+distinctly heard himself called from some distance. A voice repeated his name
+twice&mdash;in clear tones that might have belonged to a boy or a woman.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Will! Will!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Turning sharply upon a challenge thus ringing through absolute loneliness
+and silence, Blanchard endeavoured, without success, to ascertain from whence
+the summons came. He thought of his mother, then of his wife, yet neither was
+visible, and nobody appeared. Only the old time village spread about him with
+its hoary granite peering from under caps of heather and furze, ivy and
+upspringing thorn. And each stock and stone seemed listening with him for the
+repetition of a voice. The sheep had moved elsewhere, and he stood
+companionless in that theatre of vanished life. Trackways and circles wound
+grey around him, and the spring vegetation above which they rose all swam
+into one dim shade, yet moved with shadows under oncoming darkness.
+Attributing the voice to his own unsettled spirit, Blanchard proceeded upon
+his road to where the skeleton of a dead horse stared through the gloaming
+beside a quaking bog. Its bones were scattered by ravens, and Will used the
+bleached skull as a stepping stone. Presently he thought of the flame-tongues
+that here were wont to dance through warm summer nights. This memory recalled
+his own nickname in
+Chagford&mdash;&ldquo;Jack-o&rsquo;-Lantern&rdquo;&mdash;and, for the first
+time in his life, he began to appreciate its significance. Then, being a
+hundred yards from his starting-place in the hut-circle, he heard the hidden
+voice again. Clear and low, it stole over the intervening wilderness, and
+between two utterances was an interval of some seconds.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Will! Will!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>For one instant the crepitation of fear passed over Blanchard&rsquo;s
+scalp and skin. He made an involuntary stride away from the voice; then he
+shook himself free of all alarm, and, not desirous to lose more self-respect
+that day, turned resolutely and shouted back,&mdash;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I hear &rsquo;e. What&rsquo;s the business? I be comin&rsquo; to
+&rsquo;e if you&rsquo;ll bide wheer you be.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>That some eyes were watching him out of the gathering darkness he did not
+doubt, and soon pushing back, he stood once more in the ruined citadel of old
+stones, mounted one, steadied himself by a young ash that rose beside it, and
+raised his voice again,&mdash;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Now, then! I be here. What&rsquo;s to do? Who&rsquo;s callin&rsquo;
+me?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>An answer came, but of a sort widely different from what he expected.
+There arose, within twenty yards of him, a sound that might have been the cry
+of a child or the scream of a trapped animal. Assuming it to be the latter,
+Will again hesitated. Often enough he had laughed at the folk-tales of witch
+hares as among the most fantastic fables of the old; yet at this present
+moment mystic legends won point from the circumstances in which he found
+himself. He hurried forward to the edge of a circle from which the sound
+proceeded. Then, looking before him, he started violently, sank to his knees
+behind a rock, and so remained, glaring into the ring of stones.</p>
+<p class="thoughtBreak">In less than half an hour Blanchard, with his coat wrapped round some
+object that he carried, returned to Newtake and summoned assistance with a
+loud voice.</p>
+<p>Presently his wife and mother entered the kitchen, whereupon Will
+discovered his burden and revealed a young child. Phoebe fainted dead away at
+sight of it, and while her husband looked to her Mrs. Blanchard tended the
+baby, which was hungry but by no means alarmed. As for Will, his altered
+voice and most unusual excitement of manner indicated something of the shock
+he had received. Having described the voice which called him, he proceeded
+after this fashion to detail what followed:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I looked in the very hut-circle I was born, an&rsquo; I shivered
+all over, for I thought &rsquo;twas the li&rsquo;l ghost of our wee
+bwoy&mdash;by God, I did! It sat theer all alone, an&rsquo; I stared
+an&rsquo; froze while I stared. Then it hollered like a gude un, an&rsquo;
+stretched out its arms, an&rsquo; I seed &rsquo;twas livin&rsquo; an&rsquo;
+never thought how it comed theer. He &rsquo;in somethin&rsquo; smaller than
+our purty darling, yet like him in a way, onless I&rsquo;m
+forgetting.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis like,&rdquo; said Damaris, dandling the child and making
+it happy. &ldquo;&rsquo;Tis a li&rsquo;l bwoy, two year old or more, I should
+guess. It keeps crying &rsquo;Mam, mam,&rsquo; for its mother. God forgive
+the woman.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A gypsy&rsquo;s baby, I reckon,&rdquo; said Phoebe languidly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I doan&rsquo;t think it,&rdquo; answered her husband;
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m most feared to guess what &rsquo;tis. Wan thing&rsquo;s
+sure; I was called loud an&rsquo; clear or I&rsquo;d never have turned back;
+an&rsquo; yet, second time I was called, my flesh crept.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The little flannels an&rsquo; frock be thick an&rsquo; gude, but
+they doan&rsquo;t shaw nought.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The thing&rsquo;s most as easy to think a miracle as not. He looked
+up in my eyes as I brought un away, an&rsquo; after he&rsquo;d got used to me
+he was quiet as a mouse an&rsquo; snuggled to me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They&rsquo;d have said &rsquo;twas a fairy changeling in my young
+days,&rdquo; mused Mrs. Blanchard, &ldquo;but us knaws better now. &rsquo;Tis
+a li&rsquo;l gypsy, I&rsquo;ll warn &rsquo;e, an&rsquo; some wicked
+mother&rsquo;s dropped un under your nose to ease her conscience.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What will you do? Take un to the poorhouse?&rdquo; asked
+Phoebe.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;Poorhouse&rsquo;! Never! This be mine, tu. Mine! I was
+called to it, weern&rsquo;t I? By a human voice or another, God knaws.
+Theer&rsquo;s more to this than us can see.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>His women regarded him with blank amazement, and he showed considerable
+impatience tinder their eyes. It was clear he desired that they should dwell
+on no purely materialistic or natural explanation of the incident.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Baan&rsquo;t a gypsy baaby,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;&rsquo;tis awnly
+the legs an&rsquo; arms of un as be brown. His body&rsquo;s as white as
+curds, an&rsquo; his hair&rsquo;s no darker than our awn Willy&rsquo;s
+was.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If it ban&rsquo;t a gypsy&rsquo;s, whose be it?&rdquo; said Phoebe,
+turning to the infant for the first time.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Mine now,&rdquo; answered Will stoutly. &ldquo;&rsquo;Twas sent
+an&rsquo; give into my awn hand by one what knawed who &rsquo;twas they
+called. My heart warmed to un as he lay in my arms, an&rsquo; he&rsquo;m mine
+hencefarrard.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What do &rsquo;e say, Phoebe?&rdquo; asked Mrs. Blanchard, somewhat
+apprehensively. She knew full well how any such project must have struck her
+if placed in the bereaved mother&rsquo;s position. Phoebe, however, made no
+immediate answer. Her sorrowful eyes were fixed on the child, now sitting
+happily on the elder woman&rsquo;s lap.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A nice li&rsquo;l thing, wi&rsquo; a wunnerful curly head&mdash;eh,
+Phoebe? Seems more &rsquo;n chance to me, comin&rsquo; as it have on this
+night-black day. An&rsquo; like our li&rsquo;l angel, tu, in a way?&rdquo;
+asked Will.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Like him&mdash;in a way, but more like you,&rdquo; she answered;
+&ldquo;more like you than your awn was&mdash;terrible straange that&mdash;the
+living daps o&rsquo; Will! Ban&rsquo;t it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Damaris regarded her son and then the child.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He be like&mdash;very,&rdquo; she admitted. &ldquo;I see him
+strong. An&rsquo; to think he found the bwoy &rsquo;pon that identical spot
+wheer he fust drawed breath himself!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis a thing of hidden meaning,&rdquo; declared Will.
+&ldquo;An&rsquo; he looked at me kindly fust he seed me; &rsquo;twas awnly
+hunger made un shout&mdash;not no fear o&rsquo; me. My heart warmed to un as
+I told &rsquo;e. An&rsquo; to come this day!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Phoebe had taken the child, and was looking over its body in a half-dazed
+fashion for the baby marks she knew. Silently she completed the survey, but
+there was neither caress in her fingers nor softness in her eyes. Presently
+she put the child back on Mrs. Blanchard&rsquo;s lap and spoke, still
+regarding it with a sort of dull, almost vindictive astonishment.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Terrible coorious! Ban&rsquo;t no child as ever I seed or heard
+tell of; an&rsquo; nothin&rsquo; of my dead lamb &rsquo;bout it, now I scans
+closer. But so like to Will! God! I can see un lookin&rsquo; out o&rsquo; its
+baaby eyes!&rdquo;</p>
+<h2><a id="IV_I" name="IV_I"></a>BOOK IV<br />
+HIS SECRET<br />
+<br />CHAPTER I<br />
+A WANDERER RETURNS</h2>
+<p>Ripe hay swelled in many a silver-russet billow, all brightened by the
+warm red of sorrel under sunshine. When the wind blew, ripples raced over the
+bending grasses, and from their midst shone out mauve scabious and flashed
+occasional poppies. The hot July air trembled agleam with shining insects,
+and drowsily over the hayfield, punctuated by stridulation of innumerable
+grasshoppers, there throbbed one sustained murmur, like the remote and mellow
+music of wood and strings. A lark still sang, and the swallows, whose
+full-fledged young thrust open beaks from the nests under Newtake eaves,
+skimmed and twittered above the grass lands, or sometimes dipped a purple
+wing in the still water where the irises grew.</p>
+<p>Blanchard and young Ted Chown had set about their annual labour of saving
+the hay, and now a rhythmic breathing of two scythes and merry clink of
+whetstones against steel sounded afar on the sleepy summer air. The familiar
+music came to Phoebe&rsquo;s ear where she sat at an open kitchen window of
+Newtake. Her custom was at times of hay harvest to assist in the drying of
+the grass, and few women handled a fork better; but there had recently
+reached the farm an infant girl, and the mother had plenty to do without
+seeking beyond her cradle.</p>
+<p>Phoebe made no demur about receiving Will&rsquo;s little foundling of the
+hut-circle. His heart&rsquo;s desire was usually her amibition also, and
+though Timothy, as the child had been called, could boast no mother&rsquo;s
+love, yet Phoebe proved a kind nurse, and only abated her attention upon the
+arrival of her own daughter. Then, as time softened the little mound in
+Chagford churchyard with young green, so before another baby did the
+mother&rsquo;s bereavement soften, sink deeper into memory, revive at longer
+intervals to conjure tears. Her character, as has been indicated, admitted of
+no supreme sustained sorrow. Suffer she did, and fiery was her agony; but
+another child brought occupation and new love; while her husband, after the
+first sentimental outburst of affection over the infant he had found at
+Metherill, settled into an enduring regard for him, associated him, by some
+mental process impossible of explanation, with his own lost one, and took an
+interest, blended of many curious emotions, in the child.</p>
+<p>Drying hay soon filled the air with a pleasant savour, and stretched out
+grey-green ribbons along the emerald of the shorn meadows. Chown snuffled and
+sweated and sneezed, for the pollen always gave him hay fever; his master
+daily worked like a giant from dawn till the owl-light, drank gallons of
+cider, and performed wonders with the scythe. A great hay crop gladdened the
+moormen, and Will, always intoxicated by a little fair fortune, talked much
+of his husbandry, already calculated the value of the aftermath, and reckoned
+what number of beasts he might feed next winter.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Most looks as if I&rsquo;d got a special gift wi&rsquo;
+hay,&rdquo; he said to his mother on one occasion. She had let her cottage to
+holiday folk, and was spending a month on the Moor.</p>
+<p>Mrs. Blanchard surveyed the scene from under her sunbonnet and nodded.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Spare no trouble, no trouble, an&rsquo; have it stacked come
+Saturday. Theer&rsquo;ll be thunder an&rsquo; gert rains after this heat. Be
+the rushes ready for thatchin&rsquo; of it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not yet; but that&rsquo;s not to say I&rsquo;ve forgot.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll cut some for &rsquo;e myself come the cool of the
+evenin&rsquo;. An&rsquo; you can send Ted with the cart to gather &rsquo;em
+up.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, no, mother. I&rsquo;ll make time to-morrow.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Twill be gude to me, an&rsquo; like auld days, when I was a
+li&rsquo;l maid. You sharp the sickle an&rsquo; fetch the skeiner out, tu,
+for I was a quick hand at bindin&rsquo; ropes o&rsquo; rushes, an&rsquo; have
+made many a yard of &rsquo;em in my time.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then she withdrew from the tremendous sunshine, and Will, now handling a
+rake, proceeded with his task.</p>
+<p>Two days later a rick began to rise majestically at the corner of
+Blanchard&rsquo;s largest field, while round about it was gathered the human
+life of the farm. Phoebe, with her baby, sat on an old sheepskin rug in the
+shadow of the growing pile; little Tim rollicked unheeded with Ship in the
+sweet grass, and clamoured from time to time for milk from a glass bottle;
+Will stood up aloft and received the hay from Chown&rsquo;s fork, while Mrs.
+Blanchard, busy with the &ldquo;skeiner&rdquo; stuck into the side of the
+rick, wound stout ropes of rushes for the thatching.</p>
+<p>Then it was that Will, glancing out upon the Moor, observed a string of
+gypsy folk making slow progress towards Chagford. Among the various Romany
+cavalcades which thus passed Newtake in summer time this appeared not the
+least strange. Two ordinary caravans headed the procession. A man conducted
+each, a naked-footed child or two trotted beside them, and an elder boy led
+along three goats. The travelling homes were encumbered with osier-and
+cane-work, and following them came a little broken-down, open vehicle. This
+was drawn by two donkeys, harnessed tandem-fashion, and the chariot had been
+painted bright blue. A woman drove the concern, and in it appeared a
+knife-grinding machine and a basket of cackling poultry, while some
+tent-poles stuck out behind. Will laughed at this spectacle, and called his
+wife&rsquo;s attention to it, whereon Phoebe and Damaris went as far as the
+gate of the hayfield to win a nearer view. The gypsies, however, had already
+passed, but Mrs. Blanchard found time to observe the sky-blue carriage and
+shake her head at it.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What gwaines-on! Theer&rsquo;s no master minds &rsquo;mongst them
+people nowadays,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Your faither wouldn&rsquo;t have let
+his folk make a show of themselves like that.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They &rsquo;m mostly chicken stealers nowadays,&rdquo; declared
+Will; &ldquo;an&rsquo; so surly as dogs if you tell &rsquo;em to go
+&rsquo;bout theer business.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not to none o&rsquo; your name&mdash;never,&rdquo; declared his
+mother. &ldquo;No gypsy&rsquo;s gwaine to forget my husband in his
+son&rsquo;s time. Many gude qualities have they got, chiefly along o&rsquo;
+living so much in the awpen air.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; gude appetites for the same cause! Go after Tim, wan of
+&rsquo;e. He&rsquo;ve trotted down the road half a mile, an&rsquo; be
+runnin&rsquo; arter that blue concern as if&rsquo;t was a circus. Theer!
+Blamed if that damned gal in the thing ban&rsquo;t stoppin&rsquo; to let un
+catch up! Now he&rsquo;m feared, an&rsquo; have turned tail an&rsquo; be
+coming back. &rsquo;Tis all right; Ship be wi&rsquo; un.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Presently the greater of Will&rsquo;s two ricks approached completion, and
+all the business of thatch and spar gads and rush ropes began. At his
+mother&rsquo;s desire he wasted no time, and toiled on, long after his party
+had returned to Newtake; but with the dusk he made an end for that day, stood
+up, rested his back, and scanned the darkening scene before descending.</p>
+<p>At eveningtide there had spread over the jagged western outlines of the
+Moor an orange-tawny sunset, whereon the solid masses of the hills burnt into
+hazy gold, all fairy-bright, unreal, unsubstantial as a cloud-island above
+them, whose solitary and striated shore shone purple through molten fire.</p>
+<p>Detail vanished from the Moor; dim and dimensionless it spread to the
+transparent splendour of the horizon, and its eternal attributes of great
+vastness, great loneliness, great silence reigned together unfretted by
+particulars. Gathering gloom diminished the wide glory of the sky, and slowly
+robbed the pageant of its colour. Then rose each hill and undulation in a
+different shade of night, and every altitude mingled into the outlines of its
+neighbour. Nocturnal mists, taking grey substance against the darkness of the
+lower lands, wound along the rivers, and defined the depths and ridges of the
+valleys. Moving waters, laden with a last waning gleam, glided from beneath
+these vapoury exhalations, and even trifling rivulets, now invisible save for
+chance splashes of light, lacked not mystery as they moved from darkness into
+darkness with a song. Stars twinkled above the dewy sleep of the earth, and
+there brooded over all things a prodigious peace, broken only by batrachian
+croakings from afar.</p>
+<p>These phenomena Will Blanchard observed; then yellow candle fires twinkled
+from the dark mass of the farmhouse, and he descended in splendid weariness
+and strode to supper and to bed.</p>
+<p>Yet not much sleep awaited the farmer, for soon after midnight a gentle
+patter of small stones at his window awakened him. Leaping from his bed and
+looking into the darkness he saw a vague figure that raised its hand and
+beckoned without words. Fear for the hay was Will&rsquo;s first emotion, but
+no indication of trouble appeared. Once he spoke, and as he did so the figure
+beckoned again, then approached the door. Blanchard went down to find a woman
+waiting for him, and her first whispered word made him start violently and
+drop the candle and matches that he carried. His ears were opened and he knew
+Chris without seeing her face.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I be come back&mdash;back home-along, brother Will,&rdquo; she
+said, very quietly. &ldquo;I looked for mother to home, but found she
+weern&rsquo;t theer. An&rsquo; I be sorry to the heart for all the sorrow
+I&rsquo;ve brought &rsquo;e both. But it had to be. Strange thoughts
+an&rsquo; voices was in me when Clem went, an&rsquo; I had to hide myself or
+drown myself&mdash;so I went.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;God&rsquo;s gudeness! Lucky I be made o&rsquo; strong stuff, else I
+might have thought &rsquo;e a ghost an&rsquo; no less. Come in out the night,
+an&rsquo; I&rsquo;ll light a candle. But speak soft. Us must break this very
+gentle to mother.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Say you&rsquo;ll forgive me, will &rsquo;e? Can &rsquo;e do it? If
+you knawed half you&rsquo;d say &lsquo;yes.&rsquo; I&rsquo;m grawed a auld,
+cold-hearted woman, wi&rsquo; a grey hair here an&rsquo; theer
+a&rsquo;ready.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So&rsquo;ve I got wan an&rsquo; another, tu, along o&rsquo; worse
+sorrow than yours. Leastways as bad as yourn. Forgive &rsquo;e? A thousand
+times, an&rsquo; thank Heaven you&rsquo;m livin&rsquo;! Wheer ever have
+&rsquo;e bided? An&rsquo; me an&rsquo; Grimbal searched the South Hams,
+an&rsquo; North, tu, inside out for &rsquo;e, an&rsquo; he put notices in the
+papers&mdash;dozens of &rsquo;em.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Along with the gypsy folk for more &rsquo;n three year now.
+&rsquo;Twas the movin&rsquo; an&rsquo; rovin&rsquo;, and the opening my eyes
+on new things that saved me from gwaine daft. Sometimes us coined through
+Chagford, an&rsquo; then I&rsquo;d shut my eyes tight an&rsquo; lie in the
+van, so&rsquo;s not to see the things his eyes had seen&mdash;so&rsquo;s not
+to knaw when us passed the cottage he lived in. But now I&rsquo;ve got to
+feel I could come back again.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You might have writ to say how you was faring.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I didn&rsquo;t dare. You&rsquo;d bin sure to find me, an&rsquo; I
+didn&rsquo;t want &rsquo;e to then. &rsquo;Tis awver an&rsquo; done,
+an&rsquo; &rsquo;twas for the best.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;m a woman, an&rsquo; can say them silly words, an&rsquo;
+think &rsquo;em true in your heart, I s&rsquo;pose. &lsquo;For the
+best!&rsquo; I caan&rsquo;t see much that happens for the best under my eyes.
+Will &rsquo;e have bite or sup?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, nothin&rsquo;. You get back to your bed. Us&rsquo;ll talk in
+the marnin&rsquo;. I&rsquo;ll bide here. You an&rsquo; Phoebe be well,
+an&rsquo;&mdash;an&rsquo; dear mother?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We&rsquo;m well. You doan&rsquo;t ax me after the fust cheel Phoebe
+had.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I knaw. I put some violets theer that very night. We were camped
+just above Chagford, not far from here.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Theer&rsquo;s a li&rsquo;l gal now, an&rsquo; a bwoy as I&rsquo;ll
+tell&rsquo;e about bimebye. A sheer miracle&rsquo;t was that falled out the
+identical day I buried my Willy. No natural fashion of words can explain it.
+But that&rsquo;ll keep. Now let me look at&rsquo;e. Fuller in the body
+seemin&rsquo;ly, an&rsquo; gypsy-brown, by God! So brown as me, every bit.
+Well, well, I caan&rsquo;t say nothin&rsquo;. I&rsquo;m carried off my legs
+wi&rsquo; wonder, an&rsquo; joy, tu, for that matter. Next to Phoebe
+an&rsquo; mother I allus loved &rsquo;e best. Gimme a kiss. What a woman, to
+be sure! Like a thief in the night you went; same way you&rsquo;ve comed
+back. Why couldn&rsquo;t &rsquo;e wait till marnin&rsquo;?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The childer&mdash;they grawed to love me that dear&mdash;also the
+men an&rsquo; women. They&rsquo;ve been gude to me beyond power o&rsquo;
+words for faither&rsquo;s sake. They knawed I was gwaine, an&rsquo; I left
+&rsquo;em asleep. &rsquo;T was how they found me when I runned away. I falled
+asleep from weariness on the Moor, an&rsquo; they woke me, an&rsquo; I
+thrawed in my lot with them from the day I left that pencil-written word for
+&rsquo;e on the window-ledge.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Me bein&rsquo; in the valley lookin&rsquo; for your drowned body
+the while! Women &rsquo;mazes me more the wiser I graw. Come this way, to the
+linhay. There&rsquo;s a sweet bed o&rsquo; dry fern in the loft, and you must
+keep out o&rsquo; sight till mother&rsquo;s told cunning. I&rsquo;ll hit upon
+a way to break it to her so soon as she&rsquo;s rose. An&rsquo; if I
+caan&rsquo;t, Phoebe will. Come along quiet. An&rsquo; I be gwaine to lock
+&rsquo;e in, Chris, if&rsquo;t is all the same to you. For why? Because you
+might fancy the van folks was callin&rsquo; to &rsquo;e, an&rsquo; grow
+hungry for the rovin&rsquo; life again.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She made no objection, and asked one more question as they went to the
+building.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How be Mrs. Hicks, my Clem&rsquo;s mother?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Alive; that&rsquo;s all. A poor auld bed-lier now; just fading away
+quiet. But weak in the head as a baaby. Mother sees her now an&rsquo; again.
+She never talks of nothin&rsquo; but snuff. &rsquo;T is the awnly brightness
+in her life. She&rsquo;s forgot everythin&rsquo; &rsquo;bout the past,
+an&rsquo; if you went to see her, she&rsquo;d hold out her hand an&rsquo;
+say, &rsquo;Got a little bit o&rsquo; snuff for a auld body, dearie?
+&rsquo;an&rsquo; that&rsquo;s all.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>They talked a little longer, while Will shook down a cool bed of dry
+fern&mdash;not ill-suited to the sultry night; then Chris kissed him again,
+and he locked her in and returned to Phoebe.</p>
+<p>Though the wanderer presently slept peacefully enough, there was little
+more repose that night for her brother or his wife. Phoebe herself became
+much affected by the tremendous news. Then they talked into the early dawn
+before any promising mode of presenting Chris to her mother occurred to them.
+At breakfast Will followed a suggestion of Phoebe&rsquo;s, and sensibly
+lessened the shock of his announcement.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A &rsquo;mazin&rsquo; wonnerful dream I had last night,&rdquo; he
+began abruptly. &ldquo;I thought I was roused long arter midnight by a gert
+knocking, an&rsquo; I went down house an&rsquo; found a woman at the door.
+&lsquo;Who be you?&rsquo; I sez. &lsquo;Why, I be Chris, brother Will,&rsquo;
+she speaks back, &lsquo;Chris, come home-along to mother an&rsquo;
+you.&rsquo; Then I seed it was her sure enough, an&rsquo; she telled me all
+about herself, an&rsquo; how she&rsquo;d dwelt wi&rsquo; gypsy people.
+Natural as life it weer, I assure &rsquo;e.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>This parable moved Mrs. Blanchard more strongly than Will expected. She
+dropped her piece of bread and dripping, grew pale, and regarded her son with
+frightened eyes. Then she spoke.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Tell me true, Will; don&rsquo;t &rsquo;e play with a mother
+&rsquo;bout a life-an&rsquo;-death thing like her cheel. I heard voices in
+the night, an&rsquo; thought &rsquo;t was a dream&mdash;but&mdash;oh, bwoy,
+not Chris, not our awn Chris!&mdash;&rsquo;t would &rsquo;most kill me for
+pure joy, I reckon.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Listen to me, mother, an&rsquo; eat your food. Us won&rsquo;t have
+no waste here, as you knaw very well. I haven&rsquo;t tawld &rsquo;e the end
+of the story. Chris, &rsquo;pearin&rsquo; to be back again, I thinks,
+&lsquo;this will give mother palpitations, though &rsquo;t is quite a usual
+thing for a darter to come back to her mother,&rsquo; so I takes her away to
+the linhay for the night an&rsquo; locks her in; an&rsquo; if &rsquo;t was
+true, she might be theer now, an&rsquo; if it weer
+n&rsquo;t&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Damaris rose, and held the table as she did so, for her knees were weak
+under her.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I be strong&mdash;strong to meet my awn darter. Gimme the key,
+quick&mdash;the key, Will&mdash;do &rsquo;e hear me, child?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll come along with &rsquo;e.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, I say. What! Ban&rsquo;t I a young woman still? &rsquo;T was
+awnly essterday Chris corned in the world. You just bide with Phoebe,
+an&rsquo; do what I tell &rsquo;e.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Will handed over the key at this order, and Mrs. Blanchard, grasping it
+without a word, passed unsteadily across the farmyard. She fumbled at the
+lock, and dropped the key once, but picked it up quickly before Will could
+reach her, then she unfastened the door and entered.</p>
+<h2><a id="IV_II" name="IV_II"></a>CHAPTER II<br />
+HOPE RENEWED</h2>
+<p>Jon Grimbal&rsquo;s desires toward Blanchard lay dormant, and the usual
+interests of life filled his mind. The attitude he now assumed was one of
+sustained patience and observation; and it may best be described in words of
+his own employment.</p>
+<p>Visiting Drewsteignton, about a month after the return of Chris Blanchard
+to her own, the man determined to extend his ride and return by devious ways.
+He passed, therefore, where the unique Devonian cromlech stands hard by
+Bradmere pool. A lane separates this granite antiquity from the lake below,
+and as John Grimbal rode between them, his head high enough to look over the
+hedge, he observed a ladder raised against the Spinsters&rsquo; Rock, as the
+cromlech is called, and a man with a tape-measure sitting on the cover
+stone.</p>
+<p>It was the industrious Martin, home once again. After his difference with
+Blanchard, the antiquary left Devon for another tour in connection with his
+work, and had devoted the past six months to study of prehistoric remains in
+Guernsey, Herm, and other of the Channel Islands.</p>
+<p>Before departing, he had finally regained his brother&rsquo;s friendship,
+though the close fraternal amity of the past appeared unlikely to return
+between them. Now John recognised Martin, and his first impulse produced
+pleasure, while his second was one of irritation. He felt glad to see his
+brother; he experienced annoyance that Martin should thus return to Chagford
+and not call immediately at the Red House.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Hullo! Home again! I suppose you forgot you had a
+brother?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;John, by all that&rsquo;s surprising! Forget? Was it probable? Have
+I so many flesh-and-blood friends to remember? I arrived yesterday and called
+on you this morning, only to find you were at Drewsteignton; so I came to
+verify some figures at the cromlech, hoping we might meet the
+sooner.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He was beside his brother by this time, and they shook hands over the
+hedge.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll leave the ladder and walk by you and have a
+chat.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s too hot to ride at a walk. Come you here to Bradmere
+Pool. We can lie down in the shade by the water, and I&rsquo;ll tether my
+horse for half an hour.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Five minutes later the brothers sat under the shadow of oaks and beeches
+at the edge of a little tarn set in fine foliage.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Pleasant to see you,&rdquo; said Martin. &ldquo;And looking younger
+I do think. It&rsquo;s the open air. I&rsquo;ll wager you don&rsquo;t get
+slimmer in the waist-belt though.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, I&rsquo;m all right.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What&rsquo;s the main interest of life for you now?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>John reflected before answering.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not quite sure. Depends on my mood. Just been buying a greyhound
+bitch at Drewsteignton. I&rsquo;m going coursing presently. A kennel will
+amuse me. I spend most of my time with dogs. They never change. I turn to
+them naturally. But they overrate humanity.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Our interests are so different. Yet both belong to the fresh air
+and the wild places remote from towns. My book is nearly finished. I shall
+publish it in a year&rsquo;s time, or even less.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Have you come back to stop?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, for good and all now.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You have found no wife in your wanderings?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, John. I shall never marry. That was a dark spot in my life, as
+it was in yours. We both broke our shins over that.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I broke nothing&mdash;but another man&rsquo;s bones.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He was silent for a moment, then proceeded abruptly on this theme.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The old feeling is pretty well dead though. I look on and watch the
+man ruining himself; I see his wife getting hard-faced and thin, and I wonder
+what magic was in her, and am quite content. I wouldn&rsquo;t kick him a yard
+quicker to the devil if I could. I watch him drift there.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t talk like that, dear old chap. You &rsquo;re not the
+man you pretend to be, and pretend to think yourself. Don&rsquo;t sour your
+nature so. Let the past lie and go into the world and end this lonely
+existence.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why don&rsquo;t you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The circumstances are different. I am not a man for a wife. You
+are, if ever there was one.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I had him within a hair&rsquo;s-breadth once,&rdquo; resumed the
+other inconsequently. &ldquo;Blanchard, I mean. There &rsquo;s a secret
+against him. You didn&rsquo;t know that, but there is. Some black devilry for
+all I can tell. But I missed it. Perhaps if I knew it would quicken up my
+spirit and remind me of all the brute made me endure.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yet you say the old feeling is dead!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So it is&mdash;starved. Hicks knew. He broke his neck an hour too
+soon. It was like a dream of a magnificent banquet I had some time ago. I
+woke with my mouth watering, just as the food was uncovered, and I felt so
+damned savage at being done out of the grub that I got up and went
+down-stairs and had half a pint of champagne and half a cold roast partridge!
+I watch Blanchard go down the hill&mdash;that&rsquo;s all. If this knowledge
+had come to me when I was boiling, I should have used it to his utmost harm,
+of course. Now I sometimes doubt, even if I could hang the man, whether I
+should take the trouble to do it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Get away from him and all thought of him.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I do. He never crosses my mind unless he crosses my eyes. I ride
+past Newtake occasionally, and see him sweating and slaving and fighting the
+Moor. Then I laugh, as you laugh at a child building sand castles against an
+oncoming tide. Poor fool!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If you pity, you might find it in your heart to forgive.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My attitude is assured. We will call it one of mere indifference.
+You made up that row over the gate-post when his first child died,
+didn&rsquo;t you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, yes. We shall be friendly&mdash;we must be, if only for the
+sake of the memory of Chris. You and I are frank to-day. But you saw long ago
+what I tried to hide, so it is no news to you. You will understand. When
+Hicks died I thought perhaps after years&mdash;but that&rsquo;s over now. She
+&rsquo;s gone.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Didn&rsquo;t you know? She &rsquo;s back again.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Back! Good God!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>John laughed at his brother&rsquo;s profound agitation.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Like as not you&rsquo;d see her if you went over Rushford Bridge.
+She &rsquo;s back with her mother. Queer devils, all of them; but I suppose
+you can have her for the asking now if you couldn&rsquo;t before. Damnably
+like her brother she is. She passed me two days ago, and looked at me as if I
+was transparent, or a mere shadow hiding something else.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>A rush of feeling overwhelmed Martin before this tremendous news. He could
+not trust himself to speak. Then a great hope wrestled with him and
+conquered. In his own exaltation he desired to see all whom he loved equally
+lifted up towards happiness.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I wish to Heaven you would open your eyes and raise them from your
+dogs and find a wife, John.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah! We all want the world to be a pretty fairy tale for our
+friends. You scent your own luck ahead, and wish me to be lucky too. I ought
+to thank you for that; but, instead, I&rsquo;ll give you some advice.
+Don&rsquo;t bother yourself with the welfare of others; to do that is to ruin
+your own peace of mind and court more trouble than your share. Every
+big-hearted man is infernally miserable&mdash;he can&rsquo;t help it. The
+only philosopher&rsquo;s stone is a stone heart; that is what the world
+&rsquo;s taught me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Never! You &rsquo;re echoing somebody else, not yourself,
+I&rsquo;ll swear. I know you better. We must see much of each other in the
+future. I shall buy a little trap that I may drive often to the Red House.
+And I should like to dedicate my book to you, if you would take it as a
+compliment.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, no; give it to somebody who may be able to serve you. I&rsquo;m
+a fool in such things and know no more about the old stones than the foxes
+and rabbits that burrow among them. Come, I must get home. I&rsquo;m glad you
+have returned, though I hated you when you supported them against me; but
+then love of family &rsquo;s a mere ghost against love of women. Besides, how
+seldom it is that a man&rsquo;s best friend is one of his own
+blood.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>They rose and departed. John trotted away through Sandypark, having first
+made Martin promise to sup with him that night, and the pedestrian proceeded
+by the nearest road to Rushford Bridge.</p>
+<p>Chris he did not see, but it happened that Mr. Lyddon met him just outside
+Monks Barton, and though Martin desired no such thing at the time, nothing
+would please the miller but that his friend should return to the farm for
+some conversation.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Home again, an&rsquo; come to glasses, tu! Well, they clear the
+sight, an&rsquo; we must all wear &rsquo;em sooner or late. &rsquo;T is a
+longful time since I seed &rsquo;e, to be sure.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;All well, I hope?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Nothing to grumble at. Billy an&rsquo; me go down the hill as
+gradual an&rsquo; easy as any man &rsquo;s a right to expect. But he&rsquo;s
+gettin&rsquo; so bald as a coot; an&rsquo; now the shape of his head comes to
+be knawed, theer &rsquo;s wonnerful bumps &rsquo;pon it. Then your
+brother&rsquo;s all for sport an&rsquo; war. A Justice of the Peace
+they&rsquo;ve made un, tu. He&rsquo;s got his volunteer chaps to a smart
+pitch, theer&rsquo;s no gainsaying. A gert man for wild diversions he is.
+Gwaine coursin&rsquo; wi&rsquo; long-dogs come winter, they tell
+me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And how are Phoebe and her husband?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A little under the weather just now; but I&rsquo;m watchin&rsquo;
+&rsquo;em unbeknawnst. Theer&rsquo;s a glimmer of hope in the dark if
+you&rsquo;ll believe it, for Will ackshally comed to me esster-night to ax my
+advice&mdash;<i>my</i> advice&mdash;on a matter of stock! What do &rsquo;e
+think of that?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He was fighting a losing battle in a manly sort of way it seemed to
+me when last I saw him.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So he was, and is. I give him eighteen month or
+thereabout&mdash;then&rsquo;ll come the end of it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The &lsquo;end&rsquo;! What end? You won&rsquo;t let them starve?
+Your daughter and the little children?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You mind your awn business, Martin,&rdquo; said Mr. Lyddon, with
+nods and winks. &ldquo;No, they ban&rsquo;t gwaine to starve, but my
+readin&rsquo; of Will&rsquo;s carater has got to be worked out.
+Tribulation&rsquo;s what he needs to sweeten him, same as winter sweetens
+sloes; an&rsquo; &rsquo;t is tribulation I mean him to have. If
+Phoebe&rsquo;s self caan&rsquo;t change me or hurry me &rsquo;t is odds you
+won&rsquo;t. Theer&rsquo;s a darter for &rsquo;e! My Phoebe. She&rsquo;ll
+often put in a whole week along o&rsquo; me still. You mind this: if
+it&rsquo;s grawn true an&rsquo; thrawn true from the plantin&rsquo;, a
+darter&rsquo;s love for a faither lasts longer &rsquo;n any mortal love at
+all as I can hear tell of. It don&rsquo;t wear out wi&rsquo; marriage,
+neither, as I&rsquo;ve found, thank God. Phoebe rises above auld age and the
+ugliness an&rsquo; weakness an&rsquo; bad temper of auld age. Even a poor,
+doddering ancient such as I shall be in a few years won&rsquo;t weary her;
+she&rsquo;ll look back&rsquo;ards with butivul clear eyes, an&rsquo;
+won&rsquo;t forget. She&rsquo;ll see&mdash;not awnly a cracked, shrivelled
+auld man grizzling an&rsquo; grumbling in the chimbley corner, but what the
+man was wance&mdash;a faither, strong an&rsquo; lusty, as dandled her,
+an&rsquo; worked for, an&rsquo; loved her with all his heart in the days of
+his bygone manhood. Ess, my Phoebe&rsquo;s all that; an&rsquo; she comes here
+wi&rsquo; the child; an&rsquo; it pleases me, for rightly onderstood,
+childern be a gert keeper-off of age.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m sure she&rsquo;s a good daughter to you, Miller. And
+Will?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Doan&rsquo;t you fret. We&rsquo;ve worked it out in our
+minds&mdash;me an&rsquo; Billy; an&rsquo; if two auld blids like us
+can&rsquo;t hatch a bit o&rsquo; wisdom, what brains is worth anything?
+We&rsquo;m gwaine to purify the awdacious young chap &rsquo;so as by
+fire,&rsquo; in holy phrase.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;re dealing with a curious temperament.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m dealing with a damned fule,&rdquo; said Mr. Lyddon
+frankly; &ldquo;but theer&rsquo;s fules an&rsquo; fules, an&rsquo; this
+partickler wan&rsquo;s grawed dear to me in some ways despite myself.
+&rsquo;T is Phoebe&rsquo;s done it at bottom I s&rsquo;pose. The man&rsquo;s
+so full o&rsquo; life an&rsquo; hope. Enough energy in un for ten men;
+an&rsquo; enough folly for twenty. Yet he&rsquo;ve a gude heart an&rsquo;
+never lied in&rsquo;s life to my knawledge.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s to give him praise, and high praise. How&rsquo;s his
+sister? I hear she&rsquo;s returned after all.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess&mdash;naughty twoad of a gal&mdash;runned arter the gypsies!
+But she&rsquo;m sobered now. Funny to think her mother, as seemed like a
+woman robbed of her right hand when Chris went, an&rsquo; beginned to graw
+into the sere onusual quick for a widow, took new life as soon as her gal
+comed back. Just shaws what strength lies in a darter, as I tell
+&rsquo;e.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The old man&rsquo;s garrulity gained upon him, and though Martin much
+desired to be gone, he had not the heart to hasten.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A darter&rsquo;s the thing an&rsquo;&mdash;but&rsquo;t is a secret
+yet&mdash;awnly you&rsquo;ll see what you&rsquo;ll see. Coourse Billy&rsquo;s
+very well for gathered wisdom and high conversation &rsquo;bout the world to
+come; but he ban&rsquo;t like a woman round the house, an&rsquo; for all his
+ripe larnin&rsquo; he&rsquo;ll strike fire sometimes&mdash;mostly when I
+gives him a bad beating at &lsquo;Oaks&rsquo; of a evenin&rsquo;. Then
+he&rsquo;m so acid as auld rhubarb, an&rsquo; dots off to his bed
+wi&rsquo;out a &lsquo;gude-night.&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>For another ten minutes Mr. Lyddon chattered, but at the end of that time
+Martin escaped and proceeded homewards. His head throbbed and his mind was
+much excited by the intelligence of the day. The yellow stubbles, the green
+meadows, the ploughed lands similarly spun before him and whirled up to meet
+the sky. As he re-entered the village a butcher&rsquo;s cart nearly knocked
+him down. Hope rose in a glorious new sunrise&mdash;the hope that he had
+believed was set for ever. Then, passing that former home of Clement Hicks
+and his mother, did Grimbal feel great fear and misgiving. The recollection
+of Chris and her love for the dead man chilled him. He remembered his own
+love for Chris when he thought she must be dead. He told himself that he must
+hope nothing; he repeated to himself how fulfilment of his desire, now
+revived after long sleep, might still be as remote as when Chris Blanchard
+said him nay in the spring wastes under Newtake five years and more ago. His
+head dinned this upon his heart; but his heart would not believe and
+responded with a sanguine song of great promise.</p>
+<h2><a id="IV_III" name="IV_III"></a>CHAPTER III<br />
+ANSWERED</h2>
+<p>At a spot in the woods some distance below Newtake, Martin Grimbal sat and
+waited, knowing she whom he sought must pass that way. He had called at the
+farm and been welcomed by Phoebe. Will was on the peat beds, and, asking
+after Chris, he learnt that she had gone into the valley to pick blackberries
+and dewberries, where they already began to ripen in the coombs.</p>
+<p>Under aisles of woodland shadows he sat, where the river murmured down
+mossy stairs of granite in a deep dingle. Above him, the varying foliage of
+oak and ash and silver birch was already touched with autumn, and trembled
+into golden points where bosses of pristine granite, crowned with the
+rowan&rsquo;s scarlet harvest, arose above their luxuriance. The mellow
+splendour of these forests extended to the river&rsquo;s brink, along which
+towered noble masses of giant osmunda, capped by seed spears of tawny red.
+Here and there gilded lances splashed into the stream or dotted its still
+pools with scattered sequins of sunshine, where light winnowed through the
+dome of the leaves; and at one spot, on a wrinkled root that wound crookedly
+from the alder into the river, there glimmered a halcyon, like an opal on a
+miser&rsquo;s bony finger. From above the tree-tops there sounded cynic
+bird-laughter, and gazing upwards Martin saw a magpie flaunt his black and
+white plumage across the valley; while at hand the more musical merriment of
+a woodpecker answered him.</p>
+<p>Then a little child&rsquo;s laugh came to his ear, rippling along with the
+note of the babbling water, and one moment later a small, sturdy boy
+appeared. A woman accompanied him. She had slipped a foot into the river, and
+thus awakened the amusement of her companion.</p>
+<p>Chris steadied herself after the mishap, balanced her basket more
+carefully, then stooped down to pick some of the berries that had scattered
+from it on the bank. When she rose a man with a brown face and soft grey eyes
+gleaming through gold-rimmed spectacles appeared immediately before.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Thank God I see you alive again. Thank God!&rdquo; he said with
+intense feeling, as he took her hand and shook it warmly. &ldquo;The best
+news that ever made my heart glad, Chris.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She welcomed him, and he, looking into her eyes, saw new knowledge there,
+a shadow of sobriety, less of the old dance and sparkle. But he remembered
+the little tremulous updrawing of her lip when a smile was born, and her
+voice rang fuller and sweeter than any music he had ever heard since last she
+spoke to him. A smile of welcome she gave him, indeed, and a pressure of his
+hand that sent magic messages with it to the very core of him. He felt his
+blood leap and over his glasses came a dimness.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I was gwaine to write first moment I heard &rsquo;e was home.
+An&rsquo; I wish I had, for I caan&rsquo;t tell &rsquo;e what I feel. To
+think of &rsquo;e searchin&rsquo; the wide world for such a good-for-nought!
+I thank you for your generous gudeness, Martin. I&rsquo;ll never forget
+it&mdash;never. But I wasn&rsquo;t worth no such care.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not worth it! It proved the greatest, bitterest grief of all my
+life&mdash;but one&mdash;that I couldn&rsquo;t find you. We grew by cruel
+stages to think&mdash;to think you were dead. The agony of that for us! But,
+thank God, it was not so. All at least is well with you now?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;All ban&rsquo;t never well with men an&rsquo; women. But I&rsquo;m
+more fortunate than I deserve to be, and can make myself of use. I&rsquo;ve
+lived a score of years since we met. An I&rsquo;ve comed back to find&rsquo;t
+is a difficult world for those I love best, unfortunately.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Thus, in somewhat disjointed fashion, Chris made answer.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Sit a while and speak to me,&rdquo; replied Martin. &ldquo;The
+laddie can play about. Look at him marching along with that great branch of
+king fern over his shoulder!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;T is an elfin cheel some ways. Wonnerful eyes he&rsquo;ve
+got. They burn me if I look at&rsquo;em close,&rdquo; said Chris. She
+regarded Timothy without sentiment and her eyes were bright and hard.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I hope he will turn out well. Will spoke of him the other day. He
+is very fond of the child. It is singularly like him, too&mdash;a sort of
+little pocket edition of him.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So I&rsquo;ve heard others say. Caan&rsquo;t see it at all myself.
+Look at the eyes of un.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Will believes the boy has got very unusual intelligence and may go
+far.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;May go so far as the workhouse,&rdquo; she answered, with a laugh.
+Then, observing that her reply pained Martin, Chris snatched up small Tim as
+he passed by and pressed him to her breast and kissed him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You like him better than you think, Chris&mdash;poor little
+motherless thing.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Perhaps I do. I wonder if his mother ever looks hungry towards
+Newtake when she passes by?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Perhaps others took him and told the mother that he was
+dead.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She&rsquo;s dead herself more like. Else the thing wouldn&rsquo;t
+have falled out.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>There was a pause, then Martin talked of various matters. But he could not
+fight for long against the desire of his heart and presently plunged, as he
+had done five years before, into a proposal.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He being gone&mdash;poor Clem&mdash;do you think&mdash;? Have you
+thought, I mean? Has it made a difference, Chris? &rsquo;T is so hard to put
+it into words without sounding brutal and callous. Only men are selfish when
+they love.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What do you mean?&rdquo; she asked.</p>
+<p>A sudden inspiration prompted his reply. He said nothing for a moment, but
+with a hand that shook somewhat, drew forth his pocketbook, opened it,
+fumbled within, and then handed over to Chris the brown ruins of flowers long
+dead.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You picked them,&rdquo; he said slowly; &ldquo;you picked them long
+ago and flung them away from you when you said &lsquo;No&rsquo; to
+me&mdash;said it so kindly in the past. Take them in your hand
+again.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Dead bluebells,&rdquo; she answered. &ldquo;Ess, I can call home
+the time. To think you gathered them up!&rdquo; She looked at him with
+something not unlike love in her eyes and fingered the flowers gently.
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;m a gude man, Martin &mdash;the husband for a gude lass.
+Best to find one if you can. Wish I could help&rsquo;e.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, Chris, there&rsquo;s only one woman in the world for me. Could
+you&mdash;even now? Could you let me stand between you and the world? Could
+you, Chris? If you only knew what I cannot put into words. I&rsquo;d try so
+hard to make you happy.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I knaw, I knaw. But theer&rsquo;s no human life so long as the road
+to happiness, Martin. And yet&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He took her hand and for a moment she did not resist him. Then little
+Tim&rsquo;s voice chimed out merrily at the stream margin, and the music had
+instant effect upon Chris Blanchard.</p>
+<p>She drew her hand from Martin and the next moment he saw his dead
+bluebells hurrying away and parting company for ever on the dancing water.
+Chris watched them until they vanished; then she turned and looked at him, to
+find that he grew very pale and agitated. Even his humility had hardly
+foreseen this decisive answer after the yielding attitude Chris first assumed
+when she suffered him to hold her hand. He looked into her face inquiring and
+frightened. The silence that followed was broken by continued laughter and
+shouting from Timothy. Then Martin tried to connect the child&rsquo;s first
+merriment with the simultaneous change in the mood of the woman he
+worshipped, but failed to do so.</p>
+<p>At that moment Chris spoke. She made utterance under the weight of great
+emotion and with evident desire to escape the necessity of a direct negative,
+while yet leaving her refusal of Martin&rsquo;s offer implicit and
+distinct.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I mind when a scatter of paper twinkled down this river just like
+them dead blossoms. Clem thrawed them, an&rsquo; they floated away to the
+sea, past daffadowndillies an&rsquo; budding lady-ferns an&rsquo; such-like.
+&rsquo;T was a li&rsquo;l bit of poetry he&rsquo;d made up to please
+me&mdash;and I, fule as I was, didn&rsquo;t say the right thing when he axed
+me what I thought; so Clem tore the rhymes in pieces an&rsquo; sent them
+away. He said the river would onderstand. An&rsquo; the river onderstands why
+I dropped them dead blossoms in, tu. A wise, ancient stream, I doubt.
+An&rsquo; you &rsquo;m wise, tu; an&rsquo; can take my answer wi&rsquo;out
+any more words, as will awnly make both our hearts ache.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not even if I wait patiently? You couldn&rsquo;t marry me, dear
+Chris? You couldn&rsquo;t get to love me?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I couldn&rsquo;t marry you. I&rsquo;m a widow in heart for all
+time. But I thank God for the gude-will of such a man as you. I cherish it
+and &rsquo;t will be dear to me all my life. But I caan&rsquo;t come to
+&rsquo;e, so doan&rsquo;t ax it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yet you&rsquo;re young to live for a memory, Chris.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Better &rsquo;n nothing. And listen; I&rsquo;ll tell you this, if
+&rsquo;t will make my &lsquo;No&rsquo; sound less hard to your ear. I loves
+you&mdash;I loves you better &rsquo;n any living man &rsquo;cept Will,
+an&rsquo; not less than I love even him. I wish I could bring &rsquo;e a
+spark of joy by marryin&rsquo; you, for you was allus very gude, an&rsquo;
+thought kindly of Clem when but few did. I&rsquo;d marry you if &rsquo;t was
+awnly for that; yet it caan&rsquo;t never be, along o&rsquo; many reasons.
+You must take that cold comfort, Martin.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He sighed, then spoke.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So be it, dear one. I shall never ask again. God knows what holds
+you back if you can even love me a little.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess, God knaws&mdash;everything.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I must not cry out against that. Yet it makes it all the harder. To
+think that you will dedicate all your beautiful life to a memory! it only
+makes my loss the greater, and shows the depths of you to me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She uttered a little scream and her cheek paled, and she put up her hands
+with the palms outward as though warding away his words.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Doan&rsquo;t &rsquo;e say things like that or give me any praise,
+for God&rsquo;s sake. I caan&rsquo;t bear it. I be weak, weak flesh an&rsquo;
+blood, weaker &rsquo;n water. If you could only see down in my heart,
+you&rsquo;d be cured of your silly love for all time.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He did not answer, but picked up her basket and proceeded with her out of
+the valley. Chris gave a hand to the child, and save for Tim&rsquo;s prattle
+there was no speaking.</p>
+<p>At length they reached Newtake, when Martin yielded up the basket and bade
+Chris &ldquo;good-night.&rdquo; He had already turned, when she called him
+back in a strange voice.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Kiss the li&rsquo;l bwoy, will &rsquo;e? I want &rsquo;e to.
+I&rsquo;m that fond of un. An&rsquo; he &rsquo;peared to take to &rsquo;e;
+an&rsquo; he said &lsquo;By-by&rsquo; twice to &rsquo;e, but you didn&rsquo;t
+hear un.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then the man kissed Tim on a small, purple-stained mouth, and saw his eyes
+very lustrous with sleep, for the day was done.</p>
+<p>Woman and child disappeared; the sacking nailed along the bottom of
+Newtake Gate to keep the young chicks in the farmyard rustled over the
+ground, and Martin, turning his face away, moved homewards.</p>
+<p>But the veil was not lifted for him; he did not understand. A secret,
+transparent enough to any who regarded Chris Blanchard and her circumstances
+from a point without the theatre of action, still remained concealed from all
+who loved her.</p>
+<h2><a id="IV_IV" name="IV_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV<br />
+THE END OF THE FIGHT</h2>
+<p>Will Blanchard was of the sort who fight a losing battle,</p>
+<p class="poem">&ldquo;Still puffing in the dark at one poor coal,<br />
+Held on by hope till the last spark is out.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>But the extinction of his ambitions, the final failure of his enterprise
+happened somewhat sooner than Miller Lyddon had predicted. There dawned a
+year when, just as the worst of the winter was past and hope began to revive
+for another season, a crushing catastrophe terminated the struggle.</p>
+<p>Mr. Blee it was who brought the ill news to Monks Barton, having first
+dropped it at Mrs. Blanchard&rsquo;s cottage and announced it promiscuously
+about the village. Like a dog with a bone he licked the intelligence over
+and, by his delay in imparting the same, reduced his master to a very fever
+of irritation.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Such a gashly thing! Of all fules! The last straw I do think.
+He&rsquo;s got something to grumble at now, poor twoad. Your son-in-law; but
+now&mdash;theer&mdash;gormed if I knaw how to tell &rsquo;e!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Alarmed at this prelude, with its dark hints of unutterable woe, Mr.
+Lyddon took off his spectacles in some agitation, and prayed to know the
+worst without any long-drawn introduction.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll come to it fast enough, I warn &rsquo;e. To think after
+years an&rsquo; years he didn&rsquo;t knaw the duffer&rsquo;nce &rsquo;twixt
+a bullock an&rsquo; a sheep! Well&mdash;well! Of coourse us knawed times was
+tight, but Jack-o&rsquo;-Lantern be to the end of his dance now. &rsquo;T is
+all awver.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What&rsquo;s the matter? Come to it, caan&rsquo;t
+&rsquo;e?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No ill of the body&mdash;not to him or the fam&rsquo;ly. An&rsquo;
+you must let me tell it out my awn way. Well, things bein&rsquo; same as they
+are, the bwoy caan&rsquo;t hide it. Dammy! Theer&rsquo;s patches in the coat
+of un now&mdash;neat sewed, I&rsquo;ll grant &rsquo;e, but a patch is a
+patch; an&rsquo; when half a horse&rsquo;s harness is odds an&rsquo; ends
+o&rsquo; rope, then you knaw wi&rsquo;out tellin&rsquo; wheer a man be
+driving to. &rsquo;T is &rsquo;cordin&rsquo; to the poetry!&mdash;</p>
+<p class="poem">&ldquo;&lsquo;Out to elbows,<br />
+<span class="i2">Out to toes,</span><br />
+Out o&rsquo; money,<br />
+<span class="i2">Out o&rsquo; clothes.&rsquo;</span><br /></p>
+<p>But&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Caan&rsquo;t &rsquo;e say what&rsquo;s happened, you
+chitterin&rsquo; auld magpie? I&rsquo;ll go up village for the news in a
+minute. I lay &rsquo;tis knawn theer.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ban&rsquo;t I tellin&rsquo; of &rsquo;e? &rsquo;Tis like this. Will
+Blanchard&rsquo;s been mixin&rsquo; a bit of chopped fuzz with the
+sheep&rsquo;s meal these hard times, like his betters. But now I&rsquo;ve
+seed hisself today, lookin&rsquo; so auld as Cosdon &rsquo;bout it. He was
+gwaine to the horse doctor to Moreton. An&rsquo; he tawld me to keep my mouth
+shut, which I&rsquo;ve done for the most paart.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A little fuzz chopped fine doan&rsquo;t hurt sheep.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Just so. &rsquo;Cause why? They aint got no &lsquo;bibles&rsquo; in
+their innards; but he&rsquo;ve gone an&rsquo; given it same way to the
+bullocks.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Gude God!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis death to beasts wi&rsquo; &lsquo;bibles.&rsquo;
+An&rsquo; death it is. The things caan&rsquo;t eat such stuff&rsquo; cause it
+sticketh an&rsquo; brings inflammation. I seed same fule&rsquo;s trick done
+wance thirty year ago; an&rsquo; when the animals weer cut awpen, theer
+&lsquo;bibles&rsquo; was hell-hot wi&rsquo; the awfulest inflammation ever
+you heard tell of.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How many&rsquo;s down? &rsquo;Twas all he had to count
+upon.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Awnly eight standin&rsquo; when he left. I could have cried
+&rsquo;bout it when he tawld me. He &rsquo;m clay in the Potter&rsquo;s hand
+for sartain. Theer&rsquo;s nought squenches a chap like havin&rsquo; the
+bailiffs in.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Cruel luck! I&rsquo;d meant to let him be sold out for his
+gude&mdash;but now.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Do what you meant to. Doan&rsquo;t go back on it. &rsquo;Tis for
+his gude. &rsquo;Twas his awn mistake. He tawld me the blame was his. Let un
+get on the bed rock. Then he&rsquo;ll be meek as a worm.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I doubt it. A sale of his goods will break his heart.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not it! He haven&rsquo;t got much as&rsquo;ll be hard to paart
+from. Stern measures&mdash;stern measures for his everlastin&rsquo; welfare.
+Think of the wild-fire sawl of un! Never yet did a sawl want steadin&rsquo;
+worse&rsquo;n his. Keep you to the fust plan, and he&rsquo;ll thank&rsquo;e
+yet.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Elsewhere two women&mdash;his wife and sister&mdash;failed utterly in
+well-meaning efforts to comfort the stricken farmer. Presently, before
+nightfall, Mrs. Blanchard also arrived at Newtake, and Will listened dully
+with smouldering eyes as his mother talked. The veterinary surgeon from
+Moreton had come, but his efforts were vain. Only two beasts out of
+five-and-twenty still lived.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Send for butcher,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;He&rsquo;ll be more use
+than I can be. The thing is done and can&rsquo;t be undone.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Chris entered most closely into her brother&rsquo;s feelings and spared
+him the expressions of sorrow and sympathy which stung him, even from his
+mother&rsquo;s lips, uttered at this crisis. She set about preparing supper,
+which weeping Phoebe had forgotten.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;ll weather it yet, bwoy,&rdquo; Mrs. Blanchard said.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Theer&rsquo;s a little bit as I&rsquo;ve got stowed away
+for&rsquo;e; an&rsquo; come the hay&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Doan&rsquo;t talk that way. &rsquo;Tis done with now. I&rsquo;m
+quite cool&rsquo;pon it. We must go as we&rsquo;m driven. No more
+gropin&rsquo; an&rsquo; fightin&rsquo; on this blasted wilderness for me,
+that&rsquo;s all. I be gwaine to turn my back &rsquo;pon it&mdash;fog
+an&rsquo; filthy weather an&rsquo; ice an&rsquo; snow. You wants angels from
+heaven to help &rsquo;e, if you&rsquo;re to do any gude here; an&rsquo;
+heaven&rsquo;s long tired o&rsquo; me an&rsquo; mine. So I&rsquo;ll make
+shift to do wi&rsquo;out. An&rsquo; never tell me no more lies &rsquo;bout
+God helpin&rsquo; them as helps themselves, &rsquo;cause I&rsquo;ve proved it
+ban&rsquo;t so. I be gwaine to furrin&rsquo; lands to dig for gawld or
+di&rsquo;monds. The right build o&rsquo; man for gawld-seekin&rsquo;, me;
+&rsquo;cause I&rsquo;ve larned patience an&rsquo; caan&rsquo;t be choked off
+a job tu easy.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Think twice. Bad luck doan&rsquo;t dog a man for ever. An&rsquo;
+Phoebe an&rsquo; the childer.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My mind&rsquo;s made up. I figured it out comin&rsquo; home from
+Moreton. I&rsquo;m away in six weeks or less. A chap what&rsquo;s got to dig
+for a livin&rsquo; may just as well handle his tools where theer&rsquo;s
+summat worth findin&rsquo; hid in the land, as here, on this black, damned
+airth, wheer your pick strikes fire out o&rsquo; stone twenty times a day.
+The Moor&rsquo;s the Moor. Everybody knaws the way of it. Scratch its faace
+an&rsquo; it picks your pocket an&rsquo; breaks your heart&mdash;not as
+I&rsquo;ve got a heart can be broken.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If &rsquo;e could awnly put more trust in the God of your faithers,
+my son. He done for them, why shouldn&rsquo;t He do for you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Better ax Him. Tired of the fam&rsquo;ly, I reckon.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You hurt your mother, Will, tellin&rsquo; so wicked as
+that.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; faither so cruel,&rdquo; sobbed Phoebe. &ldquo;I
+doan&rsquo;t knaw what ever us have done to set him an&rsquo; God against us
+so. I&rsquo;ve tried that hard; an&rsquo; you&rsquo;ve toiled till the
+muscles shawed through your skin; an&rsquo; the li&rsquo;l bwoy took just as
+he beginned to string words that butivul; an&rsquo; no sign of another
+though&rsquo;t is my endless prayer.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The ways of Providence&mdash;&rdquo; began Mrs. Blanchard drearily;
+but Will stopped her, as she knew he would.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Doan&rsquo;t mother&mdash;I caan&rsquo;t stand no more on that head
+today. I&rsquo;ll dare anybody to name Providence more in my house, so long
+as &rsquo;tis mine. Theer&rsquo;s the facts to shout out &rsquo;gainst that
+rot. A honest, just, plain-dealin&rsquo; man&mdash;an&rsquo; look at
+me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Meantime we&rsquo;re ruined an&rsquo; faither doan&rsquo;t hold out
+a finger.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Take it stern an&rsquo; hard like me. &rsquo;Tis all chance
+drawin&rsquo; of prize or blank in gawld diggin&rsquo;. The &lsquo;new
+chums,&rsquo; as they call &rsquo;em, often finds the best gawld,
+&rsquo;cause they doan&rsquo;t knaw wheer to look for it, an&rsquo; goes
+pokin&rsquo; about wheer a skilled man wouldn&rsquo;t. That&rsquo;s the
+crooked way things happen in this poor world.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You wouldn&rsquo;t go&mdash;not while I lived, sure? I
+couldn&rsquo;t draw breath comfortable wi&rsquo;out knawin&rsquo; you was
+breathin&rsquo; the same air, my son.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;ll live to knaw I was in the right. If fortune
+doan&rsquo;t come to you, you must go to it, I reckon. Anyways, I ban&rsquo;t
+gwaine to bide here a laughing-stock to Chagford; an&rsquo; you&rsquo;m the
+last to ax me to.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Miller would never let Phoebe go.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I shouldn&rsquo;t say &rsquo;by your leave&rsquo; to him, I
+promise&rsquo;e. He can look on an&rsquo; see the coat rottin&rsquo; off my
+back in this desert an&rsquo; watch his darter gwaine thin as a lath along
+o&rsquo; taking so much thought. He can look on at us, hisself so comfortable
+as a maggot in a pear, an&rsquo; see. Not that I&rsquo;d take help&mdash;not
+a penny from any man. I&rsquo;m not gwaine to fail. I&rsquo;ll be a snug chap
+yet.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The stolid Chown entered at this moment.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Butcher&rsquo;ll be up bimebye. An&rsquo; the last of em&rsquo;s
+failed down,&rdquo; he said.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So be it. Now us&rsquo;ll taake our supper,&rdquo; answered his
+master.</p>
+<p>The meal was ready and presently Blanchard, whose present bitter humour
+prompted him to simulate a large indifference, made show of enjoying his
+food. He brought out the brandy for his mother, who drank a little with her
+supper, and helped himself liberally twice or thrice until the bottle was
+half emptied. The glamour of the spirit made him optimistic, and he spoke
+with the pseudo-philosophy that alcohol begets.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Might have been worse, come to think of it. If the things
+weren&rsquo;t choked, I doubt they&rsquo;d been near starved. &rsquo;Most all
+the hay&rsquo;s done, an&rsquo; half what&rsquo;s left&mdash;a load or
+so&mdash;I&rsquo;d promised to a chap out Manaton way. But theer&rsquo;t
+is&mdash;my hand be forced, that&rsquo;s all. So time&rsquo;s saved, if you
+look at it from a right point.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;m hard an&rsquo; braave, an&rsquo; you&rsquo;ve got a way
+with you &rsquo;mong men. Faace life, same as faither did, an&rsquo;
+us&rsquo;ll look arter Phoebe an&rsquo; the childer,&rdquo; said Chris.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I couldn&rsquo;t leave un,&rdquo; declared Will&rsquo;s wife.
+&ldquo;&rsquo;T is my duty to keep along wi&rsquo;un for better or
+worse.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Us&rsquo;ll talk &rsquo;bout all that later. I be gwaine to act
+prompt an&rsquo; sell every stick, an&rsquo; then away, a free
+man.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;All our furniture an&rsquo; property!&rdquo; moaned Phoebe, looking
+round her in dismay.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;All&mdash;to the leastest bit o&rsquo; cracked cloam.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A forced sale brings nought,&rdquo; sighed Damaris.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Theer&rsquo;s hunderds o&rsquo; pounds o&rsquo; gude chattels here,
+an&rsquo; they doan&rsquo;t go for a penny less than they &rsquo;m worth.
+Because I&rsquo;m down, ban&rsquo;t no reason for others to try to rob me. If
+I doan&rsquo;t get fair money I&rsquo;ll make a fire wi&rsquo; the stuff
+an&rsquo; burn every stick of it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The valuer man, Mr. Bambridge, must be seen, an&rsquo; bills
+printed out an&rsquo; sticked &rsquo;pon barn doors an&rsquo; such-like, same
+as when Mrs. Lezzard died,&rdquo; said Phoebe. &ldquo;What&rsquo;ll faither
+think then?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Will laughed bitterly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll see a few&rsquo;s dabbed up on his awn damned outer
+walls, if I&rsquo;ve got to put &rsquo;em theer myself. An&rsquo; as to the
+lists, I&rsquo;ll make &rsquo;em this very night. Ban&rsquo;t my way to let
+the dust fall upon a job marked for doin&rsquo;. To-night I&rsquo;ll draw the
+items.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Us was gwaine to stay along with &rsquo;e, Will,&rdquo; said his
+mother.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Very gude&mdash;as you please. Make shake-downs in the parlour,
+an&rsquo; I&rsquo;ll write in the kitchen when you&rsquo;m gone to bed. Set
+the ink an&rsquo; pen an&rsquo; paper out arter you&rsquo;ve cleared away.
+I&rsquo;m allowed to be peart enough in matters o&rsquo; business anyway,
+though no farmer o&rsquo; course, arter this.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;None will dare to say any such thing,&rdquo; declared Phoebe.
+&ldquo;You can&rsquo;t do miracles more than others.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I mind when Ellis, to Two Streams Farm, lost a mort o&rsquo;
+bullocks very same way,&rdquo; said Mrs. Blanchard.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis that as they&rsquo;ll bring against me an&rsquo; say,
+wi&rsquo; such a tale in my knawledge, I ought to been wiser. But I never
+heard tell of it before, though God knows I&rsquo;ve heard the story often
+enough to-day.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>It was now dark, and Will, lighting a lantern, rose and went out into the
+yard. From the kitchen window his women watched him moving here and there;
+while, as he passed, the light revealed great motionless, rufous shapes on
+every hand. The corpses of the beasts hove up into the illumination and then
+vanished again as the narrow circle of lantern light bobbed on, jerking to
+the beat of Will&rsquo;s footsteps. From the window Damaris observed her son
+make a complete perambulation of his trouble without comment. Then a little
+emotion trembled on her tongue.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;God&rsquo;s hand be lifted &rsquo;gainst the bwoy, same as &rsquo;t
+was &rsquo;gainst the patriarch Job seemin&rsquo;ly. Awnly he bent to the rod
+and Will&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;m noble an&rsquo; grand under his sorrows. Who should knaw
+but me?&rdquo; cried Phoebe. &ldquo;A man in ten thousand, he is, an&rsquo;
+never yields to no rod. He&rsquo;ll win his way yet; an&rsquo; I be gwaine to
+cleave to un if he travels to the other end o&rsquo; the airth.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I doan&rsquo;t judge un, gal. God knaws he&rsquo;s been the world
+to me since his faither died. He&rsquo;m my dear son. But if he&rsquo;d awnly
+bend afore the A&rsquo;mighty breaks him.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;s got me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess, an&rsquo; he&rsquo;m mouldin&rsquo; you to his awn vain pride
+an&rsquo; wrong ways o&rsquo; thinking. If you could lead un right, &rsquo;t
+would be a better wife&rsquo;s paart.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;m wiser&rsquo;n me, an&rsquo; stronger. Ban&rsquo;t my
+place to think against him. Us&rsquo;ll go our ways, childern tu, an&rsquo;
+turn our backs &rsquo;pon this desert. I hate the plaace now, same as
+Will.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Chris here interrupted Phoebe and called her from the other room.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Wheer&rsquo;s the paper an&rsquo; ink to? I be setting out the
+things against Will comes in. He axed for &rsquo;em to be ready, &rsquo;cause
+theer&rsquo;s a deal o&rsquo; penmanship afore him to-night. An&rsquo;
+wheer&rsquo;s that li&rsquo;l dictionary what I gived un years ago? I lay
+he&rsquo;ll want it.&rdquo;</p>
+<h2><a id="IV_V" name="IV_V"></a>CHAPTER V<br />
+TWO MIGHTY SURPRISES</h2>
+<p>Will returned from survey of his tribulation. Hope was dead for the
+moment, and death of hope in a man of Blanchard&rsquo;s character proved
+painful. The writing materials distracted his mind. Beginning without
+interest, his composition speedily absorbed him; and before the task was half
+completed, he already pictured it set out in great black or red print upon
+conspicuous places.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I reckon it&rsquo;ll make some of &rsquo;em stare to see the
+scholar I am, anyways,&rdquo; he reflected.</p>
+<p>Through the hours of night he wrote and re-wrote. His pen scratched along,
+echoed by an exactly similar sound from the wainscots, where mice nibbled in
+the silence. Anon, from the debris of his composition, a complete work took
+shape; and when Phoebe awoke at three o&rsquo;clock, discovered her husband
+was still absent, and sought him hurriedly, she found the inventory completed
+and Will just fastening its pages together with a piece of string. He was
+wide awake and in a particularly happy humour.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ban&rsquo;t you never comin&rsquo; to bed? &rsquo;T is most
+marnin&rsquo;,&rdquo; she said.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Just comin&rsquo;. What a job! Look here&mdash;twelve pages. I be
+surprised myself to think how blamed well I&rsquo;ve got through wi&rsquo;
+it. You doan&rsquo;t knaw what you can do till you try. I used to wonder at
+Clem&rsquo;s cleverness wi&rsquo; a pen; but I be purty near so handy myself
+an&rsquo; never guessed it!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m sure you&rsquo;ve made a braave job of it. I&rsquo;ll
+read it fust thing to-morrow.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You shall hear it now.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not now, Will; &rsquo;t is so late an&rsquo; I&rsquo;m three paarts
+asleep. Come to bed, dearie.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh&mdash;if you doan&rsquo;t care&mdash;if it&rsquo;s nought to you
+that I&rsquo;ve sit up all night slavin&rsquo; for our gude&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then I&rsquo;ll hear it now. Coourse I knaw &rsquo;t is fine
+readin&rsquo;. Awnly I thought you&rsquo;d be weary.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Sit here an&rsquo; put your toes to the heat.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He set Phoebe in the chimney corner, wrapped his coat round her, and threw
+more turf on the fire.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Now you&rsquo;m vitty; an&rsquo; if theer&rsquo;s anything left
+out, tell me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I lay, wi&rsquo; your memory, you&rsquo;ve forgot little
+enough.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I lay I haven&rsquo;t. All&rsquo;s here; an&rsquo; &rsquo;t is a
+gert wonder what a lot o&rsquo; gude things us have got. They did ought to
+fetch a couple o&rsquo; hunderd pound at least, if the sale&rsquo;s carried
+out proper.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They didn&rsquo;t cost so much as that.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;By Gor! Didn&rsquo;t they? Well, set out in full, like this here,
+they do sound as if they ought to be worth it. Now, I&rsquo;ll read &rsquo;em
+to see how it all sounds in spoken words.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He cleared his throat and began:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;Sale this day to Newtake Farm, near Chagford, Dartmoor,
+Devonshire. Mr. William Blanchard, being about to leave England for foreign
+parts, desires to sell at auction his farm property, household goods, cloam,
+and effects, etc., etc., as per items below, to the best bidder. Many things
+so good as new.&rsquo; How do &rsquo;e like that, Phoebe?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Butivul; but do &rsquo;e mean in all solemn seriousness to go out
+England? &rsquo;T is a awful thought, come you look at it close.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess, &rsquo;t is a gert, bold thing to do; but I doan&rsquo;t fear
+it. I be gettin&rsquo; into a business-like way o&rsquo; lookin&rsquo;
+&rsquo;pon life of late; an&rsquo; I counts the cost an&rsquo; moves arter,
+as is the right order. Listen to these items set out here. If they &rsquo;m
+printed big, wan under t&rsquo;other, same as I&rsquo;ve wrote &rsquo;em,
+they&rsquo;ll fill a barn door purty nigh!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then he turned to his papers.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;The said goods and chattels are as follows,
+namely,&rsquo;&mdash;reg&rsquo;lar lawyer&rsquo;s English, you see, though
+how I comed to get it so pat I caan&rsquo;t tell. Yet theer
+&rsquo;tis&mdash;&lsquo;namely, 2 washing trays; 3 zinc buckets; 1 meat
+preserve; 1 lantern; 2 bird-cages; carving knife and steel (Sheffield
+make)&mdash;&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Do&rsquo;e judge that&rsquo;s the best order, Will?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Coourse &rsquo;t is! I thought that out specially. Doan&rsquo;t go
+thrawin&rsquo; me from my stride in the middle. Arter &lsquo;Sheffield
+make,&rsquo; &lsquo;half-dozen knives and forks; sundry ditto, not so good;
+hand saw; 2 hammers; 1 cleaver; salting trendle; 3
+wheelbarrows&mdash;&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Doan&rsquo;t forget you lent wan of &rsquo;em to Farmer
+Thackwell.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, I gived it to un, him bein&rsquo; pushed for need of wan. It
+slipped my memory. &lsquo;2 wheelbarrows.&rsquo; Then I goes on, &lsquo;pig
+stock; pig trough; 2 young breeding sows; 4 garden tools; 2 peat cutters; 2
+carts; 1 market trap; 1 empty cask; 1 Dutch oven; 1 funnel; 2 firkins and a
+cider jib; small sieve; 3 pairs new Bedford harrows; 1 chain harrow (out of
+repair).&rsquo; You see all&rsquo;s straight enough, which it ban&rsquo;t in
+some sales. No man shall say he&rsquo;s got less than full value.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;m the last to think of such a thing.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I am. It goes on like this: &lsquo;5 mattocks; 4 digging picks; 4
+head chains; 1 axe; sledge and wedges; also hooks, eyes, and hasps for hard
+wood.&rsquo; Never used &rsquo;em all the time us been here. &lsquo;2 sets of
+trap harness, much worn.&rsquo; I ban&rsquo;t gwaine to sell the
+dogs&mdash;eh? Us won&rsquo;t sell Ship or your li&rsquo;l terrier. What do
+&rsquo;e say?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No. Nobody would buy two auld dogs, for that matter.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Though how a upland dog like Ship be gwaine to faace the fiery
+sunshine on furrin gawld diggings, I caan&rsquo;t answer. Here goes again:
+&lsquo;1 sofa; 1 armchair; 4 fine chairs with green cloth seats; 1 bedstead;
+2 cots; 1 cradle; feather beds and palliasses and bolster pillows to match;
+wash-stands and sets of crockery, mostly complete; 2 swing glasses; 3 bedroom
+chairs; 1 set of breeching harness&mdash;&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Hadn&rsquo;t &rsquo;e better put that away from the
+furniture?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No gert odds. &lsquo;Also 1 set leading harness; 2 tressels and
+ironing board; 2 fenders; fire-irons and fire-dogs; 1 old oak chest; 1
+wardrobe; 1 Brussels carpet (worn in 1 spot only)&mdash;&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ban&rsquo;t worn worth namin&rsquo;.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess fay, &rsquo;tis wheer I sit Sundays&mdash;&rsquo;9 feet by 11;
+3 four-prong dung forks.&rsquo; I&rsquo;ll move them. They doan&rsquo;t come
+in none tu well theer, I allow. &lsquo;5 cane-seated chairs, 1 specimen of
+wax fruit under glass.&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I caan&rsquo;t paart wi&rsquo; that, lovey. Faither gived it to me;
+an&rsquo; &rsquo;twas mother&rsquo;s wance on a time.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, bein&rsquo; a forced sale it ought to go. An&rsquo;
+seein&rsquo; how Miller&rsquo;s left us to sail our awn boat to
+hell&mdash;but still, if you&rsquo;m set on it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He crossed it out, then suddenly laughed until the walls rang.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Hush! You&rsquo;ll wake everybody. What do &rsquo;e find to be
+happy about?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I was thinkin&rsquo; that down in them furrin, fiery paarts
+we&rsquo;m gwaine to, as your wax plums an&rsquo; pears&rsquo;ll damned soon
+run away. They&rsquo;ll melt for sartin!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Caan&rsquo;t be so hot as that! The li&rsquo;l gal will never stand
+it. Read on now. Theer ban&rsquo;t much left, surely?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Scores o&rsquo; things! &lsquo;1 stuffed kingfisher in good case
+with painted picture at back; 1 fox mask; 1 mahogany 2-lap table; 1
+warming-pan; Britannia metal teapot and 6 spoons ditto metal; 5
+spoons&mdash;smaller&mdash;ditto metal.&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I found the one us lost.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then &rsquo;tis &lsquo;6 spoons&mdash;smaller&mdash;ditto
+metal.&rsquo; Then, &lsquo;ironing stove; 5 irons; washing boiler; 4 fry
+pans; 2 chimney crooks; 6 saucepans; pestle and mortar; chimney ornaments; 4
+coloured almanacs&mdash;one with picture of the
+Queen&mdash;&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They won&rsquo;t fetch nothin&rsquo;.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They might. &lsquo;Knife sharper; screen; pot plants; 1 towel-rail;
+1 runner; 2 forms; kitchen table; scales and weights and beam; 1 set of
+casters; 4 farm horses, aged; 3 ploughs; 1 hay wain; 1 stack of dry fern;
+1-1/2 tons good manure; old iron and other sundries, including poultry,
+ducks, geese, and fowls.&rsquo; That&rsquo;s all.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not quite; but I caan&rsquo;t call to mind much you&rsquo;ve left
+out &rsquo;cept all the china an&rsquo; linen.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah! that&rsquo;s your job. An&rsquo; I just sit here an&rsquo;
+brought the things to my memory, wan by wan! An&rsquo; that bit at the top
+came easy as cutting a stick!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis a wonnerful piece o&rsquo; work! An&rsquo; the piano,
+Will?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I hadn&rsquo;t forgot that. Must take it along wi&rsquo; us, or
+else send it down to mother. Couldn&rsquo;t look her in the faace if I sold
+that.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ban&rsquo;t worth much.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Caan&rsquo;t say. Cost faither five pound, though that was long
+ago. Anyway I be gwaine to buy it in.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Silence then fell upon them. Phoebe sighed and shivered. A cock crew and
+his note came muffled from the hen-roost. A dim grey dawn just served to
+indicate the recumbent carcasses without.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Come to bed now an&rsquo; take a little rest &rsquo;fore
+marnin&rsquo;, dearie. You&rsquo;ve worked hard an&rsquo; done
+wonders.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ban&rsquo;t you surprised I could turn it out?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That I be. I&rsquo;d never have thought &rsquo;twas in &rsquo;e. So
+forehanded, tu! A&rsquo;most afore them poor things be cold.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis the forehandedness I prides myself &rsquo;pon. Some of
+us doan&rsquo;t know all that&rsquo;s in me yet. But they&rsquo;ll live to
+see it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I knaw right well they will.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;This&rsquo;ll &rsquo;maze mother to-morrow.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Twill, sure &rsquo;nough.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Would &rsquo;e like me to read it just wance more wi&rsquo;out
+stoppin&rsquo;, Phoebe?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, dear love, not now. Give it to us all arter breakfast in the
+marnin&rsquo;.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So I will then; an&rsquo; take it right away to the auctioneer the
+minute after.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He put his papers away in the drawer of the kitchen table and retired.
+Uneasy sleep presently overtook him and long he tossed and turned, murmuring
+of his astonishment at his own powers with a pen.</p>
+<p>His impetuosity carried the ruined man forward with sufficient speed over
+the dark bitterness of failure confessed, failure advertised, failure
+proclaimed in print throughout the confines of his little world. He suffered
+much, and the wide-spread sympathy of friends and acquaintance proved no
+anodyne but rather the reverse. He hated to see eyes grow grave and mouths
+serious upon his entry; he yearned to turn his back against Chagford and
+resume the process of living in a new environment. Temporary troubles vexed
+him more than the supreme disaster of his failure. Mr. Bambridge made
+considerable alterations in his cherished lucubration; and when the
+advertisement appeared in print, it looked mean and filled but a paltry
+space. People came up before the sale to examine the goods, and Phoebe, after
+two days of whispered colloquies upon her cherished property, could bear it
+no longer, and left Newtake with her own little daughter and little Timothy.
+The Rev. Shorto-Champernowne himself called, stung Will into sheer madness,
+which he happily restrained, then purchased an old oak coffer for two pounds
+and ten shillings.</p>
+<p>Miller Lyddon made no sign, and hard things were muttered against him and
+Billy Blee in the village. Virtuous indignation got hold upon the Chagford
+quidnuncs and with one consent they declared Mr. Lyddon to blame. Where was
+his Christian charity&mdash;that charity which should begin at home and so
+seldom does? This interest in others&rsquo; affairs took shape on the night
+before the Newtake sale. Then certain of the baser sort displayed their anger
+in a practical form, and Mr. Blee was hustled one dark evening, had his hat
+knocked off, and suffered from a dead cat thrown by unseen hands. The reason
+for this outrage also reached him. Then, chattering with indignation and
+alarm, he hurried home and acquainted Mr. Lyddon with the wild spirit
+abroad.</p>
+<p>As for Blanchard, he roamed moodily about the scene of his lost battle. In
+his pockets were journals setting forth the innumerable advantages of certain
+foreign regions that other men desired to people for their private ends. But
+Will was undecided, because all the prospects presented appeared to lead
+directly to fortune.</p>
+<p>The day of the sale dawned fine and at the appointed hour a thin stream of
+market carts and foot passengers wound towards Newtake from the village
+beneath and from a few outlying farms. Blanchard had gone up the adjacent
+hill; and lying there, not far distant from the granite cross, he reclined
+with his dog and watched the people. Him they did not see; but them he
+counted and found some sixty souls had been attracted by his advertisement.
+Men laughed and joked, and smoked; women shrugged their shoulders, peeped
+about and disparaged the goods. Here and there a purchaser took up his
+station beside a coveted lot. Some noticed that none of those most involved
+were present; others spread a rumour that Miller Lyddon designed to stop the
+sale at the last moment and buy in everything. But no such incident broke the
+course of proceedings.</p>
+<p>Will, from his hiding-place in the heather, saw Mr. Bambridge drive up,
+noted the crowd follow him about the farm, like black flies, and felt himself
+a man at his own funeral. The hour was dark enough. In the ear of his mind he
+listened to the auctioneer&rsquo;s hammer, like a death-bell, beating away
+all that he possessed. He had worked and slaved through long years for
+this,&mdash;for the sympathy of Chagford, for the privilege of spending a
+thousand pounds, for barely enough money to carry himself abroad. A few more
+figures dotted the white road and turned into the open gate at Newtake. One
+shape, though too remote to recognise with certainty, put him in mind of
+Martin Grimbal, another might have been Sam Bonus. He mused upon the two men,
+so dissimilar, and his mind dwelt chiefly with the former. He found himself
+thinking how good it would be if Martin proposed to Chris again; that the
+antiquary had done so was the last idea in his thoughts.</p>
+<p>Presently a brown figure crept through Newtake gate, hesitated a while,
+then began to climb the hill and approach Blanchard. Ship recognised it
+before Will&rsquo;s eyes enabled him to do so, and the dog rose from a long
+rest, stretched, sniffed the air, then trotted off to the approaching
+newcomer.</p>
+<p>It was Ted Chown; and in five minutes he reached his master with a letter.
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis from Miller Lyddon,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;It comed by the
+auctioneer. I thought you was up here.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Blanchard took it without thanks, waited until the labourer had departed,
+then opened the letter with some slight curiosity.</p>
+<p>He read a page of scriptural quotations and admonitions, then tore the
+communication in half with a curse and flung it from him. But presently his
+anger waned; he rose, picked up his father-in-law&rsquo;s note, and plodded
+through it to the end.</p>
+<p>His first emotion was one of profound thanksgiving that he had done so.
+Here, at the very end of the letter, was the practical significance of
+it.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Powder fust, jam arter, by God!&rdquo; cried Will aloud. Then a
+burst of riotous delight overwhelmed him. Once again in his darkest hour had
+Fortune turned the wheel. He shouted, put the letter into his breast pocket,
+rose up and strode off to Chagford as fast as his legs would carry him. He
+thought what his mother and wife would feel upon such news. Then he swore
+heartily&mdash;swore down blessings innumerable on Miller Lyddon, whistled to
+his dog, and so journeyed on.</p>
+<p>The master of Monks Barton had reproved Will through long pages, cited
+Scripture at him, displayed his errors in a grim procession, then praised him
+for his prompt and manly conduct under the present catastrophe, declared that
+his character had much developed of recent years, and concluded by offering
+him five-and-thirty shillings a week at Monks Barton, with the only
+stipulation that himself, his wife, and the children should dwell at the
+farm.</p>
+<p>Praise, of which he had received little enough for many years, was pure
+honey to Will. From the extremity of gloom and from a dark and settled enmity
+towards Mr. Lyddon, he passed quicker than thought to an opposite condition
+of mind.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis a fairy story&mdash;awnly true!&rdquo; he said to
+himself as he swept along.</p>
+<p>Will came near choking when he thought of the miller. Here was a man that
+believed in him! Newtake tumbled clean out of his mind before this revelation
+of Mr. Lyddon&rsquo;s trust and confidence. He was full to the brainpan with
+Monks Barton. The name rang in his ears. Before he reached Chagford he had
+planned innumerable schemes for developing the valley farm, for improving,
+saving, increasing possibilities in a hundred directions. He pictured himself
+putting money into the miller&rsquo;s pocket. He determined to bring that
+about if he had to work four-and-twenty hours a day to do it. He almost
+wished some profound peril would threaten his father-in-law, that he, at the
+cost of half his life, if need be, might rescue him and so pay a little of
+this great debt. Ship, taking the cue from his master, as a dog will, leapt
+and barked before him. In the valley below, Phoebe wept on Mrs.
+Blanchard&rsquo;s bosom, and Chris said hard things of those in authority at
+Monks Barton; up aloft at Newtake, shillings rather than pounds changed hands
+and many a poor lot found no purchaser.</p>
+<p>Passing by a gate beneath the great hill of Middledown, Will saw two
+sportsmen with a keeper and a brace of terriers, emerge from the wild land
+above. They were come from rabbit shooting, as the attendant&rsquo;s heavy
+bag testified. They faced him as he passed, and, recognising John Grimbal,
+Will did not look at his companion. At rest with the world just then, happy
+and contented to a degree he had not reached for years, the young farmer was
+in such amiable mood that he had given the devil &ldquo;good day&rdquo; on
+slightest provocation. Now he was carried out of himself, and spoke upon a
+joyous inclination of the moment.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Marnin&rsquo; to &rsquo;e, Jan Grimbal! Glad to hear tell as your
+greyhound winned the cup down to Newton coursing.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The other was surprised into a sort of grunt; then, as Will moved rapidly
+out of earshot, Grimbal&rsquo;s companion addressed him. It was Major
+Tremayne; and now the soldier regarded Blanchard&rsquo;s vanishing figure
+with evident amazement, then spoke.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;By Jove! Tom Newcombe, by all that&rsquo;s wonderful,&rdquo; he
+said.</p>
+<h2><a id="IV_VI" name="IV_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI<br />
+THE SECRET OUT</h2>
+<p>NOW many different persons in various places were simultaneously concerned
+with Will Blanchard and his affairs.</p>
+<p>At Newtake, Martin Grimbal was quietly buying a few lots&mdash;and those
+worth the most money. He designed these as a gift for Phoebe; and his object
+was not wholly disinterested. The antiquary could by no means bring himself
+to accept his last dismissal from Chris. Seeing the vague nature of those
+terms in which she had couched her refusal, and remembering her frank
+admission that she could love him, he still hoped. All his soul was wrapped
+up in the winning of Chris, and her face came between him and the
+proof-sheets of his book; the first thoughts of his wakening mind turned to
+the same problem; the last reflections of a brain sinking to rest were
+likewise occupied with it. How could he win her? Sometimes his yearning
+desires clamoured for any possible road to the precious goal, and he
+remembered his brother&rsquo;s hint that a secret existed in Will&rsquo;s
+life. At such times he wished that he knew it, and wondered vaguely if the
+knowledge were of a nature to further his own ambition. Then he blushed and
+thought ill of himself But this personal accusation was unjust, for it is the
+property of a strong intellect engaged about affairs of supreme importance,
+to suggest every possible action and present every possible point of view by
+the mere mechanical processes of thinking. The larger a brain, the more
+alternative courses are offered, the more facets gleam with thought, the more
+numerous the roads submitted to judgment. It is a question of intellect, not
+ethics. Right actions and crooked are alike remorselessly presented, and the
+Council of Perfection, which holds that to think amiss is sin, must convict
+every saint of unnumbered offences. As reasonably might we blame him who
+dreams murder. Departure from rectitude can only begin where evil thought is
+converted into evil action, for thought alone of all man&rsquo;s possessions
+and antecedents is free, and a lifetime of self-control and high thinking
+will not shut the door against ideas. That Martin&mdash;a man of luminous if
+limited intellect&mdash;should have considered every possible line of action
+which might assist him to come at the highest good life could offer was
+inevitable; but he missed the reason of certain sinister notions and accused
+himself of baseness in giving birth to them. Nevertheless, the idea recurred
+and took shape. He associated John&rsquo;s assertion of a secret with another
+rumour that had spread much farther afield. This concerned the parentage of
+little Timothy the foundling, for it was whispered widely of late that the
+child belonged to Blanchard. Of course many people knew all the facts, were
+delighted to retail them, and could give the mother&rsquo;s name. Only those
+most vitally concerned had heard nothing as yet.</p>
+<p>These various matters were weighing not lightly on Martin&rsquo;s mind
+during the hours of the Newtake sale; and meantime Will thundered into his
+mother&rsquo;s cottage and roared the news. He would hear of no objection to
+his wish, that one and all should straightway proceed to Monks Barton, and he
+poured forth the miller&rsquo;s praises, while Phoebe was reduced to tears by
+perusal of her father&rsquo;s letter to Will.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Thank Heaven the mystery&rsquo;s read now, an&rsquo; us can see how
+Miller had his eyes &rsquo;pon &rsquo;e both all along an&rsquo; just waited
+for the critical stroke,&rdquo; said Mrs. Blanchard. &ldquo;Sure I&rsquo;ve
+knawed him these many years an&rsquo; never could onderstand his hard way in
+this; but now all&rsquo;s clear.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He might have saved us a world of trouble and a sea o&rsquo; tears
+if he&rsquo;d awnly spoken sooner, whether or no,&rdquo; murmured Chris, but
+Will would tolerate no unfriendly criticism.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;m a gert man, wi&rsquo; his awn way o&rsquo; doin&rsquo;
+things, like all gert men,&rdquo; he burst out; &ldquo;an&rsquo; ban&rsquo;t
+for any man to call un in question. He knawed the hard stuff I was made of
+and let me bide accordin&rsquo;. An&rsquo; now get your bonnets on, the lot
+of &rsquo;e, for I&rsquo;m gwaine this instant moment to Monks
+Barton.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>They followed him in a breathless procession, as he hurried across the
+farmyard.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Rap to the door quick, dear heart,&rdquo; said Phoebe, &ldquo;or
+I&rsquo;ll be cryin&rsquo; again.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No more rappin&rsquo; after thicky butivul letter,&rdquo; answered
+Will. &ldquo;Us&rsquo;ll gaw straight in.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You walk fust, Phoebe&mdash;&rsquo;tis right you should,&rdquo;
+declared Mrs. Blanchard. &ldquo;Then Will can follow &rsquo;e; an&rsquo; me
+an&rsquo; Chris&mdash;us&rsquo;ll walk &rsquo;bout for a bit, till you
+beckons from window.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Cheer up, Phoebe,&rdquo; cried Will. &ldquo;Trouble&rsquo;s blawed
+awver for gude an&rsquo; all now by the look of it. &rsquo;Tis plain sailing
+hencefarrard, thank God, that is, if a pair o&rsquo; strong arms, working
+morning an&rsquo; night for Miller, can bring it about.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>So they went together, where Mr. Lyddon waited nervously within; and
+Damaris and Chris walked beside the river.</p>
+<p>Upon his island sat the anchorite Muscovy duck as of yore. He was getting
+old. He still lived apart and thought deeply about affairs; but his
+conclusions he never divulged.</p>
+<p>Yet another had been surprised into unutterable excitement during that
+afternoon. John Grimbal found the fruit of long desire tumble into his hand
+at last, as Major Tremayne made his announcement. The officer was spending a
+fortnight at the Red House, for his previous friendship with John Grimbal had
+ripened.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;By Jove! Tom Newcombe, by all that&rsquo;s wonderful!&rdquo; he
+exclaimed, as Will swung past him down the hill to happiness.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s not his name. It&rsquo;s Blanchard. He&rsquo;s a young
+fool of a farmer, and Lord knows what he&rsquo;s got to be so cock-a-hoop
+about. Up the hill they&rsquo;re selling every stick he&rsquo;s got at
+auction. He&rsquo;s ruined.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He might be ruined, indeed, if I liked. &lsquo;Tom Newcombe&rsquo;
+he called himself when he was with us.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A soldier!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He certainly was, and my servant; about the most decent,
+straightforward, childlike chap that ever I saw.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;God!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;re surprised. But it&rsquo;s a fact. That&rsquo;s
+Newcombe all right. You couldn&rsquo;t forget a face and a laugh like his.
+The handsomest man I&rsquo;ve ever seen, bar none. He borrowed a suit of my
+clothes, the beggar, when he vanished. But a week later I had the things back
+with a letter. He trusted me that far. I tried to trace him, of course, but
+was not sorry I failed.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A letter!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, giving a reason for his desertion. Some chap was running after
+his girl and had got her in a corner and bullied her into saying
+&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; though she hated the sight of him. I&rsquo;d have done
+anything for Tom. But he took the law into his own hands. He
+disappeared&mdash;we were at Shorncliffe then if I remember rightly. The chap
+had joined to get abroad, and he told me all his harum-scarum ambitions once.
+I hope the poor devil was in time to rescue his sweetheart,
+anyway.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, he was in time for that.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m glad.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Should you see him again, Tremayne, I would advise your pretending
+not to know him. Unless, of course, you consider it your duty to proclaim
+him.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Bless your life, I don&rsquo;t know him from Adam,&rdquo; declared
+the Major. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m not going to move after all these years. I wish
+he&rsquo;d come back to me again, all the same. A good servant.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Poor brute! What&rsquo;s the procedure with a deserter? Do you send
+soldiers for him or the police?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A pair of handcuffs and the local bobby, that&rsquo;s all. Then the
+man&rsquo;s handed over to the military authorities and
+court-martialled.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What would he get?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Depends on circumstances and character. Tom might probably have six
+months, as he didn&rsquo;t give himself up. I should have thought, knowing
+the manner of man, that he would have done his business, married the girl,
+then come back and surrendered. In that case, being peace time, he would only
+have forfeited his service, which didn&rsquo;t amount to much.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>So John Grimbal learned the secret of his enemy at last; but, to pursue a
+former simile, the fruit had remained so long out of reach that now it was
+not only overripe, but rotten. There began a painful resuscitation of desires
+towards revenge&mdash;desires long moribund. To flog into life a passion near
+dead of inanition was Grimbal&rsquo;s disgusting task. For days and nights
+the thing was as Frankenstein&rsquo;s creation of grisly shreds and patches;
+then it moved spasmodically,&mdash;or he fancied that it moved.</p>
+<p>He fooled himself with reiterated assurances that he was glorying in the
+discovery; he told himself that he was not made of the human stuff that can
+forgive bitter wrongs or forget them until cancelled. He painted in lurid
+colours his past griefs; through a ghastly morass of revenge grown stale, of
+memories deadened by time, he tried to struggle back to his original
+starting-point in vanished years, and feel as he felt when he flung Will
+Blanchard over Rushford Bridge.</p>
+<p>Once he wished to God the truth had never reached him; then he urged
+himself to use it instantly and plague his mind no more. A mental exhaustion
+and nausea overtook him. Upon the night of his discovery he retired to sleep
+wishing that Blanchard would be as good as his rumoured word and get out of
+England. But this thought took a shape of reality in the tattered medley of
+dreams, and Grimbal, waking, leapt on to the floor in frantic fear that his
+enemy had escaped him.</p>
+<p>As yet he knew nothing of Will&rsquo;s good fortune, and when it came to
+his ears it unexpectedly failed to reawaken resentment or strengthen his
+animosity. For, as he retraced the story of the past years, it was with him
+as with a man reading the narrative of another&rsquo;s wrongs. He could not
+yet absorb himself anew in the strife; he could not revive the personal
+element.</p>
+<p>Sometimes he looked at himself in the glass as he shaved; and the sight of
+the grey hair thickening on the sides of his head, the spectacle of the deep
+lines upon his forehead and the stamp of many a shadowy crow&rsquo;s-foot
+about his blue eyes&mdash;these indications served more than all his thoughts
+to sting him into deeds and to rekindle an active malignancy.</p>
+<h2><a id="IV_VII" name="IV_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII<br />
+SMALL TIMOTHY</h2>
+<p>A year and more than a year passed by, during which time some pure
+sunshine brightened the life of Blanchard. Chagford laughed at his sustained
+good fortune, declared him to have as many lives as a cat, and secretly
+regretted its outspoken criticism of Miller Lyddon before the event of his
+generosity. Life at Monks Barton was at least wholly happy for Will himself.
+No whisper or rumour of renewed tribulation reached his ear; early and late
+he worked, with whole-hearted energy; he differed from Mr. Blee as seldom as
+possible; he wearied the miller with new designs, tremendous enterprises,
+particulars concerning novel machinery, and much information relating to
+nitrates. Newtake had vanished out of his life, like an old coat put off for
+the last time. He never mentioned the place and there was now but one farm in
+all Devon for him.</p>
+<p>Meantime a strange cloud increased above him, though as yet he had not
+discerned so much as the shadow of it. This circumstance possessed no
+connection with John Grimbal. Time passed and still he did not take action,
+though he continued to nurse his wrongs through winter, spring, and summer,
+as a child nurses a sick animal. The matter tainted his life but did not
+dominate it. His existence continued to be soured and discoloured, yet not
+entirely spoiled. Now a new stone of stumbling lay ahead and Grimbal&rsquo;s
+interest had shifted a little.</p>
+<p>Like the rest of Chagford he heard the rumour of little Timothy&rsquo;s
+parentage&mdash;a rumour that grew as the resemblance ripened between
+Blanchard and the child. Interested by this thought and its significance, he
+devoted some time to it; and then, upon an early October morning, chance
+hurried the man into action. On the spur of an opportunity he played the
+coward, as many another man has done, only to mourn his weakness too
+late.</p>
+<p>There came a misty autumn sunrise beside the river and Grimbal, hastening
+through the valley of Teign, suddenly found himself face to face with Phoebe.
+She had been upon the meadows since grey dawn, where many mushrooms set in
+silvery dew glimmered like pearls through the mist; and now, with a full
+basket, she was returning to Monks Barton for breakfast. As she rested for a
+moment at a stile between two fields, Grimbal loomed large from the foggy
+atmosphere and stood beside her. She moved her basket for him to pass and her
+pulses quickened but slightly, for she had met him on numerous occasions
+during past years and they were now as strangers. To Phoebe he had long been
+nothing, and any slight emotion he might awaken was in the nature of
+resentment that the man could still harden his heart against her husband and
+remain thus stubborn and obdurate after such lapse of time. When, therefore,
+John Grimbal, moved thereto by some sudden prompting, addressed Will&rsquo;s
+wife, she started in astonishment and a blush of warm blood leapt to her
+face. He himself was surprised at his own voice; for it sounded unfamiliar,
+as though some intelligent thing had suddenly possessed him and was using his
+vocal organs for its own ends.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t move. Why, &rsquo;t is a year since we met alone, I
+think. So you are back at Monks Barton. Does it bring thoughts? Is it all
+sweet? By your face I should judge not.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She stared and her mouth trembled, but she did not answer.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You needn&rsquo;t tell me you&rsquo;re happy,&rdquo; he continued,
+with hurried words. &ldquo;Nobody is, for that matter. But you might have
+been. Looking at your ruined life and my own, I can find it in my heart to be
+sorry for us both.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Who dares to say my life is ruined?&rdquo; she flashed out.
+&ldquo;D&rsquo; you think I would change Will for the noblest in the land? He
+<i>is</i> the noblest. I want no pity&mdash;least of all yourn. I&rsquo;ve
+been a very lucky woman&mdash;and&mdash;everybody knaws it whatever they may
+say here an&rsquo; theer.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She was strong before him now; her temper appeared in her voice and she
+took her basket and rose to leave him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Wait one moment. Chance threw us here, and I&rsquo;ll never speak
+to you again if you resent it. But, meeting you like this, something seemed
+to tell me to say a word and let you know. I&rsquo;m sorry you are so
+wretched&mdash;honestly.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I ban&rsquo;t wretched! Never was a happier wife.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Never was a better one, I know; but happy? Think. I was fond of you
+once and I can read between the lines&mdash;the little thin lines on your
+forehead. They are newcomers. I&rsquo;m not deceived. Nor is it hidden. That
+the man has proved faithless is common knowledge now. Facts are hard things
+and you&rsquo;ve got the fact under your eyes. The child&rsquo;s his living
+image.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Who told you, and how dare you foul my ears and thoughts with such
+lies?&rdquo; she asked, her bosom heaving. &ldquo;You&rsquo;m a coward, as
+you always was, but never more a coward than this minute.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;D&rsquo; you pretend that nobody has told you this? Aren&rsquo;t
+your own eyes bright enough to see it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The man was in a pitiful mood, and now he grew hot and forgot himself
+wholly before her stinging contempt. She did not reply to his question and he
+continued,&mdash;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Your silence is an answer. You know well enough. Who&rsquo;s the
+mother? Perhaps you know that, too. Is she more to him than you
+are?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Phoebe made a great effort to keep herself from screaming. Then she moved
+hastily away, but Grimbal stopped her and dared her to proceed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Wait. I&rsquo;ll have this out. Why don&rsquo;t you face him with
+it and make him tell you the truth? Any plucky woman would. The scandal grows
+into a disgrace and your father&rsquo;s a fool to stand it. You can tell him
+so from me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Mind your awn business an&rsquo; let me pass, you hulking, gert,
+venomous wretch!&rdquo; she cried. Then a blackguard inspiration came to the
+man, and, suffering under a growing irritation with himself as much as with
+Phoebe, he conceived an idea by which his secret might after all be made a
+bitter weapon. He assured himself, even while he hated the sight of her, that
+justice to Phoebe must be done. She had dwelt in ignorance long enough. He
+determined to tell her that she was the wife of a deserter. The end gained
+was the real idea in his mind, though he tried to delude himself. The sudden
+idea that he might inform Blanchard through Phoebe of his knowledge really
+actuated him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You may turn your head away as if I was dirt, you little fool, and
+you may call me what names you please; but I&rsquo;m raising this question
+for your good, not my own. What do I care? Only it&rsquo;s a man&rsquo;s part
+to step in when he sees a woman being trampled on.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A man!&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;You&rsquo;m not in our lives any
+more, an&rsquo; we doan&rsquo;t want &rsquo;e in &rsquo;em. More like to a
+meddlin&rsquo; auld woman than a man, if you ax me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You can say that? Then we&rsquo;ll put you out of the question. I,
+at least, shall do my duty.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Is it part of your duty to bully me here alone? Why doan&rsquo;t
+&rsquo;e faace the man, like a man, &rsquo;stead of blusterin&rsquo; to me
+&rsquo;bout it? Out on you! Let me pass, I tell &rsquo;e.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Doan&rsquo;t make that noise. Just listen and stand still.
+I&rsquo;m in earnest. It pleases me to know the true history of this child,
+and I mean to. As a Justice of the Peace I mean to.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ax Will Blanchard then an&rsquo; let him answer. Maybe you&rsquo;ll
+be sorry you spoke arter.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You can tell him I want to see him; you can say I order him to come
+to the Red House between eight and nine next Monday.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Be you a fule? Who&rsquo;s he, to come at your bidding?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;s a&mdash;well, no matter. You&rsquo;ve got enough to
+trouble you. But I think he will come. Tell him that I know where he was
+during the autumn and winter of the year that I returned home from Africa.
+Tell him I know where he came from to marry you. Tell him the grey suit of
+clothes reached the owner safely&mdash;remember, the grey suit of clothes.
+That will refresh his memory. Then I think he will come fast enough and let
+me have the truth concerning this brat. If he refuses, I shall take steps to
+see justice done.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I lay he&rsquo;s never put himself in the power of a black-hearted,
+cruel beast like you,&rdquo; blazed out the woman, furious and frightened at
+once.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Has he not? Ask him. You don&rsquo;t know where he was during those
+months? I thought you didn&rsquo;t. I do. Perhaps this child&mdash;perhaps
+the other woman&rsquo;s the married one&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Phoebe dropped her basket and her face grew very pale before the horrors
+thus coarsely spread before her. She staggered and felt sick at the
+man&rsquo;s last speech. Then, with one great sob of breath, she turned her
+back on him, nerved herself to use her shaking legs, and set off at her best
+speed, as one running from some dangerous beast of the field.</p>
+<p>Grimbal made no attempt to follow, but watched her fade into the mist,
+then turned and pursued his way through the dripping woodlands. Sunrise fires
+gleamed along the upper layers of the fading vapours and gilded
+autumn&rsquo;s handiwork. Ripe seeds fell tapping through the gold of the
+horse-chestnuts, and many acorns also pattered down upon a growing carpet of
+leaves. Webs and gossamers twinkled in the sunlight, and the flaming foliage
+made a pageant of colour through waning mists where red leaves and yellow
+fell at every breath along the thinning woods. Beneath trees and hedgerows
+the ripe mosses gleamed, and coral and amber fungi, with amanita and other
+hooded folk. In companies and clusters they sprang or arose misshapen,
+sinister, and alone. Some were orange and orange-tawny; others white and
+purple; not a few peered forth livid, blotched, and speckled, as with venom
+spattered from some reptile&rsquo;s jaws. On the wreck of the year they
+flourished, sucked strange life from rotten stick and hollow tree, opened
+gills on lofty branch and bough, shone in the green grass rings of the
+meadows, thrust cup and cowl from the concourse of the dead leaves in
+ditches, clustered like the uprising roof-trees of a fairy village in dingle
+and in dene.</p>
+<p>At the edge of the woods John Grimbal stood, and the hour was very dark
+for him and he cursed at the loss of his manhood. His heart turned to gall
+before the thought of the thing he had done, as he blankly marvelled what
+unsuspected base instinct had thus disgraced him. He had plumbed a
+possibility unknown within his own character, and before his shattered
+self-respect he stood half passionate, half amazed. Chance had thus wrecked
+him; an impulse had altered the whole face of the problem; and he gritted his
+teeth as he thought of Blanchard&rsquo;s feelings when Phoebe should tell her
+story. As for her, she at least had respected him during the past years; but
+what must henceforth be her estimate of him? He heaped bitter contempt upon
+himself for this brutality to a woman; he raged, as he pursued long chains of
+consequences begot of this single lapse of self-control. His eye was cleared
+from passion; he saw the base nature of his action and judged himself as
+others would judge him. This spectacle produced a definite mental issue and
+aroused long-stagnant emotions from their troubled slumbers. He discovered
+that a frank hatred of Will Blanchard awoke and lived. He told himself this
+man was to blame for all, and not content with poisoning his life, now
+ravaged his soul also and blighted every outlook of his being. Like a speck
+upon an eyeball, which blots the survey of the whole eye, so this wretch had
+fastened upon him, ruined his ambitions, wrecked his life, and now dragged
+his honour and his very manhood into the dust. John Grimbal found himself
+near choked by a raging fit of passion at last. He burnt into sheer frenzy
+against Blanchard; and the fuel of the fire was the consciousness of his own
+craven performance of that morning. Flying from self-contemplation, he sought
+distraction and even oblivion at any source where his mind could win it; and
+now he laid all blame on his enemy and suffered the passion of his own shame
+and remorse to rise, as it had been a red mist, against this man who was
+playing havoc with his body and soul. He trembled under the loneliness of the
+woods in a debauch of mere brute rage that exhausted him and left a mark on
+the rest of his life. Even his present powers appeared trifling and their
+exercise a deed unsatisfying before this frenzy. What happiness could be
+achieved by flinging Blanchard into prison for a few months at most? What
+salve could be won from thought of this man&rsquo;s disgrace and social ruin?
+The spectacle sank into pettiness now. His blood was surging through his
+veins and crying for action. Primitive passion gripped him and craved
+primitive outlet. At that hour, in his own deepest degradation, the man came
+near madness, and every savage voice in him shouted for blood and blows and
+batterings in the flesh.</p>
+<p>Phoebe Blauchard hastened home, meanwhile, and kept her own counsel upon
+the subject of the dawn&rsquo;s sensational incidents. Her first instinct was
+to tell her husband everything at the earliest opportunity, but Will had
+departed to his work before she reached the farm, and on second thoughts she
+hesitated to speak or give John Grimbal&rsquo;s message. She feared to
+precipitate the inevitable. In her own heart what mystery revolved about
+Will&rsquo;s past performances undoubtedly embraced the child fashioned in
+his likeness; and though she had long fought against the rumour and deceived
+herself by pretending to believe Chris, whose opinion differed from that of
+most people, yet at her heart she felt truth must lie hidden somewhere in the
+tangle. Will and Mr. Lyddon alone knew nothing of the report, and Phoebe
+hesitated to break it to her husband. He was happy&mdash;perhaps in the
+consciousness that nobody realised the truth; and yet at his very gates a
+bitter foe guessed at part of his secret and knew the rest. Still Phoebe
+could not bring herself to speak immediately. A day of mental stress and
+strain ended, and she retired and lay beside Will very sad. Under darkness of
+night the threats of the enemy grew into an imminent disaster of terrific
+dimensions, and with haunting fear she finally slept, to waken in a
+nightmare.</p>
+<p>Will, wholly ignorant of the facts, soothed Phoebe&rsquo;s alarm and
+calmed her as she clung to him in hysterical tears.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No ill shall come to &rsquo;e while I live,&rdquo; she sobbed:
+&ldquo;not if all the airth speaks evil of &rsquo;e. I&rsquo;ll cleave to
+&rsquo;e, and fight for &rsquo;e, an&rsquo; be a gude wife, tu,&mdash;a
+better wife than you&rsquo;ve been husband.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Bide easy, an&rsquo; doan&rsquo;t cry no more. My arm&rsquo;s round
+&rsquo;e, dearie. Theer, give awver, do! You&rsquo;ve been dreamin&rsquo;
+ugly along o&rsquo; the poor supper you made, I reckon. Doan&rsquo;t &rsquo;e
+think nobody&rsquo;s hand against me now, for ban&rsquo;t so. Folks begin to
+see the manner of man I am; an&rsquo; Miller knaws, which is all I care
+about. He&rsquo;ve got a strong right arm workin&rsquo; for him an&rsquo; a
+tidy set o&rsquo; brains, though I sez it; an&rsquo; you might have a worse
+husband, tu, Phoebe; but theer&mdash;shut your purty eyes&mdash;I knaw they
+&rsquo;m awpen still, for I can hear your lashes against the sheet. An&rsquo;
+doan&rsquo;t &rsquo;e go out in the early dews mushrooming no more, for
+&rsquo;t is cold work, an&rsquo; you&rsquo;ve got to be strong these next
+months.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She thought for a moment of telling him boldly concerning the legend
+spreading on every side; but, like others less near and dear to him, she
+feared to do so.</p>
+<p>Knowing Will Blanchard, not a man among the backbiters had cared to risk a
+broken head by hinting openly at the startling likeness between the child and
+himself; and Phoebe felt her own courage unequal to the task just then. She
+racked her brains with his dangers long after he was himself asleep, and
+finally she determined to seek Chris next morning and hear her opinion before
+taking any definite step.</p>
+<p>On the same night another pair of eyes were open, and trouble of a sort
+only less deep than that of the wife kept her father awake. Billy had taken
+an opportunity to tell his master of the general report and spread before him
+the facts as he knew them.</p>
+<p>The younger members of the household had retired early, and when Miller
+Lyddon took the cards from the mantelpiece and made ready for their customary
+game, Mr. Blee shook his head and refused to play.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Got no heart for cards to-night,&rdquo; he said.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What&rsquo;s amiss, then? Thank God I&rsquo;ve heard little to call
+ill news for a month or two. Not but what I&rsquo;ve fancied a shadow on my
+gal&rsquo;s face more&rsquo;n wance.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If not on hers, wheer should &rsquo;e see it?&rdquo; asked Mr. Blee
+eagerly.&ldquo; I&rsquo;ve seed it, tu, an&rsquo; for that matter
+theer&rsquo;s sour looks an&rsquo; sighs elsewheer. People ban&rsquo;t blind,
+worse luck. &rsquo;Tis grawed to be common talk, an&rsquo; I&rsquo;ve fired
+myself to tell you, &rsquo;cause &rsquo;tis fitting an&rsquo; right,
+an&rsquo; it might come more grievous from less careful lips.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Go on then; an&rsquo; doan&rsquo;t rack me longer&rsquo;n you can
+help. Use few words.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Many words must go to it, I reckon. &rsquo;Tis well knawn I unfolds
+a bit o&rsquo; news like the flower of the field&mdash;gradual and sure. You
+might have noticed that love-cheel by the name of Timothy &rsquo;bout the
+plaace? Him as be just of age to harry the ducks an&rsquo;
+such-like.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A nice li&rsquo;l bwoy, tu, an&rsquo; fond of me; an&rsquo; you
+caan&rsquo;t say he&rsquo;m a love-cheel, knawin&rsquo; nothin&rsquo;
+&rsquo;bout him.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Love-cheel or changeling, &rsquo;tis all wan. Have&rsquo;e ever
+thought &rsquo;twas coorious the way Blanchard comed by un?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Certainly &rsquo;twas&mdash;terrible coorious.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You never doubted it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why for should I? Will&rsquo;s truthful as light, whatever else he
+may be.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You believe as he went &rsquo;pon the Moor an&rsquo; found that
+bwoy in a roundy-poundy under the gloamin&rsquo;?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess, I do.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Have&rsquo;e ever looked at the laddie close?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oftentimes&mdash;so like Will as two peas.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Theer &rsquo;tis! The picter of Will! How do&rsquo;e read
+that?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Never tried to. An accident, no more.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A damn queer accident, if you ax me. Burnish it all! You
+doan&rsquo;t see yet, such a genius of a man as you tu! Why, Will
+Blanchard&rsquo;s the faither of the li&rsquo;l twoad! You&rsquo;ve awnly got
+to know the laws of nature an&rsquo; such-like to swear to it. The way he
+walks an&rsquo; holds his head, his curls, his fashion of lording it awver
+the birds an&rsquo; beasts, the sudden laugh of un&mdash;he&rsquo;s
+Will&rsquo;s son, for a thousand pound, an&rsquo; his mother&rsquo;s alive,
+like as not.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No mother would have gived up a child that way.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Zactly so! Onless she gived it to the faither!&rdquo; said
+Billy triumphantly.</p>
+<p>Mr. Lyddon reflected and showed an evident disposition to scoff at the
+whole story.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis stuff an&rsquo; rubbish!&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;You
+might as well find a mare&rsquo;s nest t&rsquo;other side an&rsquo; say
+&rsquo;twas Will&rsquo;s sister&rsquo;s child. &rsquo;Tis almost so like her
+as him, an&rsquo; got her brown eyes in the bargain.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;God forbid!&rdquo; answered Billy, in horror. &ldquo;That&rsquo;s
+flat libel, an&rsquo; I&rsquo;d be the last to voice any such thing for
+money. If a man gets a cheel wrong side the blanket &rsquo;tis just a passing
+sarcumstance, an&rsquo; not to be took too serious. Half-a-crown a week is
+its awn punishment like. But if a gal do, &rsquo;tis destruction to the end
+of the chapter, an&rsquo; shame everlasting in the world to come, by all
+accounts. You didn&rsquo;t ought to think o&rsquo; such things,
+Miller,&mdash;takin&rsquo; a pure, gude maiden&rsquo;s carater like that.
+Surprised at &rsquo;e!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis just as mad a thought wan way as t&rsquo;other, and if
+you&rsquo;m surprised so be I. To be a tale-bearer at your time o&rsquo;
+life!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That gormed Blanchard&rsquo;s bewitched &rsquo;e from fust to
+last!&rdquo; burst out Billy. &ldquo;If a angel from heaven comed down-long
+and tawld &rsquo;e the truth &rsquo;bout un, you wouldn&rsquo;t
+b&rsquo;lieve. God stiffen it! You make me mad! You&rsquo;d stand &rsquo;pon
+your head an&rsquo; waggle your auld legs in the air for un if he axed
+&rsquo;e.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll speak to him straight an&rsquo; take his word for it. If
+it&rsquo;s true, he &rsquo;m wickedly to blame, I knaw that.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I was thinkin&rsquo; of your darter. &rsquo;Tis black thoughts have
+kept her waking since this reached her ears.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Did you tell her what people were sayin&rsquo;? I warrant you
+did!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;m wrong then. No such thing. I may have just heaved a
+sigh when I seed the bwoy playin&rsquo; in front of her, an&rsquo; looked at
+Blanchard, an&rsquo; shook my head, or some such gentle hint as that. But no
+more.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, I doan&rsquo;t believe a word of it; an&rsquo; I&rsquo;ll
+tell you this for your bettering,&mdash;&rsquo;tis poor religion in you,
+Blee, to root into other people&rsquo;s troubles, like a pig in a trough;
+an&rsquo; auld though you be, you &rsquo;m not tu auld to mind what it felt
+like when the blood was hot an&rsquo; quick to race at the sight of a
+maid.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I practice same as I preach, whether or no,&rdquo; said Billy
+stoutly, &ldquo;an&rsquo; I can&rsquo;t lay claim to creating nothing lawful
+or unlawful in my Maker&rsquo;s image. &rsquo;Tis something to say that, in
+these godless days. I&rsquo;ve allus kept my foot on the world, the flesh,
+an&rsquo; the Devil so tight as the best Christian in company; an&rsquo; if
+that ban&rsquo;t a record for a stone, p&rsquo;raps you&rsquo;ll tell me a
+better. Your two-edged tongue do make me feel sometimes as though I did ought
+to go right away from &rsquo;e, though God knaws&mdash;God, He
+knaws&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Billy hid his face and began to weep, while Mr. Lyddon watched the
+candle-light converge to a shining point upon his bald skull.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Doan&rsquo;t go against a word in season, my dear sawl. &rsquo;Tis
+our duty to set each other right. That&rsquo;s what we&rsquo;m put here for,
+I doubt. Many&rsquo;s the time you&rsquo;ve given me gude advice, an&rsquo;
+I&rsquo;ve thanked &rsquo;e an&rsquo; took it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then he went for the spirits and mixed Mr. Blee a dose of more than usual
+strength.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;m the most biting user of language in Chagford, when you
+mind to speak sour,&rdquo; declared Billy. &ldquo;If I thought you meant all
+you said, I&rsquo;d go an&rsquo; hang myself in the barn this instant moment.
+But you doan&rsquo;t.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He snuffled and dried his scanty tears on a red handkerchief, then cheered
+up and drank his liquor.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It do take all sorts to make a world, an&rsquo; a man must act
+accordin&rsquo; as he&rsquo;m built,&rdquo; continued Mr. Lyddon.
+&ldquo;Ban&rsquo;t no more use bein&rsquo; angered wi&rsquo; a chap given to
+women than &rsquo;tis bein&rsquo; angered wi&rsquo; a fule, because
+he&rsquo;s a fule. What do &rsquo;e expect from a fule but folly, or a crab
+tree but useless fruit, or hot blood but the ways of it? This ban&rsquo;t to
+speak of Will Blanchard, though. &rsquo;Pon him we&rsquo;ll say no more till
+he&rsquo;ve heard what&rsquo;s on folks&rsquo; tongues. A maddening
+bwoy&mdash;I&rsquo;ll allow you that&mdash;an&rsquo; he&rsquo;ve took a year
+or two off my life wan time an&rsquo; another. &rsquo;Pears I ban&rsquo;t
+never to graw to love un as I would; an&rsquo; yet I caan&rsquo;t quite help
+it when I sees his whole-hearted ferment to put money into my pocket; or when
+I hears him talk of nitrates an&rsquo; the ways o&rsquo; the world; or
+watches un playin&rsquo; make-believe wi&rsquo; the childer&mdash;himself the
+biggest cheel as ever laughed at fulishness or wanted spankin&rsquo;
+an&rsquo; putting in the corner.&rdquo;</p>
+<h2><a id="IV_VIII" name="IV_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII<br />
+FLIGHT</h2>
+<p>On the following morning Miller Lyddon arose late, looked from his window
+and immediately observed the twain with whom his night thoughts had been
+concerned. Will stood at the gate smoking; small Timothy, and another lad, of
+slightly riper years, appeared close by. The children were fighting tooth and
+nail upon the ownership of a frog, and this reptile itself, fastened by the
+leg to a stick, listlessly watched the progress of the battle. Will likewise
+surveyed the scene with genial attention, and encouraged the particular
+little angry animal who had most claim upon his interest. Timothy kicked and
+struck out pretty straight, but fought in silence; the bigger boy screamed
+and howled and scratched.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Vang into un, man, an&rsquo; knock his ugly head off!&rdquo; said
+Will encouragingly, and the babe to whom he spoke made renewed efforts as
+both combatants tumbled into the road, the devil in their little bright eyes,
+each puny muscle straining. Tim had his foe by the hair, and the elder was
+trying to bite his enemy&rsquo;s leg, when Martin Grimbal and Chris Blanchard
+approached from Rushford Bridge. They had met by chance, and Chris was coming
+to the farm while the antiquary had business elsewhere. Now a scuffle in a
+cloud of dust arrested them and the woman, uninfluenced by considerations of
+sportsmanship, pounced upon Timothy, dragged him from his operations, and,
+turning to Will, spoke as Martin Grimbal had never heard her speak
+before.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You, a grawed man, to stand theer an&rsquo; see that gert wild
+beast of a bwoy tear this li&rsquo;l wan like a savage tiger! Look at his
+sclowed faace all streaming wi&rsquo; blood! &rsquo;S truth! I&rsquo;d like
+to sarve you the same, an&rsquo; I would for two pins! I&rsquo;m ashamed of
+&rsquo;e!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He hit wi&rsquo; his fistes like a gude un,&rdquo; said Will,
+grinning; &ldquo;an&rsquo; he&rsquo;m made o&rsquo; the right stuff,
+I&rsquo;ll swear. Couldn&rsquo;t have done better if he was my awn son. I be
+gwaine to give un a braave toy bimebye. You see t&rsquo;other kid&rsquo;s
+faace come to-morrow!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Martin Grimbal watched Chris fondle the gasping Timothy, clean his wounds,
+calm his panting heart; then, as though a superhuman voice whispered in his
+ear, her secret stood solved, and the truth of Timothy&rsquo;s parentage
+confronted him in a lightning flash of the soul. He looked at Chris as a man
+might gaze upon a spectre; he stared at her and through her into her past; he
+pieced each part of the puzzle to its kindred parts until all stood complete;
+he read &ldquo;mother&rdquo; in her voice, in her caressing hands and
+gleaming eyes as surely as man reads morning in the first light of dawn; and
+he marvelled that a thing so clear and naked had been left to his discovery.
+The revelation shook him not a little, for he was familiar with the rumours
+concerning Tim&rsquo;s paternity, and had been disposed to believe them; but
+from the moment of the new thought&rsquo;s inception it gripped him, for he
+felt that the thing was true. As lamps, so ordered that the light of each may
+fall on the fringe of darkness where its fellow fades, and thus complete a
+chain of illumination, so the present discovery, duly considered, was but one
+point of truth revealing others. It made clear much that had not been easy to
+understand, and the tremendous fact rose in his mind as a link in such a
+perfect sequence of evidence that doubt actually vanished before he had lost
+sight of Chris and passed dumfounded upon his way. Her lover&rsquo;s sudden
+death, her own disappearance, the child&rsquo;s advent at Newtake, and the
+woman&rsquo;s subsequent return&mdash;these main incidents connected a
+thousand others and explained what little mystery still obscured the
+position. He pursued his road and marvelled as he went how a tragedy so
+thinly veiled had thus escaped every eye. Within the story that Chris had
+told, this other story might be intercalated without convicting her of any
+spoken falsehood. Now he guessed at the reason why Timothy&rsquo;s mother had
+refused to marry him on his last proposal; then, thinking of the child, he
+knew Tim&rsquo;s father.</p>
+<p>So he stood before the truth; and it filled his heart with some agony and
+some light. Examining his love in this revelation, he discovered strange
+things; and first, that it was love only that had opened his eyes and enabled
+him to solve the secret at all. Nobody had made the discovery but himself,
+and he, of all men the least likely to come at any concern others desired to
+hide from him, had fathomed this great fact, had won it from the heart of
+unconscious Chris. His love widened and deepened into profound pity as he
+thought of all that her secret and the preservation of it must have meant;
+and tears dimmed his eyes as he pictured her life since her lover&rsquo;s
+passing.</p>
+<p>To him the discovery hurt Chris so little that for a time he underrated
+the effect of it upon other people. His affection rose clean above the
+unhappy fact, and it was some time before he began to appreciate the
+spectacle of Chris under the world&rsquo;s eye with the truth no longer
+hidden. Then a sense of his own helplessness overmastered him; he walked
+slowly, drew up at a gate and stood motionless, leaning over it. So silent
+did he stand, and so long, that a stoat hopped across the road within two
+yards of him.</p>
+<p>He realised to the full that he was absolutely powerless. Chris alone must
+disperse the rumours fastening on her brother if they were to be dispersed.
+He knew that she would not suffer any great cloud of unjust censure to rest
+upon Will, and he saw what a bitter problem must be overwhelming her. Nobody
+could help her and he, who knew, was as powerless as the rest. Then he asked
+himself if that last conviction was true. He probed the secret places of his
+mind to find an idea; he prayed for some chance spark or flash of genius to
+aid him before this trial; he mourned his own simple brains, so weak to aid
+him in this vital pass. But of all living men the accidental discovery was
+most safe with him. His heart went out to the secret mother, and he told
+himself that he would guard her mystery like gold.</p>
+<p>It was strange in a nature so timorous that not once did a suspicion he
+had erred overtake him, and presently he wondered to observe how ancient this
+discovery of the motherhood of Chris had grown within his mind. It appeared
+as venerable as his own love for her. He yearned for power to aid; without
+conscious direction of his course he proceeded and strode along for hours.
+Then he ate a meal of bread and cheese at an inn and tramped forward once
+more upon a winding road towards the village of Zeal.</p>
+<p>Through his uncertainty, athwart the deep perplexity of his mind, moved
+hope and a shadowed joy. Within him arose again the vision of happiness once
+pictured and prayed for, once revived, never quite banished to the grey limbo
+of ambitions beyond fulfilment. Now realities saddened the thought of it and
+brought ambition within a new environment less splendid than the old. But,
+despite clouds, hope shone fairly forth at last. So a planet, that the eye
+has followed at twilight and then lost a while, beams anew at dawn after
+lapse of days, and wheels in wide mazes upon some new background of the
+unchanging stars.</p>
+<p>Elsewhere Mr. Lyddon braced himself to a painful duty, and had private
+speech with his son-in-law. Like a thunderbolt the circling suspicions fell
+on Will, and for a moment smothered his customary characteristics under sheer
+surprise.</p>
+<p>The miller spoke nervously, and walked up and down with his eyes
+averted.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ban&rsquo;t no gert matter, I hope, an&rsquo; I won&rsquo;t keep
+&rsquo;e from your work five minutes. You&rsquo;ve awnly got to say
+&lsquo;No,&rsquo; an&rsquo; theer&rsquo;s an end of it so far as I&rsquo;m
+concerned. &rsquo;Tis this: have &rsquo;e noticed heads close together now
+an&rsquo; again when you passed by of late?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not me. Tu much business on my hands, I assure &rsquo;e. Coourse
+theer&rsquo;s envious whisperings; allus is when a man gets a high place,
+same as what I have, thanks to his awn gude sense an&rsquo; the wisdom of
+others as knaws what he&rsquo;s made of. But you trusted me wi&rsquo; all
+your heart, an&rsquo; you&rsquo;ll never live to mourn it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I never want to. You&rsquo;m grawing to be much to me by slow
+stages. Yet these here tales. This child Timothy. Who&rsquo;s his faither,
+Will, an&rsquo; who&rsquo;s his mother?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How the flaming hell should I knaw? I found him same as you finds a
+berry on a briar. That&rsquo;s auld history, surely?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The child graws so &rsquo;mazing like you, that even dim eyes such
+as mine can see it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>A sudden flash of light came into Blanchard&rsquo;s face. Then the fire
+died as quickly as it had been kindled, and he grew calm.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;God A&rsquo;mighty!&rdquo; he said, in a voice hushed and awed.
+&ldquo;They think that! I lay that&rsquo;s why your darter&rsquo;s cried
+o&rsquo; nights, then, an&rsquo; Chris have grawed sad an&rsquo; wisht in her
+ways, an&rsquo; mother have pet the bwoy wan moment an&rsquo; been short
+wi&rsquo; un the next.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He remained marvellously quiet under this attack, but amazement chiefly
+marked his attitude. Miller Lyddon, encouraged by this unexpected
+reasonableness, spoke again more sternly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The thing looks bad to a wife an&rsquo; mother, an&rsquo;
+&rsquo;tis my duty to ax &rsquo;e for a plain, straightforward answer
+&rsquo;pon it. Human nature&rsquo;s got a ugly trick of repeatin&rsquo;
+itself in this matter, as we all knaws. But I&rsquo;ll say nought an&rsquo;
+think nought till you answers me. Be the bwoy yourn or not? Tell me true,
+with your hand on this.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He took his Bible from the mantelpiece, while Will, apparently cowed by
+the gravity of the situation, placed both palms upon it, then fixed his eyes
+solemnly upon Mr. Lyddon.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;As God in heaven&rsquo;s my judge, he ban&rsquo;t no cheel of mine,
+and I knaw nothing about him&mdash;no, nor yet his faither nor mother nor
+plaace of birth. I found un wheer I said, and if I&rsquo;ve lied by a
+fraction, may God choke me as I stand here afore you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; I believe you to the bottom!&rdquo; declared his
+father-in-law. &ldquo;I believe you as I hopes to be believed myself, when I
+stands afore the Open Books an&rsquo; says I&rsquo;ve tried to do my duty.
+You&rsquo;ve got me on your side, an&rsquo; that&rsquo;s to say you&rsquo;ll
+have Phoebe an&rsquo; your mother, tu, for certain.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then Blanchard&rsquo;s mood changed, and there came a tremendous rebound
+from the tension of the last few minutes. In the anti-climax following upon
+his oath, passion, chained a while by astonishment, broke loose in a
+whirlwind.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Let &rsquo;em believe or disbelieve, who cares?&rdquo; he thundered
+out. &ldquo;Not me&mdash;not a curse for you or anybody, my awn blood or not
+my awn blood. To harbour lies against me! But women loves to believe bad most
+times.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Who said they believed it, Will? Doan&rsquo;t go mad, now
+&rsquo;tis awver and done.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They <i>did</i> believe it; I knaw, I seed it in theer faaces, come
+to think of it. &rsquo;Tis the auld song. I caan&rsquo;t do no right. Course
+I&rsquo;ve got childer an&rsquo; ruined maids in every parish of the Moor!
+God damn theer lying, poisonous tongues, the lot of &rsquo;em! I&rsquo;m sick
+of this rotten, lie-breeding hole, an&rsquo; of purty near every sawl in it
+but mother. She never would think against me. An&rsquo; me, so true to Phoebe
+as the honey-bee to his awn butt! I&rsquo;ll go&mdash;I&rsquo;ll get out of
+it&mdash;so help me, I will&mdash;to a clean land, &rsquo;mongst
+clean-thinking folk, wheer men deal fair and judge a chap by his works. For a
+thought I&rsquo;d wring the neck of the blasted child, by God I
+would!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;ve done no wrong.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Nor me neither. I had no more hand in his getting than he had
+himself. Poor li&rsquo;l brat; I&rsquo;m sorry I spoke harsh of him. He was
+give me&mdash;he was give me&mdash;an&rsquo; I wish to God he <i>was</i>
+mine. Anyways he shaa&rsquo;n&rsquo;t come to no harm. I&rsquo;ll fight the
+lot of &rsquo;e for un, till he &rsquo;s auld enough to fight for
+hisself.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then Will burst out of Monks Barton and vanished. He passed far from the
+confines of the farm, roamed on to the high Moor, and nothing further was
+seen of him until the following day.</p>
+<p>Those most concerned assembled after his departure and heard the result of
+the interview.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Solemn as a minister he swore,&rdquo; explained Mr. Lyddon;
+&ldquo;an&rsquo; then, a&rsquo;most before his hands was off the Book, he
+burst out like a screeching, ravin&rsquo; hurricane. I half felt the oath was
+vain then, an&rsquo; &rsquo;t was his real nature bubblin&rsquo; up
+like.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>They discussed the matter, all save Chris, who sat apart, silent and
+abstracted. Presently she rose and left them, and faced her own trouble
+single-handed, as she had similarly confronted greater sorrows in the
+past.</p>
+<p>She was fully determined to conceal her cherished secret still; yet not
+for the superficial reason that had occurred to any mind. Vast mental
+alterations had transformed Chris Blanchard since the death of Clement. Her
+family she scarcely considered now; no power of logic would have convinced
+her that she had wronged them or darkened their fame. In the past, indeed,
+not the least motive of her flight had centred in the fear of Will; but now
+she feared nobody, and her own misfortune held no shadow of sin or shame for
+her, looking back upon it. Those who would have denied themselves her society
+or friendship upon this knowledge it would have given her no pang to lose.
+She could feel fiercely still, as she looked back to the birth of her son and
+traced the long course of her sufferings; and she yet experienced occasional
+thrills of satisfaction in her weaker moments, when she lowered the mask and
+reflected, not without pride, on the strength and determination that had
+enabled her to keep her secret. But to reveal the truth now was a prospect
+altogether hateful in the eyes of Chris, and she knew the reason. More than
+once had she been upon the brink of disclosure, since recent unhappy
+suspicions had darkened Phoebe&rsquo;s life; but she had postponed the
+necessary step again and again, at one thought. Her fortitude, her apathy,
+her stoic indifference, broke down and left her all woman before one
+necessity of confession; her heart stood still when she remembered that
+Martin Grimbal must know and judge. His verdict she did, indeed, dread with
+all her soul, and his only; for him she had grown to love, and the thought of
+his respect and regard was precious to her. Everybody must know, everybody or
+nobody. For long she could conceive of no action clearing Will in the eyes of
+the wider circle who would not be content to take his word, and yet leaving
+herself uninvolved. Then the solution came. She would depart once more with
+the child. Such a flight was implicit confession, and could not be
+misunderstood. Martin must, indeed, know, but she would never see him after
+he knew. To face him after the truth had reached his ear seemed to Chris a
+circumstance too terrible to dwell upon. Her action, of course, would
+proclaim the parentage of Timothy, and free Will from further slanderings;
+while for herself, through tears she saw the kind faces of the gypsy people
+and her life henceforth devoted to her little one.</p>
+<p>To accentuate the significance of the act she determined to carry out her
+intention that same day, and during the afternoon opportunity offered. Her
+son, playing alone in the farmyard, came readily enough for a walk, and
+before three o&rsquo;clock they had set out. The boy&rsquo;s face was badly
+scratched from his morning battle, but pain had ceased, and his injuries only
+served as an object of great interest to Timothy. Where water in ditch or
+puddle made a looking-glass he would stop to survey himself.</p>
+<p>A spectator, aware of certain facts, had viewed the progress of Chris with
+some slight interest. Three ways were open to her, three main thoroughfares
+leading out of Chagford to places of parallel or greater importance. Upon the
+Moor road Will wandered in deep perturbation; on that to Okehampton walked
+another man, concerned with the same problem from a different aspect; the
+third highway led to Moreton; and thither Chris might have proceeded
+unchallenged. But a little public vehicle would be returning just then from
+the railway station. That the runaway knew, and therefore selected another
+path.</p>
+<p>In her pocket was all the money that she had; in her heart was a sort of
+alloyed sorrow. Two thoughts shared her mind after she had decided upon a
+course of action. She wondered how quickly Tim would learn to call her
+&ldquo;mother,&rdquo; for that was the only sweet word life still held; yet
+of the child&rsquo;s father she did not think, for her mind, without special
+act of volition, turned and turned again to him upon whom the Indian summer
+of her love had descended.</p>
+<h2><a id="IV_IX" name="IV_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX<br />
+UNDER COSDON BEACON</h2>
+<p>Beneath a region where the &ldquo;newtakes&rdquo; straggle up
+Cosdon&rsquo;s eastern flank and mark a struggle between man and the giant
+beacon, Chris Blanchard rested a while upon the grass by the highway. Tim,
+wrapped in a shawl, slept soundly beside his mother, and she sat with her
+elbows on her knees and one hand under her chin. It was already dusk; dark
+mist wreaths moved upon the Moor, and oncoming night winds sighed of rain.
+Then a moment before her intended departure from this most solitary spot she
+heard footsteps upon the road. Not interested to learn anything of the
+passer-by, Chris remained with her eyes upon the ground, but the footsteps
+stopped suddenly before her, whereupon she looked up and saw Martin
+Grimbal.</p>
+<p>After a perambulation of twenty miles he had now set his face homewards,
+and thus the meeting was accomplished. Utmost constraint at first marked the
+expression of both man and woman, and it was left for Martin to break the
+silence, for Chris only started at seeing him, but said nothing. Her mind,
+however, ranged actively upon the reason of Grimbal&rsquo;s sudden
+appearance, and she did not at first believe it accidental.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why, my dear, what is this? You have wandered far
+afield!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He addressed her in unnatural tones, for surprise and emotion sent his
+voice up into his head, and it came thin and tremulous as a woman&rsquo;s.
+Even as he spoke Martin feared. From the knowledge gleaned by him that
+morning he suspected the meaning of this action, and thought that Chris was
+running away.</p>
+<p>And she, at the same moment, divined that he guessed the truth in so far
+as the present position was concerned. Still she did not speak, and he grew
+calmer and took her silence as an admission.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;re going away from Chagford? Is it wise?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess, Martin, &rsquo;tis best so. You see this poor child be
+breedin&rsquo; trouble, an&rsquo; bringing bad talk against Will. He
+ban&rsquo;t wanted&mdash;little Timothy&mdash;an&rsquo; I ban&rsquo;t wanted
+overmuch, so it comed to me I&rsquo;d&mdash;I&rsquo;d just slip away out of
+the turmoil an&rsquo; taake Tim. Then&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She stopped, for her heart was beating so fast that she could speak no
+more. She remembered her own arguments in the recent past,&mdash;that this
+flight must tell all who cared to reflect that the child was her own. Now she
+looked up at Martin to see if he had guessed it. But he exhibited extreme
+self-control and she was reassured.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Just like your thoughtful self to try and save others from sorrow.
+Where are you going to, Chris? Don&rsquo;t tell me more than you please; but
+I may be useful to you on this, the first stage of the journey.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;To Okehampton to-night. To-morrow&mdash;but I&rsquo;d rather not
+say any more. I don&rsquo;t care so long as you think I&rsquo;m
+right.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I haven&rsquo;t said that yet. But I&rsquo;ll go as far as Zeal
+with you. Then we&rsquo;ll get a covered cab or something. We may reach the
+village before rain.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No call for your coming. &rsquo;Tis awnly a short mile.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But I must. I&rsquo;ll carry the laddie. Poor little man! Hard to
+be the cause of such a bother.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He picked Timothy up so gently that the child did not wake.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Now,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;come along. You must be tired
+already.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How gude you be!&rdquo; she said wearily. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m glad you
+doan&rsquo;t scold or fall into a rage wi&rsquo; me, for I knaw I&rsquo;m
+right. The bwoy&rsquo;s better away, and I&rsquo;m small use to any now. But
+I can be busy with this little wan. I might do worse than give up my life to
+un&mdash;eh, Martin?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then some power put words in his mouth. He trembled when he had spoken
+them, but he would not have recalled them.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You couldn&rsquo;t do better. It&rsquo;s a duty staring you in the
+face.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She started violently, and her dark skin flamed under the night.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why d&rsquo;you say that?&rdquo; she asked, with loud, harsh voice,
+and stopping still as she did so. &ldquo;Why d&rsquo;you say
+&lsquo;duty&rsquo;?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He, too, stood and looked at her.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My dear,&rdquo; he answered, &ldquo;love&rsquo;s a quick, subtle
+thing. It can make even such a man as I am less stupid than Nature built him.
+It fires dull brains; it adds sight to dim eyes; it shows the bookworm how to
+find out secrets hidden from keener spirits; it lifts a veil from the loved
+one and lets the lover see more than anybody else can. Be patient with me. I
+spoke because I love you still with all my heart and soul, Chris; I spoke,
+because what I feel for you is lifelong, and cannot change. Had I not still
+worshipped the earth under your feet I would have died rather than tell you.
+But love makes me bold. I have watched you so long and prayed for you so
+often. I have seen little differences in you that nobody else saw. And to-day
+I know. I knew when you picked up Timothy and flew at Will. Since then
+I&rsquo;ve wandered Heaven can tell where, just thinking and thinking and
+wondering and seeing no way. And all the time God meant me to come and find
+you and tell you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She understood; she gave one bitter cry that started an echo from ruined
+mine-workings hard at hand; then she turned from him, and, in a moment of
+sheer hopeless misery, flung herself and her wrecked ambitions upon the
+ground by the wayside.</p>
+<p>For a moment the man stood scared by this desperate answer to his words.
+Then he put his burden down, approached Chris, knelt beside her, and tried to
+raise her. She sat up at last with panting breast and eyes in which some
+terror sat.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You!&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;You to knaw! Wasn&rsquo;t my cup full
+enough before but that my wan hope should be cut away, tu? My God, I
+&rsquo;mauld in sorrow now&mdash;very auld. But &rsquo;t is awver at last.
+You knaw, an&rsquo; I had to hear it from your awn lips! Theer &rsquo;s
+nought worse in the world for me now.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Her hands were pressed against her bosom, and as he unconsciously moved a
+little towards her she shrank backwards, then rose to her feet. Timothy woke
+and cried, upon which she turned to him and picked him up.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Go!&rdquo; she cried suddenly. &ldquo;If ever you loved me, get out
+of my sight now, or you&rsquo;ll make me want to kill myself
+again.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He saw the time was come for strong self-assertion, and spoke.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Listen!&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;You don&rsquo;t understand, but you
+must. I&rsquo;m the only man in the world who knows&mdash;the only one, and
+I&rsquo;ve told you because it was stamped into my brain to tell you, and
+because I love you perhaps better than one creature has any right to love
+another.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You knaw. Isn&rsquo;t it enough? Who else did I care for? Who else
+mattered to me? Mother or brother or other folk? I pray you to go an&rsquo;
+leave me. God knaws how hard it was to hide it, but I hugged it an&rsquo;
+suffered more &rsquo;n any but a mother could fathom &rsquo;cause things weer
+as they weer. Then came this trouble, an&rsquo; still none seed. But &rsquo;t
+was meant you should, an&rsquo; the rest doan&rsquo;t matter. I&rsquo;d so
+soon go back now as not.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So you shall,&rdquo; he answered calmly; &ldquo;only hear this
+first. Last time I spoke about what was in my heart, Chris, you told me you
+could love me, but that you would not marry me, and I said I would never ask
+you again. I shall keep my word, sweetheart. I shall not ask; I shall take
+without asking. You love me; that is all I care for. The little boy came
+between last time; now nothing does.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He took the woman in his arms and kissed her, but the next moment he was
+flying to where water lay in a ditch, for his unexpected attitude had
+overpowered Chris. She raised her hands to his shoulders, uttered a faint
+cry, then slipped heavily out of his arms in a faint. The man rushed this way
+and that, the child sat and howled noisily, the woman remained long
+unconscious, and heavy rain began to fall out of the darkness; yet, to his
+dying day that desolate spot of earth brought light to Martin&rsquo;s eyes as
+often as he passed it.</p>
+<p>Chris presently recovered her senses, and spoke words that made her
+lover&rsquo;s heart leap. She uttered them in a sad, low voice, but her hand
+was in his, pressing it close the while.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Awften an&rsquo; awften I&rsquo;ve axed the A&rsquo;mighty to give
+me wan little glint o&rsquo; knawledge as how &rsquo;twould all end. If
+I&rsquo;d knawed! But I never guessed how big your sawl was, Martin. I never
+thought you was the manner of man to love a woman arter that.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;God knows what&rsquo;s in my heart, Chris.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll tell &rsquo;e everything some day. Lookin&rsquo; back it
+doan&rsquo;t &rsquo;pear no ways wicked, though it may seem so in cold
+daylight to cold hearts.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Come, come with me, for the rain grows harder. I know where I can
+hire a covered carriage at an inn. &rsquo;Tis only five minutes farther on,
+and poor Tim&rsquo;s unhappy.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;m hungry. You won&rsquo;t be hard &rsquo;pon my li&rsquo;l
+bwoy if I come to &rsquo;e, Martin?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You know as well as I can tell you. There&rsquo;s one other thing.
+About Chagford, Chris? Are you afraid of it? I&rsquo;ll turn my back on it if
+you like. I&rsquo;ll take you to Okehampton now if you would rather go
+there.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Never! &rsquo;Tis for you to care, not me. So you knaw an&rsquo;
+forgive&mdash;what&rsquo;s the rest? Shadows. But let me hold your hand
+an&rsquo; keep my tongue still. I&rsquo;m sick an&rsquo; fainty wi&rsquo;
+this gert turn o&rsquo; the wheel. &rsquo;T is tu deep for any
+words.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He felt not less uplifted, but his joy was a man&rsquo;s. It rolled and
+tumbled over his being like the riotous west wind. Under such stress his mind
+could find no worthy thing to say, and yet he was intoxicated and had to
+speak. He was very unlike himself. He uttered platitudes; then the weight of
+Timothy upon his arm reminded him that the child existed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He shall go to a good school, Chris.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She sighed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I wish I could die quick here by the roadside, dear Martin, for
+living along with you won&rsquo;t be no happier than I am this moment. My
+thoughts do all run back, not forward. I&rsquo;ve lived long enough, I
+reckon. If I&rsquo;d told &rsquo;e! But I&rsquo;d rather been skinned alive
+than do it. I&rsquo;d have let the rest knaw years agone but for
+you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Driving homewards half an hour later, Chris Blanchard told Martin that
+part of her story which concerned her life after the birth of Timothy.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The travellin&rsquo; people was pure gawld to me,&rdquo; she said.
+&ldquo;And theer&rsquo;s much to say of theer gert gudeness. But I can tell
+&rsquo;e that another time. It chanced the very day Will&rsquo;s li&rsquo;l
+wan was buried we was to Chagford, an&rsquo; the sad falling-out quickened my
+awn mind as to a thought &rsquo;bout my cheel. It comed awver me to leave un
+at Newtake. I left the vans wheer they was camped that afternoon, an&rsquo;
+hid &rsquo;pon the hill wi&rsquo; the baaby. Then Will comed out hisself,
+an&rsquo; I chaanged my thought an&rsquo; followed un wheer he roamed,
+knawin&rsquo; the colour of his mind through them black hours as if
+&rsquo;twas my awn. &rsquo;Twas arter he&rsquo;d left the roundy-poundy wheer
+he was born that I put my child in it, then called tu un loud an&rsquo;
+clear. He never knawed the voice, which was the awnly thing I feared. But a
+voice long silent be soon forgot. I bided at hand till I saw the bwoy in
+brother Will&rsquo;s arms. An&rsquo; then I knawed &rsquo;twas well an&rsquo;
+that mother would come to see it. Arterwards I suffered very terrible
+wi&rsquo;out un. But I fought wi&rsquo; myself an&rsquo; kept away up to the
+time I&rsquo;d fixed in my mind. That was so as nobody should link me with
+the li&rsquo;l wan in theer thoughts. Waitin&rsquo; was the hard deed, and
+seein&rsquo; my bwoy for the first time when I went to Newtake was hard tu.
+But &rsquo;tis all wan now.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She remained silent until the lengthy ride was ended and her
+mother&rsquo;s cottage reached. Then, as that home she had thought to enter
+no more appeared again, the nature of the woman awoke for one second, and she
+flung herself on Martin&rsquo;s heart.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;May God make me half you think me, for I love you true, an&rsquo;
+you&rsquo;m the best man He ever fashioned,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;An&rsquo;
+to-morrow&rsquo;s Sunday,&rdquo; she added inconsequently, &ldquo;an&rsquo;
+I&rsquo;ll kneel in church an&rsquo; call down lifelong blessings on
+&rsquo;e.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t go to-morrow, my darling. And yet&mdash;but no,
+we&rsquo;ll not go, either of us. I couldn&rsquo;t hear my own banns read out
+for the world, and I don&rsquo;t think you could; yet read they&rsquo;ll be
+as sure as the service is held.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She said nothing, but he knew that she felt; then mother and child were
+gone, and Martin, dismissing his vehicle, proceeded to Monks Barton with the
+news that all was well.</p>
+<p>Mrs. Blanchard heard her daughter&rsquo;s story and its sequel. She
+exhibited some emotion, but no grief. The sorrow she may have suffered was
+never revealed to any eye by word or tear.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I reckoned of late days theer was Blanchard blood to the
+child,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;an&rsquo; I won&rsquo;t hide from you I
+thought more&rsquo;n wance you was so like to be the mother as Will the
+faither of un. Go to bed now, if you caan&rsquo;t eat, an&rsquo; taake the
+bwoy, an&rsquo; thank God for lining your dark cloud with this silver. If He
+forgives &rsquo;e, an&rsquo; this here gude grey Martin forgives &rsquo;e,
+who be I to fret? Worse&rsquo;n you&rsquo;ve been forgived at fust hand by
+the Lard when He travelled on flesh-an&rsquo;-blood feet &rsquo;mong men;
+an&rsquo; folks have short memories for dates, an&rsquo; them as sniggers now
+will be dust or dotards &rsquo;fore Tim&rsquo;s grawed. When you&rsquo;ve
+been a lawful wife ten year an&rsquo; more, who&rsquo;s gwaine to mind this?
+Not little Tim&rsquo;s fellow bwoys an&rsquo; gals, anyway. His awn
+generation won&rsquo;t trouble him, an&rsquo; he&rsquo;ll find a wise
+guardian in Martin, an&rsquo; a lovin&rsquo; gran&rsquo;mother in me. Dry
+your eyes an&rsquo; be a Blanchard. God A&rsquo;mighty sends sawls in the
+world His awn way, an&rsquo; chooses the faithers an&rsquo; mothers for
+&rsquo;em; an&rsquo; He&rsquo;s never taught Nature to go second to parson
+yet, worse luck. &rsquo;Tis done, an&rsquo; to grumble at a dead man&rsquo;s
+doin&rsquo;s&mdash;specially if you caan&rsquo;t mend &rsquo;em&mdash;be
+vain.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My share was half, an&rsquo; not less,&rdquo; said Chris.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Aye, you say so, but &rsquo;tis a deed wheer the blame ban&rsquo;t
+awften divided equal,&rdquo; answered Mrs. Blanchard. &ldquo;Wheer&rsquo;s
+the maiden as caan&rsquo;t wait for her weddin&rsquo; bells?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The use of the last two words magically swept Chris back into the past.
+The coincidence was curious, and she remembered when a man, destined never to
+listen to such melody, declared impatiently that he heard it in the hidden
+heart of a summer day long past. She did not reply to her mother, but arose
+and took her child and went to rest.</p>
+<h2><a id="IV_X" name="IV_X"></a>CHAPTER X<br />
+BAD NEWS FOR BLANCHARD</h2>
+<p>On the morning that saw the wedding of Chris and Martin, Phoebe Blanchard
+found heart and tongue to speak to her husband of the thing she still kept
+locked within her mind. Since the meeting with John Grimbal she had suffered
+much in secret, but still kept silence; and now, after a quiet service before
+breakfast on a morning in mid-December, most of those who had been present as
+spectators returned to the valley, and Phoebe spoke to Will as they walked
+apart from the rest. A sight of the enemy it was that loosed her lips, for,
+much to the surprise of all present, John Grimbal had attended his
+brother&rsquo;s wedding. As the little gathering streamed away after the
+ceremony, he had galloped off again with a groom behind him, and the incident
+now led to greater things.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Chill-fashion weddin&rsquo;,&rdquo; said Will, as he walked
+homewards, &ldquo;but it &rsquo;pears to me all Blanchards be fated to wed
+coorious. Well, &rsquo;t is a gude matter out o&rsquo; hand. I knaw I raged
+somethin&rsquo; terrible come I fust heard it, but I think differ&rsquo;nt
+now, specially when I mind what Chris must have felt those times she seed me
+welting her child an&rsquo; heard un yell, yet set her teeth an&rsquo; never
+shawed a sign.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Did &rsquo;e note Jan Grimbal theer?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I seed un, an&rsquo; I catched un wi&rsquo; his eye on you more
+&rsquo;n wance. He &rsquo;s grawed to look nowadays as if his mouth allus had
+a sour plum in it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;His brain&rsquo;s got sour stuff hid in it if his mouth
+haven&rsquo;t. Be you ever feared of un?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not me. Why for should I be? He&rsquo;ll be wan of the fam&rsquo;ly
+like, now. He caan&rsquo;t keep his passion alive for ever. We &rsquo;m
+likely to meet when Martin do come home again from honeymooning.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Will, I must tell you something&mdash;something gert an&rsquo;
+terrible. I should have told &rsquo;e &rsquo;fore now but I was
+frightened.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not feared to speak to me?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess, seeing the thing I had to say. I&rsquo;ve waited weeks in fear
+an&rsquo; tremblin&rsquo;, expecting something to happen, an&rsquo; all
+weighed down with fright an&rsquo; dread. Now, what wi&rsquo; the cheel
+that&rsquo;s comin&rsquo;, I caan&rsquo;t carry this any more.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Being already lachrymose, after the manner of women at a wedding, Phoebe
+now shed a tear or two. Will thereupon spoke words of comfort, and blamed her
+for hiding any matter from him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;More trouble?&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Yet I doan&rsquo;t think
+it,&mdash;not now,&mdash;just as I be right every way. I guess &rsquo;t is
+your state makes you queer an&rsquo; glumpy.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I hope &rsquo;t was vain talk an&rsquo; not true anyway.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;More talk &rsquo;bout me? You&rsquo;d think Chagford was most tired
+o&rsquo; my name, wouldn&rsquo;t &rsquo;e? Who was it now?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Him&mdash;Jan Grimbal. I met him &rsquo;mong the mushrooms. He
+burst out an&rsquo; said wicked, awful things, but his talk touched the
+li&rsquo;l bwoy. He thought Tim was yourn an&rsquo; he was gwaine to do
+mischief against you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Damn his black mind! I wonder he haven&rsquo;t rotted away
+wi&rsquo; his awn bile &rsquo;fore now.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But that weern&rsquo;t all. He talked an&rsquo; talked, an&rsquo;
+threatened if you didn&rsquo;t go an&rsquo; see him, as he&rsquo;d tell
+&rsquo;bout you in the past, when you was away that autumn-time &rsquo;fore
+us was married.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Did he, by God! Doan&rsquo;t he wish he knawed!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He does knaw, Will&mdash;least he said he did.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Never dream it, Phoebe. &rsquo;T is a lie. For why? &rsquo;Cause if
+he did knaw I shouldn&rsquo;t&mdash;but theer, I&rsquo;ve never tawld
+&rsquo;e, an&rsquo; I ban&rsquo;t gwaine to now. Awnly I&rsquo;ll say
+this,&mdash;if Grimbal really knawed he&rsquo;d have&mdash;but he can&rsquo;t
+knaw, and theer &rsquo;s an end of it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;To think I should have been frighted by such a story all these
+weeks! An&rsquo; not true. Oh! I wish I&rsquo;d told &rsquo;e when he sent
+the message. &rsquo;T would have saved me so much.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess, never keep nothin&rsquo; from me, Phoebe. Theer &rsquo;s
+troubles that might crush wan heart as comes a light load divided between
+two. What message?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Some silly auld story &rsquo;bout a suit of grey clothes. He said I
+was to tell &rsquo;e the things was received by the awner.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Will Blanchard stood still so suddenly that it seemed as though magic had
+turned him into stone. He stood, and his hands unclasped, and Phoebe&rsquo;s
+church service which he carried fell with a thud into the road. His wife
+watched him change colour, and noted in his face an expression she had never
+before seen there.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Christ A&rsquo;mighty!&rdquo; he whispered, with his eyes
+reflecting a world of sheer amazement and even terror; &ldquo;he <i>does</i>
+knaw!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What? Knaw what, Will? For the Lard&rsquo;s sake doan&rsquo;t
+&rsquo;e look at me like that; you&rsquo;ll frighten my heart into my
+mouth.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;To think he knawed an&rsquo; watched an&rsquo; waited all these
+years! The spider patience o&rsquo; that man! I see how &rsquo;t was. He let
+the world have its way an&rsquo; thought to see me broken wi&rsquo;out any
+trouble from him. Then, when I conquered, an&rsquo; got to Miller&rsquo;s
+right hand, an&rsquo; beat the world at its awn game, he&mdash;an&rsquo; been
+nursing this against me! The heart of un!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He spoke to himself aloud, gazing straight before him at nothing.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Will, tell me what &rsquo;t is. Caan&rsquo;t your awn true wife
+help &rsquo;e now or never?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Recalled by her words he came to himself, picked up her book, and walked
+on. She spoke again and then he answered,&mdash;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, &rsquo;t is a coil wheer you caan&rsquo;t do nought&mdash;nor
+nobody. The black power o&rsquo; waitin&rsquo;&mdash;&rsquo;t is that I never
+heard tell of. I thought I knawed what was in men to the core&mdash;me,
+thirty years of age, an&rsquo; a ripe man if ever theer was wan. But this
+malice! &rsquo;T is enough to make &rsquo;e believe in the devil.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What have you done?&rdquo; she cried aloud. &ldquo;Tell me the
+worst of it, an&rsquo; how gert a thing he&rsquo;ve got against
+you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Bide quiet,&rdquo; he answered. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll tell &rsquo;e,
+but not on the public road. Not but he&rsquo;ll take gude care every ear has
+it presently. Shut your mouth now an&rsquo; come up to our chamber arter
+breakfast an&rsquo; I&rsquo;ll tell &rsquo;e the rights of it. An&rsquo; that
+dog knawed an&rsquo; could keep it close all these years!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;s dangerous, an&rsquo; terrible, an&rsquo; strong. I see
+it in your faace, Will.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So he is, then; ban&rsquo;t no foxin&rsquo; you &rsquo;bout it now.
+&rsquo;T is an awful power of waitin&rsquo; he&rsquo;ve got; an&rsquo; he
+haven&rsquo;t bided his time these years an&rsquo; years for nothin&rsquo;. A
+feast to him, I lay. He&rsquo;ve licked his damned lips many a score o&rsquo;
+times to think of the food he&rsquo;d fat his vengeance with
+bimebye.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Can he taake you from me? If not I&rsquo;ll bear it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess fay, I&rsquo;m done for; credit, fortune, all gone. It might
+have been death if us had been to war at the time.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She clung to him and her head swam.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Death! God&rsquo;s mercy! you&rsquo;ve never killed nobody,
+Will?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not as I knaws on, but p&rsquo;r&rsquo;aps ban&rsquo;t tu late to
+mend it. It freezes me&mdash;it freezes my blood to think what his thoughts
+have been. No, no, ban&rsquo;t death or anything like that. But &rsquo;t is
+prison for sure if&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He broke off and his face was very dark.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What, Will? If what? Oh, comfort me, comfort me, Will, for
+God&rsquo;s sake! An&rsquo; another li&rsquo;l wan comin&rsquo;!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Doan&rsquo;t take on,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Ban&rsquo;t my way to
+squeal till I&rsquo;m hurt. Let it bide, an&rsquo; be bright an&rsquo; cheery
+come eating, for mother &rsquo;s down in the mouth at losin&rsquo; Chris,
+though she doan&rsquo;t shaw it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Mrs. Blanchard, with little Timothy, joined the breakfast party at Monks
+Barton, and a certain gloom hanging over the party, Mr. Blee commented upon
+it in his usual critical spirit.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;This here givin&rsquo; in marriage do allus make a looker-on down
+in the mouth if he &rsquo;s a sober-minded sort o&rsquo; man. &rsquo;T is the
+contrast between the courageousness of the two poor sawls jumpin&rsquo; into
+the state, an&rsquo; the solid fact of bein&rsquo; a man&rsquo;s wife or a
+woman&rsquo;s husband for all time. The vows they swear! An&rsquo; that
+Martin&rsquo;s voice so strong an&rsquo; cheerful! A teeming cause o&rsquo;
+broken oaths the marriage sarvice; yet each new pair comes along like sheep
+to the slaughter.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You talk like a bachelor man,&rdquo; said Damaris.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not so, Mrs. Blanchard, I assure &rsquo;e! Lookers-on see most of
+the game. Ban&rsquo;t the mite as lives in a cheese what can tell e&rsquo;
+&rsquo;bout the flavour of un. Look at a married man at a
+weddin&rsquo;&mdash;all broadcloth an&rsquo; cheerfulness, like the fox as
+have lost his tail an&rsquo; girns to see another chap in the same
+pickle.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yet you tried blamed hard to lose your tail an&rsquo; get a wife,
+for all your talk,&rdquo; said Will, who, although his mind was full enough,
+yet could generally find a sharp word for Mr. Blee.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Bah to you!&rdquo; answered the old man angrily. &ldquo;<i>That</i>
+for you! &rsquo;T is allus your way to bring personal talk into high
+conversation. I was improvin&rsquo; the hour with general thoughts; but the
+vulgar tone you give to a discourse would muzzle the wisdom o&rsquo;
+Solomon.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Miller Lyddon here made an effort to re-establish peace and soon
+afterwards the meal came to an end.</p>
+<p>Half an hour later Phoebe heard from her husband the story of his brief
+military career: of how he had enlisted as a preliminary to going abroad and
+making his fortune, how he had become servant to one Captain Tremayne, how
+upon the news of Phoebe&rsquo;s engagement he had deserted, and how his
+intention to return and make a clean breast of it had been twice changed by
+the circumstances that followed his marriage. Long he took in detailing every
+incident and circumstance.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Coming to think,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;of coourse &rsquo;t is
+clear as Grimbal must knaw my auld master. I seed his name raised to a Major
+in the <i>Western Morning News</i> a few year agone, an&rsquo; he was to
+Okehampton with a battalion when Hicks come by his death. So that&rsquo;s
+how&rsquo;t is; an&rsquo; I ban&rsquo;t gwaine to bide Grimbal&rsquo;s time
+to be ruined, you may be very sure of that. Now I knaw, I act.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He may be quite content you should knaw. That&rsquo;s meat
+an&rsquo; drink enough for him, to think of you gwaine in fear day an&rsquo;
+night.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess, but that&rsquo;s not my way. I ban&rsquo;t wan to wait an
+enemy&rsquo;s pleasure.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You won&rsquo;t go to him, Will?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Go to un? Ess fay&mdash;&rsquo;fore the day&rsquo;s done,
+tu.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s awnly to hasten the end.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The sooner the better.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He tramped up and down the bedroom with his eyes on the ground, his hands
+in his pockets.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A tremendous thing to tumble up on the surface arter all these
+years; an&rsquo; a tremendous time for it to come. &rsquo;T was a crime
+&rsquo;gainst the Queen for my awn gude ends. I had to choose &rsquo;tween
+her an&rsquo; you; I&rsquo;d do the same to-morrow. The fault weern&rsquo;t
+theer. It lay in not gwaine back.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You couldn&rsquo;t; your arm was broke.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I ought to have gone back arter &rsquo;t was well. Then time had
+passed, an&rsquo; uncle&rsquo;s money corned, an&rsquo; they never found me.
+But theer it lies ahead now, sure enough.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Perhaps for sheer shame he&rsquo;ll bide quiet &rsquo;bout it. A
+man caan&rsquo;t hate another man for ever.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I thought not, same as you, but Grimbal shaws we &rsquo;m
+wrong.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Let us go, then; let us do what you thought to do &rsquo;fore
+faither comed forward so kind. Let us go away to furrin paarts, even
+now.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I doubt if he&rsquo;d let me go. &rsquo;T is mouse an&rsquo; cat
+for the minute. Leastways so he&rsquo;s thought since he talked to &rsquo;e.
+But he&rsquo;ll knaw differ&rsquo;nt &rsquo;fore he lies in his bed to-night.
+Must be cut an&rsquo; dried an&rsquo; settled.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Be slow to act, Will, an&rsquo;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Theer! theer!&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;doan&rsquo;t &rsquo;e offer me
+no advice, theer&rsquo;s a gude gal, &rsquo;cause I couldn&rsquo;t stand it
+even from you, just this minute. God knaws I&rsquo;m not above takin&rsquo;
+it in a general way, for the best tried man can larn from babes an&rsquo;
+sucklings sometimes; but this is a thing calling for nothin&rsquo; but shut
+lips. &rsquo;T is my job an&rsquo; I&rsquo;ve got to see it through my own
+way.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;ll be patient, Will? &rsquo;T isn&rsquo;t like other
+times when you was right an&rsquo; him wrong. He&rsquo;s got the whip-hand of
+&rsquo;e, so you mustn&rsquo;t dictate.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not me. I can be reasonable an&rsquo; just as any man. I never hid
+from myself I was doin&rsquo; wrong at the time. But, when all&rsquo;s said,
+this auld history&rsquo;s got two sides to it&mdash;&rsquo;specially if you
+remember that &rsquo;t was through John Grimbal&rsquo;s awn act I had to do
+wan wrong thing to save you doin&rsquo; a worse wan. He&rsquo;ll have to be
+reasonable likewise. &rsquo;T is man to man.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Will&rsquo;s conversation lasted another hour, but Phoebe could not shake
+his determination, and after dinner Blanchard departed to the Red House, his
+destination being known to his wife only.</p>
+<p>But while Will marched upon this errand, the man he desired to see had
+just left his own front door, struck through leafless coppices of larch and
+silver beech that approached the house, and then proceeded to where bigger
+timber stood about a little plateau of marshy land, surrounded by tall flags.
+The woodlands had paid their debt to Nature in good gold, and all the trees
+were naked. An east wind lent a hard, clean clearness to the country. In the
+foreground two little lakes spread their waters steel-grey in a cup of lead;
+the distance was clear and cold and compact of all sober colours save only
+where, through a grey and interlacing nakedness of many boughs, the roof of
+the Red House rose.</p>
+<p>John Grimbal sat upon a felled tree beside the pools, and while he
+remained motionless, his pipe unlighted, his gun beside him, a spaniel worked
+below in the sere sedges at the water&rsquo;s margin. Presently the dog
+barked, a moor-hen splashed, half flying, half swimming, across the larger
+lake, and a snipe got up and jerked crookedly away on the wind. The dog stood
+with one fore-paw lifted and the water dripping along his belly. He waited
+for a crack and puff of smoke and the thud of a bird falling into the water
+or the underwood. But his master did not fire; he did not even see the
+flushing of the snipe; so the dog came up and remonstrated with his eyes.
+Grimbal patted the beast&rsquo;s head, then rose from his seat on the felled
+tree, stretched his arms, sat down again and lighted his pipe.</p>
+<p>The event of the morning had turned his thoughts in the old direction, and
+now they were wholly occupied with Will Blanchard. Since his fit of futile
+spleen and fury after the meeting with Phoebe, John had slowly sunk back into
+the former nerveless attitude. From this an occasional wonder roused
+him&mdash;a wonder as to whether the woman had ever given her husband his
+message at all. His recent active hatred seemed a little softened, though why
+it should be so he could not have explained. Now he sometimes assured himself
+that he should not proceed to extremities, but hang his sword over
+Will&rsquo;s head a while and possibly end by pardoning him altogether.</p>
+<p>Thus he paltered with his better part and presented a spectacle of one
+mentally sick unto death by reason of shattered purpose. His unity of design
+was gone. He had believed the last conversation with Phoebe in itself
+sufficient to waken his pristine passion, but anger against himself had been
+a great factor of that storm, apart from which circumstance he made the
+mistake of supposing that his passion slept, whereas in reality it was dead.
+Now, if Grimbal was to be stung into activity, it must be along another line
+and upon a fresh count.</p>
+<p>Then, as he reflected by the little tarns, there approached Will Blanchard
+himself; and Grimbal, looking up, saw him standing among white tussocks of
+dead grass by the water-side and rubbing the mud off his boots upon them. For
+a moment his breath quickened, but he was not surprised; and yet, before Will
+reached him, he had time to wonder at himself that he was not.</p>
+<p>Blanchard, calling at the Red House ten minutes after the master&rsquo;s
+departure, had been informed by old Lawrence Vallack, John&rsquo;s factotum,
+that he had come too late. It transpired, however, that Grimbal had taken his
+gun and a dog, so Will, knowing the estate, made a guess at the
+sportsman&rsquo;s destination, and was helped on his way when he came within
+earshot of the barking spaniel.</p>
+<p>Now that animal resented his intrusion, and for a moment it appeared that
+the brute&rsquo;s master did also. Will had already seen Grimbal where he
+sat, and came swiftly towards him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What are you doing here, William Blanchard? You&rsquo;re
+trespassing and you know it,&rdquo; said the landowner loudly. &ldquo;You can
+have no business here.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Haven&rsquo;t I? Then why for do&rsquo;e send me
+messages?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Will stood straight and stern in front of his foe. His face was more
+gloomy than the sombre afternoon; his jaw stood out very square; his grey
+eyes were hard as the glint of the east wind. He might have been accuser, and
+John Grimbal accused. The sportsman did not move from his seat upon the log.
+But he felt a flush of blood pulse through him at the other&rsquo;s voice, as
+though his heart, long stagnant, was being sluiced.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That? I&rsquo;d forgotten all about it. You&rsquo;ve taken your
+time in obeying me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;This marnin&rsquo;, an&rsquo; not sooner, I heard what you telled
+her when you catched Phoebe alone.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah! now I understand the delay. Say what you&rsquo;ve got to say,
+please, and then get out of my sight.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;T is for you to speak, not me. What be you gwaine to do,
+an&rsquo; when be you gwaine to do it? I allow you&rsquo;ve bested me, God
+knaws how; but you&rsquo;ve got me down. So the sooner you say what your next
+step is, the better.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The older man laughed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;T isn&rsquo;t the beaten party makes the terms as a
+rule.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I want no terms; I wouldn&rsquo;t make terms with you for a sure
+plaace in heaven. Tell me what you be gwaine to do against me. I&rsquo;ve a
+right to knaw.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I can&rsquo;t tell you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You mean as you won&rsquo;t tell me?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I mean I can&rsquo;t&mdash;not yet. After speaking to your wife I
+forgot all about it. It doesn&rsquo;t interest me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Be you gwaine to give me up?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Probably I shall&mdash;as a matter of duty. I&rsquo;m a bit of a
+soldier myself. It&rsquo;s such a dirty coward&rsquo;s trick to desert. Yes,
+I think I shall make an example of you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Will looked at him steadily.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You want to wake the devil in me&mdash;I see that. But you
+won&rsquo;t. I&rsquo;m aulder an&rsquo; wiser now. So you &rsquo;m to give me
+up? I knawed it wi&rsquo;out axin&rsquo;.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And that doesn&rsquo;t wake you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No. Seein&rsquo; why I deserted an&rsquo; mindin&rsquo; your share
+in drivin&rsquo; me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Grimbal did not answer, and Will asked him to name a date.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I tell you I shall suit myself, not you. When you will like it
+least, be sure of that. I needn&rsquo;t pretend what I don&rsquo;t feel. I
+hate the sight of you still, and the closer you come the more I hate you. It
+rolls years off me to see your damned brown face so near and hear your voice
+in my ear,&mdash;years and years; and I&rsquo;m glad it does. You&rsquo;ve
+ruined my life, and I&rsquo;ll ruin yours yet.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>There was a pause; Blanchard stared cold and hard into Grimbal&rsquo;s
+eyes; then John continued, and his flicker of passion cooled a little as he
+did so,&mdash;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;At least that&rsquo;s what I said to myself when first I heard this
+little bit of news&mdash;that I&rsquo;d ruin you; now I&rsquo;m not
+sure.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;At least I&rsquo;ll thank you to make up your mind. &rsquo;T is
+turn an&rsquo; turn about. You be uppermost just this minute. As to ruining
+me, that&rsquo;s as may be.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, I shall decide presently. I suppose you won&rsquo;t run away.
+And it &rsquo;s no great matter if you do, for a fool can&rsquo;t hide
+himself under his folly.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I sha&rsquo;n&rsquo;t run. I want to get through with this and have
+it behind me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You &rsquo;re in a hurry now.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It &rsquo;s just an&rsquo; right. I knaw that. An&rsquo;
+ban&rsquo;t no gert odds who &rsquo;s informer. But I want to have it behind
+me&mdash;an&rsquo; you in front. Do &rsquo;e see? This out o&rsquo; hand,
+then it &rsquo;s my turn again. Keepin&rsquo; me waitin&rsquo; &rsquo;pon
+such a point be tu small an&rsquo; womanish for a fight between men. &rsquo;T
+is your turn to hit, Jan Grimbal, an&rsquo; theer &rsquo;s no guard
+&rsquo;gainst the stroke, so if you &rsquo;re a man, hit an&rsquo; have done
+with it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah! you don&rsquo;t like the thought of waiting!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, I do not. I haven&rsquo;t got your snake&rsquo;s patience. Let
+me have what I&rsquo;ve got to have, an&rsquo; suffer it, an&rsquo; make
+an&rsquo; end of it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You &rsquo;re in a hurry for a dish that won&rsquo;t be pleasant
+eating, I assure you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s just an&rsquo; right I tell &rsquo;e; an&rsquo; I knaw
+it is, though all these years cover it. Your paart &rsquo;s differ&rsquo;nt.
+I lay you &rsquo;m in a worse hell than me, even now.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A moralist! How d&rsquo; you like the thought of a damned good
+flogging&mdash;fifty lashes laid on hot and strong?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Doan&rsquo;t you wish you had the job? Thrashing of a man wi&rsquo;
+his legs an&rsquo; hands tied would just suit your sort of
+courage.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;As to that, they won&rsquo;t flog you really; and I fancy I could
+thrash you still without any help. Your memory &rsquo;s short. Never mind.
+Get you gone now; and never speak to me again as long as you live, or I shall
+probably hit you across the mouth with my riding-whip. As to giving you up,
+you &rsquo;re in my hands and must wait my time for that.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Must I, by God? Hark to a fule talkin&rsquo;! Why should I wait
+your pleasure, an&rsquo; me wi&rsquo; a tongue in my head? You&rsquo;ve jawed
+long enough. Now you can listen. I&rsquo;ll give <i>myself</i> up, so theer!
+I&rsquo;ll tell the truth, an&rsquo; what drove me to desert, an&rsquo; what
+you be anyway&mdash;as goes ridin&rsquo; out wi&rsquo; the yeomanry so braave
+in black an&rsquo; silver with your sword drawed! That&rsquo;ll spoil your
+market for pluck an&rsquo; valour, anyways. An&rsquo; when I&rsquo;ve done
+all court-martial gives me, I&rsquo;ll come back!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He swung away as he spoke; and the other sat on motionless for an hour
+after Will had departed.</p>
+<p>John Grimbal&rsquo;s pipe went out; his dog, weary of waiting, crept to
+his feet and fell asleep there; live fur and feathers peeped about and
+scanned his bent figure, immobile as a tree-trunk that supported it; and the
+gun, lying at hand, drew down a white light from a gathering gloaming.</p>
+<p>One great desire was in the sportsman&rsquo;s mind,&mdash;he already found
+himself hungry for another meeting with Blanchard.</p>
+<h2><a id="IV_XI" name="IV_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI<br />
+PHOEBE TAKES THOUGHT</h2>
+<p>That night Will sat and smoked in his bedroom and talked to Phoebe, who
+had already gone to rest. She looked over her knees at him with round, sad
+eyes; while beside her in a cot slept her small daughter. A candle burned on
+the mantelpiece and served to illuminate one or two faded pictures; a
+daguerreotype of Phoebe as a child sitting on a donkey, and an ancient
+silhouette of Miller Lyddon, cut for him on his visit to the Great
+Exhibition. In a frame beneath these appeared the photograph of little Will
+who had died at Newtake.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He thinks he be gwaine to bide his time an&rsquo; let me stew
+an&rsquo; sweat for it,&rdquo; said the man moodily.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Awnly a born devil could tell such wickedness. Ban&rsquo;t theer no
+ways o&rsquo; meetin&rsquo; him, now you knaw? If you&rsquo;d speak to
+faither&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What &rsquo;s the use bringing sorrow on his grey hairs?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, it&rsquo;s got to come; you knaw that. Grimbal isn&rsquo;t
+the man to forgive.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Forgive! That would be worst of all. If he forgived me now
+I&rsquo;d go mad. Wait till I&rsquo;ve had soldier law, then us&rsquo;ll talk
+&rsquo;bout forgiving arter.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Phoebe shivered and began to cry helplessly, drying her eyes upon the
+sheet.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Theer&mdash;theer,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;doan&rsquo;t be a cheel.
+We &rsquo;m made o&rsquo; stern stuff, you an&rsquo; me. &rsquo;T is awnly a
+matter of years, I s&rsquo;pose, an&rsquo; the reason I went may lessen the
+sentence a bit. Mother won&rsquo;t never turn against me, an&rsquo; so long
+as your faither can forgive, the rest of the world&rsquo;s welcome to look so
+black as it pleases.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Faither&rsquo;ll forgive &rsquo;e.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He might&mdash;just wance more. He&rsquo;ve got to onderstand my
+points better late days.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Come an&rsquo; sleep then, an&rsquo; fret no more till
+marnin&rsquo; light anyway.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis the thing hidden, hanging over my head, biding behind
+every corner. I caan&rsquo;t stand it; I caan&rsquo;t wait for it. I&rsquo;ll
+grow sheer devil if I&rsquo;ve got to wait; an&rsquo;, so like as not,
+I&rsquo;ll meet un faace to faace some day an&rsquo; send un wheer neither
+his bark nor bite will harm me. Ess fay&mdash;solemn truth. I won&rsquo;t
+answer for it. I can put so tight a hand &rsquo;pon myself as any man since
+Job, but to sit down under this&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Theer&rsquo;s nought else you can do,&rdquo; said Phoebe. She
+yawned as she spoke, but Will&rsquo;s reply strangled the yawn and
+effectually woke her up.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So Jan Grimbal said, an&rsquo; I blamed soon shawed un he was out.
+Theer&rsquo;s a thing I can do an&rsquo; shall do. &rsquo;T will sweep the
+ground from under un; &rsquo;t will blaw off his vengeance harmless as a gun
+fired in the air; &rsquo;t will turn his malice so sour as beer after
+thunder. I be gwaine to give myself up&mdash;then us&rsquo;ll see who&rsquo;s
+the fule!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Phoebe was out of bed with her arms round her husband in a moment.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, no&mdash;never. You couldn&rsquo;t, Will; you
+daren&rsquo;t&mdash;&rsquo;tis against nature. You ban&rsquo;t free to do no
+such wild thing. You forget me, an&rsquo; the li&rsquo;l maid, an&rsquo;
+t&rsquo; other comin&rsquo;!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Doan&rsquo;t &rsquo;e choke me,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;an&rsquo;
+doan&rsquo;t &rsquo;e look so terrified. Your small hands caan&rsquo;t keep
+off what&rsquo;s ahead o&rsquo; me; an&rsquo; I wouldn&rsquo;t let &rsquo;em
+if they could. &rsquo;T is in this world that a chap&rsquo;s got to pay for
+his sins most times, an&rsquo; damn short credit, tu, so far as I can see. So
+what they want to bleat &rsquo;bout hell-fire for I&rsquo;ve never
+onderstood, seeing you get your change here. Anyway, so sure as I do a trick
+that ban&rsquo;t &rsquo;zactly wise, the whip &rsquo;s allus behind
+it&mdash;the whip&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He repeated the word in a changed voice, for it reminded him of what
+Grimbal had threatened. He did not know whether there might be truth in it.
+His pride winced and gasped. He thought of Phoebe seeing his bare back
+perhaps years afterwards. A tempest of rage blackened his face and he spoke
+in a voice hoarse and harsh.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Get up an&rsquo; go to bed. Doan&rsquo;t whine, for God&rsquo;s
+sake, or you&rsquo;ll drive me daft. I&rsquo;ve paid afore, an&rsquo;
+I&rsquo;ll pay again; an&rsquo; may the Lard help him who ever owes me ought.
+No mercy have I ever had from living man,&mdash;&rsquo;cept
+Miller,&mdash;none will I ever shaw.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not to-morrow, Will&mdash;not this week. Promise that, an&rsquo;
+I&rsquo;ll get into bed an&rsquo; bide quiet. For your love o&rsquo; me, just
+leave it till arter Christmas time. Promise that, else you&rsquo;ll kill me.
+No, no, no&mdash;you shaa&rsquo;n&rsquo;t shout me down &rsquo;pon this.
+I&rsquo;ll cry to &rsquo;e while I&rsquo;ve got life left. Promise not till
+Christmas be past.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll promise nothing. I must think in the peace o&rsquo;
+night. Go to sleep an &rsquo;bide quiet, else you&rsquo;ll wake the
+li&rsquo;l gal.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I won&rsquo;t&mdash;I won&rsquo;t&mdash;I&rsquo;ll never sleep
+again. Caan&rsquo; t&rsquo;e think o&rsquo; me so well as yourself&mdash;you
+as be allus thinking o&rsquo; me? Ban&rsquo;t I to count in an awful pass
+like this? I&rsquo;m no fair-weather wife, as you knaws by now. If you gives
+yourself up, I&rsquo;ll kill myself. You think I couldn&rsquo;t, but I could.
+What&rsquo;s my days away from you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Hush, hush!&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Be you mad? &rsquo;T is a matter
+tu small for such talk as that.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Promise, then, promise you&rsquo;ll be dumb till arter
+Christmas.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So I will, if you &rsquo;m that set on it; but if you knawed what
+waitin&rsquo; meant to the likes o&rsquo; me, you wouldn&rsquo;t ax.
+You&rsquo;ve got my word, now keep quiet, theer &rsquo;s a dear love,
+an&rsquo; dry your eyes.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He put her into bed, and soon stretched himself beside her. Then she clung
+to him as though powers were already dragging him away for ever. Will, bored
+and weary, was sorry for his wife with all his soul, and kept grunting words
+of good cheer and comfort as he sank to sleep. She still begged and prayed
+for delay, and by her importunity made him promise at last that he would take
+no step until after New Year&rsquo;s Day. Then, finding she could win no more
+in that direction, Phoebe turned to another aspect of the problem, and began
+to argue with unexpected if sophistic skill. Her tears were now dry, her eyes
+very bright beneath the darkness; she talked and talked with feverish
+volubility, and her voice faded into a long-drawn murmur as Will&rsquo;s
+hearing weakened on the verge of unconsciousness.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why for d&rsquo; you say you was wrong in what you done? Why
+d&rsquo; you harp an&rsquo; harp &rsquo;pon that, knawin&rsquo; right well
+you&rsquo;d do the same again to-morrow? You wasn&rsquo;t wrong, an&rsquo;
+the Queen&rsquo;s self would say the same if she knawed. &rsquo;T was to save
+a helpless woman you runned; an&rsquo; her&mdash;Queen
+Victoria&mdash;wi&rsquo; her big heart as can sigh for the sorrow of even
+such small folks as us&mdash;she&rsquo;d be the last to blame
+&rsquo;e.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She&rsquo;ll never knaw nothin&rsquo; &rsquo;bout it, gude or bad.
+They doan&rsquo;t vex her ears wi&rsquo; trifles. I deserted, an&rsquo;
+that&rsquo;s a crime.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I say &rsquo;t weern&rsquo;t no such thing. You had to choose
+between that an&rsquo; letting me die. You saved my life; an&rsquo; the facts
+would be judged the same by any as was wife an&rsquo; mother, high or low.
+God A&rsquo;mighty &rsquo;s best an&rsquo; awnly judge how much you was
+wrong; an&rsquo; you knaw He doan&rsquo;t blame &rsquo;e, else your heart
+would have been sore for it these years an&rsquo; years. You never blamed
+yourself till now.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess, awften an&rsquo; awften I did. It comed an&rsquo; went,
+an&rsquo; comed an&rsquo; went again, like winter frosts. True as I&rsquo;m
+living it comed an&rsquo; went like that.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Thus he spoke, half incoherently, his voice all blurred and vague with
+sleep.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You awnly think &rsquo;t was so. You&rsquo;d never have sat down
+under it else. It ban&rsquo;t meant you should give yourself up now, anyways.
+God would have sent the sojers to find &rsquo;e when you runned away if
+He&rsquo;d wanted &rsquo;em to find &rsquo;e. You didn&rsquo;t hide. You
+looked the world in the faace bold as a lion, didn&rsquo;t &rsquo;e? Coourse
+you did; an&rsquo; &rsquo;t is gwaine against God&rsquo;s will an&rsquo; wish
+for you to give yourself up now. So you mustn&rsquo;t speak an&rsquo; you
+must tell no one&mdash;not even faither. I was wrong to ax &rsquo;e to tell
+him. Nobody at all must knaw. Be dumb, an&rsquo; trust me to be dumb.
+&rsquo;T is buried an&rsquo; forgot. I&rsquo;ll fight for &rsquo;e, my
+dearie, same as you&rsquo;ve fought for me many a time; an&rsquo; &rsquo;t
+will all fall out right for &rsquo;e, for men &rsquo;s come through worse
+passes than this wi&rsquo; fewer friends than what you&rsquo;ve
+got.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She stopped to win breath and, in the silence, heard Will&rsquo;s regular
+respiration and knew that he slept. How much he had heard of her speech
+Phoebe could not say, but she felt glad to think that some hours at least of
+rest and peace now awaited him. For herself she had never been more widely
+awake, and her brains were very busy through the hours of darkness. A hundred
+thoughts and schemes presented themselves. She gradually eliminated everybody
+from the main issue but Will, John Grimbal, and herself; and, pursuing the
+argument, began to suspect that she alone had power to right the wrong. In
+one direction only could such an opinion lead&mdash;a direction tremendous to
+her. Yet she did not shrink from the necessity ahead; she strung herself up
+to face it; she longed for an opportunity and resolved to make one at the
+earliest moment.</p>
+<p>Now that night was the longest in the whole year; and yet to Phoebe it
+passed with magic celerity.</p>
+<p>Will awakened about half-past five, rose immediately according to his
+custom, lighted a candle, and started to dress himself. He began the day in
+splendid spirits, begotten of good sleep and good health; but his wife saw
+the lightness of heart, the bustling activity of body, sink into apathy and
+inertia as remembrance overtook his wakening hour. It was like a brief and
+splendid dawn crushed by storm-clouds at the very rise of the sun.</p>
+<p>Phoebe presently dressed her little daughter and, as soon as the child had
+gone down-stairs, Will resumed the problems of his position.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I be in two minds this marnin&rsquo;,&rdquo; he said.
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve a thought to tell mother of this matter. She &rsquo;m that
+wise, I&rsquo;ve knawed her put me on the right track &rsquo;fore now,
+an&rsquo; never guess she&rsquo;d done it. Not but what I allus awn up to
+taking advice, if I follow it, an&rsquo; no man &rsquo;s readier to profit by
+the wisdom of his betters than me. That&rsquo;s how I&rsquo;ve done all I
+have done in my time. T&rsquo; other thought was to take your counsel
+an&rsquo; see Miller &rsquo;pon it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I was wrong, Will&mdash;quite wrong. I&rsquo;ve been thinking, tu.
+He mustn&rsquo;t knaw, nor yet mother, nor nobody. Quite enough knaws as
+&rsquo;t is.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What&rsquo;s the wisdom o&rsquo; talkin&rsquo; like that? Who
+&rsquo;s gwaine to hide the thing, even if they wanted to? God knaws I
+ban&rsquo;t. I&rsquo;d like, so well as not, to go up Chagford next
+market-day an&rsquo; shout out the business afore the world.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You can&rsquo;t now. You must wait. You promised. I thought about
+it with every inch of my brain last night, an&rsquo; I got a sort of
+feeling&mdash;I caan&rsquo;t explain, but wait. I&rsquo;ve trusted you all my
+life long an&rsquo; allus shall; now &rsquo;t is your turn to trust me, just
+this wance. I&rsquo;ve got great thoughts. I see the way; I may do much
+myself. You see, Jan Grimbal&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Will stood still with his chin half shorn.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You dare to do that,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;an&rsquo; I&rsquo;ll
+raise Cain in this plaace; I&rsquo;ll&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He broke off and laughed at himself.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Here be I blusterin&rsquo; like a gert bully now! Doan&rsquo;t be
+feared, Phoebe. Forgive my noise. You mean so well, but you caan&rsquo;t hide
+your secrets, fortunately. Bless your purty eyes&mdash;tu gude for me,
+an&rsquo; allus was, braave li&rsquo;l woman!</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But no more of that&mdash;no seekin&rsquo; him, an&rsquo; no speech
+with him, if that&rsquo;s the way your poor, silly thought was. My bones
+smart to think of you bearin&rsquo; any of it. But doan&rsquo;t you put no
+oar into this troubled water, else the bwoat&rsquo;ll capsize, sure as death.
+I&rsquo;ve promised &rsquo;e not to say a word till arter New Year; now you
+must promise me never, so help you, to speak to that man, or look at un, or
+listen to a word from un. Fly him like you would the devil; an&rsquo; a gude
+second to the devil he is&mdash;if &rsquo;t is awnly in the matter o&rsquo;
+patience. Promise now.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You &rsquo;m so hasty, Will. You doan&rsquo;t onderstand a
+woman&rsquo;s cleverness in such matters. &rsquo;T is just the fashion thing
+as shaws what we &rsquo;m made of.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Promise!&rdquo; he thundered angrily. &ldquo;Now, this instant
+moment, in wan word.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She gave him a single defiant glance. Then the boldness of her eyes faded
+and her lips drooped at the corners.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I promise, then.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I should think you did.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>A few minutes later Will was gone, and Phoebe dabbed her moist eyes and
+blamed herself for so clumsily revealing her great intention,&mdash;to see
+John Grimbal and plead with him. This secret ambition was now swept away, and
+she knew not where to turn or how to act for her husband.</p>
+<h2><a id="IV_XII" name="IV_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII<br />
+NEW YEAR&rsquo;S EVE AND NEW YEAR&rsquo;S DAY</h2>
+<p>From this point in his career Will Blanchard, who lacked all power of
+hiding his inner heart, soon made it superficially apparent that new troubles
+had overtaken him. No word concerning his intolerable anxieties escaped him,
+but a great cloud of tribulation encompassed every hour, and was revealed to
+others by increased petulance and shortness of temper. This mental friction
+quickly appeared on the young man&rsquo;s face, and his habitual expression
+of sulkiness which formerly belied him, now increased and more nearly
+reflected the reigning temperament of Blanchard&rsquo;s mind. His nerves were
+on the rack and he grew sullen and fretful. A dreary expression gained upon
+his features, an expression sad as a winter twilight brushed with rain. To
+Phoebe he seldom spoke of the matter, and she soon abandoned further attempts
+to intrude upon his heart though her own was breaking for him. Billy Blee and
+the farm hands were Will&rsquo;s safety-valve. One moment he showered hard
+and bitter words; the next, at sight of some ploughboy&rsquo;s tears or older
+man&rsquo;s reasonable anger, Will instantly relented and expressed his
+sorrow. The dullest among them grew in time to discern matters were amiss
+with him, for his tormented mind began to affect his actions and disorder the
+progress of his life. At times he worked laboriously and did much with his
+own hands that might have been left to others; but his energy was displayed
+in a manner fitful and spasmodic; occasionally he would vanish altogether for
+four-and-twenty hours or more; and none knew when he might appear or
+disappear.</p>
+<p>It happened on New Year&rsquo;s Eve that a varied company assembled at the
+&ldquo;Green Man&rdquo; according to ancient custom. Here were Inspector
+Chown, Mr. Chapple, Mr. Blee, Charles Coomstock, with many others; and the
+assembly was further enriched by the presence of the bell-ringers. Their
+services would be demanded presently to toll out the old year, to welcome
+with joyful peal the new; and they assembled here until closing time that
+they might enjoy a pint of the extra strong liquor a prosperous publican
+provided for his customers at this season.</p>
+<p>The talk was of Blanchard, and Mr. Blee, provided with a theme which
+always challenged his most forcible diction, discussed Will freely and
+without prejudice.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I &rsquo;most goes in fear of my life, I tell &rsquo;e; but thank
+God &rsquo;t is the beginning of the end. He&rsquo;ll spread his wings afore
+spring and be off again, or I doan&rsquo;t knaw un. Ess fay, he&rsquo;ll
+depart wi&rsquo; his fiery nature an&rsquo; horrible ideas &rsquo;pon
+manuring of land; an&rsquo; a gude riddance for Monks Barton, I
+say.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Mazing &rsquo;t is,&rdquo; declared Mr. Coomstock,
+&ldquo;that he should look so black all times, seeing the gude fortune as
+turns up for un when most he wants it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So &rsquo;t is,&rdquo; admitted Billy. &ldquo;The faace of un weer
+allus sulky, like to the faace of a auld ram cat, as may have a gude heart in
+un for all his glowerin&rsquo; eyes. But him! Theer ban&rsquo;t no
+pleasin&rsquo; un. What do he want? Surely never no man &rsquo;s failed on
+his feet awftener.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;T is that what &rsquo;s spoilin&rsquo; un, I reckon,&rdquo;
+said Mr. Chappie. &ldquo;A li&rsquo;l ill-fortune he wants now, same as a
+salad o&rsquo; green stuff wants some bite to it. He&rsquo;d grumble in
+heaven, by the looks of un. An&rsquo; yet it do shaw the patience of God
+wi&rsquo; human sawls.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess, it do,&rdquo; answered Mr. Blee; &ldquo;but patience
+ban&rsquo;t a virtue, pushed tu far. Justice is justice, as I&rsquo;ve said
+more &rsquo;n wance to Miller an&rsquo; Blanchard, tu, an&rsquo; a man of my
+years can see wheer justice lies so clear as God can. For why? Because theer
+ban&rsquo;t room for two opinions. I&rsquo;ve give my Maker best scores
+an&rsquo; scores o&rsquo; times, as we all must; but truth caan&rsquo;t
+alter, an&rsquo; having put thinking paarts into our heads, &rsquo;t is more
+&rsquo;n God A&rsquo;mighty&rsquo;s Self can do to keep us from usin&rsquo;
+of&rsquo;em.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A tremenjous thought,&rdquo; said Mr. Chapple.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So &rsquo;t is. An&rsquo; what I want to knaw is, why should
+Blanchard have his fling, an&rsquo; treat me like dirt, an&rsquo; ride
+rough-shod awver his betters, an&rsquo; scowl at the sky all times, an&rsquo;
+nothin&rsquo; said?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Providence doan&rsquo;t answer a question just &rsquo;cause we
+&rsquo;m pleased to ax wan,&rdquo; said Abraham Chown. &ldquo;What happens
+happens, because &rsquo;t is foreordained, an&rsquo; you caan&rsquo;t judge
+the right an&rsquo; wrong of a man&rsquo;s life from wan year or two or ten,
+more &rsquo;n you can judge a glass o&rsquo; ale by a tea-spoon of it. Many
+has a long rope awnly to hang themselves in the end, by the wonnerful
+foresight of God.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;All the same, theer&rsquo;d be hell an&rsquo; Tommy to pay mighty
+quick, if you an&rsquo; me did the things that bwoy does, an&rsquo; carried
+on that onreligious,&rdquo; replied Mr. Blee, with gloomy conviction.
+&ldquo;Ban&rsquo;t fair to other people, an&rsquo; if &rsquo;t was Doomsday
+I&rsquo;d up an&rsquo; say so. What gude deeds have he done to have life
+smoothed out, an&rsquo; the hills levelled an&rsquo; the valleys filled up?
+An&rsquo; nought but sour looks for it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But be you sure he &rsquo;m happy?&rdquo; inquired Mr. Chapple.
+&ldquo;He &rsquo;m not the man to walk &rsquo;bout wi&rsquo; a fiddle-faace
+if &rsquo;t was fair weather wi&rsquo; un. He&rsquo;ve got his troubles same
+as us, depend upon it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Blanchard himself entered at this moment. It wanted but half an hour to
+closing time when he did so, and he glanced round the bar, snorted at the
+thick atmosphere of alcohol and smoke, then pulled out his pipe and took a
+vacant chair.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Gude evenin&rsquo;, Will,&rdquo; said Mr. Chapple.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A happy New Year, Blanchard,&rdquo; added the landlord.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Evening, sawls all,&rdquo; answered Will, nodding round him.
+&ldquo;Auld year&rsquo;s like to die o&rsquo; frost by the looks of
+it&mdash;a stinger, I tell &rsquo;e. Anybody seen Farmer Endicott? I&rsquo;ve
+been looking for un since noon wi&rsquo; a message from my
+faither-in-law.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I gived thicky message this marnin&rsquo;,&rdquo; cried Billy.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess, I knaw you did; that&rsquo;s my trouble. You gived it wrong.
+I&rsquo;ll just have a pint of the treble X then. &rsquo;T is the night for
+&rsquo;t.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Will&rsquo;s demeanour belied the recent conversation respecting him. He
+appeared to be in great spirits, joked with the men, exchanged shafts with
+Billy, and was the first to roar with laughter when Mr. Blee got the better
+of him in a brisk battle of repartee. Truth to tell, the young man&rsquo;s
+heart felt somewhat lighter, and with reason. To-morrow his promise to Phoebe
+held him no longer, and his carking, maddening trial of patience was to end.
+The load would drop from his shoulders at daylight. His letter to Mr. Lyddon
+had been written; in the morning the miller must read it before breakfast,
+and learn that his son-in-law had started for Plymouth to give himself up for
+the crime of the past. John Grimbal had made no sign, and the act of
+surrender would now be voluntary&mdash;a thought which lightened
+Blanchard&rsquo;s heart and induced a turn of temper almost jovial. He joined
+a chorus, laughed with the loudest, and contrived before closing time to
+drink a pint and a half of the famous special brew. Then the bell-ringers
+departed to their duties, and Mr. Chapple with Mr. Blee, Will, and one or two
+other favoured spirits spent a further half-hour in their host&rsquo;s
+private parlour, and there consumed a little sloe gin, to steady the humming
+ale.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You an&rsquo; me must see wan another home,&rdquo; said Will when
+he and Mr. Blee departed into the frosty night.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Fust time as ever you give me an arm,&rdquo; murmured Billy.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Won&rsquo;t be the last, I&rsquo;m sure,&rdquo; declared Will.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve allus had a gude word for &rsquo;e ever since I knawed
+&rsquo;e,&rdquo; answered Billy.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; why for shouldn&rsquo;t &rsquo;e?&rdquo; asked Will.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Beginning of New Year &rsquo;s a solemn sarcumstance,&rdquo;
+proceeded Billy, as a solitary bell began to toll. &ldquo;Theer &rsquo;s the
+death-rattle of eighteen hunderd an&rsquo; eighty-six! Well, well, we must
+all die&mdash;men an&rsquo; mice.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; the devil take the hindmost.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Mr. Blee chuckled.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Let &rsquo;s go round this way,&rdquo; he said.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why? Ban&rsquo;t your auld bones ready for bed yet? Theer &rsquo;s
+nought theer but starlight an&rsquo; frost.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Be gormed to the frost! I laugh at it. Ban&rsquo;t that. &rsquo;T
+is the Union workhouse, wheer auld Lezzard lies. I likes to pass, an&rsquo;
+nod to un as he sits on the lew side o&rsquo; the wall in his white coat,
+chumping his thoughts between his gums.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He &rsquo;m happier &rsquo;n me or you, I lay.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not him! You should see un glower &rsquo;pon me when I gives un
+&rsquo;gude day.&rsquo; I tawld un wance as the Poor Rates was up
+somethin&rsquo; cruel since he&rsquo;d gone in the House, an&rsquo; he looked
+as though he&rsquo;d &rsquo;a&rsquo; liked to do me violence. No, he
+ban&rsquo;t happy, I warn &rsquo;e.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, you won&rsquo;t see un sitting under the stars in his white
+coat, poor auld blid. He &rsquo;m asleep under the blankets, I
+lay.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Thin wans! Thin blankets an&rsquo; not many of &rsquo;em. An&rsquo;
+all his awn doin&rsquo;. Patent justice, if ever I seed it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Tramp along! You can travel faster &rsquo;n that. Ess fay! Justice
+is the battle-cry o&rsquo; God against men most times. Maybe they &rsquo;m
+strong on it in heaven, but theer &rsquo;s damned little filters down here.
+Theer go the bells! Another New Year come. Years o&rsquo; the Lard they call
+&rsquo;em! Years o&rsquo; the devil most times, if you ax me. What do
+&rsquo;e want the New Year to bring to you, Billy?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A contented &rsquo;eart,&rdquo; said Mr. Blee, &ldquo;an&rsquo;
+perhaps just half-a-crown more a week, if &rsquo;t was seemly. Brains be paid
+higher &rsquo;n sweat in this world, an&rsquo; I&rsquo;m mostly brain now in
+my dealin&rsquo;s wi&rsquo; Miller. A brain be like a nut, as ripens all the
+year through an&rsquo; awnly comes to be gude for gathering when the tree
+&rsquo;s in the sere. &rsquo;T is in the autumn of life a man&rsquo;s brain
+be worth plucking like&mdash;eh?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Doan&rsquo;t knaw. They &rsquo;m maggoty mostly at your
+age!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; they &rsquo;m milky mostly at yourn!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Listen to the bells an&rsquo; give awver chattering,&rdquo; said
+Will.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;After gude store o&rsquo; drinks, a sad thing like holy bells
+ringing in the dark afar off do sting my nose an&rsquo; bring a drop to my
+eye,&rdquo; confessed Mr. Blee. &ldquo;An&rsquo; you&mdash;why, theer
+&rsquo;s a baaby hid away in the New Year for you&mdash;a human creature as
+may do gert wonders in the land an&rsquo; turn out into Antichrist, for all
+you can say positive. Theer &rsquo;s a braave thought for
+&rsquo;e!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>This remark sobered Blanchard and his mind travelled into the future, to
+Phoebe, to the child coming in June.</p>
+<p>Billy babbled on, and presently they reached Mrs. Blanchard&rsquo;s
+cottage. Damaris herself, with a shawl over her head, stood and listened to
+the bells, and Will, taking leave of Mr. Blee, hastened to wish his mother
+all happiness in the year now newly dawned. He walked once or twice up and
+down the little garden beside her, and with a tongue loosened by liquor came
+near to telling her of his approaching action, but did not do so. Meantime
+Mr. Blee steered himself with all caution over Rushford Bridge to Monks
+Barton.</p>
+<p>Presently the veteran appeared before his master and Phoebe, who had
+waited for the advent of the New Year before retiring. Miller Lyddon was
+about to suggest a night-cap for Billy, but changed his mind.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Enough &rsquo;s as gude as a feast,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Canst
+get up-stairs wi&rsquo;out help?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Coourse I can! But the chap to the &lsquo;Green Man&rsquo;s&rsquo;
+that perfuse wi&rsquo; his liquor at seasons of rejoicing. More went down
+than was chalked up; I allow that. If you&rsquo;ll light my chamber cannel,
+I&rsquo;ll thank &rsquo;e, missis; an&rsquo; a Happy New Year to
+all.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Phoebe obeyed, launched Mr. Blee in the direction of his chamber, then
+turned to receive Will&rsquo;s caress as he came home and locked the door
+behind him.</p>
+<p>The night air still carried the music of the bells. For an hour they
+pealed on; then the chime died slowly, a bell at a time, until two clanged
+each against the other. Presently one stopped and the last, weakening softly,
+beat a few strokes more, then ceased to fret the frosty birth-hour of another
+year.</p>
+<p>The darkness slipped away, and Blanchard who had long learned to rise
+without awakening his wife, was up and dressed again soon after five
+o&rsquo;clock. He descended silently, placed a letter on the mantelpiece in
+the kitchen, abstracted a leg of goose and a hunch of bread from the larder,
+then set out upon a chilly walk of five miles to Moreton Hampstead. From
+there he designed to take train and proceed to Plymouth as directly and
+speedily as possible.</p>
+<p>Some two hours later Will&rsquo;s letter found itself in Mr.
+Lyddon&rsquo;s hand, and his father-in-law learnt the secret. Phoebe was
+almost as amazed as the miller himself when this knowledge came to her ear;
+for Will had not breathed his intention to her, and no suspicion had crossed
+his wife&rsquo;s mind that he intended to act with such instant promptitude
+on the expiration of their contract.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I doubted I knawed him through an&rsquo; through at last, but
+&rsquo;t is awnly to-day, an&rsquo; after this, that I can say as I
+do,&rdquo; mused Mr. Lyddon over an untasted breakfast. &ldquo;To think he
+runned them awful risks to make you fast to him! To think he corned all
+across England in the past to make you his wife against the danger on wan
+side, an&rsquo; the power o&rsquo; Jan Grimbal an&rsquo; me drawed up
+&rsquo;pon the other!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Pursuing this strain to Phoebe&rsquo;s heartfelt relief, the miller
+neither assumed an attitude of great indignation at Will&rsquo;s action nor
+affected despair of his future. He was much bewildered, however.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;ll keep me &rsquo;mazed so long as I live, &rsquo;pears to
+me. But he &rsquo;m gone for the present, an&rsquo; I doan&rsquo;t say
+I&rsquo;m sorry, knawin&rsquo; what was behind. No call for you to sob
+yourself into a fever. Please God, he&rsquo;ll be back long &rsquo;fore you
+want him. Us&rsquo;ll make the least we can of it, an&rsquo; bide patient
+until we hear tell of him. He&rsquo;ve gone to Plymouth&mdash;that&rsquo;s
+all Chagford needs to knaw at present.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Theer &rsquo;s newspapers an&rsquo; Jan Grimbal,&rdquo; sobbed
+Phoebe.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A dark man wi&rsquo; fixed purposes, sure enough,&rdquo; admitted
+her father, for Will&rsquo;s long letter had placed all the facts before him.
+&ldquo;What he&rsquo;ll do us caan&rsquo;t say, though, seein&rsquo;
+Will&rsquo;s act, theer &rsquo;s nothin&rsquo; more left for un. Why has the
+man been silent so long if he meant to strike in the end? Now I must go
+an&rsquo; tell Mrs. Blanchard. Will begs an&rsquo; prays of me to do that so
+soon as he shall be gone; an&rsquo; he &rsquo;m right. She ought to knaw; but
+&rsquo;t is a job calling for careful choice of words an&rsquo; a light hand.
+Wonder is to me he didn&rsquo;t tell her hisself. But he never does what
+you&rsquo;d count &rsquo;pon his doing.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You won&rsquo;t tell Billy, faither, will &rsquo;e? Ban&rsquo;t no
+call for that.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I won&rsquo;t tell him, certainly not; but Blee &rsquo;s a ferret
+when a thing &rsquo;s hid. A detective mind theer is to Billy. How would it
+do to tell un right away an&rsquo; put un &rsquo;pon his honour to say
+nothing?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He mustn&rsquo;t knaw; he mustn&rsquo;t knaw. He couldn&rsquo;t
+keep a secret like that if you gived un fifty pounds to keep it. So soon tell
+a town-crier as him.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then us won&rsquo;t,&rdquo; promised Mr. Lyddon, and ten minutes
+after he proceeded to Mrs. Blanchard&rsquo;s cottage with the news. His first
+hasty survey of the position had not been wholly unfavourable to Will, but he
+was a man of unstable mind in his estimates of human character, and now he
+chiefly occupied his thoughts with the offence of desertion from the army.
+The disgrace of such an action magnified itself as he reflected upon
+Will&rsquo;s unhappy deed.</p>
+<p>Phoebe, meantime, succumbed and found herself a helpless prey of terrors
+vague and innumerable. Will&rsquo;s fate she could not guess at; but she felt
+it must be severe; she doubted not that his sentence would extend over long
+years. In her dejection and misery she mourned for herself and wondered what
+manner of babe would this be that now took substance through a season of such
+gloom and accumulated sorrows. The thought begat pity for the coming little
+one,&mdash;utmost commiseration that set Phoebe&rsquo;s tears flowing
+anew,&mdash;and when the miller returned he found his daughter stricken
+beyond measure and incoherent under her grief. But Mr. Lyddon came back with
+a companion, and it was her husband, not her father, who dried Phoebe&rsquo;s
+eyes and cheered her lonely heart. Will, indeed, appeared and stood by her
+suddenly; and she heard his voice and cried a loud thanksgiving and clasped
+him close.</p>
+<p>Yet no occasion for rejoicing had brought about this unexpected
+reappearance. Indeed, more ill-fortune was responsible for it. When Mr.
+Lyddon arrived at Mrs. Blanchard&rsquo;s gate, he found both Will and Doctor
+Parsons standing there, then learnt the incident that had prevented his
+son-in-law&rsquo;s proposed action.</p>
+<p>Passing that way himself some hours earlier, Will had been suddenly
+surprised to see blue smoke rising from a chimney of the house. It was a very
+considerable time before such event might reasonably be expected and a second
+look alarmed Blanchard&rsquo;s heart, for on the little chimney-stack he knew
+each pot, and it was not the kitchen chimney but that of his mother&rsquo;s
+bedroom which now sent evidence of a newly lighted fire into the morning.</p>
+<p>In a second Will&rsquo;s plans and purposes were swept away before this
+spectacle. A fire in a bedroom represented a circumstance almost outside his
+experience. At least it indicated sickness unto death. He was in the house a
+moment later, for the latch lifted at his touch; and when he knocked at his
+mother&rsquo;s door and cried his name, she bade him come in.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What&rsquo;s this? What&rsquo;s amiss with &rsquo;e, mother?
+Doan&rsquo;t say &rsquo;t is anything very bad. I seed the smoke an&rsquo; my
+heart stood still.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She smiled and assured him her illness was of no account.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ban&rsquo;t nothing. Just a shivering an&rsquo; stabbing in the
+chest. My awn fulishness to be out listening to they bells in the frost. But
+no call to fear. I awnly axed my li&rsquo;l servant to get me a cup o&rsquo;
+tea, an&rsquo; she comed an&rsquo; would light the fire, an&rsquo; would go
+for doctor, though theer ban&rsquo;t no &rsquo;casion at all.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Every occasion, an&rsquo; the gal was right, an&rsquo; it shawed
+gude sense in such a dinky maid as her. Nothin&rsquo; like taaking a cold in
+gude time. Do &rsquo;e catch heat from the fire?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Mrs. Blanchard&rsquo;s eyes were dull, and her breathing a little
+disordered. Will instantly began to bustle about. He added fuel to the flame,
+set on a kettle, dragged blankets out of cupboards and piled them upon his
+mother. Then he found a pillow-case, aired it until the thing scorched,
+inserted a pillow, and placed it beneath the patient&rsquo;s head. His
+subsequent step was to rummage dried marshmallows out of a drawer, concoct a
+sort of dismal brew, and inflict a cup upon the sick woman. Doctor Parsons
+still tarrying, Will went out of doors, knocked a brick from the fowl-house
+wall, brought it in, made it nearly red hot, then wrapped it up in an old rug
+and applied it to his parent&rsquo;s feet,&mdash;all of which things the sick
+woman patiently endured.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You &rsquo;m doin&rsquo; me a power o&rsquo; gude, dearie,&rdquo;
+she said, as her discomfort and suffering increased.</p>
+<p>Presently Doctor Parsons arrived, checked Will in fantastic experiments
+with a poultice, and gave him occupation in a commission to the
+physician&rsquo;s surgery. When he returned, he heard that his mother was
+suffering from a severe chill, but that any definite declaration upon the
+case was as yet impossible.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No cause to be &rsquo;feared?&rdquo; he asked.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;T is idle to be too sanguine. You know my philosophy.
+I&rsquo;ve seen a scratched finger kill a man; I&rsquo;ve known puny babes
+wriggle out of Death&rsquo;s hand when I could have sworn it had closed upon
+them for good and all. Where there &rsquo;s life there &rsquo;s
+hope.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess, I knaw you,&rdquo; answered Will gloomily; &ldquo;an&rsquo; I
+knaw when you say that you allus mean there ban&rsquo;t no hope at
+all.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, no. A strong, hale woman like your mother need not give us any
+fear at present. Sleep and rest, cheerful faces round her, and no amateur
+physic. I&rsquo;ll see her to-night and send in a nurse from the Cottage
+Hospital at once.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then it was that Miller Lyddon arrived, and presently Will returned home.
+He wholly mistook Phoebe&rsquo;s frantic reception, and assumed that her
+tears must be flowing for Mrs. Blanchard.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She&rsquo;ll weather it,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Keep a gude heart.
+The gal from the hospital ban&rsquo;t coming &rsquo;cause theer &rsquo;s
+danger, but &rsquo;cause she &rsquo;m smart an&rsquo; vitty &rsquo;bout a
+sick room, an&rsquo; cheerful as a canary an&rsquo; knaws her business. Quick
+of hand an&rsquo; light of foot for sartin. Mother&rsquo;ll be all right; I
+feel it deep in me she will.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Presently conversation passed to Will himself, and Phoebe expressed a hope
+this sad event would turn him from his determination for some time at
+least.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What determination?&rdquo; he asked. &ldquo;What be talkin&rsquo;
+about?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The letter you left for faither, and the thing you started to
+do,&rdquo; she answered.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;S truth! So I did; an&rsquo; if the sight o&rsquo; the smoke
+an&rsquo; then hearin&rsquo; o&rsquo; mother&rsquo;s trouble didn&rsquo;t
+blaw the whole business out of my brain!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He stood amazed at his own complete forgetfulness.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Queer, to be sure! But coourse theer weern&rsquo;t room in my mind
+for anything but mother arter I seed her stricken down.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>During the evening, after final reports from Mrs. Blanchard&rsquo;s
+sick-room spoke of soothing sleep, Miller Lyddon sent Billy upon an errand,
+and discussed Will&rsquo;s position.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Jan Grimbal &rsquo;s waited so long,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;that
+maybe he&rsquo;ll wait longer still an&rsquo; end by doin&rsquo;
+nothin&rsquo; at all.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not him! You judge the man by yourself,&rdquo; declared Will.
+&ldquo;But he &rsquo;s made of very different metal. I lay he&rsquo;s
+bidin&rsquo; till the edge of this be sharp and sure to cut deepest. So like
+&rsquo;s not, when he hears tell mother &rsquo;s took bad he&rsquo;ll choose
+that instant moment to have me marched away.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>There was a moment&rsquo;s silence, then Blanchard burst out into a fury
+bred of sudden thought, and struck the table heavily with his fist.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;God blast it! I be allus waitin&rsquo; now for some wan&rsquo;s
+vengeance! I caan&rsquo;t stand this life no more. I caan&rsquo;t an&rsquo; I
+won&rsquo;t&mdash;&rsquo;t is enough to soften any man&rsquo;s
+wits.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Quiet! quiet, caan&rsquo;t &rsquo;e?&rdquo; said the miller, as
+though he told a dog to lie down. &ldquo;Theer now! You&rsquo;ve been
+an&rsquo; gived me palpitations with your noise. Banging tables won&rsquo;t
+mend it, nor bad words neither. This thing hasn&rsquo;t come by chance. You
+&rsquo;m ripening in mind an&rsquo; larnin&rsquo; every day. You mark my
+word; theer &rsquo;s a mort o&rsquo; matters to pick out of this new trouble.
+An&rsquo; fust, patience.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Patience! If a patient, long-suffering man walks this airth, I be
+him, I should reckon. I caan&rsquo;t wait the gude pleasure of that dog, not
+even for you, Miller.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;T is discipline, an&rsquo; sent for the strengthening of
+your fibre. Providence barred the road to-day, else you&rsquo;d be in prison
+now. Ban&rsquo;t meant you should give yourself up&mdash;that&rsquo;s how I
+read it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;T is cowardly, waitin&rsquo; an&rsquo; playin&rsquo; into
+his hands; an&rsquo; if you awnly knawed how this has fouled my mind
+wi&rsquo; evil, an&rsquo; soured the very taste of what I eat, an&rsquo;
+dulled the faace of life, an&rsquo; blunted the right feeling in me even for
+them I love best, you&rsquo;d never bid me bide on under it. &rsquo;T is
+rotting me&mdash;body an&rsquo; sawl&mdash;that&rsquo;s what &rsquo;t is
+doin&rsquo;. An&rsquo; now I be come to such a pass that if I met un
+to-morrow an&rsquo; he swore on his dying oath he&rsquo;d never tell, I
+shouldn&rsquo;t be contented even wi&rsquo; that.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No such gude fortune,&rdquo; sighed Phoebe.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;T wouldn&rsquo;t be gude fortune,&rdquo; answered her
+husband. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m like a dirty chamber coated wi&rsquo; cobwebs
+an&rsquo; them ghostly auld spiders as hangs dead in unsecured corners.
+Plaaces so left gets worse. My mind &rsquo;s all in a ferment, an&rsquo;
+&rsquo;t wouldn&rsquo;t be none the better now if Jan Grimbal broke his
+damned neck to-morrow an&rsquo; took my secret with him. I caan&rsquo;t
+breathe for it; it &rsquo;s suffocating me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Phoebe used subtlety in her answer, and invited him to view the position
+from her standpoint rather than his own.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Think o&rsquo; me, then, an&rsquo; t&rsquo; others. &rsquo;T is
+plain selfishness, this talk, if you looks to the bottom of it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;As to that, I doan&rsquo;t say so,&rdquo; began Mr. Lyddon, slowly
+stuffing his pipe. &ldquo;No. When a man goes so deep into his heart as what
+Will have before me this minute, doan&rsquo;t become no man to judge un, or
+tell &rsquo;bout selfishness. Us have got to save our awn sawls, an&rsquo; us
+must even leave wife, an&rsquo; mother, and childer if theer &rsquo;s no
+other way to do it. Ban&rsquo;t no right living&mdash;ban&rsquo;t no fair
+travelling in double harness wi&rsquo; conscience, onless you&rsquo;ve got a
+clean mind. An&rsquo; yet waitin&rsquo; &rsquo;pears the only way o&rsquo;
+wisdom just here. You&rsquo;ve never got room in that head o&rsquo; yourn for
+more &rsquo;n wan thought to a time; an&rsquo; I doan&rsquo;t blame &rsquo;e
+theer neither, for a chap wi&rsquo; wan idea, if he sticks to it, goes
+further &rsquo;n him as drives a team of thoughts half broken in. I mean you
+&rsquo;m forgettin&rsquo; your mother for the moment. I should say, wait for
+her mendin&rsquo; &rsquo;fore you do anything.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Back came Blanchard&rsquo;s mind to his mother with a whole-hearted
+swing.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;you &rsquo;m right theer. My plaace is
+handy to her till she &rsquo;m movin&rsquo;; an&rsquo; if he tries to take me
+before she &rsquo;m down-house again, by God! I&rsquo;ll&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Let it bide that way then. Put t&rsquo; other matter out o&rsquo;
+your mind so far as you can. Fill your pipe an&rsquo; suck deep at it. I
+haven&rsquo;t seen &rsquo;e smoke this longful time; an&rsquo; in my view
+theer &rsquo;s no better servant than tobacco to a mind puzzled at wan
+o&rsquo; life&rsquo;s cross-roads.&rdquo;</p>
+<h2><a id="IV_XIII" name="IV_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII<br />
+MR. LYDDON&rsquo;S TACTICS</h2>
+<p>In the morning Mrs. Blanchard was worse, and some few days later lay in
+danger of her life. Her son spent half his time in the sick-room, walked
+about bootless to make no sound, and fretted with impatience at thought of
+the length of days which must elapse before Chris could return to Chagford.
+Telegrams had been sent to Martin Grimbal, who was spending his honeymoon out
+of England; but on the most sanguine computation he and his wife would
+scarcely be home again in less than ten days or a fortnight.</p>
+<p>Hope and gloom succeeded each other swiftly within Will Blanchard&rsquo;s
+mind, and at first he discounted the consistent pessimism of Doctor Parsons
+somewhat more liberally than the issue justified. When, therefore, he was
+informed of the truth and stood face to face with his mother&rsquo;s danger,
+hope sank, and his unstable spirit was swept from an altitude of secret
+confidence to the opposite depth of despair.</p>
+<p>Through long silences, while she slept or seemed to do so, the young man
+traced back his life and hers; and he began to see what a good mother means.
+Then he accused himself of many faults and made impetuous confession to his
+wife and her father. On these occasions Phoebe softened his self-blame, but
+Mr. Lyddon let Will talk, and told him for his consolation that every
+mother&rsquo;s son must be accused of like offences.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Best of childer falls far short,&rdquo; he assured Will;
+&ldquo;best brings tu many tears, if &rsquo;t is awnly for wantonness;
+an&rsquo; him as thinks he&rsquo;ve been all he should be to his mother lies
+to himself; an&rsquo; him as says he has, lies to other people.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Will&rsquo;s wild-hawk nature was subdued before this grave crisis in his
+parent&rsquo;s life; he sat through long nights and tended the fire with
+quiet fingers; he learnt from the nurse how to move a pillow tenderly, how to
+shut a door without any sound. He wearied Doctor Parsons with futile
+propositions, but the physician&rsquo;s simulated cynicism often broke down
+in secret before this spectacle of the son&rsquo;s dog-like pertinacity.
+Blanchard much desired to have a vein opened for his mother, nor was all the
+practitioner&rsquo;s eloquence equal to convincing him such a course could
+not be pursued.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She &rsquo;m gone that gashly white along o&rsquo; want o&rsquo;
+blood,&rdquo; declared Will; &ldquo;an&rsquo; I be busting wi&rsquo; gude red
+blood, an&rsquo; why for shouldn&rsquo;t you put in a pipe an&rsquo; draw off
+a quart or so for her betterment? I&rsquo;ll swear &rsquo;t would strengthen
+the heart of her.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Time passed, and it happened on one occasion, while walking abroad between
+his vigils, that Blanchard met John Grimbal. Will had reflected curiously of
+late days into what ghostly proportions his affair with the master of the Red
+House now dwindled before this greater calamity of his mother&rsquo;s
+sickness; but sudden sight of the enemy roused passion and threw back the
+man&rsquo;s mind to that occasion of their last conversation in the
+woods.</p>
+<p>Yet the first words that now passed were to John Grimbal&rsquo;s credit.
+He made an astonishing and unexpected utterance. Indeed, the spoken word
+surprised him as much as his listener, and he swore at himself for a fool
+when Will&rsquo;s retort reached his ear.</p>
+<p>They were passing at close quarters,&mdash;Blanchard on foot, John upon
+horseback,&mdash;when the latter said,&mdash;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How &rsquo;s Mrs. Blanchard to-day?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Mind your awn business an&rsquo; keep our name off your
+lips!&rdquo; answered the pedestrian, who misunderstood the question, as he
+did most questions where possible, and now supposed that Grimbal meant
+Phoebe.</p>
+<p>His harsh words woke instant wrath.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What a snarling, cross-bred cur you are! I should judge your own
+family will be the first to thank me for putting you under lock and key. Hell
+to live with, you must be.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;God rot your dirty heart! Do it&mdash;do it; doan&rsquo;t
+jaw&mdash;do it! But if you lay a finger &rsquo;pon me while my mother
+&rsquo;s bad or have me took before she &rsquo;m stirring again, I&rsquo;ll
+kill you when I come out. God &rsquo;s my judge if I doan&rsquo;t!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then, forgetting what had taken him out of doors, and upon what matter he
+was engaged, Will turned back in a tempest, and hastened to his
+mother&rsquo;s cottage.</p>
+<p>At Monks Barton Mr. Lyddon and his daughter had many and long
+conversations upon the subject of Blanchard&rsquo;s difficulties. Both
+trembled to think what might be the issue if his mother died; both began to
+realise that there could be no more happiness for Will until a definite
+extrication from his present position was forthcoming. At his
+daughter&rsquo;s entreaty the miller finally determined on a strong step. He
+made up his mind to visit Grimbal at the Red House, and win from him, if
+possible, some undertaking which would enable him to relieve his son-in-law
+of the present uncertainty.</p>
+<p>Phoebe pleaded for silence, and prayed her father to get a promise at any
+cost in that direction.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Let him awnly promise &rsquo;e never to tell of his free will,
+an&rsquo; the door against danger &rsquo;s shut,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;When
+Will knaws Grimbal &rsquo;s gwaine to be dumb, he&rsquo;ll rage a while, then
+calm down an&rsquo; be hisself again. &rsquo;T is the doubt that drove him
+frantic.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll see the man, then; but not a word to Will&rsquo;s ear.
+All the fat would be in the fire if he so much as dreamed I was about any
+such business. As to a promise, if I can get it I will. An&rsquo;
+&rsquo;twixt me an&rsquo; you, Phoebe, I&rsquo;m hopeful of it. He &rsquo;s
+kept quiet so long that theer caan&rsquo;t be any fiery hunger &rsquo;gainst
+Will in un just now. I&rsquo;ll soothe un down an&rsquo; get his word of
+honour if it &rsquo;s to be got. Then your husband can do as he
+pleases.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Leave the rest to me, Faither.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>A fortnight later the cautious miller, after great and exhaustive
+reflection, set out to carry into practice his intention. An appointment was
+made on the day that Will drove to Moreton to meet his sister and Martin
+Grimbal. This removed him out of the way, while Billy had been despatched to
+Okehampton for some harness, and Mr. Lyddon&rsquo;s daughter, alone in the
+secret, was spending the afternoon with her mother-in-law.</p>
+<p>So Miller walked over to the Red House and soon found himself waiting for
+John Grimbal in a cheerless but handsome dining-room. The apartment suggested
+little occupation. A desk stood in the window, and upon it were half a dozen
+documents under a paper-weight made from a horse&rsquo;s hoof. A fire burned
+in the broad grate; a row of chairs, upholstered in dark red leather, stood
+stiffly round; a dozen indifferent oil-paintings of dogs and horses filled
+large gold frames upon the walls; and upon a massive sideboard of black oak a
+few silver cups, won by Grimbal&rsquo;s dogs at various shows and coursing
+meetings, were displayed.</p>
+<p>Mr. Lyddon found himself kept waiting about ten minutes; then John
+entered, bade him a cold &ldquo;good afternoon&rdquo; without shaking hands,
+and placed an easy-chair for him beside the fire.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Would you object to me lighting my pipe, Jan Grimbal?&rdquo; asked
+the miller humbly; and by way of answer the other took a box of matches from
+his pocket and handed it to the visitor.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Thank you, thank you; I&rsquo;m obliged to you. Let me get a light,
+then I&rsquo;ll talk to &rsquo;e.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He puffed for a minute or two, while Grimbal waited in silence for his
+guest to begin.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Now, wi&rsquo;out any beatin&rsquo; of the bush or waste of time,
+I&rsquo;ll speak. I be come &rsquo;bout Blanchard, as I dare say you guessed.
+The news of what he done nine or ten years ago comed to me just a month
+since. A month &rsquo;t was, or might be three weeks. Like a bolt from the
+blue it falled &rsquo;pon me an&rsquo; that&rsquo;s a fact. An&rsquo; I heard
+how you knawed the thing&mdash;you as had such gude cause to hate un
+wance.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;Once?&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, no man&rsquo;s hate can outlive his reason, surely? I was
+with &rsquo;e, tu, then; but a man what lets himself suffer lifelong trouble
+from a fule be a fule himself. Not that Blanchard &rsquo;s all fule&mdash;far
+from it. He&rsquo;ve ripened a little of late years&mdash;though slowly as
+fruit in a wet summer. Granted he bested you in the past an&rsquo; your
+natural hope an&rsquo; prayer was to be upsides wi&rsquo; un some day. Well,
+that&rsquo;s all dead an&rsquo; buried, ban&rsquo;t it? I hated the shadow of
+un in them days so bad as ever you did; but you gets to see more of the
+world, an&rsquo; the men that walks in it when you &rsquo;m moved away from
+things by the distance of a few years. Then you find how wan deed bears upon
+t&rsquo; other. Will done no more than you&rsquo;d &rsquo;a&rsquo; done if
+the cases was altered. In fact, you &rsquo;m alike at some points, come to
+think of it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Is that what you&rsquo;ve walked over here to tell me?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No; I&rsquo;m here to ax &rsquo;e frank an&rsquo; plain, as a
+sportsman an&rsquo; a straight man wi&rsquo; a gude heart most times, to tell
+me what you &rsquo;m gwaine to do &rsquo;bout this job. I&rsquo;m auld,
+an&rsquo; I assure &rsquo;e you&rsquo;ll hate yourself if you give un up.
+&rsquo;T would be outside your carater to do it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You say that! Would you harbour a convict from Princetown if you
+found him hiding on your farm?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ban&rsquo;t a like case. Theer &rsquo;s the personal point of view,
+if you onderstand me. A man deserts from the army ten years ago, an&rsquo;
+you, a sort o&rsquo; amateur soldier, feels &rsquo;t is your duty to give un
+to justice.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, isn&rsquo;t that what has happened?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No fay! Nothing of the sort. If &rsquo;t was your duty, why
+didn&rsquo;t you do it fust minute you found it out? If you&rsquo;d writ to
+the authorities an&rsquo; gived the man up fust moment, I might have said
+&rsquo;t was a hard deed, but I&rsquo;d never have dared to say &rsquo;t
+weern&rsquo;t just. Awnly you done no such thing. You nursed the power
+an&rsquo; sucked the thought, same as furriners suck at poppy poison. You
+played with the picture of revenge against a man you hated, an&rsquo; let the
+idea of what you&rsquo;d do fill your brain; an&rsquo; then, when you wanted
+bigger doses, you told Phoebe what you knawed&mdash;reckoning as she&rsquo;d
+tell Will bimebye. That&rsquo;s bad, Jan Grimbal&mdash;worse than poisoning
+foxes, by God! An&rsquo; you knaw it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Who are you, to judge me and my motives?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An auld man, an&rsquo; wan as be deeply interested in this
+business. Time was when we thought alike touching the bwoy; now we
+doan&rsquo;t; &rsquo;cause your knowledge of un hasn&rsquo;t grawed past the
+point wheer he downed us, an&rsquo; mine has.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You &rsquo;re a fool to say so. D&rsquo; you think I haven&rsquo;t
+watched the young brute these many years? Self-sufficient, ignorant,
+hot-headed, always in the wrong. What d&rsquo; you find to praise in the
+clown? Look at his life. Failure! failure! failure! and making of enemies at
+every turn. Where would he be to-day but for you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Theer &rsquo;s a rare gert singleness of purpose &rsquo;bout
+un.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A grand success he is, no doubt. I suppose you couldn&rsquo;t get
+on without him now. Yet you cursed the cub freely enough once.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Bitter speeches won&rsquo;t serve &rsquo;e, Grimbal; but they show
+me mighty clear what&rsquo;s hid in you. Your sawl &rsquo;s torn every way by
+this thing, an&rsquo; you turn an&rsquo; turn again to it, like a dog to his
+vomit, yet the gude in &rsquo;e drags &rsquo;e away.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Better cut all that. You won&rsquo;t tell me what you&rsquo;ve come
+for, so I&rsquo;ll tell you. You want me to promise not to move in this
+matter,&mdash;is that so?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why, not ezackly. I want more &rsquo;n that. I never thought for a
+minute you would do it, now you&rsquo;ve let the time pass so far. I knaw
+you&rsquo;ll never act so ugly a paart now; but Will doan &rsquo;t, an&rsquo;
+he&rsquo;ll never b&rsquo;lieve me if I told un.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The other made a sound, half growl, half mirthless laugh.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;ve taken it all for granted, then&mdash;you, who know
+more about what &rsquo;s in my mind than I do myself? You &rsquo;re a fond
+old man; and if you&rsquo;d wanted to screw me up to the pitch of taking the
+necessary trouble, you couldn&rsquo;t have gone a better way. I&rsquo;ve been
+too busy to bother about the young rascal of late or he&rsquo;d lie in gaol
+now.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Doan&rsquo;t say no such vain things! D&rsquo; you think I
+caan&rsquo;t read what your face speaks so plain? A man&rsquo;s eyes tell the
+truth awftener than what his tongue does, for they &rsquo;m harder to break
+into lying. &rsquo;Tu busy&rsquo;! You be foul to the very brainpan wi&rsquo;
+this job an&rsquo; you knaw it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Is the hatred all on my side, d&rsquo; you suppose? Curse the brute
+to hell! And you&rsquo;d have me eat humble-pie to the man who &rsquo;s
+wrecked my life?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No such thing at all. All the hatred be on your side. He&rsquo;d
+forgived &rsquo;e clean. Even now, though you &rsquo;m fretting his guts to
+fiddlestrings because of waiting for &rsquo;e, he feels no malice&mdash;no
+more than the caged rat feels &rsquo;gainst the man as be carrying him,
+anyway.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You &rsquo;re wrong there. He&rsquo;d kill me to-morrow. He let me
+know it. In a weak moment I asked him the other day how his mother was; and
+he turned upon me like a mad dog, and told me to keep his name off my lips,
+and said he&rsquo;d have my life if I gave him up.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s coorious then, for he &rsquo;s hungry to give himself
+up, so soon as the auld woman &rsquo;s well again.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Talk! I suppose he sent you to whine for him?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not so. He&rsquo;d have blocked my road if he&rsquo;d
+guessed.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, I&rsquo;m honest when I say I don&rsquo;t care a curse what
+he does or does not. Let him go his way. And as to proclaiming him, I shall
+do so when it pleases me. An odious crime that,&mdash;a traitor to his
+country.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Doan&rsquo;t become you nor me to dwell &rsquo;pon that, seeing how
+things was.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Grimbal rose.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You think he &rsquo;s a noble fellow, and that your daughter had a
+merciful escape. It isn&rsquo;t for me to suggest you are mistaken. Now
+I&rsquo;ve no more time to spare, I&rsquo;m afraid.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The miller also rose, and as he prepared to depart he spoke a final
+word.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You &rsquo;m terrible pushed for time, by the looks of it. I knaw
+&rsquo;t is hard in this life to find time to do right, though every man can
+make a &rsquo;mazing mort o&rsquo; leisure for t&rsquo; other thing. But hear
+me: you &rsquo;m ruinin&rsquo; yourself, body an&rsquo; sawl, along o&rsquo;
+this job&mdash;body an&rsquo; sawl, like apples in a barrel rots each other.
+You &rsquo;m in a bad way, Jan Grimbal, an&rsquo; I&rsquo;m sorry for
+&rsquo;e&mdash;brick house an&rsquo; horses an&rsquo; dogs notwithstanding.
+Have a spring cleaning in that sulky brain o&rsquo; yourn, my son, an&rsquo;
+be a man wi&rsquo; yourself, same as you be a man wi&rsquo; the
+world.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The other sneered.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t get hot. The air is cold. And as you&rsquo;ve given so
+much good advice, take some, too. Mind your own business, and let your
+son-in-law mind his.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Mr. Lyddon shook his head.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Such words do only prove me right. Look in your heart an&rsquo; see
+how &rsquo;t is with you that you can speak to an auld man so. &rsquo;T is
+common metal shawing up in &rsquo;e, an&rsquo; I&rsquo;m sorry to find
+it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He set off home without more words and, as chance ordered the incident,
+emerged from the avenue gates of the Red House while a covered vehicle passed
+by on the way from Moreton Hampstead. Its roof was piled with luggage, and
+inside sat Chris, her husband, and Will. They spied Mr. Lyddon and made room
+for him; but later on in the evening Will taxed the miller with his
+action.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I knawed right well wheer you&rsquo;d come from,&rdquo; he said
+gloomily, &ldquo;an&rsquo; I&rsquo;d &rsquo;a&rsquo; cut my right hand off
+rather than you should have done it. You did n&rsquo;t ought, Faither; for
+I&rsquo;ll have no living man come between me an&rsquo; him.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I made it clear I was on my awn paart,&rdquo; explained Mr. Lyddon;
+but that night Will wrote a letter to his enemy and despatched it by a lad
+before breakfast on the following morning.</p>
+
+<blockquote> <p>&ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo; Miller seen
+you yesterday out of his own head, and if I had knowed he was coming I would
+have took good care to prevent it.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;W. BLANCHARD.&rdquo;</p></blockquote>
+<h2><a id="IV_XIV" name="IV_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV<br />
+ACTION</h2>
+<p>Time passed, and Mrs. Blanchard made a slow return to health. Her daughter
+assumed control of the sick-room, and Martin Grimbal was denied the
+satisfaction of seeing Chris settled in her future home for a period of
+nearly two months. Then, when the invalid became sufficiently restored to
+leave Chagford for change of air, both Martin and Chris accompanied her and
+spent a few weeks by the sea.</p>
+<p>Will, meantime, revolved upon his own affairs and suffered torments long
+drawn out. For these protracted troubles those of his own house were
+responsible, and both Phoebe and the miller greatly erred in their treatment
+of him at this season. For the woman there were indeed excuses, but Mr.
+Lyddon might have been expected to show more wisdom and better knowledge of a
+character at all times transparent enough. Phoebe, nearing maternal
+tribulation, threw a new obstacle in her husband&rsquo;s way, and implored
+him by all holy things, now that he had desisted from confession thus far, to
+keep his secret yet a little longer and wait for the birth of the child. She
+used every possible expedient to win this new undertaking from Will, and her
+father added his voice to hers. The miller&rsquo;s expressed wish, strongly
+urged, frequently repeated, at last triumphed, and against his own desire and
+mental promptings, Blanchard, at terrible cost to himself, had promised
+patience until June.</p>
+<p>Life, thus clouded and choked, wrought havoc with the man. His natural
+safety-valves were blocked, his nerves shattered, his temper poisoned.
+Primitive characteristics appeared as a result of this position, and he
+exhibited the ferocity of an over-driven tame beast, or a hunted wild one. In
+days long removed from this crisis he looked back with chill of body and
+shudder of mind to that nightmare springtime; and he never willingly
+permitted even those dearest to him to retrace the period.</p>
+<p>The struggle lasted long, but his nature beat Blanchard before the end,
+burst its bonds, shattered promises and undertakings, weakened marital love
+for a while, and set him free by one tremendous explosion and victory of
+natural force. There had come into his head of late a new sensation, as of
+busy fingers weaving threads within his skull and iron hands moulding the
+matter of his brain into new patterns. The demon things responsible for his
+torment only slept when he slept, or when, as had happened once or twice, he
+drank himself indifferent to all mundane matters. Yet he could not still them
+for long, and even Phoebe had heard mutterings and threats of the
+thread-spinners who were driving her husband mad.</p>
+<p>On an evening in late May she became seriously alarmed for his reason.
+Circumstances suddenly combined to strangle the last flickering breath of
+patience in Will, and the slender barriers were swept away in such a storm as
+even Phoebe&rsquo;s wide experience of him had never parallelled. Miller
+Lyddon was out, at a meeting in the village convened to determine after what
+fashion Chagford should celebrate the Sovereign&rsquo;s Jubilee; Billy also
+departed about private concerns, and Will and his wife had Monks Barton much
+to themselves. Even she irritated the suffering man at this season, and her
+sunken face and chatter about her own condition and future hopes of a son
+often worried him into sheer frenzy. His promise once exacted she rarely
+touched upon that matter, believing the less said the better, but he
+misunderstood her reticence and held it selfish. Indeed, Blanchard fretted
+and chafed alone now; for John Grimbal&rsquo;s sustained silence had long ago
+convinced Mr. Lyddon that the master of the Red House meant no active harm,
+and Phoebe readily grasped at the same conclusion.</p>
+<p>This night, however, the flood-gates crumbled, and Will, before a futile
+assertion from Phoebe touching the happy promise of the time to come and the
+cheerful spring weather, dashed down his pipe with an oath, clenched his
+hands, then leapt to his feet, shook his head, and strode about like a
+maniac.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Will! You&rsquo;ve brawk un to shivers&mdash;the butivul wood pipe
+wi&rsquo; amber that I gived &rsquo;e last birthday!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Damn my birthday&mdash;a wisht day for me &rsquo;t was! I&rsquo;ve
+lived tu long&mdash;tu long by all my years, an&rsquo; nobody cares wan salt
+tear that I be roastin&rsquo; in hell-fire afore my time. I caan&rsquo;t
+stand it no more&mdash;no more at all&mdash;not for you or your faither or
+angels in heaven or ten million babies to be born into this blasted
+world&mdash;not if I was faither to &rsquo;em all. I must live my life free,
+or else I&rsquo;ll go in a madhouse. Free&mdash;do &rsquo;e hear me?
+I&rsquo;ve suffered enough and waited more &rsquo;n enough. Ban&rsquo;t
+months nor weeks neither&mdash;&rsquo;t is a long, long lifetime. You talk
+o&rsquo; time dragging! If you knawed&mdash;if you knawed! An&rsquo; these
+devil-spinners allus knotting an&rsquo; twisting. I could do things&mdash;I
+could&mdash;things man never dreamed. An&rsquo; I will&mdash;for they
+&rsquo;m grawing and grawing, an&rsquo; they&rsquo;ll burst my skull if I let
+&rsquo;em bide in it. Months ago I&rsquo;ve sat on a fence unbeknawnst wheer
+men was shooting, an&rsquo; whistled for death. So help me, &rsquo;t is true.
+Me to do that! Theer &rsquo;s a cur for &rsquo;e; an&rsquo; yet ban&rsquo;t
+me neither, but the spinners in my head. Death &rsquo;s a party easily
+called, mind you. A knife, or a pinch o&rsquo; powder, or a drop o&rsquo;
+deep water&mdash;they &rsquo;ll bring un to your elbow in a moment. Awnly, if
+I done that, I&rsquo;d go in company. Nobody should bide to laugh. Them as
+would cry might cry, but him as would laugh should come along o&rsquo;
+me&mdash;he should, by God!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Will, Will! It isn&rsquo;t my Will talking so?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It be me, an&rsquo; it ban&rsquo;t me. But I&rsquo;m in earnest at
+last, an&rsquo; speakin&rsquo; truth. The spinners knaw, an&rsquo; they
+&rsquo;m right. I&rsquo;m sick to sheer hate o&rsquo; my life; and
+you&rsquo;ve helped to make me so&mdash;you and your faither likewise. This
+thing doan&rsquo;t tear your heart out of you an&rsquo; grind your nerves to
+pulp as it should do if you was a true wife.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, my dear, my lovey, how can &rsquo;e say or think it? You knaw
+what it has been to me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I knaw you&rsquo;ve thought all wrong &rsquo;pon it when
+you&rsquo;ve thought at all. An&rsquo; Miller, tu. You&rsquo;ve prevailed
+wi&rsquo; me to go on livin&rsquo; a coward&rsquo;s life for countless ages
+o&rsquo; time&mdash;me&mdash;me&mdash;creepin&rsquo; on the earth wi&rsquo;
+my tail between my legs an&rsquo; knawin&rsquo; I never set eyes on a man as
+ban&rsquo;t braver than myself. An&rsquo; him&mdash;Grimbal&mdash;laughing,
+like the devil he is, to think on what my life must be!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I caan&rsquo;t be no quicker. The cheel&rsquo;s movin&rsquo;
+an&rsquo; bracin&rsquo; itself up an&rsquo; makin&rsquo; ready to come in the
+world, ban&rsquo;t it? I&rsquo;ve told &rsquo;e so fifty times. It&rsquo;s
+little longer to wait.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s no longer. It&rsquo;s nearer than sleep or food or
+drink. It&rsquo;s comin&rsquo; &rsquo;fore the moon sets. &rsquo;T is that or
+the madhouse&mdash;nothin&rsquo; else. If you&rsquo;d felt the fire as have
+been eatin&rsquo; my thinking paarts o&rsquo; late days you&rsquo;d knaw.
+Ban&rsquo;t no use your cryin&rsquo;, for &rsquo;t isn&rsquo;t love of me
+makes you. Rivers o&rsquo; tears doan&rsquo;t turn me no more. I&rsquo;m
+steel now&mdash;fust time for a month&mdash;an&rsquo; while I&rsquo;m steel
+I&rsquo;ll act like steel an&rsquo; strike like steel. I&rsquo;ve had shaky
+nights an&rsquo; silly nights an&rsquo; haunted nights, but my head &rsquo;s
+clear for wance, an&rsquo; I&rsquo;ll use it while &rsquo;tis.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not to do no rash thing, Will? For Christ&rsquo;s sake, you
+won&rsquo;t hurt yourself or any other?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I must meet him wance for all.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He &rsquo;m at the council &rsquo;bout Jubilee wi&rsquo; faither
+an&rsquo; parson an&rsquo; the rest.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But he&rsquo;ll go home arter. An&rsquo; I&rsquo;ll have
+&rsquo;Yes&rsquo; or &rsquo;No&rsquo; to-night&mdash;I will, if I&rsquo;ve
+got to shake the word out of his sawl. I ban&rsquo;t gwaine to be driven
+lunatic for him or you or any. Death&rsquo;s a sight better than a soft head
+an&rsquo; a lifetime o&rsquo; dirt an&rsquo; drivelling an&rsquo; babbling,
+like the brainless beasts they feed an&rsquo; fatten in asylums. That&rsquo;s
+worse cruelty than any I be gwaine to suffer at human hands&mdash;to be mewed
+in wan of them gashly mad-holes wi&rsquo; the rack an&rsquo; ruins o&rsquo;
+empty flesh grinning an&rsquo; gibbering &rsquo;pon me from all the corners
+o&rsquo; the airth. I be sane now&mdash;sane enough to knaw I&rsquo;m gwaine
+mad fast&mdash;an&rsquo; I won&rsquo;t suffer it another hour. It&rsquo;s
+come crying and howling upon my mind like a storm this night, an&rsquo; this
+night I&rsquo;ll end it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Wait at least until the morning. See him then.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Go to bed, an&rsquo; doan&rsquo;t goad me to more waiting, if you
+ever loved me. Get to bed&mdash;out of my sight! I&rsquo;ve had enough of
+&rsquo;e and of all human things this many days. An&rsquo; that&rsquo;s as
+near madness as I&rsquo;m gwaine. What I do, I do to-night.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She rose from her chair in sudden anger at his strange harshness, for the
+wife who has never heard an unkind word resents with passionate protest the
+sting of the first when it falls. Now genuine indignation inflamed Phoebe,
+and she spoke bitterly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Enough of me&rsquo;! Ess fay! Like enough you have&mdash;a
+poor, patient creature sweatin&rsquo; for &rsquo;e, an&rsquo; thinkin&rsquo;
+for &rsquo;e, an&rsquo; blotting her eyes with tears for &rsquo;e, an&rsquo;
+bearin&rsquo; your childer an&rsquo; your troubles, tu! &rsquo;Enough of
+me.&rsquo; Ess, I&rsquo;ll get gone to my bed an&rsquo; stiffen my joints
+wi&rsquo; kneelin&rsquo; in prayer for &rsquo;e, an&rsquo; weary God&rsquo;s
+ear for a fule!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>His answer was an action, and before she had done speaking he stretched
+above him and took his gun from its place on an old beam that extended across
+the ceiling.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What in God&rsquo;s name be that for? You
+wouldn&rsquo;t&mdash;?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Shoot a fox? Why not? I&rsquo;m a farmer now, and I&rsquo;d kill
+best auld red Moor fox as ever gave a field forty minutes an&rsquo; beat it.
+You was whinin&rsquo; &rsquo;bout the chicks awnly this marnin&rsquo;.
+I&rsquo;ll sit under the woodstack a bit an&rsquo; think &rsquo;fore I
+starts. Ban&rsquo;t no gude gwaine yet.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Will&rsquo;s explanation of his deed was the true one, but Phoebe realised
+in some dim fashion that she stood within the shadow of a critical night and
+that action was called upon from her. Her anger waned a little, and her heart
+began to beat fast, but she acted with courage and promptitude.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Let un be to-night&mdash;auld fox, I mean. Theer &rsquo;m more
+chicks than young foxes, come to think of it; an&rsquo; he &rsquo;m awnly
+doin&rsquo; what you forget to do&mdash;fighting for his vixen an&rsquo;
+cubs.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She looked straight into Will&rsquo;s eyes, took the gun out of his hands,
+climbed on to a chair, and hung the weapon up again in its place.</p>
+<p>He laughed curiously, and helped his wife to the ground again.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Thank you,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Now go an&rsquo; do what you
+want to do, an&rsquo; doan&rsquo;t forget the future happiness of women
+an&rsquo; childer lies upon it.&rdquo; Her anger was nearly gone, as he spoke
+again.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How little you onderstand me arter all these years&mdash;an&rsquo;
+never will&mdash;nobody never will but mother. What did &rsquo;e fear? That
+I&rsquo;d draw trigger on the man from behind a tree,
+p&rsquo;r&rsquo;aps?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No&mdash;not that, but that you might be driven to kill yourself
+along o&rsquo; having such a bad wife.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Now we &rsquo;m both on the mad road,&rdquo; he said bitterly. Then
+he picked up his stick and, a moment later, went out into the night.</p>
+<p>Phoebe watched his tall figure pass over the river, and saw him
+silhouetted against dead silver of moonlit waters as he crossed the
+stepping-stones. Then she climbed for the gun again, hid it, and presently
+prepared for her father&rsquo;s return.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What butivul peace an quiet theer be in ministerin&rsquo; to a gude
+faither,&rdquo; she thought, &ldquo;as compared wi&rsquo; servin&rsquo; a
+stormy husband!&rdquo; Then sorrow changed to active fear, and that, in its
+turn, sank into a desolate weariness and indifference. She detected no
+semblance of justice in her husband&rsquo;s outburst; she failed to see how
+circumstances must sooner or late have precipitated his revolt; and she felt
+herself very cruelly misjudged, very gravely wronged.</p>
+<p>Meantime Blanchard passed through a hurricane of rage against his enemy
+much akin to that formerly recorded of John Grimbal himself, when the brute
+won to the top of him and he yearned for physical conflict. That night Will
+was resolved to get a definite response or come to some conclusion by force
+of arms. His thoughts carried him far, and before he took up his station
+within the grounds of the Red House, at a point from which the avenue
+approach might be controlled, he had already fallen into a frantic hunger for
+fight and a hope that his enemy would prove of like mind. He itched for
+assault and battery, and his heart clamoured to be clean in his breast
+again.</p>
+<p>Whatever might happen, he was determined to give himself up on the
+following day. He had done all he could for those he loved, but he was
+powerless to suffer more. He longed now to trample his foe into the dust,
+and, that accomplished, he would depart, well satisfied, and receive what
+punishment was due. His accumulated wrongs must be paid at last, and he fully
+determined, an hour before John Grimbal came homewards, that the payment
+should be such as he himself had received long years before on Rushford
+Bridge. His muscles throbbed for action as he sat and waited at the top of a
+sloping bank dotted with hawthorns that extended upwards from the edge of the
+avenue and terminated on the fringe of young coverts.</p>
+<p>And now, by a chance not uncommon, two separate series of circumstances
+were about to clash, while the shock engendered was destined to precipitate
+the climax of Will Blanchard&rsquo;s fortunes, in so far as this record is
+concerned. On the night that he thus raged and suffered the gall bred of long
+inaction to overflow, John Grimbal likewise came to a sudden conclusion with
+himself, and committed a deed of nature definite so far as it went.</p>
+<p>In connection with the approaching Jubilee rejoicings a spirit in some
+sense martial filled the air, and Grimbal with his yeomanry was destined to
+play a part. A transient comet-blaze of militarism often sparkles over
+fighting nations at any season of universal joy, and that more especially if
+the keystone of the land&rsquo;s constitution be a crown. This fire found
+material inflammable enough in the hearts of many Devonshire men, and before
+its warm impulse John Grimbal, inspired by a particular occasion, compounded
+with his soul at last. Rumoured on long tongues from the village ale-house,
+there had come to his ears the report of certain ill-considered utterances
+made by his enemy upon the events of the hour. They were only a hot-headed
+and very miserable man&rsquo;s foolish comments upon things in general and
+the approaching festival in particular, and they served but to illustrate the
+fact that no ill-educated and passionate soul can tolerate universal
+rejoicings, itself wretched; but Grimbal clutched at this proven disloyalty
+of an old deserter, and told himself that personal questions must weigh with
+him no more.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The sort of discontented brute that drifts into Socialism and all
+manner of wickedness,&rdquo; he thought. &ldquo;The rascal must be muzzled
+once for all, and as a friend to the community I shall act, not as an enemy
+to him.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>This conclusion he came to on the evening of the day which saw
+Blanchard&rsquo;s final eruption, and he was amazed to find how
+straightforward and simple his course appeared when viewed from the
+impersonal standpoint of duty. His brother was due to dine with John Grimbal
+in half an hour, for both men were serving on a committee to meet that night
+upon the question of the local celebrations at Chagford, and they were going
+together. Time, however, remained for John to put his decision into action.
+He turned to his desk, therefore, and wrote. The words to be employed he knew
+by heart, for he had composed his letter many months before, and it was with
+him always; yet now, seen thus set out upon paper for the first time, it
+looked strange.</p>
+<blockquote><p> &ldquo;RED HOUSE, CHAGFORD, DEVON.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;<i>To the Commandant, Royal Artillery, Plymouth.</i></p>
+<p>&ldquo;SIR,&mdash;It has come to my knowledge that the man, William
+Blanchard, who enlisted in the Royal Artillery under the name of Tom Newcombe
+and deserted from his battery when it was stationed at Shorncliffe some ten
+years ago, now resides at this place on the farm of Monks Barton, Chagford.
+My duty demands that I should lodge this information, and I can, of course,
+substantiate it, though I have reason to believe the deserter will not
+attempt to evade his just punishment if apprehended. I have the honour to
+be,</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Your obedient servant,</p>
+<p>&ldquo;JOHN GRIMBAL,</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Capt. Dev. Yeomanry.&rdquo;</p></blockquote>
+<p>He had just completed this communication when Martin arrived, and as his
+brother entered he instinctively pushed the letter out of sight. But a moment
+later he rebelled against himself for the act, knowing the ugly tacit
+admission represented by it. He dragged forth the letter, therefore, and
+greeted his brother by thrusting the note before him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Read that,&rdquo; he said darkly; &ldquo;it will surprise you, I
+think. I want to do nothing underhand, and as you &rsquo;re linked to these
+people for life now, it is just that you should hear what is going to happen.
+There&rsquo;s the knowledge I once hinted to you that I possessed concerning
+William Blanchard. I have waited and given him rope enough. Now he&rsquo;s
+hanged himself, as I knew he would, and I must act. A few days ago he spoke
+disrespectfully of the Queen before a dozen other loafers in a public-house.
+That&rsquo;s a sin I hold far greater than his sin against me. Read what I
+have just written.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Martin gazed with mildness upon John&rsquo;s savage and defiant face. His
+brother&rsquo;s expression and demeanour by no means chimed with the judicial
+moderation of his speech. Then the antiquary perused the letter, and there
+fell no sound upon the silence, except that of a spluttering pen as John
+Grimbal addressed an envelope.</p>
+<p>Presently Martin dropped the letter on the desk before him, and his face
+was very white, his voice tremulous as he spoke.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;This thing happened more than ten years ago.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It did; but don&rsquo;t imagine I have known it ten
+years.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;God forbid! I think better of you. Yet, if only for my sake,
+reflect before you send this letter. Once done, you have ruined a life. I
+have seen Will several times since I came home, and now I understand the
+terrific change in him. He must have known that you know this. It was the
+last straw. He seems quite broken on the wheel of the world, and no wonder.
+To one of his nature, the past, since you discovered this terrible secret,
+must have been sheer torment.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>John Grimbal doubled up the letter and thrust it into the envelope, while
+Martin continued:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What do you reap? You&rsquo;re not a man to do an action of this
+sort and live afterwards as though you had not done it. I warn you, you
+intend a terribly dangerous thing. This may be the wreck of another soul
+besides Blanchard&rsquo;s. I know your real nature, though you&rsquo;ve
+hidden it so close of late years. Post that letter, and your life&rsquo;s
+bitter for all time. Look into your heart, and don&rsquo;t pretend to deceive
+yourself.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>His brother lighted a match, burnt red wax, and sealed the letter with a
+signet ring.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Duty is duty,&rdquo; he said.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, yes; right shall be done and this extraordinary thing made
+known in the right quarter. But don&rsquo;t let it come out through you;
+don&rsquo;t darken your future by such an act. Your personal relations with
+the man, John,&mdash;it&rsquo;s impossible you should do this after all these
+years.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The other affixed a stamp to his letter.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t imagine personal considerations influence me. I&rsquo;m
+a soldier, and I know what becomes a soldier. If I find a traitor to his
+Queen and country am I to pass upon the other side of the road and not do my
+duty because the individual happens to be a private enemy? You rate me low
+and misjudge me rather cruelly if you imagine that I am so weak.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Martin gasped at this view of the position, instantly believed himself
+mistaken, and took John at his word. Thereon he came near blushing to think
+that he should have read such baseness into a brother&rsquo;s character.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I beg your pardon,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I ought to be ashamed to
+have misunderstood you so. I could not escape the personal factor in this
+terrible business, but you, I see, have duly weighed it. I wronged you. Yes,
+I wronged you, as you say. The writing of that letter was a very courageous
+action, under the circumstances&mdash;as plucky a thing as ever man did,
+perhaps. Forgive me for taking so mean a view of it, and forgive me for even
+doubting your motives.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I want justice, and if I am misunderstood for doing my
+duty&mdash;why, that is no new thing. I can face that, as better men have
+done before me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>There was a moment or two of silence; then Martin spoke, almost
+joyfully.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Thank God, I see a way out! It seldom happens that I am quick in
+any question of human actions, but for once, I detect a road by which right
+may be done and you still spared this terrible task. I do, indeed, because I
+know Blanchard better than you do. I can guess what he has been enduring of
+late, and I will show him how he may end the torture himself by doing the
+right thing even now.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s fear of me scorching the man, not shame of his own
+crime.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then, as the stronger, as a soldier, put him out of his misery and
+set your mind at ease. Believe me, you may do it without any reflection on
+yourself. Tell him you have decided to take no step in the affair, and leave
+the rest to me. I will wager I can prevail upon him to give himself up. I am
+singularly confident that I can bring it about. Then, if I fail, do what you
+consider to be right; but first give me leave to try and save you from this
+painful necessity.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>There followed a long silence. John Grimbal saw how much easier it was to
+deceive another than himself, and, before the spectacle of his deluded
+brother, felt that he appreciated his own real motives and incentives at
+their true worth. The more completely was Martin hoodwinked, the more
+apparent did the truth grow within John&rsquo;s mind. What was in reality
+responsible for his intended action never looked clearer than then, and as
+Martin spoke in all innocence of the courage that must be necessary to
+perform such a deed, Grimbal passed through the flash of a white light and
+caught a glimpse of his recent mental processes magnified by many degrees in
+the blinding ray. The spectacle sickened him a little, weakened him, touched
+the depths of him, stirred his nature. He answered presently in a voice
+harsh, abrupt, and deep.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve lied often enough in my life,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;and
+may again, but I think never to you till to-day. You&rsquo;re such a
+clean-minded, big-hearted man that you don&rsquo;t understand a mind of my
+build&mdash;a mind that can&rsquo;t forgive, that can&rsquo;t forget,
+that&rsquo;s fed full for years on the thought of revenging that frightful
+blow in the past. What you feared and hinted just now was partly the truth,
+and I know it well enough. But that is only to say my motives in this matter
+mixed.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;None but a brave man would admit so mucn, but now you wrong
+yourself, as I wronged you. We are alike. I, too, have sometimes in dark
+moments blamed myself for evil thoughts and evil deeds beyond my real
+deserts. So you. I know nothing but your sense of duty would make you post
+that letter.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We&rsquo;ve wrecked each other&rsquo;s lives, he and I; only
+he&rsquo;s a boy, and his life&rsquo;s before him; I&rsquo;m a man, and my
+life is lived, for I&rsquo;m the sort that grows old early, and he&rsquo;s
+helped Time more than anybody knows but myself.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t say that. Happiness never comes when you are hungering
+most for it; sorrow never when you believe yourself best tuned to bear it.
+Once I thought as you do now. I waited long for my good fortune, and said
+&rsquo;good-by&rsquo; to all my hope of earthly delight.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You were easier to satisfy than I should have been. Yet you were
+constant, too,&mdash;constant as I was. We&rsquo;re built that way.
+More&rsquo;s the pity.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I have absolutely priceless blessings; my cup of happiness is full.
+Sometimes I ask myself how it comes about that one so little deserving has
+received so much; sometimes I waken in the very extremity of fear, for joy
+like mine seems greater than any living thing has a right to.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m glad one of us is happy.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I shall live to see you equally blessed.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It is impossible.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>There was a pause, then a gong rumbled in the hall, and the brothers went
+to dinner. Their conversation now ranged upon varied local topics, and it was
+not until the cloth had been removed according to old-fashioned custom, and
+fruit and wine set upon a shining table, that John returned to the crucial
+subject of the moment.</p>
+<p>He poured out a glass of port for Martin, and pushed the cigars towards
+him, then spoke,&mdash;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Drink. It&rsquo;s very good. And try one of those. I shall not post
+that letter.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Man, I knew it! I knew it well, without hearing so from you.
+Destroy the thing, dear fellow, and so take the first step to a peace I fear
+you have not known for many days. All this suffering will vanish quicker than
+a dream then. Justice is great, but mercy is greater. Yours is the privilege
+of mercy, and yet justice shall not suffer either&mdash;not if I know Will
+Blanchard.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>They talked long and drank more than usual, while the elder man&rsquo;s
+grim and moody spirit lightened a little before his determination and his
+wine. The reek of past passions, the wreckage of dead things, seemed to be
+sweeping out of his mind. He forgot the hour and their engagement until the
+time fixed for that conference was past. Then he looked at his watch, rose
+from the table, and hurried to the hall.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Let us not go,&rdquo; urged Martin. &ldquo;They will do very well
+without us, I am sure.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>But John&rsquo;s only answer was to pull on his driving gloves. He
+anticipated some satisfaction from the committee meeting; he suspected,
+indeed, that he would be asked to take the chair at it, and, like most men,
+he was not averse to the exercise of a little power in a small corner.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We must go,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I have important suggestions to
+make, especially concerning the volunteers. A sham fight on Scorhill would be
+a happy thought. We&rsquo;ll drive fast, and only be twenty minutes
+late.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>A dog-cart had been waiting half an hour, and soon the brothers quickly
+whirled down Red House avenue. A groom dropped from behind and opened the
+gate; then it was all his agility could accomplish to scramble into his seat
+again as a fine horse, swinging along at twenty miles an hour, trotted
+towards Chagford.</p>
+<h2><a id="IV_XV" name="IV_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV<br />
+A BATTLE</h2>
+<p>Silent and motionless sat Blanchard, on the fringe of a bank at the
+coppice edge. He watched the stars move onward and the shadows cast by
+moonlight creep from west to north, from north to east. Hawthorn scented the
+night and stood like masses of virgin silver under the moon; from the Red
+House &rsquo;owl tree&rsquo;&mdash;a pollarded elm, sacred to the wise
+bird&mdash;came mewing of brown owls; and once a white one struck, swift as a
+streak of feathered moonlight, on the copse edge, and passed so near to
+Blanchard that he saw the wretched shrew-mouse in its talons.
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis for the young birds somewheers,&rdquo; he thought;
+&ldquo;an&rsquo; so they&rsquo;ll thrive an&rsquo; turn out braave owlets
+come bimebye; but the li&rsquo;l, squeakin&rsquo;, blind shrews,
+what&rsquo;ll they do when no mother comes home-along to
+&rsquo;em?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He mused drearily upon this theme, but suddenly started, for there came
+the echo of slow steps in the underwood behind him. They sank into silence
+and set Will wondering as to what they might mean. Then another sound, that
+of a galloping horse and the crisp ring of wheels, reached him, and,
+believing that John Grimbal was come, he strung himself to the matter in
+hand. But the vehicle did not stop. A flash of yellow light leapt through the
+distance as a mail-cart rattled past upon its way to Moreton. This
+circumstance told Will the hour and he knew that his vigil could not be much
+longer protracted.</p>
+<p>Then death stalked abroad again, but this time in a form that awoke the
+watcher&rsquo;s deep-rooted instincts, took him clean out of himself, and
+angered him to passion, not in his own cause but another&rsquo;s. There came
+the sudden scream of a trapped hare,&mdash;that sound where terror and agony
+mingle in a cry half human,&mdash;and so still was the hour that Blanchard
+heard the beast&rsquo;s struggles though it was fifty yards distant. A hare
+in a trap at any season meant a poacher&mdash;a hated enemy of society in
+Blanchard&rsquo;s mind; and his instant thought was to bring the rascal to
+justice if he could. Now the recent footfall was explained and Will doubted
+not that the cruel cry which had scattered his reveries would quickly attract
+some hidden man responsible for it. The hare was caught by a wire set in a
+run at the edge of the wood, and now Blanchard crawled along on his stomach
+to within ten yards of the tragedy, and there waited under the shadow of a
+white-thorn at the edge of the woods. Within two minutes the bushes parted
+and, where the foliage of a young silver birch showered above lesser
+brushwood, a man with a small head and huge shoulders appeared. Seeing no
+danger he crept into the open, lifted his head to the moon, and revealed the
+person and features of Sam Bonus, the labourer with whom Will had quarrelled
+in times long past. Here, then, right ahead of him, appeared such a battle as
+Blanchard had desired, but with another foe than he anticipated. That
+accident mattered nothing, however. Will only saw a poacher, and to settle
+the business of such an one out of hand if possible was, in his judgment, a
+definite duty to be undertaken by every true man at any moment when
+opportunity offered.</p>
+<p>He walked suddenly from shadow and stood within three yards of the robber
+as Bonus raised the butt of his gun to kill the shrieking beast at his
+feet.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You! An&rsquo; red-handed, by God! I knawed &rsquo;t was no lies
+they told of &rsquo;e.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The other started and turned and saw who stood against him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Blanchard, is it? An&rsquo; what be you doin&rsquo; here? Come for
+same reason, p&rsquo;r&rsquo;aps?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;d make you pay, if &rsquo;t was awnly for sayin&rsquo;
+that! I&rsquo;m a man to steal others&rsquo; fur out of season, ban&rsquo;t
+I? But I doan&rsquo;t have no words wi&rsquo; the likes o&rsquo; you.
+I&rsquo;ve took you fair an&rsquo; square, anyways, an&rsquo; will just ax if
+you be comin&rsquo; wi&rsquo;out a fuss, or am I to make &rsquo;e?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The other snarled.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&mdash;you come a yard nearer an&rsquo; I&rsquo;ll blaw your
+damned head&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>But the threat was left unfinished, and its execution failed, for Will had
+been taught to take an armed man in his early days on the river, and had seen
+an old hand capture more than one desperate character. He knew that
+instantaneous action might get him within the muzzle of the gun and out of
+danger, and while Bonus spoke, he flew straight upon him with such unexpected
+celerity that Sam had no time to accomplish his purpose. He came down heavily
+with Blanchard on top of him, and his weapon fell from his hand. But the
+poacher was not done with. As they lay struggling, he found his foot clear
+and managed to kick Will twice on the leg above the knee. Then Blanchard,
+hanging like a dog to his foe, freed an arm, and hit hard more than once into
+Sam&rsquo;s face. A blow on the nose brought red blood that spurted over both
+men black as ink under the moonlight.</p>
+<p>It was not long before they broke away and rose from their first struggle
+on the ground, but Bonus finally got to his knees, then to his feet, and
+Will, as he did the same, knew by a sudden twinge in his leg that if the
+poacher made off it must now be beyond his power to follow.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No odds,&rdquo; he gasped, answering his thought aloud, while they
+wrestled. &ldquo;If you&rsquo;ve brawk me somewheers &rsquo;t is no matter,
+for you &rsquo;m marked all right, an&rsquo; them squinting eyes of
+yourn&rsquo;ll be blacker &rsquo;n sloes come marnin&rsquo;.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>This obvious truth infuriated Bonus. He did not attempt to depart, but,
+catching sight of his gun, made a tremendous effort to reach it. The other
+saw this aim and exerted his strength in an opposite direction. They fought
+in silence awhile&mdash;growled and cursed, sweated and swayed, stamped and
+slipped and dripped blood under the dewy and hawthorn-scented night. Bonus
+used all his strength to reach the gun; Will sacrificed everything to his
+hold. He suffered the greater punishment for a while, because Sam fought with
+all his limbs, like a beast; but presently Blanchard threw the poacher
+heavily, and again they came down together, this time almost on the wretched
+beast that still struggled, held by the wire at hand. It had dragged the fur
+off its leg, and white nerve fibres, torn bare, glimmered in the red flesh
+under the moon.</p>
+<p>Both fighters were now growing weaker, and each knew that a few minutes
+more must decide the fortune of the battle. Bonus still fought for the gun,
+and now his weight began to tell. Then, as he got within reach, and stretched
+hand to grasp it, Blanchard, instead of dragging against him, threw all his
+force in the same direction, and Sam was shot clean over the gun. This time
+they twisted and Will fell underneath. Both simultaneously thrust a hand for
+the weapon; both gripped it, and then exerted their strength for possession.
+Will meant using it as a club if fate was kind; the other man, rating his own
+life at nothing, and, believing that he bore Blanchard the grudge of his own
+ruin, intended, at that red-hot moment, to keep his word and blow the
+other&rsquo;s brains out if he got a chance to do so.</p>
+<p>Then, unheard by the combatants, a distant gate was thrown open, two
+brilliant yellow discs of fire shone along the avenue below, and John Grimbal
+returned to his home. Suddenly, seeing figures fighting furiously on the edge
+of the hill not fifty yards away, he pulled up, and a din of conflict sounded
+in his ears as the rattle of hoof and wheel and harness ceased. Leaping down
+he ran to the scene of the conflict as fast as possible, but it was ended
+before he arrived. A gun suddenly exploded and flashed a red-hot tongue of
+flame across the night. A hundred echoes caught the detonation and as the
+discharge reverberated along the stony hills to Fingle Gorge, Will Blanchard
+staggered backwards and fell in a heap, while the poacher reeled, then
+steadied himself, and vanished under the woods.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Bring a lamp,&rdquo; shouted Grimbal, and a moment later his groom
+obeyed; but the fallen man was sitting up by the time John reached him, and
+the gun that had exploded was at his feet.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You &rsquo;m tu late by half a second,&rdquo; he gasped. &ldquo;I
+fired myself when I seed the muzzle clear. Poachin&rsquo; he was, but the man
+&rsquo;s marked all right. Send p&rsquo;liceman for Sam Bonus to-morrer,
+an&rsquo; I lay you&rsquo;ll find a picter.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Blanchard!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess fay, an&rsquo; no harm done &rsquo;cept a stiff leg. Best to
+knock thicky poor twoad on the head. I heard the scream of un and comed along
+an&rsquo; waited an&rsquo; catched my gen&rsquo;leman in the act.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The groom held a light to the mangled hare.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Scat it on the head,&rdquo; said Will, &ldquo;then give me a
+hand.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He was helped to his feet; the servant went on before with the lamp, and
+Blanchard, finding himself able to walk without difficulty, proceeded, slowly
+supporting himself by the poacher&rsquo;s gun.</p>
+<p>Grimbal waited for him to speak and presently he did so.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Things falls out so different in this maze of a world from what man
+may count on.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How came it that you were here?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Blamed if I can tell &rsquo;e till I gather my wits together.
+&rsquo;Pears half a century or so since I comed; yet ban&rsquo;t above two
+hour agone.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You didn&rsquo;t come to see Sam Bonus, I suppose?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No fay! Never a man farther from my thought than him when I seed un
+poke up his carrot head under the moon. I was &rsquo;pon my awn affairs
+an&rsquo; comed to see you. I wanted straight speech an&rsquo; straight
+hitting; an&rsquo; I got &rsquo;em, for that matter. An&rsquo; fightin&rsquo;
+&rsquo;s gude for the blood, I reckon&mdash;anyway for my fashion
+blood.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You came to fight me, then?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I did&mdash;if I could make &rsquo;e fight.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;With that gun?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;With nought but a savage heart an&rsquo; my two fistes. The gun
+belongs to Sam Bonus. Leastways it did, but &rsquo;t is mine now&mdash;or
+yours, as the party most wronged.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Come this way and drink a drop of brandy before you go home. Glad
+you had some fighting as you wanted it so bad. I know what it feels like to
+be that way, too. But there wouldn&rsquo;t have been blows between us. My
+mind was made up. I wrote to Plymouth this afternoon. I wrote, and an hour
+later decided not to post the letter. I&rsquo;ve changed my intentions
+altogether, because the point begins to appear in a new light. I&rsquo;m
+sorry for a good few things that have happened of late years.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Will breathed hard a moment; then he spoke slowly and not without more
+emotion than his words indicated.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s straight speech&mdash;if you mean it. I never knawed
+how &rsquo;t was that a sportsman, same as you be, could keep rakin&rsquo;
+awver a job an&rsquo; drive a plain chap o&rsquo; the soil like me into hell
+for what I done ten year agone.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Let the past go. Forget it; banish it for all time as far as you
+have the power. Blame must be buried both sides. Here&rsquo;s the letter upon
+my desk. I&rsquo;ll burn it, and I&rsquo;ll try to burn the memory often
+years with it. Your road&rsquo;s clear for me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Thank you,&rdquo; said Blanchard, very slowly. &ldquo;I lay
+I&rsquo;ll never hear no better news than that on this airth. Now I&rsquo;m
+free&mdash;free to do how I please, free to do it undriven.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>There was a long silence. Grimbal poured out half a tumbler of brandy,
+added soda water, then handed the stimulant to Will; and Blauchard, after
+drinking, sat in comfort a while, rubbed his swollen jaw, and scraped the
+dried blood of Bonus off his hands.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why for did you chaange so sudden?&rdquo; he asked, as Grimbal
+turned to his desk.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I could tell you, but it doesn&rsquo;t matter. A letter in the mind
+looks different to one on paper; and duty often changes its appearance, too,
+when a man is honest with himself. To be honest with yourself is the hardest
+sort of honesty. I&rsquo;ve had speech with others about this&mdash;my
+brother more particularly.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I wish to God us could have settled it without no help from
+outside.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Grimbal rang the bell, then answered.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;As to settling it, I know nothing about that. I&rsquo;ve settled
+with my own conscience&mdash;such as it is.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;d come for &lsquo;Yes&rsquo; or
+&lsquo;No.&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Now you have a definite answer.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; thank you. Then what &rsquo;s it to be between us, when I
+come back? May I ax that? Them as ban&rsquo;t enemies no more might grow to
+be friends&mdash;eh?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>What response Grimbal would have made is doubtful. He did not reply, for
+his servant, Lawrence Vallack, entered at the moment, and he turned abruptly
+upon the old man.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Where &rsquo;s the letter I left upon my desk? It was directed to
+Plymouth.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;All right, sir, all right; don&rsquo;t worrit. I&rsquo;ve eyes in
+my head for my betters still, thank God. I seed un when I come to shut the
+shutters an&rsquo; sent Joe post-haste to the box. &rsquo;T was in plenty of
+time for the mail.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>John emptied his lungs in a great respiration, half-sigh, half-groan. He
+could not speak. Only his fingers closed and he half lifted his hand as
+though to crush the smirking ancient. Then he dropped his arm and looked at
+Blanchard, asking the question with his eyes that he could find no words
+for.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I heard the mail go just &rsquo;fore the hare squealed,&rdquo; said
+Will stolidly, &ldquo;an&rsquo; the letter with it for certain.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Grimbal started up and rushed to the hall while the other limped after
+him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Doan&rsquo;t &rsquo;e do nothin&rsquo; fulish. I believe you never
+meant to post un. Ess, I&rsquo;ll take your solemn word for that. An&rsquo;
+if you didn&rsquo;t mean to send letter, &rsquo;t is as if you hadn&rsquo;t
+sent un. For my mind weer fixed, whatever you might do.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t jaw, now! There &rsquo;s time to stop the mail yet. I
+can get to Moreton as soon or sooner than that crawling cart if I ride. I
+won&rsquo;t be fooled like this!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He ran to the stables, called to the groom, clapped a saddle on the horse
+that had just brought him home, and in about three minutes was riding down
+the avenue, while his lad reached the gate and swung it open just in time.
+Then Grimbal galloped into the night, with heart and soul fixed upon his
+letter. He meant to recover it at any reasonable cost. The white road
+streaked away beneath him, and a breeze created by his own rapid progress
+steadied him as he hastened on. Presently at a hill-foot, he saw how to save
+a mile or more by short cuts over meadow-land, so left the highway, rode
+through a hayfield, and dashed from it by a gap into a second. Then he
+grunted and the sound was one of satisfaction, for his tremendous rate of
+progress had served its object and already, creeping on the main road far
+ahead, he saw the vehicle which held the mail.</p>
+<p>Meanwhile Blanchard and the man-servant stood and watched John
+Grimbal&rsquo;s furious departure.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Pity,&rdquo; said Will. &ldquo;No call to do it. I&rsquo;ve took
+his word, an&rsquo; the end &rsquo;s the same, letter or no letter. Now let
+me finish that theer brandy, then I&rsquo;ll go home.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>But Mr. Vallack heard nothing. He was gazing out into the night and
+shaking with fear.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;High treason &rsquo;gainst the law of the land to lay a finger on
+the mail. A letter posted be like a stone flinged or a word spoken&mdash;out
+of our keeping for all time. An&rsquo; me to blame for it. I&rsquo;m a ruined
+man along o&rsquo; taking tu much &rsquo;pon myself an&rsquo; being tu eager
+for others. He&rsquo;ll fling me out, sure &rsquo;s death. &rsquo;T is all up
+wi&rsquo; me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;As to that, I reckon many a dog gets a kick wheer he thinks he
+&rsquo;s earned a pat,&rdquo; said Will; &ldquo;that&rsquo;s life, that is.
+An&rsquo; maybe theer&rsquo;s sore hearts in dumb beasts, tu, sometimes, for
+a dog loves praise like a woman. He won&rsquo;t sack &rsquo;e. You done what
+&rsquo;peared your duty.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Blanchard then left the house, slowly proceeded along the avenue and
+presently passed out on to the highroad. As he walked the pain of his leg
+diminished, but he put no strain upon it and proceeded very leisurely towards
+home. Great happiness broke into his mind, undimmed by aching bones and
+bruises. The reflection that he was reconciled to John Grimbal crowded out
+lesser thoughts. He knew the other had spoken truth, and accepted his
+headlong flight to arrest the mail as sufficient proof of it. Then he thought
+of the possibility of giving himself up before Grimbal&rsquo;s letter should
+come to be read.</p>
+<p>At home Phoebe was lying awake in misery waiting for him. She had brought
+up to their bedroom a great plate of cold bacon with vegetables and a pint of
+beer; and as Will slowly appeared she uttered a cry and embraced him with
+thanksgivings. Upon Blanchard&rsquo;s mind the return to his wife impressed
+various strange thoughts. He soothed her, comforted her, and assured her of
+his safety. But to him it seemed that he spoke with a stranger, for half a
+century of experience appeared to stretch between the present and his
+departure from Monks Barton about three hours before. His wife experienced
+similar sensations. That this cheerful, battered, hungry man could be the
+same who had stormed from her into the night a few short hours before,
+appeared impossible.</p>
+<h2><a id="IV_XVI" name="IV_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI<br />
+A PAIR OF HANDCUFFS</h2>
+<p>Mr. Blee, to do him justice, was usually the first afoot at Monks Barton,
+both winter and summer. The maids who slept near him needed no alarum, for
+his step on the stair and his high-pitched summons, &ldquo;Now then, you lazy
+gals, what be snorin&rsquo; theer for, an&rsquo; the day broke?&rdquo; was
+always sufficient to ensure their wakening.</p>
+<p>At an early hour of the morning that dawned upon Will&rsquo;s nocturnal
+adventures, Billy stood in the farmyard and surveyed the shining river to an
+accompaniment of many musical sounds. On Monks Barton thatches the pigeons
+cooed and bowed and gurgled to their ladies, cows lowed from the byres, cocks
+crew, and the mill-wheel, already launched upon the business of the day,
+panted from its dark habitation of dripping moss and fern.</p>
+<p>Billy sniffed the morning, then proceeded to a pig&rsquo;s sty, opened a
+door within it, and chuckled at the spectacle that greeted him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Burnish it all! auld sow &rsquo;s farrowed at last, then. Busy
+night for her, sure &rsquo;nough! An&rsquo; so fine a litter as ever I seed,
+by the looks of it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He bustled off to get refreshment for the gaunt, new-made mother, and as
+he did so met Ted Chown, who now worked at Mr. Lyddon&rsquo;s, and had just
+arrived from his home in Chagford.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Marnin&rsquo;, sir; have &rsquo;e heard the news? Gert tidings
+up-long I &rsquo;sure &rsquo;e.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not so gert as what I&rsquo;ve got, I&rsquo;ll lay. Butivul litter
+&rsquo;t is. Come an&rsquo; give me a hand.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Bonus was catched poachin&rsquo; last night to the Red House.
+An&rsquo; he&rsquo;ve had his faace smashed in, nose broke, an&rsquo; all. He
+escaped arter; but he went to Doctor fust thing to-day an&rsquo; got hisself
+plastered; an&rsquo; then, knawin&rsquo; &rsquo;t weern&rsquo;t no use to
+hide, comed right along an&rsquo; gived hisself up to faither.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My stars! An&rsquo; no more&rsquo;n what he desarved, that&rsquo;s
+certain.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But that ban&rsquo;t all, even. Maister Jan Grimbal&rsquo;s
+missing! He rode off last night, Laard knaws wheer, an&rsquo; never a sign of
+un seed since. They&rsquo;ve sent to the station &rsquo;bout it
+a&rsquo;ready; an&rsquo; they &rsquo;m scourin&rsquo; the airth for un.
+An&rsquo; &rsquo;t was Maister Blanchard as fought wi&rsquo; Bonus, for Sam
+said so.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Guy Fawkes an&rsquo; angels! Here, you mix this. I must tell Miller
+an&rsquo; run about a bit. Gwaine to be a gert day, by the looks of
+it!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He hurried into the house, met his master and began with breathless
+haste,&mdash;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Awful doin&rsquo;s! Awful doin&rsquo;s, Miller. Such a
+sweet-smellin&rsquo; marnin&rsquo;, tu! Bear yourself stiff against it, for
+us caan&rsquo;t say what remains to be told.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What&rsquo;s wrong now? Doan&rsquo;t choke yourself. You &rsquo;m
+grawin&rsquo; tu auld for all the excitements of modern life, Billy.
+Wheer&rsquo;s Will?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You may well ax. Sleepin&rsquo; still, I reckon, for he comed in
+long arter midnight. I was stirrin&rsquo; at the time an&rsquo; heard un.
+Sleepin&rsquo; arter black deeds, if all they tell be true.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Black deeds!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The bwoy Ted&rsquo;s just comed wi&rsquo; it. &rsquo;T is this way:
+Bonus be at death&rsquo;s door wi&rsquo; a smashed nose, an&rsquo; Blanchard
+done it; an&rsquo; Jan Grimbal&rsquo;s vanished off the faace o&rsquo; the
+airth. Not a sign of un seed arter he drove away last night from the Jubilee
+gathering. An&rsquo; if &rsquo;t is murder, you&rsquo;ll be in the
+witness-box, knawin&rsquo; the parties same as you do; an&rsquo; the sow
+&rsquo;s got a braave litter, though what&rsquo;s that arter such
+news?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Guess you &rsquo;m dreamin&rsquo;, Blee,&rdquo; said Mr. Lyddon, as
+he took his hat and walked into the farmyard.</p>
+<p>Billy was hurt.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Dreamin&rsquo;, be I? I&rsquo;m a man as dreams blue murders, of
+coourse! Tu auld to be relied on now, I s&rsquo;pose. Theer! Theer!&rdquo; he
+changed his voice and it ran into a cracked scream of excitement.
+&ldquo;Theer! P&rsquo;r&rsquo;aps I&rsquo;m dreamin&rsquo;, as Inspector
+Chown an&rsquo; Constable Lamacraft be walkin&rsquo; in the gate this instant
+moment!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>But there was no mistaking this fact. Abraham Chown entered, marched
+solemnly to the party at the door, cried &ldquo;Halt!&rdquo; to his
+subordinate, then turned to Mr. Lyddon.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Good-day to you, Miller,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;though &rsquo;t is
+a bad day, I&rsquo;m fearin&rsquo;. I be here for Will Blanchard,
+<i>alias</i> Tom Newcombe.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If you mean my son-in-law, he &rsquo;s not out of bed to my
+knawledge.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Dear sawls! Doan&rsquo;t &rsquo;e say &rsquo;t is blue
+murder&mdash;doan&rsquo;t &rsquo;e say that!&rdquo; implored Mr. Blee. His
+head shook and his tongue revolved round his lips.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not as I knaws. We &rsquo;m actin&rsquo; on instructions from the
+military to Plymouth.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Theer &rsquo;s allus wickedness hid under a alias
+notwithstanding,&rdquo; declared Billy, rather disappointed; &ldquo;have
+&rsquo;e found Jan Grimbal?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They be searchin&rsquo; for un. Jim Luke, Inspector to Moreton,
+an&rsquo; his men be out beatin&rsquo; the country. But I&rsquo;m here,
+wi&rsquo; my staff, for William Blanchard. March!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Lamacraft, thus addressed, proceeded a pace or two until stopped by Mr.
+Lyddon.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No call to go in. He&rsquo;ll come down. But I&rsquo;m sore puzzled
+to knaw what this means, for awnly last night I heard tell from Jan
+Grimbal&rsquo;s awn lips that he&rsquo;d chaanged his mind about a private
+matter bearin&rsquo; on this.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I want the man, anyways, an&rsquo; I be gwaine to have un,&rdquo;
+declared Inspector Chown. He brought a pair of handcuffs from his pocket and
+gave them to the constable.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Put up them gashly things, Abraham Chown,&rdquo; said the miller
+sternly. &ldquo;Doan&rsquo;t &rsquo;e knaw Blanchard better &rsquo;n
+that?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Handcuffed he&rsquo;ll be, whether he likes it or not,&rdquo;
+answered the other; &ldquo;an&rsquo; if theer&rsquo;s trouble, I bid all
+present an&rsquo; any able-bodied men &rsquo;pon the premises to help me take
+him in the Queen&rsquo;s name.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Billy hobbled round the corner, thrust two fingers into his mouth, and
+blew a quavering whistle; whereupon two labourers, working a few hundred
+yards off, immediately dropped their tools and joined him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Run you here,&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;P&rsquo;lice be corned to
+taake Will Blanchard, an&rsquo; us must all give the Law a hand, for
+theer&rsquo;ll be blows struck if I knaw un.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Will Blanchard! What have he done?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Been under a alias&mdash;that&rsquo;s the least of it,
+but&mdash;God, He knaws&mdash;it may rise to murder. &rsquo;T is our bounden
+duty to help Chown against un.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Be danged if I do!&rdquo; said one of the men.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Nor me,&rdquo; declared the other. &ldquo;Let Chown do his job
+hisself&mdash;an&rsquo; get his jaw broke for his trouble.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>But they followed Mr. Blee to where the miller still argued against
+Lamacraft&rsquo;s entrance.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why didn&rsquo;t they send soldiers for un? That&rsquo;s what he
+reckoned on,&rdquo; said Mr. Lyddon.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;T is my job fust.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m sorry you&rsquo;ve come in this high spirit. You knaw the
+man and ought to taake his word he&rsquo;d go quiet and my guarantee for
+it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I knaw my duty, an&rsquo; doan&rsquo;t want no teachin&rsquo; from
+you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;re a fule!&rdquo; said Miller, in some anger.
+&ldquo;An&rsquo; &rsquo;t will take more &rsquo;n you an&rsquo; that
+moon-faced lout to put them things on the man, or I&rsquo;m much
+mistaken.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He went indoors while the labourers laughed, and the younger constable
+blushed at the insult.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How do &rsquo;e like that, Peter Lamacraft?&rdquo; asked a
+labourer.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No odds to me,&rdquo; answered the policeman, licking his hands
+nervously and looking at the door. &ldquo;I ban&rsquo;t feared of nought said
+or done if I&rsquo;ve got the Law behind me. An&rsquo; you&rsquo;m liable
+yourself if you doan&rsquo;t help.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Caan&rsquo;t wait no more,&rdquo; declared Mr. Chown. &ldquo;If
+he&rsquo;s in bed, us&rsquo;ll take un in bed. Come on, you!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Thus ordered to proceed, Lamacraft set his face resolutely forward and was
+just entering the farm when Phoebe appeared. Her tears were dry, though her
+voice was unsteady and her eyelids red.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Gude mornin&rsquo;, Mr. Chown,&rdquo; she said.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Marnin&rsquo;, ma&rsquo;am. Let us pass, if you please.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Are you coming in? Why?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Us caan&rsquo;t bide no more, an&rsquo; us caan&rsquo;t give no
+more reasons. The Law ban&rsquo;t &rsquo;spected to give reasons for its
+deeds, an&rsquo; us won&rsquo;t be bamboozled an&rsquo; put off a minute
+longer,&rdquo; answered Chown grimly. &ldquo;March, I tell &rsquo;e, Peter
+Lamacraft.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You caan&rsquo;t see my husband.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But we&rsquo;m gwaine to see un. He&rsquo;ve got to see me,
+an&rsquo; come along wi&rsquo; me, tu. An&rsquo; if he&rsquo;s wise,
+he&rsquo;ll come quiet an&rsquo; keep his mouth shut. That much I&rsquo;ll
+tell un for his gude.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If you&rsquo;ll listen, I might make you onderstand how &rsquo;tis
+you caan&rsquo;t see Will,&rdquo; said Phoebe quietly. &ldquo;You must knaw
+he runned away an&rsquo; went soldiering before he married me. Then he comed
+back for love of me wi&rsquo;out axin&rsquo; any man&rsquo;s
+leave.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So much the worse, ma&rsquo;am; he&rsquo;m a desarter!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The dark wickedness!&rdquo; gasped Mr. Blee; &ldquo;an&rsquo; him
+dumb as a newt &rsquo;bout it all these years an&rsquo; years! The conscience
+of un!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, you needn&rsquo;t trouble any more,&rdquo; continued Phoebe
+to the policemen. &ldquo;My husband be gwaine to take this matter into his
+awn hands now.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Inspector Chown laughed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s gude, that is!&mdash;now he &rsquo;m blawn
+upon!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He &rsquo;s gwaine to give himself up&mdash;he caan&rsquo;t do
+more,&rdquo; said Phoebe, turning to her father who now reappeared.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Coourse he caan&rsquo;t do more. What more do &rsquo;e want?&rdquo;
+the miller inquired.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Him,&rdquo; answered Mr. Chown. &ldquo;No more an&rsquo; no less;
+an&rsquo; everything said will be used against him.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You glumpy auld Dowl!&rdquo; growled a labouring man.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;All right, all right. You just wait, all of &rsquo;e! Wheer&rsquo;s
+the man? How much longer be I to bide his pleasure? March! Damn it all! be
+the Law a laughing-stock?&rdquo; The Inspector was growing very hot and
+excited.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;s gone,&rdquo; said Phoebe, as Mr. Lamacraft entered the
+farm, put one foot on the bottom step of the stairs, then turned for further
+orders. &ldquo;He&rsquo;s gone, before light. He rested two hours or so, then
+us harnessed the trap an&rsquo; he drove away to Moreton to take fust train
+to Plymouth by way o&rsquo; Newton Abbot. An&rsquo; he said as Ted Chown was
+to go in arter breakfast an&rsquo; drive the trap home.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Couldn&rsquo;t tell me nothin&rsquo; as had pleased me
+better,&rdquo; said the miller. &ldquo;&rsquo;T is a weight off
+me&mdash;an&rsquo; off him I reckon. Now you &rsquo;m answered, my son; you
+can telegraph back as you corned wi&rsquo; your auld handcuffs tu late by
+hours, an&rsquo; that the man&rsquo;s on his way to give hisself
+up.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve only got your word for it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; what better word should &rsquo;e have?&rdquo; piped
+Billy, who in the space of half a minute had ranged himself alongside his
+master. &ldquo;You to question the word o&rsquo; Miller Lyddon, you
+crooked-hearted raven! Who was it spoke for &rsquo;e fifteen year ago
+an&rsquo; got &rsquo;em to make &rsquo;e p&rsquo;liceman &rsquo;cause you was
+tu big a fule to larn any other trade? Gert, thankless twoad! An&rsquo; who
+was it let &rsquo;em keep the &rsquo;Green Man&rsquo; awpen two nights in wan
+week arter closin&rsquo; time, &rsquo;cause he wanted another drop
+hisself?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Come you away,&rdquo; said the Inspector to his constable.
+&ldquo;Ban&rsquo;t for the likes of we to have any talk wi&rsquo; the likes
+o&rsquo; they. But they&rsquo;ll hear more of this; an&rsquo; if
+theer&rsquo;s been any hookem-snivey dealin&rsquo;s with the Law,
+they&rsquo;ll live to be sorry. An&rsquo; you follow me likewise,&rdquo; he
+added to his son, who stood hard by. &ldquo;You come wi&rsquo; me, Ted, for
+you doan&rsquo;t do no more work for runaway soldiers, nor yet bald-headed
+auld antics like this here!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He pointed to Mr. Blee, then turned to depart.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Get off honest man&rsquo;s land, you black-bearded beast!&rdquo;
+screamed Billy. &ldquo;You &rsquo;m most like of any wan ever I heard tell of
+to do murder yourself; an&rsquo; auld as I be, I&rsquo;d crawl on my hands
+an&rsquo; knees to see you scragged for &rsquo;t, if &rsquo;t was so far as
+the sun in heaven!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s libel,&rdquo; answered Mr. Chown, with cold and
+haughty authority; &ldquo;an&rsquo; you&rsquo;ve put yourself in the grip of
+the Law by sayin&rsquo; it, as you&rsquo;ll knaw before you &rsquo;m much
+aulder.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then, with this trifling advantage, he retreated, while Lamacraft and Ted
+brought up the rear.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So theer&rsquo;s an end of that. Now us&rsquo;ll fall to wi&rsquo;
+no worse appetites,&rdquo; declared Miller. &ldquo;An&rsquo; as to
+Will,&rdquo; he added, &ldquo;&rsquo;fore you chaps go, just mind an&rsquo;
+judge no man till you knaw what&rsquo;s proved against him. Onless
+theer&rsquo;s worse behind than I&rsquo;ve larned so far, I&rsquo;m gwaine to
+stand by un.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; me, tu!&rdquo; said Mr. Blee, with a fine disregard for
+his recent utterances. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve teached the chap purty nigh all he
+knaws an&rsquo; I ban&rsquo;t gwaine to turn on un now, onless &rsquo;t is
+proved blue murder. An&rsquo; that Chown &rsquo;s a disgrace to his cloth;
+an&rsquo; I&rsquo;d pull his ugly bat&rsquo;s ears on my awn behalf if I was
+a younger an&rsquo; spryer man.&rdquo;</p>
+<h2><a id="IV_XVII" name="IV_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII<br />
+SUSPENSE</h2>
+<p>The fate of John Grimbal was learned within an hour or two of Inspector
+Chown&rsquo;s departure from Monks Barton; and by the time that Martin
+Grimbal had been apprised of the matter his brother already lay at the Red
+House.</p>
+<p>John had been found at daybreak upon the grass-land where he rode
+overnight on his journey to intercept the mail. A moment after he descried
+the distant cart, his horse had set foot in a hole; and upon the accident
+being discovered, the beast was found lying with a broken leg within twenty
+yards of its insensible master. His horse was shot, John Grimbal carried home
+with all despatch, and Doctor Parsons arrived as quickly as possible, to do
+all that might be done for the sufferer until an abler physician than himself
+reached the scene.</p>
+<p>Three dreary days saw Grimbal at the door of death, then a brief interval
+of consciousness rewarded unceasing care, and a rumour spread that he might
+yet survive. Martin, when immediate fear for his brother&rsquo;s life was
+relieved, busied himself about Blanchard, and went to Plymouth. There he saw
+Will, learned all facts concerning the letter, and did his best to win
+information of the prisoner&rsquo;s probable punishment. Fears, magnified
+rumours, expressed opinions, mostly erroneous, buzzed in the ears of the
+anxious party at Monks Barton. Then Martin Grimbal returned to Chagford and
+there came an evening when those most interested met after supper at the farm
+to hear all he could tell them.</p>
+<p>Long faces grouped round Martin as he made his statement in a grey June
+twilight. Mr. Blee and the miller smoked, Mrs. Blanchard sat with her hand in
+her daughter&rsquo;s, and Phoebe occupied a comfortable arm-chair by the wood
+fire. Between intervals of long silence came loud, juicy, sounds from
+Billy&rsquo;s pipe, and when light waned they still talked on until Chris
+stirred herself and sought the lamp.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They tell me,&rdquo; began Martin, &ldquo;that a deserting soldier
+is punished according to his character and with regard to the fact whether he
+surrenders himself or is apprehended. Of course we know Will gave himself up,
+but then they will find out that he knew poor John&rsquo;s unfortunate letter
+had reached its destination&mdash;or at any rate started for it; and they may
+argue, not knowing the truth, that it was the fact of the information being
+finally despatched made Will surrender. They will say, I am afraid, as they
+said to me: &rsquo;Why did he wait until now if he meant to do the right
+thing? Why did he not give himself up long ago?&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s easy answered: to please others,&rdquo; explained Mr.
+Lyddon. &ldquo;Fust theer was his promise to Phoebe, then his mother&rsquo;s
+illness, then his other promise, to bide till his wife was brought to bed.
+Looking back I see we was wrong to use our power against his awn wish; but so
+it stands.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I ought to go; I ought to be alongside un,&rdquo; moaned Phoebe;
+&ldquo;I was at the bottom of everything from fust to last. For me he run
+away; for me he stopped away. Mine&rsquo;s the blame, an&rsquo; them as judge
+him should knaw it an&rsquo; hear me say so.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Caan&rsquo;t do no such vain thing as that,&rdquo; declared Mr.
+Blee. &ldquo;&rsquo;T was never allowed as a wife should be heard &rsquo;pon
+the doin&rsquo;s of her awn husband. &rsquo;Cause why? She&rsquo;d be
+one-sided&mdash;either plump for un through thick an&rsquo; thin, or else all
+against un, as the case might stand.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;As to the sentence,&rdquo; continued Martin, &ldquo;if a man with a
+good character deserts and thinks better of it and goes back to his regiment,
+he is not as a rule tried by court-martial at all. Instead, he loses all his
+former service and has to begin to reckon his period of engagement&mdash;six
+or seven years perhaps&mdash;all over again. But a notoriously bad character
+is tried by court-martial in any case, whether he gives himself up or not;
+and he gets a punishment according to the badness of his past record. Such a
+man would have from eighty-four days&rsquo; imprisonment, with hard labour,
+up to six months, or even a year, if he had deserted more than once. Then the
+out-and-out rascals are sentenced to be &lsquo;dismissed her Majesty&rsquo;s
+service.&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But the real gude men,&rdquo; pleaded Phoebe&mdash;&ldquo;them as
+had no whisper &rsquo;gainst &rsquo;em, same as Will? They couldn&rsquo;t be
+hard &rsquo;pon them, &rsquo;specially if they knawed all?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I should hope not; I&rsquo;m sure not. You see the case is so
+unusual, as an officer explained to me, and such a great length of time has
+elapsed between the action and the judgment upon it. That is in Will&rsquo;s
+favour. A good soldier with a clean record who deserts and is apprehended
+does not get more than three months with hard labour and sometimes less.
+That&rsquo;s the worst that can happen, I hope.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What&rsquo;s hard labour to him?&rdquo; murmured Billy, whose tact
+on occasions of universal sorrow was sometimes faulty. &ldquo;&rsquo;Tis the
+rankle of bein&rsquo; in every blackguard&rsquo;s mouth that&rsquo;ll cut
+Will to the quick.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What blackguards say and think ban&rsquo;t no odds,&rdquo; declared
+Mrs. Blanchard. &ldquo;&rsquo;Tis better&mdash;far better he should do what
+he must do. The disgrace is in the minds of them that lick theer lips upon
+his sorrow. Let him pay for a wrong deed done, for the evil he did that gude
+might come of it. I see the right hand o&rsquo; God holding&rsquo; the
+li&rsquo;l strings of my son&rsquo;s life, an&rsquo; I knaw better&rsquo;n
+any of &rsquo;e what&rsquo;ll be in the bwoy&rsquo;s heart now.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yet, when all&rsquo;s said, &rsquo;tis a mournful sarcumstance
+an&rsquo; sent for our chastening,&rdquo; contended Mr. Blee stoutly.
+&ldquo;Us mustn&rsquo;t argue away the torment of it an&rsquo; pretend
+&rsquo;tis nought. Ban&rsquo;t a pleasing thing, &rsquo;specially at such a
+time when all the airth s gwaine daft wi&rsquo; joy for the gracious gudeness
+o&rsquo; God to the Queen o&rsquo; England. In plain speech, &rsquo;t is a
+damn dismal come-along-of-it, an&rsquo; I&rsquo;ve cried by night, auld
+though I am, to think o&rsquo; the man&rsquo;s babes grawin&rsquo; up
+wi&rsquo; this round theer necks. An&rsquo; wan to be born while he &rsquo;m
+put away! Theer &rsquo;s a black picksher for &rsquo;e! Him doin&rsquo; hard
+labour as the Law directs, an&rsquo; his wife doin&rsquo; hard labour,
+tu&mdash;in her lonely bed! Why, gormed if I&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;For God&rsquo;s sake shut your mouth, you horrible old man!&rdquo;
+burst out Martin, as Phoebe hurried away in tears and Chris followed her.
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;re a disgrace to humanity and I don&rsquo;t hesitate&mdash;I
+don&rsquo;t hesitate at all to say you have no proper feeling in
+you!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Martin&rsquo;s right, Billy,&rdquo; declared Mr. Lyddon without
+emotion. &ldquo;You &rsquo;m a thought tu quick to meet other people&rsquo;s
+troubles half way, as I&rsquo;ve told &rsquo;e before to-night. Ban&rsquo;t a
+comely trait in &rsquo;e. You&rsquo;ve made her run off sobbing her poor,
+bruised heart out. As if she hadn&rsquo;t wept enough o&rsquo; late. Do
+&rsquo;e think us caan&rsquo;t see what it all means an&rsquo; the wisht
+cloud that&rsquo;s awver all our heads, lookin&rsquo; darker by contrast
+wi&rsquo; the happiness of the land, owing to the Jubilee of a gert Queen?
+Coourse we knaw. But&rsquo;t is poor wisdom to talk &rsquo;bout the blackness
+of a cloud to them as be tryin&rsquo; to find its silver lining. If you
+caan&rsquo;t lighten trouble, best to hold your peace.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What&rsquo;s the use of cryin&rsquo; &lsquo;peace&rsquo; when us
+knaws in our hearts &rsquo;tis war? Us must look inside an&rsquo; outside,
+an&rsquo; count the cost same as I be doin&rsquo; now,&rdquo; declared Mr.
+Blee. &ldquo;Then to be catched up so harsh &rsquo;mong friends! Well, well,
+gude-night, all; I&rsquo;ll go to my rest. Hard words doan&rsquo;t break,
+though they may bruise. But I&rsquo;ll do my duty, whether or no.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He rose and shuffled to the door, then looked round and opened his mouth
+to speak again. But he changed his mind, shook his head, snorted
+expressively, and disappeared.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A straange-fashioned chap,&rdquo; commented Mrs. Blanchard,
+&ldquo;wi&rsquo; sometimes a wise word stuck in his sour speech, like a gude
+currant in a bad dumpling.&rdquo;</p>
+<h2><a id="IV_XVIII" name="IV_XVIII"></a>CHAPTER XVIII<br />
+THE NIGHT OF JUBILEE</h2>
+<p>Unnumbered joy fires were writing the nation&rsquo;s thanksgiving across
+the starry darkness of a night in June. Throughout the confines of
+Britain&mdash;on knolls arising beside populous towns, above the wild cliffs
+of our coasts, in low-lying lands, upon the banks of rivers, at the fringes
+of forests and over a thousand barren heaths, lonely wastes, and stony
+pinnacles of untamed hills, like some mundane galaxy of stars or many-tongued
+outbreak of conflagration, the bonfires glimmered. And their golden seed was
+sown so thickly, that from no pile of those hundreds then brightening the
+hours of darkness had it been possible to gaze into the night and see no
+other.</p>
+<p>Upon the shaggy fastnesses of Devon&rsquo;s central waste, within the
+bounds, metes, and precincts of Dartmoor Forest, there shone a whole
+constellation of little suns, and a wanderer in air might have counted a
+hundred without difficulty, whilst, for the beholders perched upon Yes Tor,
+High Wilhays, or the bosom of Cosdon during the fairness and clearness of
+that memorable night, fully threescore beacons flamed. All those granite
+giants within the field of man&rsquo;s activities, all the monsters whose
+enormous shades fell at dawn or evening time upon the hamlets and villages of
+the Moor, now carried on their lofty crowns the flames of rejoicing. Bonfires
+of varying size, according to the energy and importance of the communities
+responsible for them, dotted the circumference of the lonely region in a
+vast, irregular figure, but thinned and ceased towards the unpeopled heart of
+the waste. On Wattern, at Cranmere, upon Fur Tor, and under the hoary,
+haunted woods of Wistman, no glad beacons blazed or voices rang. There
+Nature, ignorant of epochs and heeding neither olympiad nor lustrum, cycle
+nor century, ruled alone; there, all self-centred, self-contained, unwitting
+of conscious existence and its little joys, her perfection above praise and
+more enduring than any chronicle of it, asking for no earthborn acclamations
+of her eternal reign, demanding only obedience from all on penalty of death,
+the Mother swayed her sceptre unseen. Seed and stone, blade and berry, hot
+blood and cold, did her bidding and slept or stirred at her ordinance. A
+nightjar harshly whirred beneath her footstool; wan tongues of flame rose and
+fell upon her quaking altars; a mountain fox, pattering quick-footed to the
+rabbit warren, caught light from those exhalations in his round, green eyes
+and barked.</p>
+<p>Humanity thronged and made merry around numberless crackling piles of
+fire. Men and women, boys and girls, most noisily rejoiced, and from each
+flaming centre of festivity a thin sound of human shouting and laughter
+streamed starward with the smoke.</p>
+<p>Removed by brief distance in space, the onlooker, without overmuch strain
+or imagination, might stride a pace or two backward in time and conceive
+himself for a moment as in the presence of those who similarly tended beacons
+on these granite heights of old. Then, truly, the object and occasion were
+widely different; then, perchance, in answer to evil rumour moving zigzag on
+black bat-wings through nights of fear, many a bale-fire had shot upwards,
+upon the keystone of Cosdon&rsquo;s solemn arch, beckoned like a bloody hand
+towards north and south, and cried danger to a thousand British warriors
+lurking in moor, and fen, and forest. Answering flames had leapt from Hay
+Tor, from Buckland Beacon, from Great Mis Tor in the west; and their warning,
+caught up elsewhere, would quickly penetrate to the heart of the South Hams,
+to the outlying ramparts of the Cornish wastes, to Exmoor and the coast-line
+of the north. But no laughter echoed about those old-time fires. Their lurid
+light smeared wolfskins, splashed on metal and untanned hide, illumined
+barbaric adornments, fierce faces, wild locks, and savage eyes. Anxious
+Celtic mothers and maidens stood beside their men, while fear and rage leapt
+along from woman&rsquo;s face to woman&rsquo;s face, as some gasping wretch,
+with twoscore miles of wilderness behind him, told of high-beaked monsters
+moving under banks of oars, of dire peril, of death and ruin, suddenly sprung
+in a night from behind the rim of the sea.</p>
+<p>Since then the peaks of the Moor have smiled or scowled under countless
+human fires, have flashed glad tidings or flamed ill news to many
+generations. And now, perched upon one enormous mass of stone, there towered
+upward a beacon of blazing furze and pine. In its heart were tar barrels and
+the monster bred heat enough to remind the granite beneath it of those fires
+that first moulded its elvan ingredients to a concrete whole and hurled them
+hither.</p>
+<p>About this eye of flame crowded those who had built it, and the roaring
+mass of red-hot timber and seething pitch represented the consummation of
+Chagford&rsquo;s festivities on the night of Jubilee. The flames, obedient to
+such light airs as were blowing, bent in unison with the black billows of
+smoke that wound above them. Great, trembling tongues separated from the mass
+and soared upward, gleaming as they vanished; sparks and jets, streams and
+stars of light, shot from the pile to illuminate the rolling depths of the
+smoke cloud, to fret its curtain with spangles and jewels of gold atid ruby,
+to weave strange, lurid lights into the very fabric of its volume. Far away,
+as the breezes drew them, fell a red glimmer of fire, where those charred
+fragments caught in the rush and hurled aloft, returned again to earth; and
+the whole incandescent structure, perched as it was upon the apex of Yes Tor,
+suggested at a brief distance a fiery top-knot of streaming flame on some
+vast and demoniac head thrust upward from the nether world.</p>
+<p>Great splendour of light gleamed upon a ring of human beings. Adventurous
+spirits leapt forth, fed the flames with faggots and furze and risked their
+hairy faces within the range of the bonfire&rsquo;s scorching breath.
+Alternate gleam and glow played fantastically upon the spectators, and,
+though for the most part they moved but little while their joy fire was at
+its height, the conflagration caused a sheer devil&rsquo;s dance of impish
+light and shadow to race over every face and form in the assemblage. The
+fantastic magician of the fire threw humps on to straight backs, flattened
+good round breasts, wrote wrinkles on smooth faces, turned eyes and lips into
+shining gems, made white teeth yellow, cast a grotesque spell of the unreal
+on young shapes, of the horrible upon old ones. A sort of monkey coarseness
+crept into the red, upturned faces; their proportions were distorted, their
+delicacy destroyed. Essential lines of figures were concealed by the inky
+shadows; unimportant features were thrown into a violent prominence; the
+clean fire impinged abruptly on a night of black shade, as sunrise on the
+moon. There was no atmosphere. Human noses poked weirdly out of nothing,
+human hands waved without arms, human heads moved without bodies, bodies
+bobbed along without legs. The heart-beat and furnace roar of the fire was
+tremendous, but the shouts of men, the shriller laughter of women, and the
+screams and yells of children could be heard through it, together with the
+pistol-like explosion of sap turned to steam, and rending its way from green
+wood. Other sounds also fretted the air, for a hundred yards distant&mdash;in
+a hut-circle&mdash;the Chagford drum-and-fife band lent its throb and squeak
+to the hour, and struggled amain to increase universal joy. So the fire
+flourished, and the plutonian rock-mass of the tor arose, the centre of a
+scene itself plutonian.</p>
+<p>Removed by many yards from the ring of human spectators, and scattered in
+wide order upon the flanks of the hill, stood tame beasts. Sheep huddled
+there and bleated amazement, their fleeces touched by the flicker of the
+distant fire; red heifers and steers also faced the flame and chewed the cud
+upon a spectacle outside all former experience; while inquisitive ponies drew
+up in a wide radius, snorted and sniffed with delicate, dilated nostrils at
+the unfamiliar smell of the breeze, threw up their little heads, fetched a
+compass at top speed and so returned; then crowded flank to flank, shoulder
+to shoulder, and again blankly gazed at the fire which reflected itself in
+the whites of their shifty eyes.</p>
+<p>Fitting the freakish antics of the red light, a carnival spirit, hard to
+rouse in northern hearts, awakened within this crowd of Devon men and women,
+old men and children. There was in their exhilaration some inspiration from
+the joyous circumstance they celebrated; and something, too, from the barrel.
+Dancing began and games, feeble by day but not lacking devil when pursued
+under cover of darkness. There were hugging and kissing, and yells of
+laughter when amorous couples who believed themselves safe were suddenly
+revealed lip to lip and heart to heart by an unkind flash of fire. Some, as
+their nature was, danced and screamed that flaming hour away; some sat
+blankly and smoked and gazed with less interest than the outer audience of
+dumb animals; some laboured amain to keep the bonfire at blaze. These last
+worked from habit and forgot their broadcloth. None bade them, but it was
+their life to be toiling; it came naturally to mind and muscle, and they
+laughed while they laboured and sweated. A dozen staid groups witnessed the
+scene from surrounding eminences, but did not join the merrymakers. Mr.
+Shorto-Champernowne, Doctor Parsons, and the ladies of their houses stood
+with their feet on a tumulus apart; and elsewhere Mr. Chapple, Charles
+Coomstock, Mr. Blee, and others, mostly ancient, sat on the granite,
+inspected the pandemonium spread before them, and criticised as experts who
+had seen bonfires lighted before the greater part of the present gathering
+was out of its cradle. But no cynic praising of past time to the
+disparagement of the present marked their opinions. Mr. Chapple indeed
+pronounced the fire brilliantly successful, and did not hesitate to declare
+that it capped all his experience in this direction.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A braave blaze,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;a blaze as gives the
+thoughtful eye an&rsquo; nose a tidy guess at what the Pit&rsquo;s like to
+be. Ess, indeed, a religious fire, so to say; an&rsquo; I warrant the prophet
+sat along just such another when he said man was born to trouble sure as the
+sparks fly up&rsquo;ard.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Somewhat earlier on the same night, under the northern ramparts of
+Dartmoor, and upon the long, creeping hill that rises aloft from Okehampton,
+then dips again, passes beneath the Belstones, and winds by Sticklepath and
+Zeal under Cosdon, there rattled a trap holding two men. From their
+conversation it appeared that one was a traveller who now returned southward
+from a journey.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Gert, gay, fanciful doin&rsquo;s to-night,&rdquo; said the driver,
+looking aloft where Cosdon Beacon swelled. &ldquo;You can see the light from
+the blaze up-long, an&rsquo; now an&rsquo; again you can note a sign in the
+night like a red-hot wire drawed up out the airth. They &rsquo;m sky-rockets,
+I judge.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;T is a joyful night, sure &rsquo;nough.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The driver illustrated a political ignorance quite common in rural
+districts ten years ago and not conspicuously rare to-day. He laboured under
+uneasy suspicions that the support of monarchy was a direct and dismal tax
+upon the pockets of the poor.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Pity all the fuss ban&rsquo;t about a better job,&rdquo; he said.
+&ldquo;Wan auld, elderly lady &rsquo;s so gude as another, come to think of
+it. Why shouldn&rsquo;t my mother have a jubilee?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What for? &rsquo;Cause she&rsquo;ve borne a damned fule?&rdquo;
+asked the other man angrily. &ldquo;If that&rsquo;s your way o&rsquo;
+thought, best keep it in your thoughts. Anyhow, I&rsquo;ll knock your silly
+head off if I hears another word to that tune, so now you knaw.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The speaker was above medium height and breadth, the man who drove him
+happened to be unusually small.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, well, no offence,&rdquo; said the latter.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;There is offence; an&rsquo; it I heard a lord o&rsquo; the land
+talk that way to-night, I&rsquo;d make un swallow every dirty word of it. To
+hell wi&rsquo; your treason!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The driver changed the subject.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Now you can see a gude few new fires,&rdquo; he said.
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s the Throwleigh blaze; an&rsquo; that, long ways off,
+be&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes Tor by the look of it. All Chagford&rsquo;s traapsed up-long, I
+warn &rsquo;e, to-night.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>They were now approaching a turning of the ways and the traveller suddenly
+changed his destination.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Come to think of it, I&rsquo;ll go straight on,&rdquo; he said.
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;ll save you a matter o&rsquo; ten miles, tu. Drive ahead a
+bit Berry Down way. Theer I&rsquo;ll leave &rsquo;e an&rsquo; you&rsquo;ll be
+back home in time to have some fun yet.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The driver, rejoicing at this unhoped diminution of his labours, soon
+reached the foot of a rough by-road that ascends to the Moor between the
+homesteads of Berry Down and Creber.</p>
+<p>Yes Tor now arose on the left under its cap of flame, and the wayfarer,
+who carried no luggage, paid his fare, bid the other
+&ldquo;good-night,&rdquo; and then vanished into the darkness.</p>
+<p>He passed between the sleeping farms, and only watch-dogs barked out of
+the silence, for Gidleigh folks were all abroad that night. Pressing onwards,
+the native hurried to Scorhill, then crossed the Teign below Batworthy Farm,
+passed through the farmyard, and so proceeded to the common beneath Yes Tor.
+He whistled as he went, then stopped a moment to listen. The first drone of
+music and remote laughter reached his ear. He hurried onwards until a gleam
+lighted his face; then he passed through the ring of beasts, still glaring
+fascinated around the fire; and finally he pushed among the people.</p>
+<p>He stood revealed and there arose a sudden whisper among some who knew
+him, but whom he knew not. One or two uttered startled cries at this
+apparition, for all associated the newcomer with events and occurrences
+widely remote from the joy of the hour. How he came among them now, and what
+event made it possible for him to stand in their midst a free man, not the
+wisest could guess.</p>
+<p>A name was carried from mouth to mouth, then shouted aloud, then greeted
+with a little cheer. It fell upon Mr. Blee&rsquo;s ear as he prepared to
+start homewards; and scarcely had the sound of it set him gasping when a big
+man grew out of the flame and shadow and stood before him with extended
+hand.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Burnish it all! You! Be it Blanchard or the ghost of un?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The man hisself&mdash;so big as bull&rsquo;s beef, an&rsquo; so
+free as thicky fire!&rdquo; said Will.</p>
+<p>Riotous joy sprang and bubbled in his voice. He gripped Billy&rsquo;s hand
+till the old man jumped and wriggled.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Free! Gude God! Doan&rsquo;t tell me you&rsquo;ve brawke
+loose&mdash;doan&rsquo;t &rsquo;e say that! Christ! if you haven&rsquo;t
+squashed my hand till theer&rsquo;s no feeling in it! Doan&rsquo;t &rsquo;e
+say you&rsquo;ve runned away?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No such thing,&rdquo; answered Will, now the centre of a little
+crowd. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll tell &rsquo;e, sawls all, if you mind to hear.
+&rsquo;Tis this way: Queen Victoria, as have given of the best she&rsquo;ve
+got wi&rsquo; both hands to the high men of the land, so they tell me,
+caan&rsquo;t forget nought, even at such a time as this here. She&rsquo;ve
+made gert additions to all manner o&rsquo; men; an&rsquo; to me, an&rsquo;
+the likes o&rsquo; me she&rsquo;ve given what&rsquo;s more precious than
+bein&rsquo; lords or dukes. I&rsquo;m free&mdash;me an&rsquo; all as runned
+from the ranks. The Sovereign Queen&rsquo;s let deserters go free, if you can
+credit it; an&rsquo; that&rsquo;s how I stand here this minute.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>A buzz and hum with cheers and some laughter and congratulations followed
+Will&rsquo;s announcement. Then the people scattered to spread his story, and
+Mr. Blee spoke.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Come you down home to wance. Ban&rsquo;t none up here as cares a
+rush &rsquo;bout &rsquo;e but me. But theer &rsquo;s a many anxious folks
+below. I comed up for auld sake&rsquo;s sake an&rsquo; because ban&rsquo;t in
+reason to suppose I&rsquo;ll ever see another joy fire &rsquo;pon Yes Tor
+rock, at my time o&rsquo; life. But us&rsquo;ll go an&rsquo; carry this rare
+news to Chagford an&rsquo; the Barton.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>They faded from the red radius of the fire and left it slowly dying. Will
+helped Billy off rough ground to the road. Then he set off at a speed
+altogether beyond the old man&rsquo;s power, so Mr. Blee resorted to
+stratagem.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Bate your pace; &rsquo;bate your pace; I caan&rsquo;t travel
+that gait an&rsquo; talk same time. Yet theer&rsquo;s a power o&rsquo; fine
+things I might tell &rsquo;e if you&rsquo;d listen.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;T is hard to walk slow towards a mother an&rsquo; wife like
+what mine be, after near a month from &rsquo;em; but let&rsquo;s have your
+news, Billy, an&rsquo; doan&rsquo;t croak, for God&rsquo;s sake. Say
+all&rsquo;s well wi&rsquo; all.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I ban&rsquo;t no croaker, as you knaws. Happy, are
+&rsquo;e?&mdash;happy for wance? I suppose you&rsquo;ll say now, as
+you&rsquo;ve said plenty times a&rsquo;ready, that you &rsquo;m to the tail
+of your troubles for gude an&rsquo; all&mdash;just in your auld, silly
+fashion?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not me, auld chap, never no more&mdash;so long as you &rsquo;m
+alive! Ha, ha, ha&mdash;that&rsquo;s wan for you! Theer! if &rsquo;t
+isn&rsquo;t gude to laugh again!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I be main glad as I&rsquo;ve got no news to make &rsquo;e do
+anything else, though ban&rsquo;t often us can be prophets of gude nowadays.
+But if you&rsquo;ve grawed a streak wiser of late, then theer&rsquo;s hope,
+even for a scatterbrain like you, the Lard bein&rsquo; all-powerful. Not that
+jokes against such as me would please Him the better.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve thought a lot in my time, Billy; an&rsquo; I
+haven&rsquo;t done thinking yet. I&rsquo;ve comed to reckon as I caan&rsquo;t
+do very well wi&rsquo;out the world, though the world would fare easy enough
+wi&rsquo;out me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Billy nodded.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s sense so far as it goes,&rdquo; he admitted.
+&ldquo;Obedience be hard to the young; to the auld it comes natural; to me
+allus was easy as dirt from my youth up. Obedience to betters in heaven
+an&rsquo; airth. But you&mdash;you with your born luck&mdash;never heard tell
+of nothin&rsquo; like it &rsquo;t all. What&rsquo;s a fix to you? You goes in
+wan end an&rsquo; walks out t&rsquo; other, like a rabbit through a hedge.
+Theer you was&mdash;in such a tight pass as you might say neither God nor
+angels could get &rsquo;e free wi&rsquo;out a Bible miracle, when, burnish it
+all! if the Jubilee Queen o&rsquo; England doan&rsquo;t busy herself
+&rsquo;bout &rsquo;e!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;T is true as I&rsquo;m walkin&rsquo; by your side. I&rsquo;d
+give a year o&rsquo; my wages to knaw how I could shaw what I think about
+it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You might thank her. &rsquo;T is all as humble folks can do most
+times when Queens or Squires or the A&rsquo;mighty Hisself spares a thought
+to better us. Us can awnly say &rsquo;thank you.&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>There was a silence of some duration; then Billy again bid his companion
+moderate his pace.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m forgetting all I&rsquo;ve got to tell &rsquo;e, though
+I&rsquo;ve news enough for a buke,&rdquo; he said.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How&rsquo;s Jan Grimbal, fust plaace?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;On his legs again an&rsquo; out o&rsquo; danger if the Lunnon
+doctor knaws anything. A hunderd guineas they say that chap have had! Your
+name was danced to a mad tune &rsquo;pon Grimbal&rsquo;s lips &rsquo;fore his
+senses corned back to un. Why for I caan&rsquo;t tell &rsquo;e. He&rsquo;ve
+shook hands wi&rsquo; Death for sartain while you was away.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; mother, an&rsquo; wife, an&rsquo; Miller?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Your mother be well&mdash;a steadfast woman her be. Joy
+doan&rsquo;t lift her up, an&rsquo; sorrow doan&rsquo;t crush her.
+Theer&rsquo;s gert wisdom in her way of life. &rsquo;T is my awn, for that
+matter. Then Miller&mdash;well, he &rsquo;m grawin&rsquo; auld an&rsquo;
+doan&rsquo;t rate me quite so high as formerly&mdash;not that I judge anybody
+but myself. An&rsquo; your missis&mdash;theer, if I haven&rsquo;t kept it for
+the last! &rsquo;Tis news four-an-twenty hour old now an&rsquo; they wrote to
+&rsquo;e essterday, but I lay you missed the letter awin&rsquo; to
+me&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Get on!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, she&rsquo;ve brought &rsquo;e a bwoy&mdash;so now
+you&rsquo;ve got both sorts&mdash;bwoy an&rsquo; cheel. An&rsquo; all
+doin&rsquo; well as can be, though wisht work for her, thinkin&rsquo;
+&rsquo;pon you the while.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Will stood still and uttered a triumphant but inarticulate
+sound&mdash;half-laugh, half-sob, half-thanksgiving. Then the man spoke, slow
+and deep,&mdash;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He shall go for a soldier!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Theer! Now I knaw &rsquo;t is Blanchard back an&rsquo; no other!
+Hear me, will &rsquo;e; doan&rsquo;t plan no such uneven way of life for
+un.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;By God, he shall!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The words came back over Will Blanchard&rsquo;s shoulder, for he was fast
+vanishing.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Might have knawed he wouldn&rsquo;t walk along wi&rsquo; me arter
+that,&rdquo; thought Billy. Then he lifted up his voice and bawled to the
+diminishing figure, already no more than a darker blot on the darkness of
+night.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;For the Lard&rsquo;s love go in quiet an&rsquo; gradual, or
+you&rsquo;ll scare the life out of &rsquo;em all.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>And the answer came back,&mdash;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I knaw, I knaw; I ban&rsquo;t the man to do a rash deed!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Mr. Blee chuckled and plodded on through the night while Will strode far
+ahead.</p>
+<p>Presently he stood beside the wicket of Mrs. Blanchard&rsquo;s cottage and
+hesitated between two women. Despite circumstances, there came no uncertain
+answer from the deepest well-springs of him. He could not pass that gate just
+then. And so he stopped and turned and entered; and she, his mother, sitting
+in thought alone, heard a footfall upon the great nightly silence&mdash;a
+sudden, familiar footfall that echoed to her heart the music it loved
+best.</p>
+<h2>THE END.</h2>
+<hr class="full" />
+<h2>Footnotes:</h2>
+<blockquote class="footnote"><a id="footnote1" name="footnote1"></a>
+<span class='fnheader'>Footnote 1:</span> <a href=
+"#footnotetag1">(return)</a>
+<p><i>At Chagford.</i> The place of the poet&rsquo;s passing is believed to
+have been an ancient dwelling-house adjacent to St. Michael&rsquo;s Church.
+At that date it was a private residence of the Whiddon family; but during
+later times it became known as the &ldquo;Black Swan Inn,&rdquo; or tavern (a
+black swan being the crest of Sir John Whiddon, Judge of Queen&rsquo;s Bench
+in the first Mary&rsquo;s reign); while to-day this restored Mansion appears
+as the hostelry of the &ldquo;Three Crowns.&rdquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<blockquote class="footnote"><a id="footnote2" name="footnote2"></a>
+<span class='fnheader'>Footnote 2:</span> <a href=
+"#footnotetag2">(return)</a>
+<p><i>The sweet poet.</i></p>
+<p class="poem">&ldquo;Wassaile the trees, that they may beare<br />
+You many a Plum, and many a Peare;<br />
+For more or lesse fruites they will bring,<br />
+As you doe give them Wassailing.&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="signed"><i>Hesperides.</i></p>
+</blockquote>
+<blockquote class="footnote"><a id="footnote3" name="footnote3"></a>
+<span class='fnheader'>Footnote 3:</span> <a href=
+"#footnotetag3">(return)</a>
+<p><i>Rames</i> = skeleton; remains.</p>
+</blockquote>
+<blockquote class="footnote"><a id="footnote4" name="footnote4"></a>
+<span class='fnheader'>Footnote 4:</span> <a href=
+"#footnotetag4">(return)</a>
+<p><i>Muty-hearted</i> = soft-hearted.</p>
+</blockquote>
+<blockquote class="footnote"><a id="footnote5" name="footnote5"></a>
+<span class='fnheader'>Footnote 5:</span> <a href=
+"#footnotetag5">(return)</a>
+<p><i>Caddling</i> = loafing, idling.</p>
+</blockquote>
+<blockquote class="footnote"><a id="footnote6" name="footnote6"></a>
+<span class='fnheader'>Footnote 6:</span> <a href=
+"#footnotetag6">(return)</a>
+<p><i>Venwell rights</i> = Venville rights.</p>
+</blockquote>
+<blockquote class="footnote"><a id="footnote7" name="footnote7"></a>
+<span class='fnheader'>Footnote 7:</span> <a href=
+"#footnotetag7">(return)</a>
+<p><i>Hatch-mouthed</i> = foul mouthed; profane.</p>
+</blockquote>
+<blockquote class="footnote"><a id="footnote8" name="footnote8"></a>
+<span class='fnheader'>Footnote 8:</span> <a href=
+"#footnotetag8">(return)</a>
+<p><i>Awnself</i>=selfish.</p>
+</blockquote>
+<blockquote class="footnote"><a id="footnote9" name="footnote9"></a>
+<span class='fnheader'>Footnote 9:</span> <a href=
+"#footnotetag9">(return)</a>
+<p><i>Playing</i> = swarming.</p>
+</blockquote>
+<blockquote class="footnote"><a id="footnote10" name="footnote10"></a>
+<span class='fnheader'>Footnote 10:</span> <a href=
+"#footnotetag10">(return)</a>
+<p><i>Bosky-eyed</i> = intoxicated.</p>
+</blockquote>
+<blockquote class="footnote"><a id="footnote11" name="footnote11"></a>
+<span class='fnheader'>Footnote 11:</span> <a href=
+"#footnotetag11">(return)</a>
+<p><i>Things</i> = beasts; sheep and cattle.</p>
+</blockquote>
+<blockquote class="footnote"><a id="footnote12" name="footnote12"></a>
+<span class='fnheader'>Footnote 12:</span> <a href=
+"#footnotetag12">(return)</a>
+<p><i>Mommet</i> = scarecrow.</p>
+</blockquote>
+<blockquote class="footnote"><a id="footnote13" name="footnote13"></a>
+<span class='fnheader'>Footnote 13:</span> <a href=
+"#footnotetag13">(return)</a>
+<p><i>Scad</i> = the outer rind of the peat, with ling and grass still
+adhering to it.</p>
+</blockquote>
+
+<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 14527 ***</div>
+</body>
+</html>
diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6312041
--- /dev/null
+++ b/LICENSE.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,11 @@
+This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements,
+metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be
+in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES.
+
+Procedures for determining public domain status are described in
+the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org.
+
+No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in
+jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize
+this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright
+status under the laws that apply to them.
diff --git a/README.md b/README.md
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..736c893
--- /dev/null
+++ b/README.md
@@ -0,0 +1,2 @@
+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for
+eBook #14527 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/14527)
diff --git a/old/14527-h.zip b/old/14527-h.zip
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a11a0f8
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/14527-h.zip
diff --git a/old/14527-h/14527-h.htm b/old/14527-h/14527-h.htm
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c358578
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/14527-h/14527-h.htm
@@ -0,0 +1,16815 @@
+<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Transitional//EN"
+    "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-transitional.dtd">
+<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml">
+<head>
+<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=us-ascii" />
+<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Children of the Mist by
+Eden Phillpots</title>
+
+<style type="text/css">
+    /*<![CDATA[*/
+
+    <!--
+    body                 {margin-left: 7%; margin-right: 10%;}
+    p                    {text-indent: 2em; text-align: justify;}
+    h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6    {text-align: center;}
+    h1 {margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 0em}
+    h2 {margin-top: 4em; margin-bottom: 2em}
+    h3 {margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em}
+
+    pre                  {font-size: 0.7em;}
+
+    hr                   {text-align: center; width: 50%;}
+    hr.full              {width: 100%;}
+    hr.short             {text-align: center; width: 20%;}
+
+    .note {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; }
+
+    .pagenum {text-indent: 0px; position: absolute; left: 92%;  font-size: 8pt;}
+
+    .footnote { margin-right: 10%; margin-left: 10%;}
+
+    div.trans-note {border-style: solid; border-width: 1px;
+      margin: 3em 15%; padding: 1em; text-align: center;}
+
+    .illustrations {margin: 0.5em 10%; font-size: 0.9em;}
+
+    .author {text-align: right; margin-right: 5%;}
+    .center {text-align: center; }
+    .signed {text-align: right; margin-right: 5%;}
+    .dateline {text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-right: 5%;}
+    .fnheader {margin-top:5em; font-weight: bold;}
+    .i0 {text-indent: 0px}
+    .i2 {text-indent: 0px; margin-left: 2em}
+    .i4 {text-indent: 0px; margin-left: 4em}
+    .i6 {text-indent: 0px; margin-left: 6em}
+
+    .poem { text-indent: 0px; margin-left: 4em}
+    .thoughtBreak {margin-top: 3em}
+    ol.TOC {margin-left: 15%; list-style-type: upper-roman; position: relative;}
+    p.TOC {left-margin: 5%; text-indent: 0px}
+    li { margin-top: 0.53em; line-height: 1.2em }
+    -->
+    /*]]>*/
+</style>
+</head>
+<body>
+
+
+<pre>
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Children of the Mist, by Eden Phillpotts
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Children of the Mist
+
+Author: Eden Phillpotts
+
+Release Date: December 30, 2004 [EBook #14527]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHILDREN OF THE MIST ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Charles Aldarondo, Robert Ledger and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+<h1>CHILDREN OF THE MIST<br /><br />by<br /><br />EDEN PHILLPOTTS</h1>
+<h3>Author of &ldquo;Down Dartmoor Way,&rdquo; &ldquo;Some Everyday
+Folks,&rdquo; &ldquo;My Laughing Philosopher,&rdquo; &ldquo;Lying
+Prophets,&rdquo; etc.</h3>
+<h2>1898</h2>
+<p class="TOC">BOOK I: <a href="#I_I">THE BOY&rsquo;S ROMANCE</a></p>
+<ol class='TOC'>
+<li><a href="#I_I">THE PIXIES&rsquo; PARLOUR</a></li>
+<li><a href="#I_II">A CLEAR UNDERSTANDING</a></li>
+<li><a href="#I_III">EXIT WILL</a></li>
+<li><a href="#I_IV">BY THE RIVER</a></li>
+<li><a href="#I_V">THE INCIDENT OF MR. JOEL FORD</a></li>
+<li><a href="#I_VI">AN UNHAPPY POET</a></li>
+<li><a href="#I_VII">LIBATION TO POMONA</a></li>
+<li><a href="#I_VIII">A BROTHERS&rsquo; QUARREL</a></li>
+<li><a href="#I_IX">OUTSIDE EXETER GAOL</a></li>
+<li><a href="#I_X">THE BRINGING OF THE NEWS</a></li>
+<li><a href="#I_XI">LOVE AND GREY GRANITE</a></li>
+<li><a href="#I_XII">A STORY-BOOK</a></li>
+<li><a href="#I_XIII">THE MILLER&rsquo;S OFFER</a></li>
+<li><a href="#I_XIV">LOGIC</a></li>
+</ol>
+<p class="TOC">BOOK II: <a href="#II_I">HIS ENTERPRISE</a></p>
+<ol class='TOC'>
+<li><a href="#II_I">SPRINGTIME</a></li>
+<li><a href="#II_II">NEWTAKE FARM</a></li>
+<li><a href="#II_III">OVER A RIDING-WHIP</a></li>
+<li><a href="#II_IV">DEFEATED HOPES</a></li>
+<li><a href="#II_V">THE ZEAL OF SAM BONUS</a></li>
+<li><a href="#II_VI">A SWARM OF BEES</a></li>
+<li><a href="#II_VII">AN OFFER OF MARRIAGE</a></li>
+<li><a href="#II_VIII">MR. BLEE FORGETS HIMSELF</a></li>
+<li><a href="#II_IX">A DIFFERENCE WITH THE DUCHY</a></li>
+<li><a href="#II_X">CONNECTING LINKS</a></li>
+<li><a href="#II_XI">TOGETHER</a></li>
+<li><a href="#II_XII">THROUGH ONE GREAT DAY</a></li>
+<li><a href="#II_XIII">THE WILL</a></li>
+<li><a href="#II_XIV">A HUNDRED POUNDS</a></li>
+<li><a href="#II_XV">&ldquo;THE ANGEL OF THE DARKER DRINK&rdquo;</a></li>
+<li><a href="#II_XVI">BEFORE THE DAWN</a></li>
+<li><a href="#II_XVII">MISSING</a></li>
+</ol>
+<p class="TOC">BOOK III: <a href="#III_I">HIS GRANITE CROSS</a></p>
+<ol class='TOC'>
+<li><a href="#III_I">BABY</a></li>
+<li><a href="#III_II">THE KNIGHT OF FORLORN HOPES</a></li>
+<li><a href="#III_III">CONCERNING THE GATE-POST</a></li>
+<li><a href="#III_IV">MARTIN&rsquo;S RAID</a></li>
+<li><a href="#III_V">WINTER</a></li>
+<li><a href="#III_VI">THE CROSS UPREARED</a></li>
+<li><a href="#III_VII">GREY TWILIGHT</a></li>
+</ol>
+<p class="TOC">BOOK IV: <a href="#IV_I">HIS SECRET</a></p>
+<ol class='TOC'>
+<li><a href="#IV_I">A WANDERER RETURNS</a></li>
+<li><a href="#IV_II">HOPE RENEWED</a></li>
+<li><a href="#IV_III">ANSWERED</a></li>
+<li><a href="#IV_IV">THE END OF THE FIGHT</a></li>
+<li><a href="#IV_V">TWO MIGHTY SURPRISES</a></li>
+<li><a href="#IV_VI">THE SECRET OUT</a></li>
+<li><a href="#IV_VII">SMALL TIMOTHY</a></li>
+<li><a href="#IV_VIII">FLIGHT</a></li>
+<li><a href="#IV_IX">UNDER COSDON BEACON</a></li>
+<li><a href="#IV_X">BAD NEWS FOR BLANCHARD</a></li>
+<li><a href="#IV_XI">PHOEBE TAKES THOUGHT</a></li>
+<li><a href="#IV_XII">NEW YEAR&rsquo;S EVE AND NEW YEAR&rsquo;S DAY</a></li>
+<li><a href="#IV_XIII">MR. LYDDON&rsquo;S TACTICS</a></li>
+<li><a href="#IV_XIV">ACTION</a></li>
+<li><a href="#IV_XV">A BATTLE</a></li>
+<li><a href="#IV_XVI">A PAIR OF HANDCUFFS</a></li>
+<li><a href="#IV_XVII">SUSPENSE</a></li>
+<li><a href="#IV_XVIII">THE NIGHT OF JUBILEE</a></li>
+</ol>
+<h1>CHILDREN OF THE MIST</h1>
+<h2><a id="I_I" name="I_I"></a>BOOK I<br />
+THE BOY&rsquo;S ROMANCE<br />
+<br />CHAPTER I<br />
+THE PIXIES&rsquo; PARLOUR</h2>
+<p>Phoebe Lyddon frowned, and, as an instant protest, twin dimples peeped
+into life at the left corner of her bonny mouth. In regarding that attractive
+ripple the down-drawn eyebrows were forgotten until they rose again into
+their natural arches. A sweet, childish contour of face chimed with her
+expression; her full lips were bright as the bunch of ripe wood-strawberries
+at the breast of her cotton gown; her eyes as grey as Dartmoor mists; while,
+for the rest, a little round chin, a small, straight nose, and a high
+forehead, which Phoebe mourned and kept carefully concealed under masses of
+curly brown hair, were the sole features to be specially noted about her. She
+was a trifle below the standard of height proper to a girl of nineteen, but
+all compact, of soft, rounded lines, plump, fresh of colour, healthy, happy,
+sweet as a ripe apple.</p>
+<p>From a position upon swelling hillsides above the valley of a river, she
+scanned the scene beneath, made small her eyes to focus the distance, and so
+pursued a survey of meadow and woodland, yet without seeing what she sought.
+Beneath and beyond, separated from her standpoint by grasslands and a hedge
+of hazel, tangled thickets of blackthorn, of bracken, and of briar sank to
+the valley bottom. Therein wound tinkling Teign through the gorges of Fingle
+to the sea; and above it, where the land climbed upward on the other side,
+spread the Park of Whiddou, with expanses of sweet, stone-scattered herbage,
+with tracts of deep fern, coverts of oak, and occasional habitations for the
+deer.</p>
+<p>This spectacle, through a grey veil of fine rain, Phoebe noted at
+mid-afternoon of a day in early August; and, as she watched, there widened a
+rift under the sun&rsquo;s hidden throne, and a mighty, fan-shaped pencil of
+brightness straggled downwards, proceeded in solemn sweep across the valley,
+and lighted the depths of the gorge beyond with a radiance of misty silver.
+The music of jackdaws welcomed this first indication of improved weather;
+then Phoebe&rsquo;s sharp eyes beheld a phenomenon afar off through the
+momentary cessation of the rain. Three parts of a mile away, on a distant
+hillside, like the successive discharges of a dozen fowling-pieces, little
+blotches of smoke or mist suddenly appeared. Rapidly they followed each
+other, and sometimes the puffs of vapour were exploded together, sometimes
+separately. For a moment the girl felt puzzled; then she comprehended and
+laughed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis the silly auld sheep!&rdquo; she said to herself.
+&ldquo;They &rsquo;m shakin &rsquo;theer fleeces &rsquo;cause they knaw the
+rain&rsquo;s over-past. Bellwether did begin, I warrant, then all the rest
+done the same.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Each remote member of the flock thus freed its coat from the accumulated
+moisture of a long rainfall; then the huddled heap, in which they had
+combined to withstand the weather and show tail to the western storm, began
+to scatter. With coughs and sneezes the beasts wandered forward again, and
+pursued their business of grazing.</p>
+<p>Steadily the promises of the sky multiplied and Phoebe&rsquo;s impatience
+increased. Her position did not, however, depend for comfort upon the return
+of sunshine, for she stood out of the weather, where sundry giant rocks to
+the number of five arose in a fantastic pile. Nature&rsquo;s primal
+architects were responsible for the Pixies&rsquo; Parlour, and upon the awful
+morning of Dartmoor&rsquo;s creation these enormous masses had first been
+hurled to their present position&mdash;outposts of the eternal granite,
+though themselves widely removed from the central waste of the Moor. This
+particular and gigantic monument of the past stands with its feet in land
+long cultivated. Plough and harrow yearly skirt the Pixies&rsquo; Parlour; it
+rises to-day above yellow corn, to-morrow amid ripening roots; it crowns the
+succeeding generations of man&rsquo;s industry, and watches a ceaseless cycle
+of human toil. The rocks of which it is composed form a sort of rude chamber,
+sacred to fairy folk since a time before the memory of the living; briars and
+ivy-tods conceal a part of the fabric; a blackthorn, brushed at this season
+with purple fruit, rises above it; one shadowed ledge reveals the nightly
+roosting place of hawk or raven; and marks of steel on the stone show clearly
+where some great or small fragment of granite has been blasted from the
+parent pile for the need of man. Multi-coloured, massive, and picturesque,
+the Parlour, upon Phoebe Lyddon&rsquo;s visit to it, stood forth against the
+red bosom of naked land; for a fierce summer had early ripened the vanished
+harvest, and now its place was already ploughed again, while ashes of dead
+fire scattered upon the earth showed where weed and waste had been consumed
+after ingathering of the grain.</p>
+<p>Patches of August blue now lightened the aerial grey; then sunshine set a
+million gems twinkling on the great bejewelled bosom of the valley. Under
+this magic heat an almost instantaneous shadowy ghost of fresh vapour rose
+upon the riparian meadows, and out of it, swinging along with the energy of
+youth and high spirits, came a lad. Phoebe smiled and twinkled a white
+handkerchief to him, and he waved his hat and bettered his pace for
+answer.</p>
+<p>Soon Will Blanchard reached his sweetheart, and showed himself a brown,
+straight youngster, with curly hair, pugnacious nose, good shoulders, and a
+figure so well put together that his height was not apparent until he stood
+alongside another man. Will&rsquo;s eyes were grey as Phoebe&rsquo;s, but of
+a different expression; soft and unsettled, cloudy as the recent weather,
+full of the alternate mist and flash of a precious stone, one moment all
+a-dreaming, the next aglow. His natural look was at first sight a little
+stern until a man came to know it, then this impression waned and left a
+critic puzzled. The square cut of his face and abrupt angle of his jaw did
+not indeed belie Will Blanchard, but the man&rsquo;s smile magically
+dissipated this austerity of aspect, and no sudden sunshine ever brightened a
+dark day quicker than pleasure made bright his features. It was a sulky,
+sleepy, sweet, changeable face&mdash;very fascinating in the eyes of women.
+His musical laugh once fluttered sundry young bosoms, brightened many pretty
+eyes and cheeks, but Will&rsquo;s heart was Phoebe Lyddon&rsquo;s
+now&mdash;had been for six full months&mdash;and albeit a mere country boy in
+knowledge of the world, younger far than his one-and-twenty years of life,
+and wholly unskilled in those arts whose practice enables men to dwell
+together with friendship and harmony, yet Will Blanchard was quite old enough
+and wise enough and rich enough to wed, and make a husband of more than
+common quality at that&mdash;in his own opinion.</p>
+<p>Fortified by this conviction, and determined to wait no longer, he now
+came to see Phoebe. Within the sheltering arms of the Pixies&rsquo; Parlour
+he kissed her, pressed her against his wet velveteen jacket, then sat down
+under the rocks beside her.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You &rsquo;m comed wi&rsquo; the sun, dear Will.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ay&mdash;the weather breaks. I hope theer&rsquo;ll be a drop more
+water down the river bimebye. You got my letter all right?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess fay, else I shouldn&rsquo;t be here. And this tremendous matter
+in hand?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I thought you&rsquo;d guess what &rsquo;t was. I be weary o&rsquo;
+waitin&rsquo; for &rsquo;e. An&rsquo; as I comed of age last month, I&rsquo;m
+a man in law so well as larnin&rsquo;, and I&rsquo;m gwaine to speak to
+Miller Lyddon this very night.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Phoebe looked blank. There was a moment&rsquo;s silence while Will picked
+and ate the wood-strawberries in his sweetheart&rsquo;s dress.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Caan&rsquo;t &rsquo;e think o&rsquo; nothin&rsquo; wiser than to
+see faither?&rdquo; she said at last.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Theer ban&rsquo;t nothin&rsquo; wiser. He knaws we &rsquo;m
+tokened, and it&rsquo;s no manner o&rsquo; use him gwaine on pretendin&rsquo;
+to himself &rsquo;t isn&rsquo;t so. You &rsquo;m wife-old, and you&rsquo;ve
+made choice o&rsquo; me; and I&rsquo;m a ripe man, as have thought a lot in
+my time, and be earnin&rsquo; gude money and all. Besides, &rsquo;t is a
+dead-sure fact I&rsquo;ll have auld Morgan&rsquo;s place as head waterkeeper,
+an&rsquo; the cottage along with it, in fair time.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ban&rsquo;t for me to lift up no hindrances, but you knaw
+faither.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess, I do&mdash;for a very stiff-necked man.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Maybe &rsquo;t is so; but a gude faither to me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; a gude friend to me, for that matter. He aint got nothing
+&rsquo;gainst me, anyway&mdash;no more &rsquo;s any man living.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Awnly the youth and fieriness of &rsquo;e.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Me fiery! I lay you wouldn&rsquo;t find a cooler chap in
+Chagford.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You &rsquo;m a dinky bit comical-tempered now and again, dear
+heart.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He flushed, and the corners of his jaw thickened.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If a man was to say that, I&rsquo;d knock his words down his
+throat.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I knaw you would, my awn Will; an&rsquo; that&rsquo;s bein&rsquo;
+comical-tempered, ban&rsquo;t it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then perhaps I&rsquo;d best not to see your faither arter all, if
+you &rsquo;m that way o&rsquo; thinkin&rsquo;,&rdquo; he answered
+shortly.</p>
+<p>Then Phoebe purred to him and rubbed her cheek against his chin, whereon
+the glint vanished from his eyes, and they were soft again.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Mother&rsquo;s the awnly livin&rsquo; sawl what understands
+me,&rdquo; he said slowly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And I&mdash;I too, Will!&rdquo; cried Phoebe. &ldquo;Ess fay.
+I&rsquo;ll call you a holy angel if you please, an&rsquo; God knaws theer
+&rsquo;s not an angel in heaven I&rsquo;d have stead of &rsquo;e.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I ban&rsquo;t no angel,&rdquo; said Will gravely, &ldquo;and never
+set up for no such thing; but I&rsquo;ve thought a lot &rsquo;bout the world
+in general, and I&rsquo;m purty wise for a home-stayin&rsquo; chap, come to
+think on it; and it&rsquo;s borne in &rsquo;pon me of late days that the
+married state &rsquo;s a gude wan, and the sooner the better.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But a leap in the dark even for the wisest, Will?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So&rsquo;s every other step us takes for that matter. Look at them
+grasshoppers. Off they goes to glory and doan&rsquo;t knaw no more &rsquo;n
+the dead wheer they&rsquo;ll fetch up. I&rsquo;ve seed &rsquo;em by the river
+jump slap in the water, almost on to a trout&rsquo;s back. So us hops along
+and caan&rsquo;t say what&rsquo;s comin&rsquo; next. We &rsquo;m built to see
+just beyond our awn nose-ends and no further. That&rsquo;s
+philosophy.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ban&rsquo;t comfortin&rsquo; if &rsquo;t is,&rdquo; said
+Phoebe.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Whether or no, I&rsquo;ll see your faither &rsquo;fore night and
+have a plain answer. I&rsquo;m a straight, square man, so&rsquo;s the
+miller.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;ll speed poorly, I&rsquo;m fearin&rsquo;, but &rsquo;t is
+a honest thing; and I&rsquo;ll tell faither you &rsquo;m all the world to me.
+He doan&rsquo;t seem to knaw what it is for a gal to be nineteen year old
+somehow.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Solemnly Will rose, almost overweighted with the consciousness of what lay
+before him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We&rsquo;ll go home-along now. Doan&rsquo;t &rsquo;e tell him
+I&rsquo;m coming. I&rsquo;ll take him unbeknawnst. And you keep out the way
+till I be gone again.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Does your mother knaw, Will?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess, she an&rsquo; Chris both knaw I be gwaine to have it out this
+night. Mother sez I be right, but that Miller will send me packing wi&rsquo;
+a flea in my ear; Chris sez I be wrong to ax yet awhile.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You can see why that is; &rsquo;she &rsquo;s got to wait
+herself,&rdquo; said Phoebe, rather spitefully.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Waitin&rsquo; &rsquo;s well enough when it caan&rsquo;t be helped.
+But in my case, as a man of assured work and position in the plaace, I
+doan&rsquo;t hold it needful no more.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Together the young couple marched down over the meadows, gained the side
+of the river, and followed its windings to the west. Through a dip in the
+woods presently peeped the ancient stannary town of Chagford, from the summit
+of its own little eminence on the eastern confines of Dartmoor. Both Will and
+Phoebe dwelt within the parish, but some distance from the place itself. She
+lived at Monks Barton, a farm and mill beside the stream; he shared an
+adjacent cottage with his mother and sister. Only a bend of the river
+separated the dwellings of the lovers&mdash;where Rushford Bridge spanned the
+Teign and beech and fir rose above it.</p>
+<p>In a great glory of clearness after rain, boy and girl moved along
+together under the trees. The fisherman&rsquo;s path which they followed
+wound where wet granite shone and ivy glimmered beneath the forest; and the
+leaves still dripped briskly, making a patter of sound through the underwood,
+and marking a thousand circles and splashes in the smooth water beneath the
+banks of the stream. Against a purple-grey background of past rain the green
+of high summer shone bright and fresh, and each moss-clad rock and
+fern-fringed branch of the forest oaks sent forth its own incense of slender
+steam where the sunlight sparkled and sucked up the moisture. Scarce half a
+mile from Phoebe&rsquo;s home a shining yellow twig bent and flashed against
+the green, and a broad back appeared through a screen of alder by the
+water&rsquo;s edge.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;T is a rod,&rdquo; said Will. &ldquo;Bide a moment, and
+I&rsquo;ll take the number of his ticket. He &rsquo;m the first fisherman
+I&rsquo;ve seen to-day.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>As under-keeper or water-bailiff to the Fishing Association, young
+Blanchard&rsquo;s work consisted in endless perambulation of the
+river&rsquo;s bank, in sharp outlook for poacher and trespasser, and in the
+survey of fishermen&rsquo;s bridges, and other contrivances for anglers that
+occurred along the winding course of the waters. His also was the duty of
+noting the license numbers, and of surprising those immoral anglers who
+sought to kill fish illegally on distant reaches of the river. His keen eyes,
+great activity, and approved pluck well fitted Will for such duties. He often
+walked twenty miles a day, and fishermen said that he knew every big trout in
+the Teign from Fingle Bridge to the dark pools and rippling steps under
+Sittaford Tor, near the river&rsquo;s twin birthplaces. He also knew where
+the great peel rested, on their annual migration from sea to moor; where the
+kingfisher&rsquo;s nest of fish-bones lay hidden; where the otter had her
+home beneath the bank, and its inland vent-hole behind a silver birch.</p>
+<p>Will bid the angler &ldquo;good afternoon,&rdquo; and made a few general
+remarks on sport and the present unfavourable condition of the water, shrunk
+to mere ribbons of silver by a long summer drought. The fisherman was a
+stranger to Will&mdash;a handsome, stalwart man, with a heavy amber
+moustache, hard blue eyes, and a skin tanned red by hotter suns than English
+Augusts know. His disposition, also, as it seemed, reflected years of a
+tropic or subtropic existence, for this trivial meeting and momentary
+intrusion upon his solitude resulted in an explosion as sudden as
+unreasonable and unexpected.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Keep back, can&rsquo;t you?&rdquo; he exclaimed while the young
+keeper approached his side; &ldquo;who &rsquo;s going to catch fish with your
+lanky shadow across the water?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Will was up in arms instantly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Do &rsquo;e think I doan&rsquo;t knaw my business? Theer &rsquo;s
+my shadder &rsquo;pon the bank a mile behind you; an&rsquo; I didn&rsquo;t
+ope my mouth till you&rsquo;d fished the stickle to the bottom and missed two
+rises.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>This criticism angered the elder man, and he freed his tailfly fiercely
+from the rush-head that held it.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Mind your own affairs and get out of my sight, whoever you are.
+This river&rsquo;s not what it used to be by a good deal. Over-fished and
+poached, and not looked after, I&rsquo;ll swear.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Thus, in ignorance, the sportsman uttered words of all most like to set
+Will Blanchard&rsquo;s temper loose&mdash;a task sufficiently easy at the
+best of times.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What the hell d&rsquo; you knaw &rsquo;bout the river?&rdquo; he
+flamed out. &ldquo;And as to &rsquo;my affairs,&rsquo; &rsquo;t is my
+affairs, an&rsquo; I be water-bailiff, an&rsquo; I&rsquo;ll thank you for the
+number of your ticket&mdash;so now then!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What&rsquo;s become of Morgan?&rdquo; asked the other.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He &rsquo;m fust, I be second; and &rsquo;t is my job to take the
+license numbers.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Pity you&rsquo;re such an uncivil young cub, then.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Gimme your ticket directly minute!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m not going to.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The keeper looked wicked enough by this time, but he made a great effort
+to hold himself in.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why for not?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Because I didn&rsquo;t take one.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That ban&rsquo;t gwaine to do for me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ban&rsquo;t it? Then you&rsquo;ll have to go without any reason.
+Now run away and don&rsquo;t bleat so loud.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Look here,&rdquo; retorted Will, going straight up to the
+fisherman, and taking his measure with a flashing eye, &ldquo;You gimme your
+ticket number or your name an&rsquo; address, else I&rsquo;ll make
+&rsquo;e.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>They counted nearly the same inches, but the angler was the elder, and a
+man of more powerful build and massive frame than his younger opponent. His
+blue eyes and full, broad face spoke a pugnacity not less pronounced than the
+keeper&rsquo;s own finer features indicated; and thus these two, destined for
+long years to bulk largely each upon the life of the other, stood eye to eye
+for the first time. Will&rsquo;s temper was nearly gone, and now another
+sneer set it loose with sudden and startling result.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Make me, my young moorcock? Two more words and I&rsquo;ll throw you
+across the river!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The two words were not forthcoming, but Will dropped his stick and shot
+forward straight and strong as an angry dog. He closed before the stranger
+could dispose of his rod, gripped him with a strong wrestling hold, and
+cross-buttocked him heavily in the twinkling of an eye. The big man happily
+fell without hurt upon soft sand at the river&rsquo;s brink; but the
+indignity of this defeat roused his temper effectually. He grinned
+nevertheless as he rose again, shook the sand off his face, and licked his
+hands.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Good Devon, sure enough, my son; now I&rsquo;ll teach <i>you</i>
+something you never heard tell of, and break your damned fool&rsquo;s neck
+for you into the bargain!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>But Phoebe, who had wandered slowly on, returned quickly at the sound of
+the scuffle and high words. Now she fluttered between the combatants and
+rendered any further encounter for the time impossible. They could not close
+again with the girl between them, and the stranger, his anger holding its
+breath, glanced at her with sudden interest, stayed his angry growl, suffered
+rage to wane out of his eyes and frank admiration to appear in them.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Doan&rsquo;t be fighting!&rdquo; cried Phoebe.
+&ldquo;Whatever&rsquo;s the mischief, Will? Do bate your speed of hand!
+You&rsquo;ve thrawed the gentleman down, seemin&rsquo;ly.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Wheer &rsquo;s his ticket to then?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why, it isn&rsquo;t Miller Lyddon&rsquo;s young maid,
+surely!&rdquo; burst out the fisherman; &ldquo;not Phoebe grown to
+woman!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>A Devon accent marked the speech, suddenly dragged from him by
+surprise.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess, I be Phoebe Lyddon; but don&rsquo;t &rsquo;e fall &rsquo;pon
+each other again, for the Lard&rsquo;s sake,&rdquo; she said.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The boy &rsquo;s as tetchy in temper as a broody hen. I was only
+joking all the time, and see how he made me pay for my joke. But to think I
+should remember you! Grown from bud to pretty blossom, by God! And I danced
+you on my knee last time I saw you!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then you &rsquo;m wan of they two Grimbal brothers as was to be
+home again in Chagford to-day!&rdquo; exclaimed Will.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s so; Martin and I landed at Plymouth yesterday. We got
+to Chagford early this morning.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Will laughed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I never!&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Why, you be lodging with my awn
+mother at the cottage above Rushford Bridge! You was expected this
+marnin&rsquo;, but I couldn&rsquo;t wait for &rsquo;e. You &rsquo;m Jan
+Grimbal&mdash;eh?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Right! And you &rsquo;re a nice host, to be sure!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;T is solemn truth, you &rsquo;m biding under our roof, the
+&lsquo;Three Crowns&rsquo; bein&rsquo; full just now. And I&rsquo;m sorry I
+thrawed &rsquo;e; but you was that glumpy, and of course I didn&rsquo;t know
+&rsquo;e from Adam. I&rsquo;m Will Blanchard.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Never mind, Will, we&rsquo;ll try again some day. I could wrestle a
+bit once, and learned a new trick or two from a Yankee in Africa.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;ve come back &rsquo;mazin&rsquo; rich they say, Jan
+Grimbal?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So, so. Not millionaires, but all right&mdash;both of us, though
+I&rsquo;m the snug man of the two. We got to Africa at the right moment,
+before 1867, you know, the year that O&rsquo;Reilly saw a nigger-child
+playing with the first Kimberley diamond ever found. Up we went, the pair of
+us. Things have hummed since then, and claims and half-claims and
+quarter-claims are coming to be worth a Jew&rsquo;s eye. We&rsquo;re all
+right, anyway, and I&rsquo;ve got a stake out there yet.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You &rsquo;m well pleased to come back to dear li&rsquo;l Chagford
+after so many years of foreign paarts, I should think, Mr. Grimbal?&rdquo;
+said Phoebe.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ay, that I am. There&rsquo;s no place like Devon, in all the earth,
+and no spot like Chagford in Devon. I&rsquo;m too hard grit to wink an eyelid
+at sight of the old scenes again myself; but Martin, when he caught first
+sight of great rolling Cosdon crowning the land&mdash;why, his eyes were
+wetted, if you&rsquo;ll believe it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And you comed right off to fish the river fust thing,&rdquo; said
+Will admiringly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ay, couldn&rsquo;t help it. When I heard the water calling, it was
+more than my power to keep away. But you &rsquo;re cruel short of rain,
+seemingly, and of course the season &rsquo;s nearly over.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll shaw you dark hovers, wheer braave feesh be lying
+yet,&rdquo; promised Will; and the angler thanked him, foretelling a great
+friendship. Yet his eyes rarely roamed from Phoebe, and anon, as all three
+proceeded, John Grimbal stopped at the gate of Monks Barton and held the girl
+in conversation awhile. But first he despatched Will homewards with a message
+for his mother. &ldquo;Let Mrs. Blanchard know we&rsquo;ll feed at seven
+o&rsquo;clock off the best that she can get,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;and tell
+her not to bother about the liquor. I&rsquo;ll see to that myself.&rdquo;</p>
+<h2><a id="I_II" name="I_II"></a>CHAPTER II<br />
+A CLEAR UNDERSTANDING</h2>
+<p>Monks Barton, or Barton Monachorum, as the farm was called in a Tudor
+perambulation of Chagford, owed its name to traditions that holy men
+aforetime dwelt there, performed saintly deeds, and blessed a spring in the
+adjacent woods, whose waters from that date ever proved a magical medicament
+for &ldquo;striking&rdquo; of sore eyes. That the lands of the valley had
+once been in monastic possession was, however, probable enough; and some
+portions of the old farm did in truth rise upon the ruins of a still more
+ancient habitation long vanished. Monks Barton stood, a picturesque
+agglomeration of buildings, beside the river. The mill-wheel, fed by a stream
+taken from the Teign some distance up the valley and here returned again to
+the parent water, thundered on its solemn round in an eternal twinkling
+twilight of dripping ferns and green mosses; while hard by the dwelling-house
+stood and offered small diamond panes and one dormer-window to the south.
+Upon its whitewashed face three fruit-trees grew&mdash;a black plum, a
+cherry, a winter pear; and before the farmhouse stretched a yard sloping to
+the river ford, where a line of massive stepping-stones for foot-passengers
+crossed the water. On either side of this space, walled up from the edge of
+the stream, little gardens of raspberry and gooseberry bushes spread; and
+here, too, appeared a few apple-trees, a bed of herbs, a patch of onions,
+purple cabbages, and a giant hollyhock with sulphur-coloured blossoms that
+thrust his proud head upwards, a gentleman at large, and the practical
+countrymen of the kitchen-garden. The mill and outbuildings, the homestead
+and wood-stacks embraced a whole gamut of fine colour, ranging from the tawny
+and crimson of fretted brick and tile to varied greys of drying timber; from
+the cushions and pillows of moss and embroidery of houseleeks and valerian,
+that had flourished for fifty years on a ruined shippen, to the silver gleam
+of old thatches and the shining gold of new. Nor was the white face of the
+dwelling-house amiss. Only one cold, crude eye stared out from this
+time-tinctured scene; only one raw pentroof of corrugated iron blotted it,
+made poets sigh, artists swear, and Miller Lyddon contemplate more of the
+same upon his land.</p>
+<p>A clucking and grunting concourse of fowls and pigs shared the farmyard;
+blue pigeons claimed the roof; and now, in the westering light, with slow
+foot, sweet breath, and swelling udder, many kine, red as the ripe
+horse-chestnut, followed each other across the ford, assembled themselves
+together and lowed musically to the milkers. Phoebe Lyddon and John Grimbal
+still stood at the farm-gate, and they watched, as a boy and an aged man came
+forward with buckets and stools. Then, to the muffled thud of the water-wheel
+and the drone and murmur of the river, was added a purr of milk, foaming into
+tin pails, and sharp, thin monitions from the ancient, as he called the cows
+by their names and bid them be still.</p>
+<p>In John Grimbal, newly come from South Africa, this scene awakened a
+lively satisfaction and delight. It told him that he was home again; and so
+did the girl, though it seemed absurd to think that Phoebe had ever sat upon
+his knee and heard his big stories, when as yet he himself was a boy and the
+world still spread before him unconquered. He mused at the change and looked
+forward to bringing himself and his success in life before those who had
+known him in the past. He very well remembered who had encouraged his
+ambitions and spoken words of kindness and of hope; who also had sneered,
+criticised his designs unfavourably, and thrown cold water upon his projects.
+John Grimbal meant to make certain souls smart as he had smarted; but he
+feared his brother a little in this connection, and suspected that Martin
+would not assert himself among the friends of his youth, would not assume a
+position his riches warranted, would be content with too humble a manner of
+life.</p>
+<p>As a matter of fact, the ambition of neither extended much beyond a life
+of peace among the scenes of his childhood; but while the younger traveller
+returned with unuttered thanksgivings in his heart that he was privileged
+again to see the land he loved and henceforth dwell amid its cherished
+scenes, the greater energy and wider ambition of his brother planned a
+position of some prominence if not power. John was above all else a
+sportsman, and his programme embraced land, a stout new dwelling-house,
+preserves of game in a small way, some fishing, and the formation of a new
+rifle-corps at Chagford. This last enterprise he intended to be the serious
+business of life; but his mind was open to any new, agreeable impressions
+and, indeed, it received them at every turn. Phoebe Lyddon awoke a very vital
+train of thoughts, and when he left her, promising to come with his brother
+on the following day to see the miller, John Grimbal&rsquo;s impressionable
+heart was stamped with her pretty image, his ear still held the melody of her
+voice.</p>
+<p>He crossed the stepping-stones, sat down upon the bank to change his
+flies, and looked at the home of Phoebe without sentiment, yet not without
+pleasure. It lay all cuddled on the bosom of a green hill; to the west
+stretched meadows and orchard along the winding valley of the river; to the
+east extended more grass-land that emerged into ferny coombs and glades and
+river dells, all alive with the light of wild flowers and the music of birds,
+with the play of dusky sunshine in the still water, and of shadows on the
+shore.</p>
+<p>A little procession of white ducks sailed slowly up the river, and each as
+it passed twisted its head to peer up at the spectator. Presently the drake
+who led them touched bottom, and his red-gold webs appeared. Then he paddled
+ashore, lifted up his voice, waggled his tail, and with a crescendo of
+quacking conducted his harem into the farmyard. One lone Muscovy duck,
+perchance emulating the holy men of old in their self-communion, or else
+constrained by circumstance to a solitary life, appeared apart on a little
+island under the alders. A stranger in a strange land, he sat with bent head
+and red-rimmed, philosophic eyes, regarding his own breast while sunset
+lights fired the metallic lustre of his motley. Quite close to him a dead
+branch thrust upwards from the water, and the river swirled in oily play of
+wrinkles and dimples beyond it. Here, with some approach to his old skill,
+the angler presently cast a small brown moth. It fell lightly and neatly,
+cocked for a second, then turned helplessly over, wrecked in the sudden eddy
+as a natural insect had been. A fearless rise followed, and in less than half
+a minute a small trout was in the angler&rsquo;s net. John Grimbal landed
+this little fish carefully and regarded it with huge satisfaction before
+returning it to the river. Then, having accomplished the task set by sudden
+desire,&mdash;to catch a Teign trout again, feel it, smell it, see the ebony
+and crimson, the silver belly warming to gold on its sides and darkening to
+brown and olive above,&mdash;having by this act renewed sensations that had
+slept for fifteen years, he put up his rod and returned to his temporary
+quarters at the dwelling of Mrs. Blanchard.</p>
+<p>His brother was waiting in the little garden to welcome him. Martin walked
+up and down, smelled the flowers, and gazed with sober delight upon the
+surrounding scene. Already sunset fires had waned; but the high top of the
+fir that crowned Rushford Bridge still glowed with a great light on its red
+bark; an uprising Whiddon, where it lay afar off under the crown of
+Cranbrook, likewise shone out above the shadowed valley.</p>
+<p>Martin Grimbal approached his brother and laid his hand upon the
+fisherman&rsquo;s arm. He stood the smaller in stature, though of strong
+build. His clean-shaved face had burned much darker than John&rsquo;s; he was
+indeed coffee-brown and might have been mistaken for an Indian but for his
+eyes of ordinary slate-grey. Without any pretension to good looks, Martin
+Grimbal displayed what was better&mdash;an expression of such frank benignity
+and goodness that his kind trusted him and relied upon him by intuition.
+Honest and true to the verge of quixotism was this man in all dealings with
+his fellows, yet he proved a faulty student of character. First he was in a
+measure blinded by his own amiable qualities to acute knowledge of human
+nature; secondly, he was drawn away from humanity rather than not, for no
+cynic reason, but by the character of his personal predilections and
+pursuits.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve seen father&rsquo;s grave, John,&rdquo; were his first
+words to his brother. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s beside the mother&rsquo;s, but that
+old stone he put up to her must be moved and&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;All right, all right, old chap. Stones are in your line, not mine.
+Where&rsquo;s dinner? I want bread, not a stone, eh?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Martin did not laugh, but shrugged his shoulders in good-tempered fashion.
+His face had a measure of distinction his brother&rsquo;s lacked, and indeed,
+while wanting John&rsquo;s tremendous physical energy and robust
+determination, he possessed a finer intellect and instinct less animal. Even
+abroad, during their earlier enterprises, Martin had first provided brains
+sufficient for himself and John; but an accident of fortune suddenly favoured
+the elder; and while John took full care that Martin should benefit with
+himself, he was pleased henceforth to read into his superior luck a
+revelation of superior intelligence, and from that moment followed his own
+inclinations and judgment. He liked Martin no less, but never turned to him
+for counsel again after his own accidental good fortune; and henceforward
+assumed an elder brother&rsquo;s manner and a show of superior wisdom. In
+matters of the world and in knowledge of such human character as shall be
+found to congregate in civilisation&rsquo;s van, or where precious metals and
+precious stones have been discovered to abound, John Grimbal was undoubtedly
+the shrewder, more experienced man; and Martin felt very well content that
+his elder brother should take the lead. Since the advent of their prosperity
+a lively gratitude had animated his mind. The twain shared nothing save bonds
+of blood, love of their native land, and parity of ambition, first manifested
+in early desires to become independent. Together they had gone abroad,
+together they returned; and now each according to his genius designed to seek
+happiness where he expected to find it. John still held interests in South
+Africa, but Martin, content with less fortune, and mighty anxious to be free
+of all further business, realised his wealth and now knew the limits of his
+income.</p>
+<p>The brothers supped in good spirits and Will Blanchard&rsquo;s sister
+waited upon them. Chris was her &ldquo;brother in petticoats,&rdquo; people
+said, and indeed she resembled him greatly in face and disposition. But her
+eyes were brown, like her dead father&rsquo;s, and a gypsy splendour of black
+hair crowned her head. She was a year younger than Will, wholly wrapped up in
+him and one other.</p>
+<p>A familiarity, shy on Martin&rsquo;s side and patronising in John,
+obtained between the brothers and their pretty attendant, for she knew all
+about them and the very cottage in which their parents had dwelt and died.
+The girl came and went, answered John Grimbal&rsquo;s jests readily, and
+ministered to them as one not inferior to those she served. The elder
+man&rsquo;s blue eyes were full of earthy admiration. He picked his teeth
+between the courses and admired aloud, while Chris was from the room.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis wonderful how pretty all the women look, coming back to
+them after ten years of nigger girls. Roses and cream isn&rsquo;t in it with
+their skins, though this one&rsquo;s dark as a clear night&mdash;Spanish
+fashion.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Miss Blanchard seems very beautiful to me certainly,&rdquo;
+admitted Martin.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve seen only two maids&mdash;since setting foot in
+Chagford,&rdquo; continued his brother, &ldquo;and it would puzzle the devil
+to say which was best to look at.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Your heart will soon be lost, I&rsquo;ll wager&mdash;to a Chagford
+girl, I hope. I know you talked about flying high, but you might be happier
+to take a mate from&mdash;well, you understand.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s all very well to build theories on board ship about
+bettering myself socially and all that, but it&rsquo;s rot; I&rsquo;ll be
+knocked over by one of the country witches, I know I shall,&mdash;I feel it.
+I love the sound of the Devon on their lips, and the clear eyes of them, and
+the bright skin. &rsquo;Tis all I can do to keep from hugging the women, and
+that&rsquo;s a fact. But you, you cold-blooded beggar, your heart&rsquo;s
+still for the grey granite and the old ghostly stones, and creepy, lonely
+places on the Moor! We&rsquo;re that different, you and me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Martin nodded thoughtfully, and, the meal being now ended, both men
+strolled out of doors, then wandered down to smoke a pipe on Rushford Bridge
+and listen to the nightly murmur of the river. Darkness moved on the face of
+land and water; twilight had sucked all the colour away from the valley; and
+through the deepening monochrome of the murk there passed white mists with
+shadowy hands, and peeped blind pale eyes along the winding water, where its
+surface reflected the faded west. Nocturnal magic conjured the least meadow
+into an unmeasured sea of vapour; awoke naiads in the waters and dryads in
+the woods; transformed the solemn organ music of great beetles into songs of
+a roaming spirit; set unseen shapes stirring in the starlight; whispered of
+invisible, enchanted things, happy and unhappy, behind the silence.</p>
+<p>A man moved from the bridge as the brothers reached it. Then Will
+Blanchard, knocking out his pipe and taking a big inspiration, set his face
+steadily toward Monks Barton and that vital interview with Miller Lyddon now
+standing in the pathway of his life.</p>
+<p>He rapped at the farm door and a step came slowly down the stone-paved
+passage. Then Billy Blee, the miller&rsquo;s right-hand man, opened to him.
+Bent he was from the small of the back, with a highly coloured, much wrinkled
+visage, and ginger hair, bleached by time to a paler shade. His poll was bald
+and shining, and thick yellow whiskers met beneath a clean-shorn chin.
+Billy&rsquo;s shaggy eyebrows, little bright eyes, and long upper lip, taken
+with the tawny fringe under his chops, gave him the look of an ancient and
+gigantic lion-monkey; and indeed there was not lacking in him an ape-like
+twist, as shall appear.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Hullo! boy Blanchard! An&rsquo; what might you want?&rdquo; he
+asked.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;To see Miller.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Come in then; we&rsquo;m all alone in kitchen, him and me, awver
+our grog and game. What&rsquo;s the matter now?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A private word for Miller&rsquo;s ear,&rdquo; said Will
+cautiously.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Come you in then. Us&rsquo;ll do what we may for &rsquo;e. Auld
+heads be the best stepping-stones young folks can have, understood right;
+awnly the likes of you mostly chooses to splash through life on your awn damn
+silly roads.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Mr. Blee, whose friendship and familiarity with his master was of the
+closest, led on, and Will soon stood before Mr. Lyddon.</p>
+<p>The man who owned Monks Barton, and who there prosperously combined the
+callings of farmer and miller, had long enjoyed the esteem of the
+neighbourhood in which he dwelt, as had his ancestors before him, through
+many generations. He had won reputation for a sort of silent wisdom. He never
+advised any man ill, never hesitated to do a kindly action, and himself
+contrived to prosper year in, year out, no matter what period of depression
+might be passing over Chagford. Vincent Lyddon was a widower of
+sixty-five&mdash;a grey, thin, tall man, slow of speech and sleepy of eye. A
+weak mouth, and a high, round forehead, far smoother than his age had
+promised, were distinguishing physical features of him. His wife had been
+dead eighteen years, and of his two children one only survived. The elder, a
+boy toddling in early childhood at the water&rsquo;s edge, was unmissed until
+too late, and found drowned next day after a terrible night of agony for both
+parents. Indeed, Mrs. Lyddon never recovered from the shock, and Phoebe was
+but a year old when her mother died. Further, it need only be mentioned that
+the miller had heard of Will&rsquo;s courting more than once, but absolutely
+refused to allow the matter serious consideration. The romance was no more
+than philandering of children in his eyes.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Will&mdash;eh? Well, my son, and how can I serve you?&rdquo; asked
+the master of Monks Barton, kindly enough. He recrossed his legs, settled in
+his leather chair, and continued the smoking of a long clay pipe.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Just this, Mr. Lyddon,&rdquo; began Will abruptly. &ldquo;You calls
+me your &lsquo;son&rsquo; as a manner o&rsquo; speech, but I wants to be no
+less in fact.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You ban&rsquo;t here on that fool&rsquo;s errand, bwoy, surely? I
+thought I&rsquo;d made my mind clear enough to Phoebe six months
+ago.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Look you here now. I be earnin&rsquo; eighteen shillings a week
+an&rsquo; a bit awver; an&rsquo; I be sure of Morgan&rsquo;s berth as
+head-keeper presently; an&rsquo; I&rsquo;m a man as thinks.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s brave talk, but what have &rsquo;e saved, lad?&rdquo;
+inquired Mr. Blee.</p>
+<p>The lover looked round at him sharply.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I thought you was out the room,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I be come to
+talk to Miller, not you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Nay, nay, Billy can stay and see I&rsquo;m not tu hard &rsquo;pon
+&rsquo;e,&rdquo; declared Mr. Lyddon. &ldquo;He axed a proper question.
+What&rsquo;s put by to goody in the savings&rsquo; bank, Will?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well&mdash;five pounds; and &rsquo;t will be rose to ten by
+Christmas, I assure &rsquo;e.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Fi&rsquo; puns! an&rsquo; how far &rsquo;s that gwaine?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So far as us can make it, in coourse.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Doan&rsquo;t you see, sonny, this ban&rsquo;t a fair bargain?
+I&rsquo;m not a hard man&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;By gor! not hard enough by a powerful deal,&rdquo; said Billy.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not hard on youth; but this match, so to call it, looks like mere
+moonshine. Theer &rsquo;s nought <i>to</i> it I can see&mdash;both childer,
+and neither with as much sense as might sink a floatin&rsquo;
+straw.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We love each other wi&rsquo; all our hearts and have done more
+&rsquo;n half a year. Ban&rsquo;t that nothing?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I married when I was forty-two,&rdquo; remarked the miller,
+reflectively, looking down at his fox-head slippers, the work of
+Phoebe&rsquo;s fingers.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; a purty marryin&rsquo; time tu!&rdquo; declared Mr. Blee.
+&ldquo;Look at me,&rdquo; he continued, &ldquo;parlous near seventy, and a
+bacherlor-man yet.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not but Widow Comstock will have &rsquo;e if you ax her a bit
+oftener. Us all knows that,&rdquo; said the young lover, with great
+stratagem.</p>
+<p>Billy chuckled, and rubbed his wrinkles.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Time enough, time enough,&rdquo; he answered, &ldquo;but
+you&mdash;scarce out o&rsquo; clouts&mdash;why, &rsquo;t is playin&rsquo; at
+a holy thing, that&rsquo;s what &rsquo;t is&mdash;same as Miss Phoebe, when
+she was a li&rsquo;l wee cheel, played at bein&rsquo; parson in her
+night-gownd, and got welted for it, tu, by her gude faither.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We &rsquo;m both in earnest anyway&mdash;me and Phoebe.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So am I,&rdquo; replied the miller, sitting up and putting down his
+pipe; &ldquo;so am I in earnest, and wan word &rsquo;s gude as a hunderd in a
+pass like this. You must hear the truth, an&rsquo; that never broke no bones.
+You &rsquo;m no more fitted to have a wife than that tobacco-jar&mdash;a
+hot-headed, wild-fire of a bwoy&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A right Jack-o&rsquo;-Lantern, as everybody knaws,&rdquo; suggested
+Mr. Blee.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess fay, &rsquo;tis truth. Shifting and oncertain as the marsh
+gallopers on the moor bogs of a summer night. Awnly a youth&rsquo;s faults,
+you mind; but still faults. No, no, my lad, you&rsquo;ve got to fight your
+life&rsquo;s battle and win it, &rsquo;fore you&rsquo;m a mate for any gal;
+an&rsquo; you&rsquo;ve got to begin by fightin&rsquo; yourself, an&rsquo;
+breaking an&rsquo; taming yourself, an&rsquo; getting yourself well in hand.
+That&rsquo;s a matter of more than months for the best of us.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And then?&rdquo; said Will, &ldquo;after &rsquo;tis done? though
+I&rsquo;m not allowin&rsquo; I&rsquo;m anything but a ripe man as I stand
+here afore you now.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then I&rsquo;d say, &lsquo;I&rsquo;m glad to see you grawed into a
+credit to us all, Will Blanchard, and worth your place in the order o&rsquo;
+things; but you doan&rsquo;t marry Phoebe Lyddon&mdash;never, never, never,
+not while I&rsquo;m above ground.&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>His slow eyes looked calmly and kindly at Will, and he smiled into the
+hot, young, furious face.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s your last word then?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It is, my lad.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And you won&rsquo;t give a reason?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The reason is, &lsquo;what&rsquo;s bred in the bone comes out in
+the flesh.&rsquo; I knawed your faither. You&rsquo;m as volatile as him
+wi&rsquo;out his better paarts.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Leave him wheer he lies&mdash;underground. If he&rsquo;d lived
+&rsquo;stead of bein&rsquo; cut off from life, you&rsquo;d &rsquo;a&rsquo;
+bin proud to knaw him.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A gypsy-man and no better, Will,&rdquo; said Mr. Blee. &ldquo;Not
+but what he made a gude end, I allow.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then I&rsquo;ll be up and away. I&rsquo;ve spoke &rsquo;e fair,
+Miller&mdash;fair an&rsquo; straight&mdash;an&rsquo; so you to me. You
+won&rsquo;t allow this match. Then we&rsquo;ll wed wi&rsquo;out your
+blessin&rsquo;, an&rsquo; sorry I shall be.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If that&rsquo;s your tune, my young rascal, I&rsquo;ll speak again!
+Phoebe&rsquo;s under age, remember that, and so sure as you dare take her a
+yard from her awn door you&rsquo;ll suffer for it. &rsquo;Tis a clink job,
+you mind&mdash;a prison business; and what&rsquo;s more, you &rsquo;m pleased
+to speak so plain that I will tu, and tell &rsquo;e this. If you dare to lift
+up your eyes to my child again, or stop her in the way, or have speech with
+her, I&rsquo;ll set p&rsquo;liceman &rsquo;pon &rsquo;e! For a year and more
+she &rsquo;m not her awn mistress; and, at the end of that time, if she
+doan&rsquo;t get better sense than to tinker arter a harum-scarum young
+jackanapes like you, she ban&rsquo;t a true Lyddon. Now be off with &rsquo;e
+an&rsquo; doan&rsquo;t dare to look same way Phoebe &rsquo;s walkin&rsquo;,
+no more, else theer&rsquo;ll be trouble for &rsquo;e.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Wonnerful language, an&rsquo; in a nutshell,&rdquo; commented
+Billy, as, blowing rather hard, the miller made an end of his warning.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Us&rsquo;ll leave it theer, then, Mr. Lyddon; and you&rsquo;ll live
+to be sorry ever you said them words to me. Ess fay, you&rsquo;ll live to
+sing different; for when two &rsquo;s set &rsquo;pon a matter o&rsquo;
+marryin&rsquo;, ban&rsquo;t fathers nor mothers, nor yet angels, be gwaine to
+part &rsquo;em. Phoebe an&rsquo; me will be man an&rsquo; wife some day, sure
+&rsquo;s the sun &rsquo;s brighter &rsquo;n the mune. So now you knaw. Gude
+night to &rsquo;e.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He took up his hat and departed; Billy held up his hands in mute
+amazement; but the miller showed no emotion and relighted his pipe.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The rising generation do take my breath away twenty times a
+day,&rdquo; said Mr. Blee. &ldquo;To think o&rsquo; that bwoy, in li&rsquo;l
+frocks awnly yesterday, standin&rsquo; theer frontin&rsquo; two aged men
+wi&rsquo; such bouldacious language!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What would you do, Billy, if the gal was yourn?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Same as you, to a hair. Bid her drop the chap for gude &rsquo;n
+all. But theer &rsquo;s devil&rsquo;s pepper in that Blanchard. He
+ain&rsquo;t done with yet.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, well, he won&rsquo;t shorten my sleep, I promise you. Near
+two years is a long time to the young. Lord knaws wheer a light thing like
+him will be blawed to, come two years. Time &rsquo;s on my side for certain.
+And Phoebe &rsquo;s like to change also.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why, a woman&rsquo;s mind &rsquo;s no more &rsquo;n a feather in a
+gale of wind at her time o&rsquo; life; though to tell her so &rsquo;s the
+sure way to make her steadfast.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>A moment later Phoebe herself entered. She had heard Will depart and now,
+in a fever of impatience, crept with bright, questioning eyes to her
+father&rsquo;s chair. Whereupon Mr. Blee withdrew in a violent hurry. No one
+audibly desired him to do so, but a side-look from the girl was enough.</p>
+<h2><a id="I_III" name="I_III"></a>CHAPTER III<br />
+EXIT WILL</h2>
+<p>Phoebe&rsquo;s conversation with her father occupied a space of time
+extending over just two minutes. He met her eager eyes with a smile, patted
+her head, pinched her ear, and by his manner awakened a delicious flutter of
+hope in the girl before he spoke. When, therefore, Phoebe learned that Will
+was sent about his business for ever, and must henceforth be wholly dismissed
+from her mind, the shock and disappointment of such intelligence came as a
+cruel blow. She stood silent and thunderstruck before Miller Lyddon, a world
+of reproaches in her frightened eyes; then mutely the corners of her little
+mouth sank as she turned away and departed with her first great sorrow.</p>
+<p>Phoebe&rsquo;s earliest frantic thought had been to fly to Will, but she
+knew such a thing was impossible. There would surely be a letter from him on
+the following morning hidden within their secret pillar-box between two
+bricks of the mill wall. For that she must wait, and even in her misery she
+was glad that with Will, not herself, lay decision as to future action. She
+had expected some delay; she had believed that her father would impose stern
+restrictions of time and make a variety of conditions with her sweetheart;
+she had even hoped that Miller Lyddon might command lengthened patience for
+the sake of her headstrong, erratic Will&rsquo;s temper and character; but
+that he was to be banished in this crushing and summary fashion overwhelmed
+Phoebe, and that utterly. Her nature, however, was not one nourished from any
+very deep wells of character. She belonged to a class who suffer bitterly
+enough under sorrow, but the storm of it while tearing like a tropical
+tornado over heart and soul, leaves no traces that lapse of time cannot
+wholly and speedily obliterate. On them it may be said that fortune&rsquo;s
+sharpest strokes inflict no lasting scars; their dispositions are happily
+powerless to harbour the sustained agony that burrows and gnaws, poisons
+man&rsquo;s estimate of all human affairs, wrecks the stores of his
+experience, and stamps the cicatrix of a live, burning grief on brow and
+brain for ever. They find their own misery sufficiently exalted; but their
+temperament is unable to sustain a lifelong tribulation or elevate sorrow
+into tragedy. And their state is the more blessed. So Phoebe watered her
+couch with tears, prayed to God to hear her solemn promises of eternal
+fidelity, then slept and passed into a brief dreamland beyond sorrow&rsquo;s
+reach.</p>
+<p>Meantime young Blanchard took his stormy heart into a night of stars. The
+moon had risen; the sky was clear; the silvery silence remained unbroken save
+for the sound of the river, where it flowed under the shadows of great trees
+and beneath aerial bridges and banners of the meadow mists. Will strode
+through this scene, past his mother&rsquo;s cottage, and up a hill behind it,
+into the village. His mind presented in turn a dozen courses of action, and
+each was built upon the abiding foundation of Phoebe&rsquo;s sure
+faithfulness. That she would cling to him for ever the young man knew right
+well; no thought of a rival, therefore, entered into his calculations. The
+sole problem was how quickest to make Mr. Lyddon change his mind; how best to
+order his future that the miller should regard him as a responsible person,
+and one of weight in affairs. Not that Will held himself a slight man by any
+means; but he felt that he must straightway assert his individuality and
+convince the world in general and Miller Lyddon in particular of faulty
+judgment. He was very angry still as he retraced the recent conversation.
+Then, among those various fancies and projects in his mind, the wildest and
+most foolish stood out before him as both expedient and to be desired. His
+purpose in Chagford was to get advice from another man; but before he reached
+the village his own mind was established.</p>
+<p>Slated and thatched roofs glimmered under moonlight, and already the
+hamlet slept. A few cats crept like shadows through the deserted streets,
+from darkness into light, from light back to darkness; and one cottage
+window, before which Will Blanchard stood, still showed a candle behind a
+white blind. Most quaint and ancient was this habitation&mdash;of picturesque
+build, with tiny granite porch, small entrance, and venerable thatches that
+hung low above the upper windows. A few tall balsams quite served to fill the
+garden; indeed so small was it that from the roadway young Blanchard, by
+bending over the wooden fence, could easily reach the cottage window. This he
+did, tapped lightly, and then waited for the door to be opened.</p>
+<p>A man presently appeared and showed some surprise at the sight of his late
+visitor.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Let me in, Clem,&rdquo; said Will. &ldquo;I knawed you&rsquo;d be
+up, sitting readin&rsquo; and dreamin&rsquo;. &rsquo;T is no dreamin&rsquo;
+time for me though, by God! I be corned straight from seeing Miller
+&rsquo;bout Phoebe.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then I can very well guess what was last in your ears.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Clement Hicks spoke in an educated voice. He was smaller than Will but
+evidently older. Somewhat narrow of build and thin, he looked delicate,
+though in reality wiry and sound. He was dark of complexion, wore his hair
+long for a cottager, and kept both moustache and beard, though the latter was
+very scant and showed the outline of his small chin through it. A forehead
+remarkably lofty but not broad, mounted almost perpendicularly above the
+man&rsquo;s eyes; and these were large and dark and full of fire, though
+marred by a discontented expression. His mouth was full-lipped, his other
+features huddled rather meanly together under the high brow: but his face,
+while admittedly plain even to ugliness, was not commonplace; for its eyes
+were remarkable, and the cast of thought ennobled it as a whole.</p>
+<p>Will entered the cottage kitchen and began instantly to unfold his
+experiences.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You knaw me&mdash;a man with a level head, as leaps after looking,
+not afore. I put nothing but plain reason to him and he flouted me like you
+might a cheel. An&rsquo; I be gwaine to make him eat his words&mdash;such
+hard words as they was tu! Think of it! Me an&rsquo; Phoebe never to meet no
+more! The folly of sayin&rsquo; such a thing! Wouldn&rsquo;t &rsquo;e reckon
+that grey hairs knawed better than to fancy words can keep lovers
+apart?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Grey hairs cover old brains; and old brains forget what it feels
+like to have a body full o&rsquo; young blood. The best memory can&rsquo;t
+keep the feeling of youth fresh in a man.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, I ban&rsquo;t the hot-headed twoad Miller Lyddon thinks, or
+pretends he thinks, anyway. I&rsquo;ll shaw un! I can wait, an&rsquo; Phoebe
+can wait, an&rsquo; now she&rsquo;ll have to. I&rsquo;m gwaine
+away.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Going away. Why?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;To shaw what &rsquo;s in me. I ban&rsquo;t sorry for this for some
+things. Now no man shall say that I&rsquo;m a home-stayin&rsquo; gaby,
+tramping up an&rsquo; down Teign Vale for a living. I&rsquo;ll step out into
+the wide world, same as them Grimbals done. They &rsquo;m back again made of
+money, the pair of &rsquo;em.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It took them fifteen years and more, and they were marvellously
+lucky.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What then? I&rsquo;m as like to fare well as they. I&rsquo;ve
+worked out a far-reaching plan, but the first step I&rsquo;ve thought on
+&rsquo;s terrible coorious, an&rsquo; I reckon nobody but you&rsquo;d see how
+it led to better things. But you &rsquo;m book-larned and wise in your way,
+though I wish your wisdom had done more for yourself than it has. Anyway, you
+&rsquo;m tokened to Chris and will be one of the family some day perhaps when
+Mother Coomstock dies, so I&rsquo;ll leave my secret with you. But not a soul
+else&mdash;not mother even. So you must swear you&rsquo;ll never tell to man
+or woman or cheel what I&rsquo;ve done and wheer I be gone.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll swear if you like.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;By the livin&rsquo; God.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;By any God you believe is alive.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Say it, then.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;By the living God, I, Clement Hicks, bee-master of Chagford, Devon,
+swear to keep the secret of my friend and neighbour, William Blanchard,
+whatever it is.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And may He tear the life out of you if you so much as think to
+tell.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Hicks laughed and shook his hair from his forehead.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;re suspicious of the best friend you&rsquo;ve got in the
+world.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not a spark. But I want you to see what an awful solemn thing I
+reckon it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then may God rot me, and plague me, and let me roast in hell-fire
+with the rogues for ever and a day, if I so much as whisper your news to man
+or mouse! There, will that do?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No call to drag in hell fire, &rsquo;cause I knaw you doan&rsquo;t
+set no count on it. More doan&rsquo;t I. Hell&rsquo;s cold ashes now if all
+what you ve said is true. But you&rsquo;ve sworn all right and now I&rsquo;ll
+tell &rsquo;e.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He bent forward and whispered in the other&rsquo;s ear, whereon Hicks
+started in evident amazement and showed himself much concerned.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Good Heavens! Man alive, are you mad?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You doan&rsquo;t &rsquo;zactly look on ahead enough, Clem,&rdquo;
+said Will loftily. &ldquo;Ban&rsquo;t the thing itself&rsquo;s gwaine to make
+a fortune, but what comes of it. &rsquo;Tis a tidy stepping-stone
+lead-in&rsquo; to gert matters very often, as your books tell, I dare
+say.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It can&rsquo;t lead to anything whatever in your case but wasted
+years.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m best judge of that. I&rsquo;ve planned the road, and if I
+ban&rsquo;t home again inside ten year as good a man as Grimbal or any other
+I&rsquo;ll say I was wrong.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;re a bigger fool than even I thought,
+Blanchard.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Will&rsquo;s eye flashed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You &rsquo;m a tidy judge of a fule, I grant,&rdquo; he said
+angrily, &ldquo;or should be. But you &rsquo;m awnly wan more against me.
+You&rsquo;ll see you &rsquo;m wrong like the rest. Anyway, you&rsquo;ve got
+to mind what you&rsquo;ve sweared. An&rsquo; when mother an&rsquo; Chris ax
+&rsquo;e wheer I be, I&rsquo;ll thank you to say I&rsquo;m out in the world
+doin&rsquo; braave, an&rsquo; no more.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;As you like. It &rsquo;s idle, I know, trying to make you change
+your mind.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>A thin voice from an upper chamber of the cottage here interrupted their
+colloquy, and the mother of the bee-keeper reminded him that he was due early
+on the following day at Okehampton with honey, and that he ought long since
+to be asleep.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If that&rsquo;s Will Blanchard,&rdquo; she concluded, &ldquo;tell
+un to be off home to bed. What &rsquo;s the wisdom o&rsquo; turning night
+hours into day like this here?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;All right, mother,&rdquo; shouted Will. &ldquo;Gude-night to
+&rsquo;e. I be off this moment.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then bidding his friend farewell, he departed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Doan&rsquo;t think twice o&rsquo; what I said a minute since. I was
+hot &rsquo;cause you couldn&rsquo;t see no wisdom in my plan. But
+that&rsquo;s the way of folks. They belittle a chap&rsquo;s best thoughts and
+acts till the time comes for luck to turn an&rsquo; bring the fruit; then
+them as scoffed be the first to turn round smilin&rsquo; an&rsquo;
+handshaking and sayin&rsquo;, &rsquo;What did us say? Didn&rsquo;t us tell
+&rsquo;e so from the very beginning?&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Away went the youthful water-keeper, inspired with the prospect of his
+contemplated flight. He strode home at a rapid pace, to find all lights out
+and the household in bed. Then he drank half a pint of cider, ate some bread
+and cheese, and set about a letter to Phoebe.</p>
+<p>A little desk on a side-table, the common property of himself, his mother,
+and sister, was soon opened, and materials found. Then, in his own uncial
+characters, that always tended hopefully upward, and thus left a triangle of
+untouched paper at the bottom of every sheet, Will wrote a letter of two
+folios, or eight complete pages. In this he repeated the points of his
+conversation with Phoebe&rsquo;s father, told her to be patient, and
+announced that, satisfied of her unfailing love and steadfastness through
+all, he was about to pass into the wider world, and carve his way to
+prosperity and fortune. He hid particulars from her, but mentioned that
+Clement Hicks would forward any communications. Finally he bid her keep a
+stout heart and live contented in the certainty of ultimate happiness. He
+also advised Phoebe to forgive her father. &ldquo;I have already done it,
+honor bright,&rdquo; he wrote; &ldquo;&rsquo;t is a wise man&rsquo;s part to
+bear no malice, especially against an old grey body whose judgment
+&rsquo;pears to be gone bad for some reason.&rdquo; He also assured Phoebe
+that he was hers until death should separate them; in a postscript he desired
+her to break his departure softly to his mother if opportunity to do so
+occurred; and, finally, he was not ashamed to fill the empty triangles on
+each page with kisses, represented by triangles closely packed. Bearing this
+important communication, Will walked out again into the night, and soon his
+letter awaited Phoebe in the usual receptacle. He felt therein himself, half
+suspecting a note might await him, but there was nothing. He hesitated for a
+moment, then climbed the gate into Monks Barton farmyard, went softly and
+stood in the dark shadow of the mill-house. The moon shone full upon the face
+of the dwelling, and its three fruit-trees looked as though painted in
+profound black against the pale whitewash; while Phoebe&rsquo;s dormer-window
+framed the splendour of the reflected sky, and shone very brightly. The blind
+was down, and the maiden behind it had been asleep an hour or two; but Will
+pictured her as sobbing her heart out still. Perhaps he would never see her
+again. The path he had chosen to follow might take him over seas and through
+vast perils; indeed, it must do so if the success he desired was to be won.
+He felt something almost like a catch in his throat as he turned away and
+crossed the sleeping river. He glanced down through dreaming glades and saw
+one motionless silver spot on the dark waters beneath the alders. Sentiment
+was at its flood just then, and he spoke a few words under his breath.
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis thicky auld Muscovy duck, roostin&rsquo; on his li&rsquo;l
+island; poor lone devil wi&rsquo; never a mate to fight for nor friend to
+swim along with. Worse case than mine, come to think on it!&rdquo; Then an
+emotion, rare enough with him, vanished, and he sniffed the night air and
+felt his heart beat high at thoughts of what lay ahead.</p>
+<p>Will returned home, made fast the outer door, took off his boots, and went
+softly up a creaking stair. Loud and steady music came from the room where
+John Grimbal lay, and Blanchard smiled when he heard it. &ldquo;&rsquo;Tis
+the snore of a happy man with money in his purse,&rdquo; he thought. Then he
+stood by his mother&rsquo;s door, which she always kept ajar at night, and
+peeped in upon her. Damaris Blanchard slumbered with one arm on the coverlet,
+the other behind her head. She was a handsome woman still, and looked younger
+than her eight-and-forty years in the soft ambient light. &ldquo;Muneshine do
+make dear mother so purty as a queen,&rdquo; said Will to himself. And he
+would never wish her &ldquo;good-by,&rdquo; perhaps never see her again. He
+hastened with light, impulsive step into the room, thinking just to kiss the
+hand on the bed, but his mother stirred instantly and cried,
+&ldquo;Who&rsquo;s theer?&rdquo; with sleepy voice. Then she sat up and
+listened&mdash;a fair, grey-eyed woman in an old-fashioned night-cap. Her son
+had vanished before her eyes were opened, and now she turned and yawned and
+slept again.</p>
+<p>Will entered his own chamber near at hand, doffed for ever the velveteen
+uniform of water-keeper, and brought from a drawer an old suit of corduroy.
+Next he counted his slight store of money, set his &lsquo;alarum&rsquo; for
+four o&rsquo;clock, and, fifteen minutes later, was in bed and asleep, the
+time then being a little after midnight.</p>
+<h2><a id="I_IV" name="I_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV<br />
+BY THE RIVER</h2>
+<p>Clement Hicks paid an early visit to Will&rsquo;s home upon the following
+morning. He had already set out to Okehampton with ten pounds of honey in the
+comb, and at Mrs. Blanchard&rsquo;s cottage he stopped the little public
+vehicle which ran on market-days to the distant town. That the son of the
+house was up and away at dawn told his family nothing, for his movements were
+at all times erratic, and part of his duty consisted in appearing on the
+river at uncertain times and in unexpected localities. Clement Hicks often
+called for a moment upon his way to market, and Chris, who now greeted her
+lover, felt puzzled at the unusual gravity of his face. She turned pale when
+she heard his tremendous news; but the mother was of more Spartan temperament
+and received intelligence of Will&rsquo;s achievement without changing colour
+or ceasing from her occupation.</p>
+<p>Between Damaris Blanchard and her boy had always existed a perfect harmony
+of understanding, rare even in their beautiful relationship. The thoughts of
+son and mother chimed; not seldom they anticipated each other&rsquo;s words.
+The woman saw much of her dead husband reflected in Will and felt a moral
+conviction that through the storms of youth, high temper, and inexperience,
+he would surely pass to good things, by reason of the strenuous honesty and
+singleness of purpose that actuated him; he, on his side, admired the great
+calmness and self-possession of his mother. She was so steadfast, so strong,
+and wiser than any woman he had ever seen. With a fierce, volcanic affection
+Will Blanchard loved her. She and Phoebe alike shared his whole heart.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It is a manly way of life he has chosen, and that is all I may say.
+He is ambitious and strong, and I should be the last to think he has not done
+well to go into the world for a while,&rdquo; said Clement.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;When is he coming back again?&rdquo; asked Chris.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He spoke of ten years or so.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then &rsquo;twill be more or less,&rdquo; declared Mrs. Blanchard,
+calmly. &ldquo;Maybe a month, maybe five years, or fifteen, not ten, if he
+said ten. He&rsquo;ll shaw the gude gold he&rsquo;s made of, whether or no.
+I&rsquo;m happy in this and not surprised. &rsquo;Twas very like to come
+arter last night, if things went crooked.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis much as faither might have done,&rdquo; said Chris.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis much what he did do. Thank you for calling, Clem Hicks.
+Now best be away, else they&rsquo;ll drive off to Okehampton without
+&rsquo;e.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Clement departed, Chris wept as the full extent of her loss was impressed
+upon her, and Mrs. Blanchard went up to her son&rsquo;s room. There she
+discovered the velveteen suit with a card upon them: &ldquo;Hand over to Mr.
+Morgan, Head Water-keeper, Sandypark.&rdquo; She looked through his things,
+and found that he had taken nothing but his money, one suit of working
+clothes, and a red tie&mdash;her present to him on his birthday during the
+previous month. All his other possessions remained in their usual places.
+With none to see, the woman&rsquo;s eye moistened; then she sat down on
+Will&rsquo;s bed and her heart grew weak for one brief moment as she pictured
+him fighting the battle. It hurt her a little that he had told Clement Hicks
+his intention and hid it from his mother. Yet as a son, at least, he had
+never failed. However, all affairs of life were a matter of waiting, more or
+less, she told herself; and patience was easier to Damaris Blanchard than to
+most people. Under her highest uneasiness, maternal pride throbbed at thought
+of the manly independence indicated by her son&rsquo;s action. She returned
+to the duties of the day, but found herself restless, while continually
+admonishing Chris not to be so. Her thoughts drifted to Monks Barton and
+Will&rsquo;s meeting with his sweetheart&rsquo;s father. Presently, when her
+daughter went up to the village, Mrs. Blanchard put off her apron, donned the
+cotton sunbonnet that she always wore from choice, and walked over to see Mr.
+Lyddon. They were old friends, and presently Damaris listened sedately to the
+miller without taking offence at his directness of speech. He told the story
+of his decision and Will&rsquo;s final reply, while she nodded and even
+smiled once or twice in the course of the narrative.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You was both right, I reckon,&rdquo; she said placidly, looking
+into Mr. Lyddon&rsquo;s face. &ldquo;You was wise to mistrust, not
+knawin&rsquo; what&rsquo;s at the root of him; and he, being as he is, was in
+the right to tell &rsquo;e the race goes to the young. Wheer two hearts is
+bent on joining, &rsquo;tis join they will&mdash;if both keeps of a mind long
+enough.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s it, Damaris Blanchard; who&rsquo;s gwaine to
+b&rsquo;lieve that a bwoy an&rsquo; gal, like Will an&rsquo; Phoebe, do knaw
+theer minds? Mark me, they&rsquo;ll both chaange sweethearts a score of times
+yet &rsquo;fore they come to mate.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Caan&rsquo;t speak for your darter, Lyddon; but I knaw my son. A
+masterful bwoy, like his faither before him, wild sometimes an&rsquo; wayward
+tu, but not with women-folk. His faither loved in wan plaace awnly.
+He&rsquo;ll be true to your cheel whatever betides, or I&rsquo;m a
+fule.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What&rsquo;s the use of that if he ban&rsquo;t true to himself? No,
+no, I caan&rsquo;t see a happy ending to the tale however you look at it.
+Wish I could. I fear&rsquo;t was a ugly star twinkled awver his birthplace,
+ma&rsquo;am.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Twas all the stars of heaven, Miller,&rdquo; said the
+mother, frankly, &ldquo;for he was born in my husband&rsquo;s caravan in the
+auld days. We was camped up on the Moor, drawn into one of them
+roundy-poundies o&rsquo; grey granite stones set up by Phoenicians at the
+beginning of the world. Ess fay, a braave shiny night, wi&rsquo; the
+li&rsquo;l windows thrawed open to give me air. An&rsquo; &rsquo;pon
+Will&rsquo;s come-of-age birthday, last month, if us didn&rsquo;t all drive
+up theer an&rsquo; light a fire an&rsquo; drink a dish of tea in the
+identical spot! &rsquo;Tis out Newtake&rsquo; way.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Like a story-book.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Twas Clem Hicks, his thought, being a fanciful man. But
+I&rsquo;ll bid you gude-marnin&rsquo; now. Awnly mind this, as between
+friends and without a spark of malice: Will Blanchard means to marry your
+maid, sure as you&rsquo;m born, if awnly she keeps strong for him. It rests
+with her, Miller, not you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Much what your son said in sharper words. Well, you&rsquo;m out
+o&rsquo; reckoning for once, wise though you be most times; for if a
+maiden&rsquo;s happiness doan&rsquo;t rest with her faither, blamed if I see
+wheer it should. And to think such a man as me doan&rsquo;t knaw wiser
+&rsquo;n two childern who caan&rsquo;t number forty year between &rsquo;em is
+flat fulishness, surely?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I knaw Will,&rdquo; said Mrs. Blanchard, slowly and emphatically;
+&ldquo;I knaw un to the core, and that&rsquo;s to say more than you or
+anybody else can. A mother may read her son like print, but no faither can
+see to the bottom of a wife-old daughter&mdash;not if he was Solomon&rsquo;s
+self. So us&rsquo;ll wait an&rsquo; watch wi&rsquo;out being worse
+friends.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She went home again the happier for her conversation; but any thought that
+Mr. Lyddon might have been disposed to devote to her prophecy was for the
+time banished by the advent of John Grimbal and his brother.</p>
+<p>Like boys home from school, they dwelt in the present delight of their
+return, and postponed the varied duties awaiting them, to revel again in the
+old sights, sounds, and scents. To-day they were about an angling excursion,
+and the fishers&rsquo; road to Fingle lying through Monks Barton, both
+brothers stopped a while and waited upon their old friend of the mill,
+according to John&rsquo;s promise of the previous afternoon. Martin carried
+the creel and the ample luncheon it contained; John smoked a strong cigar and
+was only encumbered with his light fly-rod; the younger designed to accompany
+his brother through Fingle Valley; then leave him there, about his sport, and
+proceed alone to various places of natural and antiquarian interest. But John
+meant fishing and nothing else. To him great woods were no more than cover
+for fur and feathers; rivers and streams meant a vehicle for the display of a
+fly to trout, and only attracted him or the reverse, according to the fish
+they harboured. When the moorland waters spouted and churned, cherry red from
+their springs in the peat, he deemed them a noble spectacle; when, as at
+present, Teign herself had shrunk to a mere silver thread, and the fingerling
+trout splashed and wriggled half out of water in the shallows, he freely
+criticised its scanty volume and meagre depths.</p>
+<p>Miller Lyddon welcomed the men very heartily. He had been amongst those
+who dismissed them with hope to their battle against the world, and now he
+reminded them of his sanguine predictions. Will Blanchard&rsquo;s
+disappearance amused John Grimbal and he laughed when Billy Blee appeared
+red-hot with the news. Mr. Lyddon made no secret of his personal opinion of
+Blanchard, and all debated the probable design of the wanderer.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Maybe he&rsquo;s &rsquo;listed,&rdquo; said John, &ldquo;an&rsquo;
+a good thing too if he has. It makes a man of a young fellow. I&rsquo;m for
+conscription myself&mdash;always have been.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I be minded to think he&rsquo;ve joined the riders,&rdquo; declared
+Billy. &ldquo;Theer comed a circus here last month, with braave doin&rsquo;s
+in the way of horsemanship and Merry Andrews, and such like devilries. Us all
+goes to see it from miles round every year; an&rsquo; Will was theer. Circus
+folk do see the world in a way denied to most, and theer manner of life takes
+&rsquo;em even as far as Russia and the Indies I&rsquo;ve heard.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then there&rsquo;s the gypsy blood in him&mdash;&rdquo; declared
+Mr. Lyddon, &ldquo;that might send him roaming oversea, if nothing else
+did.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Or my great doings are like to have fired him,&rdquo; said John.
+&ldquo;How&rsquo;s Phoebe?&rdquo; he continued, dismissing Will. &ldquo;I saw
+her yesterday&mdash;a bowerly maiden she&rsquo;s grown&mdash;a prize for a
+better man that this wild youngster, now bolted God knaws where.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So I think,&rdquo; agreed the miller, &ldquo;an&rsquo; I hope
+she&rsquo;ll soon forget the searching grey eyes of un and his high-handed
+way o&rsquo; speech. Gals like such things. Dear, dear! though he made me so
+darned angry last night, I could have laughed in his faace more &rsquo;n
+wance.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Missy&rsquo;s under the weather this marnin&rsquo;,&rdquo; declared
+Billy. &ldquo;Who tawld her I ban&rsquo;t able to say, but she knawed
+he&rsquo;d gone just arter feedin&rsquo; the fowls, and she went down valley
+alone, so slow, wi&rsquo; her purty head that bent it looked as if her
+sunbonnet might be hiding an auld gran&rsquo;mother&rsquo;s poll.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She&rsquo;ll come round,&rdquo; said Martin; &ldquo;she&rsquo;s
+only a young girl yet.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And there &rsquo;s fish as good in the sea as ever came out, and
+better,&rdquo; declared his brother. &ldquo;She must wait for a man who is a
+man,&mdash;somebody of good sense and good standing, with property to his
+name.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Miller Lyddon noted with surprise and satisfaction John Grimbal&rsquo;s
+warmth of manner upon this question; he observed also the stout, hearty body
+of him, and the handsome face that crowned it. Then the brothers proceeded
+down-stream, and the master of Monks Barton looked after them and caught
+himself hoping that they might meet Phoebe.</p>
+<p>At a point where the river runs between a giant shoulder of heather-clad
+hill on one side and the ragged expanses of Whiddon Park upon the other, John
+clambered down to the streamside and began to fish, while Martin dawdled at
+hand and watched the sport. A pearly clearness, caught from the clouds,
+characterised earth as well as air, and proved that every world-picture
+depends for atmosphere and colour upon the sky-picture extended above it.
+Again there was movement and some music, for the magic of the wind in a
+landscape&rsquo;s nearer planes is responsible for both. The wooded valley
+lay under a grey and breezy forenoon; swaying alders marked each intermittent
+gust with a silver ripple of upturned foliage, and still reaches of the river
+similarly answered the wind with hurrying flickers and furrows of dimpled
+light. Through its transparent flood, where the waters ran in shadow and
+escaped reflections, the river revealed a bed of ruddy brown and rich amber.
+This harmonious colouring proceeded from the pebbly bottom, where a medley of
+warm agate tones spread and shimmered, like some far-reaching mosaic beneath
+the crystal. Above Teign&rsquo;s shrunken current extended oak and ash, while
+her banks bore splendid concourse of the wild water-loving dwellers in that
+happy valley. Meadowsweet nodded creamy crests; hemlock and fool&rsquo;s
+parsley and seeding willow-herb crowded together beneath far-scattered
+filigree of honeysuckles and brambles with berries, some ripe, some red;
+while the scarlet corals of briar and white bryony gemmed every riotous
+trailing thicket, dene, and dingle along the river&rsquo;s brink; and in the
+grassy spaces between rose little chrysoprase steeples of wood sage all set
+in shining fern. Upon the boulders in midstream subaqueous mosses, now
+revealed and starved by the drought, died hard, and the seeds of grasses,
+figworts, and persicarias thrust up flower and foliage, flourishing in
+unwonted spots from which the next freshet would rudely tear them. Insect
+life did not abundantly manifest itself, for the day was sunless; but now and
+again, with crisp rattle of his gauze wings, a dragon-fly flashed along the
+river. Through these scenes the Teign rolled drowsily and with feeble pulses.
+Upon one bank rose the confines of Whiddon; on the other, abrupt and
+interspersed with gulleys of shattered shale, ascended huge slopes whereon a
+whole summer of sunshine had scorched the heather to dry death. But fading
+purple still gleamed here and there in points and splashes, and the lesser
+furze, mingling therewith, scattered gold upon the tremendous acclivities
+even to the crown of fir-trees that towered remote and very blue upon the
+uplifted sky-line. Swallows, with white breasts flashing, circled over the
+river, and while their elevation above the water appeared at times
+tremendous, the abrupt steepness of the gorge was such that the birds almost
+brushed the hillside with their wings. A sledge, laden with the timber of
+barked sapling oaks, creaked and jingled over the rough road beside the
+stream; a man called to his horses and a dog barked beside him; then they
+disappeared and the spacious scene was again empty, save for its manifold
+wild life and music.</p>
+<p>John Grimbal fished, failed, and cursed the poor water and the lush wealth
+of the riverside that caught his fly at every critical moment. A few small
+trout he captured and returned; then, flinging down rod and net, he called to
+his brother for the luncheon-basket. Together they sat in the fern beside the
+river and ate heartily of the fare that Mrs. Blanchard had provided; then, as
+John was about to light a pipe, his brother, with a smile, produced a little
+wicker globe and handed it to him. This unexpected sight awoke sudden and
+keen appetite on the elder&rsquo;s face. He smacked his lips, swore a hearty
+oath of rejoicing, and held out an eager hand for the thing.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My God! to think I&rsquo;ll suck the smoke of that again,&mdash;the
+best baccy in the wide world!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The little receptacle contained a rough sort of sun-dried Kaffir tobacco,
+such as John and Martin had both smoked for the past fifteen years.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I thought it would be a treat. I brought home a few pounds,&rdquo;
+said the younger, smiling again at his brother&rsquo;s hungry delight. John
+cut into the case, loaded his pipe, and lighted it with a contented sign.
+Then he handed the rest back to its owner.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, no,&rdquo; said Martin. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll just have one fill,
+that&rsquo;s all. I brought this for you. &rsquo;T will atone for the poor
+sport. The creel I shall leave with you now, for I&rsquo;m away to Fingle
+Bridge and Prestonbury. We&rsquo;ll meet at nightfall.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Thereupon he set off down the valley, his mind full of early British
+encampments, while John sat and smoked and pondered upon his future. He built
+no castles in the air, but a solid country house of red brick, destined to
+stand in its own grounds near Chagford, and to have a snug game-cover or two
+about it, with a few good acres of arable land bordering on forest. Roots
+meant cover for partridges in John Grimbal&rsquo;s mind; beech and oak in
+autumn represented desirable food for pheasants; and corn, once garnered and
+out of the way, left stubble for all manner of game.</p>
+<p>Meantime, whilst he reviewed his future with his eyes on a blue cloud of
+tobacco smoke, Martin passed Phoebe Lyddon farther down the valley. Him she
+recognised as a stranger; but he, with his eyes engaged in no more than
+unconscious guarding of his footsteps, his mind buried in the fascinating
+problems of early British castramentation, did not look at her or mark a
+sorrowful young face still stained with tears.</p>
+<p>Into the gorge Phoebe had wandered after reading her sweetheart&rsquo;s
+letter. There, to the secret ear of the great Mother, instinct had drawn her
+and her grief; and now the earliest shock was over; a dull, numb pain of mind
+followed the first sorrow; unwonted exercise had made her weary; and physical
+hunger, not to be stayed by mental suffering, forced her to turn homewards.
+Red-eyed and unhappy she passed beside the river, a very picture of a woful
+lover.</p>
+<p>The sound of Phoebe&rsquo;s steps fell on John Grimbal&rsquo;s ear as he
+lay upon his back with crossed knees and his hands behind his head. He partly
+rose therefore, thrust his face above the fern, saw the wayfarer, and then
+sprang to his feet. The cause of her tearful expression and listless
+demeanour was known to him, but he ignored them and greeted her cheerily.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Can&rsquo;t catch anything big enough to keep, and
+sha&rsquo;n&rsquo;t until the rain comes,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;so
+I&rsquo;ll walk along with you, if you&rsquo;re going home.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He offered his hand; then, after Phoebe had shaken it, moved beside her
+and put up his rod as he went.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Saw your father this morning, and mighty glad I was to find him so
+blooming. To my eye he looks younger than my memory picture of him. But
+that&rsquo;s because I&rsquo;ve grown from boy to man, as you have from child
+to woman.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So I have, and &rsquo;t is a pity my faither doan&rsquo;t knaw
+it,&rdquo; answered Phoebe, smarting under her wrongs, and willing to
+chronicle them in a friendly ear. &ldquo;If I ban&rsquo;t full woman, who is?
+Yet I&rsquo;m treated like a baaby, as if I&rsquo;d got no &rsquo;pinions
+an&rsquo; feelings, and wasn&rsquo;t&mdash;wasn&rsquo;t auld enough to knaw
+what love meant.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Grimbal&rsquo;s eyes glowed at the picture of the girl&rsquo;s
+indignation, and he longed to put his arms round her and comfort her.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You must be wise and dutiful, Phoebe,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Will
+Blauchard&rsquo;s a plucky fellow to go off and face the world. And perhaps
+he&rsquo;ll be one of the lucky ones, like I was.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He will be, for certain, and so you&rsquo;d say if you knawed him
+same as I do. But the cruel waitin&rsquo;&mdash;years and years and
+years&mdash;&rsquo;t is enough to break a body&rsquo;s heart.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Her voice fluttered like bells in a wild wind; she trembled on the brink
+of tears; and he saw by little convulsive movements and the lump in her round
+throat that she could not yet regard her lot with patience. She brought out
+her pocket-handkerchief again, and the man noticed it was all wet and rolled
+into a ball.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Life&rsquo;s a blank thing at lovers&rsquo; parting,&rdquo; he
+said; &ldquo;but time rubs the rough edges off matters that fret our minds
+the worst. Days and nights, and plenty of &rsquo;em, are the best cure for
+all ills.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; the best cure for life tu! The awnly cure. Think of years
+an&rsquo; years without him. Yesterday us met up in Pixies&rsquo; Parlour
+yonder, an&rsquo; I was peart an&rsquo; proud as need be; to-day he&rsquo;s
+gone, and I feel auld and wisht and all full of weary wonder how I&rsquo;m
+gwaine to fare and if I&rsquo;llever see him again. &rsquo;T is
+cruel&mdash;bitter cruel for me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>That she could thus pity herself so soon argued a mind incapable of
+harbouring great sorrow for many years; and the man at her side, without
+appreciating this fact, yet, by a sort of intuition, suspected that
+Phoebe&rsquo;s grief, perhaps even her steadfastness of purpose, would suffer
+diminution before very great lapse of time. Without knowing why, he hoped it
+might be so. Her voice fell melodiously upon an ear long tuned to the whine
+of native women. It came from the lungs, was full and sweet, with a shy
+suddenness about it, like the cooing of wood doves. She half slipped at a
+stile, and he put out his hand and touched her waist and felt his heart
+throb. But Phoebe&rsquo;s eyes rarely met her new friend&rsquo;s. The girl
+looked with troubled brows ahead into the future, while she walked beside
+him; and he, upon her left hand, saw only the soft cheek, the pouting lips,
+and the dimples that came and went. Sometimes she looked up, however, and
+Grimbal noted how the flutter of past tears shook her round young breast,
+marked the spring of her step, the freedom of her gait, and the trim turn of
+her feet and ankles. After the flat-footed Kaffir girls, Phoebe&rsquo;s
+instep had a right noble arch in his estimation.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;To think that I, as never wronged faither in thought or deed,
+should be treated so hard! I&rsquo;ve been all the world to him since mother
+died, for he&rsquo;s said as much to many; yet he&rsquo;s risen up an&rsquo;
+done this, contrary to justice and right and Scripture, tu.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You must be patient, Phoebe, and respect his age, and let the
+matter rest till the time grows ripe. I can&rsquo;t advise you better than
+that.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Patient!&rsquo; My life&rsquo;s empty, I tell
+&rsquo;e&mdash;empty, hollow, tasteless wi&rsquo;out my Will.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, well, we&rsquo;ll see. I&rsquo;m going to build a big
+red-brick house presently, and buy land, and make a bit of a stir in my small
+way. You&rsquo;ve a pretty fancy in such things, I&rsquo;ll bet a dollar. You
+shall give me a helping hand&mdash;eh? You must tell me best way of setting
+up house. And you might help me as to furniture and suchlike if you had time
+for it. Will you, for an old friend?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Phoebe was slightly interested. She promised to do anything in her power
+that might cause Mr. Grimbal satisfaction; and he, very wisely, assured her
+that there was no salve for sorrow like unselfish labours on behalf of other
+people. He left her at the farm-gate, and tramped back to the Blanchard
+cottage with his mind busy enough. Presently he changed his clothes, and set
+a diamond in his necktie. Then he strolled away into the village, to see the
+well-remembered names above the little shop windows; to note curiously how
+Chagford market-place had shrunk and the houses dwindled since last he saw
+them; to call with hearty voice and rough greeting at this habitation and
+that; to introduce himself again among men and women who had known him of
+yore, and who, for the most part, quite failed to recognise in their bluff
+and burly visitor the lad who set forth from his father&rsquo;s cottage by
+the church so many years before.</p>
+<h2><a id="I_V" name="I_V"></a>CHAPTER V<br />
+THE INCIDENT OF MR. JOEL FORD</h2>
+<p>Of Blanchard family history a little more must be said. Timothy Blanchard,
+the husband of Damaris and father of Will and Chris, was in truth of the
+nomads, though not a right gypsy. As a lad, and at a time when the Romany
+folk enjoyed somewhat more importance and prosperity than of late years, he
+joined them, and by sheer force of character and mother wit succeeded in
+rising to power amongst the wanderers. The community with which he was
+connected for the most part confined its peregrinations to the West; and time
+saw Timothy Blanchard achieve success in his native country, acquire two
+caravans, develop trade on a regular &ldquo;circuit,&rdquo; and steadily save
+money in a small way; while his camp of some five-and-twenty souls&mdash;men,
+women, and numerous children&mdash;shared in their leader&rsquo;s prosperity.
+These earlier stages of the man&rsquo;s career embraced some strange
+circumstances, chief amongst them being his marriage. Damaris Ford was the
+daughter of a Moor farmer. Her girlhood had been spent in the dreary little
+homestead of &ldquo;Newtake,&rdquo; above Chagford, within the fringe of the
+great primeval wastes; and here, on his repeated journeys across the Moor,
+Tim Blanchard came to know her and love her well.</p>
+<p>Farmer Ford swore round oaths, and sent Blanchard and his caravans packing
+when the man approached him for his daughter&rsquo;s hand; but the girl
+herself was already won, and week after her lover&rsquo;s repulse Damaris
+vanished. She journeyed with her future husband to Exeter, wedded him, and
+became mistress of his house on wheels; then, for the space of four years,
+she lived the gypsy life, brought a son and daughter into the world, and
+tried without avail to obtain her father&rsquo;s forgiveness. That, however,
+she never had, though her mother communicated with her in fear and trembling;
+and when, by strange chance, on Will&rsquo;s advent, Damaris Blanchard was
+brought to bed near her old home, and became a mother in one of the venerable
+hut circles which plentifully scatter that lonely region, Mrs. Ford, apprised
+of the fact in secret, actually stole to her daughter&rsquo;s side by night
+and wept over her grandchild. Now the farmer and his wife were dead; Newtake
+at present stood without a tenant; and Mrs. Blanchard possessed no near
+relations save her children and one elder brother, Joel, to whom had passed
+their parent&rsquo;s small savings.</p>
+<p>Timothy Blanchard continued a wandering existence for the space of five
+years after his marriage; then he sold his caravans, settled in Chagford,
+bought the cottage by the river, rented some market-garden land, and pursued
+his busy and industrious way. Thus he prospered through ten more years,
+saving money, developing a variety of schemes, letting out on hire a steam
+thresher, and in various other ways adding to his store. The man was on the
+high road to genuine prosperity when death overtook him and put a period to
+his ambitions. He was snatched from mundane affairs leaving numerous schemes
+half developed and most of his money embarked in various enterprises.
+Unhappily Will was too young to continue his father&rsquo;s work, and though
+Mrs. Blanchard&rsquo;s brother, Joel Ford, administered the little estate to
+the best of his power, much had to be sacrificed. In the sequel Damaris found
+herself with a cottage, a garden, and an annual income of about fifty pounds
+a year. Her son was then twelve years of age, her daughter eighteen months
+younger. So she lived quietly and not without happiness, after the first
+sorrow of her husband&rsquo;s loss was in a measure softened by time.</p>
+<p>Of Mr. Joel Ford it now becomes necessary to speak. Combining the duties
+of attorney, house-agent, registrar of deaths, births, and marriages, and
+receiver of taxes and debts, the man lived a dingy life at Newton Abbot.
+Acid, cynical, and bald he was, very dry of mind and body, and but ten years
+older than Mrs. Blanchard, though he looked nearer seventy than sixty. To the
+Newton mind Mr. Ford was associated only with Quarter Day&mdash;that black,
+recurrent cloud on the horizon of every poor man&rsquo;s life. He dwelt with
+an elderly housekeeper&mdash;a widow of genial disposition; and indeed the
+attorney himself was not lacking in some urbanity of character, though few
+guessed it, for he kept all that was best in himself hidden under an unlovely
+crust. His better instincts took the shape of family affection. Damaris
+Blanchard and he were the last branches of one of the innumerable families of
+Ford to be found in Devon, and he had no small regard for his only living
+sister. His annual holiday from business&mdash;a period of a fortnight,
+sometimes extended to three weeks if the weather was more than commonly
+fair&mdash;he spent habitually at Chagford; and Will on these occasions
+devoted his leisure to his uncle, drove him on the Moor, and made him
+welcome. Will, indeed, was a favourite with Mr. Ford, and the lad&rsquo;s
+high spirits, real ignorance of the world, and eternal grave assumption of
+wisdom even tickled the man of business into a sort of dry cricket laughter
+upon occasions. When, therefore, a fortnight after young Blanchard&rsquo;s
+mysterious disappearance, Joel Ford arrived at his sister&rsquo;s cottage for
+the annual visit, he was as much concerned as his nature had power to make
+him at the news.</p>
+<p>For three weeks he stayed, missing the company of his nephew not a little;
+and his residence in Chagford had needed no special comment save for an
+important incident resulting therefrom.</p>
+<p>Phoebe Lyddon it was who in all innocence and ignorance set rolling a
+pebble that finally fell in thundering avalanches; and her chance word was
+uttered at her father&rsquo;s table on an occasion when John and Martin
+Grimbal were supping at Monks Barton.</p>
+<p>The returned natives, and more especially the elder, had been much at the
+mill since their reappearance. John, indeed, upon one pretext or another,
+scarcely spent a day without calling. His rough kindness appealed to Phoebe,
+who at first suspected no danger from it, while Mr. Lyddon encouraged the man
+and made him and his brother welcome at all times.</p>
+<p>John Grimbal, upon the morning that preceded the present supper party, had
+at last found a property to his taste. It might, indeed, have been designed
+for him. Near Whiddon it lay, in the valley of the Moreton Road, and
+consisted of a farm and the ruin of a Tudor mansion. The latter had been
+tenanted until the dawn of this century, but was since then fallen into
+decay. The farm lands stretched beneath the crown of Cranbrook, hard by the
+historic &ldquo;Bloody Meadow,&rdquo; a spot assigned to that skirmish
+between Royalist and Parliamentary forces during 1642 which cost brilliant
+young Sidney Godolphin his life. Here, or near at hand, the young man
+probably fell, with a musket-bullet in his leg, and subsequently expired at
+Chagford<a id="footnotetag1" name="footnotetag1">.</a><a href=
+"#footnote1"><sup>1</sup></a> leaving the &ldquo;misfortune of his death upon
+a place which could never otherwise have had a mention to the world,&rdquo;
+according to caustic Chancellor Clarendon.</p>
+<p>Upon the aforesaid ruins, fashioned after the form of a great E, out of
+compliment to the sovereign who occupied the throne at the period of the
+decayed fabric&rsquo;s erection, John Grimbal proposed to build his
+habitation of red brick and tile. The pertaining farm already had a tenant,
+and represented four hundred acres of arable land, with possibilities of
+development; snug woods wound along the boundaries of the estate and mingled
+their branches with others not more stately though sprung from the nobler
+domain of Whiddon; and Chagford was distant but a mile, or five
+minutes&rsquo; ride.</p>
+<p>Tongues wagged that evening concerning the Red House, as the ruin was
+called, and a question arose as to whom John Grimbal must apply for
+information respecting the property.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I noted on the board two names&mdash;one in London, one handy at
+Newton Abbot&mdash;a Mr. Joel Ford, of Wolborough Street.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Phoebe blushed where she sat and very nearly said, &ldquo;My Will&rsquo;s
+uncle!&rdquo; but thought better of it and kept silent. Meanwhile her father
+answered.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ford&rsquo;s an attorney, Mrs. Blanchard&rsquo;s brother, a maker
+of agreements between man and man, and a dusty, dry sort of chip, from all
+I&rsquo;ve heard tell. His father and mine were friends forty years and more
+agone. Old Ford had Newtake Farm on the Moor, and wore his fingers to the
+bone that his son might have good schooling and a learned
+profession.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;s in Chagford this very minute,&rdquo; said Phoebe.</p>
+<p>Then Mr. Blee spoke. On the occasion of any entertainment at Monks Barton
+he waited at table instead of eating with the family as usual. Now he
+addressed the company from his station behind Mr. Lyddon&rsquo;s chair.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Joel Ford&rsquo;s biding with his sister. A wonderful deep man, to
+my certain knowledge, an&rsquo; wears a merchant-like coat an&rsquo; shiny
+hat working days an&rsquo; Sabbaths alike. A snug man, I&rsquo;ll wager, if
+&rsquo;t is awnly by the token of broadcloth on week-days.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He looks for all the world like a yellow, shrivelled parchment
+himself. Regular gimlet eyes, too, and a very fitch for sharpness, though
+younger than his appearance might make you fancy,&rdquo; said the miller.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then I&rsquo;ll pay him a visit and see how things stand,&rdquo;
+declared John. &ldquo;Not that I&rsquo;d employ any but my own London lawyer,
+of course,&rdquo; he added, &ldquo;but this old chap can give me the
+information I require; no doubt.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess fay! an&rsquo; draw you a dockyment in all the cautiousness of
+the law&rsquo;s language,&rdquo; promised Billy Blee. &ldquo;&rsquo;T is a
+fact makes me mazed every time I think of it,&rdquo; he continued,
+&ldquo;that mere fleeting ink on the skin tored off a calf can be so set out
+to last to the trump of doom. Theer be parchments that laugh at the
+Queen&rsquo;s awn Privy Council and make the Court of Parliament look a mere
+fule afore &rsquo;em. But it doan&rsquo;t do to be &rsquo;feared o&rsquo;
+far-reachin&rsquo; oaths when you &rsquo;m signing such a matter, for
+&rsquo;t is in the essence of &rsquo;em that the parties should swear
+deep.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll mind what you say, Billy,&rdquo; promised Grimbal;
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll pump old Ford as dry as I can, then be off to London and
+get such a good, binding deed of purchase as you suggest.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>And it was this determination that presently led to a violent breach
+between the young man and his elder.</p>
+<p>John waited upon Mr. Ford, at Mrs. Blanchard&rsquo;s cottage, where he had
+first lodged with his brother on their return from abroad, and found the
+lawyer exceedingly pleasant when he learned the object of Grimbal&rsquo;s
+visit. Together they drove over to the Red House, and its intending tenant
+soon heard all there was to tell respecting price and the provisions under
+which the estate was to be disposed of. For this information he expressed
+proper gratitude, but gave no hint of his future actions.</p>
+<p>Mr. Ford heard nothing more for a fortnight. Then he ascertained that John
+Grimbal was in the metropolis, that the sale of the Red House and its lands
+had been conducted by the London agent, and that no penny of the handsome
+commission involved would accrue to him. This position of affairs greatly
+(and to some extent reasonably) angered the local man, and he did not forgive
+what he considered a very flagrant slight. Extreme acerbity was bred in him,
+and his mind, vindictive by nature, cherished from that hour a hearty
+detestation of John Grimbal. The old man, his annual holiday ruined by the
+circumstance, went home to Newton, vowing vague vengeance and little dreaming
+how soon opportunity would offer to deal his enemy a return blow; while the
+purchaser of the Red House laughed at Ford&rsquo;s angry letters, told him to
+his face that he was a greedy old rascal, and went on his way well pleased
+with himself and fully occupied with his affairs.</p>
+<p>Necessary preliminaries were hastened; an architect visited the crumbling
+fabric of the old Red House and set about his plans. Soon, upon the ancient
+foundations, a new dwelling began to rise. The ancient name was retained at
+Martin&rsquo;s entreaty and the surrounding property developed. A stir and
+hum crept through the domain. Here was planting of young birch and larch;
+here clearing of land; here mounds of manure steamed on neglected fallows.
+John Grimbal took up temporary quarters in the home farm that he might be
+upon the spot at all hours; and what with these great personal interests,
+good news of his property in Africa, and the growing distraction of one
+soft-voiced, grey-eyed girl, the man found his life a full and splendid
+thing.</p>
+<p>That he should admit Phoebe into his thoughts and ambitions was not
+unreasonable for two reasons: he knew himself to be heartily in love with her
+by this time, and he had heard from her father a definite statement upon the
+subject of Will Blanchard. Indeed, the miller, from motives of worldly
+wisdom, took an opportunity to let John Grimbal know the situation.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No shadow of any engagement at all,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I made
+it plain as a pikestaff to them both. It mustn&rsquo;t be thought I
+countenanced their crack-brained troth-plighting. &rsquo;T was by reason of
+my final &rsquo;Nay&rsquo; that Will went off. He &rsquo;s gone out of her
+life, and she &rsquo;m free as the air. I tell you this because you may have
+heard different, and you mix with the countryside and can contradict any man
+who gives out otherwise. And, mind you, I say it from no ill-will to the
+bwoy, but out of justice to my cheel.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Thus, to gain private ends, Mr. Lyddon spoke, and his information greatly
+heartened the listener. John had more than once sounded Phoebe on the subject
+of Will during the past few months, and was bound to confess that any chance
+he might possess appeared small; but he was deeply in love and a man
+accustomed to have his own way. Increasing portions of his time and thought
+were devoted to this ambition, and when Phoebe&rsquo;s father spoke as
+recorded, Grimbal jumped at the announcement and pushed for his own hand.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If a man that was a man, with a bit of land and a bit of stuff
+behind him, came along and asked to court her, &rsquo;t would be different, I
+suppose?&rdquo; he inquired.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;d wish just such a man might come, for her sake.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Supposing I asked if I might try to win Phoebe?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;d desire your gude speed, my son. Nothing could please, me
+better.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then I&rsquo;ve got you on my side?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You really mean it? Well, well! Gert news to be sure, an&rsquo; I
+be pleased as Punch to hear &rsquo;e. But take my word, for I&rsquo;m richer
+than you by many years in knawledge of the world, though I haven&rsquo;t seen
+so much of it. Go slow. Wait a while till that brown bwoy graws a bit dim in
+Phoebe&rsquo;s eyes. Your life &rsquo;s afore you, and the gal &rsquo;s
+scarce marriageable, to my thinking. Build your house and bide your
+time.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So be it; and if I don&rsquo;t win her presently, I
+sha&rsquo;n&rsquo;t deserve to.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess, but taake time, lad. She &rsquo;m a dutiful, gude maiden, and
+I&rsquo;d be sore to think my awn words won&rsquo;t carry their weight when
+the right moment comes for speaking &rsquo;em. Blanchard&rsquo;s business
+pulled down the corners of her purty mouth a bit; but young hearts
+caan&rsquo;t keep mournful for ever.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Billy Blee then took his turn on the argument. Thus far he had listened,
+and now, according to his custom, argued on the popular side and bent his
+sail to the prevalent wind of opinion.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You say right, Miller. &rsquo;T is out of nature that a maid should
+fret her innards to fiddlestrings &rsquo;bout a green bwoy when theer&rsquo;s
+ripe men waitin&rsquo; for her.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Never heard better sense,&rdquo; declared John Grimbal, in high
+good-humour; and from the red-letter hour of that conversation he let his
+love grow into a giant. A man of old-fashioned convictions, he honestly
+believed the parent wise who exercised all possible control over a child; and
+in this case personal interest prompted him the more strongly to that
+opinion. Common sense the world over was on his side, and no man with the
+facts before him had been likely to criticise Miller Lyddon on the course of
+action he thought proper to pursue for his daughter&rsquo;s ultimate
+happiness. That he reckoned without his host naturally escaped the
+father&rsquo;s thought at this juncture. Will Blanchard had dwindled in his
+mind to the mere memory of a headstrong youngster, now far removed from the
+scene of his stupidity and without further power to trouble. That he could
+advise John to wait a while until Will&rsquo;s shadow grew less in
+Phoebe&rsquo;s thought, argued kindness and delicacy of mind in Mr. Lyddon.
+Will he only saw and gauged as the rest of the world. He did not fathom all
+of him, as Mrs. Blanchard had said; while concerning Phoebe&rsquo;s inner
+heart and the possibilities of her character, at a pinch, he could speak with
+still less certainty. She was a virgin page, unturned, unscanned. No man knew
+her strength or weakness; she did not know it herself.</p>
+<p>Time progressed; the leaf fell and the long drought was followed by a mild
+autumn of heavy rains. John Grimbal&rsquo;s days were spent between the Red
+House and Monks Barton. His rod was put up; but he had already made friends
+and now shot many partridges. He spent long evenings in the society of Phoebe
+and her father at the farm; and the miller not seldom contrived to be called
+away on these occasions. Billy proved ever ready to assist, and thus the two
+old men did the best in their power to aid Grimbal&rsquo;s suit. In the
+great, comfortable kitchen, generally at some distance from each other,
+Phoebe and the squire of the new Red House would sit. She, now suspecting,
+was shy and uneasy; he, his wits quickened by love, displayed a tact and
+deftness of words not to have been anticipated from him. At first Phoebe took
+fire when Grimbal criticised Will in anything but a spirit of utmost
+friendliness; but it was vital to his own hopes that he should cloud the
+picture painted on her heart if he could; so, by degrees and with all the
+cleverness at his command, he dropped gall into poor Phoebe&rsquo;s cup in
+minute doses. He mourned the extreme improbability of Blanchard&rsquo;s
+success, grounding his doubt on Will&rsquo;s uneven character; he pictured
+Blanchard&rsquo;s fight with the world and showed how probable it was that he
+would make it a losing battle by his own peculiarities of temper. He declared
+the remoteness of happiness for Miss Lyddon in that direction to be extreme;
+he deplored the unstable nature of a young man&rsquo;s affection all the
+world over; and he made solid capital out of the fact that not once since his
+departure had her lover communicated with Phoebe. She argued against this
+that her father had forbidden it; but Mr. Grimbal overrode the objection, and
+asked what man in love would allow himself to be bound by such a command. As
+a matter of fact, Will had sent two messages at different times to his
+sweetheart. These came through Clement Hicks, and only conveyed the
+intelligence that the wanderer was well.</p>
+<p>So Phoebe suffered persistent courting and her soft mould of mind sank a
+little under the storm. Now, weary and weak, she hesitated; now a wave of
+strength fortified her spirit. That John Grimbal should be dogged and
+importunate she took as mere masculine characteristics, and the fact did not
+anger her against him; but what roused her secret indignation almost as often
+as they met was his half-hidden air of sanguine confidence. He was humble in
+a way, always the patient lover, but in his manner she detected an
+indefinable, irritating self-confidence&mdash;the demeanour of one who
+already knows himself a conqueror before the battle is fought.</p>
+<p>Thus the position gradually developed. As yet her father had not spoken to
+Phoebe or pretended to any knowledge of what was doing; but there came a
+night, at the end of November, when John Grimbal, the miller, and Billy sat
+and smoked at Monks Barton after Phoebe&rsquo;s departure to bed. Mr. Blee,
+very well knowing what matter moved the minds of his companions, spoke
+first.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Missy have put on a temperate way of late days it do seem. I most
+begin to think that cat-a-mountain of a bwoy &rsquo;s less in her thoughts
+than he was. She &rsquo;m larnin&rsquo; wisdom, as well she may wi&rsquo;
+sich a faither.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I doan&rsquo;t knaw what to think,&rdquo; answered Mr. Lyddon,
+somewhat gloomily. &ldquo;I ban&rsquo;t so much in her confidence as of auld
+days. Damaris Blanchard&rsquo;s right, like enough. A maid &rsquo;s tu deep
+even for the faither that got her, most times. A sweet, dear gal as ever was,
+for all that. How fares it, John? She never names &rsquo;e to me, though I do
+to her.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m biding my time, neighbour. I reckon &rsquo;t will be
+right one day. It only makes me feel a bit mean now and again to have to say
+hard things about young Blanchard. Still, while she &rsquo;s wrapped up
+there, I may whistle for her.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You &rsquo;m in the right,&rdquo; declared Billy. &ldquo;&rsquo;T
+is an auld sayin&rsquo; that all manner of dealings be fair in love,
+an&rsquo; true no doubt, though I&rsquo;m a bachelor myself an&rsquo; no
+prophet in such matters.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;All&rsquo;s fair for certain,&rdquo; admitted John, as though he
+had not before considered the position from this standpoint.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ay, an&rsquo; a darter&rsquo;s welfare lies in her faither&rsquo;s
+hand. Thank God, I&rsquo;m not a parent to my knowledge; but &rsquo;tis a
+difficult calling in life, an&rsquo; a young maiden gal, purty as a picksher,
+be a heavy load to a honest mind.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So I find it,&rdquo; said the miller.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;ve forbid Will&mdash;lock, stock, and
+barrel&mdash;therefore, of coourse, she &rsquo;s no right to think more of
+him, to begin with,&rdquo; continued the old man. It was a new idea.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Come to think of it, she hasn&rsquo;t&mdash;eh?&rdquo; asked
+John.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, that&rsquo;s true enough,&rdquo; admitted Mr. Lyddon.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I speak, though of low position, but well thought of an&rsquo; at
+Miller&rsquo;s right hand, so to say,&rdquo; continued Mr. Blee; &ldquo;so
+theer &rsquo;t is: Missy&rsquo;s in a dangerous pass. Eve&rsquo;s flesh be
+Eve&rsquo;s flesh, whether hid under flannel or silk, or shawed mother-naked
+to the sun after the manner of furrin cannibals. A gal &rsquo;s a gal;
+an&rsquo; if I was faither of such as your darter, I&rsquo;d count it my
+solemn duty to see her out of the dangers of life an&rsquo; tidily mated to a
+gude man. I&rsquo;d say to myself, &rsquo;Her&rsquo;ll graw to bless me for
+what I&rsquo;ve done, come a few years.&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>So Billy Blee, according to his golden rule, advised men upon the road
+they already desired to follow, and thus increased his reputation for sound
+sense and far-reaching wisdom.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s true, every word he says,&rdquo; declared John
+Grimbal.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I believe it,&rdquo; answered the miller; &ldquo;though God forbid
+any word or act of mine should bring wan tear to Phoebe&rsquo;s cheek. Yet,
+somehow, I doan&rsquo;t knaw but you &rsquo;m right.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I am, believe me. It&rsquo;s the truth. You want Phoebe&rsquo;s
+real happiness considered, and that now depends on&mdash;well, I&rsquo;ll say
+it out&mdash;on me. We have reached the point now when you must speak, as you
+promised to speak, and throw the weight of your influence on my side. Then,
+after you&rsquo;ve had your say, I&rsquo;ll have mine and put the great
+question.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Mr. Lyddon nodded his head and relapsed into taciturnity.</p>
+<h2><a id="I_VI" name="I_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI<br />
+AN UNHAPPY POET</h2>
+<p>That a man of many nerves, uncertain in temper and with no physical or
+temporal qualifications, should have won for himself the handsomest girl in
+Chagford caused the unreflective to marvel whenever they considered the
+point. But a better knowledge of Chris Blauchard had served in some measure
+to explain the wonder. Of all women, she was the least likely to do the thing
+predicted by experience. She had tremendous force of character for one scarce
+twenty years of age; indeed, she lived a superlative life, and the man,
+woman, child, or dog that came within radius of her existence presently
+formed a definite part of it, and was loved or detested according to
+circumstances. Neutrality she could not understand. If her interests were
+wide, her prejudices were strong. A certain unconscious high-handedness of
+manner made the circle of her friends small, but those who did love her were
+enthusiastic. Upon the whole, the number of those who liked her increased
+with years, and avowed enemies had no very definite reasons for aversion. Of
+her physical perfections none pretended two opinions; but the boys had always
+gone rather in fear of Chris, and the few men who had courted her during the
+past few years were all considerably her seniors. No real romance entered
+into this young woman&rsquo;s practical and bustling life until the advent of
+Clement Hicks, though she herself was the flame of hearts not a few before
+his coming.</p>
+<p>Neurotic, sensual, as was Chris herself in a healthy fashion, a man of
+varying moods, and perhaps the richer for faint glimmerings of the real fire,
+Hicks yet found himself no better than an aimless, helpless child before the
+demands of reality. Since boyhood he had lived out of touch with his
+environment. As bee-keeper and sign-writer he made a naked living for himself
+and his mother, and achieved success sufficient to keep a cottage roof over
+their heads, but that was all. Books were his only friends; the old stones of
+the Moor, the lonely wastes, the plaintive music of a solitary bird were the
+companions of his happiest days. He had wit enough to torture half his waking
+hours with self-analysis, and to grit his teeth at his own impotence. But
+there was no strength, no virile grip to take his fate in his own hands and
+mould it like a man. He only mourned his disadvantages, and sometimes blamed
+destiny, sometimes a congenital infirmity of purpose, for the dreary course
+of his life. Nature alone could charm his sullen moods, and that not always.
+Now and again she spread over the face of his existence a transitory
+contentment and a larger hope; but the first contact with facts swept it away
+again. His higher aspirations were neither deep nor enduring, and yet the
+man&rsquo;s love of nature was lofty and just, and represented all the
+religion he had. No moral principles guided him, conscience never pricked.
+Nevertheless, thus far he had been a clean liver and an honest man. Vice,
+because it affronted his sense of the beautiful and usually led towards
+death, did not attract him. He lived too deep in the lap of Nature to be
+deceived by the pseudo-realism then making its appearance in literature, and
+he laughed without mirth at these pictures from city-bred pens at that time
+paraded as the whole truth of the countryman&rsquo;s life. The later school
+was not then above the horizon; the brief and filthy spectacle of those who
+dragged their necrosis, marasmus, and gangrene of body and mind across the
+stage of art and literature, and shrieked Decay, had not as yet appeared to
+make men sicken; the plague-spot, now near healed, had scarce showed the
+faintest angry symptom of coming ill. Hicks might under no circumstances have
+been drawn in that direction, for his morbidity was of a different
+description. Art to this man appeared only in what was wholesome; it even
+embraced a guide to conduct, for it led him directly to Nature, and Nature
+emphatically taught him the value of obedience, the punishment of weakness,
+the reward for excess and every form of self-indulgence. But a softness in
+him shrank from these aspects of the Mother. He tried vainly and feebly to
+dig some rule of life from her smiles alone, to read a sermon into her happy
+hours of high summer sunshine. Beauty was his dream; he possessed natural
+taste, and had cultivated the same without judgment. His intricate
+disposition and extreme sensitiveness frightened him away from much effort at
+self-expression; yet not a few trifling scraps and shreds of lyric poetry had
+fallen from his pen in high moments. These, when the mood changed, he read
+again, and found dead, and usually destroyed. He was more easily discouraged
+than a child who sets out to tell its parent a story, and is all silence and
+shamefaced blushes at the first whisper of laughter or semblance of a smile.
+The works of poets dazed him, disheartened him, and secret ambitions toward
+performance grew dimmer with every book he laid his hands on. Ambition to
+create began to die; the dream scenery of his ill-controlled mental life more
+and more seldom took shape of words on paper; and there came a time when
+thought grew wholly wordless for him; a mere personal pleasure, selfish,
+useless, unsubstantial as the glimmer of mirage over desert sands.</p>
+<p>Into this futile life came Chris, like a breath of sweet air from off the
+deep sea. She lifted him clean out of his subjective existence, awoke a
+healthy, natural love, built on the ordinary emotions of humanity, galvanised
+self-respect and ambition into some activity, and presently inspired a pluck
+strong enough to propose marriage. That was two years ago; and the girl still
+loved this weakly soul with all her heart, found his language unlike that of
+any other man she had seen or heard, and even took some slight softening edge
+of culture into herself from him. Her common sense was absolutely powerless
+to probe even the crust of Clement&rsquo;s nature; but she was satisfied that
+his poetry must be a thing as marketable as that in printed books. Indeed, in
+an elated moment he had assured her that it was so. During the earlier stages
+of their attachment, she pestered him to write and sell his verses and make
+money, that their happiness might be hastened; while he, on the first budding
+of his love, and with the splendid assurance of its return, had promised all
+manner of things, and indeed undertaken to make poems that should be sent by
+post to the far-away place where they printed unknown poets, and paid them.
+Chris believed in Clement as a matter of course. His honey must at least be
+worth more to the world than that of his bees. Over her future husband she
+began at once to exercise the control of mistress and mother; and she loved
+him more dearly after they had been engaged a year than at the beginning of
+the contract. By that time she knew his disposition, and instead of
+displaying frantic impatience at it, as might have been predicted, her
+tolerance was extreme. She bore with Clem because she loved him with the full
+love proper to such a nature as her own; and, though she presently found
+herself powerless to modify his character in any practical degree, his gloomy
+and uneven mind never lessened the sturdy optimism of Chris herself, or her
+sure confidence that the future would unite them. Through her protracted
+engagement Mrs. Blanchard&rsquo;s daughter maintained a lively and sanguine
+cheerfulness. But seldom was it that she lost patience with the dreamer. Then
+her rare, indignant outbursts of commonplace and common sense, like a
+thunderstorm, sweetened the stagnant air of Clement&rsquo;s thoughts and
+awoke new, wholesome currents in his mind.</p>
+<p>As a rule, on the occasion of their frequent country walks, Clem and Chris
+found personal problems and private interests sufficient for all
+conversation, but it happened that upon a Sunday in mid-December, as they
+passed through the valley of the Teign, where the two main streams of that
+river mingle at the foothills of the Moor, the subject of Will and Phoebe for
+a time at least filled their thoughts. The hour was clear and bright, yet
+somewhat cheerless. The sun had already set, from the standpoint of all life
+in the valley, and darkness, hastening out of the east, merged the traceries
+of a million naked boughs into a thickening network of misty grey. The river
+beneath these woods churned in winter flood, while clear against its raving
+one robin sang little tinkling litanies from the branch of an alder.</p>
+<p>Chris stood upon Lee Bridge at the waters&rsquo; meeting and threw scraps
+of wood into the river; Clem sat upon the parapet, smoked his pipe, and noted
+with a lingering delight the play of his sweetheart&rsquo;s lips as her
+fingers strained to snap a tough twig. Then the girl spoke, continuing a
+conversation already entered upon.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Phoebe Lyddon&rsquo;s that weak in will. How far&rsquo;s such as
+her gwaine in life without some person else to lean upon?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If the ivy cannot find a tree it creeps along the ground,
+Chrissy.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess, it do; or else falls headlong awver the first bank it comes
+to. Phoebe&rsquo;s so helpless a maiden as ever made a picksher. I mind her
+at school in the days when we was childer together. Purty as them china
+figures you might buy off Cheap Jack, an&rsquo; just so tender. She&rsquo;d
+come up to dinky gals no bigger &rsquo;n herself an&rsquo; pull out her
+li&rsquo;l handkercher an&rsquo; ax &rsquo;em to be so kind as to blaw her
+nose for her! Now Will&rsquo;s gone, Lard knaws wheer she&rsquo;ll drift
+to.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;To John Grimbal. Any man could see that. Her father&rsquo;s set on
+it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why don&rsquo;t Will write to her and keep her heart up and give
+her a little news? &rsquo;Twould be meat an&rsquo; drink to her. Doan&rsquo;t
+matter &rsquo;bout mother an&rsquo; me. We&rsquo;ll take your word for it
+that Will wants to keep his ways secret. But a sweetheart&mdash;&rsquo;tis so
+differ&rsquo;nt. I wouldn&rsquo;t stand it!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I know right well you wouldn&rsquo;t. Will has his own way. We
+won&rsquo;t criticise him. But there&rsquo;s a masterful man in the
+running&mdash;a prosperous, loud-voiced, bull-necked bully of a man, and one
+not accustomed to take &rsquo;no&rsquo; for his answer. I&rsquo;m afraid of
+John Grimbal in this matter. I&rsquo;ve gone so far as to warn Will, but he
+writes back that he knows Phoebe.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Jan Grimbal&rsquo;s a very differ&rsquo;nt fashion of man to his
+brother; that I saw in a moment when they bided with us for a week, till the
+&rsquo;Three Crowns&rsquo; could take &rsquo;em in. I hate Jan&mdash;hate him
+cruel; but I like Martin. He puts me in mind o&rsquo; you, Clem, wi&rsquo;
+his nice way of speech and tender quickness for women. But it&rsquo;s Phoebe
+we&rsquo;m speaking of. I think you should write stern to Will an&rsquo;
+frighten him. It ban&rsquo;t fair fightin&rsquo;, that poor, dear Phoebe
+&rsquo;gainst the will o&rsquo; two strong men.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, she&rsquo;s had paltry food for a lover since he went away.
+He&rsquo;s got certain ideas, and she&rsquo;ll hear direct when&mdash;but
+there, I must shut my mouth, for I swore by fantastic oaths to say
+nothing.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He ought to write, whether or no. You tell Will that Jan Grimbal be
+about building a braave plaace up under Whiddon, and is looking for a wife at
+Monks Barton morning, noon, an&rsquo; evening. That&rsquo;s like to waken
+him. An&rsquo; tell him the miller&rsquo;s on t&rsquo;other side, and
+clacking Jan Grimbal into Phoebe&rsquo;s ear steadier than the noise of his
+awn water-wheel.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And she will grow weak, mark me. She sees that red-brick place
+rising out of the bare boughs, higher and higher, and knows that from floor
+to attics all may be hers if she likes to say the word. She hears great talk
+of drawing-rooms, and pictures, and pianos, and greenhouses full of rare
+flowers, and all the rest&mdash;why, just think of it!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ban&rsquo;t many gals as could stand &rsquo;gainst a piano, I
+daresay.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I only know one&mdash;mine.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Chris looked at him curiously.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You &rsquo;m right. An&rsquo; that, for some queer reason, puts me
+in mind of the other wan, Martin Grimbal. He was very pleasant to
+me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;s too late, thank God!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess, fay! An&rsquo; if he&rsquo;d comed afore &rsquo;e, Clem,
+he&rsquo;d been tu early. Theer&rsquo;s awnly wan man in the gert world for
+me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My gypsy!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But I didn&rsquo;t mean that. He wouldn&rsquo;t look at me, not
+even if I was a free woman. &rsquo;T was of you I thought when I talked to
+Mr. Grimbal. He&rsquo;m well-to-do, and be seekin&rsquo; a house in the
+higher quarter under Middledown. You an&rsquo; him have the same fancy for
+the auld stones. So you might grow into friends&mdash;eh, Clem?
+Couldn&rsquo;t it so fall out? He might serve to help&mdash;eh? You &rsquo;m
+two-and-thirty year auld next February, an&rsquo; it do look as though they
+silly bees ban&rsquo;t gwaine to put money enough in the bank to spell a
+weddin&rsquo; for us this thirty year to come. Theer&rsquo;s awnly your aunt,
+Widow Coomstock, as you can look to for a penny, and that tu doubtful to
+count on.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t name her, Chris. Good Lord! poor drunken old thing,
+with that crowd of hungry relations waiting like vultures round a dying
+camel! Never think of her. Money she has, but I sha&rsquo;n&rsquo;t see the
+colour of it, and I don&rsquo;t want to.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, let that bide. Martin Grimbal&rsquo;s the man in my
+thought.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What can I do there?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Doan&rsquo;t knaw, &rsquo;zactly; but things might fall out if he
+got to like you, being a bookish sort of man. Anyway, he&rsquo;s very willing
+to be friends, for that he told me. Doan&rsquo;t bear yourself like Lucifer
+afore him; but take the first chance to let him knaw your fortune&rsquo;s in
+need of mendin&rsquo;.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You say that! D&rsquo; you think self-respect is dead in me?&rdquo;
+he asked, half angry.</p>
+<p>There was no visible life about them, so she put her arms round him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I ax for love of &rsquo;e, dearie, an&rsquo; for want of &rsquo;e.
+Do &rsquo;e think waitin&rsquo; &rsquo;s sweeter for me than for
+you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then he calmed down again, sighed, returned the caress, touched her, and
+stroked her breast and shoulder with sudden earthly light in his great
+eyes.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It &rsquo;s hard to wait.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s why I say doan&rsquo;t lose chances that may mean a
+weddin&rsquo; for us, Clem. Theer &rsquo;s so much hid in &rsquo;e, if awnly
+the way to bring it out could be found.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A mine that won&rsquo;t pay working,&rdquo; he said bitterly, the
+passion fading out of eyes and voice. &ldquo;I know there &rsquo;s something
+hidden; I feel there &rsquo;s a twist of brain that ought to rise above
+keeping bees and take me higher than honey-combs. Yet look at hard truth. The
+clods round me get enough by their sweat to keep wives and feed children.
+I&rsquo;m only a penniless, backboneless, hand-to-mouth wretch, living on the
+work of laborious insects.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If it ban&rsquo;t your awn fault, then whose be it,
+Clem?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The fault of Chance&mdash;to pack my build of brains into the skull
+of a pauper. This poor, unfinished abortion of a head-piece of mine only
+dreams dreams that it cannot even set on paper for others to see.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;ve given up trying whether it can or not,
+seemin&rsquo;ly. I never hear tell of no verses now.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What &rsquo;s the good? But only last night, so it happens, I had a
+sort of a wild feeling to get something out of myself, and I scribbled for
+hours and hours and found a little morsel of a rhyme.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Will &rsquo;e read it to me?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He showed reluctance, but presently dragged a scrap of paper out of his,
+pocket. Not a small source of trouble was his sweetheart&rsquo;s criticism of
+his verses.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It was the common sight of a pair of lovers walking tongue-tied,
+you know. I call it &lsquo;A Devon Courting.&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He read the trifle slowly, with that grand, rolling sea-beat of an accent
+that Elizabeth once loved to hear on the lips of Raleigh and Drake.</p>
+<p class="poem">&ldquo;Birds gived awver singin&rsquo;,<br />
+Flittermice was wingin&rsquo;,<br />
+Mists lay on the meadows&mdash;<br />
+<span class="i2">A purty sight to see.</span><br />
+Down-long in the dimpsy, the dimpsy, the dimpsy,<br />
+<span class="i2">Down-long in the dimpsy</span><br />
+Theer went a maid wi&rsquo; me.<br />
+<br />
+&ldquo;Five gude mile o&rsquo; walkin&rsquo;,<br />
+Not wan word o&rsquo; talkin&rsquo;,<br />
+Then I axed a question<br />
+<span class="i2">And put the same to she.</span><br />
+Up-long in the owl-light, the owl-light, the owl-light,<br />
+<span class="i2">Up-long in the owl-light,</span><br />
+Theer corned my maid wi&rsquo; me.&rdquo;<br /></p>
+<p class="i0">&ldquo;But I wonder you write the common words, Clem&mdash;you
+who be so much tu clever to use &rsquo;em.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The words are well enough. They were not common once.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, you knaw best. Could &rsquo;e sell such a li&rsquo;l auld
+funny thing as that for money?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He shook his head.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No; it was only the toil of making it seemed good. It is
+worthless.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; to think how long it took &rsquo;e! If you&rsquo;d awnly
+put the time into big-fashioned verses full of the high words you&rsquo;ve
+got. But you knaw best. Did &rsquo;e hear anything of them rhymes &rsquo;bout
+the auld days you sent to Lunnon?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They sent them back again. I told you &rsquo;t was wasting three
+stamps. It &rsquo;s not for me, I know it. The world is full of dumb singers.
+Maybe I haven&rsquo;t got even a pinch of the fire that <i>must</i> break
+through and show its flame, no matter what mountains the earth tumbles on it.
+God knows I burn hot enough sometimes with great thoughts and wild longings
+for love and for sweeter life and for you; but my fires&mdash;whether they
+are soul-fires or body-fires&mdash;only burn my heart out.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She sighed and squeezed his hand, understanding little enough of what he
+said.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We must be patient. &rsquo;T is a solid thing, patience. I&rsquo;m
+puttin&rsquo; by pence; but it &rsquo;s so plaguy little a gal can earn, best
+o&rsquo; times and with the best will.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If I could only write the things I think! But they vanish before
+pen and paper and the need of words, as the mists of the night vanish before
+the hard, searching sun. I am ignorant of how to use words; and those in the
+world who might help me will never know of me. As for those around about,
+they reckon me three parts fool, with just a little gift of re-writing names
+over their dirty shop-fronts.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yet it &rsquo;s money. What did &rsquo;e get for that butivul fox
+wi&rsquo; the goose in his mouth you painted &rsquo;pon Mr. Lamacraft&rsquo;s
+sign to Sticklepath?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ten shillings.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s solid money.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It isn&rsquo;t now. I bought a book with it&mdash;a book of
+lies.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Chris was going to speak, but changed her mind and sighed instead.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, as our affairs be speeding so poorly, we&rsquo;d best to do
+some gude deed an&rsquo; look after this other coil. You must let Will knaw
+what &rsquo;s doin&rsquo; by letter this very night. &rsquo;T is awnly fair,
+you being set in trust for him.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Strange, these Grimbal brothers,&rdquo; mused Clement, as the
+lovers proceeded in the direction of Chagford. &ldquo;They come home with
+everything on God&rsquo;s earth that men might desire to win happiness, and,
+by the look of it, each marks his home-coming by falling in love with one he
+can&rsquo;t have.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Shaws the fairness of things, Clem; how the poor may chance to have
+what the rich caan&rsquo;t buy; so all look to stand equal.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Fairness, you call it? The damned, cynical irony of this whole
+passion-driven puppet-show&mdash;that&rsquo;s what it shows! The man who is
+loved cannot marry the woman he loves lest they both starve; the man who can
+give a woman half the world is loathed for his pains. Not that he &rsquo;s to
+be pitied like the pauper, for if you can&rsquo;t buy love you can buy women,
+and the wise ones know how to manufacture a very lasting substitute for the
+real thing.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You talk that black and bitter as though you was deep-read in all
+the wickedness of the world,&rdquo; said Chris; &ldquo;yet I knaw no man can
+say sweeter things than you sometimes.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Talk! It &rsquo;s all talk with me&mdash;all snarling and railing
+and whining at hard facts, like a viper wasting its venom on steel. I&rsquo;m
+sick of myself&mdash;weary of the old, stale round of my thoughts. Where can
+I wash and be clean? Chrissy, for God&rsquo;s sake, tell me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Put your hope in the Spring,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;an&rsquo; be
+busy for Will.&rdquo; In reality, with the approach of Christmas, affairs
+between Phoebe and the elder Grimbal had reached a point far in advance of
+that which Clement and Chris were concerned with. For more than three months,
+and under a steadily increasing weight of opposition, Miller Lyddon&rsquo;s
+daughter fought without shadow of yielding. Then came a time when the calm
+but determined iteration of her father&rsquo;s desires and the sledge-hammer
+love-making of John Grimbal began to leave an impression. Even then her love
+for Will was bright and strong, but her sense of helplessness fretted her
+nerves and temper, and her sweetheart&rsquo;s laconic messages, through the
+medium of another man, were sorry comfort in this hour of tribulation. With
+some reason she felt slighted. Neither considering Will&rsquo;s
+peculiarities, nor suspecting that his silence was only, the result of a whim
+or project, she began to resent it. Then John Grimbal caught her in a
+dangerous mood. Once she wavered, and he had the wisdom to leave her at the
+moment of victory. But on the next occasion of their meeting, he took good
+care to keep the advantage he had gained. Conscious of his own honest and
+generous intentions, Grimbal went on his way. The subtler manifestations of
+Phoebe&rsquo;s real attitude towards him escaped his observation; her
+reluctance he set down as resulting from the dying shadow of affection for
+Will Blanchard. That she would be very happy and proud and prosperous in the
+position of his wife, the lover was absolutely assured. He pursued her with
+the greater determination, in that he believed he was saving her from
+herself. What were some few months of vague uncertainty and girlish tears
+compared with a lifetime of prosperity and solid happiness? John Grimbal made
+Phoebe handsome presents of pretty and costly things after the first great
+victory. He pushed his advantage with tremendous vigour. His great face
+seemed reflected in Phoebe&rsquo;s eyes when she slept as when she woke; his
+voice was never out of her ears. Weary, hopeless, worn out, she prayed
+sometimes for strength of purpose. But it was a trait denied to her character
+and not to be bestowed at a breath. Her stability of defence, even as it
+stood, was remarkable and beyond expectation. Then the sure climax rolled in
+upon poor Phoebe. Twice she sought Clement Hicks with purpose to send an
+urgent message; on each occasion accident prevented a meeting; her father was
+always smiling and droning his desires into her ear; John Grimbal haunted
+her. His good-nature and kindness were hard to bear; his patience made her
+frantic. So the investment drew to its conclusion and the barriers crumbled,
+for the forces besieged were too weak and worn to restore them; while a last
+circumstance brought victory to the stronger and proclaimed the final
+overthrow.</p>
+<p>This culmination resulted from a visit to the spiritual head of
+Phoebe&rsquo;s dwelling-place. The Rev. James Shorto-Champernowne, Vicar of
+Chagford, made an appointment to discuss the position with Mr. Lyddon and his
+daughter. A sportsman of the old type, and a cleric of rare reputation for
+good sense and fairness to high and low, was Mr. Shorto-Champernowne, but it
+happened that his more tender emotions had been buried with a young wife
+these forty years, and children he had none. Nevertheless, taking the
+standpoint of parental discipline, he held Phoebe&rsquo;s alleged engagement
+a vain thing, not to be considered seriously. Moreover, he knew of
+Will&rsquo;s lapses in the past; and that was fatal.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My child, have little doubt that both religion and duty point in
+one direction and with no faltering hands,&rdquo; he said, in his stately
+way. &ldquo;Communicate with the young man, inform him that conversation with
+myself has taken place; then he can hardly maintain an attitude of doubt,
+either to the exalted convictions that have led to your decision, or to the
+propriety of it. And, further, do not omit an opportunity of well-doing, but
+conclude your letter with a word of counsel. Pray him to seek a Guide to his
+future life, the only Guide able to lead him aright. I mean his Mother
+Church. No man who turns his back upon her can be either virtuous or happy. I
+mourned his defection from our choir some years ago. You see I forget nobody.
+My eyes are everywhere, as they ought to be. Would that he could be whipped
+back to the House of God&mdash;with scorpions, if necessary! There is a
+cowardice, a lack of sportsmanlike feeling, if I may so express it, in these
+fallings away from the Church of our fathers. It denotes a failing of
+intellect amid the centres of human activity. There is a blight of unbelief
+abroad&mdash;a nebulous, pestilential rationalism. Acquaint him with these
+facts; they may serve to re-establish one whose temperament must be regarded
+as abnormal in the light of his great eccentricity of action. Now farewell,
+and God be with you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The rotund, grey-whiskered clergyman waved his hand; Miller Lyddon and his
+daughter left the vicarage; while both heard, as it seemed, his studied
+phrases and sonorous voice rolling after them all the way home. But poor
+Phoebe felt that the main issues as to conscience were now only too clear;
+her last anchor was wrenched from its hold, and that night, through a mist of
+unhappy tears, she succumbed, promised to marry John Grimbal and be queen of
+the red castle now rising under Cranbrook&rsquo;s distant heights.</p>
+<p>That we have dealt too scantily with her tragic experiences may be
+suspected; but the sequel will serve to show how these circumstances demand
+no greater elaboration than has been accorded to them.</p>
+<h2><a id="I_VII" name="I_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII<br />
+LIBATION TO POMONA</h2>
+<p>A WINTER moon threw black shadows from stock and stone, tree and cot in
+the valley of the Teign. Heavy snow had fallen, and moor-men, coming down
+from the highlands, declared it to lie three feet deep in the drifts. Now
+fine, sharp weather had succeeded the storm, and hard frost held both hill
+and vale.</p>
+<p>On Old Christmas Eve a party numbering some five-and-twenty persons
+assembled in the farmyard of Monks Barton, and Billy Blee, as master of the
+pending ceremonies, made them welcome. Some among them were aged, others
+youthful; indeed the company consisted mostly of old men and boys, a
+circumstance very easily understood when the nature of their enterprise is
+considered. The ancients were about to celebrate a venerable rite and
+sacrifice to a superstition, active in their boyhood, moribund at the date
+with which we are concerned, and to-day probably dead altogether. The sweet
+poet<a id="footnotetag2" name="footnotetag2"></a><a href=
+"#footnote2"><sup>2</sup></a> of Dean Prior mentions this quaint, old-time
+custom of &ldquo;christening&rdquo; or &ldquo;wassailing&rdquo; the
+fruit-trees among Christmas-Eve ceremonies; and doubtless when he dwelt in
+Devon the use was gloriously maintained; but an adult generation in the years
+of this narrative had certainly refused it much support. It was left to their
+grandfathers and their sons; and thus senility and youth preponderated in the
+present company. For the boys, this midnight fun with lantern and
+fowling-piece was good Christmas sport, and they came readily enough; to the
+old men their ceremonial possessed solid value, and from the musty storehouse
+of his memory every venerable soul amongst them could cite instances of the
+sovereign virtue hid in such a procedure.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A brave rally o&rsquo; neighbours, sure &rsquo;nough,&rdquo; cried
+Mr. Blee as he appeared amongst them. &ldquo;Be Gaffer Lezzard
+come?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Here, Billy.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Hast thy fire-arm, Lezzard?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess, &rsquo;t is here. My gran&rsquo;son&rsquo;s carrying of it;
+but I holds the powder-flask an&rsquo; caps, so no ruin be threatened to
+none.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Mr. Lezzard wore a black smock-frock, across the breast of which extended
+delicate and skilful needlework. His head was hidden under an old chimney-pot
+hat with a pea-cock&rsquo;s feather in it, and, against the cold, he had tied
+a tremendous woollen muffler round his neck and about his ears. The ends of
+it hung down over his coat, and the general effect of smock, comforter,
+gaitered shanks, boots tied up in straw, long nose, and shining spectacles,
+was that of some huge and ungainly bird, hopped from out a fairy-tale or a
+nightmare.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Be Maister Chappie here likewise?&rdquo; inquired Billy.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m waitin&rsquo;; an&rsquo; I&rsquo;ve got a fowling-piece,
+tu.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s gude then. I be gwaine to carry the auld blunderbuss
+what&rsquo;s been in Miller Lyddon&rsquo;s family since the years of his
+ancestors, and belonged to a coach-guard in the King&rsquo;s days. &rsquo;T
+is well suited to apple-christenin&rsquo;. The cider&rsquo;s here, in three
+o&rsquo; the biggest earth pitchers us&rsquo;a&rsquo; got, an&rsquo; the lads
+is ready to bring it along. The Maister Grimbals, as will be related to the
+family presently, be comin&rsquo; to see the custom, an&rsquo; Miller wants
+every man to step back-along arterwards an&rsquo; have a drop o&rsquo; the
+best, &rsquo;cordin&rsquo; to his usual gracious gudeness. Now, Lezzard, me
+an&rsquo; you&rsquo;ll lead the way.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Mr. Blee then shouldered his ancient weapon, the other veteran marched
+beside him, and the rest of the company followed in the direction of Chagford
+Bridge. They proceeded across the fields; and along the procession bobbed a
+lantern or two, while a few boys carried flaring torches. The light from
+these killed the moonbeams within a narrow radius, shot black tongues of
+smoke into the clear air, and set the meadows glimmering redly where
+contending radiance of moon and fire powdered the virgin snow with diamond
+and ruby. Snake-like the party wound along beside the river. Dogs barked;
+voices rang clear on the crystal night; now and again, with laughter and
+shout, the lads raced hither and thither from their stolid elders, and here
+and there jackets carried the mark of a snowball. Behind the procession a
+trampled grey line stretched out under the moonlight. Then all passed like
+some dim, magic pageant of a dream; the distant dark blot of naked woodlands
+swallowed them up, and the voices grew faint and ceased. Only the endless
+song of the river sounded, with a new note struck into it by the world of
+snow.</p>
+<p>For a few moments the valley was left empty, so empty that a fox, who had
+been prowling unsuccessfully about Monks Barton since dusk, took the
+opportunity to leave his hiding-place above the ducks&rsquo; pool, cross the
+meadows, and get him home to his earth two miles distant. He slunk with
+pattering foot across the snow, marking his way by little regular paw-pits
+and one straight line where his brush roughened the surface. Steam puffed in
+jets from his muzzle, and his empty belly made him angry with the world. At
+the edge of the woods he lifted his head, and the moonlight touched his green
+eyes. Then he recorded a protest against Providence in one eerie bark, and so
+vanished, before the weird sound had died.</p>
+<p>Phoebe Lyddon and her lover, having given the others some vantage of
+ground, followed them to their destination&mdash;Mr. Lyddon&rsquo;s famous
+orchard in Teign valley. The girl&rsquo;s dreary task of late had been to
+tell herself that she would surely love John Grimbal presently&mdash;love him
+as such a good man deserved to be loved. Only under the silence and in the
+loneliness of long nights, only in the small hours of day, when sleep would
+not come and pulses were weak, did Phoebe confess that contact with him hurt
+her, that his kisses made her giddy to sickness, that all his gifts put
+together were less to her than one treasure she was too weak to
+destroy&mdash;the last letter Will had written. Once or twice, not to her
+future husband, but to the miller, Phoebe had ventured faintly to question
+still the promise of this great step; but Mr. Lyddon quickly overruled all
+doubts, and assisted John Grimbal in his efforts to hasten the ceremony. Upon
+this day, Old Christmas Eve, the wedding-day lay not a month distant and,
+afterwards the husband designed to take his wife abroad for a trip to South
+Africa. Thus he would combine business and pleasure, and return in the spring
+to witness the completion of his house. Chagford highly approved the match,
+congratulated Phoebe on her fortune, and felt secretly gratified that a
+personage grown so important as John Grimbal should have chosen his
+life&rsquo;s partner from among the maidens of his native village.</p>
+<p>Now the pair walked over the snow; and silent and stealthy as the vanished
+fox, a grey figure followed after them. Dim as some moon-spirit against the
+brightness, this shape stole forward under the rough hedge that formed a bank
+and threw a shadow between meadow and stream. In repose the grey man, for a
+man it was, looked far less substantial than the stationary outlines of
+fences and trees; and when he moved it had needed a keen eye to see him at
+all. He mingled with the moonlight and snow, and became a part of a strange
+inversion of ordinary conditions; for in this white, hushed world the shadows
+alone seemed solid and material in their black nakedness, in their keen
+sharpness of line and limit, while things concrete and ponderable shone out a
+silvery medley of snow-capped, misty traceries, vague of outline, uncertain
+of shape, magically changed as to their relations by the unfamiliar carpet
+now spread between them.</p>
+<p>The grey figure kept Phoebe in sight, but followed a path of his own
+choosing. When she entered the woods he drew a little nearer, and thus
+followed, passing from shadow to shadow, scarce fifty yards behind.</p>
+<p>Meanwhile the main procession approached the scene of its labours. Martin
+Grimbal, attracted by the prospect of reading this page from an old Devonian
+superstition, was of the company. He walked with Billy Blee and Gaffer
+Lezzard; and these high priests, well pleased at their junior&rsquo;s
+attitude towards the ceremony, opened their hearts to him upon it.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;T is an ancient rite, auld as cider&mdash;maybe auld as
+Scripture, to, for anything I&rsquo;ve heard to the contrary,&rdquo; said Mr.
+Lezzard.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ay, so &rsquo;t is,&rdquo; declared Billy Blee, &ldquo;an&rsquo; a
+custom to little observed nowadays. But us might have better blooth in
+springtime an&rsquo; braaver apples come autumn if the trees was christened
+more regular. You doan&rsquo;t see no gert stock of sizable apples best
+o&rsquo; years now&mdash;li&rsquo;l scrubbly auld things most
+times.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; the cider from &rsquo;em&mdash;poor roapy muck, awnly fit
+to make &rsquo;e thirst for better drink,&rdquo; criticised Gaffer
+Lezzard.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis this way: theer&rsquo;s gert virtue in cider put to
+apple-tree roots on this particular night, accordin&rsquo; to the planets and
+such hidden things. Why so, I can&rsquo;t tell &rsquo;e, any more &rsquo;n
+anybody could tell &rsquo;e why the moon sails higher up the sky in winter
+than her do in summer; but so &rsquo;t is. An&rsquo; facts be facts. Why,
+theer&rsquo;s the auld &lsquo;Sam&rsquo;s Crab&rsquo; tree in this very
+orchard we&rsquo;m walkin&rsquo; to. I knawed that tree three year ago to
+give a hogshead an&rsquo; a half as near as damn it. That wan tree, mind,
+with no more than a few baskets of &lsquo;Redstreaks&rsquo; added.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; a shy bearer most times, tu,&rdquo; added Mr.
+Lezzard.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Just so; then come next year, by some mischance, me being indoors,
+if they didn&rsquo;t forget to christen un! An&rsquo;, burnish it all! theer
+wasn&rsquo;t fruit enough on the tree to fill your pockets!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Whether &rsquo;t is the firing into the branches, or the cider to
+the roots does gude, be a matter of doubt,&rdquo; continued Mr. Lezzard; but
+the other authority would not admit this.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They &rsquo;m like the halves of a flail, depend on it: wan no use
+wi&rsquo;out t&rsquo;other. Then theer&rsquo;s the singing of the auld song:
+who&rsquo;s gwaine to say that&rsquo;s the least part of it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;T is the three pious acts thrawn together in wan gude
+deed,&rdquo; summed up Mr. Lezzard; &ldquo;an&rsquo; if they&rsquo;d awnly
+let apples get ripe &rsquo;fore they break &rsquo;em, an&rsquo; go back to
+the straw for straining, &rsquo;stead of these tom-fule, new-fangled
+hair-cloths, us might get tidy cider still.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>By this time the gate of the orchard was reached; Gaffer Lezzard, Billy,
+and the other patriarch, Mr. Chapple,&mdash;a very fat old man,&mdash;loaded
+their weapons, and the perspiring cider-carriers set down their loads.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Now, you bwoys, give awver runnin&rsquo; &rsquo;bout like
+rabbits,&rdquo; cried out Mr. Chapple. &ldquo;You &rsquo;m here to sing while
+us pours cider an&rsquo; shoots in the trees; an&rsquo; not a drop
+you&rsquo;ll have if you doan&rsquo;t give tongue proper, so I tell
+&rsquo;e.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>At this rebuke the boys assembled, and there followed a hasty gabbling, to
+freshen the words in young and uncertain memories. Then a small vessel was
+dipped under floating toast, that covered the cider in the great pitchers,
+and the ceremony of christening the orchard began. Only the largest and most
+famous apple-bearers were thus saluted, for neither cider nor gunpowder
+sufficient to honour more than a fraction of the whole multitude existed in
+all Chagford. The orchard, viewed from the east, stretched in long lines,
+like the legions of some arboreal army; the moon set sparks and streaks of
+light on every snowy fork and bough; and at the northwestern foot of each
+tree a network of spidery shadow-patterns, sharp and black, extended upon the
+snow.</p>
+<p>Mr. Blee himself made the first libation, led the first chorus, and fired
+the first shot. Steaming cider poured from his mug, vanished, sucked in at
+the tree-foot, and left a black patch upon the snow at the hole of the trunk;
+then he stuck a fragment of sodden toast on a twig; after which the
+christening song rang out upon the night&mdash;ragged at first, but settling
+into resolute swing and improved time as its music proceeded. The lusty
+treble of the youngsters soon drowned the notes of their grandfathers; for
+the boys took their measure at a pace beyond the power of Gaffer Lezzard and
+his generation, and sang with heart and voice to keep themselves warm. The
+song has variants, but this was their version&mdash;</p>
+<p class="poem">&ldquo;Here &rsquo;s to thee, auld apple-tree,<br />
+Be sure you bud, be sure you blaw,<br />
+And bring forth apples good enough&mdash;<br />
+Hats full, caps full, three-bushel bags full,<br />
+<span class="i2">Pockets full and all&mdash;</span><br />
+Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!<br />
+<span class="i4">Hats full, caps full, three-bushel bags full,</span><br />
+<span class="i6">Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!&rdquo;</span></p>
+<p>Then Billy fired his blunderbuss, and a flame leapt from its bell mouth
+into the branches of the apple-tree, while surrounding high lands echoed its
+report with a reverberating bellow that rose and fell, and was flung from
+hill to hill, until it gradually faded upon the ear. The boys cheered again,
+everybody drank a drop of the cider, and from under a cloud of blue smoke,
+that hung flat as a pancake above them in the still air, all moved onward.
+Presently the party separated into three groups, each having a gunner to lead
+it, half a dozen boys to sing, and a dwindling jar of cider for the purposes
+of the ceremony. The divided choirs clashed their music, heard from a
+distance; the guns fired at intervals, each sending forth its own particular
+detonation and winning back a distinctive echo; then the companies separated
+widely and decreased to mere twinkling, torchlit points in the distance.
+Accumulated smoke from the scattered discharges hung in a sluggish haze
+between earth and moon, and a sharp smell of burnt powder tainted the
+sweetness of the frosty night.</p>
+<p>Upon this scene arrived John Grirnbal and his sweetheart. They stood for a
+while at the open orchard gate, gazed at the remote illumination, and heard
+the distant song. Then they returned to discussion of their own affairs;
+while at hand, unseen, the grey watcher moved impatiently and anxiously. The
+thing he desired did not come about, and he blew on his cold hands and swore
+under his breath. Only an orchard hedge now separated them, and he might have
+listened to Phoebe&rsquo;s soft speech had he crept ten yards nearer, while
+John Grimbal&rsquo;s voice he could not help hearing from time to time. The
+big man was just asking a question not easy to answer, when an unexpected
+interruption saved Phoebe from the difficulty of any reply.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Sometimes I half reckon a memory of that blessed boy still makes
+you glum, my dear. Is it so? Haven&rsquo;t you forgot him yet?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>As he spoke an explosion, differing much in sound from those which
+continued to startle the night, rang suddenly out of the distance. It arose
+from a spot on the confines of the orchard, and was sharp in tone&mdash;sharp
+almost as the human cries which followed it. Then the distant lights hastened
+towards the theatre of the catastrophe. &ldquo;What has happened?&rdquo;
+cried Phoebe, thankful enough to snatch conversation away from herself and
+her affairs.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Easy to guess. That broken report means a burst gun. One of those
+old fools has got excited, put too much powder into his blunderbuss and blown
+his head off, likely as not. No loss either!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Please, please go and see! Oh, if &rsquo;tis Billy Blee come to
+grief, faither will be lost. Do &rsquo;e run, Mr. Grimbal&mdash;Jan, I mean.
+If any grave matter&rsquo;s failed out, send them bwoys off red-hot for
+doctor.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Stop here, then. If any ugly thing has happened, there need be no
+occasion for you to see it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He departed hastily to where a distant galaxy of fiery eyes twinkled and
+tangled and moved this way and that, like the dying sparks on a piece of
+burnt paper.</p>
+<p>Then the patient grey shadow, rewarded by chance at last, found his
+opportunity, slipped into the hedge just above Grimbal&rsquo;s sweetheart,
+and spoke to her.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Phoebe, Phoebe Lyddon!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The voice, dropping out of empty air as it seemed, made Phoebe jump, and
+almost fall; but there was an arm gripped round her, and a pair of hot lips
+on hers before she had time to open her mouth or cry a word.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Will!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess, so I be, alive an&rsquo; kicking. No time for anything but
+business now. I&rsquo;ve followed &rsquo;e for this chance. Awnly heard four
+day ago &rsquo;bout the fix you&rsquo;d been drove to. An&rsquo; Clem&rsquo;s
+made it clear &rsquo;t was all my damn silly silence to blame. I had a gert
+thought in me and wasn&rsquo;t gwaine to write till&mdash;but that&rsquo;s
+awver an&rsquo; done, an&rsquo; a purty kettle of feesh, tu. We must faace
+this coil first.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Thank God, you can forgive me. I&rsquo;d never have had courage to
+ax &rsquo;e.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You was drove into it. I knaw there&rsquo;s awnly wan man in the
+world for &rsquo;e. Ban&rsquo;t nothin&rsquo; to forgive. I never ought to
+have left &rsquo;e&mdash;a far-seein&rsquo; man, same as me. Blast him!
+I&rsquo;d like to tear thicky damned fur off you, for I lay it comed from
+him.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They were killing me, Will; and never a word from you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I knaw, I knaw. What&rsquo;s wan girl against a parish full,
+an&rsquo; a blustering chap made o&rsquo; diamonds?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The things doan&rsquo;t warm me; they make me shiver. But
+now&mdash;you can forgive me&mdash;that&rsquo;s all I care for. What shall I
+do? How can I escape it? Oh, Will, say I can!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;In coourse you can. Awnly wan way, though; an&rsquo; that&rsquo;s
+why I&rsquo;m here. Us must be married right on end. Then he&rsquo;s got no
+more power over &rsquo;e than a drowned worm, nor Miller, nor any.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;To think you can forgive me enough to marry me after all my
+wickedness! I never dreamed theer was such a big heart in the world as
+yourn.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why, we promised, didn&rsquo;t us? We&rsquo;m built for each other.
+I knawed I&rsquo;d only got to come. An&rsquo; I have, at cost, tu, I promise
+&rsquo;e. Now we&rsquo;ll be upsides wi&rsquo; this tramp from furrin paarts,
+if awnly you do ezacally what I be gwaine to tell you. I&rsquo;d meant to
+write it, but I can speak it better as the chance has come.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Phoebe&rsquo;s heart glowed at this tremendous change in the position. She
+forgot everything before sight and sound of Will. The nature of her promises
+weakened to gossamer. Her first love was the only love for her, and his voice
+fortified her spirit and braced her nerves. A chance for happiness yet
+remained and she, who had endured enough, was strong in determination to win
+it yet at any cost if a woman could.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If you awnly knawed the half I&rsquo;ve suffered before they forced
+me, you&rsquo;d forgive,&rdquo; she said. His frank pardon she could hardly
+realise. It seemed altogether beyond the desert of her weakness.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Let that bide. It&rsquo;s the future now. Clem&rsquo;s told me
+everything. Awnly you and him an&rsquo; Chris knaw I&rsquo;m here. Chris will
+serve &rsquo;e. Us must play a hidden game, an&rsquo; fight this Grimbal chap
+as he fought me&mdash;behind back. Listen; to-day fortnight you an&rsquo; me
+&rsquo;m gwaine to be married afore the registrar to Newton Abbot. He
+&rsquo;m my awn Uncle Ford, as luck has it, an&rsquo; quite o&rsquo; my way
+o&rsquo; thinkin&rsquo; when I told him how &rsquo;t was, an&rsquo; that Jan
+Grimbal was gwaine to marry you against your will. He advised me, and
+I&rsquo;m biding in Newton for next two weeks, so as the thing comes out
+right by law. But you&rsquo;ve got to keep it still as death.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If I could awnly fly this instant moment with &rsquo;e!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You caan&rsquo;t. &rsquo;T would spoil all. You must stop home,
+an&rsquo; hear your banns put up with Grimbal, an&rsquo; all the rest of it.
+Wish I could! Meat an&rsquo; drink &rsquo;t would be, by God! But he&rsquo;ll
+get his pay all right. An&rsquo; afore the day comes, you nip off to Newton,
+an&rsquo; I&rsquo;ll meet &rsquo;e, an&rsquo; us&rsquo;ll be married in a
+wink, an&rsquo; you&rsquo;ll be back home again to Monks Barton &rsquo;fore
+you knaw it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Is that the awnly way? Oh, Will, how terrible!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;God knaws I&rsquo;ve done worse &rsquo;n that. But no man&rsquo;s
+gwaine to steal the maid of my choosin&rsquo; from me while I&rsquo;ve got
+brains and body to prevent it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Let me look at you, lovey&mdash;just the same, just the same!
+&rsquo;Tis glorious to hear your voice again. But this thin coat, so butivul
+in shaape, tu! You &rsquo;m a gentleman by the look of it; but &rsquo;t is
+summer wear, not winter.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess, &rsquo;tis cold enough; an&rsquo; I&rsquo;ve got to get back
+to Newton to-night. An&rsquo; never breathe that man&rsquo;s name no more.
+I&rsquo;ll shaw &rsquo;e wat &rsquo;s a man an&rsquo; what ban&rsquo;t. Steal
+my true love, would &rsquo;e?&mdash;God forgive un, I shaan&rsquo;t&mdash;not
+till we &rsquo;m man an&rsquo; wife, anyway. Then I might. Give &rsquo;e up!
+Be I a chap as chaanges? Never&mdash;never yet.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Phoebe wept at these words and pressed Will to her heart.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis strength, an&rsquo; fire, an&rsquo; racing blood in me
+to hear &rsquo;e, dear, braave heart. I was that weak without &rsquo;e. Now
+the world &rsquo;s a new plaace, an&rsquo; I doan&rsquo;t doubt fust thought
+was right, for all they said. I&rsquo;ll meet &rsquo;e as you bid me,
+an&rsquo; nothin&rsquo; shall ever keep me from &rsquo;e
+now&mdash;nothing!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;T is well said, Phoebe; an&rsquo; doan&rsquo;t let that
+anointed scamp kiss &rsquo;e more &rsquo;n he must. Be braave an&rsquo;
+cunnin&rsquo;, an&rsquo; keep Miller from smelling a rat. I&rsquo;d like to
+smash that man myself now wheer he stands,&mdash;Grimbal I mean,&mdash;but us
+must be wise for the present. Wipe your shiny eyes an&rsquo; keep a happy
+faace to &rsquo;em, an&rsquo; never let wan of the lot dream what&rsquo;s hid
+in &rsquo;e. Cock your li&rsquo;l nose high, an&rsquo; be peart an&rsquo;
+gay. An&rsquo; let un buy you what he will,&mdash;&rsquo;t is no odds; we can
+send his rubbish back again arter, when he knaws you&rsquo;m another
+man&rsquo;s wife. Gude-bye, Phoebe dearie; I&rsquo;ve done what &rsquo;peared
+to me a gert deed for love of &rsquo;e; but the sight of &rsquo;e brings it
+down into no mighty matter.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;ve saved my life, Will&mdash;saved all my days; an&rsquo;
+while I&rsquo;ve got a heart beating &rsquo;t will be yourn, an&rsquo;
+I&rsquo;ll work for &rsquo;e, an&rsquo; slave for &rsquo;e, an&rsquo; think
+for &rsquo;e, an&rsquo; love &rsquo;e so long as I live&mdash;an&rsquo; pray
+for &rsquo;e, tu, Will, my awn!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He parted from her as she spoke, and she, by an inspiration, hurried
+towards the approaching crowd that the trampled marks of the snow where she
+had been standing might not be noted under the gleam of torches and
+lanterns.</p>
+<p>John Grimbal&rsquo;s prophecy was happily not fulfilled in its gloomy
+completeness: nobody had blown his head off; but Billy Blee&rsquo;s
+prodigality of ammunition proved at last too much for the blunderbuss of the
+bygone coach-guard, and in its sudden annihilation a fragment had cut the
+gunner across the face, and a second inflicted a pretty deep flesh-wound on
+his arm. Neither injury was very serious, and the general escape, as John
+Grimbal pointed out, might be considered marvellous, for not a soul save
+Billy himself had been so much as scratched.</p>
+<p>With Martin Grimbal on one side and Mr. Chapple upon the other, the
+wounded veteran walked slowly and solemnly along. The dramatic moments of the
+hour were dear to him, and while tolerably confident at the bottom of his
+mind that no vital hurt had been done, he openly declared himself stricken to
+death, and revelled in a display of Christian fortitude and resignation that
+deceived everybody but John Grimbal. Billy gasped and gurgled, bid them see
+to the bandages, and reviewed his past life with ingenuous satisfaction.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah, sawls all! dead as a hammer in an hour. &rsquo;T is awver. I
+feel the life swelling out of me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t say that, Billy,&rdquo; cried Martin, in real concern.
+&ldquo;The blood&rsquo;s stopped flowing entirely now.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;For why? Theer&rsquo;s no more to come. My heart be pumping wind,
+lifeless wind; my lung-play&rsquo;s gone, tu, an&rsquo; my sight&rsquo;s come
+awver that coorious. Be Gaffer Lezzard nigh?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Here, alongside &rsquo;e, Bill.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Gimme your hand then, an&rsquo; let auld scores be wiped off in
+this shattering calamity. Us have differed wheer us could these twoscore
+years; but theer mustn&rsquo;t be no more ill-will wi&rsquo; me
+tremblin&rsquo; on the lip o&rsquo; the graave.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;None at all; if &rsquo;t wasn&rsquo;t for Widow Coomstock,&rdquo;
+said Gaffer Lezzard. &ldquo;You &rsquo;m tu pushing theer, an&rsquo; I say it
+even now, for truth&rsquo;s truth, though it be the last thing a man&rsquo;s
+ear holds.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Break it to her gentle,&rdquo; said Billy, ignoring the
+other&rsquo;s criticism; &ldquo;she&rsquo;m on in years, and have cast a
+kindly eye awver me since the early sixties. My propositions never was more
+than agreeable conversation to her, but it might have come. Tell her
+theer&rsquo;s a world beyond marriage customs, an&rsquo; us&rsquo;ll meet
+theer.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Old Lezzard showed a good deal of anger at this speech, but being in a
+minority fell back and held his peace.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Would &rsquo;e like to see passon, dear sawl?&rdquo; asked Mr.
+Chapple, who walked on Billy&rsquo;s left with his gun reversed, as though at
+a funeral.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Me an&rsquo; him be out, along o&rsquo; rheumatics keeping me from
+the House of God this month,&rdquo; said the sufferer, &ldquo;but at a solemn
+death-bed hour like this here, I&rsquo;d soon see un as not. Ban&rsquo;t no
+gert odds, for I forgive all mankind, and doan&rsquo;t feel no more malice
+than a bird in a tree.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;re a silly old ass,&rdquo; burst out Grimbal roughly.
+&ldquo;There&rsquo;s nothing worth naming the matter with you, and you know
+it better than we do. The Devil looks after his own, seemingly. Any other man
+would have been killed ten times over.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Billy whined and even wept at this harsh reproof. &ldquo;Ban&rsquo;t a
+very fair way to speak to an auld gunpowder-blawn piece, like what I be
+now,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;gormed if &rsquo;t is.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Very onhandsome of &rsquo;e, Mr. Grimbal,&rdquo; declared the stout
+Chappie; &ldquo;an&rsquo; you so young an&rsquo; in the prime of life,
+tu!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Here Phoebe met them, and Mr. Blee, observing the signs of tears upon her
+face, supposed that anxiety for him had wet her cheeks, and comforted his
+master&rsquo;s child.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Doan&rsquo;t &rsquo;e give way, missy. &rsquo;T is all wan,
+an&rsquo; I ban&rsquo;t &rsquo;feared of the tomb, as I&rsquo;ve tawld
+&rsquo;em. Us must rot, every bone of us, in our season, an&rsquo; &rsquo;t
+is awnly the thought of it, not the fear of it, turns the stomach. But
+what&rsquo;s a wamblyness of the innards, so long as a body&rsquo;s sawl be
+ripe for God?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A walkin&rsquo; sermon!&rdquo; said Mr. Chappie.</p>
+<p>Doctor Parsons was waiting for Billy at Monks Barton, and if John Grimbal
+had been brusque, the practitioner proved scarcely less so. He pronounced Mr.
+Blee but little hurt, bandaged his arm, plastered his head, and assured him
+that a pipe and a glass of spirits was all he needed to fortify his sinking
+spirit. The party ate and drank, raised a cheer for Miller Lyddon and then
+went homewards. Only Mr. Chappie and Gaffer Lezzard entered the house and had
+a wineglass or two of some special sloe gin. Mr. Lezzard thawed and grew
+amiable over this beverage, and Mr. Chappie repeated Billy&rsquo;s lofty
+sentiments at the approach of death for the benefit of Miller Lyddon.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;T is awnly my fearless disposition,&rdquo; declared the
+wounded man with great humility; &ldquo;no partic&rsquo;lar credit to me. I
+doan&rsquo;t care wan iotum for the thought of churchyard mould&mdash;not wan
+iotum. I knaw the value of gude rich soil tu well; an&rsquo; a man as grudges
+the rames<a id="footnotetag3" name="footnotetag3"></a><a href=
+"#footnote3"><sup>3</sup></a> of hisself to the airth that&rsquo;s kept un
+threescore years an&rsquo; ten&rsquo;s a carmudgeonly cuss,
+surely.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; so say I; theer&rsquo;s true wisdom in it,&rdquo;
+declared Mr. Chapple, while the miller nodded.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Theer be,&rdquo; concluded Gaffer Lezzard. &ldquo;I allus sez, in
+my clenching way, that I doan&rsquo;t care a farden damn what happens to my
+bones, if my everlasting future be well thought on by passon. So long as I
+catch the eye of un an&rsquo; see um beam &rsquo;pon me to church now
+an&rsquo; again, I&rsquo;m content with things as they are.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;As a saved sawl you &rsquo;m in so braave a way as the best; but,
+to say it without rudeness, as food for the land a man of your build be
+nought, Gaffer,&rdquo; argued Mr. Chapple, who viewed the veteran&rsquo;s
+withered anatomy from his own happy vantage ground of fifteen stone.</p>
+<p>But Gaffer Lezzard would by no means allow this.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ban&rsquo;t quantity awnly tells, my son. &rsquo;T is the aluminium
+in a man&rsquo;s bones that fats land&mdash;roots or grass or corn. Anybody
+of larnin&rsquo;, &rsquo;ll tell &rsquo;e that. Strip the belly off &rsquo;e,
+an&rsquo;, bone for bone, a lean man like me shaws as fair as you. No offence
+offered or taken, but a gross habit&rsquo;s mere clay and does more harm than
+gude underground.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Mr. Chapple in his turn resented this contemptuous dismissal of tissue as
+matter of no agricultural significance. The old men went wrangling home;
+Miller Lyddon and Billy retired to their beds; the moon departed behind the
+distant moors; and all the darkened valley slept in snow and starlight.</p>
+<h2><a id="I_VIII" name="I_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII<br />
+A BROTHERS&rsquo; QUARREL</h2>
+<p>Though Phoebe was surprised at Will Blanchard&rsquo;s mild attitude toward
+her weakness, she had been less so with more knowledge. Chris Blanchard and
+her lover were in some degree responsible for Will&rsquo;s lenity, and
+Clement&rsquo;s politic letter to the wanderer, when Phoebe&rsquo;s
+engagement was announced, had been framed in words best calculated to shield
+the Miller&rsquo;s sore-driven daughter. Hicks had thrown the blame on John
+Grimbal, on Mr. Lyddon, on everybody but Phoebe herself. Foremost indeed he
+had censured Will, and pointed out that his own sustained silence, however
+high-minded the reason of it, was a main factor in his sweetheart&rsquo;s
+sufferings and ultimate submission.</p>
+<p>In answer to this communication Blanchard magically reappeared, announced
+his determination to marry Phoebe by subterfuge, and, the deed accomplished,
+take his punishment, whatever it might be, with light heart. Given time to
+achieve a legal marriage, and Phoebe would at least be safe from the clutches
+of millionaires in general.</p>
+<p>Much had already been done by Will before he crept after the
+apple-christeners and accomplished his meeting with Phoebe. A week was passed
+since Clement wrote the final crushing news, and during that interval Will
+had been stopping with his uncle, Joel Ford, at Newton Abbot. Fate, hard till
+now, played him passing fair at last. The old Superintendent Registrar still
+had a soft corner in his heart for Will, and when he learnt the boy&rsquo;s
+trouble, though of cynic mind in all matters pertaining to matrimony, he
+chose to play the virtuous and enraged philosopher, much to his
+nephew&rsquo;s joy. Mr. Ford promised Will he should most certainly have the
+law&rsquo;s aid to checkmate his dishonourable adversary; he took a most
+serious view of the case and declared that all thinking men must sympathise
+with young Blanchard under such circumstances. But in private the old
+gentleman rubbed his hands, for here was the very opportunity he desired as
+much as a man well might&mdash;the chance to strike at one who had shamefully
+wronged him. His only trouble was how best to let John Grimbal know whom he
+had to thank for this tremendous reverse; for that deed he held necessary to
+complete his revenge.</p>
+<p>As to where Will had come from, or whither he was returning, after his
+marriage Joel Ford cared not. The youngster once wedded would be satisfied;
+and his uncle would be satisfied too. The procedure of marriage by license
+requires that one of the parties shall have resided within the
+Superintendent&rsquo;s district for a space of fifteen days preceding the
+giving of notice; then application in prescribed form is made to the
+Registrar; and his certificate and license are usually received one clear day
+later. Thus a resident in a district can be married at any time within
+eight-and-forty hours of his decision. Will Blanchard had to stop with his
+uncle nine or ten days more to complete the necessary fortnight, and as John
+Grimbal&rsquo;s marriage morning was as yet above three weeks distant,
+Phoebe&rsquo;s fate in no way depended upon him.</p>
+<p>Mr. Ford explained the position to Will, and the lover accepted it
+cheerfully.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;As to the marriage, that&rsquo;ll be hard and fast as a bench of
+bishops can make it; but wedding a woman under age, against the wish of her
+legal guardian, is an offence against the law. Nobody can undo the deed
+itself, but Miller Lyddon will have something to say afterwards. And
+there&rsquo;s that blustering blackguard, John Grimbal, to reckon with.
+Unscrupulous scoundrel! Just the sort to be lawless and vindictive if what
+you tell me concerning him is true.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And so he be; let un! Who cares a brass button for him? &rsquo;T is
+awnly Miller I thinks of. What&rsquo;s worst he can do?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Send you to prison, Will.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;For how long?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That I can&rsquo;t tell you exactly. Not for marrying his daughter
+of course, but for abduction&mdash;that&rsquo;s what he&rsquo;ll bring
+against you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; so he shall, uncle, an&rsquo; I&rsquo;ll save him all the
+trouble I can. That&rsquo;s no gert hardship&mdash;weeks, or months even.
+I&rsquo;ll go like a lark, knawin&rsquo; Phoebe&rsquo;s safe.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>So the matter stood and the days passed. Will&rsquo;s personal affairs,
+and the secret of the position from which he had come was known only to
+Clement Hicks. The lover talked of returning again thither after his
+marriage, but he remained vague on that point, and, indeed, modified his
+plans after the above recorded conversation with his uncle. Twice he wrote to
+Phoebe in the period of waiting, and the letter had been forwarded on both
+occasions through Clement. Two others knew what was afoot, and during that
+time of trial Phoebe found Chris her salvation. The stronger girl supported
+her sinking spirit and fortified her courage. Chris mightily enjoyed the
+whole romance, and among those circumstances that combined to make John
+Grimbal uneasy during the days of waiting was her constant presence at Monks
+Barton. There she came as Phoebe&rsquo;s friend, and the clear, bright eyes
+she often turned on him made him angry, he knew not why. As for Mrs.
+Blanchard, she had secretly learnt more than anybody suspected, for while
+Will first determined to tell her nothing until afterwards, a second thought
+rebuked him for hiding such a tremendous circumstance from his mother, and he
+wrote to her at full length from Newton, saying nothing indeed of the past
+but setting out the future in detail. Upon the subject Mrs. Blanchard kept
+her own counsel.</p>
+<p>Preparations for Phoebe&rsquo;s wedding moved apace, and she lived in a
+dim, heart-breaking dream. John Grimbal, despite her entreaties, continued to
+spend money upon her; yet each new gift brought nothing but tears. Grown
+desperate in his determination to win a little affection and regard before
+marriage, and bitterly conscious that he could command neither, the man plied
+her with what money would buy, and busied himself to bring her happiness in
+spite of herself. Troubled he was, nevertheless, and constantly sought the
+miller that he might listen to comforting assurances that he need be under no
+concern.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;T is natural in wan who&rsquo;s gwaine to say gude-bye to
+maidenhood so soon,&rdquo; declared Mr. Lyddon. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve thought
+&rsquo;bout her tears a deal. God knaws they hurt me more &rsquo;n they do
+her, or you either; but such sad whims and cloudy hours is proper to the
+time. Love for me&rsquo;s got a share in her sorrow, tu. &rsquo;T will all be
+well enough when she turns her back on the church-door an&rsquo; hears the
+weddin&rsquo;-bells a-clashing for her future joy. Doan&rsquo;t you come nigh
+her much during the next few weeks.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Two,&rdquo; corrected Mr. Grimbal, moodily.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Eh! Awnly two! Well, &rsquo;t is gert darkness for me, I promise
+you&mdash;gert darkness comin&rsquo; for Monks Barton wi&rsquo;out the
+butivul sound an&rsquo; sight of her no more. But bide away, theer&rsquo;s a
+gude man; bide away these coming few days. Her last maiden hours
+mustn&rsquo;t be all tears. But my gifts do awnly make her cry, tu, if
+that&rsquo;s consolation to &rsquo;e. It&rsquo;s the tenderness of her
+li&rsquo;l heart as brims awver at kindness.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>In reality, Phoebe&rsquo;s misery was of a complexion wholly different.
+The necessity for living thus had not appeared so tremendous until she found
+herself launched into this sea of terrible deception. In operation such
+sustained falsity came like to drive her mad. She could not count the lies
+each day brought forth; she was frightened to pray for forgiveness, knowing
+every morning must see a renewal of the tragedy. Hell seemed yawning for her,
+and the possibility of any ultimate happiness, reached over this awful road
+of mendacity and deceit, was more than her imagination could picture. With
+loss of self-respect, self-control likewise threatened to depart. She became
+physically weak, mentally hysterical. The strain told terribly on her nature;
+and Chris mourned to note a darkness like storm-cloud under her grey eyes,
+and unwonted pallor upon her cheek. Dr. Parsons saw Phoebe at this juncture,
+prescribed soothing draughts, and ordered rest and repose; but to Chris the
+invalid clung, and Mr. Lyddon was not a little puzzled that the sister of
+Phoebe&rsquo;s bygone sweetheart should now possess such power to ease her
+mind and soothe her troubled nerves.</p>
+<p>John Grimbal obeyed the injunction laid upon him and absented himself from
+Monks Barton. All was prepared for the ceremony. He had left his Red House
+farm and taken rooms for the present at &ldquo;The Three Crowns.&rdquo;
+Hither came his brother to see him four nights before the weddingday. Martin
+had promised to be best man, yet a shadow lay between the brothers, and John,
+his mind unnaturally jealous and suspicious from the nature of affairs with
+Phoebe, sulked of late in a conviction that Martin had watched his great step
+with unfraternal indifference and denied him the enthusiasm and
+congratulation proper to such an event.</p>
+<p>The younger man found his brother scanning a new black broadcloth coat
+when he entered. He praised it promptly, whereupon John flung it from him and
+showed no more interest in the garment. Martin, not to be offended, lighted
+his pipe, took an armchair beside the fire, and asked for some whiskey. This
+mollified the other a little; he produced spirits, loaded his own pipe, and
+asked the object of the visit.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A not over-pleasant business, John,&rdquo; returned his brother,
+frankly; &ldquo;but &rsquo;Least said, soonest mended.&rsquo; Only remember
+this, nothing must ever lessen our common regard. What I am going to say is
+inspired by my&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, yes&mdash;cut that. Spit it out and have done with it. I know
+there&rsquo;s been trouble in you for days. You can&rsquo;t hide your
+thoughts. You&rsquo;ve been grim as a death&rsquo;s-head for a
+month&mdash;ever since I was engaged, come to think of it. Now open your jaws
+and have done.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>John&rsquo;s aggressive and hectoring manner spoke volubly of his own lack
+of ease. Martin nerved himself to begin, holding it his duty, but secretly
+fearing the issue in the light of his brother&rsquo;s hard, set face.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;ve something bothering you too, old man. I&rsquo;m sure
+of it. God is aware I don&rsquo;t know much about women myself,
+but&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, dry up that rot! Don&rsquo;t think I&rsquo;m blind, if you are.
+Don&rsquo;t deceive yourself. There&rsquo;s a woman-hunger in you, too,
+though perhaps you haven&rsquo;t found it out yet. What about that Blanchard
+girl?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Martin flushed like a schoolboy; his hand went up over his mouth and chin
+as though to hide part of his guilt, and he looked alarmed and uneasy.</p>
+<p>John laughed without mirth at the other&rsquo;s ludicrous trepidation.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Good heavens! I&rsquo;ve done nothing surely to
+suggest&mdash;?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Nothing at all&mdash;except look as if you were going to have a fit
+every time you get within a mile of her. Lovers know the signs, I suppose.
+Don&rsquo;t pretend you&rsquo;re made of different stuff to the rest of us,
+that&rsquo;s all.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Martin removed his hand and gasped before the spectacle of what he had
+revealed to other eyes. Then, after a silence of fifteen seconds, he shut his
+mouth again, wiped his forehead with his hand, and spoke.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve been a silly fool. Only she&rsquo;s so wonderfully
+beautiful&mdash;don&rsquo;t you think so?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A gypsy all over&mdash;if you call that beautiful.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The other flushed up again, but made no retort.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Never mind me or anybody else. I want to speak to you about Phoebe,
+if I may, John. Who have I got to care about but you? I&rsquo;m only thinking
+of your happiness, for that&rsquo;s dearer to me than my own; and you know in
+your heart that I&rsquo;m speaking the truth when I say so.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Stick to your gate-posts and old walls and cow-comforts and dead
+stones. We all know you can look farther into Dartmoor granite than most men,
+if that&rsquo;s anything; but human beings are beyond you and always were.
+You&rsquo;d have come home a pauper but for me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;D&rsquo; you think I&rsquo;m not grateful? No man ever had a better
+brother than you, and you&rsquo;ve stood between me and trouble a thousand
+times. Now I want to stand between you and trouble.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What the deuce d&rsquo; you mean by naming Phoebe, then?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That is the trouble. Listen and don&rsquo;t shout me down.
+She&rsquo;s breaking her heart&mdash;blind or not blind, I see
+that&mdash;breaking her heart, not for you, but Will Blanchard. Nobody else
+has found it out; but I have, and I know it&rsquo;s my duty to tell you; and
+I&rsquo;ve done it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>An ugly twist came into John Grimbal&rsquo;s face. &ldquo;You&rsquo;ve
+done it; yes. Go on.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s all, brother, and from your manner I don&rsquo;t
+believe it&rsquo;s entirely news to you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then get you gone, damned snake in the grass! Get gone, &rsquo;fore
+I lay a hand on you! You to turn and bite <i>me!</i> Me, that&rsquo;s made
+you! I see it all&mdash;your blasted sheep&rsquo;s eyes at Chris Blanchard,
+and her always at Monks Barton! Don&rsquo;t lie about it,&rdquo; he roared,
+as Martin raised his hand to speak; &ldquo;not a word more will I hear from
+your traitor&rsquo;s lips. Get out of my sight, you sneaking hypocrite, and
+never call me &lsquo;brother&rsquo; no more, for I&rsquo;ll not own to
+it!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;ll be sorry for this, John.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And you too. You&rsquo;ll smart all your life long when you think
+of this dirty trick played against a brother who never did you no hurt. You
+to come between me and the girl that&rsquo;s promised to marry me! And for
+your own ends. A manly, brotherly plot, by God!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I swear, on my sacred honour, there&rsquo;s no plot against you.
+I&rsquo;ve never spoken to a soul about this thing, nor has a soul spoken of
+it to me; that&rsquo;s the truth.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Rot you, and your sacred honour too! Go, and take your lies with
+you, and keep your own friends henceforth, and never cross my threshold
+more&mdash;you or your sacred, stinking honour either.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Martin rose from his chair dazed and bewildered. He had seen his
+brother&rsquo;s passion wither up many a rascal in the past; but he himself
+had never suffered until now, and the savagery of this language hurled
+against his own pure motives staggered him. He, of course, knew nothing about
+Will Blanchard&rsquo;s enterprise, and his blundering and ill-judged effort
+to restrain his brother from marrying Phoebe was absolutely disinterested. It
+had been a tremendous task to him to speak on this delicate theme, and regard
+for John alone actuated him; now he departed without another word and went
+blankly to the little new stone house he had taken and furnished on the
+outskirts of Chagford under Middledown. He walked along the straight street
+of whitewashed cots that led him to his home, and reflected with dismay on
+this catastrophe. The conversation with his brother had scarcely occupied
+five minutes; its results promised to endure a lifetime.</p>
+<p>Meanwhile, and at the identical hour of this tremendous rupture, Chris
+Blanchard, well knowing that the morrow would witness Phoebe&rsquo;s secret
+marriage to her brother, walked down to see her. It happened that a small
+party filled the kitchen of Monks Barton, and the maid who answered her
+summons led Chris through the passage and upstairs to Phoebe&rsquo;s own
+door. There the girls spoke in murmurs together, while various sounds, all
+louder than their voices, proceeded from the kitchen below. There were
+assembled the miller, Billy Blee, Mr. Chapple, and one Abraham Chown, the
+police inspector of Chagford, a thin, black-bearded man, oppressed with the
+cares of his office.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They be arranging the programme of festive delights,&rdquo;
+explained Phoebe. &ldquo;My heart sinks in me every way I turn now. All the
+world seems thinking about what&rsquo;s to come; an&rsquo; I knaw it never
+will.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;T is a wonnerful straange thing to fall out. Never no such
+happened before, I reckon. But you &rsquo;m doin&rsquo; right by the man you
+love, an&rsquo; that&rsquo;s a thought for &rsquo;e more comfortin&rsquo;
+than gospel in a pass like this. A promise is a promise, and you&rsquo;ve got
+to think of all your life stretching out afore you. Will&rsquo;s jonic, take
+him the right way, and that you knaw how to do&mdash;a straight, true chap as
+should make any wife happy. Theer&rsquo;ll be waitin&rsquo; afterwards
+an&rsquo; gude need for all the patience you&rsquo;ve got; but wance the wife
+of un, allus the wife of un; that&rsquo;s a butivul thing to bear in
+mind.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;T is so; &rsquo;t is everything. An&rsquo; wance we&rsquo;m
+wed, I&rsquo;ll never tell a lie again, an&rsquo; atone for all I have told,
+an&rsquo; do right towards everybody.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You caan&rsquo;t say no fairer. Be any matter I can help &rsquo;e
+with?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Nothing. It&rsquo;s all easy. The train starts for Moreton at
+half-past nine. Sam Bonus be gwaine to drive me in, and bide theer for me
+till I come back from Newton. Faither&rsquo;s awnly too pleased to let me go.
+I said &rsquo;t was shopping.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; when you come home you&rsquo;ll tell him&mdash;Mr.
+Lyddon&mdash;straight?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Everything, an&rsquo; thank God for a clean breast
+again.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; Will?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Caan&rsquo;t say what he&rsquo;ll do after. Theer&rsquo;ll be no
+real marryin&rsquo; for us yet a while. Faither can have the law of Will
+presently,&mdash;that&rsquo;s all I knaw.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Trust Will to do the right thing; and mind, come what may to him,
+theer&rsquo;s allus Clem Hicks and me for friends.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ban&rsquo;t likely to be many others left, come to-morrow night.
+But I&rsquo;ve run away from my own thoughts to think of you and him often of
+late days. He&rsquo;ll get money and marry you, won&rsquo;t he, when his
+aunt, Mrs. Coomstock, dies?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No; I thought so tu, an&rsquo; hoped it wance; but Clem says what
+she&rsquo;ve got won&rsquo;t come his way. She&rsquo;s like as not to marry,
+tu&mdash;there &rsquo;m a lot of auld men tinkering after her, Billy Blee
+among &rsquo;em.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Sounds arose from beneath. They began with harsh and grating notes,
+interrupted by a violent hawking and spitting. Then followed renewal of the
+former unlovely noises. Presently, at a point in the song, for such it was,
+half a dozen other voices drowned the soloist in a chorus.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;T is Billy rehearsin&rsquo; moosic,&rdquo; explained Phoebe,
+with a sickly smile. &ldquo;He haven&rsquo;t singed for a score of years; but
+they&rsquo;ve awver-persuaded him and he&rsquo;s promised to give &rsquo;em
+an auld ballet on my wedding-day.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My stars! &rsquo;t is a gashly auld noise sure enough,&rdquo;
+criticised Phoebe&rsquo;s friend frankly; &ldquo;for all the world like a
+stuck pig screechin&rsquo;, or the hum of the threshin&rsquo; machine poor
+faither used to have, heard long ways off.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Quavering and quivering, with sudden painful flights into a cracked
+treble, Billy&rsquo;s effort came to the listeners.</p>
+<p class="poem">&ldquo;&rsquo;Twas on a Monday marnin&rsquo;<br />
+<span class="i2">Afore the break of day,</span><br />
+<span class="i2">That I tuked up my turmit-hoe</span><br />
+<span class="i2">An&rsquo; trudged dree mile away!&rdquo;</span></p>
+<p class="i0">Then a rollicking chorus, with rough music in it, surged to
+their ears&mdash;</p>
+<p class="poem">&ldquo;An&rsquo; the fly, gee hoppee!<br />
+The fly, gee whoppee!<br />
+The fly be on the turmits,<br />
+For &rsquo;t is all my eye for me to try<br />
+An&rsquo; keep min off the turmits!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Mr. Blee lashed his memory and slowly proceeded, while Chris, moved by a
+sort of sudden mother-instinct towards pale and tearful Phoebe, strained her
+to her bosom, hugged her very close, kissed her, and bid her be hopeful and
+happy.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Taake gude heart, for you &rsquo;m to mate the best man in all the
+airth but wan!&rdquo; she said; &ldquo;an&rsquo;, if &rsquo;t is awnly to
+keep Billy from singing in public, &rsquo;t is a mercy you ban&rsquo;t gwaine
+to take Jan Grimbal. Doan&rsquo;t &rsquo;e fear for him. There&rsquo;ll be a
+thunder-storm for sartain; then he&rsquo;ll calm down, as better &rsquo;n him
+have had to &rsquo;fore now, an&rsquo; find some other gal.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>With this comfort Chris caressed Phoebe once more, heartily pitying her
+helplessness, and wishing it in her power to undertake the approaching ordeal
+on the young bride&rsquo;s behalf. Then she departed, her eyes almost as dim
+as Phoebe&rsquo;s. For a moment she forgot her own helpless matrimonial
+projects in sorrow for her brother and his future wife. Marriage at the
+registry office represented to her, as to most women, an unlovely,
+uncomfortable, and unfinished ceremony. She had as easily pictured a funeral
+without the assistance of the Church as a wedding without it.</p>
+<h2><a id="I_IX" name="I_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX<br />
+OUTSIDE EXETER GAOL</h2>
+<p>Within less than twelve hours of the time when she bid Chris farewell
+Phoebe Lyddon was Phoebe Lyddon no more. Will met her at Newton; they
+immediately proceeded to his uncle&rsquo;s office; and the Registrar had made
+them man and wife in space of time so brief that the girl could hardly
+realise the terrific event was accomplished, and that henceforth she belonged
+to Will alone. Mr. Ford had his little joke afterwards in the shape of a
+wedding-breakfast and champagne. He was gratified at the event and rejoiced
+to be so handsomely and tremendously revenged on his unfortunate enemy. The
+young couple partook of the good things provided for them; but appetite was
+lacking to right enjoyment of the banquet, and Will and his wife much desired
+to escape and be alone.</p>
+<p>Presently they returned to the station and arrived there before
+Phoebe&rsquo;s train departed. Her husband then briefly explained the
+remarkable course of action he designed to pursue.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You must be a braave gal and think none the worse of me.
+But&rsquo;t is this way: I&rsquo;ve broke law, and a month or two, or six,
+maybe, in gaol have got to be done. Your faither will see to that.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Prison! O, Will! For marryin&rsquo; me?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, but for marryin&rsquo; you wi&rsquo;out axin&rsquo; leave.
+Miller Lyddon told me the upshot of taking you, if I done it; an&rsquo; I
+have; an&rsquo; he&rsquo;ll keep his word. So that&rsquo;s it. I doan&rsquo;t
+want to make no more trouble; an&rsquo; bein&rsquo; a man of resource
+I&rsquo;m gwaine up to Exeter by first train, so soon as you&rsquo;ve
+started. Then all bother in the matter will be saved Miller.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O Will! Must you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess fay, &rsquo;t is my duty. I&rsquo;ve thought it out through
+many hours. The time&rsquo;ll soon slip off; an&rsquo; then I&rsquo;ll come
+back an&rsquo; stand to work. Here&rsquo;s a empty carriage. Jump in. I can
+sit along with &rsquo;e for a few minutes.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How ever shall I begin? How shall I break it to them,
+dearie?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Hold up your li&rsquo;l hand,&rdquo; said Will with a laugh.
+&ldquo;Shaw &rsquo;em the gawld theer. That&rsquo;ll speak for &rsquo;e.
+&rsquo;S truth!&rdquo; he continued, with a gesture of supreme irritation,
+&ldquo;but it&rsquo;s a hard thing to be snatched apart like this&mdash;man
+an&rsquo; wife. If I was takin&rsquo; &rsquo;e home to some lew cot, all our
+very awn, how differ&rsquo;nt &rsquo;t would be!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You will some day.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So I will then. I&rsquo;ve got &rsquo;e for all time, an&rsquo; Jan
+Grimbal&rsquo;s missed &rsquo;e for all time. Damned if I ban&rsquo;t
+a&rsquo;most sorry for un!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So am I,&mdash;in a way,&mdash;as you are. My heart hurts me to
+think of him. He&rsquo;ll never forgive me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Me, you mean. Well, &rsquo;t is man to man, an&rsquo; I ban&rsquo;t
+feared of nothing on two legs. You just tell &rsquo;em that &rsquo;t was to
+be, that you never gived up lovin&rsquo; me, but was forced into lyin&rsquo;
+and such-like by the cruel way they pushed &rsquo;e. Shaw &rsquo;em the copy
+of the paper if they doan&rsquo;t b&rsquo;lieve the ring. An&rsquo; when
+Miller lifts up his voice to cuss me, tell un quiet that I knawed what must
+come of it, and be gone straight to Exeter Gaol to save un all further
+trouble. He&rsquo;ll see then I&rsquo;m a thinking, calculating man, though
+young in years.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Phoebe was now reduced to sighs and dry sobs. Will sat by her a little
+longer, patted her hands and spoke cheerfully. Then the train departed and he
+jumped from it as it moved and ran along the platform with a last earnest
+injunction.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;See mother first moment you can an&rsquo; explain how &rsquo;t is.
+Mother&rsquo;ll understand, for faither did similar identical, though he
+wasn&rsquo;t put in clink for it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He waved his hand and Phoebe passed homewards. Then the fire died out of
+his eyes and he sighed and turned. But no shadow of weakness manifested
+itself in his manner. His jaw hardened, he smote his leg with his stick, and,
+ascertaining the time of the next train to Exeter, went back to bid Mr. Ford
+farewell before setting about his business.</p>
+<p>Will told his uncle nothing concerning the contemplated action; and such
+silence was unfortunate, for had he spoken the old man&rsquo;s knowledge must
+have modified his fantastic design. Knowing that Will came mysteriously from
+regular employment which he declined to discuss, and assuming that he now
+designed returning to it, Mr. Ford troubled no more about him. So his nephew
+thanked the Registrar right heartily for all the goodness he had displayed in
+helping two people through the great crisis of their lives, and went on his
+way. His worldly possessions were represented by a new suit of blue serge
+which he wore, and a few trifles in a small carpet-bag.</p>
+<p>It was the past rather than the present or future which troubled Will on
+his journey to Exeter; and the secret of the last six months, whatever that
+might be, lay heavier on his mind than the ordeal immediately ahead of him.
+In this coming achievement he saw no shame; it was merely part payment for an
+action lawless but necessary. He prided himself always on a great spirit of
+justice, and justice demanded that henceforth he must consider the family
+into which he had thus unceremoniously introduced himself. To no man in the
+wide world did he feel more kindly disposed than to Miller Lyddon; and his
+purpose was now to save his father-in-law all the annoyance possible.</p>
+<p>Arrived at Exeter, Will walked cheerfully away to the County Gaol, a huge
+red-brick pile that scarce strikes so coldly upon the eye of the spectator as
+ordinary houses of detention. Grey and black echo the significance of a
+prison, but warm red brick strikes through the eye to the brain, and the
+colour inspires a genial train of ideas beyond reason&rsquo;s power instantly
+to banish. But the walls, if ruddy, were high, and the rows of small, remote
+windows, black as the eye-socket of a skull, stretched away in dreary
+iron-bound perspective where the sides of the main fabric rose upward to its
+chastened architectural adornments. Young Blanchard grunted to himself,
+gripped his stick, from one end of which was suspended his carpet-bag, and
+walked to the wicket at the side of the prison&rsquo;s main entrance. He rang
+a bell that jangled with tremendous echoes among the naked walls within; then
+there followed the rattle of locks as the sidegate opened, and a warder
+looked out to ask Will his business. The man was burly and of stout build,
+while his fat, bearded face, red as the gaol walls themselves, attracted
+Blanchard by its pleasant expression. Will&rsquo;s eyes brightened at the
+aspect of this janitor; he touched his hat very civilly, wished the man
+&ldquo;good afternoon,&rdquo; and was about to step in when the other stopped
+him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Doan&rsquo;t be in such a hurry, my son. What&rsquo;s brought
+&rsquo;e, an&rsquo; who do &rsquo;e want?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My business is private, mister; I wants to see the head
+man.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The Governor? Won&rsquo;t nobody less do? You can&rsquo;t see him
+without proper appointment. But maybe a smaller man might serve your
+turn?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Will reflected, then laughed at the warder with that sudden magic of face
+that even softened hard hearts towards him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;To be plain, mate, I&rsquo;m here to stop. You&rsquo;ll be sure to
+knaw &rsquo;bout it sooner or late, so I&rsquo;ll tell &rsquo;e now.
+I&rsquo;ve done a thing I must pay for, and &rsquo;t is a clink job, so
+I&rsquo;ve comed right along.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The warder grew rather sterner, and his eye instinctively roamed for a
+constable.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Best say no more, then. Awnly you&rsquo;ve comed to the wrong
+place. Police station&rsquo;s what you want, I reckon.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why for? This be County Gaol, ban&rsquo;t it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess, that&rsquo;s so; but we doan&rsquo;t take in folks for the
+axin&rsquo;. Tu many queer caraters about.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Will saw the man&rsquo;s eyes twinkle, yet he was puzzled at this
+unexpected problem.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Look here,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I like you, and I&rsquo;ll deal
+fair by you an&rsquo; tell you the rights of it. Step out here an&rsquo;
+listen.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Mind, what you sez will be used against you, then.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Theer ban&rsquo;t no secret in it, for that matter.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The husband thereupon related his recent achievement, and concluded
+thus:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So, having kicked up a mort o&rsquo; trouble, I doan&rsquo;t want
+to make no more&mdash;see? An&rsquo; I stepped here quiet to keep it out of
+the papers, an&rsquo; just take what punishment&rsquo;s right an&rsquo; vitty
+for marryin&rsquo; a maid wi&rsquo;out so much as by your leave. Now, then,
+caan&rsquo;t &rsquo;e do the rest?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He regarded the warder gravely and inquiringly, but as the red-faced man
+slowly sucked up the humour of the situation, his mouth expanded and his eyes
+almost disappeared. Then he spoke through outbursts and shakings of deep
+laughter.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh Lard! Wheerever was you born to?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Will flushed deeply, frowned, and clenched his fists at this question.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Shut your gert mouth!&rdquo; he said angrily. &ldquo;Doan&rsquo;t
+bellow like that, or I&rsquo;ll hit &rsquo;e awver the jaw! Do&rsquo;e think
+I want the whole of Exeter City to knaw my errand? What&rsquo;s theer to gape
+an&rsquo; snigger at? Caan&rsquo;t &rsquo;e treat a man civil?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>This reproof set the official off again, and only a furious demand from
+Blanchard to go about his business and tell the Governor he wanted an
+interview partially steadied him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;By Gor! you&rsquo;ll be the death of me. Caan&rsquo;t help
+it&mdash;honour bright&mdash;doan&rsquo;t mean no rudeness to you. Bless your
+young heart, an&rsquo; the gal&rsquo;s, whoever she be. Didn&rsquo;t &rsquo;e
+knaw? But theer! course you didn&rsquo;t, else you wouldn&rsquo;t be here.
+Why, &rsquo;t is purty near as hard to get in prison as out again.
+You&rsquo;ll have to be locked up, an&rsquo; tried by judge an&rsquo; jury,
+and plead guilty, and be sentenced, an&rsquo; the Lard He knaws what beside
+&rsquo;fore you come here. How do the lawyers an&rsquo; p&rsquo;licemen get
+their living?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s news. I hoped to save Miller Lyddon all such
+trouble.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why not try another way, an&rsquo; see if you can get the auld
+gentleman to forgive &rsquo;e?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not him. He&rsquo;ll have the law in due time.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, I&rsquo;m &rsquo;mazin&rsquo; sorry I caan&rsquo;t oblige
+&rsquo;e, for I&rsquo;m sure we&rsquo;d be gude friends, an&rsquo;
+you&rsquo;d cheer us all up butivul.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But you &rsquo;m certain it caan&rsquo;t be managed?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Positive.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then I&rsquo;ve done all a man can. You&rsquo;ll bear witness I
+wanted to come, won&rsquo;t &rsquo;e?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh yes, I&rsquo;ll take my oath o&rsquo; that. <i>I</i>
+shaan&rsquo;t forget &rsquo;e.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;All right. And if I&rsquo;m sent here again, bimebye, I&rsquo;ll
+look out for you, and I hopes you&rsquo;ll be as pleasant inside as
+now.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll promise that. Shall be awnly tu pleased to make you at
+home. I like you; though, to be frank, I reckon you&rsquo;m tu gnat-brained a
+chap to make a wife happy.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then you reckon a damned impedent thing! What d&rsquo; you knaw
+&rsquo;bout it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A tidy deal. I&rsquo;ve been married more years than you have
+hours, I lay.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Age ban&rsquo;t everything; &rsquo;t is the fashion brains in a
+man&rsquo;s head counts most.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s right enough. &rsquo;T is something to knaw that.
+Gude-bye to &rsquo;e, bwoy, an&rsquo; thank you for makin&rsquo; me laugh
+heartier than I have this month of Sundays.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;More fule you!&rdquo; declared Will; but he was too elated at the
+turn of affairs to be anything but amiable just now. Before the other
+disappeared, he stopped him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Shake hands, will &rsquo;e? I thank you for lightenin&rsquo; my
+mind&mdash;bein&rsquo; a man of law, in a manner of speakin&rsquo;. Ess,
+I&rsquo;m obliged to &rsquo;e. Of coourse I doan&rsquo;t <i>want</i> to come
+to prison &rsquo;zackly. That&rsquo;s common sense.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Most feel same as you. No doubt you&rsquo;re in the wrong, though
+the law caan&rsquo;t drop on honest, straightforrard matrimony to my
+knowledge. Maybe circumstances is for &rsquo;e.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess, they be&mdash;every jack wan of &rsquo;em!&rdquo; declared
+Will. &ldquo;An&rsquo; if I doan&rsquo;t come here to stop, I&rsquo;ll call
+in some day and tell &rsquo;e the upshot of this coil in a friendly
+way.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Do so, an&rsquo; bring your missis. Shall be delighted to see the
+pair of &rsquo;e any time. Ax for Thomas Bates.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Will nodded and marched off, while the warder returned to his post, and
+when he had again made fast the door behind him, permitted the full splendor
+of his recent experience to tumble over his soul in a laughter perhaps louder
+than any heard before or since within the confines of one of Her
+Majesty&rsquo;s prisons.</p>
+<h2><a id="I_X" name="I_X"></a>CHAPTER X<br />
+THE BRINGING OF THE NEWS</h2>
+<p>Phoebe meantime returned to Chagford, withdrew herself into her chamber,
+and feverishly busied brains and hands with a task commended that morning by
+Will when she had mentioned it to him. The various trinkets and objects of
+value lavished of late upon her by John Grimbal she made into a neat packet,
+and tied up a sealskin jacket and other furs in a second and more bulky
+parcel. With these and a letter she presently despatched a maid to Mr.
+Grimbal&rsquo;s temporary address. Phoebe&rsquo;s note explained how, weak
+and friendless until the sudden return of Will into her life, she had been
+thrown upon wickedness, falsehood, and deceit to win her own salvation in the
+face of all about her. She told him of the deed done that day, begged him to
+be patient and forget her, and implored him to forgive her husband, who had
+fought with the only weapons at his command. It was a feeble communication,
+and Phoebe thought that her love for Will might have inspired words more
+forcible; but relief annihilated any other emotion; she felt thankful that
+the lying, evasion, and prevarication of the last horrible ten days were at
+an end. From the nightmare of that time her poor, bruised conscience emerged
+sorely stricken; yet she felt that the battle now before her was a healthy
+thing by comparison, and might serve to brace her moral senses rather than
+not.</p>
+<p>At the tea-table she first met her father, and there were present also
+Billy Blee and Mr. Chapple. The latter had come to Monks Barton about a
+triumphal arch, already in course of erection at Chagford market-place, and
+his presence it was that precipitated her confession, and brought
+Phoebe&rsquo;s news like a thunderbolt upon the company.</p>
+<p>Mr. Chapple, looking up suddenly from the saucer that rested upon his
+outspread fingers and thumb, made a discovery, and spoke with some
+concern.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Faith, Missy, that&rsquo;s ill luck&mdash;a wisht thing to do
+indeed! Put un off, like a gude maid, for theer &rsquo;s many a wise
+sayin&rsquo; &rsquo;gainst it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What&rsquo;s her done?&rdquo; asked Billy anxiously.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Luke &rsquo;pon her weddin&rsquo; finger. &rsquo;Tis poor speed to
+put un on &rsquo;fore her lard an&rsquo; master do it, at the proper moment
+ordained by Scripture.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If she hasn&rsquo;t! Take un off, Miss Phoebe, do!&rdquo; begged
+Mr. Blee, in real trepidation; and the miller likewise commanded his daughter
+to remove her wedding-ring.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An auld wife&rsquo;s tale, but, all the same, shouldn&rsquo;t be
+theer till you &rsquo;m a married woman,&rdquo; he said.</p>
+<p>Thus challenged, the way was made smooth as possible for the young wife.
+She went over to her father, walked close to him, and put her plump little
+hand with its shining addition upon his shoulder.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Faither dear, I be a married woman. I had to tell lies and play
+false, but&rsquo;t was to you an&rsquo; Mr. Grimbal I&rsquo;ve been double,
+not to my husband that is. I was weak, and I&rsquo;ve been punished sore,
+but&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why, gal alive! what rigmarole &rsquo;s this? Married&mdash;ay,
+an&rsquo; so you shall be, in gude time. You &rsquo;m light-headed, lass, I
+do b&rsquo;lieve. But doan&rsquo;t fret, I&rsquo;ll have
+Doctor&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Hear me,&rdquo; she said, almost roughly. &ldquo;I kept my
+word&mdash;my first sacred word&mdash;to Will. I loved him, an&rsquo; none
+else but him; an&rsquo; &rsquo;tis done&mdash;I&rsquo;ve married him this
+marnin&rsquo;, for it had to be, an&rsquo; theer&rsquo;s the sign an&rsquo;
+token of it I&rsquo;ve brought along with me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She drew the copy of the register from her pocket, opened it with
+trembling fingers, set it before Mr. Lyddon, and waited for him to speak. But
+it was some time before he found words or wind to do so. Literally the fact
+had taken his breath. A curious expression, more grin than frown&mdash;an
+expression beyond his control in moments of high emotion&mdash;wrinkled his
+eyelids, stretched his lips, and revealed the perfect double row of his false
+teeth. His hand went forward to the blue paper now lying before him, then the
+fingers stopped half way and shook in the air. Twice he opened his mouth, but
+only a sharp expiration, between a sigh and a bark, escaped.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My God, you&rsquo;ve shook the sawl of un!&rdquo; cried Billy,
+starting forward, but the miller with an effort recovered his
+self-possession, scanned the paper, dropped it, and lifted up his voice in
+lamentation.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;True&mdash;past altering&mdash;&rsquo;t is a thing done! May God
+forgive you for this wicked deed, Phoebe Lyddon&mdash;I&rsquo;d never have
+b&rsquo;lieved it of &rsquo;e&mdash;never&mdash;not if an angel had tawld me.
+My awn that was, and my awnly one! My darter, my soft-eyed gal, the crown of
+my grey hairs, the last light of my life!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I pray you&rsquo;ll come to forgive me in time, dear faither. I
+doan&rsquo;t ax &rsquo;e to yet a while. I had to do it&mdash;a faithful
+promise. &rsquo;T was for pure love, faither; I lied for him&mdash;lied even
+to you; an&rsquo; my heart &rsquo;s been near to breakin&rsquo; for &rsquo;e
+these many days; but you&rsquo;d never have listened if I&rsquo;d told
+&rsquo;e.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Go,&rdquo; he said very quietly. &ldquo;I caan&rsquo;t abear the
+sight of&rsquo;e just now. An&rsquo; that poor fule, as thrawed his money in
+golden showers for &rsquo;e! Oh, my gude God, why for did &rsquo;E leave me
+any childern at all? Why didn&rsquo;t &rsquo;E take this cross-hearted wan
+when t&rsquo; other was snatched away? Why didn&rsquo;t &rsquo;E fill the cup
+of my sorrer to the brim at a filling an&rsquo; not drop by drop, to let un
+run awver now I be auld?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Phoebe turned to him in bitter tears, but the man&rsquo;s head was down on
+his hands beside his plate and cup, and he, too, wept, with a pitiful
+childish squeak between his sobs. Weakness so overwhelming and so
+unexpected&mdash;a father&rsquo;s sorrow manifested in this helpless feminine
+fashion&mdash;tore the girl&rsquo;s very heartstrings. She knelt beside him
+and put her arms about him; but he pushed her away and with some return of
+self-control and sternness again bid her depart from him. This Phoebe did,
+and there was silence, while Mr. Lyddon snuffled, steadied himself, wiped his
+face with a cotton handkerchief, and felt feebly for a pair of spectacles in
+his pocket. Mr. Chapple, meantime, had made bold to scan the paper with round
+eyes, and Billy, now seeing the miller in some part recovered, essayed to
+comfort him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Theer, theer, maister, doan&rsquo;t let this black
+come-along-o&rsquo;t quench &rsquo;e quite. That&rsquo;s better! You such a
+man o&rsquo; sense, tu! &rsquo;T was awver-ordained by Providence, though a
+artful thing in a young gal; but women be such itemy twoads best o&rsquo;
+times&mdash;stage-players by sex, they sez; an&rsquo; when love for a man be
+hid in &rsquo;em, gormed if they caan&rsquo;t fox the God as made
+&rsquo;em!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Her to do it! The unthankfulness, the cold cruelty of it! An&rsquo;
+me that was mother an&rsquo; father both to her&mdash;that did rock her
+cradle with these hands an&rsquo; wash the li&rsquo;l year-auld body of her.
+To forget all&mdash;all she owed! It cuts me that deep!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Deep as a wire into cheese, I lay. An&rsquo; well it may; but
+han&rsquo;t no new thing; you stablish yourself with that. The ways o&rsquo;
+women &rsquo;s like&mdash;&rsquo;t was a sayin&rsquo; of Solomon I
+caan&rsquo;t call home just this minute; but he knawed, you mind, none
+better. He had his awn petticoat trouble, same as any other Christian man
+given to women. What do &rsquo;e say, neighbour?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Billy, of opinion that Mr. Chapple should assist him in this painful duty,
+put the last question to his rotund friend, but the other, for answer, rose
+and prepared to depart.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I say,&rdquo; he answered, &ldquo;that I&rsquo;d best go up-along
+and stop they chaps buildin&rsquo; the triumphant arch. &rsquo;Pears
+won&rsquo;t be called for now. An&rsquo; theer&rsquo;s a tidy deal else to do
+likewise. Folks was comin&rsquo; in from the Moor half a score o&rsquo; miles
+for this merry-makin&rsquo;.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;T is a practical thought,&rdquo; said Billy. &ldquo;Them as
+come from far be like to seem fules if nothin&rsquo; &rsquo;s done. You go up
+the village an&rsquo; I&rsquo;ll follow &rsquo;e so quick as I
+can.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Mr. Chapple thereupon withdrew and Billy turned to the miller. Mr. Lyddon
+had wandered once and again up and down the kitchen, then fallen into his
+customary chair; and there he now sat, his elbows on his knees, his hands
+over his face. He was overwhelmed; his tears hurt him physically and his head
+throbbed. Twenty years seemed to have piled themselves upon his brow in as
+many minutes.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Sure I could shed water myself to see you like this here,&rdquo;
+said Mr. Blee, sympathetically; &ldquo;but &rsquo;t is wan of them eternal
+circumstances we &rsquo;m faaced with that all the rain falled of a wet
+winter won&rsquo;t wash away. Theer &rsquo;s the lines. They &rsquo;m a fact,
+same as the sun in heaven &rsquo;s a fact. God A&rsquo;mighty&rsquo;s Self
+couldn&rsquo;t undo it wi&rsquo;out some violent invention; an&rsquo; for
+that matter I doan&rsquo;t see tu clear how even Him be gwaine to magic a
+married woman into a spinster again; any more than He could turn a spinster
+into a married woman, onless some ordinary human man came forrard. You must
+faace it braave an&rsquo; strong. But that imp o&rsquo; Satan&mdash;that damn
+Blanchard bwoy! Theer! I caan&rsquo;t say what I think &rsquo;bout him. Arter
+all that&rsquo;s been done: the guests invited, the banns axed out, the
+victuals bought, and me retracin&rsquo; my ballet night arter night, for ten
+days, to get un to concert pitch&mdash;well, &rsquo;t is a matter tu deep for
+mere speech.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The&mdash;the young devil! I shall have no pity&mdash;not a spark.
+I wish to God he could hang for it!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;As to that, might act worse than leave it to Jan Grimbal.
+He&rsquo;ll do summat &rsquo;fore you&rsquo;ve done talkin&rsquo;, if I knaw
+un. An&rsquo; a son-in-law &rsquo;s a son-in-law, though he&rsquo;ve brought
+it to pass by a brigand deed same as this. &rsquo;T is a kicklish question
+what a man should do to the person of his darter&rsquo;s husband. You bide
+quiet an&rsquo; see what chances. Grimbal&rsquo;s like to take law into his
+awn hands, as any man of noble nature might in this quandary.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The disappointed lover&rsquo;s probable actions offered dreary food for
+thought, and the two old men were still conversing when a maid entered to lay
+the cloth for supper. Then Billy proceeded to the village and Mr. Lyddon,
+unnerved and restless, rambled aimlessly into the open air, addressed any man
+or woman who passed from the adjacent cottages, and querulously announced, to
+the astonishment of chance listeners, that his daughter&rsquo;s match was
+broken off.</p>
+<p>An hour later Phoebe reappeared in the kitchen and occupied her usual
+place at the supper-table. No one spoke a word, but the course of the meal
+was suddenly interrupted, for there came a knock at the farmhouse door, and
+without waiting to be answered, somebody lifted the latch, tramped down the
+stone passage, and entered the room.</p>
+<p>Now Phoebe, in the privacy of her little chamber beneath the thatch, had
+reflected miserably on the spectacle of her husband far away in a prison
+cell, with his curls cropped off and his shapely limbs clad convict-fashion.
+When, therefore, Will, and not John Grimbal, as she expected, stood before
+her, his wife was perhaps more astonished than any other body present. Young
+Blanchard appeared, however. He looked weary and hungry, for he had been on
+his legs during the greater part of the day and had forgotten to eat since
+his pretence of wedding-breakfast ten hours earlier. Now, newly returned from
+Exeter, he came straight to Monks Barton before going to his home.</p>
+<p>Billy Blee was the first to find his voice before this sudden apparition.
+His fork, amply laden, hung in the air as though his arm was turned to stone;
+with a mighty gulp he emptied his mouth and spoke.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Gormed if you ban&rsquo;t the most &rsquo;mazin&rsquo; piece ever
+comed out o&rsquo; Chagford!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Miller Lyddon,&rdquo; said Will, not heeding Mr. Blee, &ldquo;I be
+here to say wan word &rsquo;fore I goes out o&rsquo; your sight. You said
+you&rsquo;d have law of me if I took Phoebe; an&rsquo; that I done,
+&rsquo;cause we was of a mind. Now we &rsquo;m man an&rsquo; wife, an&rsquo;
+I&rsquo;m just back from prison, wheer I went straight to save you trouble.
+But theer &rsquo;s preambles an&rsquo; writs an&rsquo; what not. I shall be
+to mother&rsquo;s, an&rsquo; you can send Inspector Chown when you like. It
+had to come &rsquo;cause we was of a mind.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He looked proudly at Phoebe, but departed without speaking to her, and
+silence followed his going. Mr. Lyddon stared blankly at the door through
+which Will departed, then his rage broke forth.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Curse the wretch! Curse him to his dying day! An&rsquo; I&rsquo;ll
+do more&mdash;more than that. What he can suffer he shall, and if I&rsquo;ve
+got to pay my last shilling to get him punishment I&rsquo;ll do it&mdash;my
+last shilling I&rsquo;ll pay.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He had not regarded his daughter or spoken to her since his words at their
+first meeting; and now, still ignoring Phoebe&rsquo;s presence, he began
+eagerly debating with Billy Blee as to what law might have power to do. The
+girl, wisely enough, kept silence, ate a little food, and then went quietly
+away to her bed. She was secretly overjoyed at Will&rsquo;s return and near
+presence; but another visitor might be expected at any moment, and Phoebe
+knew that to be in bed before the arrival of John Grimbal would save her from
+the necessity of a meeting she much feared. She entered upon her
+wedding-night, therefore, while the voices below droned on, now rising, now
+falling; then, while she was saying her prayers with half her mind on them,
+the other half feverishly intent on a certain sound, it came. She heard the
+clink, clink of the gate, thrown wide open and now swinging backwards and
+forwards, striking the hasp each time; then a heavy step followed it, feet
+strode clanging down the passage, and the bull roar of a man&rsquo;s voice
+fell on her ear. Upon this she huddled under the clothes, but listened for a
+second at long intervals to hear when he departed. The thing that had
+happened, however, since her husband&rsquo;s departure and John
+Grimbal&rsquo;s arrival, remained happily hidden from Phoebe until next
+morning, by which time a climax in affairs was past and the outcome of tragic
+circumstances fully known.</p>
+<p>When Blanchard left the farm, he turned his steps very slowly homewards,
+and delayed some minutes on Rushford Bridge before appearing to his mother.
+For her voice he certainly yearned, and for her strong sense to throw light
+upon his future actions; but she did not know everything there was to be
+known and he felt that with himself, when all was said, lay decision as to
+his next step. While he reflected a new notion took shape and grew defined
+and seemed good to him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why not?&rdquo; he said to himself, aloud. &ldquo;Why not go back?
+Seeing the provocation&mdash;they might surely&mdash;?&rdquo; He pursued the
+idea silently and came to a determination. Yet the contemplated action was
+never destined to be performed, for now an accident so trifling as the chance
+glimmer of a lucifer match contributed to remodel the scheme of his life and
+wholly shatter immediate resolutions. Craving a whiff of tobacco, without
+which he had been since morning, Will lighted his pipe, and the twinkle of
+flame as he did so showed his face to a man passing across the bridge at that
+moment. He stopped in his stride, and a great bellow of wrath escaped him,
+half savage, half joyful.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;By God! I didn&rsquo;t think to meet so soon!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Here was a red-hot raving Nemesis indeed; and Will, while prepared for a
+speedy meeting with his enemy, neither expected nor desired an encounter just
+then. But it had come, and he knew what was before him. Grimbal, just
+returned from a long day&rsquo;s sport, rode back to his hotel in a good
+temper. He drank a brandy-and-soda at the bar, then went up to his rooms and
+found Phoebe&rsquo;s letter; whereupon, as he was in muddy pink, he set off
+straight for Monks Barton; and now he stood face to face with the man on
+earth he most desired to meet. By the light of his match Will saw a red coat,
+white teeth under a great yellow moustache, and a pair of mad, flaming eyes,
+hungry for something. He knew what was coming, moved quickly from the parapet
+of the bridge, and flung away his pipe to free his hands. As he did so the
+other was on him. Will warded one tremendous stroke from a hunting-crop; then
+they came to close quarters, and Grimbal, dropping his whip, got in a heavy
+half-arm blow on his enemy&rsquo;s face before they gripped in holds. The
+younger man, in no trim for battle, reeled and tried to break away; but the
+other had him fast, picked him clean off the ground, and, getting in his
+weight, used a Yankee throw, with intent to drop Will against the granite of
+the bridge. But though Blanchard went down like a child before the attack, he
+disappeared rather than fell; and in the pitchy night it seemed as though
+some amiable deity had caught up the vanquished into air. A sudden pressure
+of the low parapet against his own legs as he staggered forward, told John
+Grimbal what was done and, at the same moment, a tremendous splash in the
+water below indicated his enemy&rsquo;s dismal position. Teign, though not in
+flood at the time, ran high, and just below the bridge a deep pool opened
+out. Around it were rocks upon which rose the pillars of the bridge. No sound
+or cry followed Will Blanchard&rsquo;s fall; no further splash of a swimmer,
+or rustle on the river&rsquo;s bank, indicated any effort from him.
+Grimbal&rsquo;s first instincts were those of regret that revenge had proved
+so brief. His desire was past before he had tasted it. Then for a moment he
+hesitated, and the first raving lust to kill Phoebe&rsquo;s husband waned a
+trifle before the sudden conviction that he had done so. He crept down to the
+river, ploughed about to find the man, questioning what he should do if he
+did find him. His wrath waxed as he made search, and he told himself that he
+should only trample Blanchard deeper into water if he came upon him. He
+kicked here and there with his heavy boots; then abandoned the search and
+proceeded to Monks Barton.</p>
+<p>Into the presence of the miller he thundered, and for a time said nothing
+of the conflict from which he had come. The scene needs no special narration.
+Vain words and wishes, oaths and curses, filled John Grimbal&rsquo;s mouth.
+He stamped on the floor, finding it impossible to remain motionless, roared
+the others down, loaded the miller with bitter reproaches for his blindness,
+silenced Mr. Blee on every occasion when he attempted to join the discussion.
+The man, in fine, exhibited that furious, brute passion and rage to be
+expected from such a nature suddenly faced with complete dislocation of
+cherished hopes. His life had been a long record of success, and this
+tremendous reverse, on his first knowledge of it, came near to unhinge John
+Grimbal&rsquo;s mind. Storm succeeded storm, explosion followed upon
+explosion, and the thought of the vanity of such a display only rendered him
+more frantic. Then chance reminded the raging maniac of that thing he had
+done, and now, removed from the deed by a little time, he gloried in it.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Blast the devil&mdash;short shrift he got&mdash;given straight into
+my hand! I swore to kill him when I heard it; an&rsquo; I have&mdash;pitched
+him over the bridge and broken his blasted neck. I&rsquo;d burn in
+ragin&rsquo; hell through ten lifetimes to do it again. But that&rsquo;s done
+once for all. And you can tell your whore of a daughter she&rsquo;s a widow,
+not a wife!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;God be gude to us!&rdquo; cried Billy, while Mr. Lyddon started in
+dismay. &ldquo;Is this true you&rsquo;m tellin&rsquo;? Blue murder? An&rsquo;
+so, like&rsquo;s not, his awn mother&rsquo;ll find un when she goes to draw
+water in the marnin&rsquo;!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Let her, and his sister, too; and my God-damned brother! All in
+it&mdash;every cursed one of &rsquo;em. I&rsquo;d like&mdash;I&rsquo;d
+like&mdash;Christ&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He broke off, was silent for a moment, then strode out of the room towards
+the staircase. Mr. Lyddon heard him and rushed after him with Billy. They
+scrambled past and stood at the stair-foot while Grimbal glanced up in the
+direction of Phoebe&rsquo;s room, and then glared at the two old men.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why not, you doddering fools? Can you still stand by her, cursed
+jade of lies? My work&rsquo;s only half done! No man&rsquo;s ever betrayed me
+but he&rsquo;s suffered hell for it; and no woman shall.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He raged, and the two with beating hearts waited for him.</p>
+<p>Then suddenly laughing aloud, the man turned his back, and passed into the
+night without more words.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Mad, so mad as any zany!&rdquo; gasped Mr. Blee. &ldquo;Thank God
+the whim&rsquo;s took un to go. My innards was curdlin&rsquo; afore
+him!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The extravagance of Grimbal&rsquo;s rage had affected Mr. Lyddon also.
+With white and terrified face he crept after Grimbal, and watched that
+tornado of a man depart.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My stars! He do breathe forth threatenings and slaughters worse
+&rsquo;n in any Bible carater ever I read of,&rdquo; said the miller,
+&ldquo;and if what he sez be true&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll wager &rsquo;t is. Theer &rsquo;s method in him. Your
+son-in-law, if I may say it, be drownded, sure &rsquo;s death. What a
+world!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Get the lanterns and call Sam Bonus. He must stand to this door
+an&rsquo; let no man in while we &rsquo;m away. God send the chap ban&rsquo;t
+dead. I don&rsquo;t like for a long-cripple to suffer torture.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s your high religion. An&rsquo; I&rsquo;ll carry the
+brandy, for &rsquo;t is a liquor, when all &rsquo;s said, what &rsquo;s saved
+more bodies in this world than it &rsquo;s damned sawls in the next,
+an&rsquo; a thing pleasant, tu, used with sense&mdash;specially if a man can
+sleep &rsquo;fore &rsquo;t is dead in un.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Hurry, hurry! Every minute may mean life or death. I&rsquo;ll call
+Bonus; you get the lanterns.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Ten minutes later a huge labourer stood guard over Monks Barton, and the
+miller, with his man, entered upon their long and fruitless search. The thaw
+had come, but glimmering ridges of snow still outlined the bases of
+northern-facing hedges along the river. With infinite labour and some
+difficulty they explored the stream, then, wet and weary, returned by the
+southern bank to their starting-point at Rushford Bridge. Here Billy found a
+cloth cap by the water&rsquo;s edge, and that was the only evidence of
+Will&rsquo;s downfall. As they clambered up from the river Mr. Lyddon noted
+bright eyes shining across the night, and found that the windows of Mrs.
+Blanchard&rsquo;s cottage were illuminated.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They &rsquo;m waitin&rsquo; for him by the looks of it,&rdquo; he
+said. &ldquo;What ought us to do, I wonder?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Billy never objected to be the bearer of news, good or ill, so that it was
+sensational; but a thought struck him at seeing the lighted windows.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why, it may be he&rsquo;s theer! If so, then us might find Grimbal
+didn&rsquo;t slay un arter all. &rsquo;T was such a miz-maze o&rsquo; crooked
+words he let fly &rsquo;pon us, that perhaps us misread un.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I wish I thought so. Come. Us can ax that much.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>A few minutes later they stood at Mrs. Blanchard&rsquo;s door and knocked.
+The widow herself appeared, fully dressed, wide awake, and perfectly
+collected. Her manner told Mr. Lyddon nothing.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What might you want, Miller?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;T is Will. There&rsquo;s bin blows struck and violence done,
+I hear.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I can tell &rsquo;e the rest. The bwoy&rsquo;s paid his score
+an&rsquo; got full measure. He wanted to be even with you, tu, but they
+wouldn&rsquo;t let un.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If he ban&rsquo;t dead, I&rsquo;ll make him smart yet for his evil
+act.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I warned &rsquo;e. He was cheated behind his back, an&rsquo; played
+with the same cards what you did, and played better.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Wheer is he now? That&rsquo;s what I want to knaw.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Up in the house. They met on the bridge an&rsquo; Grimbal bested
+him, Will bein&rsquo; weary an&rsquo; empty-bellied. When the man flinged him
+in the stream, he got under the arch behind the rocks afore he lost his head
+for a time and went senseless. When he comed to he crawled up the croft and I
+let un in.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Thank God he&rsquo;s not dead; but punishment he shall have if
+theer&rsquo;s justice in the land.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Bide your time. He won&rsquo;t shirk it. But he&rsquo;s hurted
+proper; you might let Jan Grimbal knaw, &rsquo;t will ease his
+mind.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not it,&rdquo; declared Billy; &ldquo;he thought he&rsquo;d killed
+un; cracked the neck of un.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The blow &rsquo;pon his faace scatted abroad his left nostril; the
+fall brawked his arm, not his neck; an&rsquo; the spurs t&rsquo; other was
+wearin&rsquo; tored his leg to the bone. Doctor&rsquo;s seen un; so tell
+Grimbal. Theer&rsquo;s pleasure in such payment.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She spoke without emotion, and showed no passion against the master of the
+Red House. When Will had come to her, being once satisfied in her immediate
+motherly agony that his life was not endangered, she allowed her mind a sort
+of secret, fierce delight at his performance and its success in the main
+issue. She was proud of him at the bottom of her heart; but before other eyes
+bore herself with outward imperturbability.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;ll keep the gal, I reckon?&rdquo; she said quietly;
+&ldquo;if you can hold hand off Will till he&rsquo;m on his legs again,
+I&rsquo;d thank you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I shall do what I please, when I please; an&rsquo; my poor fule of
+a daughter stops with me as long as I&rsquo;ve got power to make
+her.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Hope you&rsquo;ll live to see things might have been
+worse.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s impossible. No worse evil could have fallen upon me.
+My grey hairs a laughing-stock, and your awn brother&rsquo;s hand in it. He
+knawed well enough the crime he was committing.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;ve a short memory, Miller. I lay Jan Grimbal knaws the
+reason if you doan&rsquo;t. The worm that can sting does, if you tread on it.
+Gude-night to &rsquo;e.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; how do you find yourself now?&rdquo; Billy inquired, as
+his master and he returned to Monks Barton.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Weary an&rsquo; sick, an&rsquo; filled with gall. Was it wrong to
+make the match, do &rsquo;e think, seein&rsquo; &rsquo;t was all for love of
+my cheel? Was I out to push so strong for it? I seem I done right, despite
+this awful mischance.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; so you did; an&rsquo; my feelin&rsquo;s be the same as
+yours to a split hair, though I&rsquo;ve got no language for em at this
+unnatural hour of marnin&rsquo;,&rdquo; said Billy.</p>
+<p>Then in silence, to the bobbing illumination of their lanterns, Mr. Lyddon
+and his familiar dragged their weary bodies home.</p>
+<h2><a id="I_XI" name="I_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI<br />
+LOVE AND GREY GRANITE</h2>
+<p>The lofty central area of Devon has ever presented a subject of
+fascination to geologists; and those evidences of early man which adorn
+Dartmoor to-day have similarly attracted antiquarian minds for many
+generations past. But the first-named student, although his researches plunge
+him into periods of mundane time inconceivably more remote than that with
+which the archaeologist is concerned, yet reaches conclusions more definite
+and arrives at a nearer approximation to truth than any who occupy themselves
+in the same area with manifold and mysterious indications of early
+humanity&rsquo;s sojourn. The granite upheaval during that awful revolt of
+matter represented by the creation of Dartmoor has been assigned to a period
+between the Carboniferous and Permian eras; but whether the womb of one
+colossal volcano or the product of a thousand lesser eruptions threw forth
+this granite monster, none may yet assert. Whether Dartmoor first appeared as
+a mighty shield, with one uprising spike in its midst, or as a target
+supporting many separate bosses cannot be declared; for the original aspect
+of the region has long vanished, though our worn and weathered land of tors
+still shadows, in its venerable desolation, those sublimer, more savage
+glories manifested ere the eye of man or beast existed to receive an image of
+them.</p>
+<p>But the earliest human problems presented by Devon&rsquo;s watershed admit
+of no sure solution, albeit they date from a time adjacent contrasted with
+that wherein the land was born. Nature&rsquo;s message still endures for man
+to read as his knowledge grows; but the records of our primal fellows have
+grown dim and uncertain as the centuries rolled over them. There exists,
+however, within the lofty, lonely kingdom of the granite, a chain of human
+evidences extending from prehistoric ages to the ruined shepherd&rsquo;s cot
+of yesterday. At many spots a spectator may perceive in one survey the stone
+ruin of the Danmonian&rsquo;s habitation, and hypaethral temple or forum, the
+heather-clad debris left by Elizabethan streamers of alluvial tin, the inky
+peat-ridges from which a moorman has just cut his winter firing. But the
+first-named objects, with kindred fragments that have similarly endured,
+chiefly fire imagination. Seen grey at gloaming time, golden through sunny
+dawns, partaking in those spectral transformations cast upon the moor by the
+movement of clouds, by the curtains of the rain, by the silver of breaking
+day, the monotone of night and the magic of the moon, these relics reveal
+themselves and stand as a link between the present and the far past. Mystery
+broods over them and the jealous wings of the ages hide a measure of their
+secret. Thus far these lonely rings of horrent stones and the alignments
+between them have concealed their story from modern man, and only in presence
+of the ancient pound, the foundations of a dwelling, the monolith that marked
+a stone-man&rsquo;s sepulchre, the robbed cairn and naked kistvaen, may we
+speak with greater certainty and, through the glimmering dawn of history and
+the records of Britain&rsquo;s earliest foes, burrow back to aboriginal man
+on Dartmoor. Then research and imagination rebuild the eternal rings of
+granite and, erecting upon them tall domes of thatch and skins on wattle
+ribs, conceive the early village like a cluster of gigantic mushrooms, whose
+cowls are uplifted in that rugged fastness through the night of time. We see
+Palaeolithic man sink into mother earth before the superior genius of his
+Neolithic successor; and we note the Damnonian shepherds flourishing in
+lonely lodges and preserving their flocks from the wolf, while Egypt&rsquo;s
+pyramids were still of modern creation, and the stars twinkled in strange
+constellations, above a world innocent as yet of the legends that would name
+them. The stone-workers have vanished away, but their labour endures; their
+fabricated flints still appear, brought to light from barrows and peat-ties,
+from the burrows of rabbits and the mounds of the antiquary mole; the ruins
+of their habitations, the theatres of their assemblies and unknown ceremonies
+still stand, and probably will continue so to do as long as Dartmoor&rsquo;s
+bosom lies bare to the storm and stress of the ages.</p>
+<p>Modern man has also fretted the wide expanse, has scratched its surface
+and dropped a little sweat and blood; but his mansion and his cot and his
+grave are no more; plutonic rock is the only tablet on which any human story
+has been scribbled to endure. Castles and manor-houses have vanished from the
+moorland confines like the cloudy palaces of a dream; the habitations of the
+mining folk shall not be seen to-day, and their handiwork quickly returns to
+primitive waste; fern and furze hide the robbed cairn and bury the shattered
+cross; flood and lightning and tempest roam over the darkness of a region
+sacred to them, and man stretches his hand for what Nature touches not; but
+the menhir yet stands erect, the &ldquo;sacred&rdquo; circles are circles
+still, and these, with like records of a dim past, present to thinking
+travellers the crown and first glory of the Moor. Integral portions of the
+ambient desolation are they&mdash;rude toys that infant humanity has left in
+Mother Nature&rsquo;s lap; and the spectacle of them twines a golden thread
+of human interest into the fabric of each lonely heath, each storm-scarred
+mountain-top and heron-haunted stream. Nothing is changed since skin-clad
+soldiers and shepherds strode these wastes, felt their hearts quicken at
+sight of women, or their hands clench over celt-headed spears before danger.
+Here the babies of the stone-folk, as the boys and girls to-day, stained
+their little mouths and ringers with fruit of briar and whortle; the ling
+bloomed then as now; the cotton-grass danced its tattered plume; the sphagnum
+mosses opened emerald-green eyes in marsh and quaking bog; and hoary granite
+scattered every ravine and desert valley. About those aboriginal men the Moor
+spread forth the same horizon of solemn enfolding hills, and where twinkle
+the red hides of the moor-man&rsquo;s heifers through upstanding fern, in
+sunny coombs and hawthorn thickets, yesterday the stone-man&rsquo;s cattle
+roamed and the little eyes of a hidden bear followed their motions. Here,
+indeed, the first that came in the flesh are the last to vanish in their
+memorials; here Nature, to whom the hut-circle of granite, all clad in
+Time&rsquo;s lichen livery of gold and grey, is no older than the mushroom
+ring shining like a necklace of pearls within it&mdash;Nature may follow what
+course she will, may build as she pleases, may probe to the heart of things,
+may pursue the eternal Law without let from the pigmies; and here, if
+anywhere from man&rsquo;s precarious standpoint, shall he perceive the
+immutable and observe a presentment of himself in those ephemera that dance
+above the burn at dawn, and ere twilight passes gather up their gauze wings
+and perish.</p>
+<p>According to individual temperament this pregnant region attracts and
+fascinates the human spectator or repels him. Martin Grimbal loved Dartmoor
+and, apart from ties of birth and early memories, his natural predilections
+found thereon full scope and play. He was familiar with most of those
+literary productions devoted to the land, and now developed an ambition to
+add some result of personal observation and research to extant achievements.
+He went to work with method and determination, and it was not until
+respectable accumulations of notes and memoranda already appeared as the
+result of his labours that the man finally&mdash;almost
+reluctantly&mdash;reconciled himself to the existence of another and deeper
+interest in his life than that furnished by the grey granite monuments of the
+Moor. Hide it from himself he could no longer, nor yet wholly from others. As
+in wild Devon it is difficult at any time to escape from the murmur of waters
+unseen, so now the steady flood of this disquieting emotion made music at all
+waking hours in Martin&rsquo;s archaeologic mind, shattered his most subtle
+theories unexpectedly, and oftentimes swept the granite clean out of his head
+on the flood of a golden river.</p>
+<p>After three months of this beautiful but disquieting experience, Martin
+resigned himself to the conclusion that he was in love with Chris Blanchard.
+He became very cautious and timid before the discovery. He feared much and
+contemplated the future with the utmost distrust. Doubt racked him; he
+checked himself from planning courses of conduct built on mad presumptions.
+By night, as a sort of debauch, in those hours when man is awake and fancy
+free, he conceived of a happy future with Chris and little children about
+him; at morning light, if any shadow of that fair vision returned, he blushed
+and looked round furtively, as though some thought-reader&rsquo;s cold eye
+must be sneering at such presumption. He despaired of finding neutral ground
+from which his dry mind could make itself attractive to a girl. Now and again
+he told himself that the new emotion must be crushed, in that it began to
+stand between him and the work he had set himself to do for his county; but
+during more sanguine moods he challenged this decision and finally, as was
+proper and right, the flood of the man&rsquo;s first love drowned menhir and
+hut-circle fathoms deep, and demanded all his attention at the cost of mental
+peace. An additional difficulty appeared in the fact that the Blanchard
+family were responsible for John Grimbal&rsquo;s misfortune; and Martin,
+without confusing the two circumstances, felt that before him really lay the
+problem of a wife or a brother. When first he heard of the event that set
+Chagford tongues wagging so briskly, he rightly judged that John would hold
+him one of the conspirators; and an engagement to Chris Blanchard must
+certainly confirm the baffled lover&rsquo;s suspicions and part the men for
+ever. But before those words, as they passed through his brain, Martin
+Grimbal stopped, as the peasant before a shrine. &ldquo;An engagement to
+Chris Blanchard!&rdquo; He was too much a man and too deep merged in love to
+hesitate before the possibility of such unutterable happiness.</p>
+<p>For his brother he mourned deeply enough, and when the thousand rumours
+bred of the battle on the bridge were hatched and fluttered over the
+countryside, Martin it was who exerted all his power to stay them. Most
+people were impressed with the tragic nature of the unfortunate John&rsquo;s
+disappointment; but his energetic measures since the event were held to pay
+all scores, and it was believed the matter would end without any more trouble
+from him. Clement Hicks entertained a different opinion, perhaps judging John
+Grimbal from the secrets of his own character; but Will expressed a lively
+faith that his rival must now cry quits, after his desperate and natural but
+unsuccessful attempt to render Phoebe a widow. The shattered youth took his
+broken bones very easily, and only grunted when he found that his wife was
+not permitted to visit him under any pretence whatever; while as for Phoebe,
+her wild sorrow gradually lessened and soon disappeared as each day brought a
+better account of Will. John Grimbal vanished on the trip which was to have
+witnessed his honeymoon. He pursued his original plans with the modification
+that Phoebe had no part in them, and it was understood that he would return
+to Chagford in the spring.</p>
+<p>Thus matters stood, and when his brother was gone and Will and Phoebe had
+been married a month, Martin, having suffered all that love could do
+meantime, considered he might now approach the Blanchards. Ignorantly he
+pursued an awkward course, for wholly unaware that Clement Hicks felt any
+interest in Will and his sister beyond that of friendship, Martin sought from
+him the general information he desired upon the subject of Chris, her family
+and concerns.</p>
+<p>Together the two men went upon various excursions to ancient relics that
+interested them both, though in different measure. It was long before Martin
+found courage to bring forth the words he desired to utter, but finally he
+managed to do so, in the bracing conditions that obtained on Cosdon Beacon
+upon the occasion of a visit to its summit. By this time he had grown
+friendly with Hicks and must have learnt all and more than he desired to know
+but for the bee-keeper&rsquo;s curious taciturnity. For some whim Clement
+never mentioned his engagement; it was a subject as absent from his
+conversation as his own extreme poverty; but while the last fact Martin had
+already guessed, the former remained utterly concealed from him. Neither did
+any chance discover it until some time afterwards.</p>
+<p>The hut-circles on Cosdon&rsquo;s south-eastern flank occupied
+Martin&rsquo;s pencil. Clement gazed once upon the drawing, then turned away,
+for no feeling or poetry inspired the work; it was merely very accurate. The
+sketches made, both men ascended immense Cosdon, where its crown of cairns
+frets the long summit; and here, to the sound of the wind in the dead
+heather, with all the wide world of Northern Devon extended beneath his gaze
+under a savage sunset, Martin found courage to speak. At first Hicks did not
+hear. His eyes were on the pageant of the sky and paid tribute of sad thought
+before an infinity of dying cloud splendours. But the antiquary repeated his
+remark. It related to Will Blanchard, and upon Clement dropping a
+monosyllabic reply his companion continued:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A very handsome fellow, too. Miss Blanchard puts me in mind of
+him.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They&rsquo;re much alike in some things. But though Chris knows her
+brother to be good to look at, you&rsquo;ll never get Will to praise her.
+Funny, isn&rsquo;t it? Yet to his Phoebe, she&rsquo;s the sun to a
+star.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I think so too indeed. In fact, Miss Blanchard is the most
+beautiful woman I ever saw.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Clement did not answer. He was gazing through the sunset at Chris, and as
+he looked he smiled, and the sadness lifted a little from off his face.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Strange some lucky fellow has not won her before now,&rdquo;
+proceeded the other, glancing away to hide the blush that followed his
+diplomacy.</p>
+<p>Here, by all experience and reason, and in the natural sequence of events
+Clement Hicks might have been expected to make his confession and rejoice in
+his prize, but for some cause, from some queer cross-current of disposition,
+he shut his mouth upon the greatest fact of his life. He answered, indeed,
+but his words conveyed a false impression. What sinister twist of mind was
+responsible for his silence he himself could not have explained; a mere
+senseless monkey-mischief seemed to inspire it. Martin had not deceived him,
+because the elder man was unused to probing a fellow-creature for facts or
+obtaining information otherwise than directly. Clement noted the false
+intonation and hesitation, recollected his sweetheart&rsquo;s allusion to
+Martin Grimbal, and read into his companion&rsquo;s question something
+closely akin to what in reality lay behind it. His discovery might have been
+expected to hasten rather than retard the truth, and a first impulse in any
+man had made the facts instantly clear; but Clement rarely acted on impulse.
+His character was subtle, disingenuous, secretive. Safe in absolute
+possession, the discovery of Martin&rsquo;s attachment did not flutter him.
+He laughed in his mind; then he pictured Chris the wife of this man, reviewed
+the worldly improvement in her position such a union must effect, and laughed
+no more. Finally he decided to hold his peace; but his motives for so doing
+were not clear even to himself.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he answered, &ldquo;but she&rsquo;s not one to give her
+hand without her heart.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>These words, from Martin&rsquo;s point of view, embraced a definite
+assurance that Chris was free; and, as they walked homewards, he kept silence
+upon this thought for the space of half an hour. The uneasy hopes and black
+fears of love circled him about. Perhaps his timorous mind, in some moods,
+had been almost relieved at declaration of the girl&rsquo;s engagement to
+another. But now the tremendous task of storming a virgin heart lay ahead of
+him, as he imagined. Torments unfelt by those of less sensitive mould also
+awaited Martin Grimbal. The self-assertive sort of man, who rates himself as
+not valueless, and whose love will not prevent callous calculation on the
+weight of his own person and purse upon the argument, is doubtless wise in
+his generation, and his sanguine temperament enables him to escape oceans of
+unrest, hurricanes of torment; but self-distrust and humility have their
+value, and those who are oppressed by them fall into no such pitiable extreme
+as that too hopeful lover on whose sanguine ear &ldquo;No&rdquo; falls like a
+thunderbolt from red lips that were already considered to have spoken
+&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo; A suitor who plunges from lofty peaks of assured victory
+into failure falls far indeed; but Martin Grimbal stood little chance of
+suffering in that sort as his brother John had done.</p>
+<p>The antiquary spoke presently, fearing he must seem too self-absorbed, but
+Clement had little to say. Yet a chance meeting twisted the conversation
+round to its former topic as they neared home. Upon Chagford Bridge appeared
+Miller Lyddon and Mr. Blee. The latter had been whitewashing the apple-tree
+stems&mdash;a course to which his master attached more importance than that
+pursued on Old Christmas Eve&mdash;and through the gathering dusk the trunks
+now stood out livid and wan as a regiment of ghosts.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Heard from your brother since he left?&rdquo; Mr. Lyddon inquired
+after evening greetings.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I cannot yet. I hope he may write, but you are more likely to hear
+than I.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not me. I&rsquo;m nothing to un now.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Things will come right. Don&rsquo;t let it prey on your mind. No
+woman ever made a good wife who didn&rsquo;t marry where her heart
+was,&rdquo; declared Martin, exhibiting some ignorance of the subject he
+presumed to discuss.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah! you was ag&rsquo;in&rsquo; us, I mind,&rdquo; said the miller,
+drawing in. &ldquo;He said as much that terrible night.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He was wrong&mdash;utterly. I only spoke for his good. I saw that
+your daughter couldn&rsquo;t stand the sight of him and shivered if he
+touched her. It was my duty to speak. Strange you didn&rsquo;t see
+too.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So easy to talk afterwards! I had her spoken word, hadn&rsquo;t I?
+She&rsquo;d never lied in all her life afore. Strange if I <i>had</i> seen, I
+reckon.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You frightened her into falsehood. Any girl might have been
+expected to lie in that position,&rdquo; said Clement coolly; then Mr. Blee,
+who had been fretting to join the conversation, burst into it unbidden.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Be gormed if I ban&rsquo;t like a cat on hot bricks to hear
+&rsquo;e! wan might think as Miller was the Devil hisself for cruelty instead
+o&rsquo; bein&rsquo;, as all knaws, the most muty-hearted<a id="footnotetag4"
+name="footnotetag4"></a><a href="#footnote4"><sup>4</sup></a> faither in
+Chagford.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;As to that, I doan&rsquo;t knaw, Billy,&rdquo; declared Mr. Lyddon
+stoutly; &ldquo;I be a man as metes out to the world same measure as I get
+from the world. Right is right, an&rsquo; law is law; an&rsquo; if I
+doan&rsquo;t have the law of Will Blanchard&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;There&rsquo;s little enough you can do, I believe,&rdquo; said
+Hicks; &ldquo;and what satisfaction lies in it, I should like to know, if
+it&rsquo;s not a rude question?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The old man answered with some bitterness, and explained his power.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;William Blanchard&rsquo;s done abduction, according to Lawyer
+Bellamy of Plymouth; an&rsquo; abduction&rsquo;s felony, and that&rsquo;s a
+big thing, however you look &rsquo;pon it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Long an&rsquo; short is,&rdquo; cut in Billy, who much desired to
+air a little of his new knowledge, &ldquo;that he can get a sentence inside
+the limits of two years, with or without hard labour; at mercy of judge and
+jury. That&rsquo;s his dose or not his dose, &rsquo;cording to the gracious
+gudeness of Miller.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Will&rsquo;s nearly ready to go,&rdquo; said Clement. &ldquo;Let
+his arm once be restored, and he&rsquo;ll do your hard labour with a good
+heart, I promise you. He wants to please Mr. Lyddon, and will tackle two
+months or two years or twenty.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Two an&rsquo; not a second less&mdash;with hard labour I&rsquo;ll
+wager, when all&rsquo;s taken into account.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why are you so hot, Billy Blee? You&rsquo;re none the
+worse.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Billy&rsquo;s very jealous for me, same as Elijah was for the Lard
+o&rsquo; Hosts,&rdquo; said Mr. Lyddon.</p>
+<p>Then Martin and Clement climbed the steep hill that lay between them and
+Chagford, while the miller and his man pursued their way through the
+valley.</p>
+<h2><a id="I_XII" name="I_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII<br />
+A STORY-BOOK</h2>
+<p>Despite the miller&rsquo;s explicit declaration, there was yet a doubt as
+to what he might do in the matter of Will Blanchard. Six weeks is a period of
+time that has often served to cool dispositions more fiery, purposes more
+inflexible than those of Mr. Lyddon, and his natural placidity of
+temperament, despite outbreaks, had begun to reassert itself. Billy Blee,
+misunderstanding his master in this, suspected that the first fires of rage
+were now sunk into a conflagration, not so visible, but deeper and therefore
+more dangerous to the sufferer, if not to other people. He failed to observe
+that each day of waiting lessened the miller&rsquo;s desire towards action,
+and he continued to urge some step against Will Blanchard, as the only road
+by which his master&rsquo;s peace of mind might be regained. He went further,
+and declared delay to be very dangerous for Mr. Lyddon&rsquo;s spleen and
+other physical organs. But though humanity still prevented any definite step,
+Billy&rsquo;s master so far adopted his advice as to see a solicitor and
+learn what the law&rsquo;s power might be in the matter. Now he knew, as was
+recorded in the previous chapter; and still Mr. Lyddon halted between two
+opinions. He usually spoke on the subject as he had spoken to Martin Grimbal
+and Clement Hicks; but in reality he felt less desire in the direction of
+revenge than he pretended. Undoubtedly his daughter contributed not a little
+to this irresolution of mind. During the period of Will&rsquo;s
+convalescence, his wife conducted herself with great tact and self-restraint.
+Deep love for her father not only inspired her, but also smoothed
+difficulties from a road not easy. Phoebe kept much out of sight until the
+miller&rsquo;s first dismay and sorrow had subsided; then she crept back into
+her old position and by a thousand deft deeds and proper speeches won him
+again unconsciously. She anticipated his unspoken desire, brightened his
+every-day life by unobtrusive actions, preserved a bright demeanour, never
+mentioned Will, and never contradicted her father when he did so.</p>
+<p>Thus the matter stood, and Mr. Lyddon held his hand until young Blanchard
+was abroad again and seeking work. Then he acted, as shall appear. Before
+that event, however, incidents befell Will&rsquo;s household, the first being
+an unexpected visit from Martin Grimbal; for the love-sick antiquary nerved
+himself to this great task a week after his excursion to Cosdon. He desired
+to see Will, and was admitted without comment by Mrs. Blanchard. The
+sufferer, who sat at the kitchen fire with his arm still in a sling, received
+Martin somewhat coldly, being ignorant of the visitor&rsquo;s friendly
+intentions. Chris was absent, and Will&rsquo;s mother, after hoping that Mr.
+Grimbal would not object to discuss his business in the kitchen, departed and
+left the men together.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Sit down,&rdquo; said Will. &ldquo;Be you come for your brother or
+yourself?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;For myself. I want to make my position clear. You must not
+associate me with John in this affair. In most things our interests were the
+same, and he has been a brother in a thousand to me; but concerning
+Miss&mdash;Mrs. Blanchard&mdash;he erred in my opinion&mdash;greatly
+erred&mdash;and I told him so. Our relations are unhappily strained, to my
+sorrow. I tell you this because I desire your friendship. It would be good to
+me to be friends with you and your family. I do not want to lose your esteem
+by a misunderstanding.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s fair speech, an&rsquo; I&rsquo;m glad to hear &rsquo;e
+say it, for it ban&rsquo;t my fault when a man quarrels wi&rsquo; me, as
+anybody will tell &rsquo;e. An&rsquo; mother an&rsquo; Chris will be glad.
+God knaws I never felt no anger &rsquo;gainst your brother, till he tried to
+take my girl away from me. Flesh an&rsquo; blood weern&rsquo;t gwaine to
+suffer that.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Under the circumstances, and with all the difficulties of your
+position, I never could blame you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Nor Phoebe,&rdquo; said the other warmly. &ldquo;I won&rsquo;t have
+wan word said against her. Absolute right she done. I&rsquo;m sick an&rsquo;
+savage, even now, to think of all she suffered for me. I grits my teeth by
+night when it comes to my mind the mort o&rsquo; grief an&rsquo; tears
+an&rsquo; pain heaped up for her&mdash;just because she loved wan chap
+an&rsquo; not another.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Let the past go and look forward. The future will be happy
+presently.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;In the long run &rsquo;t will for sure. Your brother&rsquo;s got
+all he wants, I reckon, an&rsquo; I doan&rsquo;t begrudge him a twinge; but I
+hope theer ban&rsquo;t no more wheer that comed from, for his awn sake,
+&rsquo;cause if us met unfriendly again, t&rsquo; other might go awver the
+bridge, an&rsquo; break worse &rsquo;n his arm.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, no, Blanchard, don&rsquo;t talk and think like that. Let the
+past go. My brother will return a wiser man, I pray, with his great
+disappointment dulled.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A gert disappointment! To be catched out stealin&rsquo;, an&rsquo;
+shawed up for a thief!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, forgive and forget. It&rsquo;s a valuable art&mdash;to learn
+to forget.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You wait till you &rsquo;m faaced wi&rsquo; such trouble, an&rsquo;
+try to forget! But we &rsquo;m friends, by your awn shawm&rsquo;, and I be
+glad &rsquo;t is so. Ax mother to step in from front the house, will
+&rsquo;e? I&rsquo;d wish her to know how we &rsquo;m
+standin&rsquo;.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Mrs. Blanchard appeared with her daughter, and subsequent conversation
+banished a haunting sense of disloyalty to his brother from Martin&rsquo;s
+mind. Chris never looked more splendid or more sweet than in that noon, new
+come from a walk with Clement Hicks. Martin listened to her voice, stayed as
+long as he dared, and then departed with many emotions breaking like a storm
+upon his lonely life. He began to long for her with overwhelming desire. He
+had scarcely looked at a woman till now, and this brown-eyed girl of twenty,
+so full of life, so beautiful, set his very soul helplessly adrift on the sea
+of love. Her sudden laugh, like Will&rsquo;s, but softer and more musical,
+echoed in the man&rsquo;s ear as he returned to his house and, in a ferment,
+tramped the empty rooms.</p>
+<p>His own requirements had been amply met by three apartments, furnished
+with sobriety and great poverty of invention; but now he pictured Chris
+singing here, tripping about with her bright eyes and active fingers. Like
+his brother before him, he fell back upon his money, and in imagination spent
+many pounds for one woman&rsquo;s delight. Then from this dream he tumbled
+back into reality and the recollection that his goddess must be wooed and
+won. No man ever yet failed to make love from ignorance how to begin, but the
+extent and difficulties of his undertaking weighed very heavily on Martin
+Grimbal at this juncture. To win even a measure of her friendship appeared a
+task almost hopeless. Nevertheless, through sleepless nights, he nerved
+himself to the tremendous attempt. There was not so much of
+self-consciousness in him, but a great store of self-distrust. Martin rated
+himself and his powers of pleasing very low; and unlike the tumultuous and
+volcanic methods of John, his genius disposed him to a courtship of most
+tardy development, most gradual ripening. To propose while a doubt existed of
+the answer struck him as a proceeding almost beyond the bounds of man&rsquo;s
+audacity. He told himself that time would surely show what chance or hope
+there might be, and that opportunity must be left to sneak from the battle at
+any moment when ultimate failure became too certainly indicated. In more
+sanguine moods, however, by moonlight, or alone on the high moors, greater
+bravery and determination awoke in him. At such times he would decide to
+purchase new clothes and take thought for externals generally. He also
+planned some studies in such concerns as pleased women if he could learn what
+they might be. His first deliberate if half-hearted attack relied for its
+effect upon a novel. Books, indeed, are priceless weapons in the armory of
+your timid lover; and let but the lady discover a little reciprocity, develop
+an unsuspected delight in literature, as often happens, and the most modest
+volume shall achieve a practical result as far beyond its intrinsic merit as
+above the writer&rsquo;s dream.</p>
+<p>Martin, then, primed with a work of fiction, prayed that Chris might prove
+a reader of such things, and called at Mrs. Blanchard&rsquo;s cottage exactly
+one fortnight after his former visit. Chance favoured him to an extent beyond
+his feeble powers to profit by. Will was out for a walk, and Mrs. Blanchard
+being also from home, Martin enjoyed conversation with Chris alone. He began
+well enough, while she listened and smiled. Then he lost his courage and
+lied, and dragging the novel from his pocket, asserted that he had bought the
+tale for her brother.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A story-book! I doubt Will never read no such matter in his life,
+Mr. Grimbal.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But get him to try. It&rsquo;s quite a new thing. There&rsquo;s a
+poaching adventure and so forth&mdash;all very finely done according to the
+critical journals.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;ll never sit down to that gert buke.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You read it then, and tell him if it is good.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Me! Well, I do read now and again, an&rsquo; stories tu; but Will
+wouldn&rsquo;t take my word. Now if Phoebe was to say &rsquo;t was braave
+readin&rsquo;, he&rsquo;d go for it fast enough.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I may leave it, at any rate?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Leave it, an&rsquo; thank you kindly.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How is Will getting on?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Quite well again. Awnly riled &rsquo;cause Mr. Lyddon lies so low.
+Clem told us what the miller can do, but us doan&rsquo;t knaw yet what he
+will do.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Perhaps he doesn&rsquo;t know himself,&rdquo; suggested Martin. The
+name of &ldquo;Clem,&rdquo; uttered thus carelessly by her, made him envious.
+Then, inspired by the circumstance, a request which fairly astounded the
+speaker by its valour dropped on his listener&rsquo;s ear.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;By the way, don&rsquo;t call me &lsquo;Mr. Grimbal.&rsquo; I hope
+you&rsquo;ll let me be &lsquo;Martin&rsquo; in a friendly way to you all, if
+you will be so very kind and not mind my asking.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The end of the sentence had its tail between its legs, but he got the
+words cleanly out, and his reward was great.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why, of course, if you&rsquo;d rather us did; an&rsquo; you can
+call me &lsquo;Chris&rsquo; if you mind to,&rdquo; she said, laughing.
+&ldquo;&rsquo;T is strange you took sides against your brother somehow to
+me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I haven&rsquo;t&mdash;I didn&rsquo;t&mdash;except in the matter of
+Phoebe. He was wrong there, and I told him so,&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He meant to end the sentence with the other&rsquo;s name, only the word
+stuck in his throat; but &ldquo;Miss Blanchard&rdquo; he would not say, after
+her permission, so left a gap.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;ll not forgive &rsquo;e that in a hurry.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not readily, but some day, I hope. Now I must really
+go&mdash;wasting your precious time like this; and I do hope you may read the
+book.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That Will may?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No&mdash;yes&mdash;both of you, in fact. And I&rsquo;ll come to
+know whether you liked it. Might I?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Whether Will liked it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She nodded and laughed, then the door hid her; while Martin Grimbal went
+his way treading upon air. Those labourers whom he met received from him such
+a &ldquo;Good evening!&rdquo; that the small parties, dropping back on
+Chagford from their outlying toil, grinned inquiringly, they hardly knew at
+what.</p>
+<p>Meantime, Chris Blanchard reflected, and the laughter faded out of her
+eyes, leaving them grave and a little troubled. She was sufficiently familiar
+with lovers&rsquo; ways. The bold, the uncouth, the humble, and timorous were
+alike within her experience. She watched this kind-faced man grow hot and
+cold as he spoke to her, noted the admixture of temerity and fear that
+divided his mind and appeared in his words. She had seen his lips tremble and
+refuse to pronounce her name; and she rightly judged that he would possibly
+repeat it aloud to himself more than once before he slept that night. Chris
+was no flirt, and now heartily regretted her light and friendly banter upon
+the man&rsquo;s departure. &ldquo;I be a silly fule, an&rsquo; wouldn&rsquo;t
+whisper a word of this to any but Clem,&rdquo; she thought, &ldquo;for it may
+be nothing but the nervous way of un, an&rsquo; such a chap &rsquo;s a right
+to seek a sight further &rsquo;n me for a wife; an&rsquo; yet they all
+&rsquo;pear the same, an&rsquo; act the same soft sort o&rsquo; style when
+they &rsquo;m like it.&rdquo; Then she considered that, seeing what
+friendship already obtained between Clement and Martin Grimbal, it was
+strange the latter still went in ignorance. &ldquo;Anyways, if I&rsquo;m not
+wrong, the sooner he &rsquo;m told the better, for he&rsquo;s a proper
+fashioned man,&rdquo; she thought.</p>
+<p>While Chris was still revolving this matter in her mind, Mrs. Blanchard
+returned with some news.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Postmistress stepped out of the office wi&rsquo; this as I corned
+down the village,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;&rsquo;T is from Mrs. Watson, I
+fancy.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Her daughter brought a light, and the letter was perused. &ldquo;Uncle
+&rsquo;s took bad,&rdquo; Mrs. Blanchard presently announced;
+&ldquo;an&rsquo; sends to say as he wants me to go along an&rsquo; help Sarah
+Watson nurse un.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Him ill! I never thought he was made of stuff to be ill.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I must go, whether or no. I&rsquo;ll take the coach to Moreton
+to-morrow.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Mrs. Blanchard mentally traversed her wardrobe as she drank tea, and had
+already packed in anticipation before the meal was ended. Will, on returning,
+was much perturbed at this bad news, for since his own marriage Uncle Ford
+had become a hero among men to him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What&rsquo;s amiss she doan&rsquo;t say&mdash;Mrs. Watson&mdash;but
+it&rsquo;s more &rsquo;n a fleabite else he wouldn&rsquo;t take his bed. But
+I hopes I&rsquo;ll have un to rights again in a week or so. &rsquo;Mind me to
+take a bottle of last summer&rsquo;s Marshmally brew, Chris. Doctors laugh at
+such physic, but I knaw what I knaw.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Wonder if&rsquo;t would better him to see me?&rdquo; mused
+Will.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, no; no call for that. You&rsquo;ll be fit to stand to work by
+Monday, so mind your business an&rsquo; traapse round an&rsquo; look for it.
+Theer &rsquo;s plenty doin&rsquo; &rsquo;pon the land now, an&rsquo; I want
+to hear you&rsquo; ve got a job &rsquo;fore I come home. Husbands must work
+for two; an&rsquo; Phoebe&rsquo;ll be on your hands come less than a couple
+o&rsquo; years.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;One year and five months and seven days &rsquo;t is.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Very well. You&rsquo;ve got to mind a brace of things meantime; to
+make a vitty home for her by the sweat of your body, an&rsquo; to keep your
+hands off her till she &rsquo;m free to come to &rsquo;e.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Big things both, though I ban&rsquo;t afeared of myself afore
+&rsquo;em. I&rsquo;ve thought a lot in my time, an&rsquo; be allowed to have
+sense an&rsquo; spirit for that matter.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Spirit, ess fay, same as your faither afore you; but not so much
+sense as us can see wi&rsquo;out lightin&rsquo; cannel.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Wonder if Uncle Joel be so warm a man as he&rsquo;d have us think
+sometimes of an evenin&rsquo; arter his hot whiskey an&rsquo; water?&rdquo;
+said Chris.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t &rsquo;e count on no come-by-chance from him.
+He&rsquo;s got money, that I knaw, but ban&rsquo;t gwaine to pass our way,
+for he tawld me so in as many words. Sarah Watson will reap what he&rsquo;s
+sawed; an&rsquo; who shall grumble? He &rsquo;m a just man, though not of the
+accepted way o&rsquo; thinkin&rsquo;.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why for didn&rsquo;t he marry her?&rdquo; asked Will.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Caan&rsquo;t tell&rsquo;e, more&rsquo;n the dead. Just a whim. I
+asked her same question, when I was last to Newton, an&rsquo; she said
+&rsquo;t was to save the price of a licence she reckoned, though in his way
+of life he might have got matrimony cheap as any man. But theer &rsquo;t is.
+Her &rsquo;s bin gude as a wife to un&mdash;an&rsquo; better &rsquo;n
+many&mdash;this fifteen year.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A very kind woman to me while I was biding along with uncle,&rdquo;
+said Will. &ldquo;All the same you should have some of the money.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m well as I be. An&rsquo; this dead-man-shoe talk&rsquo;s
+vain an&rsquo; giddy. I lay he&rsquo;m long ways from death, an&rsquo; the
+further the better. Now I be gwaine to pack my box &rsquo;fore
+supper.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Mrs. Blanchard withdrew, and Chris, suddenly recollecting it, mentioned
+Martin Grimbal&rsquo;s visit. Will laughed and read a page or two of the
+story-book, then went out of doors to see Clement Hicks; and his sister, with
+a spare hour before her while a rabbit roasted, sat near the spit and
+occupied her mind with thought.</p>
+<p>Will&rsquo;s business related to himself. He was weary of waiting for Mr.
+Lyddon, and though he had taken care to let Phoebe know by Chris that his arm
+was well and strong enough for the worst that might be found for it to do, no
+notice was taken of his message, no sign escaped the miller.</p>
+<p>All interested persons had their own theories upon this silence. Mrs.
+Blanchard suspected that Mr. Lyddon would do nothing at all, and Will readily
+accepted this belief; but he found it impossible to wait with patience for
+its verification. This indeed was the harder to him because Clement Hicks
+predicted a different issue and foretold an action of most malignant sort on
+the miller&rsquo;s part. What ground existed for attributing any such deed to
+Mr. Lyddon was not manifest, but the bee-keeper stuck to it that Will&rsquo;s
+father-in-law would only wait until he was in good employment and then
+proceed to his confusion.</p>
+<p>This conviction he now repeated.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;s going to make you smart before he&rsquo;s done with you,
+if human nature&rsquo;s a factor to rely upon. It&rsquo;s clear to
+me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I doan&rsquo;t think so ill of un. An&rsquo; yet I ban&rsquo;t
+wishful to leave it to chance. You, an&rsquo; you awnly, knaw what lies hid
+in the past behind me. The question is, should I take that into account now,
+or go ahead as if it never had failed out?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Let it alone, as it has let you alone. Never rake it up again, and
+forget it if you can. That&rsquo;s my advice to you. Forget you
+ever&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Hush!&rdquo; said Will. &ldquo;I&rsquo;d rather not hear the word,
+even &rsquo;pon your lips.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>They then discussed the main matter from the opposite vantage-grounds of
+minds remote in every particular; but no promising procedure suggested itself
+to either man, and it was not until upon his homeward way that Will, unaided,
+arrived at an obvious and very simple conclusion. With some glee he welcomed
+this idea.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll just wait till Monday night,&rdquo; he said to himself,
+&ldquo;an&rsquo; then I&rsquo;ll step right down to Miller, an&rsquo; ax un
+what&rsquo;s in the wind, an&rsquo; if I can help his hand. Then he must
+speak if he&rsquo;s a man.&rdquo;</p>
+<h2><a id="I_XIII" name="I_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII<br />
+THE MILLER&rsquo;S OFFER</h2>
+<p>Will, followed his determination and proceeded to Monks Barton on the
+following Monday evening, at an hour when he knew that Mr. Lyddon would have
+finished supper and be occupied about a pipe or a game of cards with Mr.
+Blee. The old men occasionally passed an hour at &ldquo;oaks&rdquo; or
+&ldquo;cribbage&rdquo; before retiring, but on this occasion they were
+engaged in conversation, and both looked up with some surprise when Blanchard
+appeared.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&mdash;you here again!&rdquo; said the miller, and his mouth
+remained slightly open after the words.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You &rsquo;m allus setting sober hair on end&mdash;blessed if you
+ain&rsquo;t!&rdquo; was Billy&rsquo;s comment.</p>
+<p>Will, for his part, made no introductory speeches, but went straight to
+the point.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Theer&rsquo;s my arm,&rdquo; he said, thrusting it out before him.
+&ldquo;&rsquo;T is mended so neat that Doctor Parsons says no Lunnon
+bone-setter could have done it better. So I&rsquo;ve comed just to say
+theer&rsquo;s no call for longer waitin&rsquo;. &rsquo;T was a sportsmanlike
+thing in you, Miller Lyddon, to bide same as you did; and now, if you&rsquo;d
+set the law movin&rsquo; an&rsquo; get the job out o&rsquo; hand, I&rsquo;d
+thank you kindly. You see, if they put me in for two year, &rsquo;t will
+leave mighty li&rsquo;l time to get a home ready for Phoebe against the day
+she comes of age.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You needn&rsquo;t be at any trouble about that.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But I shall be. Do &rsquo;e think my wife&rsquo;s gwaine to be any
+differ&rsquo;nt to lesser folks? A home she&rsquo;ll have, an&rsquo; a
+braave, vitty home, tu, though I&rsquo;ve got to sweat blood for it. So if
+you&rsquo;d take your bite so soon as convenient, you&rsquo;d sarve
+me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I doan&rsquo;t say you &rsquo;m axin&rsquo; anything
+onreasonable,&rdquo; said Mr. Lyddon, thoughtfully. &ldquo;An&rsquo; what
+might you think o&rsquo;doin, when you comes out o&rsquo; prison?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;First gude work that offers.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Maybe you doan&rsquo;t kuaw that chaps whose last job was on the
+treadmill finds it uncommon hard to get another?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Depends what they was theer for, I should reckon, Miller&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not a bit of it. Gaol-birds is all feathered alike inside clink,
+an&rsquo; honest men feathers &rsquo;em all alike when they come out,&rdquo;
+declared Will&rsquo;s father-in-law.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A sheer Cain, as no man will touch by the hand&mdash;that&rsquo;s
+what you&rsquo;ll be,&rdquo; added Billy, without apparent regret.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If that&rsquo;s so,&rdquo; said Will, very calmly,
+&ldquo;you&rsquo;d best to think twice &rsquo;fore you sends me. I&rsquo;ve
+done a high-handed deed, bein&rsquo; forced into the same by happenings here
+when I went off last summer; but &rsquo;t is auld history now. I&rsquo;d like
+to be a credit to &rsquo;e some time, not a misery for all time. Why
+not&mdash;?&rdquo; He was going to suggest a course of action more favourable
+to himself than that promised; but it struck him suddenly that any attitude
+other than the one in which he had come savoured of snivelling for mercy. So
+he stopped, left a break of silence, and proceeded with less earnestness in
+his voice.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;ve had a matter of eight weeks to decide in, so I thought
+I might ax&rsquo;e, man to man, what&rsquo;s gwaine to be done.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I have decided,&rdquo; said the miller coldly; &ldquo;I decided a
+week ago.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Billy started and his blue eyes blinked inquiringly. He sniffed his
+surprise and said &ldquo;Well!&rdquo; under his breath.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess, &rsquo;t is so, I didn&rsquo;t tell &rsquo;e, Blee,
+&rsquo;cause I reckoned you&rsquo;d try an&rsquo; turn me from my purpose,
+which wasn&rsquo;t to be done.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Never&mdash;not me. I&rsquo;m allus in flat agreement with
+&rsquo;e, same as any wise man finds hisself all times.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, doan&rsquo;t &rsquo;e take it ill, me keepin&rsquo; it to
+myself.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, no&mdash;awnly seem&rsquo; how&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If it &rsquo;s all the same,&rdquo; interrupted Will,
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;d like to knaw what you &rsquo;m gwaine for to do.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m gwaine to do nort, Will Blanchard&mdash;nort at all. God
+He knaws you &rsquo;ve wronged me, an&rsquo; more &rsquo;n me, an&rsquo;
+her&mdash;Phoebe&mdash;worst of all; but I&rsquo;ll lift no hand
+ag&rsquo;in&rsquo; you. Bide free an&rsquo; go forrard your awn
+way&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;To the Dowl!&rdquo; concluded Billy.</p>
+<p>There was a silence, then Will spoke with some emotion.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You &rsquo;m a big, just man, Miller Lyddon; an&rsquo; if theer was
+anything could make me sorry for the past&mdash;which theer
+ban&rsquo;t&mdash;&rsquo;t would be to knaw you&rsquo;ve forgived
+me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He ain&rsquo;t done no such thing!&rdquo; burst out Mr. Blee.
+&ldquo;Tellin&rsquo; &rsquo;e to go to the Dowl ban&rsquo;t forgivin&rsquo;
+of &rsquo;e!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That was your word,&rdquo; answered Will hotly, &ldquo;an&rsquo; if
+you didn&rsquo;t open your ugly mouth so wide, an&rsquo; shaw such a
+&rsquo;mazing poor crop o&rsquo; teeth same time, me an&rsquo; Miller might
+come to onderstanding. I be here to see him, not you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Gar! you &rsquo;m a beast of a bwoy, looked at anyhow, an&rsquo; I
+wouldn&rsquo;t have no dealin&rsquo;s with &rsquo;e for money,&rdquo; snorted
+the old man.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Theer we&rsquo;ll leave it then, Blanchard,&rdquo; said Mr. Lyddon,
+as Will turned his back upon the last speaker without answering him.
+&ldquo;Go your way an&rsquo; try to be a better man; but doan&rsquo;t ax me
+to forget what &rsquo;s passed&mdash;no, nor forgive it, not yet. I&rsquo;ll
+come to a Christian sight of it some day, God willin&rsquo;; but it &rsquo;s
+all I can say that I bear you no ill-will.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; I&rsquo;m beholden enough for that. You wait an&rsquo;
+keep your eye on me. I&rsquo;ll shaw you what&rsquo;s in me yet. I&rsquo;ll
+surprise &rsquo;e, I promise. Nobody in these paarts &rsquo;cept mother,
+knaws what &rsquo;s in me. But, wi&rsquo;out boastful words, I&rsquo;ll prove
+it. Because, Miller, I may assure &rsquo;e I&rsquo;m a man as have thought a
+lot in my time &rsquo;bout things in general.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess, you&rsquo;m a deep thinker, I doan&rsquo;t doubt. Now best to
+go; an&rsquo;, mind, no dealins wi&rsquo; Phoebe, for that I won&rsquo;t
+stand.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve thought that out, tu. I&rsquo;ll give &rsquo;e my word
+of honour &rsquo;pon that.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Best to seek work t&rsquo;other side the Moor, if you ax me. Then
+you&rsquo;ll be out the way.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;As to that, I&rsquo;d guessed maybe Martin Grimbal, as have proved
+a gert friend to me an&rsquo; be quite o&rsquo; my way o&rsquo; thinking,
+might offer garden work while I looked round. Theer ban&rsquo;t a spark
+o&rsquo; pride in me&mdash;tu much sense, I hope, for that.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The miller sighed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;ve done a far-reachin&rsquo; thing, as hits a man from
+all sorts o&rsquo; plaaces, like the echo in Teign Valley. I caan&rsquo;t see
+no end to it yet.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Martin Grimbal&rsquo;s took on Wat Widdicombe, so you needn&rsquo;t
+fule yourself he&rsquo;ll give &rsquo;e work,&rdquo; snapped Mr. Blee.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, theer be others.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>And then that sudden smile, half sly, half sweet, leapt to Will&rsquo;s
+eyes and brightened all his grave face, as the sun gladdens a grey sky after
+rain.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Look now, Miller Lyddon, why for shouldn&rsquo;t you, the biggest
+man to Chagford, give me a bit of work? I ban&rsquo;t no caddlin&rsquo;<a id=
+"footnotetag5" name="footnotetag5"></a><a href="#footnote5"><sup>5</sup></a>
+chap, an&rsquo; for you&mdash;by God, I&rsquo;d dig a mountain flat if you
+axed me!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, I be gormed!&rdquo; gasped Billy. It was a condition, though
+whether physical or mental he only knew, to which Will reduced Mr. Blee upon
+every occasion of their meeting.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You hold your jaw an&rsquo; let me talk to Mr. Lyddon. &rsquo;Tis
+like this, come to look at it: who should work for &rsquo;e same as what I
+would? Who should think for my wife&rsquo;s faither wi&rsquo; more of his
+heart than me? I&rsquo;d glory to do a bit of work for &rsquo;e&mdash;aye, I
+would so, high or low; an&rsquo; do it in a way to make you rub your
+eyes!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Billy saw the first-formed negative die still-born on his master&rsquo;s
+lips. He began to cry out volubly that Monks Barton was over-manned, and that
+scandal would blast every opening bud on the farm if such a thing happened.
+Will glared at him, and in another moment Mr. Blee might have suffered
+physically had not the miller lifted his hand and bid both be silent.</p>
+<p>For a full minute no man spoke, while in Mr. Lyddon&rsquo;s mind proceeded
+a strange battle of ideas. Will&rsquo;s audacity awakened less resentment
+than might have been foreseen. The man had bent before the shock of his
+daughter&rsquo;s secret marriage and was now returning to his customary
+mental condition. Any great altitude of love or extremity of hate was beyond
+Mr. Lyddon&rsquo;s calibre. Life slipped away and left his forehead smooth.
+Sorrow brought no great scars, joy no particular exaltation. This temperament
+he had transmitted to Phoebe; and now she came into his mind and largely
+influenced him. A dozen times he opened his mind to say &ldquo;No,&rdquo; but
+did not say it. Personal amiability could hardly have overcome natural
+dislike of Blanchard at such a moment, but the unexpected usually happens
+when weak natures are called upon to make sudden decisions; and though such
+may change their resolve again and again at a later date and before new
+aspects of the problem, their first hasty determination will often be the
+last another had predicted from them.</p>
+<p>A very curious result accrued from Mr. Lyddon&rsquo;s mental conflict, and
+it was reached by an accidental train of thought. He told himself that his
+conclusion was generous to the extreme of the Christian ideal; he assured
+himself that few men so placed had ever before acted with such notable
+magnanimity; but under this repeated mental asseveration there spoke another
+voice which he stifled to the best of his power. The utterance of this
+monitor may best be judged from what followed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If I gave you work you&rsquo;d stand to it, Will Blanchard?&rdquo;
+he asked at length.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Try me!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Whatsoever it might be?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Try me. Ban&rsquo;t for me to choose.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I will, then. Come to-morrow by five, an&rsquo; Billy shall show
+&rsquo;e what&rsquo;s to do.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>It would be difficult to say which, of those who heard the miller&rsquo;s
+resolve received it with most astonishment. Will&rsquo;s voice was almost
+tremulous.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;ll never be sorry, never. I couldn&rsquo;t have hoped
+such a thing. Caan&rsquo;t think how I comed to ax it. An&rsquo;
+yet&mdash;but I&rsquo;ll buckle to anything and everything, so help me.
+I&rsquo;ll think for &rsquo;e an&rsquo; labour for &rsquo;e as no hireling
+that was ever born could, I will. An&rsquo; you&rsquo;ve done a big,
+grand-fashion thing, an&rsquo; I&rsquo;m yours, body an&rsquo; bones, for it;
+an&rsquo; you&rsquo;ll never regret it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The young man was really moved by an issue so unexpected. He had uttered
+his suggestion on the spur of the moment, as he uttered most things, and such
+a reception argued a greatness of heart and generosity of spirit quite
+unparalleled in his experience. So he departed wishing all good on Mr. Lyddon
+and meaning all good with his whole soul and strength.</p>
+<p>When he had gone the miller spoke; but contrary to custom, he did not look
+into Mr. Blee&rsquo;s face while so doing.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;m astonished, Billy,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;an&rsquo; so
+be I, come to think of it. But I&rsquo;m gettin&rsquo; tu auld to fret my
+life away with vain strife. I be gwaine to prove un. He&rsquo;d stand to
+anything, eh? &rsquo;Twas his word.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; well he might.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Can &rsquo;e picture Blanchard cleaning out the pigs&rsquo;
+house?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No fay!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Or worse?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>They consulted, and it presently appeared that Mr. Lyddon deliberately
+designed to set Will about the most degrading task the farm could
+furnish.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Twill sting the very life of un!&rdquo; said Billy
+gleefully, and he proceeded to arrange an extremely trying programme for Will
+Blanchard.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Doan&rsquo;t think any small spite leads me to this way of dealing
+with un,&rdquo; explained Mr. Lyddon, who knew right well that it was so.
+&ldquo;But &rsquo;tis to probe the stuff he&rsquo;s made of. Nothing should
+be tu hard for un arter what he&rsquo;ve done, eh?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;m right. &rsquo;Tis true wisdom to chastise the man this
+way if us can, an&rsquo; shake his wicked pride.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Billy&rsquo;s genius lent itself most happily to this scheme. He applauded
+the miller&rsquo;s resolution until his master himself began to believe that
+the idea was not unjust; he ranged airily, like a blue-fly, from one
+agglomeration of ordure to another; and he finally suggested a task, not
+necessary to dwell on, but which reached the utmost height or depth of
+originality in connection with such a subject. Mr. Lyddon laboured under some
+shadow of doubt, but he quickly agreed when his man reminded him of the past
+course of events.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis nothin&rsquo;, when all&rsquo;s said. Who&rsquo;d doubt
+if he&rsquo;d got to choose between that or two year in gaol? He&rsquo;m
+lucky, and I&rsquo;ll tell un so come the marnin&rsquo;.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Thus matters were left, and the miller retired in some secret shame, for
+he had planned an act which, if great in the world&rsquo;s eye, had yet a
+dark side from his own inner view of it; but Mr. Blee suffered no pang from
+conscience upon the question. He heartily disliked Blanchard, and he
+contemplated the morrow with keen satisfaction. If his sharp tongue had power
+to deepen the wound awaiting Will&rsquo;s self-respect, that power would
+certainly be exercised.</p>
+<p>Meantime the youth himself passed homeward in a glow of admiration for Mr.
+Lyddon.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;d lay down my life smilin&rsquo; for un,&rdquo; he told
+Chris, who was astounded at his news. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll think for un,
+an&rsquo; act for un, till he&rsquo;ll feel I&rsquo;m his very right hand.
+An&rsquo; if I doan&rsquo;t put a spoke in yellow Billy&rsquo;s wheel, call
+me a fule. Snarling auld swine! But Miller! Theer&rsquo;s gude workin&rsquo;
+religion in that man; he&rsquo;m a shining light for sartain.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>They talked late upon this wondrous turn of fortune, then Will recollected
+his mother and nothing would serve but that he wrote instantly to tell her of
+the news.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;ll cheer up uncle, tu, I lay,&rdquo; he said.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A letter comed while you was out,&rdquo; answered Chris;
+&ldquo;he&rsquo;m holding his awn, but &rsquo;tis doubtful yet how things be
+gwaine to fare in the upshot.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Be it as &rsquo;twill, mother can do more &rsquo;n any other living
+woman could for un,&rdquo; declared Will.</p>
+<h2><a id="I_XIV" name="I_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV<br />
+LOGIC</h2>
+<p>As Mr. Blee looked out upon a grey morning, the sallows leaping from
+silver to gold, from bud to blossom, scattered brightness through the dawn,
+and the lemon catkins of the hazel, the russet tassels of alders, brought
+light along the river, warmth into the world. A bell beat five from Chagford
+Church tower, and the notes came drowsily through morning mists. Then quick
+steps followed on the last stroke of the hour and Will stood by Billy&rsquo;s
+side in Monks Barton farmyard. The old man raised his eyes from contemplation
+of a spade and barrow, bid Blanchard &ldquo;Good morning&rdquo; with
+simulated heartiness, and led the way to work, while Will followed, bringing
+the tools. They passed into a shrubbery of syringa bushes twenty yards
+distant, and the younger man, whose humour had been exceedingly amiable until
+that moment, now flushed to his eyes before the spectacle of his labour.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Do &rsquo;e mean that Miller&rsquo;s got nothin&rsquo; for me to do
+but this?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Plenty, plenty, I &rsquo;sure &rsquo;e; but that ban&rsquo;t your
+business, be it? Theer&rsquo;s the work, an&rsquo; I&rsquo;d rather
+&rsquo;twas yourn than mine. Light your pipe an&rsquo; go ahead. Not a purty
+job, more &rsquo;tis; but beggars mustn&rsquo;t be choosers in this hard
+world.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Billy bolted after these remarks. He heard a growl behind him, but did not
+look round. Half an hour later, he crept back again by a circuitous route,
+watched Will awhile unseen, then stole grinning away to milk the cows.</p>
+<p>The young man, honestly thunderstruck at the task planned for him, judged
+that thinking would not mend matters, and so began to work quickly without
+stopping to reflect. But his thoughts could not be controlled, any more than
+his disposition changed. A growing consciousness of deep and deliberate
+insult surged up in him. The more he brooded the slower he worked, and
+finally anger mastered determination. He flung down his spade, saluted a red
+sunrise with the worst language at his command, and strode down to the river.
+Here, for some time and until blue smoke began to climb from the kitchen
+chimney of the farm, Will paced about; then with a remarkable effort returned
+to his task. He actually started again, and might have carried the matter to
+completion; but an evil demon was abroad, and Billy, spying the young man at
+work anew, reappeared.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;m makin&rsquo; poor speed, my son,&rdquo; he said,
+viewing the other&rsquo;s progress with affected displeasure.</p>
+<p>It proved enough, for Will&rsquo;s smouldering fires were ready to leap at
+any fuel.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Go to blue, blazing hell!&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;You&rsquo;m at
+the bottom of this business, I&rsquo;ll lay a pound. Get out o&rsquo; my
+sight, you hookem-snivey auld devil, or I&rsquo;ll rub your dirty ginger poll
+in it, sure&rsquo;s death!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My stars! theer&rsquo;s crooked words! Do &rsquo;e try an&rsquo;
+keep tighter hand on your temper, Blanchard. A man should knaw hisself
+anyways &rsquo;fore he has the damn fulishness to take a wife. An&rsquo; if
+you ax me&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Mr. Blee&rsquo;s remarks were here brutally arrested, for the contents of
+Will&rsquo;s spade saluted his furrowed features, and quite obliterated the
+old man. He fled roaring, and the other flung his spade twenty yards away,
+overturned his wheelbarrow, and again strode to the river. He was fairly
+bubbling and boiling now, nor did the business of cleaning gaiters and boots,
+arms and hands, restore him to peace. A black pig gazed upon him and grunted
+as he came up from the water. It seemed to him a reincarnation of Billy, and
+he kicked it hard. It fled screaming and limping, while Will, his rage at
+full flood, proceeded through the farmyard on his way home. But here, by
+unhappy chance, stood Mr. Lyddon watching his daughter feed the fowls. Her
+husband ran full upon Phoebe, and she blushed in a great wave of joy until
+the black scowl upon his face told her that something was amiss. His evident
+anger made her start, and the involuntary action upset her bowl of grain. For
+a moment she stood motionless, looking upon him in fear, while at her feet
+fought and struggled a cloud of feathered things around the yellow corn.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If you&rsquo;ve done your job, Will, may&rsquo;st come and shaake
+Phoebe by the hand,&rdquo; said Mr. Lyddon nervously, while he pretended not
+to notice the other&rsquo;s passion.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I haven&rsquo;t done it; and if I had, is a scavenger&rsquo;s hand
+fit to touch hers?&rdquo; thundered Blanchard. &ldquo;I thought you was a man
+to swear by, and follow through thick an&rsquo; thin,&rdquo; he continued,
+&ldquo;but you ban&rsquo;t. You&rsquo;m a mean, ill-minded sawl, as would
+trample on your awn flesh an&rsquo; blood, if you got the chance. Do your awn
+dirty work. Who be I that you should call on me to wallow in filth to please
+your sour spite?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You hear him, you hear him!&rdquo; cried out the miller, now angry
+enough himself. &ldquo;That&rsquo;s how I&rsquo;m sarved for returnin&rsquo;
+gude to his evil. I&rsquo;ve treated un as no man else on God&rsquo;s airth
+would have done; and this is what I gets. He&rsquo;s mad, an&rsquo;
+that&rsquo;s to speak kind of the wretch!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The young wife could only look helplessly from one to the other. That
+morning had dawned very brightly for her. A rumour of what was to happen
+reached her on rising, but the short-lived hope was quickly shattered, and
+though she had not seen him since their wedding-day, Phoebe was stung into
+bitterness against Will at this juncture. She knew nothing of particulars,
+but saw him now pouring harsh reproaches on her father, and paying the
+miller&rsquo;s unexampled generosity with hard and cruel words. So she spoke
+to her husband.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, Will, Will, to say such things! Do &rsquo;e love me no better
+&rsquo;n that? To slight dear faither arter all he&rsquo;s
+forgiven!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If you think I&rsquo;m wrong, say it, Phoebe,&rdquo; he answered
+shortly. &ldquo;If you&rsquo;m against me, tu&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;Against you!&rsquo; How can you speak so?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No matter what I say. Be you on his side or mine? &rsquo;Cause
+I&rsquo;ve a right to knaw.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Caan&rsquo;t &rsquo;e see &rsquo;twas faither&rsquo;s gert, braave,
+generous thought to give &rsquo;e work, an&rsquo; shaw a lesson of gudeness?
+An&rsquo; then we meet again&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess fay&mdash;happy meetin&rsquo; for wife an&rsquo; husband, me up
+to the eyes in&mdash;Theer, any fule can see &rsquo;twas done a purpose to
+shame me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;re a fule to say it! &rsquo;Tis your silly pride&rsquo;s
+gwaine to ruin all your life, an&rsquo; mine, tu. Who&rsquo;s to help you if
+you&rsquo;ve allus got the black monkey on your shoulder like this
+here?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;m a overbearin&rsquo;, headstrong madman,&rdquo; summed
+up the miller, still white with wrath; &ldquo;an&rsquo; I&rsquo;ve done with
+&rsquo;e now for all time. You&rsquo;ve had your chance an&rsquo; thrawed it
+away.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He put this on me because I was poor an&rsquo; without
+work.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He didn&rsquo;t,&rdquo; cried the girl, whose emotions for a moment
+took her clean from Will to her father. &ldquo;He never dreamed o&rsquo;
+doin&rsquo; any such thing. He couldn&rsquo;t insult a beggar-man; an&rsquo;
+you knaw it. &rsquo;Tis all your ugly, wicked temper!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then I&rsquo;ll take myself off, an&rsquo; my temper, tu,&rdquo;
+said Will, and prepared to do so; while Mr. Lyddon listened to husband and
+wife, and his last hope for the future dwindled and died, as he heard them
+quarrel with high voices. His daughter clung to him and supported his action,
+though what it had been she did not know.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Caan&rsquo;t &rsquo;e see you&rsquo;re breakin&rsquo;
+faither&rsquo;s heart all awver again just as &rsquo;twas
+mendin&rsquo;?&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Caan&rsquo;t &rsquo;e sing smaller, if
+&rsquo;tis awnly for thought of me? Doan&rsquo;t, for God&rsquo;s love, fling
+away like this.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I met un man to man, an&rsquo; did his will with a gude thankful
+heart, an&rsquo; comed in the dawn to faace a job as&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Tweren&rsquo;t the job, an&rsquo; you knaw it,&rdquo; broke
+in Mr. Lyddon. &ldquo;I wanted to prove &rsquo;e an&rsquo; all your fine
+promises; an&rsquo; now I knaw their worth, an&rsquo; your worth. An&rsquo; I
+curse the day ever my darter was born in the world, when I think she&rsquo;m
+your wife, an&rsquo; no law can break it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He turned and went into the house, and Phoebe stood alone with her
+husband.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Theer!&rdquo; cried Will. &ldquo;You&rsquo;ve heard un. That was in
+his heart when he spoke me so fair. An&rsquo; if you think like he do, say
+it. Lard knaws I doan&rsquo;t want &rsquo;e no more, if you doan&rsquo;t want
+me!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Will! How can you! An&rsquo; us not met since our marriage-day. But
+you&rsquo;m cruel, cruel to poor faither.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Say so, an&rsquo; think so; an&rsquo; b&rsquo;lieve all they tell
+&rsquo;e &rsquo;gainst your lawful husband; an&rsquo; gude-bye. If
+you&rsquo;m so poor-spirited as to see your man do thicky work, you choosed
+wrong. Not that &rsquo;tis any gert odds. Stop along wi&rsquo; your faither
+as you loves so much better &rsquo;n me. An&rsquo; doan&rsquo;t you fear
+I&rsquo;ll ever cross his threshold again to anger un, for I&rsquo;d rather
+blaw my brains out than do it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He shook and stuttered with passion; his eyes glowed, his lips changed
+from their natural colour to a leaden blue. He groped for the gate when he
+reached it, and passed quickly out, heedless of Phoebe&rsquo;s sorrowful cry
+to him. He heard her light step following and only hastened his speed for
+answer. Then, hurrying from her, a wave of change suddenly flowed upon his
+furious mind, and he began to be very sorry. Presently he stopped and turned,
+but she had stayed her progress by now, and for a moment&rsquo;s space stood
+and watched him, bathed in tears. At the moment when he hesitated and looked
+back, however, his wife herself had turned away and moved homewards. Had she
+been standing in one place, Will&rsquo;s purposes would perchance have faded
+to air, and his arm been round her in a moment; but now he only saw Phoebe
+retreating slowly to Monks Barton; and he let her go.</p>
+<p>Blanchard went home to breakfast, and though Chris discovered that
+something was amiss, she knew him too well to ask any questions. He ate in
+silence, the past storm still heaving in a ground-swell through his mind.
+That his wife should have stood up against him was a sore thought. It
+bewildered the youth utterly, and that she might be ignorant of all details
+did not occur to him. Presently he told his wrongs to Chris, and grew very
+hot again in the recital. She sympathised deeply, held him right to be angry,
+and grew angry herself.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He &rsquo;m daft,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;an&rsquo; I&rsquo;d think
+harder of him than I do, but that he&rsquo;s led by the nose. &rsquo;Twas
+that auld weasel, Billy Blee, gived him the wink to set you on a task he
+knawed you&rsquo;d never carry through.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Theer&rsquo;s truth in that,&rdquo; said Will; then he recollected
+his last meeting with the miller&rsquo;s man, and suddenly roared with
+laughter.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Struth! What a picter he was! He agged an&rsquo; agged at me
+till I got fair mad, an&rsquo;&mdash;well, I spiled his meal, I do
+b&rsquo;lieve.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>His merriment died away slowly in a series of long-drawn chuckles. Then he
+lighted his pipe, watched Chris cleaning the cups and plates, and grew glum
+again.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Twas axin&rsquo; me&mdash;a penniless chap; that was the
+devil of it. If I&rsquo;d been a moneyed man wi&rsquo;out compulsion to work,
+then I&rsquo;d have been free to say &lsquo;No,&rsquo; an&rsquo; no harm
+done. De&rsquo;e follow?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m thankful you done as you did. But wheer shall &rsquo;e
+turn now?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Doan&rsquo;t knaw. I&rsquo;ll lay I&rsquo;ll soon find
+work.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Theer&rsquo;s some of the upland farms might be wanting
+harrowin&rsquo; an&rsquo; seed plantin&rsquo; done.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Who&rsquo;s to Newtake, Gran&rsquo;faither Ford&rsquo;s auld
+plaace, I wonder?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis empty. The last folks left &rsquo;fore you went away.
+Couldn&rsquo;t squeeze bare life out of it. That&rsquo;s the fourth party as
+have tried an&rsquo; failed.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yet gran&rsquo;faither done all right.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He was a wonnerful man of business, an&rsquo; lived on a straw a
+day, as mother says. But the rest&mdash;they come an&rsquo; go an&rsquo; just
+bury gude money theer to no better purpose than the gawld at a rainbow
+foot.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, I&rsquo;ll go up in the village an&rsquo; look around before
+Miller&rsquo;s got time to say any word against me. He&rsquo;ll spoil my
+market if he can, I knaw.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;d never dare!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;d have taken my oath he wouldn&rsquo;t essterday. Now I
+think differ&rsquo;nt. He never meant friendship; he awnly wanted for me to
+smart. Clem Hicks was right.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Theer&rsquo;s Mr. Grimbal might give &rsquo;e work, I think. Go
+an&rsquo; ax un, an&rsquo; tell un I sent &rsquo;e.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>A moment later Chris was sorry she had made this remark.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What be talkin&rsquo; &rsquo;bout?&rdquo; Will asked bluntly.
+&ldquo;Tell un <i>you</i> sent me?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Martin wants to be friends.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;Martin,&rsquo; is it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He axed me to call un so.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Do he knaw you&rsquo;m tokened to Clem?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Caan&rsquo;t say. It almost &rsquo;peared as if he didn&rsquo;t
+last time he called.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then sooner he do the better. Axed you to call un
+&rsquo;Martin&rsquo;!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He stopped and mused, then spoke again.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Our love-makin&rsquo;s a poor business, sure enough. I&rsquo;ve got
+what I wanted an&rsquo;, arter this marnin&rsquo;, could &rsquo;most find it
+in me to wish my cake was dough again; an&rsquo; you&mdash;you ain&rsquo;t
+got what you want, an&rsquo; ban&rsquo;t no gert sign you will, for
+Clem&rsquo;s the weakest hand at turnin&rsquo; a penny ever I met.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll wait for un, whether or no,&rdquo; said Chris, fiercely.
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll wait, if need be, till we&rsquo;m both tottling auld
+mumpheads!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess; an&rsquo; when Martin Grimbal knaws that is so, &rsquo;twill
+be time enough to ax un for work, I dare say,&mdash;not sooner. Better he
+should give Clem work than me. I&rsquo;d thought of him myself, for that
+matter.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve axed Clem to ax un long ago, but he
+won&rsquo;t.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll go and see Clem right away. &rsquo;Tis funny he never
+let the man knaw &rsquo;bout you. Should have been the first thing he tawld
+un.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Perhaps he thought &rsquo;twas so far off that&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Doan&rsquo;t care what he thought. Weern&rsquo;t plain
+dealin&rsquo; to bide quiet about that, an&rsquo; I shall tell un
+so.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, doan&rsquo;t &rsquo;e quarrel with Clem. He&rsquo;m
+&rsquo;bout the awnly friend you&rsquo;ve got left now.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve got mother an&rsquo; you. I&rsquo;m all right. I can see
+as straight as any man, an&rsquo; all my brain-work in the past ban&rsquo;t
+gwaine to be wasted &rsquo;cause wan auld miller fellow happens to put a mean
+trick on me. I&rsquo;m above caring. I just goes along and remembers that
+people has their failings.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We must make allowance for other folk.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So us must; an&rsquo; I be allus doin&rsquo; it; so why the hell
+doan&rsquo;t they make allowance for me? That&rsquo;s why I boil awver now
+an&rsquo; again&mdash;damn it! I gets nought but kicks for my
+halfpence&mdash;allus have; an&rsquo; I won&rsquo;t stand it from mortal man
+much longer!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Chris kept her face, for Will&rsquo;s views on conduct and man&rsquo;s
+whole duty to man were no new thing.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Us must keep patient, Will, &rsquo;specially with the
+auld.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I be patient. It &rsquo;mazes me, looking back, to see what I have
+suffered in my time. But a man&rsquo;s a man, not a post or a holy angel. Us
+wouldn&rsquo;t hear such a deal about angels&rsquo; tempers either if
+they&rsquo;d got to faace all us have.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s profanity an&rsquo; wickedness.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis truth. Any fule can be a saint inside heaven; an&rsquo;
+them that was born theer and have flown &rsquo;bout theer all theer time,
+like birds in a wood, did ought to be even-tempered. What&rsquo;s to
+cross&rsquo;em?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You shouldn&rsquo;t say such things!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Suddenly a light came into his eyes.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I doan&rsquo;t envy &rsquo;em anyway. Think what it must be never
+to have no mother to love &rsquo;e! They &rsquo;m poor, motherless twoads,
+for all their gold crowns an&rsquo; purple wings.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Will! whatever will &rsquo;e say next? Best go to Clem. An&rsquo;
+forget what I spoke &rsquo;bout Martin Grimbal an&rsquo; work. You was
+wiser&rsquo;n me in that.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I s&rsquo;pose so. If a man ban&rsquo;t wiser &rsquo;n his sister,
+he&rsquo;s like to have poor speed in life,&rdquo; said Will.</p>
+<p>Then he departed, but the events of that day were still very far from an
+end, and despite the warning of Chris, her brother soon stood on the verge of
+another quarrel. It needed little to wake fresh storms in his breast and he
+criticised Clement&rsquo;s reticence on the subject of his engagement in so
+dictatorial and hectoring a manner that the elder man quickly became
+incensed. They wrangled for half an hour, Hicks in satirical humour, Will
+loud with assurances that he would have no underhand dealings where any
+member of his family was concerned. Clement presently watched the other tramp
+off, and in his mind was a dim thought. Could Blanchard forget the past so
+quickly? Did he recollect that he, Clement Hicks, shared knowledge of it?
+&ldquo;He&rsquo;s a fool, whichever way you look at him,&rdquo; thought the
+poet; &ldquo;but hardly such a fool as to forget that, or risk angering me of
+all men.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Later in the day Will called at a tap-room, drank half a pint of beer, and
+detailed his injuries for the benefit of those in the bar. He asked what man
+amongst them, situated as he had been, had acted otherwise; and a few, caring
+not a straw either way, declared he had showed good pluck and was to be
+commended; But the bulky Mr. Chapple&mdash;he who assisted Billy Blee in
+wassailing Miller Lyddon&rsquo;s apple-trees&mdash;stoutly criticised Will,
+and told him that his conduct was much to blame. The younger argued against
+this decision and explained, with the most luminous diction at his command,
+that &rsquo;twas in the offering of such a task to a penniless man its sting
+and offence appeared.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He knawed I was at low ebb an&rsquo; not able to pick an&rsquo;
+choose. So he gives me a starvin&rsquo; man&rsquo;s job. If I&rsquo;d been in
+easy circumstances an&rsquo; able to say &lsquo;Yes&rsquo; or
+&lsquo;No&rsquo; at choice, I&rsquo;d never have blamed un.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Nonsense and stuff!&rdquo; declared Mr. Chapple.
+&ldquo;Theer&rsquo;s not a shadow of shame in it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;m Miller&rsquo;s friend, of coourse,&rdquo; said
+Will.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis so plain as a pike, I think!&rdquo; squeaked a
+hare-lipped young man of weak intellect who was also present.
+&ldquo;Blanchard be right for sartain.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Theer! If soft Gurney sees my drift it must be pretty plain,&rdquo;
+said Will, in triumph.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But as &rsquo;tis awnly him that does, lad,&rdquo; commented Mr.
+Chapple, drily, &ldquo;caan&rsquo;t say you&rsquo;ve got any call to be
+better pleased. Go you back an&rsquo; do the job, like a wise man.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;d clear the peat out o&rsquo; Cranmere Pool sooner!&rdquo;
+said Will.</p>
+<p>And he turned homewards again, wretched enough, yet fiercely prodding his
+temper when it flagged, and telling himself repeatedly that he had acted as
+became a man of spirit and of judgment. Then, upon a day sufficiently leaden
+and dreary until that moment, burst forth sudden splendours, and Will&rsquo;s
+life, from a standpoint of extreme sobriety in time, instantly passed to rare
+brightness. Between the spot on the highway where Chris met him and his
+arrival at home, the youth enjoyed half a lifetime of glorious hopes and
+ambitions; but a cloud indeed shadowed all this overwhelming joy in that the
+event responsible for his change of fortune was itself sad.</p>
+<p>While yet twenty yards from her brother Chris cried the news to him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;s dead&mdash;Uncle&mdash;he went quite sudden at the end;
+an&rsquo; he&rsquo;m to lie to Chagford wi&rsquo; gran&rsquo;faither
+an&rsquo; gran&rsquo;mother.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Dead! My God! An&rsquo; I never seed un more! The best friend to me
+ever I had&mdash;leastways I thought so till this marnin&rsquo;.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You may think so still.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess, so I do. A kind man inside his skin. I knawed un
+better&rsquo;n most people&mdash;an&rsquo; he meant well when he married me,
+out of pure love to us both.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;s left nobody no money but Mrs. Watson and you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If &rsquo;tis five pound, &rsquo;tis welcome to-day; an&rsquo; if
+&rsquo;tis five shillin&rsquo;, I&rsquo;ll thank un an&rsquo; spend it
+&rsquo;pon a ring to wear for un. He was a gude auld blid, an&rsquo;
+I&rsquo;m sorry he&rsquo;s gone.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Will, Uncle&rsquo;s left &rsquo;e a thousand pound!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What! You&rsquo;m jokin&rsquo;.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Solemn truth. &rsquo;Tis in mother&rsquo;s letter.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>A rush of joy lighted up the young man&rsquo;s face. He said not a word;
+then his eyes grew moist.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;To think as he could have loved a daft fule like me so well as
+that! Me&mdash;that never done nothin&rsquo;&mdash;no, not so much as to
+catch a dish of trout for un, now an&rsquo; again, when he was
+here.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You couldn&rsquo;t, bein&rsquo; water-keeper.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What matter for that? I ought to have poached for un, seein&rsquo;
+the manner of man he was.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He kept silence for a while, then burst out&mdash;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll buy the braavest marble stone can be cut. Nobody shall
+do it but me, wi&rsquo; doves or anchors or some such thing on it, to make it
+a fine sight so long as the world goes on.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Theer&rsquo;s plenty room &rsquo;pon the auld slate, for that
+matter,&rdquo; said Chris.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Damn the auld slate! The man shall have white marble carvings, I
+tell &rsquo;e, if I&rsquo;ve got to spend half the money buying &rsquo;em. He
+b&rsquo;lieved in me; he knawed I&rsquo;d come to gude; an&rsquo; I&rsquo;m
+grateful to un.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>During the evening Will was unusually silent and much busied with thought.
+He knew little of the value of money, and a thousand pounds to his mind
+represented possibilities wholly beyond the real power of that sum to
+achieve. Chris presently visited the vicarage, and after their supper,
+brother and sister sat late and discussed the days to come. When the girl
+retired, Will&rsquo;s thoughts for a moment concerned themselves with the
+immediate past rather than the future; and then it was that he caught himself
+blankly before his own argument of the morning. To him the force of the
+contention, now that his position was magically changed, appeared strong as
+before. A little sophistry had doubtless extricated him from this dilemma,
+but his nature was innocent of it, and his face grew longer as the conclusion
+confronting him became more clear. From his own logic&mdash;a mysterious
+abstraction, doubtless&mdash;he found it difficult to escape without loss of
+self-respect. He still held that the deed, impossible to him as a pauper,
+might be performed without sacrifice of dignity or importance by a man of his
+present fortune. So the muddle-headed youth saw his duty straight ahead of
+him; and he regretted it heartily, but did not attempt to escape from it.</p>
+<p>Ten minutes later, in his working clothes, he set out to Monks Barton,
+carrying an old horn lantern that had swung behind his father&rsquo;s caravan
+twenty years before. At the farm all lights were out save one in the kitchen;
+but Will went about his business as silently as possible, and presently found
+the spade where he had flung it, the barrow where he had overthrown it in the
+morning. So he set to work, his pipe under his nose, his thoughts afar off in
+a golden paradise built of Uncle Ford&rsquo;s sovereigns.</p>
+<p>Billy Blee, whose attic window faced out upon the northern side of the
+farm, had gone to bed, but he was still awake, and the grunt of a wheelbarrow
+quickly roused him. Gazing into the night he guessed what was doing, dragged
+on his trousers, and hurried down-stairs to his master.</p>
+<p>The miller sat with his head on his hand. His pipe was out and the
+&ldquo;night-cap&rdquo; Phoebe had mixed for him long ago, remained
+untasted.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Guy Fawkes an &rsquo;angels! here&rsquo;s a thing! If that
+Jack-o&rsquo;-lantern of a bwoy ban&rsquo;t back again. He&rsquo;m
+delvin&rsquo; theer, for all the world like a hobgoblin demon, red as blood
+in the flicker of the light. I fancied&rsquo;t was the Dowl hisself. But
+&rsquo;t is Blanchard, sure. Theer&rsquo;s some dark thought under it,
+I&rsquo;ll lay, or else he wants to come around &rsquo;e again.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>His master doubted not that Billy was dreaming, but he went aloft and
+looked to convince himself. In silence and darkness they watched Will at
+work. Then Mr. Blee asked a question as the miller turned to go.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What in thunder do it mean?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;God knaws, I doan&rsquo;t. The man or bwoy, or whatever you call
+un, beats me. I ban&rsquo;t built to tackle such a piece as him. He&rsquo;s
+took a year off my life to-day. Go to your bed, Billy, an&rsquo; let un
+bide.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Gormed if I wouldn&rsquo;t like to slip down an&rsquo; scat un ower
+the head for what he done to me this marnin&rsquo;. Such an auld man as me,
+tu! weak in the hams this ten year.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But strong in the speech. Maybe you pricked him with a bitter word,
+an&rsquo;&mdash;theer, theer, if I ban&rsquo;t standin&rsquo; up for the chap
+now! Yet if I&rsquo;ve wished un dead wance, I have fifty times since I first
+heard tell of un. Get to bed. I s&rsquo;pose us&rsquo;ll knaw his drift come
+to-morrow.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Mr. Lyddon and Billy retired, and both slept ere Will Blanchard&rsquo;s
+work was done. Upon its completion he sought the cold nocturnal waters of the
+river, and then did a thing he had planned an hour before. Entering the
+farmyard, he flung a small stone at Phoebe&rsquo;s window in the thatch, then
+another. But the first had roused his wife, for she lay above in wakefulness
+and sorrow. She peeped out, saw Blanchard, knew him in the lantern light, and
+opened the window.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Will, my awn Will!&rdquo; she said, with a throbbing voice.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess fay, lovey! I knawed you&rsquo;d sleep sweeter for
+hearin&rsquo; tell I&rsquo;ve done the work.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Done it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Truth.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It was a cruel, wicked shame; an&rsquo; the blame&rsquo;s Billy
+Blee&rsquo;s, an&rsquo; I&rsquo;ve cried my eyes out since I heard what they
+set you to do; an&rsquo; I&rsquo;ve said what I thought; an&rsquo; I&rsquo;m
+sorry to bitterness about this marnin&rsquo;, dear Will.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;T is all wan now. I&rsquo;ve comed into a mort of money, my
+Uncle Ford bein&rsquo; suddenly dead.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, Will, I could a&rsquo;most jump out the window!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;T would be easier for me to come up-long.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, no; not for the world, Will!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why for not? An&rsquo; you that lovely, twinklin&rsquo; in your
+white gownd, an&rsquo; me your lawful husband, an&rsquo; a man o&rsquo;
+money! Damned if I ain&rsquo;t got a mind to climb up by the
+pear-tree!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You mustn&rsquo;t, you mustn&rsquo;t! Go away, dear, sweet Will.
+An&rsquo; I&rsquo;m so thankful you&rsquo;ve forgiven me for being so wicked,
+dear heart.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Everybody&rsquo;ll ax to be forgiven now, I reckon; but
+you&mdash;theer ban&rsquo;t nothin&rsquo; to forgive you for. You can tell
+your faither I&rsquo;ve forgived un to-morrow, an&rsquo; tell un I&rsquo;m
+rich, tu. &rsquo;T will ease his mind. Theer, an&rsquo; theer, an
+theer!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Will kissed his hand thrice, then vanished, and his wife shut her window
+and, kneeling, prayed out thankful prayers.</p>
+<p>As her husband crossed Rushford Bridge, his thought sped backward through
+the storm and sunshine of past events. But chiefly he remembered the struggle
+with John Grimbal and its sequel. For a moment he glanced below into the dark
+water.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;T is awver an&rsquo; past, awver an&rsquo; past,&rdquo; he
+said to himself. &ldquo;I be at the tail of all my troubles now, for
+theer&rsquo;s nought gude money an&rsquo; gude sense caan&rsquo;t do between
+&rsquo;em.&rdquo;</p>
+<h2><a id="II_I" name="II_I"></a>BOOK II<br />
+HIS ENTERPRISE<br />
+<br />CHAPTER I<br />
+SPRINGTIME</h2>
+<p>Nature, waking at the song of woodland birds to find herself naked,
+fashioned with flying fingers such a robe of young green and amber, hyacinth
+and pearl as only she can weave or wear. A scent of the season rose from
+multitudinous &ldquo;buds, and bells, and stars without a name&rdquo;; while
+the little world of Devon, vale and forest, upland and heathery waste,
+rejoiced in the new life, as it rang and rippled with music and colour even
+to the granite thrones of the Moor. Down by the margin of Teign, where she
+murmured through a vale of wakening leaves and reflected asphodels bending
+above her brink, the valley was born again in a very pageant of golden green
+that dappled all the grey woods, clothed branch and bough anew, ran
+flower-footed over the meadow, hid nests of happy birds in every dell and
+dingle, and spread luxuriant life above the ruin of the year that was gone. A
+song of hope filled each fair noon; no wasted energy, no unfulfilled intent
+as yet saddened the eye; no stunted, ruined nursling of Nature yet spoke
+unsuccess; no canker-bitten bud marked the cold finger of failure; for in
+that first rush of life all the earthborn host had set forth, if not equal,
+at least together. The primroses twinkled true on downy coral stems and the
+stars of anemone, celandine, and daisy opened perfect. Countless consummate,
+lustrous things were leaping, mingling, and uncurling, aloft and below, in
+the mazes of the wood, at the margins of the water. Verdant spears and blades
+expanded; fair fans opened and tendrils twined; simultaneous showers of
+heart-shaped, arrow-shaped, flame-shaped foliage, all pure emerald and
+translucent beryl, made opulent outpouring of that new life which now pulsed
+through the Mother&rsquo;s million veins. Diaphanous mist wreaths and tender
+showers wooed the Spring; under silver gauze of vernal rain rang wild rapture
+of thrushes, laughter of woodpeckers, chime and chatter of jackdaws from the
+rock, secret crooning of the cushat in the pines. From dawn till dusk the
+sweet air was winnowed by busy wings; from dawn till dusk the hum and murmur
+of life ceased not. Infinite possibility, infinite promise, marked the time;
+and man shared a great new hope with the beasts and birds, and wild violet of
+the wood. Blood and sap raced gloriously together, while a chorus of
+conscious and unconscious creation sang the anthem of the Spring in solemn
+strophe and antistrophe.</p>
+<p>As life&rsquo;s litany rises once again, and before the thunder of that
+music rolling from the valleys to the hills, human reason yearly hesitates
+for a moment, while hope cries out anew above the frosty lessons of
+experience. For a brief hour the thinker, perhaps wisely, turns from memory,
+as from a cloud that blots the present with its shadow, and spends a little
+moment in this world of opal lights and azure shades. He forgets that Nature
+adorned the bough for other purpose than his joy; forgets that strange
+creatures, with many legs and hungry mouths, will presently tatter each
+musical dome of rustling green; forgets that he gazes upon a battlefield
+awaiting savage armies, which will fill high Summer with ceaseless war, to
+strew the fair earth with slain. He suffers dead Winter to bury her dead,
+seeks the wine of life that brims in the chalices of Spring flowers: plucks
+blade and blossom, and is a child again, if Time has so dealt with him that
+for a little he can thus far retrace his steps; and, lastly, he turns once
+more to the Mother he has forgotten, to find that she has not forgotten him.
+The whisper of her passing in a greenwood glade is the murmur of waters
+invisible and of life unseen; the scent of her garment comes sweet on the
+bloom of the blackthorn; high heaven and lowly forget-me-not alike mirror the
+blue of her wonderful eyes; and the gleam of the sunshine on rippling rivers
+and dreaming clouds reflects the gold of her hair. She moves a queen who,
+passing through one fair corner of her world-wide kingdom, joys in it. She,
+the sovereign of the universe, reigns here too, over the buds and the birds,
+and the happy, unconsidered life of weald and wold. Each busy atom and
+unfolding frond is dear to her; each warm nest and hidden burrow inspires
+like measure of her care and delight; and at this time, if ever, we may think
+of Nature as forgetting Death for one magic moment, as sharing the wide joy
+of her wakening world, as greeting the young mother of the year&rsquo;s
+hopes, as pressing to her bosom the babes of Spring with many a sunny smile
+and rainbowed tear.</p>
+<p>Through the woods in Teign Valley passed Clement Hicks and his sweetheart
+about a fortnight after Lawyer Ford had been laid to rest in Chagford
+Churchyard. Chris talked about her brother and the great enterprise he had
+determined upon. She supported Will and spoke with sanguine words of his
+future; but Clement regarded the project differently.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;To lease Newtake Farm is a fool&rsquo;s trick,&rdquo; he said.
+&ldquo;Everybody knows the last experiments there. The place has been empty
+for ten months, and those who touched it in recent years only broke their
+hearts and wasted their substance.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, they weern&rsquo;t such men as Will. Theer&rsquo;s a fitness
+about it, tu; for Will&rsquo;s awn gran&rsquo;faither prospered at Newtake;
+an&rsquo; if he could get a living, another may. Mother do like the thought
+of Will being there somehow.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I know it. The sentiment of the thing has rather blinded her
+natural keen judgment. Curious that I should criticise sentiment in another
+person; but it &rsquo;s like my cranky, contrary way. Only I was thinking of
+Will&rsquo;s thousand pounds. Newtake will suck it out of his pocket quicker
+than Cranmere sucks up a Spring shower.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, I&rsquo;m more hopeful. He knows the value of money;
+an&rsquo; Phoebe will help him when she comes up. The months slip by so
+quickly. By the time I&rsquo;ve got the cobwebs out of the farm an&rsquo;
+made the auld rooms water-sweet, I dare say theer&rsquo;ll be talk of his
+wife joining him.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You going up! This is the first I&rsquo;ve heard of it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I meant to tell &rsquo;e to-day. Mother is willing and I&rsquo;m
+awnly tu glad. A man&rsquo;s a poor left-handed thing &rsquo;bout a house.
+I&rsquo;d do more &rsquo;n that for Will.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Pity he doesn&rsquo;t think and do something for you. Surely a
+little of this money&mdash;?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Doan&rsquo;t &rsquo;e touch on that, Clem. Us had a braave talk
+&rsquo;pon it, for he wanted to make over two hundred pound to me, but I
+wouldn&rsquo;t dream of it, and you wouldn&rsquo;t have liked me tu. You
+&rsquo;m the last to envy another&rsquo;s fair fortune.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I do envy any man fortune. Why should I starve, waiting for you,
+and&mdash;?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Hush!&rdquo; she said, as though she had spoken to a little child.
+&ldquo;I won&rsquo;t hear no wild words to-day in all this gude gold
+sunshine.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;God damn everything!&rdquo; he burst out. &ldquo;What a poor,
+impotent wretch He&rsquo;s made me&mdash;a thing to bruise its useless hands
+beating the door that will never open! It maddens me&mdash;especially when
+all the world&rsquo;s happy, like to-day&mdash;all happy but me. And you so
+loyal and true! What a fool you are to stick to me and let me curse you all
+your life!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Doan&rsquo;t &rsquo;e, doan&rsquo;t &rsquo;e, Clem,&rdquo; said
+Chris wearily. She was growing well accustomed to these ebullitions.
+&ldquo;Doan&rsquo;t grudge Will his awn. Our turn will come, an&rsquo;
+perhaps sooner than we think for. Look round &rsquo;pon the sweet fresh airth
+an&rsquo; budding flowers. Spring do put heart into a body. We &rsquo;m young
+yet, and I&rsquo;ll wait for &rsquo;e if &rsquo;t is till the crack o&rsquo;
+doom.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Life&rsquo;s such a cursed short thing at best&mdash;just a stormy
+day between two nights, one as long as past time, the other all eternity.
+Have you seen a mole come up from the ground, wallow helplessly a moment or
+two, half blind in the daylight, then sink back into the earth, leaving only
+a mound? That&rsquo;s our life, yours and mine; and Fate grudges that even
+these few poor hours, which make the sum of it, should be spent together.
+Think how long a man and woman can live side by side at best. Yet every
+Sunday of your life you go to church and babble about a watchful, loving
+Maker!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I doan&rsquo;t know, Clem. You an&rsquo; me ban&rsquo;t everybody.
+You&rsquo;ve told me yourself as God do play a big game, and it doan&rsquo;t
+become this man or that woman to reckon their-selves more important than they
+truly be.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A great game, yes; but a cursed poor game&mdash;for a God. The
+counters don&rsquo;t matter, I know; they&rsquo;ll soon be broken up and
+flung away; and the sooner the better. It&rsquo;s living hell to be born into
+a world where there&rsquo;s no justice&mdash;none for king or
+tinker.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Sit alongside of me and smell the primrosen an&rsquo; watch thicky
+kingfisher catching the li&rsquo;l trout. I doan&rsquo;t like &rsquo;e in
+these bitter moods, Clem, when your talk&rsquo;s all dead ashes.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He sat by her and looked out over the river. It was flooded in sunlight,
+fringed with uncurling green.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m sick and weary of life without you. &lsquo;Conscious
+existence is a failure,&rsquo; and the man who found that out and said it was
+wise. I wish I was a bird or beast&mdash;or nothing. All the world is mating
+but you and me. Nature hates me because I survive from year to year, not
+being fit to. The dumb things do her greater credit than ever I can.
+The&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Now, I&rsquo;ll go&mdash;on my solemn word, I&rsquo;ll go&mdash;if
+you grumble any more! Essterday you was so different, and said you&rsquo;d
+fallen in love with Miss Spring, and pretended to speak to her and make me
+jealous. You didn&rsquo;t do that, but you made me laugh. An&rsquo; you
+promised a purty verse for me. Did &rsquo;e make it up after all? I lay
+not.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, I did. I wasted two or three hours over it last
+night.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Might &rsquo;e get ten shillings for it, like t&rsquo;
+other?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s not worth the paper it&rsquo;s on, unless you like it.
+Your praise is better than money to me. Nobody wants any thoughts of mine.
+Why should they?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not when they &rsquo;m all sour an&rsquo; poor, same as now; but
+essterday you spoke like to a picture-book. Theer&rsquo;s many might have
+took gude from what you said then.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He pulled a scrap of paper from his pocket and flung it into her lap.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I call it &rsquo;Spring Rain,&rsquo;&rdquo; he said.
+&ldquo;Yesterday the world was grey, and I was happy; to-day the world is all
+gold, and I&rsquo;m finding life harder and heavier than usual. Read it out
+slowly to me. It was meant to be read to the song of the river, and never a
+prettier voice read a rhyme than yours.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Chris smoothed the paper and recited her lover&rsquo;s lyrics. They had
+some shadow of music in them and echoed Clem&rsquo;s love of beautiful
+things; but they lacked inspiration or much skill.</p>
+<p class="poem">&ldquo;&rsquo;Neath unnumbered crystal arrows&mdash;<br />
+<span class="i2">Crystal arrows from the quiver</span><br />
+<span class="i2">Of a cloud&mdash;the waters shiver</span><br />
+In the woodland&rsquo;s dim domain;<br />
+And the whispering of the rain<br />
+Tinkles sweet on silver Teign&mdash;<br />
+<span class="i4">Tinkles on the river.</span><br />
+<br />
+&rdquo;Through unnumbered sweet recesses&mdash;<br />
+<span class="i2">Sweet recesses soft in lining</span><br />
+<span class="i2">Of green moss with ivy twining&mdash;</span><br />
+Daffodils, a sparkling train,<br />
+Twinkle through the whispering rain,<br />
+Twinkle bright by silver Teign,<br />
+<span class="i4">With a starry shining.</span><br />
+<br />
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Mid unnumbered little leaf-buds&mdash;<br />
+<span class="i2">Little leaf-buds surely bringing</span><br />
+<span class="i2">Spring once more&mdash;song birds are winging;</span><br />
+And their mellow notes again<br />
+Throb across the whispering rain,<br />
+Till the banks of silver Teign<br />
+<span class="i4">Echo with their singing.&rdquo;</span></p>
+<p>Chris, having read, made customary cheerful comment according to her
+limitations.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;T is just like essterday&mdash;butivul grawing weather, but
+&rsquo;pears to me it&rsquo;s plain facts more &rsquo;n poetry. Anybody could
+come to the streamside and see it all for themselves.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Many are far away, pent in bricks and mortar, yearning deep to see
+the dance of the Spring, and chained out of sight of it. This might bring one
+glimpse to them.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; so it might, if you sold it for a bit of money. Then it
+could be printed out for &rsquo;em like t&rsquo;other was.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You don&rsquo;t understand&mdash;you won&rsquo;t
+understand&mdash;even you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I caan&rsquo;t please &rsquo;e to-day. I likes the li&rsquo;l
+verses ever so. You do make such things seem butivul to my
+ear&mdash;an&rsquo; so true as a photograph.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Clem shivered and stretched his hand for the paper. Then, in a moment, he
+had torn it into twenty pieces and sent the fragments afloat.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;There! Let her take them to the sea with her. She understands.
+Maybe she&rsquo;ll find a cool corner for me too before many days are
+passed.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Chris began to feel her patience failing.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What, in God&rsquo;s name, have I done to &rsquo;e you should treat
+me like this?&rdquo; she asked, with fire in her eyes.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Been fool enough to love me,&rdquo; he answered. &ldquo;But
+it&rsquo;s never too late for a woman to change her mind. Leave a sinking
+ship, or rather a ship that never got properly launched, but, sticking out of
+its element, was left to rot. Why don&rsquo;t you leave me, Chris?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She stroked his hand, then picked it up and laid her soft cheek against
+it.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not till the end of the world comes for wan of us, Clem. I&rsquo;ll
+love &rsquo;e always, and the better and deeper &rsquo;cause you &rsquo;m so
+wisht an&rsquo; unlucky somehow. But you &rsquo;m tu wise to be miserable all
+your time.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You ought to make me a man if anything could. I burn away with
+hopes and hopes, and more hopes for the future, and miss the paltry thing at
+hand that might save me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then miss it no more, love; seek closer, an&rsquo; seek sharper.
+Maybe gude work an&rsquo; gude money &rsquo;s awnly waitin&rsquo; for
+&rsquo;e to find it. Doan&rsquo;t look at the moon an&rsquo; stars so much;
+think of me, an&rsquo; look lower.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Slowly the beauty of the hour and the sweet-hearted girl at his elbow
+threw some sunshine into Clement&rsquo;s moody heart. For a little while the
+melancholy and shiftless dreamer grew happier. He promised renewed activity
+in the future, and undertook, as a first step towards Martin Grimbal, to
+inform the antiquary of that great fact which his foolish whim had thus far
+concealed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Chance might have got it to his ears through more channels than
+one, you would have thought; but he&rsquo;s a taciturn man, asks no
+questions, and invites no confidences. I like him the better for it. Next
+week, come what may, I&rsquo;ll speak to him and tell him the truth, like a
+plain, blunt man.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Do &rsquo;e that very thing,&rdquo; urged Chris. &ldquo;Say
+we&rsquo;m lovers these two year an&rsquo; more; an&rsquo; that you&rsquo;d
+be glad to wed me if your way o&rsquo; life was bettered. Ban&rsquo;t
+beggin&rsquo;, as he knaws, for nobody doubts you&rsquo;m the most
+book-learned man in Chagford after parson.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Together they followed the winding of the river and proceeded through the
+valley, by wood, and stile, and meadow, until they reached Rushford Bridge.
+Here they delayed a moment at the parapet and, while they did so, John
+Grimbal passed on foot alone.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;His house is growing,&rdquo; said Clement, as they proceeded to
+Mrs. Blanchard&rsquo;s cottage.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Aye, and his hearth will be as cold as his heart&mdash;the wretch!
+Well he may turn his hard face away from me and remember what fell out on
+this identical spot! But for God&rsquo;s gude grace he&rsquo;d have been
+hanged to Exeter &rsquo;fore now.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You can&rsquo;t put yourself in his shoes, Chris; no woman can.
+Think what the world looked like to him after his loss. The girl he wanted
+was so near. His hands were stretched out for her; his heart was full of her.
+Then to see her slip away.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; quite right, tu; as you was the first to say at the time.
+Who&rsquo;s gwaine to pity a thief who loses the purse he&rsquo;s stole, or a
+poacher that fires &rsquo;pon another man&rsquo;s bird an&rsquo; misses
+it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;All the same, I doubt he would have made a better husband for
+Phoebe Lyddon than ever your brother will.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>His sweetheart gasped at criticism so unexpected.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&mdash;you to say that! You, Will&rsquo;s awn friend!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s true; and you know it as well as anybody. He has so
+little common sense.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>But Chris flamed up in an instant. Nothing the man&rsquo;s cranky temper
+could do had power to irritate her long. Nothing he might say concerning
+himself or her annoyed her for five minutes; but, upon the subject of her
+brother, not even from Clem did Chris care to hear a disparaging word or
+unfavourable comment. And this criticism, of all others, levelled against
+Will angered her to instant bitter answer before she had time to measure the
+weight of her words.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Common sense&rsquo;! Perhaps you&rsquo;ll be so kind as to
+give Will Blanchard a li&rsquo;l of your awn&mdash;you being so rich in it.
+Best look at home, and see what you can spare!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>So the lovers&rsquo; quarrel which had been steadily brewing under the
+sunshine now bubbled over and lowered thunder-black for the moment, as such
+storms will.</p>
+<p>Clement Hicks, perfectly calm now that his sweetheart&rsquo;s temper was
+gone, marched off; and Chris, slamming the cottage door, vanished, without
+taking any further leave of him than that recorded in her last utterance.</p>
+<h2><a id="II_II" name="II_II"></a>CHAPTER II<br />
+NEWTAKE FARM</h2>
+<p>Clement Hicks told the truth when he said that Mrs. Blanchard fell
+something short of her usual sound judgment and sagacity in the matter of
+Will&rsquo;s enterprise. The home of childhood is often apt enough to
+exercise magic, far-reaching attraction, and even influence a mind for the
+most part unsentimental. To Damaris the thought of her son winning his living
+where her father had done so was pleasant and in accordance with eternal
+fitness. Not without emotion did she accompany Will to Newtake Farm while yet
+the proposed bargain awaited completion; not without strange awakenings in
+the dormant recesses of her memory did Will&rsquo;s mother pass and pass
+again through the scenes of her earliest days. From the three stone steps, or
+&ldquo;upping stock,&rdquo; at the farmhouse door, whereat a thousand times
+she had seen her father mount his horse, to the environment of the farmyard;
+from the strange, winding staircase of solid granite that connected upper and
+lower storeys, to each mean chamber in Newtake, did Mrs. Blanchard&rsquo;s
+eyes roam thoughtfully amid the ghosts of recollections. Her girl&rsquo;s
+life returned and the occasional bright days gleamed forth again, vivid by
+contrast with the prevailing grey. So active became thought that to relieve
+her mind she spoke to Will.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The li&rsquo;l chamber over the door was mine,&rdquo; she said;
+&ldquo;an&rsquo; your poor uncle had the next. I can just mind him, allus at
+his books, to his faither&rsquo;s pride. Then he went away to Newton to join
+some lawyer body an&rsquo; larn his business. An&rsquo; I mind the two small
+maids as was my elder sisters and comed betwixt me an&rsquo; Joel. Both
+died&mdash;like candles blawed out roughly by the wind. They wasn&rsquo;t
+made o&rsquo; the stuff to stand Dartymoor winters.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She paused for a few moments, then proceeded:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Theer, to west of the yard, is a croft as had corn in it wan year,
+though &rsquo;tis permanent grass now, seemin&rsquo;ly. Your faither corned
+through theer like a snake by night more&rsquo;n wance; an&rsquo; oftentimes
+I crept down house, shivering wi&rsquo; fear an&rsquo; love, to meet him
+under moonlight while the auld folks slept. Tim he&rsquo;d grawed to a power
+wi&rsquo; the gypsy people by that time; but faither was allus hard against
+un. He hated wanderers in tents or &rsquo;pon wheels, or even sea-gwaine
+sailor-men&mdash;he carried it that far. Then comed a peep o&rsquo; day when
+Tim&rsquo;s bonny yellow caravan &rsquo;peared around the corner of that
+windin&rsquo; road what goes all across the Moor. At the first stirring of
+light, I was ready an&rsquo; skipped out; an&rsquo;, to this hour, I mind the
+last thing as touched me kindly was the red tongue of the sheep-dog. He ran a
+mile after the van, unhappy-like; then Tim ordered un away, an&rsquo; he
+stood in the white road an&rsquo; held up his paw an&rsquo; axed a question
+as plain as a human. So Tim hit un hard wi&rsquo; a gert stone, an&rsquo; he
+yelped an&rsquo; gived me up for lost, an&rsquo; bolted home wi&rsquo; his
+tail between his legs an&rsquo; his eye thrawed back full of sadness over his
+shoulder. Ess fay! I can see the dust puffin&rsquo; up under his pads in the
+grey dawn so clear as I can see you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Again she stopped, but only for breath.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They never answered my writings. Faither wouldn&rsquo;t an&rsquo;
+mother didn&rsquo;t dare. But when I was near my time, Timothy, reckoning
+they&rsquo;d yield then if ever, arranged to be in Chagford when I should be
+brought to bed. Yet &rsquo;twas ordained differ&rsquo;nt, an&rsquo; the
+roundy-poundy, wheer the caravan was drawed up when the moment corned, be
+just round theer on Metherill hill, as you knaws. So it happened right under
+the very walls of Newtake. In the stone circle you comed; an&rsquo; by night
+arterwards, sweatin&rsquo; for terror, your gran&rsquo;mother, as had heard
+tell of it, sneaked from Newtake to kiss me an&rsquo; press you to her body.
+Faither never knawed till long arter; an&rsquo; though mother used to say she
+heard un forgive me on his death-bed, &rsquo;twas her awn pious wish echoing
+in her awn ears I reckon. But that&rsquo;s all awver an&rsquo;
+done.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Mrs. Blanchard now sank into silent perambulation of the deserted
+chambers. In the kitchen the whitewash was grimy, the ceiling and windows
+unclean. Ashes of a peat fire still lay upon the cracked hearthstone, and a
+pair of worn-out boots, left by a tramp or the last tenant, stood on the
+window-sill. Dust and filth were everywhere, but no indication of dampness or
+decay.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A proper auld rogue&rsquo;s-roost of dirt &rsquo;tis just
+now,&rdquo; said Will; &ldquo;but a few pound spent in the right way will do
+a deal for it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; soap an&rsquo; water more,&rdquo; declared Mrs.
+Blanchard, escaping from her reverie. &ldquo;What&rsquo;s to be spent
+landlord must spend,&rdquo; she continued. &ldquo;A little whitewash, and
+some plaster to fill them holes wheer woodwork&rsquo;s poking through the
+ceiling, an&rsquo; you&rsquo;ll be vitty again. &rsquo;Tis lonesome-like now,
+along o&rsquo; being deserted, an&rsquo; you&rsquo;ll hear the rats galloping
+an&rsquo; gallyarding by night, but &rsquo;twill soon be all it was
+again&mdash;a dear li&rsquo;l auld plaace, sure enough!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She eyed the desolation affectionately.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Theer&rsquo;s money in it, any way, for what wan man can do another
+can.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Aye, I hope so, I b&rsquo;lieve &rsquo;tis so; but you&rsquo;ll
+have to live hard, an&rsquo; work hard, an&rsquo; be hard, if you wants to
+prosper here. Your gran&rsquo;faither stood to the work like a giant,
+an&rsquo; the sharpest-fashion weather hurt him no worse than if he&rsquo;d
+been a granite tor. Steel-built to his heart&rsquo;s core, an&rsquo; needed
+to be.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; I be a stern, far-seein&rsquo; man, same as him.
+&rsquo;Tis generally knawn I&rsquo;m no fule; and my heart&rsquo;s grawed
+hard, tu of late days, along wi&rsquo; the troubles life&rsquo;s
+brought.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She shook her head.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;m your faither&rsquo;s son, not your
+gran&rsquo;faither&rsquo;s. Tim was flesh an&rsquo; blood, same as you.
+T&rsquo;other was stone. Stone&rsquo;s best, when you&rsquo;ve got to fight
+wi&rsquo; stone; but if flesh an&rsquo; blood suffers more, it joys more, tu.
+I wouldn&rsquo;t have &rsquo;e differ&rsquo;nt&mdash;not to them as loves
+&rsquo;e, any way.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I sha&rsquo;n&rsquo;t change; an&rsquo; if I did to all the world
+else, &rsquo;twouldn&rsquo;t be to you, mother. You knaw that, I reckon.
+I&rsquo;m hopeful; I&rsquo;m more; I&rsquo;m &rsquo;bout as certain of fair
+fortune as a man can be. Venwell rights<a id="footnotetag6" name=
+"footnotetag6"></a><a href="#footnote6"><sup>6</sup></a> be mine, and
+theer&rsquo;s no better moorland grazing than round these paarts. The
+farm-land looks a bit foul, along o&rsquo; being let go to rack, but
+us&rsquo;ll soon have that clean again, an&rsquo; some gude stuff into it,
+tu. My awn work&rsquo;ll be staring me in the faace before summer; an&rsquo;
+by the time Phoebe do come to be mistress, nobody&rsquo;ll knaw Newtake, I
+promise &rsquo;e.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Mrs. Blanchard viewed with some uneasiness the spectacle of valley-born
+and valley-nurtured Phoebe taking up her abode on the high lands. For herself
+she loved them well, and the Moor possessed no terrors for her; but she had
+wit to guess that her daughter-in-law would think and feel differently.
+Indeed, neither woman nor man might reasonably be blamed for viewing the farm
+without delight when first brought within the radius of its influence.</p>
+<p>Newtake stood, a squat and unlovely erection, under a tar-pitched roof of
+slate. Its stone walls were coated with a stucco composition, which included
+tallow as an ingredient and ensured remarkable warmth and dryness. Before its
+face there stretched a winding road of white flint, that climbed from the
+village, five miles distant, and soon vanished amid the undulations of the
+hills; while, opposite, steep heathery slopes and grassy coombs ascended
+abruptly to masses of weathered granite; and at the rear a hillside, whereon
+Metherill&rsquo;s scattered hut-circles made incursions even into the fields
+of the farm, fell to the banks of Southern Teign where she babbled between
+banks of brake-fern and heather. Swelling and sinking solemnly along the sky,
+Dartmoor surrounded Newtake. At the entrance of the yard stood a broken
+five-barred gate between twin masses of granite; then appeared a ragged
+outbuilding or two, with roofs of lichen-covered slate; and upon one side, in
+a row, grew three sycamores, bent out of all uprightness by years of western
+winds, and coated as to their trunks with grey lichen. Behind a cowyard of
+shattered stone pavement and cracked mud stood the farm itself, and around it
+extended the fields belonging thereto. They were six or seven in number, and
+embraced some five-and-fifty acres of land, mostly indifferent meadow.</p>
+<p>Seen from the winding road, or from the bird&rsquo;s-eye elevation of the
+adjacent tor, Newtake, with its mean ship-pens and sties, outbuildings and
+little crofts, all huddled together, poverty-stricken, time-fretted,
+wind-worn, and sad of colour, appeared a mere forlorn fragment of
+civilisation left derelict upon the savage bosom of an untamable land. It
+might have represented some forsaken, night-foundered abode of men, torn by
+earthquake or magic spell from a region wholly different, and dropped and
+stranded here. It sulked solitary, remote, and forgotten; its black roof
+frowned over its windows, and green tears, dribbling down its walls in time
+past, had left their traces, as though even spring sunlight was powerless to
+eradicate the black memories of winters past, or soften the bitter certainty
+of others yet to come. The fields, snatched from the Moor in time long past,
+now showed a desire to return to their wild mother again. The bars of
+cultivation were broken and the land struggled to escape. Scabious would
+presently throw a mauve pallor over more than one meadow croft; in another,
+waters rose and rushes and yellow iris flourished and defied husbandry;
+elsewhere stubble, left unploughed by the last defeated farmer, gleamed
+silver-grey through a growth of weeds; while at every point the Moor thrust
+forward hands laden with briar and heather. They surmounted the low stone
+walls and fed and flourished upon the clods and peat that crowned them.
+Nature waved early gold of the greater furze in the van of her oncoming, and
+sent her wild winds to sprinkle croft and hay-field, ploughed land and potato
+patch, with thistledown and the seeds of the knapweed and rattle and bracken
+fern. These heathen things and a thousand others, in all the early vigour of
+spring, rose triumphant above the meek cultivation. They trampled it,
+strangled it, choked it, and maddened the agriculturist by their sturdy and
+stubborn persistence. A forlorn, pathetic blot upon the land of the mist was
+Newtake, seen even under conditions of sunlight and fair weather; but beheld
+beneath autumnal rains, observed at seasons of deep snow or in the dead waste
+of frozen winters, its apparition rendered the most heavy-hearted less sad
+before the discovery that there existed a human abode more hateful, a human
+outlook more oppressive, than their own.</p>
+<p>To-day heavy moorland vapours wrapped Newtake in ghostly raiment, yet no
+forlorn emotions clouded the survey of those who now wandered about the
+lifeless farm. In the mind of one, here retracing the course of her
+maidenhood, this scene, if sad, was beautiful. The sycamores, whose brown
+spikes had burst into green on a low bough or two, were the trees she loved
+best in the world; the naked field on the hillside, wherein a great stone
+ring shone grey through the silver arms of the mist, represented the theatre
+of her life&rsquo;s romance. There she had stolen oftentimes to her lover,
+and in another such, not far distant, had her son been born. Thoughts of
+little sisters rose in the naked kitchen, with the memory of a flat-breasted,
+wild-eyed mother, who did man&rsquo;s work; of a father, who spoke seldom and
+never twice&mdash;a father whose heavy foot upon the threshold sent his
+children scuttling like rabbits to hidden lairs and dens. She remembered the
+dogs; the bright gun-barrel above the chimney-piece; the steam of clothes
+hung to dry after many a soaking in &ldquo;soft&rdquo; weather; the reek of
+the peat; the brown eyes and steaming nostrils of the bullocks, that
+sometimes looked through the kitchen window in icy winter twilights, as
+though they would willingly change their byres for the warmth within.</p>
+<p>Mrs. Blanchard enjoyed the thought that her son should reanimate these
+scenes of her own childhood; and he, burning with energy and zeal, and not
+dead to his own significance as a man of money, saw promises of prosperity on
+either hand. It lay with him, he told his heart, to win smiling fatness from
+this hungry region. Right well he knew how it came about that those who had
+preceded him had failed, missed their opportunities, fooled themselves, and
+flung away their chances. Evidences of their ignorance stared at him from the
+curtains of the mist, but he knew better; he was a man who had thought a bit
+in his time and had his head screwed on the right way, thank God. These facts
+he poured into his mother&rsquo;s ear, and she smiled thoughtfully, noted the
+changes time had wrought, and indicated to him those things the landlord
+might reasonably be expected to do before Will should sign and seal.</p>
+<p>The survey ended, her son helped Damaris into a little market-cart, which
+he had bought for her upon coming into his fortune. A staid pony, also his
+purchase, completed the equipage, and presently Mrs. Blanchard drove
+comfortably away; while Will, who yet proposed to tramp, for the twentieth
+time, each acre of Newtake land, watched her depart, then turned to continue
+his researches. A world of thought rested on his brown face. Arrived at each
+little field, he licked his pencil, and made notes in a massive new
+pocketbook. He strode along like a conqueror of kingdoms, frowned and
+scratched his curly head as problem after problem rose, smiled when he solved
+them, and entered the solution in his book. For the wide world was full of
+young green, and this sanguine youth soared lark-high in soul under his happy
+circumstances. Will breathed out kindness to all mankind just at present, and
+now before that approaching welfare he saw writ largely in beggarly Newtake,
+before the rosy dawn which Hope spread over this cemetery of other
+men&rsquo;s dead aspirations, he felt his heart swell to the world. Two
+clouds only darkened his horizon then. One was the necessity of beginning the
+new life without his life&rsquo;s partner; while the other, formerly
+tremendous enough, had long since shrunk to a shadow on the horizon of the
+past. His secret still remained, but that circumstance was too remote to
+shadow the new enterprise. It existed, however, and its recurrence wove
+occasional gloomy patterns into the web of Will Blanchard&rsquo;s
+thought.</p>
+<h2><a id="II_III" name="II_III"></a>CHAPTER III<br />
+OVER A RIDING-WHIP</h2>
+<p>Will completed his survey and already saw, in his mind&rsquo;s eye, a
+brave masque of autumn gold spreading above the lean lands of Newtake. From
+this spectacle to that of garnered harvests and great gleaming stacks
+bursting with fatness the transition was natural and easy. He pictured kine
+in the farmyard, many sheep upon the hills, and Phoebe with such geese,
+ducks, and turkeys as should make her quite forget the poultry of Monks
+Barton. Then, having built castles in the air until his imagination was
+exhausted, Will shut the outer gate with the touch of possession, turned a
+moment to see how Newtake looked from the roadway, found only the shadow of
+it looming through the mist, and so departed, whistling and slapping his
+gaiters with an ash sapling.</p>
+<p>It happened that beside a gate which closed the moorland precincts to
+prevent cattle from wandering, a horseman stood, and as the pedestrian passed
+him in the gathering gloaming, he dropped his hunting-stock while making an
+effort to open the gate without dismounting.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Bide wheer you be!&rdquo; said Will; &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll pick un up
+an&rsquo; ope the gate for &rsquo;e.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He did so and handed the whip back to its owner. Then each recognised the
+other, and there was a moment of silence.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis you, Jan Grimbal, is it?&rdquo; asked the younger.
+&ldquo;I didn&rsquo;t knaw &rsquo;e in the dimpsy light.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He hesitated, and his words when they came halted somewhat, but his
+meaning was evident.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m glad you&rsquo;m back to home. I&rsquo;ll forget all
+what&rsquo;s gone, if you will. &rsquo;Twas give an&rsquo; take, I
+s&rsquo;pose. I took my awn anyway, an&rsquo; you comed near killing me
+for&rsquo;t, so we&rsquo;m upsides now, eh? We&rsquo;m men o&rsquo; the world
+likewise. So&mdash;so shall us shake hands an&rsquo; let bygones be, Jan
+Grimbal?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He half raised his hand, and looked up, with a smile at the corner of his
+lip ready to jump into life if the rider should accept his friendship. But
+Grimbal&rsquo;s response was otherwise.</p>
+<p>To say little goodness dwelt in this man had been untrue, but recent
+events and the first shattering reverse that life brought him proved
+sufficient to sour his very soul and eclipse a sun which aforetime shone with
+great geniality because unclouded. Fate hits such men particularly hard when
+her delayed blow falls. Existences long attuned to success and level fortune;
+lives which have passed through five-and-thirty years of their allotted span
+without much sorrow, without sharp thorns in the flesh, without those
+carking, gnawing trials of mind and body which Time stores up for all
+humanity&mdash;such feel disaster when it does reach them with a bitterness
+unknown by those who have been in misery&rsquo;s school from youth. Poverty
+does not bite the poor as it bites him who has known riches and afterwards
+fights destitution; feeble physical circumstances do not crush the congenital
+invalid, but they often come near to break the heart of a man who, until
+their black advent, has known nothing but rude health; great reverses in the
+vital issues of life and fortune fail to obliterate one who knows their faces
+of old, but the first enemy&rsquo;s cannon on Time&rsquo;s road must ever
+bring ugly shock to him who has advanced far and happily without meeting any
+such thing.</p>
+<p>Grimbal&rsquo;s existence had been of a rough-and-ready sort shone over by
+success. Philosophy he lacked, for life had never turned his mind that way;
+religion was likewise absent from him; and his recent tremendous
+disappointment thus thundered upon a mind devoid of any machinery to resist
+it. The possession of Phoebe Lyddon had come to be an accepted and
+accomplished fact; he chose her for his own, to share the good things Fortune
+had showered into his lap&mdash;to share them and be a crowning glory of
+them. The overthrow of this scheme at the moment of realisation upset his
+estimate of life in general and set him adrift and rudderless, in the
+hurricane of his first great reverse. Of selfish temperament, and doubly so
+by the accident of consistent success, the wintry wind of this calamity slew
+and then swept John Grimbal&rsquo;s common sense before it, like a dead leaf.
+All that was worst in him rose to the top upon his trouble, and since
+Will&rsquo;s marriage the bad had been winning on the good and thrusting it
+deeper and deeper out of sight or immediate possibility of recovery. At all
+times John Grimbal&rsquo;s inferior characteristics were most prominently
+displayed, and superficial students of character usually rated him lower than
+others really worse than himself, but who had wit to parade their best
+traits. Now, however, he rode and strode the country a mere scowling ruffian,
+with his uppermost emotions still stamped on his face. The calamity also bred
+an unsuspected sensitiveness in him, and he smarted often under the
+reflection of what others must be thinking. His capability towards
+vindictiveness proved very considerable. Formerly his anger against his
+fellow-men had been as a thunder-storm, tremendous but brief in duration;
+now, before this bolt of his own forging, a steady, malignant activity
+germinated and spread through the whole tissue of his mind.</p>
+<p>Those distractions open to a man of Grimbal&rsquo;s calibre presently
+blunted the edge of his loss, and successful developments of business also
+served to occupy him during the visit he paid to Africa; but no interests as
+yet had arisen to obscure or dull his hatred of Will Blanchard. The original
+blaze of rage sank to a steady, abiding fire, less obviously tremendous than
+that first conflagration, but in reality hotter. In a nature unsubtle,
+revenge will not flourish as a grand passion for any length of time. It must
+reach its outlet quickly and attain to its ambition without overmuch delay,
+else it shrivels and withers to a mere stubborn, perhaps lifelong,
+enmity&mdash;a dwarfish, mulish thing, devoid of any tragic splendour. But up
+to the point that John Grimbal had reached as yet, his character, though
+commonplace in most affairs, had unexpectedly quickened to a condition quite
+profound where his revenge was concerned.</p>
+<p>He still cherished the certainty of a crushing retaliation. He was glad he
+had not done Blanchard any lifelong injury; he was glad the man yet lived for
+time and him to busy themselves about; he was even glad (and herein appeared
+the unsuspected subtlety) that Will had prospered and come by a little show
+of fortune. Half unconsciously he hoped for the boy something of his own
+experiences, and had determined with himself&mdash;in a spirit very
+melodramatic but perfectly sincere at present&mdash;to ruin his enemy if
+patience and determination could accomplish it.</p>
+<p>In this mood, with his wrongs sharpened by return to Chagford and his
+purposes red-hot, John Grimbal now ran against his dearest foe, received the
+horsewhip from him, and listened to his offer of peace.</p>
+<p>He still kept silence and Will lowered the half-lifted arm and spoke
+again.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;As you please. I can bide very easy without your gude
+word.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s well, then,&rdquo; said the other, in his big voice,
+as his hands tightened. &ldquo;We&rsquo;ve met again. I&rsquo;m glad I
+didn&rsquo;t break your neck, for your heart&rsquo;s left to break, and by
+the living God I&rsquo;ll break it! I can wait. I&rsquo;m older than you, but
+young enough. Remember, I&rsquo;ll run you down sooner or later. I&rsquo;ve
+hunted most things, and men aren&rsquo;t the cleverest beasts and
+you&rsquo;re not the cleverest man I&rsquo;ve bested in my time. You beat
+me&mdash;I know it&mdash;but it would have been better for you if you
+hadn&rsquo;t been born. There&rsquo;s the truth for your country ears, you
+damned young hound. I&rsquo;ll fight fair and I&rsquo;ll fight to the finish.
+Sport&mdash;that&rsquo;s what it is. The birds and the beasts and the fish
+have their close time; but there won&rsquo;t be any close time for you, not
+while I can think and work against you. So now you know. D&rsquo; you hear
+me?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess,&rdquo; said Will, meeting the other&rsquo;s fierce eyes;
+&ldquo;I hear &rsquo;e, an&rsquo; so might the dead in Chagford
+buryin&rsquo;-ground. You hollers loud enough. I ban&rsquo;t &rsquo;feared of
+nothing a hatch-mouthed,<a id="footnotetag7" name="footnotetag7"></a><a href=
+"#footnote7"><sup>7</sup></a> crooked-minded man, same as you be, can do.
+An&rsquo; if I&rsquo;m a hound, you &rsquo;m a dirty red fox, an&rsquo;
+everybody knaws who comes out top when they meet. Steal my gal, would
+&rsquo;e? Gaw your ways, an&rsquo; mend your ways, an&rsquo; swallow your
+bile. I doan&rsquo;t care a flicker o&rsquo; wildfire for
+&rsquo;e!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>John Grimbal heard only the beginning of this speech, for he turned his
+back on Will and rode away while the younger man still shouted after him.
+Blanchard was in a rage, and would have liked to make a third trial of
+strength with his enemy on the spot, but the rider vanished and Will quickly
+cooled as he went down the hill to Chagford. The remembrance of this
+interview, for all his scorn, chilled him when he reflected on John
+Grimbal&rsquo;s threats. He feared nothing indeed, but here was another
+cloud, and a black one, blown violently back from below the horizon of his
+life to the very zenith. Malignity of this type was strange to him and
+differed widely from the petty bickerings, jealousies, and strifes of
+ordinary country existence. It discouraged him to feel in his hour of
+universal contentment that a strong, bitter foe would now be at hand, forever
+watching to bring ruin on him at the first opportunity. As he walked home he
+asked himself how he should feel and act in Grimbal&rsquo;s shoes, and tried
+to look at the position from his enemy&rsquo;s standpoint. Of course he told
+himself that he would have accepted defeat with right philosophy. It was a
+just fix for a man to find himself in,&mdash;a proper punishment for a mean
+act. Arguing thus, from the right side of the hedge, he forgot what wiser men
+have forgotten, that there is no disputing about man&rsquo;s affection for
+woman, there is no transposition of the standpoint, there is no looking
+through another&rsquo;s eyes upon a girl. Many have loved, and many have
+rendered vivid pictures of the emotion, touched with insight of genius and
+universally proclaimed true to nature from general experience; but no two men
+love alike, and neither you nor another man can better say how a third feels
+under the yoke, estimate his thrall, or foretell his actions, despite your
+own experience, than can one sufferer from gout, though it has torn him half
+a hundred times, gauge the qualities of another&rsquo;s torment under the
+same disease. Will could not guess what John Grimbal had felt for Phoebe; he
+knew nothing of the other&rsquo;s disposition, because, young in knowledge of
+the world and a boy still, despite his age, it was beyond him to appreciate
+even remotely the mind of a man fifteen years older than himself&mdash;a man
+of very different temper and one whose life had been such as we have just
+described.</p>
+<p>Home went Blanchard, and kept his meeting secret. His mother, returning
+long before him, was already in some argument with Chris concerning the
+disposal of certain articles of furniture, the pristine splendour of which
+had been worn off at Newtake five-and-thirty years before. At Farmer
+Ford&rsquo;s death these things passed to his son, and he, not requiring
+them, had made them over to Damaris.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They was flam-new when first my parents married and comed to
+Newtake, many a year ago; and now I want &rsquo;em to go back theer.
+They&rsquo;ve seed three generations, an&rsquo; I&rsquo;d be well pleased
+that a fourth should kick its li&rsquo;l boots out against them. They
+&rsquo;m stout enough yet. Sweat went to building of chairs an&rsquo; tables
+in them days; now it&rsquo;s steam. Besides, &rsquo;twill save Will&rsquo;s
+pocket a tidy bit.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Chris, however, though she could deny Will nothing, was divided here, for
+why should her mother part from those trifles which contributed to the ample
+adornment of her cottage? Certain stout horsehair furniture and a piano were
+the objects Mrs. Blanchard chiefly desired should go to Newtake. The piano,
+indeed, had never been there before. It was a present to Damaris from her
+dead husband, who purchased the instrument second-hand for five pounds at a
+farm sale. Its wiry jingle spoke of evolution from harpsichord or spinet to
+the modern instrument; its yellow keys, from which the ivory in some cases
+was missing, and its high back, stained silk front, and fretted veneer
+indicated age; while above the keyboard a label, now growing indistinct, set
+forth that one &ldquo;William Harper, of Red Lion Street, Maker of
+piano-fortes to his late Majesty&rdquo; was responsible for the instrument
+very early in the century.</p>
+<p>Now Will joined the discussion, but his mother would take no denial.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;These chairs and sofa be yours, and the piano&rsquo;s my present to
+Phoebe. She&rsquo;ll play to you of a Sunday afternoon belike.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; it&rsquo;s here she&rsquo;ll do it; for my
+Sundays&rsquo;ll be spent along with you, of coourse, &rsquo;cept when you
+comes up to my farm to spend &rsquo;em. That&rsquo;s what I hope&rsquo;ll
+fall out; an&rsquo; I want to see Miller theer, tu, after he&rsquo;ve found
+I&rsquo;m right and he&rsquo;m wrong.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>But the event proved that, even in his new capacity as a man of money and
+a landholder, Will was not to win much ground with Mr. Lyddon. Two
+circumstances contributed to the continued conflict, and just as Phoebe was
+congratulating herself and others upon the increasing amity between her
+father and her husband matters fell out which caused the miller to give up
+all hope of Will for the hundredth time. First came the occupancy of Newtake
+at a rent Mr. Lyddon considered excessive; and then followed a circumstance
+that touched the miller himself, for, by the offer of two shillings more a
+week than he received at Monks Barton, Will tempted into his service a
+labourer held in great esteem by his father-in-law.</p>
+<p>Sam Bonus appeared the incarnation of red Devon earth, built up on solid
+beef and mutton. His tanned face was framed in crisp black hair that no razor
+had ever touched; his eyes were deep-set and bright; his narrow brow was
+wrinkled, not with thought, but as the ape&rsquo;s. A remarkably tall and
+powerful frame supported Sam&rsquo;s little head. He laboured like a horse
+and gave as little trouble, triumphed in feats of brute strength, laughed at
+a day&rsquo;s work, never knew ache or pain. He had always greatly admired
+Blanchard, and, faced with the tempting bait of a florin a week more than his
+present wage, abandoned Monks Barton and readily followed Will to the Moor.
+His defection was greatly deplored, and though Will told Mr. Blee what he
+intended beforehand, and made no secret of his design to secure Sam if
+possible, Billy discredited the information until too late. Then the miller
+heard of his loss, and, not unnaturally, took the business ill.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Gormed if it ban&rsquo;t open robbery!&rdquo; declared Mr. Blee, as
+he sat and discussed the matter with his master one evening, &ldquo;an&rsquo;
+the thankless, ill-convenient twoad to go to Blanchard, of all
+men!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;ll be out of work again soon enough. And he needn&rsquo;t
+come back to me when he is. I won&rsquo;t take him on no more.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Twould be contrary to human nature if you did.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Human nature!&rdquo; snapped the miller, with extreme irritation.
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Twould puzzle Solomon to say what&rsquo;s come over human
+nature of late days.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis a nut wi&rsquo; a maggot in it,&rdquo; mused Billy:
+&ldquo;three parts rotten, the rest sweet. An&rsquo; all owing to fantastic
+inventions an&rsquo; new ways of believin&rsquo; in God wi&rsquo;out
+church-gwaine, as parson said Sunday. Such things do certainly Play hell with
+human nature, in a manner o&rsquo; speakin&rsquo;. I reckon the uprising men
+an&rsquo; women&rsquo;s wickeder than us, as sucked our mothers in quieter
+times afore the railroads.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Bonus is such a fule!&rdquo; said Mr. Lyddon, harking back to his
+loss. &ldquo;Yet I thought he belonged to the gude old-fashioned
+sort.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I told un he was out in his reckoning, that he&rsquo;d be left in
+the cold bimebye, so sure as Blanchard was Blanchard and Newtake was Newtake;
+but he awnly girned his gert, ear-wide girn, an&rsquo; said he knawed
+better.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;To think of more gude money bein&rsquo; buried up theer!
+You&rsquo;ve heard my view of all ground wi&rsquo; granite under it. Such a
+deal ought to have been done wi&rsquo; that thousand pound.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oughts are noughts, onless they&rsquo;ve strokes to
+&rsquo;em,&rdquo; declared Billy. &ldquo;&rsquo;Tis a poor lookout, for
+he&rsquo;m the sort as buys experience in the hardest market. Then, when
+it&rsquo;s got, he&rsquo;ll be a pauper man, with what he knaws useless for
+want o&rsquo; what&rsquo;s spent gettin&rsquo; it. Theer&rsquo;s the thought
+o&rsquo; Miss Phoebe, tu,&mdash;Mrs. Blanchard, I should say. Caan&rsquo;t
+see her biding up to Newtake nohow, come the hard weather.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Wedlock an&rsquo; winter tames maids an&rsquo;
+beastes,&rsquo;&rdquo; said Mr. Lyddon bitterly. &ldquo;A true saw
+that.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess; an&rsquo; when &rsquo;tis wedlock wi&rsquo; Blanchard,
+an&rsquo; winter on Dartymoor, &rsquo;twould tame the daughter of the Dowl,
+if he had wan.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Billy laughed at this thought. His back rounded as he sat in his chair,
+his head seemed to rise off his lower jaw, and the yellow frill of hair under
+his chin stood stiffly out.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;s my son-in-law; you &rsquo;pear to forget that,
+Blee,&rdquo; said Mr. Lyddon; &ldquo;I&rsquo;m sure I wish I could, if
+&rsquo;twas even now an&rsquo; again.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Thereupon Billy straightened his face and cast both rancour and merriment
+to the winds.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why, so he be; an&rsquo; grey hairs should allus make allowance for
+the young youths; though I ain&rsquo;t forgot that spadeful o&rsquo; muck
+yet, an&rsquo; never shall. But theer&rsquo;s poison in bwoy&rsquo;s blood
+what awnly works out of the brain come forty. I&rsquo;m sure I wish nothing
+but well to un. He&rsquo;s got his saving graces, same as all of us, if we
+could but see &rsquo;em; an&rsquo; come what may, God looks arter His awn
+chosen fules, so theer&rsquo;s hope even for Blanchard.&rdquo; &ldquo;Cold
+consolation,&rdquo; said Mr. Lyddon wearily; &ldquo;but&rsquo;t is all
+we&rsquo;ve got. Two nights since I dreamt I saw un starvin&rsquo; on a
+dunghill. &rsquo;T was a parable, I judge, an&rsquo; meant Newtake
+Farm.&rdquo;</p>
+<h2><a id="II_IV" name="II_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV<br />
+DEFEATED HOPES</h2>
+<p>Below Newtake Farm the river Teign wound, with many a foaming fall and
+singing rapid, to confluence with her twin sister in the valley beneath.
+Here, at a certain spot, above the forest and beneath the farm, stood Martin
+Grimbal on a bright afternoon in May. Over his head rose a rowan, in a soft
+cloud of serrated foliage, with clusters of grey-green flower buds already
+foretelling the crimson to come; about his feet a silver army of uncurling
+fronds brightened the earth and softened the sharp edges of the boulders
+scattered down the coomb. Here the lover waited to the music of a cuckoo, and
+his eyes ever turned towards a stile at the edge of the pine woods, two
+hundred yards distant from him.</p>
+<p>The hour was one of tremendous possibilities, because Fate had been
+occupied with Martin through many days, and now he stood on the brink of
+great joy or sorrow. Clement Hicks had never spoken to him. During his
+quarrel with Chris, which lasted a fortnight, the bee-keeper purposely
+abstained from doing her bidding, while after their reconciliation every
+other matter in the world was swallowed up for a time in the delight of
+renewed love-making. The girl, assuming throughout these long weeks that
+Martin now knew all, had met him in frank and kindly spirit on those
+occasions when he planned to enjoy her society, and this open warmth awoke
+renewed heart for Grimbal, who into her genial friendship read promise and
+from it recruited hope. His love now dominated his spiritual being and filled
+his life. Grey granite was grey granite only, and no more. During his long
+walks by pillar-stone, remote row, and lonely circle, Chris, and Chris alone,
+occupied his brain. He debated the advisability of approaching Will, then
+turned rather to the thought of sounding Mrs. Blanchard, and finally nerved
+himself to right action and determined to address Chris. He felt this present
+heart-shaking suspense must be laid at rest, for the peace of his soul, and
+therefore he took his courage in his hands and faced the ordeal.</p>
+<p>That day Chris was going up to Newtake. She had not yet settled there,
+though her brother and Sam Bonus were already upon the ground, but the girl
+came and went, busying her fingers with a hundred small matters that daily
+increased the comfort of the little farm. Her way lay usually by the coomb,
+and Martin, having learned that she was visiting Will on the occasion in
+question, set out before her and awaited her here, beside the river, in a
+lonely spot between the moorland above and the forest below. He felt
+physically nervous, yet hope brightened his mind, though he tried to strangle
+it. Worn and weary with his long struggle, he paced up and down, now looking
+to the stile, now casting dissatisfied glances upon his own person. Shaving
+with more than usual care, he had cut his chin deeply, and, though he knew it
+not, the wound had bled again since he left home and ruined both his collar
+and a new tie, put on for the occasion.</p>
+<p>Presently he saw her. A sunbonnet bobbed at the stile and Chris appeared,
+bearing a roll of chintz for Newtake blinds. In her other hand she carried
+half a dozen bluebells from the woods, and she came with the free gait
+acquired in keeping stride through long tramps with Will when yet her frocks
+were short. Martin loved her characteristic speed in walking. So Diana
+doubtless moved. The spring sunshine had found Chris and the clear, soft
+brown of her cheek was the most beautiful thing in nature to the antiquary.
+He knew her face so well now: the dainty poise of her head, the light of her
+eyes, the dark curls that always clustered in the same places, the little
+updrawing at the corner of her mouth as she smiled, the sudden gleam of her
+teeth when she laughed, and the abrupt transitions of her expression from
+repose to gladness, from gladness back again into repose.</p>
+<p>She saw the man before she reached him, and waved her bluebells to show
+that she had done so. Then he rose from his granite seat and took off his hat
+and stood with it off, while his heart thundered, his eye watered, and his
+mouth twitched. But he was outwardly calm by the time Chris reached him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What a surprise to find &rsquo;e here, Martin! Yet not much,
+neither, for wheer the auld stones be, theer you &rsquo;m to be
+expected.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How are you, Chris? But I needn&rsquo;t ask. Yes, I&rsquo;m fond of
+the stones.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well you may be. They talk to &rsquo;e like friends, seemingly.
+An&rsquo; even I knaw a sight more &rsquo;bout &rsquo;em now. You&rsquo;ve
+made me feel so differ&rsquo;nt to &rsquo;em, you caan&rsquo;t
+think.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;For that matter,&rdquo; he answered, leaping at the chance,
+&ldquo;you&rsquo;ve made me feel different to them.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why, how could I, Martin?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll tell you. Would you mind sitting down here, just for a
+moment? I won&rsquo;t keep you. I&rsquo;ve no right to ask for a minute of
+your time; but there&rsquo;s dry moss upon it&mdash;I mean the stone; and I
+was waiting on purpose, if you&rsquo;ll forgive me for waylaying you like
+this. There&rsquo;s a little thing&mdash;a big thing, I mean&mdash;the
+biggest&mdash;too big for words almost, yet it wants words&mdash;and yet
+sometimes it doesn&rsquo;t&mdash;at least&mdash;I&mdash;would you sit
+here?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He was breathing rather hard, and his words were tripping. Managing his
+voice ill, the tones of it ran away from bass to shrill treble. She saw it
+all at a glance, and realised that Martin had been blundering on, in pure
+ignorance and pure love, all these weary weeks. She sat down silently and her
+mind moved like light along the wide gamut of fifty emotions in a second.
+Anger and sorrow strove together,&mdash;anger with Clem and his callous,
+cynic silence, sorrow for the panting wretch before her. Chris opened her
+mouth to speak, then realised where her flying thoughts had taken her and
+that, as yet, Martin Grimbal had said nothing. Her unmaidenly attitude and
+the sudden reflection that she was about to refuse one before he had asked
+her, awoke a hysteric inclination to laugh, then a longing to cry. But all
+the anxious-visaged man before her noted was a blush that waved like auroral
+light from the girl&rsquo;s neck to her cheek, from her cheek to her
+forehead. That he saw, and thought it was love, and thanked the Lord in his
+clumsy fashion aloud.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;God be praised! I do think you guess&mdash;I do think you guess!
+But oh, my dear, my dear, you don&rsquo;t know what &rsquo;s in my heart for
+you. My little pearl of a Chris, can you care for such a bear of a man? Can
+you let me labour all my life long to make your days good to you? I love you
+so&mdash;I do. I never thought when the moment came I should find tongue to
+speak it, but I have; and now I could say it fifty thousand times. I&rsquo;d
+just be proud to tie your shoe-string, Chris, my dear, and be your old slave
+and&mdash;Chris! my Chris! I&rsquo;ve hurt you; I&rsquo;ve made you cry! Was
+I&mdash;was I all wrong? Don&rsquo;t, don&rsquo;t&mdash;I&rsquo;ll
+go&mdash;Oh, my darling one, God knows I wouldn&rsquo;t&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He broke off blankly and stood half sorrowful, half joyous. He knew he had
+no right as yet to go to the comfort of the girl now sobbing beside him, but
+hope was not dead. And Chris, overcome by this outpouring of love, now
+suffered very deep sorrow, while she turned away from him and hid her face
+and wept. The poor distracted fool still failed to guess the truth, for he
+knew tint tears are the outcome of happiness as well as misery. He waited,
+open-mouthed, he murmured something&mdash;God knows what&mdash;then he went
+close and thought to touch her waist, but feared and laid his hand gently on
+her shoulder.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t &rsquo;e!&rdquo; she said; and he began to understand
+and to struggle with himself to lessen her difficulty.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Forgive me&mdash;forgive me if you can, Chris. Was I all wrong?
+Then I ought to have known better&mdash;but even an old stick like
+me&mdash;before you, Chris. Somehow I&mdash;but don&rsquo;t cry. I
+wouldn&rsquo;t have brought the tears to your eyes for all the
+world&mdash;dense idiot I am&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, no, no; no such thing &rsquo;t all, Martin. &rsquo;Tis I was
+cruel not to see you didn&rsquo;t knaw. You&rsquo;ve been treated ill,
+an&rsquo; I&rsquo;m cryin&rsquo; that such a gude&mdash;gude, braave,
+big-hearted man as you, should be brought to this for a fule of a gal like
+me. I ban&rsquo;t worthy a handshake from &rsquo;e, or a kind word.
+An&rsquo;&mdash;an&rsquo;&mdash;Clem Hicks&mdash;Clem be tokened to me these
+two year an&rsquo; more. He&rsquo;m the best man in the world; an&rsquo; I
+hate un for not tellin&rsquo;
+&rsquo;e&mdash;an&rsquo;&mdash;an&rsquo;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Chris sobbed herself to the end of her tears; and the man took his
+trial&mdash;like a man. His only thought was the sadness his blunder had
+brought with it for her. To misread her blush seemed in his humility a crime.
+His consistent unselfishness blinded him, for an instant at least, to his own
+grief. He blamed himself and asked pardon and prepared to get away out of her
+sight as soon as possible.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Forgive me, Chris&mdash;I needn&rsquo;t ask you twice, I
+know&mdash;such a stupid thing&mdash;I didn&rsquo;t understand&mdash;I never
+observed: but more shame to me. I ought to have seen, of course. Anybody else
+would&mdash;any man of proper feeling.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How could &rsquo;e see it with a secret chap like him? He ought to
+have told &rsquo;e; I bid un speak months since; an&rsquo; I thought he had;
+an&rsquo; I hate un for not doing it!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But you mustn&rsquo;t. Don&rsquo;t cry any more, and forget all
+about it. I could almost laugh to think how blind I&rsquo;ve been.
+We&rsquo;ll both laugh next time we meet. If you&rsquo;re happy, then
+I&rsquo;ll laugh always. That&rsquo;s all I care for. Now I know you
+&rsquo;re happy again, I&rsquo;m happy, too, Chris&mdash;honour bright. And
+I&rsquo;ll be a friend still&mdash;remember that&mdash;always&mdash;to
+you&mdash;to you and him.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I hate un, I say.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why, he didn&rsquo;t give me credit for being such a bat&mdash;such
+a mole. Now I must be away. We&rsquo;ll meet pretty soon, I expect. Just
+forget this afternoon as though it had never been, even though it&rsquo;s
+such a jolly sunny one. And remember me as a friend&mdash;a friend still for
+all my foolishness. Good-by for the present. Good-by.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He nodded, making the parting a slight thing and not missing the ludicrous
+in his anxiety to spare her pain. He went down the valley, leaving her
+sitting alone. He assumed a jaunty air and did not look round, but hastened
+off to the stile. Never in his most light-hearted moments had he walked thus
+or struck right and left at the leaves and shrubs with such a clumsy
+affectation of nonchalance. Thus he played the fool until out of sight; then
+his head came down, and his feet dragged, and his walk and mien grew years
+older than his age. He stopped presently and stood still, staring upon the
+silence. Westering sunlight winnowed through the underwood, splashed into its
+sombre depths and brightened the sobriety of a grey carpet dotted with dead
+cones. Sweet scents floated downward upon the sad whisper that lives in every
+pine forest; then came suddenly a crisp rattle of little claws and a tiny
+barking, where two red squirrels made love, high aloft, amid the grey lichens
+and emerald haze of a great larch that gleamed like a green lamp through the
+night of the dark surrounding foliage.</p>
+<p>Martin Grimbal dropped his stick and flung down his body in the hushed and
+hidden dreamland of the wood. Now he knew that his hope had lied to him, that
+the judgment he prided himself upon, and which had prompted him to this great
+deed, was at fault. The more than common tact and delicacy of feeling he had
+sometimes suspected he possessed in rare, exalted moments, were now shown
+vain ideas born from his own conceit; and the event had proved him no more
+subtle, clever, or far-seeing than other men. Indeed, he rated himself as an
+abject blunderer and thought he saw how a great overwhelming fear, at the
+bottom of his worship of Chris, had been the only true note in all that past
+war of emotions. But he had refused to listen and pushed forward; and now he
+stood thus. Looking back in the light of his defeat, his previous temerity
+amazed him. His own ugliness, awkwardness, and general unfitness to be the
+husband of Chris were ideas now thrust upward in all honesty to the top of
+his mind. No mock modesty or simulated delicacy inspired them, for after
+defeat a man is frank with himself. Whatever he may have pretended before he
+puts his love to the test, however he may have blinded himself as to his real
+feelings and beliefs before he offers his heart, after the event has ended
+unfavourably his real soul stands naked before him and, according to his
+character, he decides whether himself or the girl is the fool. Grimbal
+criticised his own audacity with scanty compassion now; and the thought of
+the tears of Chris made him clench one hand and smash it hard again and again
+into the palm of the other. No passionate protest rose in his mind against
+the selfish silence of Clement Hicks; he only saw his own blindness and
+magnified it into an absolute offence against Chris. Presently, as the
+sunlight sank lower, and the straight stems of the pines glimmered red-gold
+against the deepening gloom, Martin retraced the scene that was past and
+recalled her words and actions, her tears, the trembling of her mouth, and
+that gesture when the wild flowers dropped from her hand and her fingers went
+up to cover her eyes. Then a sudden desire mastered him: to possess the
+purple of her bluebell bouquet. He knew she would not pick it up again when
+he was gone; so he returned, stood in that theatre of Fate beneath the rowan,
+saw where her body had pressed the grass, and found the fading flowers.</p>
+<p>Then he turned to tramp home, with the truth gnawing his heart at last.
+The excitement was over, all flutter of hope and fear at rest. Only that
+bitter fact of failure remained, with the knowledge that one, but yesterday
+so essential and so near, had now vanished like a rainbow beyond his
+reach.</p>
+<p>Martin&rsquo;s eyes were opened in the light of this experience. John came
+into his mind, and estimating his brother&rsquo;s sufferings by his own, the
+stricken man found room in his sad heart for pity.</p>
+<h2><a id="II_V" name="II_V"></a>CHAPTER V<br />
+THE ZEAL OF SAM BONUS</h2>
+<p>Under conditions of spring and summer Newtake Farm flattered Will&rsquo;s
+hopes not a little. He worked like a giant, appropriated some of that credit
+belonging to fine weather, and viewed the future with very considerable
+tranquillity. Of beasts he purchased wisely, being guided in that matter by
+Mr. Lyddon; but for the rest he was content to take his own advice. Already
+his ambition extended beyond the present limits of his domain; already he
+contemplated the possibility of reclaiming some of the outlying waste and
+enlarging his borders. If the Duchy might spread greedy fingers and inclose
+&ldquo;newtakes,&rdquo; why not the Venville tenants? Many besides Will asked
+themselves that question; the position was indeed fruitful of disputes in
+various districts, especially on certain questions involving cattle; and no
+moorland Quarter breathed forth greater discontent against the powers than
+that of which Chagford was the central parish.</p>
+<p>Sam Bonus, inspired by his master&rsquo;s sanguine survey of life, toiled
+amain, believed all that Will predicted, and approved each enterprise he
+planned; while as for Chris, in due time she settled at Newtake and undertook
+woman&rsquo;s work there with her customary thoroughness and energy. To her
+lot fell the poultry, the pair of fox-hound puppies that Will undertook to
+keep for the neighbouring hunt, and all the interior economy and control of
+the little household.</p>
+<p>On Sundays Phoebe heard of the splendid doings at Newtake; upon which she
+envied Chris her labours, and longed to be at Will&rsquo;s right hand. For
+the present, however, Miller Lyddon refused his daughter permission even to
+visit the farm; and she obeyed, despite her husband&rsquo;s indignant
+protests.</p>
+<p>Thus matters stood while the sun shone brightly from summer skies. Will,
+when he visited Chagford market, talked to the grizzled farmers, elaborated
+his experience, shook his head or nodded it knowingly as they, in their turn,
+discussed the business of life, paid due respect to their wisdom, and offered
+a little of his own in exchange for it. That the older men lacked pluck was
+his secret conviction. The valley folk were braver; but the upland
+agriculturists, all save himself, went in fear. Their eyes were careworn,
+their caution extreme; behind the summer they saw another shadow forever
+moving; and the annual struggle with those ice-bound or water-logged months
+of the early year, while as yet the Moor had nothing for their stock, left
+them wearied and spiritless when the splendour of the summer came. They
+farmed furtively, snatching at such good as appeared, distrusting their own
+husbandry, fattening the land with reluctance, cowering under the shadow of
+withered hopes and disappointments too numerous to count. Will pitied this
+mean spirit and, unfamiliar with wet autumns and hard winters on the high
+land, laughed at his fellow-countrymen. But they were kind and bid him be
+cautious and keep his little nest-egg snug.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Tie it up in stout leather, my son,&rdquo; said a farmer from
+Gidleigh. &ldquo;Ay, an&rsquo; fasten the bag wi&rsquo; a knot as&rsquo;ll
+take &rsquo;e half an hour to undo; an&rsquo; remember, the less you open it,
+the better for your peace of mind.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>All of which good counsel Blanchard received with expressions of
+gratitude, yet secretly held to be but the croaking of a past generation,
+stranded far behind that wave of progress on which he himself was advancing
+crest-high.</p>
+<p>It happened one evening, when Clement Hicks visited Newtake to go for a
+walk under the full moon with Chris, that he learnt she was away for a few
+days. This fact had been mentioned to Clement; but he forgot it, and now
+found himself here, with only Will and Sam Bonus for company. He accepted the
+young farmer&rsquo;s invitation to supper, and the result proved unlucky in
+more directions than one. During this meal Clem railed in surly vein against
+the whole order of things as it affected himself, and made egotistical
+complaint as to the hardness of life; then, when his host began to offer
+advice, he grew savage and taunted Will with his own unearned good fortune.
+Blanchard, weary after a day of tremendous physical exertion, made sharp
+answer. He felt his old admiration for Clem Hicks much lessened of late, and
+it nettled him not a little that his friend should thus attribute his present
+position to the mere accident of a windfall. He was heartily sick of the
+other&rsquo;s endless complaints, and now spoke roughly and to the point.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What the devil&rsquo;s the gude of this eternal bleat? You&rsquo;m
+allus snarlin&rsquo; an&rsquo; gnashin&rsquo; your teeth &rsquo;gainst God,
+like a rat bitin&rsquo; the stick that&rsquo;s killin&rsquo; it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And why should God kill me? You&rsquo;ve grown so wise of late,
+perhaps you know.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why shouldn&rsquo;t He? Why shouldn&rsquo;t He kill you, or any
+other man, if He wants the room of un for a better? Not that I believe
+parson&rsquo;s stuff more &rsquo;n you; but grizzlin&rsquo; your guts to
+fiddlestrings won&rsquo;t mend your fortune. Best to put your time into work,
+&rsquo;stead o&rsquo; talk&mdash;same as me an&rsquo; Bonus. And as for my
+money, you knaw right well if theer&rsquo;d been two thousand &rsquo;stead of
+wan, I&rsquo;d have shared it with Chris.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Easy to say! If there had been two, you would have said, &rsquo;If
+it was only four&rsquo;! That&rsquo;s human nature.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ban&rsquo;t my nature, anyway, to tell a lie!&rdquo; burst out
+Will.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Perhaps it&rsquo;s your nature to do worse. What were you about
+last Christmas?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Blanchard set down knife and fork and looked the other in the face. None
+had heard this, for Bonus, his meal ended, went off to the little tallet over
+a cattle-byre which was his private apartment.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;d rip that up again&mdash;you, who swore never to
+open&rsquo; your mouth upon it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;re frightened now.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not of you, anyway. But you&rsquo;d best not to come up here no
+more. I&rsquo;m weary of you; I don&rsquo;t fear you worse than a blind worm;
+but such as you are, you&rsquo;ve grawed against me since my luck comed. I
+wish Chris would drop you as easy as I can, for you&rsquo;m teachin&rsquo;
+her to waste her life, same as you waste yours.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Very well, I&rsquo;ll go. We&rsquo;re enemies henceforth, since you
+wish it so.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Blamed if you ban&rsquo;t enough to weary Job!
+&rsquo;Enemies&rsquo;! It&rsquo;s like a child talkin&rsquo;.
+&rsquo;Enemies&rsquo;! D&rsquo;you think I care a damn wan way or
+t&rsquo;other? You&rsquo;m so bad as Jan Grimbal wi&rsquo; his big
+play-actin&rsquo; talk. He&rsquo;m gwaine to cut my tether some day.
+P&rsquo;r&rsquo;aps you&rsquo;ll go an&rsquo; help un to do it! The past is
+done, an&rsquo; no man who weern&rsquo;t devil all through would go back on
+such a oath as you sweared to me. An&rsquo; you won&rsquo;t. As to
+what&rsquo;s to come, you can&rsquo;t hurt a straight plain-dealer, same as
+me, though you&rsquo;m free an&rsquo; welcome to try if you please
+to.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The future may take care of itself; and for your straight speaking
+I&rsquo;ll give you mine. Go your way and I&rsquo;ll go my way; but until you
+beg my forgiveness for this night&rsquo;s talk I&rsquo;ll never cross your
+threshold again, or speak to you, or think of you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Clement rose from his unfinished food, picked up his hat, and vanished,
+and Will, dismissing the matter with a toss of his head and a contemptuous
+expiration of breath, gave the poet&rsquo;s plate of cold potato and bacon to
+a sheep-dog and lighted his pipe.</p>
+<p>Not ten hours later, while yet some irritation at the beekeeper&rsquo;s
+spleen troubled Blanchard&rsquo;s thoughts as he laboured upon his land, a
+voice saluted him from the highway and he saw a friend.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; gude-marnin&rsquo; to you, Martin. Another braave day,
+sure &rsquo;nough. Climb awver the hedge. You&rsquo;m movin&rsquo; early.
+Ban&rsquo;t eight o&rsquo;clock.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m off to the &lsquo;Grey Wethers,&rsquo; those old ruined
+circles under Sittaford Tor, you know. But I meant a visit to you as well.
+Bonus was in the farmyard and brought me with him.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess fay, us works, I tell &rsquo;e. We&rsquo;m fightin&rsquo; the
+rabbits now. The li&rsquo;l varmints have had it all theer way tu long; but
+this wire netting&rsquo;ll keep &rsquo;em out the corn next year an&rsquo;
+the turnips come autumn. How be you fearin&rsquo;? I aint seen &rsquo;e this
+longful time.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, thank you; and as busy as you in my way. I&rsquo;m going to
+write a book about the Dartmoor stones.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;S truth! Be you? Who&rsquo;ll read it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t know yet. And, after all, I have found out little that
+sharper eyes haven&rsquo;t discovered already. Still, it fills my time. And
+it is that I&rsquo;m here about.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You can go down awver my land to the hut-circles an&rsquo; welcome
+whenever you mind to.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Sure of it, and thank you; but it&rsquo;s another thing just
+now&mdash;your brother-in-law to be. I think perhaps, if he has leisure, he
+might be useful to me. A very clever fellow, Hicks.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>But Will was in no humour to hear Clement praised just then, or suggest
+schemes for his advancement.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;m a weak sapling of a man, if you ax me. Allus
+grumblin&rsquo;, an&rsquo; soft wi&rsquo; it&mdash;as I knaw&mdash;none
+better,&rdquo; said Blanchard, watching Bonus struggle with the rabbit
+netting.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;s out of his element, I think&mdash;a student&mdash;a
+bookish man, like myself.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;As like you as chalk&rsquo;s like cheese&mdash;no more. His temper,
+tu! A bull in spring&rsquo;s a fule to him. I&rsquo;m weary of him an&rsquo;
+his cleverness.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You see, if I may venture to say so, Chris&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I knaw all &rsquo;bout that. &rsquo;Tis like your gudeness to try
+an&rsquo; put a li&rsquo;l money in his pocket wi&rsquo;out stepping on his
+corns. They &rsquo;m tokened. Young people &rsquo;s so muddle-headed. Bees
+indeed! Nice things to keep a wife an&rsquo; bring up a fam&rsquo;ly on!
+An&rsquo; he do nothin&rsquo; but write rhymes, an&rsquo; tear &rsquo;em up
+again, an&rsquo; cuss his luck, wi&rsquo;out tryin&rsquo; to mend it. I
+thought something of un wance, when I was no more &rsquo;n a bwoy, but as I
+get up in years I see the emptiness of un.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He would grow happy and sweeter-hearted if he could marry your
+sister.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not him! Of course, if it&rsquo;s got to be, it will be. I
+ban&rsquo;t gwaine to see Chris graw into an auld maid. An&rsquo; come
+bimebye, when I&rsquo;ve saved a few hunderd, I shall set &rsquo;em up
+myself. But she&rsquo;s makin&rsquo; a big mistake, an&rsquo;, to a friend, I
+doan&rsquo;t mind tellin&rsquo; &rsquo;e &rsquo;tis so.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I hope you&rsquo;re wrong. They&rsquo;ll be happy together. They
+have great love each for the other. But, of course, that&rsquo;s nothing to
+do with me. I merely want Hicks to undertake some clerical work for me, as a
+matter of business, and I thought you might tell me the best way to tackle
+him without hurting his feelings. He&rsquo;s a proud man, I fancy.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess; an&rsquo; pride&rsquo;s a purty fulish coat for poverty,
+ban&rsquo;t it? I&rsquo;ve gived that man as gude advice as ever I gived any
+man; but what&rsquo;s well-thought-out wisdom to the likes of him? Get un a
+job if you mind to. I shouldn&rsquo;t&mdash;not till he shaws better metal
+and grips the facts o&rsquo; life wi&rsquo; a tighter hand.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll sound him as delicately as I can. It may be that his
+self-respect would strengthen if he found his talents appreciated and able to
+command a little money. He wants something of that sort&mdash;eh?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Doan&rsquo;t knaw but what a hiding wouldn&rsquo;t be so gude for
+un as anything,&rdquo; mused Will. There was no animosity in the reflection.
+His ill-temper had long since vanished, and he considered Clement as he might
+have considered a young, wayward dog which had erred and brought itself
+within reach of the lash.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I was welted in my time hard an&rsquo; often, an&rsquo; be none the
+worse,&rdquo; he continued.</p>
+<p>Martin smiled and shook his head.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Might have served him once; too late now for that remedy, I
+fear.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>There was a brief pause, then Will changed the conversation abruptly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How&rsquo;s your brother Jan?&rdquo; he asked.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;s furnishing his new house and busy about the formation of
+a volunteer corps. I met him not long since in Fingle Gorge.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Be you friends now, if I may ax?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I tried to be. We live and learn. Things happened to me a while ago
+that taught me what I didn&rsquo;t know. I spoke to him and reminded him of
+the long years in Africa. Blood&rsquo;s thicker than water,
+Blanchard.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So &rsquo;tis. What did he make of it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He looked up and hesitated. Then he shook his head and set his face
+against me, and said he would not have my friendship as a gift.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;s a gude hater.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Time will bring the best of him to the top again some day. I
+understand him, I think. We possess more in common than people suppose. We
+feel deeply and haven&rsquo;t a grain of philosophy between us.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, I reckon I&rsquo;ve allus been inclined to deep ways of
+thought myself; and work up here, wi&rsquo; nothing to break your thoughts
+but the sight of a hawk or the twinkle of a rabbit&rsquo;s scut, be very
+ripening to the mind. If awnly Phoebe was here! Sometimes I&rsquo;m in a mood
+to ramp down-long an&rsquo; hale her home, whether or no. But I sweats the
+longing out o&rsquo; me wi&rsquo; work.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The day will soon come. Time drags with me just now, somehow, but
+it races with you, I&rsquo;ll warrant. I must get on with my book, and see
+Hicks and try and persuade him to help me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis like your big nature to put it that way. You&rsquo;rn tu
+soft-hearted a man to dwell in a house all alone. Let the dead stones bide,
+Martin, an&rsquo; look round for a wife. Theer&rsquo;s more gude advice.
+Blamed if I doan&rsquo;t advise everybody nowadays! Us must all come to it.
+Look round about an&rsquo; try to love a woman. &rsquo;T will surprise
+&rsquo;e an&rsquo; spoil sleep if you can bring yourself to it. But the
+cuddlin&rsquo; of a soft gal doan&rsquo;t weaken man&rsquo;s thews and sinews
+neither. It hardens &rsquo;em, I reckon, an&rsquo; puts fight in the most
+poor-spirited twoad as ever failed in love. &rsquo;Tis a manly thing,
+an&rsquo; &rsquo;boldens the heart like; an&rsquo;, arter she&rsquo;s said
+&lsquo;Yes&rsquo; to &rsquo;e, you&rsquo;ll find a wonnerful change come
+awver life. &rsquo;Tis all her, then. The most awnself<a id="footnotetag8"
+name="footnotetag8"></a><a href="#footnote8"><sup>8</sup></a> man feels it
+more or less, an&rsquo; gets shook out of his shell. You&rsquo;ll knaw some
+day. Of course I speaks as wan auld in love an&rsquo; married into the
+bargain.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You speak from experience, I know. And is Phoebe as wise as you,
+Will?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Waitin&rsquo; be harder for a wummon. They&rsquo;ve less to busy
+the mind, an&rsquo; less mind to busy, for that matter.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s ungallant.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I doan&rsquo;t knaw. &rsquo;Tis true, anyway. I shouldn&rsquo;t
+have failed in love wi&rsquo; her if she&rsquo;d been cleverer&rsquo;n
+me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Or she with you, perhaps?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;P&rsquo;r&rsquo;aps not. Anyway as it stands we&rsquo;m halves of a
+whole: made for man and wife. I reckon I weern&rsquo;t wan to miss my way in
+love like some poor fules, as wastes it wheer they might see&rsquo;t
+wasn&rsquo;t wanted if they&rsquo;d got eyes in their heads.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What it is to be so wise!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Will laughed joyously in his wisdom.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Very gude of &rsquo;e to say that. &rsquo;Tis a happy thing to have
+sense enough. Not but we larn an&rsquo; larn.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So we should. Well, I must be off now. I&rsquo;m safe on the Moor
+to-day!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess, by the looks of it. Theer&rsquo;ll likely come some mist after
+noon, but shouldn&rsquo;t be very thick.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>So they parted, Blanchard having unconsciously sown the seed of an ugly
+crop that would take long in reaping. His remarks concerning Clement Hicks
+were safe enough with Martin, but another had heard them as he worked within
+earshot of his master. Bonus, though his judgment was scanty, entertained a
+profound admiration for Will; and thus it came about, that a few days later,
+when in Chagford, he called at the &ldquo;Green Man&rdquo; and made some
+grave mischief while he sang his master&rsquo;s praises. He extolled the
+glorious promise of Newtake, and the great improvements already visible
+thereon; he reflected not a little of Will&rsquo;s own flamboyant manner to
+the secret entertainment of those gathered in the bar, and presently he drew
+down upon himself some censure.</p>
+<p>Abraham Chown, the police inspector, first shook his head and prophesied
+speedy destruction of all these hopes; and then Gaffer Lezzard criticised
+still more forcibly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;All this big-mouthed talk&rsquo;s cracklin&rsquo; of thorns under a
+potsherd,&rdquo; hesaid. &ldquo;You an&rsquo; him be just two childern
+playin&rsquo; at shop in the gutter, an&rsquo; the gutter&rsquo;s wheer
+you&rsquo;ll find yourselves &rsquo;fore you think to. What do the man
+<i>knaw?</i> Nothin&rsquo;.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Blanchard&rsquo;s a far-seein&rsquo; chap,&rdquo; answered Sam
+Bonus stoutly. &ldquo;An&rsquo; a gude master; an&rsquo; us&rsquo;ll stick
+together, fair or foul.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You may think it, but wait,&rdquo; said a small man in the corner.
+Charles Coomstock, nephew of the widow of that name already mentioned, was a
+wheelwright by trade and went lame, owing to an accident with hot iron in
+youth.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ax Clem,&rdquo; continued Mr. Coomstock. &ldquo;For all his cranky
+ways he knaws Blanchard better&rsquo;n most of us, an&rsquo; I heard un size
+up the chap t&rsquo;other day in a word. He said he hadn&rsquo;t wit enough
+to keep his brains sweet.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;m a braave wan to talk,&rdquo; fired back Bonus.
+&ldquo;Him! A poor luny as caan&rsquo;t scrape brass to keep a wife on.
+Blanchard, or me either, could crack un in half like a dead stick.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not that that&rsquo;s anything for or against,&rdquo; declared
+Gaffer Lezzard. &ldquo;Power of hand&rsquo;s nought against brain.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It gaws a tidy long way &rsquo;pon Dartymoor, however,&rdquo;
+declared Bonus. &ldquo;An&rsquo; Blanchard doan&rsquo;t set no
+&rsquo;mazin&rsquo; store on Hicks neither, if it comes to words. I heard un
+say awnly t&rsquo;other forenoon that the man was a weak saplin&rsquo;, allus
+grumblin&rsquo;, an&rsquo; might be better for a gude hiding.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Now Charles Coomstock did not love his cousin Clement. Indeed, none of
+those who had, or imagined they had, any shadow of right to a place in Mary
+Coomstock&rsquo;s will cared much for others similarly situated; but the
+little wheelwright was by nature a spreader of rumours and reports&mdash;an
+intelligencer, malignant from choice. He treasured this assertion, therefore,
+together with one or two others. Sam, now at his third glass, felt his heart
+warm to Will. He would have fought with tongue or fist on his behalf, and
+presently added to the mischief he had already done.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;To shaw &rsquo;e, neighbours, just the man he is, I may tell
+&rsquo;e that a larned piece like Martin Grimbal ackshually comed all the way
+to Newtake not long since to ax advice of un. An&rsquo; &rsquo;twas on the
+identical matter of this same Hicks. Mr. Grimbal wanted to give un some work
+to do, &rsquo;bout a book or some such item; an&rsquo; Will he ups and sez,
+&lsquo;Doan&rsquo;t,&rsquo; just short an&rsquo; straight like that theer.
+&lsquo;Doan&rsquo;t,&rsquo; he sez. &lsquo;Let un shaw what&rsquo;s in un
+first&rsquo;; an&rsquo; t&rsquo;other nodded when he said it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Having now attested his regard for the master of Newtake, Sam jogged off.
+He was pleased with himself, proud of having silenced more than one
+detractor, and as his little brain turned the matter over, his lips parted in
+a grin.</p>
+<p>Coomstock meanwhile had limped into the cottage where Clement lived with
+his mother. He did not garble his news, for it needed no artistic touch; and,
+with nice sense of his perfect and effective instrument, he realised the
+weapon was amply sharp enough without whetting, and employed the story as it
+came into his hand. But Mr. Coomstock was a little surprised and disappointed
+at his cousin&rsquo;s reserve and self-restraint. He had hoped for a hearty
+outburst of wrath and the assurance of wide-spreading animosity, yet no such
+thing happened, and the talebearer presently departed in some surprise. Mrs.
+Hicks, indeed, had shrilled forth a torrent of indignation upon the sole
+subject equal to raising such an emotion in her breast, for Clem was her only
+son. The man, however, took it calmly, or appeared to do so; and even when
+Charles Coomstock was gone he refused to discuss the matter more.</p>
+<p>But had his cousin, with Asmodeus-flight, beheld Clement during the
+subsequent hours which he spent alone, it is possible that the wheelwright
+had felt amply repaid for his trouble. Not until dawn stole grey along the
+village street; not until sparrows in the thatch above him began their
+salutation to the morning; not until Chagford rookery had sent forth a
+harmonious multitude to the hills and valleys did Clement&rsquo;s aching eyes
+find sleep. For hours he tossed and turned, now trembling with rage, now
+prompted by some golden thread in the tangled mazes of his mind to discredit
+the thing reported. Blanchard, as it seemed, had come deliberately and
+maliciously between him and an opportunity to win work. He burnt to know what
+he should do; and, like a flame of forked light against the sombre background
+of his passion, came the thought of another who hated Blanchard too.
+Will&rsquo;s secret glowed and gleamed like the writing on the wall; looking
+out, Hicks saw it stamped on the dark earth and across the starry night; and
+he wished to God that the letters might so remain to be read by the world
+when it wakened. Finally he slept and dreamed that he had been to the Red
+House, that he had spoken to John Grimbal, and returned home again with a bag
+of gold.</p>
+<p>When his mother came to call him he was lying half uncovered in a wild
+confusion of scattered bed-clothes; and his arms and body were jerking as a
+dog&rsquo;s that dreams. She saw a sort of convulsion pinch and pucker his
+face; then he made some inarticulate sounds&mdash;as it were a frantic
+negation; and then the noise of his own cry awakened him. He looked wildly
+round and lifted his hands as though he expected to find them full.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Where is it? Where is it? The bag of money? I won&rsquo;t&mdash;I
+can&rsquo;t&mdash;Where is it, I say?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I wish I knawed, lovey. Dream-gawld, I&rsquo;m afeared.
+You&rsquo;ve bin lying cold, an&rsquo; that do allus breed bad thoughts in
+sleep. &rsquo;Tis late; I done breakfast an hour ago. An&rsquo; Okehampton
+day, tu. Coach&rsquo;ll be along in twenty minutes.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He sighed and dragged the clothes over himself.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;d best go to-day, mother. The ride will do you good, and
+I have plenty to fill my time at home.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Mrs. Hicks brightened perceptibly before this prospect. She was a little,
+faded woman, with a brown face and red-rimmed, weak eyes, washed by many
+years of sorrow to the palest nondescript colour. She crept through the world
+with no ambition but to die out of the poorhouse, no prayer but a petition
+that the parish might not bury her at the end, no joy save in her son. Life
+at best was a dreary business for her, and an occasional trip to Okehampton
+represented about the only brightness that ever crept into it. Now she
+bustled off full of excitement to get the honey, and, having put on a
+withered bonnet and black shawl, presently stood and waited for the
+omnibus.</p>
+<p>Her son dwelt with his thoughts that day, and for him there was no peace
+or pleasure. Full twenty times he determined to visit Newtake at once and
+have it out with Will; but his infirmity of purpose acted like a drag upon
+this resolution, and his pride also contributed a force against it. Once he
+actually started, and climbed up Middledown to reach the Moor beyond; then he
+changed his mind again as new fires of enmity swept through it. His wrongs
+rankled black and bitter; and, faint under them, he presently turned and went
+home shivering though the day was hot.</p>
+<h2><a id="II_VI" name="II_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI<br />
+A SWARM OF BEES</h2>
+<p>Above Chagford rise those lofty outposts of Dartmoor, named respectively
+Nattadown and Middledown. The first lies nearer to the village, and upon its
+side, beneath a fir wood which crowns one spur, spread steep wastes of fern
+and furze. This spot was a favourite one with Clement Hicks, and a fortnight
+after the incidents last related he sat there smoking his pipe, while his
+eyes roved upon the scene subtended before him. The hill fell abruptly away,
+and near the bottom glimmered whitewashed cots along a winding road. Still
+lower down extended marshy common land, laced with twinkling watercourses and
+dotted with geese; while beyond, in many a rise and fall and verdant
+undulation, the country rolled onwards through Teign valley and upwards
+towards the Moor. The expanse seen from this lofty standpoint extended like a
+mighty map, here revealing a patchwork of multicoloured fields, here
+exhibiting tracts of wild waste and wood, here beautifully indicating by a
+misty line, seen across ascending planes of forest, the course of the distant
+river, here revealing the glitter of remote waters damaskeened with gold.
+Little farms and outlying habitations were scattered upon the land; and
+beyond them, rising steadily to the sky-line, the regions of the Moor
+revealed their larger attributes, wider expanses, more savage and abrupt
+configurations of barren heath and weathered tor. The day passed gradually
+from gloom to brightness, and the distance, already bathed in light, gleamed
+out of a more sombre setting, where the foreground still reflected the
+shadows of departing clouds, like a picture of great sunshine framed in
+darkness. But the last vapours quickly vanished; the day grew very hot and,
+as the sky indicated noon, all things beneath Clement&rsquo;s eyes were
+soaked in a splendour of June sunlight. He watched a black thread lying
+across a meadow five miles away. First it stretched barely visible athwart
+the distance green; in half an hour it thickened without apparent means;
+within an hour it had absorbed an eighth part at least of the entire space.
+Though the time was very unusual for tilling of land, Hicks knew that the
+combined operations of three horses, a man, and a plough were responsible for
+this apparition, and he speculated as to how many tremendous physical and
+spiritual affairs of life are thus wrought by agents not visible to the
+beholder. Thus were his own thoughts twisted back to those speculations which
+now perpetually haunted them like the incubus of a dream. What would Will
+Blanchard say if he woke some morning to find his secret in John
+Grimbal&rsquo;s keeping? And, did any such thing happen, there must certainly
+be a mystery about it; for Blanchard could no more prove how his enemy came
+to learn his secret than might some urban stranger guess how the dark line
+grew without visible means on the arable ground under Gidleigh.</p>
+<p>From these dangerous thoughts he was roused by the sight of a woman
+struggling up the steep hill towards him. The figure came slowly on, and
+moved with some difficulty. This much Hicks noted, and then suddenly realised
+that he beheld his mother. She knew his haunt and doubtless sought him now.
+Rising, therefore, he hastened to meet her and shorten her arduous climb.
+Mrs. Hicks was breathless when Clement reached her, and paused a while, with
+her hand pressed to her side, before she could speak. At length she addressed
+him, still panting between the syllables.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My heart&rsquo;s a pit-pat! Hurry, hurry, for the Lard&rsquo;s
+sake! The bees be playin&rsquo;<a id="footnotetag9" name=
+"footnotetag9"></a><a href="#footnote9"><sup>9</sup></a> an&rsquo;
+they&rsquo;ll call Johnson if you ban&rsquo;t theer directly
+minute!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Johnson, a thatcher, was the only other man in Chagford who shared any
+knowledge of apiarian lore with Clement.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Sorry you should have had the journey only for that, mother.
+&rsquo;Twas so unlikely a morning, I never thought to hear of a swarm to-day.
+I&rsquo;ll start at once, and you go home quietly. You&rsquo;re sadly out of
+breath. Where is it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;To the Red House&mdash;Mr. Grimbal&rsquo;s. It may lead to the
+handlin&rsquo; of his hives for all us can say, if you do the job vitty, as
+you &rsquo;m bound to.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;John Grimbal&rsquo;s!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Hicks stood still as though this announcement had turned him into
+stone.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess fay! Why do &rsquo;e stand glazin&rsquo; like that? A chap rode
+out for &rsquo;e &rsquo;pon horseback; an&rsquo; a bit o&rsquo; time be lost
+a&rsquo;ready. They &rsquo;m swarmin&rsquo; in the orchard, an&rsquo; nobody
+knaws more &rsquo;n the dead what to be at.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I won&rsquo;t go. Let them get Johnson.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;Won&rsquo;t go&rsquo;! An&rsquo; five shillin&rsquo;
+hangin&rsquo; to it, an&rsquo; Lard knaws what more in time to come!
+&lsquo;Won&rsquo;t go&rsquo;! An&rsquo; my poor legs throbbin&rsquo;
+something cruel with climbin&rsquo; for &rsquo;e!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&mdash;I&rsquo;m not going there&mdash;not to that man. I have
+reason.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O my gude God!&rdquo; burst out the old woman, &ldquo;what&rsquo;ll
+&rsquo;e do next? An&rsquo; me&mdash;as worked so hard to find
+&rsquo;e&mdash;an&rsquo; so auld as I am! Please, please, Clem, for your
+mother&mdash;please. Theer&rsquo;s bin so little money in the house of late
+days, an&rsquo; less to come. Doan&rsquo;t, if you love me, as I knaws well
+you do, turn your back &rsquo;pon the scant work as falls in best o&rsquo;
+times.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The man reflected with troubled eyes, and his mother took his arm and
+tried to pull him down the hill.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Is John Grimbal at home?&rdquo; he asked.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How shude I knaw? An&rsquo; what matter if he is? Your business is
+with the bees, not him. An&rsquo; you&rsquo;ve got no quarrel with him
+because that Blanchard have. After what Will done against you, you
+needn&rsquo;t be so squeamish as to make his enemies yourn.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My business is with the bees&mdash;as you say, mother,&rdquo; he
+answered slowly, repeating her words.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Coourse &rsquo;tis! Who knaws a half of what you knaw &rsquo;bout
+&rsquo;em? That&rsquo;s my awn braave Clem! Why, there might be a mort
+o&rsquo; gude money for a man like you at the Red House!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll go. My business is with the bees. You walk along slowly,
+or sit down a while and get your breath again. I&rsquo;ll hurry.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She praised him and blessed him, crying after him as he
+departed,&mdash;&ldquo;You&rsquo;ll find all set out for &rsquo;e&mdash;veil,
+an&rsquo; gloves, an&rsquo; a couple of bee-butts to your hand.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The man did not reply, but soon stumbled down the steep hill and vanished;
+then five-and-twenty minutes later, with the implements of his trade, he
+stood at the gate of the Red House, entered, and hastened along the newly
+planted avenue.</p>
+<p>John Grimbal had not yet gone into residence, but he dwelt at present in
+his home farm hard by; and from this direction he now appeared to meet the
+bee-keeper. The spectacle of Grimbal, stern, grave, and older of manner than
+formerly, impressed Hicks not a little. In silence, after the first
+salutation, they proceeded towards an adjacent orchard; and from here as they
+approached arose an extravagant and savage din, as though a dozen baited
+dogs, each with a tin kettle at his tail, were madly galloping down some
+stone-paved street, and hurtling one against the other as they ran.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They can stop that row,&rdquo; said Hicks. &ldquo;&rsquo;Tis an
+old-fashioned notion that it hurries swarming, but I never found it do
+so.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You know best, though beating on tin pots and cans at such a
+time&rsquo;s a custom as old as the hills.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And vain as many others equally old. I have a different method to
+hurry swarming.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Now they passed over the snows of a million fallen petals, while yet good
+store of flowers hung upon the trees. June basked in the heart of the orchard
+and a delicious green sweetness and freshness marked the moment. Crimson and
+cream, all splashed with sunlight, here bloomed against a sky of summer blue,
+here took a shade from the new-born leaves and a shadow from branch and
+bough. To the eye, a mottled, dimpled glory of apple-blossom spread above
+grey trunks and twisted branches, shone through deep vistas of the orchard,
+brightened all the distance; while upon the ear, now growing and deepening,
+arose one sustained and musical susurration of innumerable wings.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You will be wise to stay here,&rdquo; said Hicks. He himself
+stopped a moment, opened his bag, put on his veil and gloves, and tucked his
+trousers inside his stockings.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not I. I wish to see the hiving.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Twenty yards distant a play of light and glint and twinkle of many frantic
+bees converged upon one spot, as stars numerically increase towards the heart
+of a cluster. The sky was full of flying insects, and their wings sparkled
+brightly in the sun; though aloft, with only the blue for background, they
+appeared as mere dark points filling the air in every direction. The swarm
+hung at the very heart of a little glade. Here two ancient apple-trees stood
+apart, and from one low bough, stretched at right angles to the parent stem,
+and not devoid of leaves and blossoms, there depended a grey-brown mass from
+which a twinkling, flashing fire leaped forth as from gems bedded in the
+matrix. Each transparent wing added to the dazzle under direct sunlight; the
+whole agglomeration of life was in form like a bunch of grapes, and where it
+thinned away to a point the bees dropped off by their own weight into the
+grass below, then rose again and either flew aloft in wide and circling
+flight or rushed headlong upon the swarm once more. Across the iridescent
+cluster passed a gleam and glow of peacock and iris, opal and
+mother-of-pearl; while from its heart ascended a deep murmur, telling of
+tremendous and accumulated energy suddenly launched into this peaceful glade
+of apple-blossom and ambient green. The frenzy of the moment held all that
+little laborious people. There was none of the concerted action to be
+observed at warping, or simultaneous motion of birds in air and fishes in
+water; but each unit of the shining army dashed on its own erratic orbit,
+flying and circling, rushing hither and thither, and sooner or later
+returning to join the queen upon the bough.</p>
+<p>The glory of the moment dominated one and all. It was their hour&mdash;a
+brief, mad ecstasy in short lives of ceaseless toil. To-day they desisted
+from their labours, and the wild-flowers of the waste places, and the
+old-world flowers in cottage gardens were alike forgotten. Yet their year had
+already seen much work and would see more. Sweet pollen from many a bluebell
+and anemone was stored and sealed for a generation unborn; the asphodels and
+violets, the velvet wallflower and yellow crocuses had already yielded
+treasure; and now new honey jewels were trembling in the trumpets of the
+honeysuckle, at the heart of the wild rose, within the deep cups of the
+candid and orange lilies, amid the fairy caps of columbines, and the petals
+of clove-pinks. There the bees now living laboured, and those that followed
+would find their sweets in the clover,&mdash;scarlet and purple and
+white,&mdash;in the foxgloves, in the upland deserts of the heather with
+their oases of euphrasy and sweet wild thyme.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Is it a true swarm or a cast?&rdquo; inquired John Grimbal.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A swarm, without much question, though it dawned an unlikely day
+for an old queen to leave the hive. Still, the weather came over splendid
+enough by noon, and they knew it was going to. Where are your butts? You see,
+young maiden queens go further afield than old ones. The latter take but a
+short flight for choice.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;There they are,&rdquo; said Grimbal, pointing to a row of thatched
+hives not far off. &ldquo;So that should be an old queen, by your showing. Is
+she there?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I fancy so by the look of them. If the queen doesn&rsquo;t join,
+the bees break up, of course, and go back to the butt. But I&rsquo;ve brought
+a couple of queens with me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve seen a good few drones about the board
+lately.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Sure sign of swarming at this season. Inside, if you could look,
+you&rsquo;d find plenty of queen cells, and some capped over. You&rsquo;d
+come across a murder or two as well. The old queens make short work of the
+young ones sometimes.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Woman-like.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Hicks admitted the criticism was just. Then, being now upon his own
+ground, he continued to talk, and talk well, until he won a surly compliment
+from his employer.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;re a bee-master, in truth! Nobody&rsquo;ll deny you
+that.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Clement laughed rather bitterly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, a king of bees. Not a great kingdom for man to
+rule.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The other studied his dark, unhappy face. Trouble had quickened
+Grimbal&rsquo;s own perceptions, and made him a more accurate judge of sorrow
+when he saw it than of yore.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;ve tried to do greater things and failed, perhaps,&rdquo;
+he said.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why, perhaps I have. A man&rsquo;s a hive himself, I&rsquo;ve
+thought sometimes&mdash;a hive of swarming, seething thoughts and experiences
+and passions, that come and go as easily as any bees, and store the heart and
+brain.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not with honey, I&rsquo;ll swear.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No&mdash;gall mostly.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And every hive&rsquo;s got a queen bee too, for that matter,&rdquo;
+said Grimbal, rather pleased at his wit responsible for the image.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes; and the queens take each other&rsquo;s places quick enough,
+for we&rsquo;re fickle brutes.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A strange swarm we hive in our hearts, God knows.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And it eats out our hearts for our pains.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;ve found out that, have you?&rdquo; asked John
+curiously.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Long ago.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Everybody does, sooner or later.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>There was a pause. Overhead the multitude dwindled while the great
+glimmering cluster on the tree correspondingly increased, and the fierce
+humming of the bees was like the sound of a fire. Clement feared nothing, but
+he had seen few face a hiving without some distrust. The man beside him,
+however, stood with his hands in his pockets, indifferent and quite
+unprotected.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You will be wiser to stand farther away, Mr. Grimbal. You&rsquo;re
+unlikely to come off scot-free if you keep so close.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What do I care? I&rsquo;ve been stung by worse than
+insects.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And I also,&rdquo; answered Clement, with such evident passion that
+the other grew a little interested. He had evidently pricked a sore point in
+this moody creature.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Was it a woman stung you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, no; don&rsquo;t heed me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Clement was on guard over himself again. &ldquo;Your business is with
+bees&rdquo;&mdash;his mother&rsquo;s words echoed in his mind to the pulsing
+monotone of the swarm. He tried to change the subject, sent for a pail of
+water, and drew a large syringe from his bag, though the circumstances really
+rendered this unnecessary. But John Grimbal, always finding a sort of
+pleasure in his own torment, took occasion to cross-question Clement.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I suppose I&rsquo;m laughed at still in Chagford, am I not? Not
+that it matters to me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t think so; an object of envy, rather, for good wives
+are easier to get than great riches.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s your opinion, is it? I&rsquo;m not so sure. Are you
+married?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Going to be, I&rsquo;ll wager, if you think good wives can be
+picked off blackberry bushes.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t say that at all. But I am going to be married
+certainly. I&rsquo;m fortunate and unfortunate. I&rsquo;ve won a prize,
+but&mdash;well, honey&rsquo;s cheap. I must wait.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;D&rsquo; you trust her? Is waiting so easy?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, I trust her, as I trust the sun to swing up out of the east
+to-morrow, to set in the west to-night. She&rsquo;s the only being of my own
+breed I do trust. As for the other question, no&mdash;waiting isn&rsquo;t
+easy.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Nor yet wise. I shouldn&rsquo;t wait. Tell me who she is. Women
+interest me, and the taking of &rsquo;em in marriage.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Hicks hesitated. Here he was drifting helpless under this man&rsquo;s hard
+eyes&mdash;helpless and yet not unwilling. He told himself that he was safe
+enough and could put a stop on his mouth when he pleased. Besides, John
+Grimbal was not only unaware that the bee-keeper knew anything against
+Blanchard, but had yet to learn that anybody else did,&mdash;that there even
+existed facts unfavourable to him. Something, however, told Hicks that
+mention of the common enemy would result from this present meeting, and the
+other&rsquo;s last word brought the danger, if danger it might be, a step
+nearer. Clement hesitated before replying to the question; then he answered
+it.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Chris Blanchard,&rdquo; he said shortly, &ldquo;though that
+won&rsquo;t interest you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But it does&mdash;a good deal. I&rsquo;ve wondered, some time, why
+I didn&rsquo;t hear my own brother was going to marry her. He got struck all
+of a heap there, to my certain knowledge. However, he &rsquo;s escaped. The
+Lord be good to you, and I take my advice to marry back again. Think twice,
+if she&rsquo;s made of the same stuff as her brother.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, by God! Is the moon made of the same stuff as the marsh
+lights?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Concentrated bitterness rang in the words, and a man much less acute than
+Grimbal had guessed he stood before an enemy of Will. John saw the bee-keeper
+start at this crucial moment; he observed that Hicks had said a thing he much
+regretted and uttered what he now wished unspoken. But the confession was
+torn bare and laid out naked under Grimbal&rsquo;s eyes, and he knew that
+another man besides himself hated Will. The discovery made his face grow
+redder than usual. He pulled at his great moustache and thrust it between his
+teeth and gnawed it. But he contrived to hide the emotion in his mind from
+Clement Hicks, and the other did not suspect, though he regretted his own
+passion. Grimbals next words further disarmed him. He appeared to know
+nothing whatever about Will, though his successful rival interested him
+still.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They call the man Jack-o&rsquo;-Lantern, don&rsquo;t they?
+Why?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I can&rsquo;t tell you. It may be, though, that he is erratic and
+uncertain in his ways. You cannot predict what he will do next.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s nothing against him. He&rsquo;s farming on the Moor
+now, isn&rsquo;t he?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Where did he come from when he dropped out of the clouds to marry
+Phoebe Lyddon?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The question was not asked with the least idea of its enormous
+significance. Grimbal had no notion that any mystery hung over that autumn
+time during which he made love to Phoebe and Will was absent from Chagford.
+He doubted not that for the asking he could learn how Will had occupied
+himself; but the subject did not interest him, and he never dreamed the
+period held a secret. The sudden consternation bred in Hicks by this question
+astounded him not a little. Indeed, each man amazed the other, Grimbal by his
+question, Hicks by the attitude which he assumed before it.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m sure I haven&rsquo;t the least idea,&rdquo; he answered;
+but his voice and manner had already told Grimbal all he cared to learn at
+the moment; and that was more than his wildest hopes had even risen to. He
+saw in the other&rsquo;s face a hidden thing, and by his demeanour that it
+was an important one. Indeed, the bee-keeper&rsquo;s hesitation and evident
+alarm before this chance question proclaimed the secret vital. For the
+present, and before Clement&rsquo;s evident alarm, Grimbal dismissed the
+matter lightly; but he chose to say a few more words upon it, for the express
+purpose of setting Hicks again at his ease.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You don&rsquo;t like your future brother-in-law?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, yes, I do. We&rsquo;ve been friends all our lives&mdash;all
+our lives. I like him well, and am going to marry his sister&mdash;only I see
+his faults, and he sees mine&mdash;that&rsquo;s all.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Take my advice and shut your eyes to his faults. That&rsquo;s the
+best way if you are marrying into his family. I&rsquo;ve got cause to think
+ill enough of the scamp, as you know and everybody knows; but life&rsquo;s
+too short for remembering ill turns.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>A weight rolled off Clement&rsquo;s heart. For a moment he had feared that
+the man knew something; but now he began to suspect Grimbal&rsquo;s question
+to be what in reality it was&mdash;casual interrogation, without any shadow
+of knowledge behind it. Hicks therefore breathed again and trusted that his
+own emotion had not been very apparent. Then, taking the water, he shot a
+thin shower into the air, an operation often employed to hasten swarming, and
+possibly calculated to alarm the bees into apprehension of rain.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Do wasps ever get into the hives?&rdquo; asked Mr. Grimbal
+abruptly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Aye, they do; and wax-moths and ants, and even mice. These things
+eat the honey and riddle and ruin the comb. Then birds eat the bees, and
+spiders catch them. Honey-bees do nothing but good that I can see, yet Nature
+&rsquo;s pleased to fill the world with their enemies. Queen and drone and
+the poor unsexed workers&mdash;all have their troubles; and so has the little
+world of the hive. Yet during the few weeks of a bee&rsquo;s life he does an
+amount of work beyond imagination to guess at.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And still finds time to steal from the hives of his
+fellows?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why, yes, if the sweets are exposed and can be tasted for nothing.
+Most of us might turn robbers on the same terms. Now I can take them, and a
+splendid swarm, too&mdash;finest I&rsquo;ve seen this year.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The business of getting the glittering bunch of bees into a hive was then
+proceeded with, and soon Clement had shaken the mass into a big straw butt,
+his performance being completely successful. In less than half an hour all
+was done, and Hicks began to remove his veil and shake a bee or two off the
+rim of his hat.</p>
+<p>John Grimbal rubbed his cheek, where a bee had stung him under the eye,
+and regarded Hicks thoughtfully.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If you happen to want work at any time, it might be within my power
+to find you some here,&rdquo; he said, handing the bee-master five shillings.
+Clement thanked his employer and declared he would not forget the offer; he
+then departed, and John Grimbal returned to his farm.</p>
+<h2><a id="II_VII" name="II_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII<br />
+AN OFFER OF MARRIAGE</h2>
+<p>Billy Blee, who has appeared thus far as a disinterested spectator of
+other people&rsquo;s affairs, had yet his own active and personal interests
+in life. Them he pursued, at odd times, and in odd ways, with admirable
+pertinacity; and as a crisis is now upon him and chance knits the outcome of
+it into the main fabric of this narrative, Billy and his actions command
+attention.</p>
+<p>Allusion has already been made, and that frequently, to one Widow
+Coomstock, whose attractions of income, and the ancillary circumstance of an
+ample though elderly person, had won for her certain admirers more ancient
+than herself. Once butt-woman, or sextoness, of Chagford Church, the lady had
+dwelt alone, as Miss Mary Reed, for fifty-five years&mdash;not because
+opportunity to change her state was denied her, but owing to the fact that
+experience of life rendered her averse to all family responsibilities. Mary
+Reed had seen her sister, the present Mrs. Hicks, take a husband, had watched
+the result of that step; and this, with a hundred parallel instances of
+misery following on matrimony, had determined her against it. But when old
+Benjamin Coomstock, the timber merchant and coal-dealer, became a widower,
+this ripe maiden, long known to him, was approached before his wife&rsquo;s
+grave became ready for a stone. To Chagford&rsquo;s amazement he so far
+bemeaned himself as to offer the sextoness his hand, and she accepted it.
+Then, left a widow after two years with her husband, Mary Coomstock
+languished a while, and changed her methods of life somewhat. The roomy
+dwelling-house of her late partner became her property and a sufficient
+income went with it. Mr. Coomstock&rsquo;s business had been sold in his
+lifetime; the money was invested, and its amount no man knew, though rumour,
+which usually magnifies such matters, spoke of a very handsome figure; and
+Mrs. Coomstock&rsquo;s lavish manner of life lent confirmation to the report.
+But though mundane affairs had thus progressed with her, the woman&rsquo;s
+marriage was responsible for very grave mental and moral deterioration.
+Prosperity, and the sudden exchange of a somewhat laborious life for the ease
+and comfort of independence, played havoc with Widow Coomstock. She grew lax,
+gross in habit and mind, self-indulgent, and ill-tempered. When her husband
+died her old friends lost sight of her, while only those who had reason to
+hope for a reward still kept in touch with her, and indeed forced themselves
+upon her notice. Everybody predicted she would take another husband; but,
+though it was now nearly eight years since Mr. Coomstock&rsquo;s death, his
+widow still remained one. Gaffer Lezzard and Billy Blee had long pursued her
+with varying advantage, and the latter, though his proposals were declined,
+yet saw in each refusal an indication to encourage future hope.</p>
+<p>Now, urged thereto by whispers that Mr. Lezzard had grown the richer by
+three hundred pounds on the death of a younger brother in Australia, Billy
+determined upon another attack. He also was worth something&mdash;less indeed
+than three hundred pounds; though, seeing that he had been earning reasonably
+good wages for half a century, the fact argued but poor thrift in Mr. Blee.
+Of course Gaffer Lezzard&rsquo;s alleged legacy could hardly be a sum to
+count with Mrs. Coomstock, he told himself; yet his rival was a man of wide
+experience and an oily tongue: while, apart from any question of opposition,
+he felt that another offer of marriage might now be made with decorum, seeing
+that it was a full year since the last. Mr. Blee therefore begged for a
+half-holiday, put on his broadcloth, blacked his boots, anointed his
+lion-monkey fringe and scanty locks with pomatum, and set forth. Mrs.
+Coomstock&rsquo;s house stood on the hill rising into the village from
+Chagford Bridge. A kitchen garden spread behind it; in front pale purple
+poppies had the ill-kept garden to themselves.</p>
+<p>As he approached, Mr. Blee felt a leaden weight about his newly polished
+boots, and a distinct flutter at the heart, or in a less poetical portion of
+his frame.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Same auld feeling,&rdquo; he reflected. &ldquo;Gormed if I
+ban&rsquo;t gettin&rsquo; sweaty &rsquo;fore the plaace comes in sight!
+&rsquo;Tis just the sinkin&rsquo; at the navel, like what I had when I smoked
+my first pipe, five-and-forty years agone!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The approach of another man steadied Billy, and on recognising him Mr.
+Blee forgot all about his former emotions and gasped in the clutch of a new
+one. It was Mr. Lezzard, evidently under some impulse of genial exhilaration.
+There hung an air of aggression about him, but, though he moved like a
+conqueror, his gait was unsteady and his progress slow. He had wit to guess
+Billy&rsquo;s errand, however, for he grinned, and leaning against the hedge
+waved his stick in the air above his head.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Aw, Jimmery! if it ban&rsquo;t Blee; an&rsquo; prinked out for a
+weddin&rsquo;, tu, by the looks of it!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not yourn, anyway,&rdquo; snapped back the suitor.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, us caan&rsquo;t say &rsquo;zactly&mdash;world &rsquo;s full
+o&rsquo; novelties.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Best pull yourself together, Gaffer, or bad-hearted folks might say
+you was bosky-eyed.<a id="footnotetag10" name="footnotetag10"></a><a href=
+"#footnote10"><sup>10</sup></a> That ban&rsquo;t no novelty anyway, but
+&rsquo;t is early yet to be drunk&mdash;just three o&rsquo;clock by the
+church.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Mr. Blee marched on without waiting for a reply. He knew Lezzard to be
+more than seventy years old and usually regarded the ancient man&rsquo;s
+rivalry with contempt; but he felt uneasy for a few moments, until the front
+door of Mrs. Coomstock&rsquo;s dwelling was opened to him by the lady
+herself.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My stars! You? What a terrible coorious thing!&rdquo; she said.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why for?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Come in the parlour. Theer! coorious ban&rsquo;t the
+word!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She laughed, a silly laugh and loud. Then she shambled before him to the
+sitting-room, and Billy, familiar enough with the apartment, noticed a bottle
+of gin in an unusual position upon the table. The liquor stood, with two
+glasses and a jug of water, between the Coomstock family Bible, on its green
+worsted mat, and a glass shade containing the stuffed carcass of a
+fox-terrier. The animal was moth-eaten and its eyes had fallen out. It could
+be considered in no sense decorative; but sentiment allowed the corpse this
+central position in a sorry scheme of adornment, for the late timber merchant
+had loved it. Upon Mrs. Coomstock&rsquo;s parlour walls hung Biblical German
+prints in frames of sickly yellow wood; along the window-ledge geraniums and
+begonias flourished, though gardeners had wondered to see their luxuriance,
+for the windows were seldom opened.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;It never rains but it pours,&rsquo;&rdquo; said Widow
+Coomstock. She giggled again and looked at Billy. She was very fat, and the
+red of her face deepened to purple unevenly about the sides of her nose. Her
+eyes were bright and black. She had opened a button or two at the top of her
+dress, and her general appearance, from her grey hair to her slattern heels,
+was disordered. Her cap had fallen off on to the ground, and Mr. Blee noticed
+that her parting was as a broad turnpike road much tramped upon by Time. The
+room smelt stuffy beyond its wont and reeked not only of spirits but tobacco.
+This Billy sniffed inquiringly, and Mrs. Coomstock observed the action.
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Twas Lezzard,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I like to see a man in
+comfort. You can smoke if you mind to. Coomstock always done it, and a
+man&rsquo;s no man without, though a dirty habit wheer they doan&rsquo;t use
+a spittoon.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She smiled, but to herself, and was lost in thought a moment. He saw her
+eyes very bright and her head wagging. Then she looked at him and laughed
+again.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;m a fine figure of a man, tu,&rdquo; she said, apropos of
+nothing in particular. But the newcomer understood. He rumpled his hair and
+snorted and frowned at the empty glasses.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Have a drop?&rdquo; suggested Mrs. Coomstock; but Billy, of opinion
+that his love had already enjoyed refreshment sufficient for the time,
+refused and answered her former remark.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A fine figure?&mdash;yes, Mary Coomstock, though not so fine for a
+man as you for a woman. Still, a warm-blooded chap an&rsquo; younger than my
+years.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve got my share o&rsquo; warm blood, tu, Billy.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>It was apparent. Mrs. Coomstock&rsquo;s plump neck bulged in creases over
+the dirty scrap of white linen that represented a collar, while her massive
+bust seemed bursting through her apparel.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Coourse,&rdquo; said Mr. Blee, &ldquo;an&rsquo; your share,
+an&rsquo; more &rsquo;n your share o&rsquo; brains, tu. He had bad
+luck&mdash;Coomstock&mdash;the worse fortune as ever fell to a Chaggyford
+man, I reckon.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How do &rsquo;e come at that, then?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;To get &rsquo;e, an&rsquo; lose &rsquo;e again inside two year.
+That&rsquo;s ill luck if ever I seen it. Death&rsquo;s a envious twoad. Two
+short year of you; an&rsquo; then up comes a tumour on his neck unbeknawnst,
+an&rsquo; off he goes, like a spring lamb.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; so he did. I waked from sleep an&rsquo; bid un rise, but
+theer weern&rsquo;t no more risin&rsquo; for him till the
+Judgment.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Death&rsquo;s no courtier. He&rsquo;ll let a day-labourer go so
+peaceful an&rsquo; butivul as a child full o&rsquo; milk goes to sleep; while
+he&rsquo;ll take a gert lord or dook, wi&rsquo; lands an&rsquo; moneys,
+an&rsquo; strangle un by inches, an&rsquo; give un the hell of a
+twistin&rsquo;. You caan&rsquo;t buy a easy death seemin&rsquo;ly.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A gude husband he was, but jealous,&rdquo; said Mrs. Coomstock, her
+thoughts busy among past years; and Billy immediately fell in with this
+view.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then you&rsquo;m well rid of un. Theer&rsquo;s as gude in the world
+alive any minute as ever was afore or will be again.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Let &rsquo;em stop in the world then. I doan&rsquo;t want
+&rsquo;em.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>This sentiment amused the widow herself more than Billy. She laughed
+uproariously, raised her glass to her lips unconsciously, found it empty,
+grew instantly grave upon the discovery, set it down again, and sighed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s a wicked world,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Sure as
+men&rsquo;s in a plaace they brings trouble an&rsquo; wickedness. An&rsquo;
+yet I&rsquo;ve heard theer&rsquo;s more women than men on the airth when
+all&rsquo;s said.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;God A&rsquo;mighty likes &rsquo;em best, I reckon,&rdquo; declared
+Mr. Blee.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not but what &rsquo;t would be a lonesome plaace wi&rsquo;out the
+lords of creation,&rdquo; conceded the widow.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess fay, you &rsquo;m right theer; but the beauty of things is that
+none need n&rsquo;t be lonely, placed same as you be.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;Once bit twice shy,&rsquo;&rdquo; said Mrs. Coomstock. Then
+she laughed again. &ldquo;I said them very words to Lezzard not an hour
+since.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; what might he have answered?&rdquo; inquired Billy
+without, however, showing particular interest to know.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He said he wasn&rsquo;t bit. His wife was a proper
+creature.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Bah! second-hand gudes&mdash;that&rsquo;s what Lezzard be&mdash;a
+widow-man an&rsquo; eighty if a day. A poor, coffin-ripe auld blid, wi&rsquo;
+wan leg in the graave any time this twenty year.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Mrs. Coomstock&rsquo;s frame heaved at this tremendous criticism. She
+gurgled and gazed at Billy with her eyes watering and her mouth open.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You say that! Eighty an&rsquo; coffin-ripe!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ban&rsquo;t no ontruth, neither. A man &rsquo;s allus ready for his
+elm overcoat arter threescore an&rsquo; ten. I heard the noise of his
+breathin&rsquo; paarts when he had brown kitty in the fall three years ago,
+an&rsquo; awnly thrawed it off thanks to the gracious gudeness of Miller
+Lyddon, who sent rich stock for soup by my hand. But to hear un, you might
+have thought theer was a wapsies&rsquo; nest in the man&rsquo;s
+lungs.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I doan&rsquo;t want to be nuss to a chap at my time of life, in
+coourse.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No fay; &rsquo;t is the man&rsquo;s paart to look arter his wife,
+if you ax me. I be a plain bachelor as never thought of a female serious
+&rsquo;fore I seed you. An&rsquo; I&rsquo;ve got a heart in me, tu.
+Ban&rsquo;t no auld, rubbishy, worn-out thing, neither, but a tough,
+love-tight heart&mdash;at least so &rsquo;t was till I seed you in your weeds
+eight year agone.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Eight year a widow! An&rsquo; so I have been. Well, Blee,
+you&rsquo;ve got a powerful command of words, anyways. That I&rsquo;ll grant
+you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;T is the gert subject, Mary.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He moved nearer and put down his hat and stick; she exhibited trepidation,
+not wholly assumed. Then she helped herself to more spirits.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A drop I must have to steady me. You men make a woman&rsquo;s heart
+go flutterin&rsquo; all over her buzzom, like a flea under
+her&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She stopped and laughed, then drank. Presently setting down the glass
+again, she leered in a manner frankly animal at Mr. Blee, and told him to say
+what he might have to say and be quick about it. He fired a little at this
+invitation, licked his lips, cleared his throat, and cast a nervous glance or
+two at the window. But nobody appeared; no thunder-visaged Lezzard frowned
+over the geraniums. Gaffer indeed was sound asleep, half a mile off, upon one
+of those seats set in the open air for the pleasure and convenience of
+wayfarers about the village. So Billy rose, crossed to the large sofa whereon
+Mrs. Coomstock sat, plumped down boldly beside her and endeavoured to get his
+arm round the wide central circumference of her person. She suffered this
+courageous attempt without objection. Then Billy gently squeezed her, and she
+wriggled and opened her mouth and shut her eyes.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Say the word and do a wise thing,&rdquo; he urged. &ldquo;Say the
+word, Mary, an&rsquo; think o&rsquo; me here as master, a-keeping all your
+damn relations off by word of command.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She laughed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;When I be gone you&rsquo;ll see some sour looks, I
+reckon.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Nothing doan&rsquo;t matter then; &rsquo;t is while you &rsquo;m
+here I&rsquo;d protect &rsquo;e &rsquo;gainst &rsquo;em. Look, see!
+ban&rsquo;t often I goes down on my knees, &rsquo;cause a man risin&rsquo; in
+years, same as me, can pray to God more dignified sittin&rsquo;; but now I
+will.&rdquo; He slid gingerly down, and only a tremor showed the stab his
+gallantry cost him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You &rsquo;m a masterful auld shaver, sure &rsquo;nough!&rdquo;
+said Mrs. Coomstock, regarding Billy with a look half fish like, half
+affectionate.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Rise me up, then,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Rise me up, an&rsquo; do
+it quick. If you love me, as I see you do by the faace of you, rise me up,
+Mary, an&rsquo; say the word wance for all time. I&rsquo;ll be a gude husband
+to &rsquo;e an&rsquo; you&rsquo;ll bless the day you took me, though I sez it
+as shouldn&rsquo;t.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She allowed her fat left hand, with the late Mr. Coomstock&rsquo;s
+wedding-ring almost buried in her third finger, to remain with Billy&rsquo;s;
+and by the aid of it and the sofa he now got on his legs again. Then he sat
+down beside her once more and courageously set his yellow muzzle against her
+red cheek. The widow remained passive under this caress, and Mr. Blee, having
+kissed her thrice, rubbed his mouth and spoke.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Theer! &rsquo;T is signed and sealed, an&rsquo; I&rsquo;ll have no
+drawin&rsquo; back now.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But&mdash;but&mdash;Lezzard, Billy. I do like &rsquo;e&mdash;I
+caan&rsquo;t hide it from &rsquo;e, try as I will&mdash;but
+him&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I knawed he was t&rsquo;other. I tell you, forget un. His
+marryin&rsquo; days be awver. Dammy, the man&rsquo;s &rsquo;most chuckle
+headed wi&rsquo; age! Let un go his way an&rsquo; say his prayers
+&rsquo;gainst the trump o&rsquo; God. An&rsquo; it&rsquo;ll take un his time
+to pass Peter when all &rsquo;s done&mdash;a bad auld chap in his day. Not
+that I&rsquo;d soil your ears with it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He said much the same &rsquo;bout you. When you was at
+Drewsteignton, twenty year agone&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A lie&mdash;a wicked, strammin&rsquo;, gert lie, with no more truth
+to it than a auld song! He &rsquo;m a venomous beast to call home such a
+thing arter all these years.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If I did take &rsquo;e, you&rsquo;d be a gude an&rsquo; faithful
+husband, Billy, not a gad-about?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Cut my legs off if I go gaddin&rsquo; further than to do your
+errands.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; you&rsquo;ll keep these here buzzin&rsquo; parties off
+me? Cuss &rsquo;em! They make my life a burden.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Doan&rsquo;t fear that. I&rsquo;ll larn &rsquo;em!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Theer &rsquo;s awnly wan I can bide of the whole
+lot&mdash;an&rsquo; that&rsquo;s my awn nephew, Clem Hicks. He&rsquo;ll drink
+his drop o&rsquo; liquor an&rsquo; keep his mouth shut, an&rsquo; listen to
+me a-talkin&rsquo; as a young man should. T&rsquo;others are allus
+yelpin&rsquo; out how fond they be of me, and how they&rsquo;d go to the
+world&rsquo;s end for me. I hate the sight of &rsquo;em.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A time-servin&rsquo; crew, Mary; an&rsquo; Clement Hicks no better
+&rsquo;n the rest, mark my word, though your sister&rsquo;s son. &rsquo;T is
+cupboard love wi&rsquo; all. But money ban&rsquo;t nothin&rsquo; to me.
+I&rsquo;ve been well contented with enough all my life, though &rsquo;t is
+few can say with truth that enough satisfies &rsquo;em.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Lezzard said money was nothin&rsquo; to him neither, having plenty
+of his awn. &rsquo;T was my pusson, not my pocket, as he&rsquo;d falled in
+love with.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Burnish it all! Theer &rsquo;s a shameful speech! &lsquo;Your
+pusson&rsquo;! Him! I&rsquo;ll tell you what Lezzard is&mdash;just a damn
+evil disposition kep&rsquo; in by skin an&rsquo; bones&mdash;that&rsquo;s
+Lezzard. &lsquo;Your pusson&rsquo;!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m afraid I&rsquo;ve encouraged him a little. You&rsquo;ve
+been so backward in mentioning the subject of late. But I&rsquo;m sure I
+didn&rsquo;t knaw as he&rsquo;d got a evil disposition.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, &rsquo;t is so. An&rsquo; &rsquo;t is awnly your bigness of
+heart, as wouldn&rsquo;t hurt a beetle, makes you speak kind of the boozy
+auld sweep. I&rsquo;ll soon shaw un wheer he&rsquo;s out if he thinks you
+&rsquo;m tinkering arter him!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He couldn&rsquo;t bring an action for breach, or anything o&rsquo;
+that, could he?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;At his time of life! What Justice would give ear to un? An&rsquo;
+the shame of it!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Perhaps he misunderstood. You men jump so at a
+conclusion.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Leave that to me. I&rsquo;ll clear his brains double-quick; aye,
+an&rsquo; make un jump for somethin&rsquo;!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then I suppose it&rsquo;s got to be. I&rsquo;m yourn, Billy,
+an&rsquo; theer needn&rsquo;t be any long waitin&rsquo; neither. To think of
+another weddin&rsquo; an&rsquo; another husband! Just a drop or I shall cry.
+It&rsquo;s such a supporting thing to a lone female.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Whether Mrs. Coomstock meant marriage or Plymouth gin, Billy did not stop
+to inquire. He helped her, filled Lezzard&rsquo;s empty glass for himself,
+and then, finding his future wife thick of speech, bleared of eye, and
+evidently disposed to slumber, he departed and left her to sleep off her
+varied emotions.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll mighty soon change all that,&rdquo; thought Mr. Blee.
+&ldquo;To note a fine woman in liquor &rsquo;s the frightfullest sight in all
+nature, so to say. Not but what with Lezzard a-pawin&rsquo; of her &rsquo;t
+was enough to drive her to it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>That night the lover announced his triumph, whereon Phoebe congratulated
+him and Miller Lyddon shook his head.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;T is an awful experiment, Billy, at your age,&rdquo; he
+declared.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why, so &rsquo;t is; but I&rsquo;ve weighed the subject in my mind
+for years and years, an &rsquo;t wasn&rsquo;t till Mary Coomstock comed to be
+widowed that I thought I&rsquo;d found the woman at last. &rsquo;T was
+lookin&rsquo; tremendous high, I knaw, but theer &rsquo;t is; she&rsquo;ll
+have me. She &rsquo;m no young giglet neither, as would lead me a
+devil&rsquo;s dance, but a pusson in full blooth with ripe mind.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She drinks. I doan&rsquo;t want to hurt your feelings; but
+everybody says it is so,&rdquo; declared the miller.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What everybody sez, nobody did ought to believe,&rdquo; returned
+Mr. Blee stoutly. &ldquo;She &rsquo;m a gude, lonely sawl, as wants a man
+round the house to keep off her relations, same as us has a dog to keep down
+varmints in general. Theer &rsquo;s the Hickses, an&rsquo; Chowns, an&rsquo;
+Coomstocks all a-stickin&rsquo; up theer tails an&rsquo; a-purrin&rsquo;
+an&rsquo; a-rubbin&rsquo; theerselves against the door-posts of the plaace
+like cats what smells feesh. I won&rsquo;t have none of it. I&rsquo;ll dwell
+along wi&rsquo; she an&rsquo; play a husband&rsquo;s part, an&rsquo; comfort
+the decline of her like a man, I warn &rsquo;e.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why, Mrs. Coomstock &rsquo;s not so auld as all that, Billy,&rdquo;
+said Phoebe. &ldquo;Chris has often told me she&rsquo;s only sixty-two or
+three.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>But he shook his head.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ban&rsquo;t a subject for a loving man to say much on, awnly truth
+&rsquo;s truth. I seed it written in the Coomstock Bible wan day. Fifty-five
+she were when she married first. Well, ban&rsquo;t in reason she twald the
+naked truth &rsquo;bout it, an&rsquo; who&rsquo;d blame her on such a
+delicate point? No, I&rsquo;d judge her as near my awn age as possible;
+an&rsquo; to speak truth, not so well preserved as what I be.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How&rsquo;s Monks Barton gwaine to fare without &rsquo;e,
+Blee?&rdquo; whined the miller.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;As to that, be gormed if I knaw how I&rsquo;ll fare wi&rsquo;out
+the farm. But love&mdash;well, theer &rsquo;t is. Theer &rsquo;s money to it,
+I knaw, but what do that signify? Nothin&rsquo; to me. You&rsquo;ll see me
+frequent as I ride here an&rsquo; theer&mdash;horse, saddle, stirrups,
+an&rsquo; all complete; though God He knaws wheer my knees&rsquo;ll go when
+my boots be fixed in stirrups. But a man must use &rsquo;em if theer &rsquo;s
+the dignity of money to be kept up. &rsquo;T is just wan of them
+oncomfortable things riches brings with it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>While Miller Lyddon still argued with Billy against the step he now
+designed, there arrived from Chagford the stout Mr. Chappie, with his mouth
+full of news.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;More weddin&rsquo;s,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I comed down-long to
+tell &rsquo;e, lest you shouldn&rsquo;t knaw till to-morrow an&rsquo; so fall
+behind the times. Widow Coomstock &rsquo;s thrawed up the sponge and gived
+herself to that importuneous auld Lezzard. To think o&rsquo; such a
+Methuselah as him&mdash;aulder than the century&mdash;fillin&rsquo; the eye
+o&rsquo; that full-bodied&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s a black lie&mdash;blacker &rsquo;n hell&mdash;an&rsquo;
+if&rsquo;t was anybody but you brought the news I&rsquo;d hit un awver the
+jaw!&rdquo; burst out Mr. Blee, in a fury.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He tawld me hisself. He&rsquo;s tellin&rsquo; everybody hisself. It
+comed to a climax to-day. The auld bird&rsquo;s hoppin&rsquo; all awver the
+village so proud as a jackdaw as have stole a shiny button. He&rsquo;m
+bustin&rsquo; wi&rsquo; it in fact.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll bust un! An&rsquo; his news, tu. An&rsquo; you can say,
+when you&rsquo;m axed, &rsquo;t is the foulest lie ever falled out of wicked
+lips.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Billy now took his hat and stick from their corner and marched to the door
+without more words.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No violence, mind now, no violence,&rdquo; begged Mr. Lyddon.
+&ldquo;This love-making &rsquo;s like to wreck the end of my life, wan way or
+another, yet. &rsquo;T is bad enough with the young; but when it comes to
+auld, bald-headed fules like you an&rsquo; Lezzard&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;As to violence, I wouldn&rsquo;t touch un wi&rsquo; the end of a
+dung-fork&mdash;I wouldn&rsquo;t. But I&rsquo;m gwaine to lay his lie wance
+an&rsquo; for all. I be off to parson this instant moment. An&rsquo; when my
+banns of marriage be hollered out next Sunday marnin&rsquo;, then us&rsquo;ll
+knaw who &rsquo;m gwaine to marry Mother Coomstock an&rsquo; who ban&rsquo;t.
+I can work out my awn salvation wi&rsquo; fear an&rsquo; tremblin&rsquo; so
+well as any other man; an&rsquo; you&rsquo;ll see what that God-forsaken auld
+piece looks like come Sunday when he hears what&rsquo;s done an&rsquo;
+caan&rsquo;t do nought but just swallow his gall an&rsquo; chew &rsquo;pon
+it.&rdquo;</p>
+<h2><a id="II_VIII" name="II_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII<br />
+MR. BLEE FORGETS HIMSELF</h2>
+<p>The Rev. James Shorto-Champernowne made no difficulty about Billy&rsquo;s
+banns of marriage, although he doubtless held a private opinion upon the
+wisdom of such a step, and also knew that Mrs. Coomstock was now a very
+different woman from the sextoness of former days. He expressed a hope,
+however, that Mr. Blee would make his future wife become a regular
+church-goer again after the ceremony; and Billy took it upon himself to
+promise as much for her. There the matter ended until the following Sunday,
+when a sensation, unparalleled in the archives of St. Michael&rsquo;s,
+awaited the morning worshippers.</p>
+<p>Under chiming of bells the customary congregation arrived, and a
+perceptible wave of sensation swept from pew to pew at the appearance of more
+than one unfamiliar face. Of regular attendants we may note Mrs. Blanchard
+and Chris, Martin Grimbal, Mr. Lyddon, and his daughter. Mr. Blee usually sat
+towards the back of the church at a point immediately behind those benches
+devoted to the boys. Here he kept perfect order among the lads, and had done
+so for many years. Occasionally it became necessary to turn a youngster out
+of church, and Billy&rsquo;s procedure at such a time was masterly; but of
+opinion to-day that he was a public character, he chose a more conspicuous
+position, and accepted Mr. Lyddon&rsquo;s invitation to take a seat in the
+miller&rsquo;s own pew. He felt he owed this prominence, not only to himself,
+but to Mrs. Coomstock. She, good soul, had been somewhat evasive and
+indefinite in her manner since accepting Billy, and her condition of nerves
+on Sunday morning proved such that she found herself quite unable to attend
+the house of prayer, although she had promised to do so. She sent her two
+servants, however, and, spending the time in private between spirtual and
+spirituous consolations of Bible and bottle, the widow soon passed into a
+temporary exaltation ending in unconsciousness. Thus her maids found her on
+returning from church.</p>
+<p>Excitement within the holy edifice reached fever-heat when a most unwonted
+worshipper appeared in the venerable shape of Mr. Lezzard. He was supported
+by his married daughter and his grandson. They sought and found a very
+prominent position under the lectern, and it was immediately apparent that no
+mere conventional attendance for the purpose of praising their Maker had
+drawn Mr. Lezzard and his relations. Indeed he had long been of the Baptist
+party, though it derived but little lustre from him. Much whispering passed
+among the trio. Then his daughter, having found the place she sought in a
+prayer-book, handed it to Mr. Lezzard, and he made a big cross in pencil upon
+the page and bent the volume backwards so that its binding cracked very
+audibly. Gaffer then looked about him with a boldness he was far from
+feeling; but the spectacle of Mr. Blee, hard by, fortified his spirit. He
+glared across the aisle and Billy glared back.</p>
+<p>Then the bells stopped, the organ droned, and there came a clatter of iron
+nails on the tiled floor. Boys and men proceeded to the choir stalls and Mr.
+Shorto-Champernowne fluttered behind, with his sermon in his hand. Like a
+stately galleon of the olden time he swept along the aisle, then reached his
+place, cast one keen glance over the assembled congregation, and slowly
+sinking upon his hassock enveloped his face and whiskers in snowy lawn and
+prayed a while.</p>
+<p>The service began and that critical moment after the second lesson was
+reached with dreadful celerity. Doctor Parsons, having read a chapter from
+the New Testament, which he emerged from the congregation to do, and which he
+did ill, though he prided himself upon his elocution, returned to his seat as
+the Vicar rose, adjusted his double eyeglasses and gave out a notice as
+follows:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I publish the banns of marriage between William Blee, Bachelor, and
+Mary Coomstock, Widow, both of this parish. If any of you know cause, or just
+impediment, why these two persons should not be joined together in holy
+matrimony, ye are to declare it. This is for the first time of
+asking.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>There was a momentary pause. Then, nudged by his daughter, who had grown
+very pale, Gaffer Lezzard rose. His head shook and he presented the
+appearance of a man upon the verge of palsy. He held up his hand, struggled
+with his vocal organs and at last exploded these words, sudden, tremulous,
+and shrill:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I deny it an&rsquo; I defy it! The wummon be mine!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Mr. Lezzard succumbed instantly after this effort. Indeed, he went down as
+though shot through the head. He wagged and gasped and whispered to his
+grandson,&mdash;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Wheer&rsquo;s the brandy to?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Whereupon this boy produced a medicine bottle half full of spirits, and
+his grandfather, with shaking fingers, removed the cork and drank the
+contents. Meantime the Vicar had begun to speak; but he suffered another
+interruption. Billy, tearing himself from the miller&rsquo;s restraining
+hand, leapt to his feet, literally shaking with rage. He was dead to his
+position, oblivious of every fact save that his banns of marriage had been
+forbidden before the assembled Christians of Chagford. He had waited to find
+a wife until he was sixty years old&mdash;for this!</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&mdash;<i>you</i> to do it! You to get up afore this rally
+o&rsquo; gentlefolks an&rsquo; forbid my holy banns, you wrinkled, crinkled,
+baggering auld lizard! Gormed if I doan&rsquo;t wring your&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Silence in the house of God!&rdquo; thundered Mr.
+Shorto-Champernowne, with tones so resonant that they woke rafter echoes the
+organ itself had never roused. &ldquo;Silence, and cease this sacrilegious
+brawling, or the consequences will be unutterably serious! Let those
+involved,&rdquo; he concluded more calmly, &ldquo;appear before me in the
+vestry after divine service is at an end.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Having frowned, in a very tragic manner, both on Mr. Blee and Mr. Lezzard,
+the Vicar proceeded with the service; but though Gaffer remained in his place
+Billy did not. He rose, jammed on his hat, glared at everybody, and assumed
+an expression curiously similar to that of a stone demon which grinned from
+the groining of two arches immediately above him. He then departed, growling
+to himself and shaking his fists, in another awful silence; for the Vicar
+ceased when he rose, and not until Billy disappeared and his footfall was
+heard no more did the angry clergyman proceed.</p>
+<p>A buzz and hubbub, mostly of laughter, ascended when presently Mr.
+Shorto-Champernowne&rsquo;s parishioners returned to the air; and any chance
+spectator beholding them had certainly judged he stood before an audience now
+dismissed from a theatre rather than the congregation of a church.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Glad Will weern&rsquo;t theer, I&rsquo;m sure,&rdquo; said Mrs.
+Blanchard. &ldquo;He&rsquo;d &rsquo;a&rsquo; laughed out loud an&rsquo; made
+bad worse. Chris did as &rsquo;t was, awnly parson&rsquo;s roarin&rsquo;
+luckily drowned it. And Mr. Martin Grimbal, whose eye I catched, was put to
+it to help smilin&rsquo;.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ban&rsquo;t often he laughs, anyway,&rdquo; said Phoebe, who walked
+homewards with her father and the Blanchards; whereon Chris, from being in a
+boisterous vein of merriment, grew grave. Together all returned to the
+valley. Will was due in half an hour from Newtake, and Phoebe, as a special
+favour, had been permitted to dine at Mrs. Blanchard&rsquo;s cottage with her
+husband and his family. Clement Hicks had also promised to be of the party;
+but that was before the trouble of the previous week, and Chris knew he would
+not come.</p>
+<p>Meantime, Gaffer Lezzard, supported by two generations of his family,
+explained his reasons for objecting to Mr. Blee&rsquo;s proposed
+marriage.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Mrs. Coomstock be engaged, right and reg&rsquo;lar, to me,&rdquo;
+he declared. &ldquo;She&rsquo;d gived me her word &rsquo;fore ever Blee axed
+her. I seed her essterday, to hear final &rsquo;pon the subjec&rsquo;,
+an&rsquo; she tawld me straight, bein&rsquo; sober as you at the time, as
+&rsquo;t was <i>me</i> she wanted an&rsquo; meant for to have. She was
+excited t&rsquo; other day an&rsquo; not mistress of herself ezacally;
+an&rsquo; the crafty twoad took advantage of it, an&rsquo; jawed, an&rsquo;
+made her drink an&rsquo; drink till her didn&rsquo;t knaw what her was
+sayin&rsquo; or doin&rsquo;. But she&rsquo;m mine, an&rsquo; she&rsquo;ll
+tell &rsquo;e same as what I do; so theer&rsquo;s an end on
+&rsquo;t.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll see Mrs. Coomstock,&rdquo; said the Vicar. &ldquo;I,
+myself will visit her to-morrow.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Canst punish this man for tryin&rsquo; to taake her from
+me?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Permit yourself no mean desires in the direction of revenge. For
+the present I decline to say more upon the subject. If it were possible to
+punish, and I am not prepared to say it is not, it would be for brawling in
+the house of God. After an experience extending over forty years, I may
+declare that I never saw any such disreputable and horrifying
+spectacle.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>So the Lezzard family withdrew and, on the following day, Mrs. Coomstock
+passed through most painful experiences.</p>
+<p>To the clergyman, with many sighs and tears, she explained that Mr.
+Lezzard&rsquo;s character had been maligned by Mr. Blee, that before the
+younger veteran she had almost feared for her life, and been driven to accept
+him out of sheer terror at his importunity. But when facts came to her ears
+afterwards, she found that Mr. Lezzard was in reality all he had declared
+himself to be, and therefore returned to him, threw over Mr. Blee, and begged
+the other to forbid the banns, if as she secretly learnt, though not from
+Billy himself, they were to be called on that Sunday. The poor woman&rsquo;s
+ears tingled under Mr. Shorto-Champernowne&rsquo;s sonorous reproof; but he
+departed at last, and by the time that Billy called, during the same day, she
+had imbibed Dutch courage sufficient to face him and tell him she had changed
+her mind. She had erred&mdash;she confessed it. She had been far from well at
+the time and, upon reconsideration of the proposal, had felt she would never
+be able to make Mr. Blee happy, or enjoy happiness with him.</p>
+<p>As a matter of fact, Mrs. Coomstock had accepted both suitors on one and
+the same afternoon. First Gaffer, who had made repeated but rather vague
+allusion to a sum of three hundred pounds in ready money, was taken
+definitely; while upon his departure, the widow, only dimly conscious of what
+was settled with her former admirer, said, &ldquo;Yes&rdquo; to Billy in his
+turn. Had a third suitor called on that event-ful afternoon, it is quite
+possible Mrs. Coomstock would have accepted him also.</p>
+<p>The conversation with Mr. Blee was of short duration, and ended by Billy
+calling down a comprehensive curse on the faithless one and returning to
+Monks Barton. He had attached little importance to Lezzard&rsquo;s public
+protest, upon subsequent consideration and after the first shock of hearing
+it; but there was no possibility of doubting what he now learned from Mrs.
+Coomstock&rsquo;s own lips. That she had in reality changed her mind appeared
+only too certain.</p>
+<p>So he went home again in the last extremity of fury, and Phoebe, who was
+alone at the time, found herself swept by the hurricane of his wrath. He
+entered snorting and puffing, flung his hat on the settle, his stick into the
+corner; then, dropping into a seat by the fire, he began taking off his
+gaiters with much snuffling and mumbling and repeated inarticulate explosions
+of breath. This cat-like splutter always indicated deep feeling in Mr. Blee,
+and Phoebe asked with concern what was the matter now.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Matter? Tchut&mdash;Tchut&mdash;Theer ban&rsquo;t no
+God&mdash;that&rsquo;s what&rsquo;s the matter!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Billy! How can you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She&rsquo;m gwaine to marry t&rsquo;other, arter all! From her awn
+lips I&rsquo;ve heard it! That&rsquo;s what I get for being a church member
+from the womb! That&rsquo;s my reward! God, indeed! Be them the ways o&rsquo;
+a plain-dealin&rsquo; God, who knaws what&rsquo;s doin&rsquo; in human
+hearts? No fay! Bunkum an&rsquo; rot! I&rsquo;ll never lift my voice in hymn
+nor psalm no more, nor pray a line o&rsquo; prayer again. Who be I to be
+treated like that? Drunken auld cat! I cussed her&mdash;I cussed her!
+Wouldn&rsquo;t marry her now if she axed wi&rsquo; her mouth in the dirt.
+Wheer&rsquo;s justice to? Tell me that. Me in church, keepin&rsquo; order
+&rsquo;mong the damn boys generation arter generation, and him never inside
+the door since he buried his wife. An&rsquo; parson siding wi&rsquo; un,
+I&rsquo;ll wager. Mother Coomstock &rsquo;ll give un hell&rsquo;s delights,
+that&rsquo;s wan gude thought. A precious pair of &rsquo;em! Tchut!
+Gar!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I doan&rsquo;t really think you could have loved Mrs. Coomstock
+overmuch, Billy, if you can talk so ugly an&rsquo; crooked &rsquo;bout
+her,&rdquo; said Phoebe.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I did, I tell &rsquo;e&mdash;for years an&rsquo; years. I went down
+on my knees to the bitch&mdash;I wish I hadn&rsquo;t; I&rsquo;ll be sorry for
+that to my dying day. I kissed her, tu,&mdash;s&rsquo; elp me, I did. You
+mightn&rsquo;t think it, but I did&mdash;a faace like a frost-bitten
+beetroot, as &rsquo;t is!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Doan&rsquo;t &rsquo;e, please, say such horrible things. You must
+be wise about it. You see, they say Mr. Lezzard has more money than you. At
+least, so Mrs. Coomstock told her nephew, Clement Hicks. Every one of her
+relations is savage about it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well they may be. Why doan&rsquo;t they lock her up? If she
+ban&rsquo;t mad, nobody ever was. &rsquo;Money&rsquo;! Lezzard! Lying
+auld&mdash;auld&mdash;Tchut! Not money enough to pay for a graave to hide his
+rotten bones, I lay. Oh, &rsquo;t is enough to&mdash;theer, what &rsquo;s the
+use of talkin&rsquo;? Tchut&mdash;Tchut!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>At this point Phoebe, fearing even greater extravagances in Mr.
+Blee&rsquo;s language, left him to consider his misfortunes alone. Long he
+continued in the profoundest indignation, and it was not until Miller Lyddon
+returned, heard the news, and heartily congratulated Billy on a merciful
+escape, that the old man grew a little calmer under his disappointment, and
+moderated the bitterness and profanity of his remarks.</p>
+<h2><a id="II_IX" name="II_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX<br />
+A DIFFERENCE WITH THE DUCHY</h2>
+<p>Newtake Farm, by reason of Will&rsquo;s recent occupancy, could offer no
+very considerable return during his first year as tenant; but that he
+understood and accepted, and the tribulation which now fell upon him was of
+his own making. To begin with, Sam Bonus vanished from the scene. On
+learning, soon after the event, that Bonus had discussed Hicks and himself at
+Chagford, and detailed his private conversation with Martin Grimbal,
+Blanchard, in a fury, swept off to the loft where his man slept, roused him
+from rest, threw down the balance of his wages, and dismissed him on the
+spot. He would hear no word in explanation, and having administered a
+passionate rebuke, departed as he had come, like a whirlwind. Sam, smarting
+under this injustice, found the devil wake in him through that sleepless
+night, and had there stood rick or stack within reach of revenge, he might
+have dealt his master a return blow before morning. As usual, after the lapse
+of hours, Will cooled down, modified his first fiery indignation, and
+determined, yet without changing his mind, to give Bonus an opportunity of
+explaining the thing he had done. Chris had brought the news from Clement
+himself, and Will, knowing that his personal relations with Clement were
+already strained, felt that in justice to his servant he must be heard upon
+the question. But, when he sought Sam Bonus, though still the dawn was only
+grey, he found the world fuller for him by another enemy, for the man had
+taken him at his word and departed. During that day and the next Will made
+some effort to see Bonus, but nothing came of it, so, dismissing the matter
+from his mind, he hired a new labourer&mdash;one Teddy Chown, son of Abraham
+Chown, the Inspector of Police&mdash;and pursued his way.</p>
+<p>Then his unbounded energy led him into difficulties of a graver sort. Will
+had long cast covetous eyes on a tract of moorland immediately adjoining
+Newtake, and there being little to do at the moment, he conceived the
+adventurous design of reclaiming it. The patch was an acre and a half in
+extent&mdash;a beggarly, barren region, where the heather thinned away and
+the black earth shone with water and disintegrated granite. Quartz particles
+glimmered over it; at the centre black pools of stagnant water marked an
+abandoned peat cutting; any spot less calculated to attract an agricultural
+eye would have been hard to imagine; but Blanchard set to work, began to fill
+the greedy quag in the midst with tons of soil, and soon caused the place to
+look business-like&mdash;at least in his own estimation. As for the Duchy, he
+did not trouble himself. The Duchy itself was always reclaiming land without
+considering the rights and wrongs of the discontented Venville tenants, and
+Will knew of many a &ldquo;newtake&rdquo; besides this he contemplated.
+Indeed, had not the whole farm, of which he was now master, been rescued from
+the Moor in time past? He worked hard, therefore, and his new assistant,
+though not a Bonus, proved stout and active. Chris, who still dwelt with her
+brother, was sworn to secrecy respecting Will&rsquo;s venture; and so lonely
+a region did the farm occupy that not until he had put a good month of work
+into the adjacent waste were any of those in authority aware of the young
+farmer&rsquo;s performance.</p>
+<p>A day came when the new land was cleaned, partly ploughed, and wholly
+surrounded by a fence of split stumps, presently to be connected by wires. At
+these Chown was working, while Will had just arrived with a load of earth to
+add to the many tons already poured upon that hungry central patch. He held
+the tailboard of the cart in his hand and was about to remove it; when,
+looking up, his heart fluttered a moment despite his sturdy consciousness of
+right. On the moor above him rode grey old Vogwell, the Duchy&rsquo;s man.
+His long beard fluttered in the wind, and Will heard the thud of his
+horse&rsquo;s hoofs as he cantered quickly to the scene, passed between two
+of the stakes, and drew up alongside Blanchard.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Marnin&rsquo;, Mr. Vogwell! Fine weather, to be sure, an&rsquo;
+gude for the peat next month; but bad for roots, an&rsquo; no mistake. Will
+&rsquo;e have a drink?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Mr. Vogwell gazed sternly about him, then fixed his little bright eyes on
+the culprit.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What do this mean, Will Blanchard?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, why not? Duchy steals all the gude land from Venwell men; why
+for shouldn&rsquo;t us taake a little of the bad? This here weern&rsquo;t no
+gude to man or mouse. Ban&rsquo;t &rsquo;nough green stuff for a rabbit
+&rsquo;pon it. So I just thought I&rsquo;d give it a lick an&rsquo; a promise
+o&rsquo; more later on.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;A lick an&rsquo; a promise&rsquo;! You&rsquo;ve wasted a
+month&rsquo;s work on it, to the least.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, p&rsquo;raps I have&mdash;though ban&rsquo;t wasted. Do
+&rsquo;e think, Mr. Vogwell, as the Duchy might be disposed to give me a
+hand?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Will generally tackled difficulties in this audacious fashion, and a laugh
+already began to brighten his eye; but the other quenched it.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You fool! You knawed you was doin&rsquo; wrong better&rsquo;n I can
+tell you&mdash;an&rsquo; such a plaace! A babe could see you &rsquo;m
+workin&rsquo; awver living springs. You caan&rsquo;t fill un even now in the
+drouth, an&rsquo; come autumn an&rsquo; rain &rsquo;t will all be bog
+again.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Nothing of the sort,&rdquo; flamed out Will, quite forgetting his
+recent assertion as to the poverty of the place. &ldquo;Do &rsquo;e think,
+you, as awnly rides awver the Moor, knaws more about soil than I as works on
+it? &rsquo;Twill be gude proofy land bimebye&mdash;so good as any Princetown
+way, wheer the prison men reclaim, an&rsquo; wheer theer&rsquo;s grass this
+minute as carries a bullock to the acre. First I&rsquo;ll plant rye, then
+swedes, then maybe more swedes, then barley; an&rsquo;, with the barley,
+I&rsquo;ll sow the permanent grass to follow. That&rsquo;s gude rotation of
+crops for Dartymoor, as I knaw an&rsquo; you doan&rsquo;t; an&rsquo; if the
+Duchy encloses the best to rob our things<a id="footnotetag11" name=
+"footnotetag11"></a><a href="#footnote11"><sup>11</sup></a>, why for
+shouldn&rsquo;t we&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;ll do. I caan&rsquo;t bide here listenin&rsquo; to your
+child&rsquo;s-talk all the marnin&rsquo;. What Duchy does an&rsquo;
+doan&rsquo;t do is for higher &rsquo;n you or me to decide. If this was any
+man&rsquo;s work but yours I&rsquo;d tell Duchy this night; but bein&rsquo;
+you, I&rsquo;ll keep mute. Awnly mind, when I comes this way a fortnight
+hence, let me see these postes gone an&rsquo; your plough an&rsquo; cart
+t&rsquo; other side that wall. An&rsquo; you&rsquo;ll thank me, when
+you&rsquo;ve come to more sense, for stoppin&rsquo; this wild-goose chase.
+Now I&rsquo;ll have a drop o&rsquo; cider, if it&rsquo;s all the same to
+you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Will opened a stone jar which lay under his coat at hand, and answered as
+he poured cider into a horn mug for Mr. Vogwell&mdash;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Here&rsquo;s your drink; but I won&rsquo;t take your orders, so I
+tell &rsquo;e. Damn the Duchy, as steals moor an&rsquo; common wheer it
+pleases an&rsquo; then grudges a man his toil.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s the spirit as&rsquo;ll land &rsquo;e in the poorhouse,
+Will Blanchard,&rdquo; said Mr. Vogwell calmly; &ldquo;and that&rsquo;s such
+a job as might send &rsquo;e to the County Asylum,&rdquo; he added, pointing
+to the operations around him. &ldquo;As to damning Duchy,&rdquo; he
+continued, &ldquo;you might as well damn the sun or moon. They&rsquo;d care
+as little. Theer &rsquo;m some varmints so small that, though they bite
+&rsquo;e with all their might, you never knaw it; an&rsquo; so &rsquo;t is
+wi&rsquo; you an&rsquo; Duchy. Mind now, a fortnight. Thank &rsquo;e&mdash;so
+gude cider as ever I tasted; an&rsquo; doan&rsquo;t &rsquo;e tear an&rsquo;
+rage, my son. What&rsquo;s the use?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Twould be use, though, if us all raged together.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But you won&rsquo;t get none to follow. &rsquo;Tis all talk. Duchy
+haven&rsquo;t got no bones to break or sawl to lose; an&rsquo; moormen
+haven&rsquo;t got brains enough to do aught in the matter but jaw.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; all for a royal prince, as doan&rsquo;t knaw difference
+between yether an&rsquo; fuzz, I lay,&rdquo; growled Will. &ldquo;Small blame
+to moormen for being radical-minded these days. Who wouldn&rsquo;t, treated
+same as us?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Best not talk on such high subjects, Will Blanchard, or you might
+get in trouble. A fortnight, mind. Gude marnin&rsquo; to &rsquo;e.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The Duchy&rsquo;s man rode off and Will stood angry and irresolute. Then,
+seeing Mr. Vogwell was still observing him, he ostentatiously turned to the
+cart and tipped up his load of earth. But when the representative of power
+had disappeared&mdash;his horse and himself apparently sinking into rather
+than behind a heather ridge&mdash;Will&rsquo;s energy died and his mood
+changed. He had fooled himself about this enterprise until the present, but
+he could no longer do so. Now he sat down on the earth he had brought, let
+his horse drag the cart after it, as it wandered in search of some green
+thing, and suffered a storm of futile indignation to darken his spirit.</p>
+<p>Blanchard&rsquo;s unseasoned mind had, in truth, scarcely reached the
+second milestone upon the road of man&rsquo;s experience. Some arrive early
+at the mental standpoint where the five senses meet and merge in that sixth
+or common sense, which may be defined as an integral of the others, and which
+is manifested by those who possess it in a just application of all the
+experience won from life. But of common sense Will had none. He could
+understand laziness and wickedness being made to suffer; he could read
+Nature&rsquo;s more self-evident lessons blazoned across every meadow,
+displayed in every living organism&mdash;that error is instantly punished,
+that poor food starves the best seed, that too much water is as bad as too
+little, that the race is to the strong, and so forth; but he could not
+understand why hard work should go unrewarded, why good intentions should
+breed bad results, why the effect of energy, self-denial, right ambitions,
+and other excellent qualities is governed by chance; why the prizes in the
+great lottery fall to the wise, not to the well-meaning. He knew himself for
+a hard worker and a man who accomplished, in all honesty, the best within his
+power. What his hand found to do he did with his might; and the fact that his
+head, as often as not, prompted his hand to the wrong thing escaped him. He
+regarded his life as exemplary, felt that he was doing all that might in
+reason be demanded, and confidently looked towards Providence to do the rest.
+To find Providence unwilling to help him brought a wave of riotous
+indignation through his mind on each occasion of making that discovery. These
+waves, sweeping at irregular intervals over Will, left the mark of their high
+tides, and his mind, now swinging like a pendulum before this last buffet
+dealt by Fate in semblance of the Duchy&rsquo;s man, plunged him into a huge
+discontent with all things. He was ripe for mischief and would have
+quarrelled with his shadow; but he did worse&mdash;he quarrelled with his
+mother.</p>
+<p>She visited him that afternoon, viewed his shattered scheme, and listened
+as Will poured the great outrage upon her ear. Coming up at his express
+invitation to learn the secret, which he had kept from her that her joy might
+be the greater, Mrs. Blanchard only arrived in time to see his
+disappointment. She knew the Duchy for a bad enemy, and perhaps at the bottom
+of her conservative heart felt no particular delight at the spectacle of
+Newtake enlarging its borders. She therefore held that everything was for the
+best, and counselled patience; whereupon her son, with a month&rsquo;s wasted
+toil staring him in the face, rebelled and took her unconcerned demeanour
+ill. Damaris also brought a letter from Phoebe, and this added fuel to the
+flame. Will dwelt upon his wife&rsquo;s absence bitterly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Job&rsquo;s self never suffered that, for I read &rsquo;bout what
+he went through awnly last night, for somethin&rsquo; to kill an hour in the
+evenin&rsquo;. An&rsquo; I won&rsquo;t suffer it. It&rsquo;s contrary to
+nature, an&rsquo; if Phoebe ban&rsquo;t here come winter I&rsquo;ll go down
+an&rsquo; bring her, willy-nilly.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Time&rsquo;ll pass soon enough, my son. Next summer will be here
+quick. Then her&rsquo;ll have grawin&rsquo; corn to look at and fine crops
+risin&rsquo;, an&rsquo; more things feedin&rsquo; on the Moor in sight of her
+eyes. You see, upland farms do look a little thin to them who have lived all
+their time in the fatness of the valleys.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If I was bidin&rsquo; in one of them stone roundy-poundies, with
+nothin&rsquo; but a dog-kennel for a home, she ought to be shoulder to
+shoulder wi&rsquo; me. Did you leave my faither cause other people
+didn&rsquo;t love un?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That was differ&rsquo;nt. Theer s Miller Lyddon. I could much wish
+you seed more of him an&rsquo; let un come by a better &rsquo;pinion of
+&rsquo;e. &rsquo;T s awnly worldly wisdom, true; but&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m sick to death o&rsquo; worldly wisdom! What&rsquo;s it
+done for me? I stand to work nine an&rsquo; ten hour a day, an&rsquo; not
+wi&rsquo;out my share o&rsquo; worldly wisdom, neither. Then I&rsquo;m played
+with an&rsquo; left to whistle, I ban&rsquo;t gwaine to think so much, I tell
+&rsquo;e. It awnly hurts a man&rsquo;s head, an&rsquo; keeps him wakin&rsquo;
+o&rsquo; nights. Life&rsquo;s guess-work, by the looks of it, an&rsquo; a
+fule&rsquo;s so like to draw a prize as the wisest.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s not the talk as&rsquo;ll make Newtake pay, Will. You
+&rsquo;m worse than poor Blee to Monks Barton. He&rsquo;s gwaine round
+givin&rsquo; out theer ban&rsquo;t no God &rsquo;t all, &rsquo;cause Mrs.
+Coomstock took auld Lezzard &rsquo;stead of him.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You may laugh if you like, mother. &rsquo;Tis the fashion to laugh
+at me seemin&rsquo;ly. But I doan&rsquo;t care. Awnly you&rsquo;ll be sorry
+some day, so sure as you sit in thicky chair. Now, as you&rsquo;ve
+nothin&rsquo; but blame, best to go back home. I&rsquo;ll put your pony in
+the shafts. &rsquo;Twas a pity you corned so far for so little.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He went off, his breast heaving, while the woman followed him with her
+eyes and smiled when he was out of sight. She knew him so well, and already
+pictured her repentant son next Sunday. Then Will would be at his
+mother&rsquo;s cottage, and cut the bit of beef at dinner, and fuss over her
+comfort according to his custom.</p>
+<p>She went into the farmyard and took the pony from him and led it back into
+the stall. Then she returned to him and put her arm through his and
+spoke.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Light your pipe, lovey, an&rsquo; walk a li&rsquo;l way along down
+to the stones on the hill, wheer you was born. Your auld mother wants to talk
+to &rsquo;e.&rdquo;</p>
+<h2><a id="II_X" name="II_X"></a>CHAPTER X<br />
+CONNECTING LINKS</h2>
+<p>Spaces of time extending over rather more than a year may now be dismissed
+in a chapter.</p>
+<p>Chris Blanchard, distracted between Will and her lover, stayed on at
+Newtake after the estrangement, with a hope that she might succeed in healing
+the breach between them; but her importunity failed of its good object, and
+there came an August night when she found her own position at her
+brother&rsquo;s farm grow no longer tenable.</p>
+<p>The blinds were up, and rays from the lamp shot a broad band of light into
+the farmyard, while now and again great white moths struck soft blows against
+the closed window, then vanished again into the night. Will smoked and Chris
+pleaded until a point, beyond which her brother&rsquo;s patience could not
+go, was reached. Irritation grew and grew before her ceaseless entreaty on
+Clement&rsquo;s behalf; for the thousandth time she begged him to write a
+letter of apology and explanation of the trouble bred by Sam Bonus; and he,
+suddenly rising, smashed down his clay pipe and swore by all his gods he
+would hear the name of Hicks mentioned in his house no more. Thus challenged
+to choose between her lover and her brother, the girl did not hesitate.
+Something of Will&rsquo;s own spirit informed her; she took him at his word
+and returned home next morning, leaving him to manage his own household
+affairs henceforth as best he might.</p>
+<p>Upon the way to Chagford Chris chanced to meet with Martin Grimbal, and,
+having long since accepted his offer of friendship, she did not hesitate to
+tell him of her present sorrow and invite his sympathy. From ignorance rather
+than selfishness did Chris take Martin literally when he had hoped in the
+past they might remain friends, and their intercourse was always maintained
+by her when chance put one in the other&rsquo;s way&mdash;at a cost to the
+man beyond her power to guess.</p>
+<p>Now he walked beside her, and she explained how only a word was wanting
+between Will and Clement which neither would speak. Hicks had forgiven Will,
+but he refused to visit Newtake until he received an apology from the master
+of it; and Blanchard bore no ill-will to Clement, but declined to apologise
+for the past. These facts Martin listened to, while the blood beat like a
+tide within his temples, and a mist dimmed his eyes as the girl laid her
+brown hand upon his arm now and again, to accentuate a point. At such moments
+the truth tightened upon his soul and much distressed him.</p>
+<p>The antiquary had abandoned any attempt to forget Chris, or cease from
+worshipping her with all his heart and soul; but the emotion now muzzled and
+chained out of sight he held of nobler composition than that earlier love
+which yearned for possession. Those dreary months that dragged between the
+present and his first disappointment had served as foundations for new
+developments of character in the man. He existed through a period of
+unutterable despair and loneliness; then the fruits of bygone battles fought
+and won came to his aid, and long-past years of self-denial and self-control
+fortified his spirit. The reasonableness of Martin Grimbal lifted him slowly
+but steadily from the ashes of disappointment; even his natural humility
+helped him, and he told himself he had no more than his desert. Presently,
+with efforts the very vigour of which served as tonic to character, he began
+to wrestle at the granite again and resume his archaeologic studies. Speaking
+in general terms, his mind was notably sweetened and widened by his
+experience; and, resulting from his own failure to reach happiness, there
+awoke in him a charity and sympathy for others, a fellow-feeling with
+humanity, remarkable in one whose enthusiasm for human nature was not large,
+whose ruling passion, until the circumstance of love tinctured it, had led
+him by ways which the bulk of men had pronounced arid and unsatisfying. Now
+this larger insight was making a finer character of him and planting, even at
+the core of his professional pursuits, something deeper than is generally to
+be found there. His experience, in fact, was telling upon his work, and he
+began slowly to combine with the labour of the yard-measure and the pencil,
+the spade and the camera, just thoughts on the subject of those human
+generations who ruled the Moor aforetime, who lived and loved and laboured
+there full many a day before Saxon keel first grated on British shingle.</p>
+<p>To Chris did Martin listen attentively. Until the present time he had
+taken Will&rsquo;s advice and made no offer of work to Clement; but now he
+determined to do so, although he knew this action must mean speedy marriage
+for Chris. Love, that often enough can shake a lifetime of morality, that can
+set ethics and right conduct and duty playing a devil&rsquo;s dance in the
+victim&rsquo;s soul, that can change the practised customs of a man&rsquo;s
+life and send cherished opinions, accepted beliefs, and approved dogmas
+spinning into chaos before its fiery onslaught&mdash;love did not thus
+overpower Martin Grimbal. His old-fashioned mind was no armour against it,
+and in that the passion proved true; religion appeared similarly powerless to
+influence him; yet now his extreme humility, his natural sense of justice and
+the dimensions of his passion itself combined to lead him by a lofty road.
+Chris desired another man, and Martin Grimbal, loving her to that point where
+her perfect happiness dominated and, indeed, became his own, determined that
+his love should bear fruit worthy of its object.</p>
+<p>This kindly design was frustrated, however, and the antiquary himself
+denied power to achieve the good action that he proposed, for on visiting
+Clement in person and inviting his aid in the clerical portions of a
+considerable work on moorland antiquities, the poet refused to assist.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You come too late,&rdquo; he said coldly. &ldquo;I would not help
+you now if I could, Martin Grimbal. Don&rsquo;t imagine pride or any such
+motive keeps me from doing so. The true reason you may guess.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Indeed! I can do nothing of the sort. What reason is there against
+your accepting an offer to do remunerative and intellectual work in your
+leisure hours&mdash;work that may last ten years for all I can see to the
+contrary?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The reason is that you invited another man&rsquo;s judgment upon
+me, instead of taking your own. Better follow Will Blanchard&rsquo;s advice
+still. Don&rsquo;t think I&rsquo;m blind. It is Chris who has made you do
+this.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;re a very difficult man to deal with, really. Consider my
+suggestion, Hicks, and all it might mean. I desire nothing but your
+welfare.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Which is only to say you are offering me charity.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Martin looked at the other quietly, then took his hat and departed. At the
+door he said a last word.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t want to think this is final. You would be very useful
+to me, or I should not have asked you to aid my labour. Let me hear from you
+within a week.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>But Clement was firm in his folly; while, although they met on more than
+one occasion, and John Grimbal repeated his offer of regular work, the
+bee-keeper refused that proposal, also. He made some small sums out of the
+Red House hives, but would not undertake any regular daily labour there.
+Clement&rsquo;s refusal of Martin resulted from his own weak pride and
+self-conscious stupidity; but a more subtle tangle of conflicting motives was
+responsible for his action in respect of the elder Grimbal&rsquo;s
+invitation. Some loyalty to the man whom he so cordially disliked still
+inhabited his mind, and with it a very considerable distrust of himself. He
+partly suspected the reason of John Grimbal&rsquo;s offer of work, and the
+possibility of sudden temptation provoking from him utterance of words best
+left unsaid could not be ignored after his former experience at the hiving of
+the swarm.</p>
+<p>So he went his way and told nobody&mdash;not even Chris&mdash;of these
+opportunities and his action concerning them. Such reticence made two women
+sad. Chris, after her conversation with Martin, doubted not but that he would
+make some effort, and, hearing nothing as time passed, assumed he had changed
+his mind; while Mrs. Hicks, who had greatly hoped that Clement&rsquo;s visit
+to the Red House might result in regular employment, felt disappointed when
+no such thing occurred.</p>
+<p>The union of Mr. Lezzard and Mrs. Coomstock was duly accomplished to a
+chorus of frantic expostulation on the part of those interested in the
+widow&rsquo;s fortune. Mr. Shorto-Champernowne, having convinced himself that
+the old woman was in earnest, could find no sufficient reason for doing
+otherwise than he was asked, and finally united the couple. To Newton Abbot
+they went for their honeymoon, and tribulation haunted them from the first.
+Mrs. Lezzard refused her husband permission to inquire any particulars of her
+affairs from her lawyer&mdash;a young man who had succeeded Mr. Joel
+Ford&mdash;while the Gaffer, on his side, parried all his lady&rsquo;s
+endeavours to learn more of the small fortune concerning which he had spoken
+not seldom before marriage. Presently they returned to Chagford, and life
+resolved itself into an unlovely thing for both of them. Time brought no
+better understanding or mutual confidence; on the contrary, they never ceased
+from wrangling over money and Mrs. Lezzard&rsquo;s increasing propensity
+towards drink. The old man suffered most, and as his alleged three hundred
+pounds did not appear, being, indeed, a mere lover&rsquo;s effort of
+imagination, his wife bitterly resented marriage under such false pretences,
+and was never weary of protesting. Of her own affairs she refused to tell her
+husband anything, but as Mr. Lezzard was found to possess no money at all, it
+became necessary to provide him with a bare competence for the credit of the
+family. He did his best to win a little more regard and consideration, in the
+hope that when his wife passed away the reward of devotion might be reaped;
+but she never forgave him, expressed the conviction that she would outlive
+him by many years, and exhausted her ingenuity to make the old man rue his
+bargain. Only one experience, and that repeated as surely as Mr. Blee met Mr.
+Lezzard, was more trying to the latter than all the accumulated misfortune of
+his sorry state&mdash;Gaffer&rsquo;s own miseries appeared absolutely trivial
+by comparison with Mr. Blee&rsquo;s comments upon them.</p>
+<p>With another year Blanchard and Hicks became in some sort reconciled,
+though the former friendship was never renewed. The winter proved a severe
+one, and Will experienced a steady drain on his capital, but he comforted
+himself in thoughts of the spring, watched his wheat dapple the dark ground
+with green, and also foretold exceptional crops of hay when summer should
+return. The great event of his wife&rsquo;s advent at Newtake occupied most
+of his reflections; while as for Phoebe herself the matter was never out of
+her mind. She lived for the day in June that should see her by her
+husband&rsquo;s side; but Miller Lyddon showed no knowledge of the
+significance of Phoebe&rsquo;s twenty-first birthday; and when Will brought
+up the matter, upon an occasion of meeting with his father-in-law, the miller
+deprecated any haste.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Time enough&mdash;time enough,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;You
+doan&rsquo;t want no wife to Newtake these years to come, while I <i>do</i>
+want a darter to home.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>So Phoebe, albeit the course of operations was fully planned, forbore to
+tell her father anything, and suffered the day to drift nearer and nearer
+without expressly indicating the event it was to witness.</p>
+<h2><a id="II_XI" name="II_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI<br />
+TOGETHER</h2>
+<p>Though not free from various temporal problems that daily demanded
+solution, Will very readily allowed his mind a holiday from all affairs of
+business during the fortnight that preceded his wife&rsquo;s arrival at
+Newtake. What whitewash could do was done; a carpet, long since purchased but
+not laid down till now, adorned the miniature parlour; while out of doors,
+becoming suddenly conscious that not a blossom would greet Phoebe&rsquo;s
+eyes, Will set about the manufacture of a flower-bed under the kitchen
+window, bound the plat with neat red tiles, and planted therein half a dozen
+larkspurs&mdash;Phoebe&rsquo;s favourite flower&mdash;with other happy
+beauties of early summer. The effort looked raw and unhappy, however, and as
+ill luck would have it, these various plants did not take kindly to their
+changed life, and greeted Phoebe with hanging heads.</p>
+<p>But the great morning came at last, and Will, rising, with the curious
+thought that he would never sleep in the middle of his bed again, donned his
+best dark-brown velveteens and a new pair of leathern gaiters, then walked
+out into the air, where Chown was milking the cows. The day dawned as
+brightly as the events it heralded, and Will, knowing that his mother and
+Chris would be early at Newtake, strolled out to meet them. Over against the
+farm rose moorland crowned by stone, and from off their granite couches grey
+mists blushing to red now rose with lazy deliberation and vanished under the
+sun&rsquo;s kiss. A vast, sweet, diamond-twinkling freshness filled the Moor;
+blue shadows lay in the dewy coombs, and sun-fires gleamed along the heather
+ridges. No heath-bell as yet had budded, but the flame of the whins splashed
+many undulations, and the tender foliage of the whortleberry, where it grew
+on exposed granite, was nearly scarlet and flashed jewel-bright in the rich
+texture of the waste. Will saw his cattle pass to their haunts, sniffed the
+savour of them on the wind, and enjoyed the thought of being their possessor;
+then his eyes turned to the valley and the road which wound upwards from it
+under great light. A speck at length appeared three parts of a mile distant
+and away started Blauchard, springing down the hillside to intercept it. His
+heart sang within him; here was a glorious day that could never come again,
+and he meant to live it gloriously.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Marnin&rsquo;, mother! Marnin&rsquo;, Chris! Let me get in between
+&rsquo;e. Breakfast will be most ready by time we&rsquo;m home. I knawed you
+d keep your word such a rare fashion day!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Will soon sat between the two women, while Mrs. Blanchard&rsquo;s pony
+regulated its own pace and three tongues chattered behind it. A dozen brown
+paper parcels occupied the body of the little cart, for Damaris had insisted
+that the wedding feast should be of her providing. It was proposed that Chris
+and her mother should spend the day at Newtake and depart after drinking tea;
+while Phoebe was to arrive in a fly at one o&rsquo;clock.</p>
+<p>After breakfast Chris busied herself indoors and occupied her quick
+fingers in putting a dozen finishing touches; while Mrs. Blanchard walked
+round the farm beside Will, viewed with outspoken approval or secret distrust
+those evidences of success and failure spread about her, and passed the
+abandoned attempt to reclaim land without a word or sign that she remembered.
+Will crowed like a happy child; his mother poured advice into his unheeding
+ears; and then a cart lumbered up with a great surprise in it. True to her
+intention Mrs. Blanchard had chosen the day of Phoebe &rsquo;s arrival to
+send the old piano to Newtake, and now it was triumphantly trundled into the
+parlour, while Will protested and admired. It added not a little to the solid
+splendour of the apartment, and Mrs. Blanchard viewed it with placid but
+genuine satisfaction. Its tarnished veneer and red face looked like an old
+honest friend, so Will declared, and he doubted not that his wife would
+rejoice as he did.</p>
+<p>Presently the cart destined to bring Phoebe&rsquo;s boxes started for
+Chagford under Ted Chown&rsquo;s direction. It was a new cart, and the owner
+hoped that sight of it, with &ldquo;William Blanchard, Newtake,&rdquo; nobly
+displayed on the tail-board, would please his father-in-law.</p>
+<p>Meantime, at Monks Barton the great day had likewise dawned, but Phoebe,
+from cowardice rather than philosophy, did not mention what was to happen
+until the appearance of Chown made it necessary to do so.</p>
+<p>Mr. Blee was the first to stand bewildered before Ted&rsquo;s blunt
+announcement that he had come for Mrs. Blanchard&rsquo;s luggage.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What luggage? What the douce be talkin&rsquo; &rsquo;bout?&rdquo;
+he asked.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why, everything, I s&rsquo;pose. She &rsquo;m comin&rsquo; home
+to-day&mdash;that&rsquo;s knawn, ban&rsquo;t it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Gormed if &rsquo;tis! Not by me, anyways&mdash;nor Miller,
+neither.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then Phoebe appeared and Billy heard the truth.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My! An&rsquo; to keep it that quiet! Theer&rsquo;ll be a tidy
+upstore when Miller comes to hear tell&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>But Mr. Lyddon was at the door and Phoebe answered his questioning
+eyes.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My birthday, dear faither. You must remember&mdash;why, you was the
+first to give me joy of it! Twenty-one to-day, an&rsquo; I must go&mdash;I
+must&mdash;&rsquo;tis my duty afore everything.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The old man&rsquo;s jaw fell and he looked the picture of sorrowful
+surprise.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But&mdash;but to spring it like this! Why to-day? Why to-day?
+It&rsquo;s madness and it&rsquo;s cruelty to fly from your home the first
+living moment you&rsquo;ve got the power. I&rsquo;d counted on a merry
+evenin,&rsquo; tu, an&rsquo; axed more &rsquo;n wan to drink your gude
+health.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Many&rsquo;s the merry evenings us&rsquo;ll have, dear faither,
+please God; but a husband&rsquo;s a husband. He&rsquo;ve been that wonnerful
+patient, tu, for such as him. &rsquo;T was my fault for not remindin&rsquo;
+you. An&rsquo; yet I did, now an&rsquo; again, but you wouldn&rsquo;t see it.
+Yet you knawed in your heart, an&rsquo; I didn&rsquo;t like to pain &rsquo;e
+dwellin&rsquo; on it overmuch.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How did I knaw? I didn&rsquo;t knaw nothin&rsquo; &rsquo;t all
+&rsquo;bout it. How should I? Me grawin&rsquo; aulder an&rsquo; aulder,
+an&rsquo; leanin&rsquo; more an&rsquo; more &rsquo;pon &rsquo;e at every
+turn. An&rsquo; him no friend to me&mdash;he &rsquo;s never sought to win
+me&mdash;he &rsquo;s&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Doan&rsquo;t &rsquo;e taake on &rsquo;bout Will, dearie;
+you&rsquo;ll come to knaw un better bimebye. I ban&rsquo;t gwaine so far
+arter all; an&rsquo; it&rsquo;s got to be.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then the miller worked himself into a passion, dared Chown to take his
+daughter&rsquo;s boxes, and made a scene very painful to witness and quite
+futile in its effect. Phoebe could be strong at times, and a life&rsquo;s
+knowledge of her father helped her now. She told Chown to get the boxes and
+bade Billy help him; she then followed Mr. Lyddon, who was rambling away,
+according to his custom at moments of great sorrow, to pour his troubles into
+any ear that would listen. She put her arm through his, drew him to the
+riverside and spoke words that showed she had developed mentally of late. She
+was a woman with her father, cooed pleasantly to him, foretold good things,
+and implored him to have greater care of his health and her love than to
+court illness by this display of passion. Such treatment had sufficed to calm
+the miller in many of his moods, for she possessed great power to soothe him,
+and Mr. Lyddon now set increased store upon his daughter&rsquo;s judgment;
+but to-day, before this dreadful calamity, every word and affectionate device
+was fruitless and only made the matter worse. He stormed on, and
+Phoebe&rsquo;s superior manner vanished as he did so, for she could only play
+such a part if quite unopposed in it. Now her father silenced her, frightened
+her, and dared her to leave him; but his tragic temper changed when they
+returned to the farm and he found his daughter&rsquo;s goods were really
+gone. Then the old man grew very silent, for the inexorable certainty of the
+thing about to happen was brought home to him at last.</p>
+<p>Before a closed hackney carriage from the hotel arrived to carry Phoebe to
+Newtake, Miller Lyddon passed through a variety of moods, and another
+outburst succeeded his sentimental silence. When the vehicle was at the gate,
+however, his daughter found tears in his eyes upon entering the kitchen
+suddenly to wish him &ldquo;good-by.&rdquo; But he brushed them away at sight
+of her, and spoke roughly and told her to be gone and find the difference
+between a good father and a bad husband.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Go to the misery of your awn choosin&rsquo;; go to him an&rsquo;
+the rubbish-heap he calls a farm! Thankless an&rsquo;
+ontrue,&mdash;go,&mdash;an&rsquo; look to me in the future to keep you out of
+the poorhouse and no more. An&rsquo; that for your mother&rsquo;s
+sake&mdash;not yourn.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, Faither!&rdquo; she cried, &ldquo;doan&rsquo;t let them be the
+last words I hear &rsquo;pon your lips. &rsquo;T is cruel, for sure
+I&rsquo;ve been a gude darter to &rsquo;e, or tried to
+be&mdash;an&rsquo;&mdash;an&rsquo;&mdash;please, dear faither, just say you
+wish us well&mdash;me an&rsquo; my husband. Please say that much. I
+doan&rsquo;t ax more.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>But he rose and left her without any answer. It was then Phoebe&rsquo;s
+turn to weep, and blinded with tears she slipped and hurt her knee getting
+into the coach. Billy thereupon offered his aid, helped her, handed her
+little white fox terrier m after her, and saw that the door was properly
+closed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Be o&rsquo; good cheer,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;though I
+caan&rsquo;t offer &rsquo;e much prospects of easy life in double harness
+wi&rsquo; Will Blanchard. But, as I used to say in my church-gwaine days,
+&lsquo;God tempers the wind to the shorn lamb.&rsquo; Be it as &rsquo;twill,
+I dare say theer &rsquo;s many peaceful years o&rsquo; calm,
+black-wearin&rsquo; widowhood afore &rsquo;e yet, for chaps like him do
+shorten theer days a deal by such a tearin&rsquo;, high-coloured, passionate
+way of life.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Mr. Blee opened the gate, the maids waved their handkerchiefs and wept,
+and not far distant, as he heard the vehicle containing his daughter depart,
+Mr. Lyddon would have given half that he had to recall the spoken word.
+Phoebe once gone, his anger vanished and his love for her won on him like
+sunshine after storm. Angry, indeed, he still was, but with himself.</p>
+<p>For Phoebe, curiosity and love dried her tears as she passed upward
+towards the Moor. Then, the wild land reached, she put her head out of the
+window and saw Newtake beech trees in the distance. Already the foliage of
+them seemed a little tattered and thin, and their meagreness of vesture and
+solitary appearance depressed the spectator again before she arrived at
+them.</p>
+<p>But the gate, thrown widely open, was reached at last, and there stood
+Will and Mrs. Blanchard, Chris, Ted Chown, and the great bobtailed sheep-dog,
+&ldquo;Ship,&rdquo; to welcome her. With much emotion poor Phoebe alighted,
+tottered and fell into the bear-hug of her husband, while the women also
+kissed her and murmured over her in their sweet, broad Devon tongue. Then
+something made Will laugh, and his merriment struck the right note; but Ship
+fell foul of Phoebe&rsquo;s little terrier and there was a growl, then a yelp
+and a scuffling, dusty battle amid frightened fowls, whose protests added to
+the tumult. Upon this conflict descended Will&rsquo;s sapling with sounding
+thuds administered impartially, and from the skirmish the smaller beast
+emerged lame and crying, while the sheep-dog licked the blood off his nose
+and went to heel with a red light glimmering through his pale blue eyes.</p>
+<p>Happiness returned indoors and Phoebe, all blushes and praises, inspected
+her new home and the preparations made within it for her pleasure. Perhaps
+she simulated more joy than the moment brought, for such a day, dreamed of
+through years, was sure in its realisation to prove something of an
+anti-climax after the cruel nature of all such events. Despite Chris and her
+ceaseless efforts to keep joy at the flood, a listlessness stole over the
+little party as the day wore on. Phoebe found her voice not to be relied upon
+and felt herself drifting into that state between laughter and tears which
+craves solitude for its exhibition. The cows came home to be milked, and
+there seemed but few of them after the great procession at Monks Barton. Yet
+Will demanded her separate praises for each beast. In the little garden he
+had made, budding flowers, untimely transplanted, hung their heads. But she
+admired with extravagant adjectives, and picked a blossom and set it in her
+dress. Anon the sun set, with no soft lights and shadows amidst the valley
+trees she knew, when sunset and twilight played hide-and-seek beside the
+river, but slowly, solemnly, in hard, clean, illimitable glory upon horizons
+of granite and heather. The peat glowed as though it were red-hot, and night
+brooded on the eastern face of every hill. Only a jangling bell broke the
+startling stillness then, and, through long weeks afterwards the girl yearned
+for the song of the river, as one who has long slept by another&rsquo;s side
+sadly yearns for the sound of their breathing by night, when they are taken
+away. Phoebe had little imagination, but she guessed already that the life
+before her must differ widely from that spent under her father&rsquo;s roof.
+Despite the sunshine of the time and the real joy of being united to her
+husband at last, she saw on every side more evidences of practical life than
+she had before anticipated. But these braced her rather than not, and she
+told herself truly that the sadness at bottom of her heart just then was
+wholly begotten of the past and her departure from home. Deep unrest came
+upon her as she walked with her husband and listened to his glad voice. She
+longed greatly to be alone with him that her heart might be relieved. She
+wanted his arms round her; she wanted to cry and let him kiss the tears
+away.</p>
+<p>Damaris Blanchard very fully understood much that was passing through her
+daugher-in-law&rsquo;s mind, and she hastened her departure after an early
+cup of tea. She took a last look at all the good things she had provided for
+the wedding supper&mdash;a meal she declared must not be shared with Will and
+Phoebe&mdash;and so made ready to depart. It was then her turn, and her bosom
+throbbed with just one dumb, fleeting shadow of fear that found words before
+her second thought had time to suppress them.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You won&rsquo;t love me no less, eh, Will?&rdquo; she whispered,
+holding his hand between hers; and he saw her grey eyes almost frightened in
+the gloaming.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My God, no! No, mother; a man must have a dirty li&rsquo;l heart in
+un if it ban&rsquo;t big enough to hold mother an&rsquo; wife.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She gripped his hand tighter.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess fay, I knaw, I knaw; but doan&rsquo;t &rsquo;e put your mother
+first now,&mdash;ban&rsquo;t nature. God bless an&rsquo; keep the both of
+&rsquo;e. &rsquo;Twill allus be my prayer.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The cart rattled away, Chris driving, and such silence as Phoebe had never
+known held the darkening land. She noted a yellow star against the sombre
+ridge of the world, felt Will&rsquo;s arm round her and turned to him,
+seeking that comfort and support her nature cried out for.</p>
+<p>Infinitely tender and loving was her husband then, and jubilant, too, at
+first; but a little later, when Chown had been packed off to his own
+apartment, with not a few delicacies he had never bargained for, the
+conversation flagged and the banquet also.</p>
+<p>The table was laden with two capons, a ham, a great sugared cake, a whole
+Dutch cheese, an old-fashioned cut-glass decanter containing brown sherry,
+and two green wine-glasses for its reception; yet these luxuries tempted
+neither husband nor wife to much enjoyment of them. Indeed Phoebe&rsquo;s
+obvious lowness of spirits presently found its echo in Will. The silences
+grew longer and longer; then the husband set down his knife and fork, and
+leaving the head of the table went round to his wife&rsquo;s side and took
+her hand and squeezed it, but did not speak. She turned to him and he saw her
+shut her eyes and give a little shiver. Then a tear flashed upon her lashes
+and twinkled boldly down, followed by another.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Phoebe! My awn li&rsquo;l wummon! This be a wisht
+home-comin&rsquo;! What the plague&rsquo;s the matter wi&rsquo;
+us?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Doan&rsquo;t &rsquo;e mind, dear heart. I&rsquo;m happy as a bird
+under these silly tears. But &rsquo;twas the leavin&rsquo; o&rsquo; faither,
+an&rsquo; him so hard, an&rsquo; me lovin&rsquo; him so dear,
+an&rsquo;&mdash;an&rsquo;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Doan&rsquo;t &rsquo;e break your heart &rsquo;bout him. He&rsquo;ll
+come round right enough. &rsquo;Twas awnly the pang o&rsquo; your gwaine
+away, like the drawin&rsquo; of a tooth.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Everybody else in the world knaws I ought to be here,&rdquo; sobbed
+Phoebe, &ldquo;but faither, he won&rsquo;t see it. An&rsquo; I caan&rsquo;t
+get un out of my mind to-night, sitting that mournfui an&rsquo; desolate,
+wi&rsquo; his ear deaf to Billy&rsquo;s noise an&rsquo; his thoughts up
+here.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If he won&rsquo;t onderstand the ways of marriage, blessed if I see
+how we can make him. Surely to God, &rsquo;twas time I had my awn?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess, dear Will, but coming to-day, &rsquo;pon top of my gert joy,
+faither&rsquo;s sorrow seemed so terrible-like.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;ll get awver it, an&rsquo; so will you, bless you. Drink
+up some of this braave stuff mother left. Sherry &rsquo;t is, real wine, as
+will comfort &rsquo;e, my li&rsquo;l love. &rsquo;Tis I be gwaine to make
+your happiness henceforward, mind; an&rsquo; as for Miller, he belongs to an
+auld-fashioned generation of mankind, and it&rsquo;s our place to make
+allowances. Auld folk doan&rsquo;t knaw an&rsquo; won&rsquo;t larn. But
+he&rsquo;ll come to knaw wan solid thing, if no more; an&rsquo; that is as
+his darter&rsquo;ll have so gude a husband as she&rsquo;ve got faither,
+though I sez it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis just what he said I shouldn&rsquo;t, Will.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Nevermind, forgive un, an&rsquo; drink up your wine; &rsquo;twill
+hearten &rsquo;e.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>A dog barked, a gate clinked, and there came the sound of a horse&rsquo;s
+hoofs, then of a man dismounting.</p>
+<p>Will told the rest of the story afterwards to Mrs. Blanchard.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;&rsquo;Tis faither,&rsquo; cries Phoebe, an&rsquo; turns so
+pale as a whitewashed wall in moonlight. &lsquo;Never!&rsquo; I sez. But she
+knawed the step of un, an&rsquo; twinkled up from off her chair, an&rsquo;
+&rsquo;fore ever the auld man reached the door, &rsquo;t was awpen. In he
+comed, like a lamb o&rsquo; gentleness, an&rsquo; said never a word for a
+bit, then fetched out a little purse wi&rsquo; twenty gawld sovereigns in it.
+An&rsquo; us all had some fine talk for more&rsquo;n an hour, an&rsquo; he
+was proper faither to me, if you&rsquo;ll credit it; an&rsquo; he drinked a
+glass o&rsquo; your wine, mother, an&rsquo; said he never tasted none better
+and not much so gude. Then us seed un off, an&rsquo; Phoebe cried again, poor
+twoad, but for sheer happiness this time. So now the future&rsquo;s clear as
+sunlight, an&rsquo; we&rsquo;m all friends&mdash;&rsquo;cept here an&rsquo;
+theer.&rdquo;</p>
+<h2><a id="II_XII" name="II_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII<br />
+THROUGH ONE GREAT DAY</h2>
+<p>Just within the woods of Teign Valley, at a point not far distant from
+that where Will Blanchard met John Grimbal for the first time, and wrestled
+with him beside the river, there rises a tall bank, covered with fern,
+shadowed by oak trees. A mossy bridle-path winds below, while beyond it, seen
+through a screen of wych-elms and hazel, extend the outlying meadows of Monks
+Barton.</p>
+<p>Upon this bank, making &ldquo;sunshine in a shady place,&rdquo; reclined
+Chris, beneath a harmony of many greens, where the single, double, and triple
+shadows of the manifold leaves above her created a complex play of light and
+shade all splashed and gemmed with little sun discs. Drowsy noon-day peace
+marked the hour; Chris had some work in her hand, but was not engaged upon
+it; and Clement, who lolled beside her, likewise did nothing. His eyes were
+upon a mare and foal in the meadow below. The matron proceeded slowly,
+grazing as she went, while her lanky youngster nibbled at this or that
+inviting tuft, then raced joyously in wide circles and, returning, sought his
+mother&rsquo;s milk with the selfish roughness of youth.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Happy as birds, they be,&rdquo; said Chris, referring to the young
+pair at Newtake. &ldquo;It do make me long for us to be man an&rsquo; wife,
+Clem, when I see &rsquo;em.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We&rsquo;re that now, save for the hocus-pocus of the parsons you
+set such store by.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, I&rsquo;ll never believe it makes no difference.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A cumbrous, stupid, human contrivance like marriage! Was ever man
+and woman happier for being bound that way? Can free things feel their hearts
+beat closer because they are chained to one another by an effete
+dogma?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I doan&rsquo;t onderstand all that talk, sweetheart, an&rsquo; you
+knaw I don&rsquo;t; but till some wise body invents a better-fashion way of
+joining man an&rsquo; maid than marriage, us must taake it as
+&rsquo;tis.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;There is a better way&mdash;Nature&rsquo;s.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She shook her head.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If us could dwell in a hole at a tree-root, an&rsquo; eat roots
+an&rsquo; berries; but we&rsquo;m thinking creatures in a Christian
+land.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She stretched herself out comfortably and smiled up at him where he sat
+with his chin in his hands. Then, looking down, he saw the delicious outline
+of her and his eyes grew hot.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;God&rsquo;s love! How long must it be?&rdquo; he cried; then,
+before she could speak, he clipped her passionately to him and hugged her
+closely.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Dearie, you&rsquo;m squeezin&rsquo; my breath out o&rsquo;
+me!&rdquo; cried Chris, well used to these sudden storms and not averse to
+them. &ldquo;We must bide patient an&rsquo; hold in our hearts,&rdquo; she
+said, lying in his arms with her face close to his. &ldquo;&rsquo;Twill be
+all the more butivul when we&rsquo;m mated. Ess fay! I love &rsquo;e allus,
+but I love &rsquo;e better in this fiery mood than on the ice-cold days when
+you won&rsquo;t so much as hold my hand.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The cold mood&rsquo;s the better notwithstanding, and colder yet
+would be better yet, and clay-cold best of all.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>But he held her still, and pressed his beard against her brown neck. Then
+the sound of a trotting horse reached his ears, he started up, looked below,
+and saw John Grimbal passing by. Their eyes met, for the horseman chanced to
+glance up as Clement thrust his head above the fern; but Chris was invisible
+and remained so.</p>
+<p>Grimbal stopped and greeted the bee-keeper.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Have you forgotten your undertaking to see my hives once a
+month?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, I meant coming next week.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, as it happens I want to speak with you, and the present
+time&rsquo;s as good as another. I suppose you were only lying there
+dreaming?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s all. I&rsquo;ll come and walk along beside your
+horse.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He squeezed his sweetheart&rsquo;s hand, whispered a promise to return
+immediately, then rose and stumbled down the bank, leaving Chris throned
+aloft in the fern. For a considerable time John Grimbal said nothing, then he
+began suddenly,&mdash;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I suppose you know the Applebirds are leaving my farm?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, Mrs. Applebird told my mother. Going to
+Sticklepath.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not easy to get a tenant to take their place.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Is it not? Such a farm as yours? I should have thought there need
+be no difficulty.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;There are tenants and tenants. How would you like it&mdash;you and
+your mother? Then you could marry and be comfortable. No doubt Chris
+Blanchard would make a splendid farmer&rsquo;s wife.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It would be like walking into paradise for me;
+but&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The rent needn&rsquo;t bother you. My first care is a good tenant.
+Besides, rent may take other shapes than pounds, shillings, and
+pence.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Hicks started.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I see,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;you can&rsquo;t forget the chance
+word I spoke in anger so long ago.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I can&rsquo;t, because it happened to be just the word I wanted to
+hear. My quarrel with Will Blanchard&rsquo;s no business of yours. The
+man&rsquo;s your enemy too; and you&rsquo;re a fool to stand in your own
+light, You know something that I don&rsquo;t know, concerning those weeks
+during which he disappeared. Well, tell me. You can only live your life once.
+Why let it run to rot when the Red House Farm wants a tenant? A man you
+despise, too.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No. I promised. Besides, you wouldn&rsquo;t be contented with the
+knowledge; you&rsquo;d act on it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Grimbal showed a lightning-quick perception of this admission; and Hicks,
+too late, saw that the other had realised its force. Then he made an effort
+to modify his assertion.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;When I say &lsquo;you&rsquo;d act on it,&rsquo; I mean that you
+might try to, though I much doubt really if anything I could tell you would
+damage Blanchard.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If you think that, then there can be no conscientious objection to
+telling me. Besides, I don&rsquo;t say I should act on the knowledge. I
+don&rsquo;t say I shall or I shall not. All you ve got to do is to say
+whether you&rsquo;ll take the Red House Farm at a nominal rent from
+Michaelmas.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, man, no. You&rsquo;ve met me in a bad moment, too, if you only
+knew. But think of it&mdash;brother and sister; and I, in order to marry the
+woman, betray the man. That&rsquo;s what it comes to. Such things don&rsquo;t
+happen.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You re speaking plainly, at any rate. We ought to understand each
+other to-day, if ever. I&rsquo;ll make you the same offer for less return.
+Tell me where he was during those weeks&mdash;that&rsquo;s all. You
+needn&rsquo;t tell what he was doing.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If you knew one, you&rsquo;d find out the other. Once and for all,
+I&rsquo;ll tell you nothing. By an accidental question you discovered that I
+knew something. That was not my fault. But more you never will know from
+me&mdash;farm or no farm.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;re a fool for your pains. And the end will be the same.
+The information must reach me. You&rsquo;re a coward at heart, for it&rsquo;s
+fear, not any tomfoolery of morals, that keeps your mouth shut. Don&rsquo;t
+deceive yourself. I&rsquo;ve often talked with you before to-day, and I know
+you think as I do.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What&rsquo;s that to do with it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Everything. &lsquo;Good&rsquo; and &lsquo;evil&rsquo; are only two
+words, and what is man&rsquo;s good and what is man&rsquo;s evil takes
+something cleverer than man to know. It&rsquo;s no nonsense of
+&lsquo;right&rsquo; and &lsquo;wrong&rsquo; that&rsquo;s keeping you from a
+happy home and a wife. What is it then?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Hicks was silent a moment, then made answer.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know. I don&rsquo;t know any more than you do.
+Something has come over me; I can&rsquo;t tell you what. I&rsquo;m more
+surprised than you are at my silence; but there it is. Why the devil I
+don&rsquo;t speak I don&rsquo;t know. I only know I&rsquo;m not going to. Our
+characters are beyond our own power to understand.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If you don&rsquo;t know, I&rsquo;ll tell you. You&rsquo;re
+frightened that he will find out. You&rsquo;re afraid of him.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s vain trying to anger me into speaking,&rdquo; answered
+the other, showing not a little anger the while; &ldquo;I&rsquo;m dumb
+henceforward.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I hope you&rsquo;ll let your brain influence you towards reason.
+&rsquo;Tis a fool&rsquo;s trick to turn your back on the chance of a
+lifetime. Better think twice. And second thoughts are like to prove best
+worth following. You know where to find me at any rate. I&rsquo;ll give you
+six weeks to decide about it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>John Grimbal waited, hoping that Hicks might yet change his mind before he
+took his leave; but the bee-keeper made no answer. His companion therefore
+broke into a sharp trot and left him. Whereupon Clement stood still a moment,
+then he turned back and, forgetting all about Chris, proceeded slowly
+homewards to Chagford, deep in thought and heartily astonished at himself. No
+one could have prompted his enemy to a more critical moment for this great
+attack; no demon could have sent the master of the Red House with a more
+tempting proposal; and yet Hicks found himself resisting the lure without any
+particular effort or struggle. On the one side this man had offered him all
+the things his blood and brain craved; on the other his life still stretched
+drearily forward, and nothing in it indicated he was nearer his ambition by a
+hair&rsquo;s-breadth than a year before. Yet he refused to pay the price. It
+amazed him to find his determination so fixed against betrayal of Will. He
+honestly wondered at himself. The decision was bred from a curious condition
+of mind quite beyond his power to comprehend. He certainly recoiled from
+exposure of Blanchard&rsquo;s secret, yet coldly asked himself what
+unsuspected strand of character held him back. It was not fear and it was not
+regard for his sweetheart&rsquo;s brother; he did not know what it was. He
+scoffed at the ideas of honour or conscience. These abstractions had
+possessed weight in earlier years, but not now. And yet, while he assured
+himself that no tie of temporal or eternal interest kept him silent, the
+temptation to tell seemed much less on this occasion than in the past when he
+took a swarm of John Grimbal&rsquo;s bees. Then, indeed, his mind was aflame
+with bitter provocation. He affected a cynical attitude to the position and
+laughed without mirth at a theory that suddenly appeared in his mind.
+Perchance this steadfastness of purpose resulted, after all, from that
+artificial thing, &ldquo;conscience,&rdquo; which men catch at the
+impressionable age when they have infantile ailments and pray at a
+mother&rsquo;s knee. If so, surely reason must banish such folly before
+another dawn and send him hot-foot at daybreak to the Red House. He would
+wait and watch himself and see.</p>
+<p>His reflections were here cut short, for a shrill voice broke in upon
+them, and Clement, now within a hundred yards of his own cottage door, saw
+Mr. Lezzard before him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;At last I&rsquo;ve found &rsquo;e! Been huntin&rsquo; this longful
+time, tu. The Missis wants &rsquo;e&mdash;your aunt I should say.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Wants me?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess. &rsquo;T is wan o&rsquo; her bad days, wi&rsquo; her liver
+an&rsquo; lights a bitin&rsquo; at her like savage creatures. She&rsquo;m set
+on seein&rsquo; you, an&rsquo; if I go home-along without &rsquo;e,
+she&rsquo;ll awnly cuss.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What can she want me for?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She &rsquo;s sick &rsquo;n&rsquo; taken a turn for the wuss, last
+few days. Doctor Parsons doan&rsquo;t reckon she can hold out much longer.
+&rsquo;Tis the drink&mdash;she&rsquo;m soaked in it, like a
+sponge.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll come,&rdquo; said Hicks, and half an hour later he
+approached his aunt&rsquo;s dwelling and entered it.</p>
+<p>Mrs. Lezzard was now sunk into a condition of chronic crapulence which
+could only end in one way. Her husband had been ordered again and again to
+keep all liquor from her, but, truth to tell, he made no very sustained
+effort to do so. The old man was sufficiently oppressed by his own physical
+troubles, and as the only happiness earth now held for him must depend on the
+departure of his wife, he watched her drinking herself to death without
+concern and even smiled in secret at the possibility of some happy, quiet,
+and affluent years when she was gone.</p>
+<p>Mrs. Lezzard lay on the sofa in her parlour, and a great peony-coloured
+face with coal-black eyes in it greeted Clement. She gave him her hand and
+bid her husband be gone. Then, when Gaffer had vanished, his wife turned to
+her nephew.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve sent for you, Clem Hicks, for more reasons than wan. I
+be gwaine down the hill fast, along o&rsquo; marryin&rsquo; this cursed
+mommet<a id="footnotetag12" name="footnotetag12"></a><a href=
+"#footnote12"><sup>12</sup></a> of a man, Lezzard. He lied about his
+money&mdash;him a pauper all the time; and now he waits and watches me
+o&rsquo; nights, when he thinks I&rsquo;m drunk or dreamin&rsquo; an&rsquo; I
+ban&rsquo;t neither. He watches, wi&rsquo; his auld, mangy poll
+shakin&rsquo;, an&rsquo; the night-lamp flingin&rsquo; the black shadow of un
+&rsquo;gainst the bed curtain an&rsquo; shawin&rsquo; wheer his wan front
+tooth sticks up like a yellow stone in a charred field. Blast un to hell!
+He&rsquo;m waitin&rsquo; for my money, an&rsquo; I&rsquo;ve told un
+he&rsquo;s to have it. But &rsquo;twas only to make the sting bite deeper
+when the time comes. Not a penny&mdash;not a farthing&mdash;him or any of
+&rsquo;em.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t get angry with him. He&rsquo;s not worth it. Tell me if
+I can help you and how. You&rsquo;ll be up and about again soon, I
+hope.&rdquo; &ldquo;Never. Not me. Doctor Parsons be to blame. I hate that
+man. He knawed it was weakness of heart that called for drink after
+Coonistock died; an&rsquo; he let me go on an&rsquo; on&mdash;just to gain
+his own dark ends. You&rsquo;ll see, you&rsquo;ll see. But that reminds me.
+Of all my relations you an&rsquo; your mother&rsquo;s all I care for; because
+you&rsquo;m of my awn blood an&rsquo; you&rsquo;ve let me bide, an&rsquo;
+haven&rsquo;t been allus watchin&rsquo; an&rsquo; waitin&rsquo; an&rsquo;
+divin&rsquo; me to the bottle. An&rsquo; the man I was fule enough to take in
+his dotage be worst of all.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Forget about these things. Anger&rsquo;s bad for you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Forget! Well, so I will forget, when I ve told &rsquo;e. I had the
+young man what does my business, since old Ford died, awver here last week,
+an&rsquo; what there is will be yourn&mdash;every stiver yourn. Not the
+business, of course; that was sold when Coonistock died; but what I could
+leave I have. You expected nothin,&rsquo; an&rsquo; by God! you shall have
+all!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She saw his face and hastened to lessen the force of the announcement in
+some degree.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ban&rsquo;t much, mind, far less than you might think for&mdash;far
+less. Theer&rsquo;s things I was driven to do&mdash;a lone woman wi&rsquo;out
+a soul to care. An&rsquo; wan was&mdash;but you&rsquo;ll hear in gude time,
+you&rsquo;ll hear. It concerns Doctor Parsons.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I can&rsquo;t believe my senses. If you only knew what happened to
+me this morning. And if you only knew what absolute paupers we
+are&mdash;mother and I. Not that I would confess it to any living soul but
+you. And how can I thank you? Words are such vain things.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ban&rsquo;t no call to thank me. &rsquo;Tis more from hatred of
+t&rsquo; others than love of you, when all&rsquo;s said. An&rsquo; it
+ban&rsquo;t no gert gold mine. But I&rsquo;d like to be laid along wi&rsquo;
+Coomstock; an&rsquo; doan&rsquo;t, for God&rsquo;s love, bury Lezzard
+wi&rsquo; me; an&rsquo; I want them words on auld George Mundy&rsquo;s graave
+set &rsquo;pon mine&mdash;not just writ, but cut in a slate or some such
+lasting thing. &rsquo;Tis a tidy tomb he&rsquo;ve got, wi&rsquo; a cherub
+angel, an&rsquo; I&rsquo;d like the same. You&rsquo;ll find a copy o&rsquo;
+the words in the desk there. My maid took it down last Sunday. I minded the
+general meaning, but couldn&rsquo;t call home the rhymes. Read it out, will
+&rsquo;e?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Clement opened the desk, and found and read the paper. It contained a
+verse not uncommon upon the tombstones of the last rural generation in
+Devon:</p>
+<p class="poem">&ldquo;Ye standers-by, the thread is spun;<br />
+All pomp and pride I e&rsquo;er did shun;<br />
+Rich and poor alike must die;<br />
+Peasants and kings in dust must lie;<br />
+The best physicians cannot save<br />
+Themselves or patients from the Grave.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Them&rsquo;s the words, an&rsquo; I&rsquo;ve chose &rsquo;em so as
+Doctor Parsons shall have a smack in the faace when I&rsquo;m gone. Not that
+he&rsquo;s wan o&rsquo; the &rsquo;best physicians&rsquo; by a mighty long
+way; but he&rsquo;ll knaw I was thinking of him, an&rsquo; gnash his teeth, I
+hope, every time he sees the stone. I owe him that&mdash;an&rsquo; more
+&rsquo;n that, as you&rsquo;ll see when I&rsquo;m gone.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You mustn&rsquo;t talk of going, aunt&mdash;not for many a day.
+You&rsquo;re a young woman for these parts. You must take
+care&mdash;that&rsquo;s all.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>But he saw death in her face while he spoke, and could scarcely hide the
+frantic jubilation her promise had awakened in him. The news swept him along
+on a flood of novel thoughts. Coming as it did immediately upon his refusal
+to betray Will Blanchard, the circumstance looked, even in the eyes of Hicks,
+like a reward, an interposition of Providence on his behalf. He doubted not
+but that the bulk of mankind would so regard it. There arose within him
+old-fashioned ideas concerning right and wrong&mdash;clear notions that
+brought a current of air through his mind and blew away much rotting foliage
+and evil fruit. This sun-dawn of prosperity transformed the man for a moment,
+even awoke some just ethical thoughts in him.</p>
+<p>His reverie was interrupted, for, on the way from Mrs. Lezzard&rsquo;s
+home, Clement met Doctor Parsons himself and asked concerning his
+aunt&rsquo;s true condition.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She gave you the facts as they are,&rdquo; declared the medical
+man. &ldquo;Nothing can save her. She&rsquo;s had <i>delirium tremens</i>
+Lord knows how often. A fortnight to a month&mdash;that&rsquo;s all. Nature
+loves these forlorn hopes and tinkers away at them in a manner that often
+causes me to rub my eyes. But you can&rsquo;t make bricks without straw.
+Nature will find the game &rsquo;s up in a few days; then she&rsquo;ll waste
+no more time, and your aunt will be gone.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Home went Clement Hicks, placed his mother in a whirl of mental rejoicing
+at this tremendous news, then set out for Chris. Their compact of the
+morning&mdash;that she should await his return in the woods&mdash;he quite
+forgot; but Mrs. Blanchard reminded him and added that Chris had returned in
+no very good humour, then trudged up to Newtake to see Phoebe. Cool and calm
+the widow stood before Clement&rsquo;s announcement, expressed her
+gratification, and gave him joy of the promised change in his life.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Glad enough am I to hear tell of this. But you&rsquo;ll act
+just&mdash;eh? You won&rsquo;t forget that poor auld blid, Lezzard? If
+she&rsquo;m gwaine to leave un out the account altogether, he&rsquo;ll be
+worse off than the foxes. His son&rsquo;s gone to foreign paarts an&rsquo;
+his darter&rsquo;s lyin&rsquo;-in&mdash;not that her husband would spare a
+crust o&rsquo; bread for auld Lezzard, best o&rsquo; times.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Trust me to do what&rsquo;s right. Now I&rsquo;ll go and see after
+Chris.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; make it up with Will while sun shines on &rsquo;e.
+It&rsquo;s so easy, come gude fortune, to feel your heart swellin&rsquo; out
+to others.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We are good friends now.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Do&rsquo;e think I doan&rsquo;t knaw better? Your quarrel&rsquo;s
+patched for the sake of us women. Have a real make-up, I mean.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I will, then. I&rsquo;ll be what I was to him, if he&rsquo;ll let
+me. I&rsquo;ll forgive everything that&rsquo;s past&mdash;everything and
+every body.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So do. An&rsquo; doan&rsquo;t &rsquo;e tell no more of them hard
+sayings &rsquo;gainst powers an&rsquo; principalities an&rsquo; Providence.
+Us be all looked arter, &rsquo;cording to the unknawn planning of God.
+How&rsquo;s Mrs. Lezzard?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She&rsquo;ll be dead in a fortnight&mdash;perhaps less. As likely
+as not I might marry Chris before the next new moon.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Doan&rsquo;t think &rsquo;pon that yet. Be cool, an&rsquo; keep
+your heart in bounds. &rsquo;T is allus the way wi&rsquo; such as you, who
+never hope nothing. Theer comes a matter as takes &rsquo;em out of
+themselves, then they get drunk with hope, all of a sudden, an&rsquo; flies
+higher than the most sanguine folks, an&rsquo; builds castles &rsquo;pon
+clouds. Theer&rsquo;s the diggin&rsquo; of a graave between you and Chris
+yet. Doan&rsquo;t forget that.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You can&rsquo;t evade solid facts.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, but solid facts, seen close, often put on a differ&rsquo;nt
+faace to what they did far-ways off.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You won&rsquo;t dishearten me, mother; I&rsquo;m a happy man for
+once.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Be you? God forbid I should cloud &rsquo;e then; awnly keep wise as
+well as happy, an&rsquo; doan&rsquo;t fill Chris with tu gert a shaw of pomps
+an&rsquo; splendours. Put it away till it comes. Our dreams &rsquo;bout the
+future &rsquo;s allus a long sight better or worse than the future
+itself.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t forbid dreaming. That&rsquo;s the sole happiness
+I&rsquo;ve ever had until now.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Happiness, you call it? &rsquo;T is awnly a painted tinsel o&rsquo;
+the mind, and coming from it into reality is like waking arter tu much drink.
+So I&rsquo;ve heard my husband say scores o&rsquo; times&mdash;him
+bein&rsquo; a man much given to overhopefulness in his younger
+days&mdash;same as Will is now.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Clement departed, and presently found himself with the cooler breezes of
+the high lands upon his hot forehead. They put him in mind of Mrs. Blanchard
+again, and their tendency, as hers had been, was to moderate his ardour; but
+that seemed impossible just now. Magnificent sunshine spread over the great
+wastes of the Moor; and through it, long before he reached Newtake, Clement
+saw his sweetheart returning. For a little time he seemed intoxicated and no
+longer his own master. The fires of the morning woke in him again at sight of
+her. They met and kissed, and he promised her some terrific news, but did not
+tell it then. He lived in the butterfly fever of the moment, and presently
+imparted the fever to her. They left the road and got away into the lonely
+heather; then he told her that they would be man and wife within a
+fortnight.</p>
+<p>They sat close together, far from every eye, in the shade of a thorn bush
+that rose beside a lonely stone.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Within the very shadow of marriage, and you are frightened of me
+still! Frightened to let me pick an apple over the orchard wall when I am
+going through the gate for my own the next moment! Listen! I hear our wedding
+bells!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Only the little lizard and the hovering hawk with gold eyes saw them.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Our wedding bells!&rdquo; said Chris. Towards set of sun Hicks saw
+his sweetheart to her mother&rsquo;s cottage. His ecstatic joys were sobered
+now, and his gratitude a little lessened.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;To think what marvels o&rsquo; happiness be in store for us, Clem,
+my awn!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes&mdash;not more than we deserve, either. God knows, if there
+&rsquo;s any justice, it was your turn and mine to come by a little of the
+happiness that falls to the lot of men and women.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I doan&rsquo;t see how highest heaven&rsquo;s gwaine to be better
+than our married life, so long as you love me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Heaven! Don&rsquo;t compare them. What&rsquo;s eternity if
+you&rsquo;re half a ghost, half a bird? That&rsquo;s the bribe thrown
+out,&mdash;to be a cold-blooded, perfect thing, and passionless as a musical
+box. Give me hot blood that flows and throbs; give me love, and a
+woman&rsquo;s breast to lean on. One great day on earth, such as this has
+been, is better than a million ages of sexless perfection in heaven. A vain
+reward it was that Christ offered. It seemed highest perfection to Him,
+doubtless; but He judged the world by Himself. The Camel-driver was wiser. He
+promised actual, healthy flesh in paradise&mdash;flesh that should never know
+an ache or pain&mdash;eternal flesh, and the joys of it. We can understand
+that, but where&rsquo;s the joy of being a spirit? I cling to the flesh I
+have, for I know that Nature will very soon want back the dust she has lent
+me.&rdquo;</p>
+<h2><a id="II_XIII" name="II_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII<br />
+THE WILL</h2>
+<p>Agreeably to the prediction of Doctor Parsons, Mrs. Lezzard&rsquo;s
+journey was ended in less than three weeks of her conversation with Clement
+Hicks. Then came a night when she made an ugly end; and with morning a group
+of gossips stood about the drawn blinds, licked their lips over the details,
+and generally derived that satisfaction from death common to their class.
+Indeed, this ghoulish gusto is not restricted to humble folk alone. The
+instinct lies somewhere at the root of human nature, together with many
+another morbid vein and trait not readily to be analysed or understood. Only
+educated persons conceal it.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She had deliriums just at the end,&rdquo; said Martha, her maid.
+&ldquo;She called out in a voice as I never heard afore, an&rsquo; mistook
+her husband for the Dowl.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Poor sawl! Death&rsquo;s such a struggle at the finish for the
+full-blooded kind. Doctor tawld me that if she&rsquo;d had the leastest bit
+o&rsquo;liver left, he could &rsquo;a&rsquo; saved her; but &rsquo;twas all
+soaked up by neat brandy, leaving nought but a vacuum or some such fatal
+thing.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Her hadn&rsquo;t the use of her innards for a full fortnight! Think
+o&rsquo; that! Aw. dallybuttons! It do make me cream all awver to hear tell
+of!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>So they piled horror upon horror; then came Clement Hicks, as one having
+authority, and bade them begone. The ill-omened fowls hopped off; relations
+began to collect; there was an atmosphere of suppressed electricity about the
+place, and certain women openly criticised the prominent attitude Hicks saw
+fit to assume. This, however, did not trouble him. He wrote to the lawyer at
+Newton, fixed a day for the funeral, and then turned his attention to Mr.
+Lezzard. The ancient resented Clement&rsquo;s interference not a little, but
+Hicks speedily convinced him that his animosity mattered nothing. The
+bee-keeper found this little taste of power not unpleasant. He knew that
+everything was his own property, and he enjoyed the hate and suspicion in the
+eyes of those about him. The hungry crowd haunted him, but he refused it any
+information. Mr. Lezzard picked a quarrel, but he speedily silenced the old
+man, and told him frankly that upon his good behaviour must depend his future
+position. Crushed and mystified, the widower whispered to those interested
+with himself in his wife&rsquo;s estate; and so, before the reading of the
+will, there slowly grew a very deep suspicion and hearty hatred of Clement
+Hicks. None had considered him in connection with Mrs. Lezzard&rsquo;s
+fortune, for he always kept aloof from her; but women cannot easily shut
+their lips over such tremendous matters of news, and so it came about that
+some whisper from Chris or dark utterance from old Mrs. Hicks got wind, and a
+rumour grew that the bee-keeper was the dead woman&rsquo;s heir.</p>
+<p>Facts contributed colour to the suspicion, for it was known that Clement
+had of late given Chris one or two pretty presents, and a ring that cost
+gold. His savings were suspected to justify 110 such luxuries; yet that a
+speedy change in his manner of life might be expected was also manifest from
+the fact that he had been looking into the question of a new stone cottage,
+on the edge of the Moor, where the heather in high summer would ripple to the
+very doors of his beehives.</p>
+<p>The distrust created by these facts was quickly set at rest, for Mrs.
+Lezzard sank under ground within four days of her dissolution; then, after
+the eating of funeral baked meats, those interested assembled in the parlour
+to hear the will. The crowd whispered and growled, and looked gloomily across
+at Hicks and the little figure of his mother who had come in rusty black to
+witness his triumph. Then a young lawyer from Newton adjusted his spectacles,
+rustled his papers, and poured himself out a glass of grocer&rsquo;s port
+before proceeding. But his task involved no strain upon him, and was indeed
+completed within five minutes. Black disappointment, dismay, and despair were
+the seeds sown by that unimpassioned voice; and at his conclusion a silence
+as blank as any that reigned in the ears of the dead fell upon those who
+listened&mdash;on those who had hoped so much and were confronted with so
+little.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The will is remarkably concise. Mrs. Lezzard makes sundry bitter
+statements which I think none will blame me for not repeating, though all may
+see them here who desire so to do; she then constitutes Mr. Clement Hicks,
+her nephew, sole residuary legatee. There is no condition, no codicil; but I
+have regretfully to add that Mr. Hicks wins little but this barren expression
+of good-will from the testatrix; for the sufficient reason that she had
+nothing to leave. She laboured under various delusions, among others that her
+financial position was very different from what is the case. Upon her first
+husband&rsquo;s death, Mrs. Coomstock, as she was then, made an arrangement
+with my late senior partner, Mr. Joel Ford, and purchased an annuity. This
+absorbed nearly all her capital; the rest she lost in an undesirable
+speculation of her own choosing. I am amazed at the present extent of her
+obligations. This dwelling-house, for instance, is mortgaged to her medical
+man, Doctor Parsons, of Chagford. There is barely money to meet the debts.
+Some fifty or sixty pounds in my hands will be absorbed by the calls of the
+estate. Mrs. Lezzard&rsquo;s tastes&mdash;I sorrow to say it&mdash;were
+expensive in some directions. There is an item of ten pounds twelve shillings
+for&mdash;for brandy, if I may be pardoned for speaking plainly. The funeral
+also appears to have been conducted on a scale more lavish than circumstances
+warranted. However, there should be sufficient to defray the cost, and I am
+sure nobody will blame Mr. Hicks for showing this last respect to an amiable
+if eccentric woman. There is nothing to add except that I shall be delighted
+to answer any questions&mdash;any questions at all.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>A few moments later, the lawyer mounted his dog-cart and rattled off to
+enjoy a pleasant drive homeward.</p>
+<p>Then the company spoke its mind, and Mary Lezzard&rsquo;s clay might well
+have turned under that bitter hornet-buzz of vituperation. Some said little,
+but had not strength or self-command to hide tears; some cursed and swore.
+Mr. Lezzard wept unheeded; Mrs. Hicks likewise wept. Clement sat staring into
+the flushed faces and angry eyes, neither seeing the rage manifested before
+him, nor hearing the coarse volleys of reproach. Then in his turn he
+attracted attention; and hard words, wasted on the dead, hurtled like hail
+round his ears, with acid laughter, and bitter sneers at his own tremendous
+awakening. Stung to the quick, the lame wheelwright, Charles Coomstock,
+gloated on the spectacle of Clement&rsquo;s dark hour, and heaped abuse upon
+his round-eyed, miserable mother. The raw of his own wound found a sort of
+salve in this attack; and all the other poor, coarse creatures similarly
+found comfort in their disappointment from a sight of more terrific
+mortification than their own. Venomous utterances fell about Clement Hicks,
+but he neither heard nor heeded: his mind was far away with Chris, and the
+small shot of the Coomstocks and the thunder of the Chowns alike flew
+harmlessly past him. He saw his sweetheart&rsquo;s sorrow, and her grief, as
+yet unborn, was the only fact that much hurt him now. The gall in his own
+soul only began to sicken him when his eye rested on his mother. Then he rose
+and departed to his home, while the little, snuffling woman ran at his heels,
+like a dog.</p>
+<p>Not until he had escaped the tempest of voices, and was hidden from the
+world, did the bee-keeper allow his own cruel disappointment to appear. Then,
+while his mother wept, he lifted up his voice and cursed God. As his
+relations had won comfort by swearing at him, so now he soothed his soul
+unconsciously in blasphemies. Then followed a silence, and his mother dared
+to blame him and remind him of an error.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You wouldn&rsquo;t turn the bee-butts when she died, though I
+begged and prayed of &rsquo;e. Oh, if you&rsquo;d awnly done what an auld
+woman, an&rsquo; she your mother, had told &rsquo;e! Not so much as a piece
+of crape would &rsquo;e suffer me to tie &rsquo;pon &rsquo;em. An&rsquo; I
+knawed all the while the hidden power o&rsquo; bees.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Presently he left her, and went to tell Chris. She greeted him eagerly,
+then turned pale and even terrified as she saw the black news in his
+face.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Just a gull and laughing-stock for the gods again, that&rsquo;s
+all, Chris. How easily they fool us from their thrones, don&rsquo;t they? And
+our pitiful hopes and ambitions and poor pathetic little plans for happiness
+shrivel and die, and strew their stinking corpses along the road that was
+going to be so gorgeous. The time to spill the cup is when the lip begins to
+tremble and water for it&mdash;not sooner&mdash;the gods know! And now
+all&rsquo;s changed&mdash;excepting only the memory of things done that had
+better been left undone.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But&mdash;but we shall be married at once, Clem?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He shook his head.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How can you ask it? My poor little all&mdash;twenty pounds&mdash;is
+gone on twopenny-halfpenny presents during the past week or two. It seemed so
+little compared to the fortune that was coming. It&rsquo;s all over. The
+great day is further off by twenty pounds than it was before that poor
+drunken old fool lied to me. Yet she didn&rsquo;t lie either; she only
+forgot; you can&rsquo;t swim in brandy for nothing.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Fear, not disappointment, dominated the woman before him as she heard.
+Sheer terror made her grip his arm and scream to him hysterically. Then she
+wept wild, savage tears and called to God to kill her quickly. For a time she
+parried every question, but an outburst so strangely unlike Chris Blanchard
+had its roots deeper than the crushing temporary disaster which he had
+brought with him. Clement, suspecting, importuned for the truth, gathered it
+from her, then passed away into the dusk, faced with the greatest problem
+that existence had as yet set him. Crushed, and crushed unutterably, he
+returned home oppressed with a biting sense of his own damnable fate. He
+moved as one distracted, incoherent, savage, alone. The glorious palace he
+had raised for his happiness crumbled into vast ruins; hope was dead and
+putrid; and only the results of wild actions, achieved on false assumptions,
+faced him. Now, rising out of his brief midsummer madness, the man saw a
+ghost; and he greeted it with groan as bitter as ever wrung human heart.</p>
+<p>Miller Lyddon sat that night alone until Mr. Blee returned to supper.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Gert news! Gert news!&rdquo; he shouted, while yet in the passage;
+&ldquo;sweatin&rsquo; for joy an&rsquo; haste, I be!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>His eyes sparkled, his face shone, his words tripped each other up by the
+heels.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Be gormed if ban&rsquo;t a &rsquo;mazin&rsquo; world! She&rsquo;ve
+left nought&mdash;dammy&mdash;less than nought, for the house be mortgaged
+sea-deep to Doctor, an&rsquo; theer&rsquo;s other debts. Not a penny for
+nobody&mdash;nothin&rsquo; but empty bottles&mdash;an&rsquo; to think as I
+thought so poor o&rsquo; God as to say theer weern&rsquo;t none! What a
+ramshackle plaace the world is!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No money at all? Mrs. Lezzard&mdash;it can&rsquo;t be!&rdquo;
+declared Mr. Lyddon.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But it is, by gum! A braave tantara &rsquo;mongst the fam&rsquo;ly,
+I tell &rsquo;e. Not a stiver&mdash;all ate up in a &rsquo;nuity, an&rsquo;
+her&mdash;artful limb!&mdash;just died on the last penny o&rsquo; the
+quarter&rsquo;s payment. An&rsquo; Lezzard left at the work&rsquo;us
+door&mdash;poor auld zawk! An&rsquo; him fourscore an&rsquo; never been
+eggicated an&rsquo; never larned nothin&rsquo;!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;To think it might have been your trouble, Blee!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s it, that&rsquo;s it! That&rsquo;s what I be full of!
+Awnly for the watchin&rsquo; Lard, I&rsquo;d been fixed in the hole myself.
+Just picture it! Me a-cussin&rsquo; o&rsquo; Christ to blazes an&rsquo;
+lettin&rsquo; on theer wasn&rsquo;t no such Pusson; an&rsquo; Him, wide
+awake, a-keepin&rsquo; me out o&rsquo; harm&rsquo;s way, even arter the banns
+was called! Theer&rsquo;s a God for &rsquo;e! Watchin&rsquo; day an&rsquo;
+night to see as I comed by no harm! That&rsquo;s what &rsquo;t is to have
+laid by a tidy mort o&rsquo; righteousness &rsquo;gainst a evil
+hour!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You &rsquo;m well out of it, sure enough.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess, &rsquo;t is so. I misjudged the Lard shocking, an&rsquo;
+I&rsquo;m man enough to up and say it, thank God. He was right an&rsquo; I
+was wrong; an&rsquo; lookin&rsquo; back, I sees it. So I&rsquo;ll come back
+to the fold, like the piece of silver what was lost; an&rsquo; theer&rsquo;ll
+be joy in heaven, as well theer may be. Burnish it all! I&rsquo;ll go along
+to church &rsquo;fore all men&rsquo;s eyes next Lard&rsquo;s Day ever
+is.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A gude thought, tu. Religion&rsquo;s a sort of benefit society, if
+you look at it, an&rsquo; the church be the bank wheer us pays in
+subscriptions Sundays.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; blamed gude interest us gets for the money,&rdquo;
+declared Mr. Blee. &ldquo;Not but what I&rsquo;ve drawed a bit heavy on my
+draft of late, along o&rsquo; pretendin&rsquo; to heathen ways an&rsquo;
+thoughts what I never really held with; but &rsquo;t is all wan now an&rsquo;
+I lay I&rsquo;ll soon set the account right, wi&rsquo; a balance in my
+favour, tu. Seein&rsquo; how shameful I was used, ban&rsquo;t likely no gert
+things will be laid against me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And auld Lezzard will go to the Union?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A very fittin&rsquo; plaace for un, come to think on &rsquo;t.
+Awver-balanced for sheer greed of gawld he was. My! what a wild-goose chase!
+An the things he&rsquo;ve said to me! Not that I&rsquo;d allow
+myself&mdash;awuly from common humanity I must see un an&rsquo; let un knaw I
+bear no more malice than a bird on a bough.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>They drank, Billy deeper than usual. He was marvellously excited and
+cheerful. He greeted God like an old friend returned to him from a journey;
+and that night before retiring he stood stiffly beside his bed and covered
+his face in his hands and prayed a prayer familiar among his generation.</p>
+<p class="poem">&ldquo;Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John,<br />
+Bless the bed that I lie on,<br />
+Four cornders to my bed,<br />
+Four angels overspread<br />
+Two tu foot an&rsquo; two tu head,<br />
+An&rsquo; all to carry me when I&rsquo;m dead.<br />
+An&rsquo; when I&rsquo;m dead an&rsquo; in my graave,<br />
+<span class="i2">An&rsquo; all my bones be rotten.</span><br />
+The greedy worms my flaish shall ate,<br />
+<span class="i2">An&rsquo; I shall be forgotten;</span><br />
+<span class="i4">For Christ&rsquo;s sake. Amen.&rdquo;</span></p>
+<p>Having sucked from repetition of this ancient twaddle exactly that sort of
+satisfaction the French or Roman peasant wins from a babble of a dead
+language over beads, Billy retired with many a grunt and sigh of
+satisfaction.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It do hearten the spirit to come direct to the Throne,&rdquo; he
+reflected; &ldquo;an&rsquo; the wonder is how ever I could fare for near two
+year wi&rsquo;out my prayers. Yet, though I got my monkey up an&rsquo; let
+Jehovah slide, He knawed of my past gudeness, all set down in the Book
+o&rsquo; Life. An&rsquo; now I&rsquo;ve owned up as I was wrong; which is all
+even the saints can do; &rsquo;cause Judgment Day, for the very best of us,
+will awnly be a matter o&rsquo; owning up.&rdquo;</p>
+<h2><a id="II_XIV" name="II_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV<br />
+A HUNDRED POUNDS</h2>
+<p>The maddening recollection of things done wrought upon Clement Hicks until
+it bred in him a distracted frenzy and blinded his judgment. He lost all
+sense of proportion in his endeavour to come at a right course of action, and
+a mind long inclined towards one road now readily drifted upon it. To recover
+the position had been quite possible, and there were not wanting those ready
+and eager to assist him; but at this crisis in his fortune the man lost all
+power of reflection or self-control. The necessity for instant action
+clamoured to him through daylight and darkness; delay drove him hourly into a
+hysterical condition approaching frenzy, and every road to escape save one
+appeared bolted and barred against him. But, try as he might, his miseries
+could not be hidden, and Will Blanchard, among others, sympathised very
+heartily with the great disappointment that had now fallen upon Chris and her
+sweetheart. His sister&rsquo;s attitude had astonished both him and his
+mother. They fancied that Blanchards were made of sterner stuff; but Chris
+went down before the blow in a manner very unexpected. She seemed dazed and
+unable to recover from it. Her old elastic spirit was crushed, and a great
+sorrow looked from her eyes.</p>
+<p>Neither Will nor her mother could rouse her, and so it came about that
+thinking how best he could play a brother&rsquo;s part, the master of Newtake
+decided on a notable deed and held that the hour for it must be delayed no
+longer. He debated the circumstance from every point of view, examined his
+accounts, inspected the exact figures represented by the remainder of his
+uncle&rsquo;s legacy and then broke the matter to Phoebe. To his mother he
+had already spoken concerning the intention, and she approved it, though
+without knowing particulars. Phoebe, however, happened to be quite as
+familiar with Will&rsquo;s affairs as Will himself, and while his
+determination to give Clement and Chris a hundred pounds was easily come at
+and most cheering to his heart, the necessity of breaking the news to his
+wife appeared not so easy or pleasant. Indeed, Will approached the task with
+some trepidation, for a recent event made it doubly difficult. They sat
+together one night, after six weeks of married life, and he plunged into the
+matter.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis sad them two being kept apart like this,&rdquo; he said
+abruptly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis so. Nobody feels it more&rsquo;n me. Matters was hard
+with us, and now they &rsquo;m all smooth and the future seems fairly bright,
+tu.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Very bright,&rdquo; he said stoutly. &ldquo;The hay&rsquo;s best
+ever come off my ground, thanks to the manure from Monks Barton; and look at
+the wurzels! Miller hisself said he&rsquo;ve never seed a more promising
+crop, high or low. An&rsquo; the things be in prime kelter, tu; an&rsquo;
+better than four hunderd pound of uncle&rsquo;s money still left.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Long may it be left, I&rsquo;m sure. &rsquo;Tis terrible work
+dipping into it, an&rsquo; I looks at both sides of a halfpenny &rsquo;fore I
+spend it. Wish you would. You&rsquo;m tu generous, Will. But accounts are
+that difficult.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>This was not the spirit of the hour, however.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I was gwaine to say that out of all our happiness an&rsquo; fortune
+we might let a little bubble awver for Chris&mdash;eh? She&rsquo;m such a
+gude gal, an&rsquo; you love her so dearly as what I do
+a&rsquo;most.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Phoebe read the project in a flash, but yet invited her husband to
+explain.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What d&rsquo;you mean?&rdquo; she asked distrustfully and
+coldly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I can see in your face you knaw well enough. That four-hunderd-odd
+pound. I&rsquo;ve sometimes thought I should have given Chris a bit of the
+windfall when first it comed. But now&mdash;well, theer&rsquo;s this cruel
+coil failed on &rsquo;em. You knaw the hardness of waiting. &rsquo;Twould be
+a butivul thing to let &rsquo;em marry an&rsquo; feel&rsquo;t was thanks to
+us.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You want to go giving them money?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not &rsquo;give&rsquo; &rsquo;zactly. Us&rsquo;ll call it a loan,
+till the time they see their way clearer.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Phoebe sighed and was silent for a while.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Poor dears,&rdquo; she said at length. &ldquo;I feel for &rsquo;em
+in my heart, same as you do; yet somehow it doan&rsquo;t look
+right.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not right, Phoebe?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not wise, then. Remember what you say the winters be up
+here&mdash;such dreary months with no money coming in and all gwaine out to
+keep life in the things.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis a black, bitin&rsquo; business on the high
+farms&mdash;caan&rsquo;t deny that.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Money flies so.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then let some fly to a gude end. You knaw I&rsquo;m a hard, keen
+man where other people be concerned, most times.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>His wife laughed frankly, and he grew red.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Damn it, Phoebe, doan&rsquo;t you take me like that else
+you&rsquo;ll get the rough edge of my tongue. &rsquo;Tis for you to agree
+with what I&rsquo;m pleased to say, not contradict it. I <i>be</i> a hard,
+keen man, and knaws the value of money as well as another. But Chris is my
+awn sister, an&rsquo; the long an&rsquo; the short is, I&rsquo;m gwaine to
+give Clem Hicks a hunderd pound.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Will! It&rsquo;s not reasonable, it&rsquo;s not fair&mdash;us
+working so hard an&rsquo;&mdash;an&rsquo;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They &rsquo;m to have it, anyway.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Her breath caught in a little, helpless gasp. Without a word she picked up
+the material in her hands, huddled it up, and thrust it across the table
+towards him. Then the passion faded out of his face, his eyes softened and
+grew dreamy, he smiled, and rubbed his brown cheek with the flannel.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My awn, li&rsquo;l clever woman, as have set about the fashioning
+of a bairn so soon! God bless &rsquo;e, an&rsquo; bless &rsquo;e an&rsquo; be
+gude to &rsquo;e, an&rsquo; the wee thing coming!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He put his arm round her and patted her hair and purred softly to her;
+whereupon she relented and kissed him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You knaw best, Will, dearie; you nearly allus knaw best; but your
+heart&rsquo;s bigger &rsquo;n your pocket&mdash;an&rsquo; a li&rsquo;l child
+do call so loud for the spendin&rsquo; o&rsquo; money.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Aye, I knaw, I knaw; &rsquo;tis a parent&rsquo;s plaace to stand up
+for his offspring through fire an&rsquo; water; an&rsquo; I reckon I
+won&rsquo;t be the worst faither as ever was, either. I can mind the time
+when I was young myself. Stern but kind&rsquo;s the right rule. Us&rsquo;ll
+bring un up in the proper way, an&rsquo; teach un to use his
+onderstandin&rsquo; an&rsquo; allus knuckle down &rsquo;fore his elders. To
+tell &rsquo;e truth, Phoebe, I&rsquo;ve a notion I might train up a cheel
+better&rsquo;n some men.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, Will, I think so, tu. But &rsquo;tis food an&rsquo; clothes
+an&rsquo; li&rsquo;l boots an&rsquo; such-like comes first. A hunderd pounds
+be such a mort o&rsquo; money.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Twill set &rsquo;em up in a fair way.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Fifty wouldn&rsquo;t hardly do, p&rsquo;r&rsquo;aps?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Hardly. I like to carry a job through clean an&rsquo; vitty while
+I&rsquo;m on it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;ve got such a big spirit.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;As to that, money so spent ban&rsquo;t lost&mdash;&rsquo;tis all in
+the fam&rsquo;ly.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Of course &rsquo;tis a gude advertisement for you. Folk&rsquo;ll
+think you&rsquo;m prosperin&rsquo; an&rsquo; look up to you more.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, some might, though I doan&rsquo;t &rsquo;zactly mean it like
+that. Yet the putting out o&rsquo; three figures o&rsquo; money must make
+neighbours ope their eyes. Not that I want anybody to knaw either.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>So, against her judgment, Phoebe was won over, and presently she and her
+husband made merry at prospect of the great thing contemplated. Will imitated
+Clement&rsquo;s short, glum, and graceless manner before the gift; Phoebe
+began to spend the money and plan the bee-keeper&rsquo;s cottage when Chris
+should enter it as a bride; and thus, having enjoyed an hour of delight the
+most pure and perfect that can fall to human lot, the young couple
+retired.</p>
+<p>Elsewhere defeat and desolation marked the efforts of the luckless poet to
+improve his position. All thoughts drifted towards the Red House, and when,
+struggling from this dark temptation, he turned to Martin Grimbal rather than
+his brother, Fate crushed this hope also. The antiquary was not in Chagford,
+and Clement recollected that Martin had told him he designed some visits to
+the doom rings of Iceland, and other contemporary remains of primeval man in
+Brittany and in Ireland. To find him at present was impossible, for he had
+left no address, and his housekeeper only knew that he would be out of
+England until the autumn.</p>
+<p>Now the necessity for action gained gigantically upon Hicks, and spun a
+net of subtle sophistry that soon had the poor wretch enmeshed beyond
+possibility of escape. He assured himself that the problem was reduced to a
+mere question of justice to a woman. A sacrifice must be made between one
+whom he loved better than anything in the world, and one for whom he cared
+not at all. That these two persons chanced to be brother and sister was an
+unfortunate accident, but could not be held a circumstance strong enough to
+modify his determination. He had, indeed, solemnly sworn to Will to keep his
+secret, but what mattered that before this more crushing, urgent duty to
+Chris? His manhood cried out to him to protect her. Nothing else signified in
+the least; the future&mdash;the best that he could hope for&mdash;might be
+ashy and hopeless now; but it was with the immediate present and his duty
+that he found himself concerned. There remained but one grim way; and,
+through such overwhelming, shattering storm and stress as falls to the lot of
+few, he finally took it. To marry at any cost and starve afterwards if
+necessary, had been the more simple plan; and that course of action must
+first have occurred to any other man but this; to him, however, it did not
+occur. The crying, shrieking need for money was the thing that stunned him
+and petrified him. Shattered and tossed to the brink of aberration, stretched
+at frightful mental tension for a fortnight, he finally succumbed, and told
+himself that his defeat was victory.</p>
+<p>He wrote to John Grimbal, explained that he desired to see him on the
+morrow, and the master of the Red House, familiar with recent affairs,
+rightly guessed that Hicks had changed his mind. Excited beyond measure, the
+victor fixed a place for their conversation, and it was a strange one.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Meet me at Oke Tor,&rdquo; he wrote. &ldquo;By an accident I shall
+be in the Taw Marshes to-morrow, and will ride to you some time in the
+afternoon.&mdash;J.G.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Thus, upon a day when Will Blanchard called at Mrs. Hicks&rsquo;s cottage,
+Clement had already started for his remote destination on the Moor. With some
+unconscious patronage Will saluted Mrs. Hicks and called for Clement. Then he
+slapped down a flat envelope under the widow&rsquo;s eyes.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Us have thought a lot about this trouble, mother, an&rsquo;
+Phoebe&rsquo;s hit on as braave a notion as need be. You see, Clem&rsquo;s my
+close friend again now, an&rsquo; Chris be my sister; so what&rsquo;s more
+fittin&rsquo; than that I should set up the young people? An&rsquo; so I
+shall, an&rsquo; here&rsquo;s a matter of Bank of England notes as will repay
+the countin&rsquo;. Give &rsquo;em to Clem wi&rsquo; my respects.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then Will suffered a surprise. The little woman before him swelled and
+expanded, her narrow bosom rose, her thin lips tightened, and into her dim
+eyes there came pride and brightness. It was her hour of triumph, and she
+felt a giantess as she stood regarding the envelope and Will. Him she had
+never liked since his difference with her son concerning Martin Grimbal, and
+now, richer for certain news of that morning, she gloried to throw the gift
+back.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Take your money again, bwoy. No Hicks ever wanted charity yet,
+least of all from a Blanchard. Pick it up; and it&rsquo;s lucky Clement
+ban&rsquo;t home, for he&rsquo;d have said some harsh words, I&rsquo;m
+thinking. Keep it &rsquo;gainst the rainy days up to Newtake. And it may
+surprise &rsquo;e to knaw that my son&rsquo;s worth be getting found out at
+last. It won&rsquo;t be so long &rsquo;fore he takes awver Squire
+Grimbal&rsquo;s farm to the Red House. What do &rsquo;e think o&rsquo; that?
+He&rsquo;ve gone to see un this very day &rsquo;bout it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, well! This be news, and no mistake&mdash;gude news, tu, I
+s&rsquo;pose. Jan Grimbal! An&rsquo; what Clem doan&rsquo;t knaw &rsquo;bout
+farmin&rsquo;, I&rsquo;ll be mighty pleased to teach un, I&rsquo;m
+sure.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No call to worry yourself; Clem doan&rsquo;t want no other right
+arm than his awn.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Chris shall have the money, then; an&rsquo; gude luck to &rsquo;em
+both, say I.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He departed, with great astonishment the main emotion of his mind. Nothing
+could well have happened to surprise him more, and now he felt that he should
+rejoice, but found it difficult to do so.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Braave news, no doubt,&rdquo; he reflected, &ldquo;an&rsquo; yet,
+come to think on it, I&rsquo;d so soon the devil had given him a job as
+Grimbal. Besides, to choose him! What do Clement knaw &rsquo;bout
+farmin&rsquo;? Just so much as I knaw &rsquo;bout verse-writin&rsquo;,
+an&rsquo; no more.&rdquo;</p>
+<h2><a id="II_XV" name="II_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV<br />
+&ldquo;THE ANGEL OF THE DARKER DRINK&rdquo;</h2>
+<p>Patches of mist all full of silver light moved like lonely living things
+on the face of the high Moor. Here they dispersed and scattered, here they
+approached and mingled together, here they stretched forth pearly fingers
+above the shining granite, and changed their shapes at the whim of every
+passing breeze; but the tendency of each shining, protean mass was to rise to
+the sun, and presently each valley and coomb lay clear, while the cool
+vapours wound in luminous and downy undulations along the highest points of
+the land before vanishing into air.</p>
+<p>A solitary figure passed over the great waste. He took his way northward
+and moved across Scorhill, leaving Wattern Tor to the left. Beneath its
+ragged ridges, in a vast granite amphitheatre, twinkled the cool
+birth-springs of the little Wallabrook, and the water here looked leaden
+under shade, here sparkled with silver at the margin of a cloud shadow, here
+shone golden bright amid the dancing heads of the cotton-grass under
+unclouded sunlight. The mist wreaths had wholly departed before noon, and
+only a few vast mountains of summer gold moved lazily along the upper
+chambers of the air. A huge and solitary shadow overtook the man and spread
+itself directly about him, then swept onwards; infinite silence encompassed
+him; once from a distant hillside a voice cried to him, where women and
+children moved like drab specks and gathered the ripe whortleberries that now
+wove purple patterns into the fabric of the Moor; but he heeded not the cry;
+and other sound there was none save the occasional and mournful note of some
+lonely yellowhammer perched upon a whin. Into the prevalent olive-brown of
+the heath there had now stolen an indication of a magic change at hand, for
+into the sober monotone crept a gauzy shadow, a tremor of wakening
+flower-life, half pearl, half palest pink, yet more than either. Upon the
+immediate foreground it rippled into defined points of blossom, which already
+twinkled through all the dull foliage; in the middle distance it faded; afar
+off it trembled as a palpable haze of light under the impalpable reeling of
+the summer air. A week or less would see the annual miracle peformed again
+and witness that spacious and solemn region in all the amethystine glories of
+the ling. Fiercely hot grew the day, and the distances, so distinct through
+mist rifts and wreaths in the clearness of early morning, now
+retreated&mdash;mountain upon mountain, wide waste on waste&mdash;as the sun
+climbed to the zenith. Detail vanished, the Moor stretched shimmering to the
+horizon; only now and again from some lofty point of his pilgrimage did the
+traveller discover chance cultivation through a dip in the untamed region he
+traversed. Then to the far east and north, the map of fertile Devon billowed
+and rolled in one enormous misty mosaic,&mdash;billowed and rolled all
+opalescent under the dancing atmosphere and July haze, rolled and swept to
+the sky-line, where, huddled by perspective into the appearance of density,
+hung long silver tangles of infinitely remote and dazzling cloud against the
+blue.</p>
+<p>From that distant sponge in the central waste, from Cranmere, mother of
+moorland rivers, the man presently noted wrinkles of pure gold trickling down
+a hillside two miles off. Here sunshine touched the river Taw, still an
+infant thing not far advanced on the journey from its fount; but the play of
+light upon the stream, invisible save for this finger of the sun, indicated
+to the solitary that he approached his destination. Presently he stood on the
+side of lofty Steeperton and surveyed that vast valley known as Taw Marsh,
+which lies between the western foothills of Cosdon Beacon and the Belstone
+Tors to the north. The ragged manes of the latter hills wind through the
+valley in one lengthy ridge, and extend to a tremendous castellated mass of
+stone, by name Oke Tor.</p>
+<p>This erection, with its battlements and embrasures, outlying scarps and
+counterscarps, remarkably suggests the deliberate and calculated creation of
+man. It stands upon a little solitary hill at the head of Taw Marsh, and wins
+its name from the East Okement River which runs through the valley on its
+western flank. Above wide fen and marsh it rises, yet seen from
+Steeperton&rsquo;s vaster altitude, Oke Tor looks no greater than some
+fantastic child-castle built by a Brobding-nagian baby with granite bricks.
+Below it on this July day the waste of bog-land was puckered with brown
+tracts of naked soil, and seamed and scarred with peat-cuttings. Here and
+there drying turfs were propped in pairs and dotted the hillsides; emerald
+patches of moss jewelled the prevailing sobriety of the valley, a single
+curlew, with rising and falling crescendos of sound, flew here and there
+under needless anxiety, and far away on White Hill and the enormous breast of
+Cosdon glimmered grey stone ghosts from the past,&mdash;track-lines and
+circles and pounds,&mdash;the work of those children of the mist who laboured
+here when the world was younger, whose duty now lay under the new-born light
+of the budding heath. White specks dotted the undulations where flocks roamed
+free; in the marsh, red cattle sought pasture, and now was heard the
+jingle-jangle of a sheep-bell, and now the cry of bellowing kine.</p>
+<p>Like a dark incarnation of suffering over this expansive scene passed
+Clement Hicks to the meeting with John Grimbal. His unrest was accentuated by
+the extreme sunlit peace of the Moor, and as he sat on Steeperton and gazed
+with dark eyes into the marshes below, there appeared in his face the
+battlefield of past struggles, the graves of past hopes. A dead apathy of
+mind and muscle succeeded his mental exertion and passion of thought.
+Increased age marked him, as though Time, thrusting all at once upon him
+bitter experiences usually spread over many years of a man&rsquo;s life, had
+weighed him down, humped his back, thinned his hair, and furrowed his
+forehead under the load. Within his eyes, behind the reflected blue of the
+sky, as he raised them to it, sat mad misery; and an almost tetanic movement
+of limb, which rendered it impossible for him to keep motionless even in his
+present recumbent position, denoted the unnatural excitation of his nerves.
+The throb and spasm of the past still beat against his heart. Like a circular
+storm in mid-ocean, he told himself that the tempest had not wholly ended,
+but might reawaken, overwhelm him, and sweep him back into the turmoil again.
+As he thought, and his eye roved for a rider on a brown horse, the poor
+wretch was fighting still. Yesterday fixed determination marked his
+movements, and his mind was made up; to-day, after a night not devoid of
+sleep, it seemed that everything that was best in him had awakened refreshed,
+and that each mile of the long tramp across Dartmoor had represented another
+battle fought with his fate. Justice, Justice for himself and the woman he
+loved, was the cry raised more than once aloud in sharp agony on that great
+silence. And only the drone of the shining-winged things and the dry rustle
+of the grasshoppers answered him.</p>
+<p>Like the rest of the sore-smitten and wounded world, he screamed to the
+sky for Justice, and, like the rest of the world, forgot or did not know that
+Justice is only a part of Truth, and therefore as far beyond man&rsquo;s
+reach as Truth itself. Justice can only be conceived by humanity, and that
+man should even imagine any abstraction so glorious is wonderful, and to his
+credit. But Justice lies not only beyond our power to mete to our fellows; it
+forms no part of the Creator&rsquo;s methods with us or this particular mote
+in the beam of the Universe. Man has never received Justice, as he
+understands it, and never will; and his own poor, flagrant, fallible travesty
+of it, erected to save him from himself, and called Law, more nearly
+approximates to Justice than the treatment which has ever been apportioned to
+humanity. Before this eternal spectacle of illogical austerity, therefore,
+man, in self-defence and to comfort his craving and his weakness, has clung
+to the cheerful conceit of immortality; has pathetically credited the First
+Cause with a grand ultimate intention concerning each suffering atom; has
+assured himself that eternity shall wipe away all tears and blood, shall
+reward the actors in this puppet-show with golden crowns and nobler parts in
+a nobler playhouse. Human dreams of justice are responsible for this yearning
+towards another life, not the dogmas of religion; and the conviction
+undoubtedly has to be thanked for much individual right conduct. But it
+happens that an increasing number of intellects can find solace in these
+theories no longer; it happens that the liberty of free thought (which is the
+only liberty man may claim) will not longer be bound with these puny chains.
+Many detect no just argument for a future life; they admit that adequate
+estimate of abstract Justice is beyond them; they suspect that Justice is a
+human conceit; and they see no cause why its attributes should be credited to
+the Creator in His dealings with the created, for the sufficient reason that
+Justice has never been consistently exhibited by Him. The natural conclusion
+of such thought need not be pursued here. Suffice it that, taking their stand
+on pure reason, such thinkers deny the least evidence of any life beyond the
+grave; to them, therefore, this ephemeral progression is the beginning and
+the end, and they live every precious moment with a yearning zest beyond the
+power of conventional intellects to conceive.</p>
+<p>Of such was Clement Hicks. And yet in this dark hour he cried for Justice,
+not knowing to whom or to what he cried. Right judgment was dead at last. He
+rose and shook his head in mute answer to the voices still clamouring to his
+consciousness. They moaned and reverberated and mingled with the distant
+music of the bellwether, but his mind was made up irrevocably now; he had
+determined to do the thing he had come to do. He told himself nothing much
+mattered any more; he laughed as he rose and wiped the sweat off his face,
+and passed down Steeperton through debris of granite. &ldquo;Life&rsquo;s
+only a breath and then&mdash;Nothing,&rdquo; he thought; &ldquo;but it will
+be interesting to see how much more bitterness and agony those that pull the
+strings can cram into my days. I shall watch from the outside now. A man is
+never happy so long as he takes a personal interest in life. Henceforth
+I&rsquo;ll stand outside and care no more, and laugh and laugh on through the
+years. We&rsquo;re greater than the Devil that made us; for we can laugh at
+all his cursed cruelty&mdash;we can laugh, and we can die laughing, and we
+can die when we please. Yes, that&rsquo;s one thing he can&rsquo;t
+do&mdash;torment us an hour more than we choose.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Suicide was always a familiar thought with this man, but it had never been
+farther from his mind than of late. Cowardly in himself, his love for Chris
+Blanchard was too great to suffer even the shadow of self-slaughter to tempt
+him at the present moment. What might happen in the future, he could not
+tell; but while her happiness was threatened and her life&rsquo;s welfare
+hung in the balance, his place was by her side. Then he looked into Will
+Blanchard&rsquo;s future and asked himself what was the worst that could
+result from his pending treachery. He did not know and wished time had
+permitted him to make inquiries. But his soul was too weary to care. He only
+looked for the ordeal to be ended; his aching eyes, now bent on his temporal
+environment, ranged widely for the spectacle of a rider on a brown horse.</p>
+<p>A red flag flapped from a lofty pole at the foot of Steeperton, but Hicks,
+to whom the object and its significance were familiar, paid no heed and
+passed on towards Oke Tor. On one side the mass rose gradually up by steps
+and turrets; on the other, the granite beetled into a low cliff springing
+abruptly from the turf. Within its clefts and crannies there grew ferns, and
+to the north-east, sheltered under ledges from the hot sun, cattle and ponies
+usually stood or reclined upon such a summer day as this, and waited for the
+oncoming cool of evening before returning to pasture. On the present
+occasion, however, no stamp of hoof, snort of nostril, whisk of tail, and hum
+of flies denoted the presence of beasts. For some reason they had been driven
+elsewhere. Clement climbed the Tor, then stood upon its highest point, and
+turning his back to the sun, scanned the wide rolling distances over which he
+had tramped, and sought fruitlessly for an approaching horseman. But no
+particular hour had been specified, and he knew not and cared not how long he
+might have to wait.</p>
+<p>In a direction quite contrary to that on which the eyes of Hicks were set,
+sat John Grimbal upon his horse and talked with another man. They occupied a
+position at the lower-most end of Taw Marsh, beneath the Belstones; and they
+watched some seventy artillerymen busily preparing for certain operations of
+a nature to specially interest the master of the Red House. Indeed the
+pending proceedings had usually occupied his mind, to total exclusion of all
+other affairs; but to-day even more momentous events awaited him in the
+immediate future, and he looked from his companion along the great valley to
+where Oke Tor appeared, shrunk to a mere grey stone at the farther end. Of
+John Grimbal&rsquo;s life, it may now be said that it drifted into a
+confirmed and bitter misogyny. He saw no women, spoke of the sex with
+disrespect, and chose his few friends among men whose sporting and warlike
+instincts chimed with his own. Sport he pursued with dogged pertinacity, but
+the greater part of his leisure was devoted to the formation of a yeomanry
+corps at Chagford, and in this design he had made good progress. He still
+kept his wrongs sternly before his mind, and when the old bitterness began to
+grow blunted, deliberately sharpened it again, strangling alike the good work
+of time and all emotions of rising contentment and returning peace. Where was
+the wife whose musical voice and bright eyes should welcome his daily
+home-coming? Where were the laughing and pattering-footed little ones? Of
+these priceless treasures the man on the Moor had robbed him. His great house
+was empty and cheerless. Thus he could always blow the smouldering fires into
+active flame by a little musing on the past; but how long it might be
+possible to sustain his passion for revenge under this artificial stimulation
+of memory remained to be seen. As yet, at any rate, the contemplation of Will
+Blanchard&rsquo;s ruin was good to Grimbal, and the accident of his discovery
+that Clement Hicks knew some secret facts to his enemy&rsquo;s disadvantage
+served vastly to quicken the lust for a great revenge. From the first he had
+determined to drag Clement&rsquo;s secret out of him sooner or later, and
+had, until his recent offer of the Red House Farm, practised remarkable
+patience. Since then, however, a flicker of apparent prosperity which
+overtook the bee-keeper appeared to diminish Grimbal&rsquo;s chances
+perceptibly; but with the sudden downfall of Clement&rsquo;s hopes the
+other&rsquo;s ends grew nearer again, and at the last it had scarcely
+surprised him to receive the proposal of Hicks. So now he stood within an
+hour or two of the desired knowledge, and his mind was consequently a little
+abstracted from the matter in hand.</p>
+<p>The battery, consisting of four field-guns, was brought into action in the
+direction of the upper end of the valley, while Major Tremayne, its
+commanding officer and John Grimbal&rsquo;s acquaintance, explained to the
+amateur all that he did not know. During the previous week the master of the
+Red House and other officers of the local yeomanry interested in military
+matters had dined at the mess of those artillery officers then encamped at
+Okehampton for the annual practice on Dartmoor; and the outcome of that
+entertainment was an invitation to witness some shooting during the
+forthcoming week.</p>
+<p>The gunners in their dark blue uniforms swarmed busily round four shining
+sixteen-pounders, while Major Tremayne conversed with his friend. He was a
+handsome, large-limbed man, with kindly eyes.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Where&rsquo;s your target?&rdquo; asked Grimbal, as he scanned the
+deep distance of the valley.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Away there under that grey mass of rock. We&rsquo;ve got to guess
+at the range as you know; then find it. I should judge the distance at about
+two miles&mdash;an extreme limit. Take my glass and you&rsquo;ll note a line
+of earthworks thrown up on this side of the stone. That is intended to
+represent a redoubt and we&rsquo;re going to shell it and slay the dummy men
+posted inside.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I can see without the glass. The rock is called Oke Tor, and
+I&rsquo;m going to meet a man there this afternoon.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Good; then you&rsquo;ll be able to observe the results at close
+quarters. They&rsquo;ll surprise you. Now we are going to begin. Is your
+horse all right? He looks shifty, and the guns make a devil of a
+row.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Steady as time. He&rsquo;s smelt powder before to-day.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Major Tremayne now adjusted his field-glasses, and carefully inspected
+distant earthworks stretched below the northern buttresses of Oke Tor. He
+estimated the range, which he communicated to the battery; then after a
+slight delay came the roar and bellow of the guns as they were fired in slow
+succession.</p>
+<p>But the Major&rsquo;s estimate proved too liberal, for the ranging rounds
+fell far beyond the target, and dropped into the lofty side of
+Steeperton.</p>
+<p>The elevation of the guns was accordingly reduced, and Grimbal noted the
+profound silence in the battery as each busy soldier performed his appointed
+task.</p>
+<p>At the next round shells burst a little too short of the earthworks, and
+again a slight modification in the range was made. Now missiles began to
+descend in and around the distant redoubt, and each as it exploded dealt out
+shattering destruction to the dummy men which represented an enemy. One
+projectile smashed against the side of Oke Tor, and sent back the ringing
+sound of its tremendous impact.</p>
+<p>Subsequent practice, now that the range was found, produced results above
+the average in accuracy, and Major Tremayne&rsquo;s good-humour
+increased.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Five running plump into the redoubt! That&rsquo;s what we can do
+when we try,&rdquo; he said to Grimbal, while the amateur awarded his meed of
+praise and admiration.</p>
+<p>Anon the business was at an end; the battery limbered up; the guns, each
+drawn by six stout horses, disappeared with many a jolt over the uneven
+ground, as the soldiers clinked and clashed away to their camp on the high
+land above Okehamptou.</p>
+<p>Under the raw smell of burnt powder Major Tremayne took leave of Grimbal
+and the rest; each man went his way; and John, pursuing a bridle-path through
+the marshes of the Taw, proceeded slowly to his appointment.</p>
+<p>An unexpected spring retarded Grimbal&rsquo;s progress and made a
+considerable detour necessary. At length, however, he approached Oke Tor,
+marked the tremendous havoc of the firing, and noted a great grey splash upon
+the granite, where one shell had abraded its weathered face.</p>
+<p>John Grimbal dismounted, tied up his horse, then climbed to the top of the
+Tor, and searched for an approaching pedestrian. Nobody was visible save one
+man only; amounted soldier riding round to strike the red warning flags
+posted widely about the ranges. Grimbal descended and approached the southern
+side, there to sit on the fine intermingled turf and moss and smoke a cigar
+until his man should arrive. But rounding the point of the low cliff, he
+found that Hicks was already there.</p>
+<p>Clement, his hat off, reclined upon his back with his face lifted to the
+sky. Where his head rested, the wild thyme grew, and one great, black
+bumble-bee boomed at a deaf ear as it clumsily struggled in the purple
+blossoms. He lay almost naturally, but some distortion of his neck and a film
+upon his open eyes proclaimed that the man neither woke nor slept.</p>
+<p>His lonely death was on this wise. Standing at the edge of the highest
+point of Oke Tor, with his back to the distant guns, he had crowned the
+artillerymen&rsquo;s target, himself invisible. At that moment firing began,
+and the first shell, suddenly shrieking scarcely twenty yards above his head,
+had caused Hicks to start and turn abruptly. With this action he lost his
+balance; then a projection of the granite struck his back as he fell and
+brought him heavily to the earth upon his head.</p>
+<p>Now the sun, creeping westerly, already threw a ruddiness over the Moor,
+and this warm light touching the dead man&rsquo;s cheek brought thither a hue
+never visible in life, and imparted to the features a placidity very
+startling by contrast with the circumstances of his sudden and violent
+end.</p>
+<h2><a id="II_XVI" name="II_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI<br />
+BEFORE THE DAWN</h2>
+<p>It proclaims the attitude of John Grimbal to his enemy that thus suddenly
+confronted with the corpse of a man whom he believed in life, his first
+emotion should have betokened bitter disappointment and even anger. Will
+Blanchard&rsquo;s secret, great or small, was safe enough for the present;
+and the hand stretched eagerly for revenge clutched air.</p>
+<p>Convincing himself that Hicks was dead, Grimbal galloped off towards
+Belstone village, the nearest centre of civilisation. There he reported the
+facts, directed police and labourers where to find the body and where to
+carry it, and subsequently rode swiftly back to Chagford. Arrived at the
+market-place, he acquainted Abraham Chown, the representative of the Devon
+constabulary, with his news, and finally writing a brief statement at the
+police station before leaving it, Grimbal returned home.</p>
+<p>Not until after dark was the impatient mother made aware of her
+son&rsquo;s end, and she had scarcely received the intelligence before he
+came home to her&mdash;with no triumphant news of the Red House Farm, but
+dead, on a sheep-hurdle. Like summer lightning Clement&rsquo;s fate leapt
+through the length and breadth of Chagford. It penetrated to the vicarage; it
+reached outlying farms; it arrived at Monks Barton, was whispered near Mrs.
+Blanchard&rsquo;s cottage by the Teign, and, in the early morning of the
+following day, reached Newtake.</p>
+<p>Then Will, galloping to the village while dawn was yet grey, met Doctor
+Parsons, and heard the truth of these uncertain rumours which had reached
+him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It seems clear enough when Grimbal&rsquo;s statement comes to be
+read,&rdquo; explained the medical man. &ldquo;He had arranged a meeting with
+poor Hicks on Oke Tor, and, when he went to keep his appointment, found the
+unfortunate man lying under the rocks quite dead. The spot, I must tell you,
+was near a target of the soldiers at Okehampton, and John Grimbal first
+suspected that Hicks, heedless of the red warning flags, had wandered into
+the line of fire and been actually slain by a projectile. But nothing of that
+sort happened. I have seen him. The unfortunate man evidently slipped and
+fell from some considerable height upon his head. His neck is dislocated and
+the base of the skull badly fractured.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Have you seen my poor sister?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I was called last night while at Mrs. Hicks&rsquo;s cottage, and
+went almost at once. It&rsquo;s very terrible&mdash;very. She&rsquo;ll get
+brain fever if we&rsquo;re not careful. Such a shock! She was walking alone,
+down in the croft by the river&mdash;all in a tremendously heavy dew too. She
+was dry-eyed and raved, poor girl. I may say she was insane at that sad
+moment. &lsquo;Weep for yourself!&rsquo; she said to me. &lsquo;Let this
+place weep for itself, for there&rsquo;s a great man has died. He was here
+and lived here and nobody knew&mdash;nobody but his mother and I knew what he
+was. He had to beg his bread almost, and God let him; but the sin of it is on
+those around him&mdash;you and the rest.&rsquo; So she spoke, poor child.
+These are not exactly her words, but something like them. I got her indoors
+to her mother and sent her a draught. I&rsquo;ve just come from confining
+Mrs. Woods, and I&rsquo;ll walk down and see your sister now before I go home
+if you like. I hope she may be sleeping.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Will readily agreed to this suggestion; and together the two men proceeded
+to the valley.</p>
+<p>But many things had happened since the night. When Doctor Parsons left
+Mrs. Blanchard, she had prevailed upon Chris to go to bed, and then herself
+departed to the village and sat with Mrs. Hicks for an hour. Returning, she
+found her daughter apparently asleep, and, rather than wake her, left the
+doctor&rsquo;s draught unopened; yet Chris had only simulated slumber, and as
+soon as her mother retreated to her own bed, she rose, dressed, crept from
+the house, and hastened through the night to where her lover lay.</p>
+<p>The first awful stroke had fallen, but the elasticity of the human mind
+which at first throws off and off such terrible shocks, and only after the
+length of many hours finally accepts them as fact, saved Chris Blanchard from
+going mad. Happily she could not thus soon realise the truth. It recurred,
+like the blows of a sledge, upon her brain, but between these cruel reminders
+of the catastrophe, the knowledge of Clement&rsquo;s death escaped her memory
+entirely, and more than once, while roaming the dew alone, she asked herself
+suddenly what she was doing and why she was there. Then the mournful answer
+knelled to her heart, and the recurrent spasms of that first agony slowly,
+surely settled into one dead pain, as the truth was seared into her
+knowledge. A frenzied burst of anger succeeded, and under its influence she
+spoke to Doctor Parsons, who approached her beside the river and with tact
+and patience at length prevailed upon her to enter her home. She cursed the
+land that had borne him, the hamlet wherein he had dwelt; and her mother, not
+amazed at her fierce grief, found each convulsive ebullition of sorrow
+natural to the dark hour, and soothed her as best she could. Then the elder
+woman departed a while, not knowing the truth and feeling such a course
+embraced the deeper wisdom.</p>
+<p>Left alone, her future rose before Chris, as she sat upon her bed and saw
+the time to come glimmer out of the night in colours more ashy than the
+moonbeams on the cotton blind. Yet, as she looked her face burned, and one
+flame, vivid enough, flickered through all the future; the light on her own
+cheeks. Her position as it faced her from various points of view acted upon
+her physical being&mdash;suffocated her and brought a scream to her lips.
+There was nobody to hear it, nobody to see the girl tear her hair, rise from
+her couch, fall quivering, face downward, on the little strip of carpet
+beside her bed. Who could know even a little of what this meant to her? Women
+had often lost the men they loved, but never, never like this. So she assured
+herself. Past sorrows and fears dwindled to mere shadows now; for the awful
+future&mdash;the crushing months to come, rose grim and horrible on the
+horizon of Time, laden with greater terrors than she could face and live.</p>
+<p>Alone, Chris told herself she might have withstood the oncoming
+tribulation&mdash;struggled through the storms of suffering and kept her
+broken heart company as other women had done before and must again; but she
+would not be alone. A little hand was stretching out of the loneliness she
+yearned for; a little voice was crying out of the solitude she craved. The
+shadows that might have sheltered her were full of hard eyes; the secret
+places would only echo a world&rsquo;s cruel laughter now&mdash;that world
+which had let her loved one die uncared for, that world so pitiless to such
+as she. Her thoughts were alternately defiant and fearful; then, before the
+picture of her mother and Will, her emotions dwindled from the tragic and
+became of a sort that weeping could relieve. Tears, now mercifully released
+from their fountains, softened her bruised soul for a time and moderated the
+physical strain of her agony. She lay long, half-naked, sobbing her heart
+out. Then came the mad desire to be back with Clement at any cost, and
+profound pity for him overwhelmed her mind to the exclusion of further sorrow
+for herself. She forgot herself wholly in grief that he was gone. She would
+never hear him speak or laugh again; never again kiss the trouble from his
+eyes; never feel the warm breath of him, the hand-grip of him. He was dead;
+and she saw him lying straight and cold in a padded coffin, with his hands
+crossed and cerecloth stiffly tying up his jaws. He would sink into the
+silence that dwelt under the roots of the green grass; while she must go on
+and fight the world, and in fighting it, bring down upon his grave bitter
+words and sharp censures from the lips of those who did not understand.</p>
+<p>Before which reflection Death came closer and looked kind; and the thought
+of his hand was cool and comforting, as the hand of a grey moor mist sweeping
+over the heath after fiery days of cloudless sun. Death stood very near and
+beckoned at the dark portals of her thought. Behind him there shone a great
+light, and in the light stood Clem; but the Shadow filled all the foreground.
+To go to her loved one, to die quickly and take their mutual secret with her,
+seemed a right and a precious thought just then; to go, to die, while yet he
+lay above the earth, was a determination that had even a little power to
+solace her agony. She thought of meeting him standing alone, strange,
+friendless on the other side of the grave; she told herself that actual duty,
+if not the vast love she bore him, pointed along the unknown road he had so
+recently followed. It was but justice to him. Then she could laugh at Time
+and Fate and the juggling unseen Controller who had played with him and her,
+had wrecked their little lives, forced their little passions under a sham
+security, then snapped the thread on which she hung for everything, killed
+the better part of herself, and left her all alone without a hand to shield
+or a heart to pity. In the darkness, as the moon stole away and her chamber
+window blackened, she sounded all sorrow&rsquo;s wide and solemn diapason;
+and the living sank into shadows before her mind&rsquo;s accentuated and
+vivid picture of the dead. Future life loomed along one desolate pathway that
+led to pain and shame and griefs as yet untasted. The rocks beside the way
+hid shadowy shapes of the unfriendly; for no mother&rsquo;s kindly hand would
+support her, no brother&rsquo;s stout arm would be lifted for her when they
+knew. No pure, noble, fellow-creature might be asked for aid, not one might
+be expected to succour and cherish in the great strait sweeping towards her.
+Some indeed there were to look to for the moment, but their voices and their
+eyes would harden presently, when they knew.</p>
+<p>She told herself they must never know; and the solution to the problem of
+how to keep her secret appeared upon the threshold of the unknown road her
+lover had already travelled. Now, at the echo of the lowest notes, while she
+lay with uneven pulses and shaking limbs, it seemed that she was faced with
+the parting of the ways and must make instant choice. Time would not wait for
+her and cared nothing whether she chose life or death for her road. She
+struggled with red thoughts, and fever burnt her lips and stabbed her
+forehead. Clement was gone. In this supreme hour no fellow-creature could
+fortify her courage or direct her tottering judgment. Once she thought of
+prayer and turned from it shuddering with a passionate determination to pray
+no more. Then the vision of Death shadowed her and she felt his brief sting
+would be nothing beside the endless torment of living. Dangerous thoughts
+developed quickly in her and grew to giants. Something clamoured to her and
+cried that delay, even of hours, was impossible and must be fatal to secrecy.
+A feverish yearning to get it over, and that quickly, mastered her, and she
+began huddling on some clothes.</p>
+<p>Then it was that the sudden sound of the cottage door being shut and
+bolted reached her ear. Mrs. Blanchard had returned and knowing that she
+would approach in a moment, Chris flung herself on the bed and pretended to
+be sleeping soundly. It was not until her mother withdrew and herself
+slumbered half an hour later that the distracted woman arose, dressed
+herself, and silently left the house as we have said.</p>
+<p>She heard the river calling to her, and through its murmur sounded the
+voice of her loved one from afar. The moon shone clear and the valley was
+full of vapoury gauze. A wild longing to see him once more in the flesh
+before she followed him in the spirit gained upon Chris, and she moved slowly
+up the hill to the village. Then, as she went, born of the mists upon the
+meadows, and the great light and the moony gossamers diamonded with dew,
+there rose his dear shape and moved with her along the way. But his face was
+hidden, and he vanished at the first outposts of the hamlet as she passed
+into Chagford alone. The cottage shadows fell velvety black in a shining
+silence; their thatches were streaked, their slates meshed with silver; their
+whitewashed walls looked strangely awake and alert and surrounded the woman
+with a sort of blind, hushed stare. One solitary patch of light peered like a
+weary eye from that side of the street which lay in shadow, and Chris,
+passing through the unbolted cottage door, walked up the narrow passage
+within and softly entered.</p>
+<p>Condolence and tears and buzz of sorrowful friends had passed away with
+the stroke of midnight. Now Mrs. Hicks sat alone with her dead and gazed upon
+his calm features and vaguely wondered how, after a life of such
+disappointment and failure and bitter discontent, he could look so peaceful.
+She knew every line that thought and trouble had ruled upon his face; she
+remembered their coming; and now, between her fits of grief, she scanned him
+close and saw that Death had wiped away the furrows here and there, and
+smoothed his forehead and rolled back the years from off him until his face
+reminded her of the strange, wayward child who was wont to live a life apart
+from his fellows, like some wild wood creature, and who had passed almost
+friendless through his boyhood. Fully he had filled her widowed life, and
+been at least a loving child, a good son. On him her withered hopes had
+depended, and, even in their darkest hours, he had laughed at her dread of
+the workhouse, and assured her that while head and hands remained to him she
+need not fear, but should enjoy the independence of a home. Now this sole
+prop and stay was gone&mdash;gone, just as the black cloud had broken and
+Fate relented.</p>
+<p>The old woman sat beside him stricken, shrivelled, almost reptilian in her
+red-eyed, motionless misery. Only her eyes moved in her wrinkled, brown face,
+and reflected the candle standing on the mantelpiece above his head. She sat
+with her hands crooked over one another in her lap, like some image wrought
+of ebony and dark oak. Once a large house-spider suddenly and silently
+appeared upon the sheet that covered the breast of the dead. It flashed along
+for a foot or two, then sat motionless; and she, whose inclination was to
+loathe such things unutterably, put forth her hand and caught it without a
+tremor and crushed it while its hairy legs wriggled between her fingers.</p>
+<p>To the robbed mother came Chris, silent as a ghost. Only the old
+woman&rsquo;s eyes moved as the girl entered, fell down by the bier, and
+buried her face in the pillow that supported her lover&rsquo;s head. Thus, in
+profound silence, both remained awhile, until Chris lifted herself and looked
+in the dead face and almost started to see the strange content stamped on
+it.</p>
+<p>Then Mrs. Hicks began to speak in a high-pitched voice which broke now and
+again as her bosom heaved after past tears.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The awnly son of his mother, an&rsquo; she a widow wummon;
+an&rsquo; theer &rsquo;s no Christ now to work for the love of the poor. I be
+shattered wi&rsquo; many groans an&rsquo; tears, Chris Blanchard, same as you
+be. You knawed him&mdash;awnly you an&rsquo; me; but you &rsquo;m young yet,
+an&rsquo; memory&rsquo;s so weak in young brains that you&rsquo;ll outlive it
+all an&rsquo; forget.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Never, never, mother! Theer &rsquo;s no more life for me&mdash;not
+here. He&rsquo;s callin&rsquo; to me&mdash;callin&rsquo; an&rsquo;
+callin&rsquo; from yonder.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;ll outlive an&rsquo; forget,&rdquo; repeated the other.
+&ldquo;I cannot, bein&rsquo; as I am. An&rsquo;, mind this, when you pray to
+Heaven, ax for gold an&rsquo; diamonds, ax for houses an&rsquo; lands, ax for
+the fat of the airth; an&rsquo; ax loud. No harm in axin&rsquo;. Awnly
+doan&rsquo;t pitch your prayers tu dirt low, for ban&rsquo;t the hardness of
+a thing stops God. You &rsquo;m as likely or onlikely to get a big answer as
+a little. See the blessin&rsquo; flowin&rsquo; in streams for some folks!
+They do live braave an&rsquo; happy, with gude health, an&rsquo; gude wives,
+an&rsquo; money, an&rsquo; the fruits of the land; they do get butivul
+childer, as graws up like the corners of the temple; an&rsquo; when they come
+to die, they shut their eyes &rsquo;pon kind faaces an&rsquo; lie in lead
+an&rsquo; oak under polished marble. All that be theers; an&rsquo; what was
+his&mdash;my son&rsquo;s?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;God forgot him,&rdquo; sobbed Chris, &ldquo;an&rsquo; the world
+forgot him&mdash;all but you an&rsquo; me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The old woman shifted her hands wearily.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Theer&rsquo;s a mort for God to bear in mind, but &rsquo;t is hard,
+here an&rsquo; there, wheer He slips awver some lowly party an&rsquo; misses
+a humble whisper. Clamour if you want to be heard; doan&rsquo;t go with bated
+breath same as I done. &rsquo;T was awnly a li&rsquo;l thing I axed,
+an&rsquo; axed it twice a day on my knees, ever since my man died
+twenty-three year agone. An&rsquo; often as not thrice Sundays, so you may
+count up the number of times I axed if you mind to. Awnly a li&rsquo;l
+rubbishy thing you might have thought: just to bring his fair share o&rsquo;
+prosperity to Clem an&rsquo; keep my bones out the poorhouse at the end. But
+my bwoy &rsquo;s brawk his neck by a cruel death, an&rsquo; I must wear the
+blue cotton.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, no, mother.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess. Not that it looks so hard as it did. This makes it
+easy&mdash;&rdquo; and she put her hand on her son&rsquo;s forehead and left
+it there a moment.</p>
+<p>Presently she continued:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I axed Clem to turn the bee-butts at my sister&rsquo;s
+passing&mdash;Mrs. Lezzard. But he wouldn&rsquo;t; an&rsquo; now
+they&rsquo;ll be turned for him. Wise though the man was, he set no store on
+the dark, hidden meaning of honey-bees at times of death. Now the creatures
+be masterless, same as you an&rsquo; me; an&rsquo; they&rsquo;ll knaw it;
+an&rsquo; you&rsquo;ll see many an&rsquo; many a-murmuring on his graave
+&rsquo;fore the grass graws green theer; for they see more &rsquo;n what we
+can.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She relapsed into motionless silence and, herself now wholly tearless,
+watched the tears of Chris, who had sunk down on the floor between the mother
+and son.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why for do <i>you</i> cry an&rsquo; wring your hands so
+hard?&rdquo; she asked suddenly. &ldquo;You&rsquo;m awnly a girl
+yet&mdash;young an&rsquo; soft-cheeked wi&rsquo; braave bonny eyes.
+Theer&rsquo;ll be many a man&rsquo;s breast for you to comfort your head on.
+But me! Think o&rsquo; what&rsquo;s tearin&rsquo; my auld heart to
+tatters&mdash;me, so bleared an&rsquo; ugly an&rsquo; lonely. God knaws
+God&rsquo;s self couldn&rsquo;t bring no balm to me&mdash;none, till I huddle
+under the airth arter un; but you&mdash;your wound won&rsquo;t show by time
+the snaw comes again.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You forget when you loved a man first if you says such a thing as
+that.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Theer&rsquo;s no eternal, lasting fashion o&rsquo; love but a
+mother&rsquo;s to her awn male childer,&rdquo; croaked the other.
+&ldquo;Sweethearts&rsquo; love is a thing o&rsquo; the blood&mdash;a trick
+o&rsquo; Nature to tickle us poor human things into breeding &rsquo;gainst
+our better wisdom; but what a mother feels doan&rsquo;t hang on no such
+broken reed. It&rsquo;s deeper down; it&rsquo;s hell an&rsquo; heaven both to
+wance; it&rsquo;s life; an&rsquo; to lose it is death. See! Essterday
+I&rsquo;d &rsquo;a&rsquo; fought an&rsquo; screamed an&rsquo; took on like a
+gude un to be fetched away to the Union; but come they put him in the ground,
+I&rsquo;ll go so quiet as a lamb.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Another silence followed; then the aged widow pursued her theme, at first
+in the same dreary, cracked monotone, then deepening to passion.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I tell you a gude wife will do &rsquo;most anything for a husband
+an&rsquo; give her body an&rsquo; soul to un; but she expects summat in
+return. She wants his love an&rsquo; worship for hers; but a mother do give
+all&mdash;all&mdash;all&mdash;an&rsquo; never axes nothin&rsquo; for it. Just
+a kiss maybe, an&rsquo; a brightening eye, or a kind word. That&rsquo;s her
+pay, an&rsquo; better&rsquo;n gawld, tu. She&rsquo;m purty nigh satisfied
+wi&rsquo; what would satisfy a dog, come to think on it. &rsquo;T is her joy
+to fret an&rsquo; fume an&rsquo; pine o&rsquo; nights for un, an&rsquo; tire
+the A&rsquo;mighty&rsquo;s ear wi&rsquo; plans an&rsquo; suggestions for un;
+aye, think an&rsquo; sweat an&rsquo; starve for un all times. &rsquo;T is her
+joy, I tell &rsquo;e, to smooth his road, an&rsquo; catch the brambles by his
+way an&rsquo; let &rsquo;em bury their thorns in her flesh so he
+shaa&rsquo;n&rsquo;t feel &rsquo;em; &rsquo;t is her joy to hear him babble
+of all his hopes an&rsquo; delights; an&rsquo; when the time comes
+she&rsquo;ll taake the maid of his heart to her awn, though maybe &rsquo;t is
+breakin&rsquo; wi&rsquo; fear that he&rsquo;ll forget her in the light of the
+young eyes. Ax your awn mother if what I sez ban&rsquo;t God&rsquo;s truth.
+We as got the bwoys be content wi&rsquo; that little. We awnly want to help
+theer young shoulders wi&rsquo; our auld wans, to fight for &rsquo;em to the
+last. We&rsquo;ll let theer wives have the love, we will, an&rsquo; ax no
+questions an&rsquo;&mdash;an&rsquo; we&rsquo;ll break our hearts when the
+cheel &rsquo;s took out o&rsquo; his turn&mdash;break our hearts by
+inches&mdash;same as I be doin&rsquo; now.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; doan&rsquo;t I love, tu? Weern&rsquo;t he all the world
+to me, tu? Isn&rsquo;t my heart broken so well as yours?&rdquo; sobbed
+Chris.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Hear this, you wummon as talks of a broken heart,&rdquo; answered
+the elder almost harshly. &ldquo;Wait&mdash;wait till you &rsquo;m the mother
+of a li&rsquo;l man-cheel, an&rsquo; see the shining eyes of un
+a-lookin&rsquo; into yourn while your nipple&rsquo;s bein&rsquo; squeezed by
+his naked gums, an&rsquo; you laugh at what you suffered for un, an&rsquo;
+hug un to you. Wait till he&rsquo;m grawed from baby to bwoy, from bwoy to
+man; wait till he&rsquo;m all you&rsquo;ve got left in the cold, starved
+winter of a sorrowful life; an&rsquo; wait till he&rsquo;m brought home to
+&rsquo;e like this here, while you&rsquo;ve been sittin&rsquo; laughin&rsquo;
+to yourself an&rsquo; countin&rsquo; dream gawld. Then turn about to find the
+tears that&rsquo;ll comfort &rsquo;e, an&rsquo; the prayers that&rsquo;ll
+soothe &rsquo;e, and the God that&rsquo;ll lift &rsquo;e up; but you
+won&rsquo;t find &rsquo;em, Chris Blanchard.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The girl listened to this utterance, and it filled her with a sort of
+weird wonder as at a revelation of heredity. Mrs. Hicks had ever been
+taciturn before her, and now this rapid outpouring of thoughts and phrases
+echoed like the very speech of the dead. Thus had Clement talked, and the
+girl dimly marvelled without understanding. The impression passed, and there
+awoke in Chris a sudden determination to whisper to this bereaved woman what
+she could not even tell her own mother. A second thought had probably changed
+her intention, but she did not wait for any second thought. She acted on
+impulse, rose, put her arms round the widow, and murmured her secret. The
+other started violently and broke her motionless posture before this
+intelligence.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Christ! And he knawed&mdash;my son?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He knawed.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then you needn&rsquo;t whisper it. There&rsquo;s awnly us three
+here.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; no others must knaw. You&rsquo;ll never tell&mdash;never?
+You swear that?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Me tell! No, no. To think! Then theer&rsquo;s real sorrow for you,
+tu, poor soul&mdash;real, grawin&rsquo; sorrow tu. Differ&rsquo;nt from mine,
+but real enough. Yet&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She relapsed into a stone-like repose. No facial muscle moved, but the
+expression of her mind appeared in her eyes and there gradually grew a hungry
+look in them&mdash;as of a starving thing confronted with food. The
+realisation of these new facts took a long time. No action accompanied it; no
+wrinkle deepened; no line of the dejected figure lifted; but when she spoke
+again her voice had greatly changed and become softer and very tremulous.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O my dear God! &rsquo;t will be a bit of Clement! Had &rsquo;e
+thought o&rsquo; that?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then she rose suddenly to her feet and expression came to her face&mdash;a
+very wonderful expression wherein were blended fear, awe, and something of
+vague but violent joy&mdash;as though one suddenly beheld a loved ghost from
+the dead.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;T is as if all of un weern&rsquo;t quite lost! A li&rsquo;l
+left&mdash;a cheel of his! Wummon! You&rsquo;m a holy thing to me&mdash;a
+holy thing evermore! You&rsquo;m bearin&rsquo; sunshine for your summertime
+and my winter&mdash;if God so wills!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then she lifted up her voice and cried to Chris with a strange cry, and
+knelt down at her feet and kissed her hands and stroked them.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Go to un,&rdquo; she said, leaping up; &ldquo;go to Clem, an&rsquo;
+tell un, in his ear, that I knaw. It&rsquo;ll reach him if you whisper it.
+His soul ban&rsquo;t so very far aways yet. Tell un I knaw, tu&mdash;you
+an&rsquo; me. He&rsquo;d glory that I knawed. An&rsquo; pray henceforrard, as
+I shall, for a bwoy. Ax God for a bwoy&mdash;ax wi&rsquo;out ceasin&rsquo;
+for a son full o&rsquo; Clem. Our sorrows might win to the Everlasting Ear
+this wance. But, for Christ&rsquo;s sake, ax like wan who has a right to, not
+fawning an&rsquo; humble.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The woman was transfigured as the significance of this news filled her
+mind. She wept before a splendid possibility. It fired her eyes and
+straightened her shrivelled stature. For a while her frantic utterances
+almost inspired Chris with the shadow of similar emotions; but another side
+of the picture knew no dawn. This the widow ignored&mdash;indeed it had not
+entered her head since her first comment on the confession. Now, however, the
+girl reminded her,&mdash;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You forget a little what this must be to me, mother.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Light in darkness.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I hadn&rsquo;t thought that; an the gert world won&rsquo;t pity me,
+as you did when I first told you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You ban&rsquo;t feared o&rsquo; the world, be you? The world forgot
+un. &rsquo;T was your awn word. What&rsquo;s the world to you, knawin&rsquo;
+what you knaw? Do &rsquo;e want to be treated soft by what was allus
+hell-hard to him? Four-and-thirty short years he lived, then the world
+beginned to ope its eyes to his paarts, an&rsquo; awnly then&mdash;tu late,
+when the thread of his days was spun. What&rsquo;s the world to you and why
+should you care for its word, Chris Blanchard?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Because I am Chris Blanchard,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I was gwaine
+to kill myself, but thought to see his dear face wance more before I done it.
+Now&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Kill yourself! God&rsquo;s mercy! &rsquo;T will be killing Clem
+again if you do! You caan&rsquo;t; you wouldn&rsquo;t dare; theer&rsquo;s
+black damnation in it an&rsquo; flat murder now. Hear me, for Christ&rsquo;s
+sake, if that&rsquo;s the awful thought in you: you&rsquo;m God&rsquo;s
+chosen tool in this&mdash;chosen to suffer an&rsquo; bring a bwoy in the
+world&mdash;Clem&rsquo;s bwoy. Doan&rsquo;t you see how&rsquo;t is?
+&rsquo;Kill yourself&rsquo;! How can &rsquo;e dream it? You&rsquo;ve got to
+bring a bwoy, I tell &rsquo;e, to keep us from both gwaine stark mad.
+&rsquo;T was foreordained he should leave his holy likeness. God&rsquo;s
+truth! You should be proud &rsquo;stead o&rsquo; fearful&mdash;such a man as
+he was. Hold your head high an&rsquo; pray when none&rsquo;s lookin&rsquo;,
+pray through every wakin&rsquo; hour an&rsquo; watch yourself as you&rsquo;d
+watch the case of a golden jewel. What wise brain will think hard of you for
+followin&rsquo; the chosen path? What odds if a babe&rsquo;s got ringless
+under the stars or in a lawful four-post bed? Who married Adam an&rsquo; Eve?
+You was the wife of un &rsquo;cordin&rsquo; to the first plan o&rsquo; the
+livin&rsquo; God; an&rsquo; if He changed His lofty mind when&rsquo;t was tu
+late, blame doan&rsquo;t fall on you or the dead. Think of a baaby&mdash;his
+baaby&mdash;under your breast! Think of meetin&rsquo; him in time to come,
+wi&rsquo; another soul got in sheer love! Better to faace the people
+an&rsquo; let the bairn come to fulness o&rsquo; life than fly them an&rsquo;
+cut your days short an&rsquo; go into the next world empty-handed.
+Caan&rsquo;t you see it? What would Clem say? He&rsquo;d judge you
+hard&mdash;such a lover o&rsquo; li&rsquo;l childer as him. &rsquo;T is the
+first framework of an immortal soul you&rsquo;ve got unfoldin&rsquo;, like a
+rosebud hid in the green, an&rsquo; ban&rsquo;t for you to nip that life for
+your awn whim an&rsquo; let the angels in heaven be fewer by wan. You must
+live. An&rsquo; the bwoy&rsquo;ll graw into a tower of strength for
+&rsquo;e&mdash;a tower of strength an&rsquo; a glass belike wheer
+you&rsquo;ll see Clem rose again.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The shame of it. My mother and Will&mdash;Will who&rsquo;s a hard
+judge, an&rsquo; such a clean man.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;Clean&rsquo;! Christ A&rsquo;mighty! You&rsquo;d madden a
+saint of heaven! Weern&rsquo;t Clem clean, tu? If God sends fire-fire breaks
+out&mdash;sweet, livin&rsquo; fire. You must go through with it&mdash;aye,
+an&rsquo; call the bwoy Clem, tu. Be you shamed of him as he lies here? Be
+you feared of anything the airth can do to you when you look at him? Do
+&rsquo;e think Heaven&rsquo;s allus hard? No, I tell &rsquo;e, not to the
+young&mdash;not to the young. The wind&rsquo;s mostly tempered to the shorn
+lamb, though the auld ewe do oftentimes sting for it, an&rsquo; get the seeds
+o&rsquo; death arter shearing. Wait, and be strong, till you feel
+Clem&rsquo;s baaby in your arms. That&rsquo;ll be reward enough, an&rsquo;
+you won&rsquo;t care no more for the world then. His son, mind; who be you to
+take life, an&rsquo; break the buds of Clem&rsquo;s plantin&rsquo;? Worse
+than to go in another&rsquo;s garden an&rsquo; tear down green
+fruit.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>So she pleaded volubly, with an electric increase of vitality, and
+continued to pour out a torrent of words, until Chris solemnly promised,
+before God and the dead, that she would not take her life. Having done so,
+some new design informed her.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I must go,&rdquo; she said; &ldquo;the moon has set and dawn is
+near. Dying be so easy; living so hard. But live I will; I swear it, though
+theer&rsquo;s awnly my poor mad brain to shaw how.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Clem&rsquo;s son, mind. An&rsquo; let me be the first to see it,
+for I feel&rsquo;t will be the gude pleasure of God I should.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; you promise to say no word, whatever betides, an&rsquo;
+whatever you hear?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Dumb I&rsquo;ll be, as him theer&mdash;dumb, countin&rsquo; the
+weeks an&rsquo; months.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Day&rsquo;s broke, an&rsquo; I must go home-along,&rdquo; said
+Chris. She repeated the words mechanically, then moved away without any
+formal farewell. At the door she turned, hastened back, kissed the dead
+man&rsquo;s face again, and then departed, while the other woman looked at
+her but spoke no more.</p>
+<p>Alone, with the struggle over and her object won, the mother shrank and
+dwindled again and grew older momentarily. Then she relapsed into the same
+posture as before, and anon, tears bred of new thoughts began to trickle
+painfully from their parched fountains. She did not move, but let them roll
+unwiped away. Presently her head sank back, her cap fell off and white hair
+dropped about her face.</p>
+<p>Fingers of light seemed lifting the edges of the blind. They gained
+strength as the candle waned, and presently at cock-crow, when unnumbered
+clarions proclaimed morning, grey dawn with golden eyes brightened upon a
+dead man and an ancient woman fast asleep beside him.</p>
+<h2><a id="II_XVII" name="II_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII<br />
+MISSING</h2>
+<p>John Grimbal, actuated by some whim, or else conscious that under the
+circumstances decorum demanded his attendance, was present at the funeral of
+Clement Hicks. Some cynic interest he derived from the spectacle of young
+Blanchard among the bearers; and indeed, as may be supposed, few had felt
+this tragic termination of his friend&rsquo;s life more than Will. Very
+genuine remorse darkened his days, and he blamed himself bitterly enough for
+all past differences with the dead. It was in a mood at once contrite and
+sorrowful that he listened to the echo of falling clod, and during that
+solemn sound mentally traversed the whole course of his relations with his
+sister&rsquo;s lover. Of himself he thought not at all, and no shadowy
+suspicion of relief crossed his mind upon the reflection that the knowledge
+of those fateful weeks long past was now unshared. In all his quarrels with
+Clement, no possibility of the man breaking his oath once troubled
+Will&rsquo;s mind; and now profound sorrow at his friend&rsquo;s death and
+deep sympathy with Chris were the emotions that entirely filled the young
+farmer&rsquo;s heart.</p>
+<p>Grimbal watched his enemy as the service beside the grave proceeded. Once
+a malignant thought darkened his face, and he mused on what the result might
+be if he hinted to Blanchard the nature of his frustrated business with Hicks
+at Oke Tor. All Chagford had heard was that the master of the Red House
+intended to accept Clement Hicks as tenant of his home farm. The fact
+surprised many, but none looked behind it for any mystery, and Will least of
+all. Grimbal&rsquo;s thoughts developed upon his first idea; and he asked
+himself the consequence if, instead of telling Blanchard that he had gone to
+learn his secret, he should pretend that it was already in his possession.
+The notion shone for a moment only, then went out. First it showed itself
+absolutely futile, for he could do no more than threaten, and the other must
+speedily discover that in reality he knew nothing; and secondly, some shadow
+of feeling made Grimbal hesitate. His desire for revenge was now developing
+on new lines, and while his purpose remained unshaken, his last defeat had
+taught him patience. Partly from motives of policy, partly, strange as it may
+seem, from his instincts as a sportsman, he determined to let the matter of
+Hicks lie buried. For the dead man&rsquo;s good name he cared nothing,
+however, and victory over Will was only the more desired for this
+postponement. His black tenacity of purpose won strength from the repulse,
+but the problem for the time being was removed from its former sphere of
+active hatred towards his foe. How long this attitude would last, and what
+idiosyncrasy of character led to it, matters little. The fact remained that
+Grimbal&rsquo;s mental posture towards Blanchard now more nearly resembled
+that which he wore to his other interests in life. The circumstance still
+stood first, but partook of the nature of his emotions towards matters of
+sport. When a heavy trout had beaten him more than once, Grimbal would repair
+again and again to its particular haunt and leave no legitimate plan for its
+destruction untried. But any unsportsmanlike method of capturing or slaying
+bird, beast, or fish enraged him. So he left the churchyard with a sullen
+determination to pursue his sinister purpose straightforwardly.</p>
+<p>All interested in Clement Hicks attended the funeral, including his mother
+and Chris. The last had yielded to Mrs. Blanchard&rsquo;s desire and promised
+to stop at home; but she changed her mind and conducted herself at the
+ceremony with a stoic fortitude. This she achieved only by an effort of will
+which separated her consciousness entirely from her environment and alike
+blinded her eyes and deafened her ears to the mournful sights and sounds
+around her. With her own future every fibre of her mind was occupied; and as
+they lowered her lover&rsquo;s coffin into the earth a line of action leapt
+into her brain.</p>
+<p>Less than four-and-twenty hours later it seemed that the last act of the
+tragedy had begun. Then, hoarse as the raven that croaked Duncan&rsquo;s
+coming, Mr. Blee returned to Monks Barton from an early visit to the village.
+Phoebe was staying with her father for a fortnight, and it was she who met
+the old man as he paddled breathlessly home.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;More gert news!&rdquo; he gasped; &ldquo;if it ban&rsquo;t too much
+for wan in your way o&rsquo; health.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Nothing wrong at Newtake?&rdquo; cried Phoebe, turning pale.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, no; but family news for all that.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The girl raised her hand to her heart, and Miller Lyddon, attracted by
+Billy&rsquo;s excited voice, hastened to his daughter and put his arm round
+her.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Out with it,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I see news in &rsquo;e.
+What&rsquo;s the worst or best?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Bad, bad as heart can wish. A peck o&rsquo; trouble, by the looks
+of it. Chris Blanchard be gone&mdash;vanished like a dream! Mother Blanchard
+called her this marnin&rsquo;, an&rsquo; found her bed not so much as
+creased. She&rsquo;ve flown, an&rsquo; there&rsquo;s a braave upstore
+&rsquo;bout it, for every Blanchard&rsquo;s wrong in the head more or less,
+beggin&rsquo; your pardon, missis, as be awnly wan by marriage.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But no sign? No word or anything left?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Nothing; an&rsquo; theer&rsquo;s a purty strong faith she&rsquo;m
+in the river, poor lamb. Theer&rsquo;s draggin&rsquo; gwaine to be done in
+the ugly bits. I heard tell of it to the village, wheer I&rsquo;d just
+stepped up to see auld Lezzard moved to the work&rsquo;ouse. A wonnerful
+coorious, rackety world, sure &rsquo;nough! Do make me giddy.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Does Will know?&rdquo; asked Mr. Lyddon.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;His mother&rsquo;s sent post-haste for un. I doubt he &rsquo;m to
+the cottage by now. Such a gude, purty gal as she was, tu! An&rsquo; so mute
+as a twoad at the buryin&rsquo;, wi&rsquo; never a tear to soften the graave
+dust. For why? She knawed she&rsquo;d be alongside her man again &rsquo;fore
+the moon waned. An&rsquo; I hope she may be. But &rsquo;t was cross-roads
+an&rsquo; a hawthorn stake in my young days. Them barbarous ancient fashions
+be awver, thank God, though whether us lives in more religious times is a
+question, when you see the things what happens every hour on the
+twenty-four.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I must go to them,&rdquo; cried Phoebe.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll go; you stop at home quietly, and don&rsquo;t fret your
+mind,&rdquo; answered her father.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Us must all do what us can&mdash;every manjack. I be gwaine
+corpse-searchin&rsquo; down valley wi&rsquo; Chapple, an&rsquo; that
+&rsquo;mazin&rsquo; water-dog of hisn; an&rsquo; if &rsquo;t is my hand
+brings her out the Teign, &rsquo;t will be done in a kind, Christian manner,
+for she&rsquo;s in God&rsquo;s image yet, same as us; an&rsquo; ugly though a
+drownin&rsquo; be, it won&rsquo;t turn me from my duty.&rdquo;</p>
+<h2><a id="III_I" name="III_I"></a>BOOK III<br />
+HIS GRANITE CROSS<br />
+<br />CHAPTER I<br />
+BABY</h2>
+<p>Succeeding upon the tumultuous incidents of Clement&rsquo;s death and
+Chris Blanchard&rsquo;s disappearance, there followed a period of calm in the
+lives of those from whom this narrative is gleaned. Such transient peace
+proved the greater in so far as Damaris and her son were concerned, by reason
+of an incident which befell Will on the evening of his sister&rsquo;s
+departure. Dead she certainly was not, nor did she mean to die; for, upon
+returning to Newtake after hours of fruitless searching, Blanchard found a
+communication awaiting him there, though no shadow of evidence was
+forthcoming to show how it had reached the farm. Upon the ledge of the window
+he discovered it when he returned, and read the message at a glance:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t you nor mother fear nothing for me, nor seek me out,
+for it would be vain. I&rsquo;m well, and I&rsquo;m so happy as ever I shall
+be, and perhaps I&rsquo;ll come home-along some day.&mdash;CHRIS.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>On this challenge Will acted, ignored his sister&rsquo;s entreaty to
+attempt no such thing, and set out upon a resolute search of nearly two
+months&rsquo; duration. He toiled amain into the late autumn, but no hint or
+shadow of her rewarded the quest, and sustained failure in an enterprise
+where his heart was set, for his mother&rsquo;s sake and his own, acted upon
+the man&rsquo;s character, and indeed wrought marked changes in him. Despite
+the letter of Chris, hope died in Will, and he openly held his sister dead;
+but Mrs. Blanchard, while sufficiently distressed before her daughter&rsquo;s
+flight, never feared for her life, and doubted not that she would return in
+such time as it pleased her to do so.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Her nature be same as yours an&rsquo; your faither&rsquo;s afore
+you. When he&rsquo;d got the black monkey on his shoulder he&rsquo;d
+oftentimes leave the vans for a week and tramp the very heart o&rsquo; the
+Moor alone. Fatigue of body often salves a sore mind. He loved thunder
+o&rsquo; dark nights&mdash;my husband did&mdash;and was better for it
+seemin&rsquo;ly. Chris be safe, I do think, though it&rsquo;s a heart-deep
+stroke this for me, &rsquo;cause I judge she caan&rsquo;t &rsquo;zactly love
+me as I thought, or else she&rsquo;d never have left me. Still, the cold
+world, what she knaws so little &rsquo;bout, will drive her back to them as
+love her, come presently.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>So, with greater philosophy than her son could muster, Damaris practised
+patience; while Will, after a perambulation of the country from north to
+south, from west to east, after weeks on the lonely heaths and hiding-places
+of the ultimate Moor, after visits to remote hamlets and inquiries at a
+hundred separate farmhouses, returned to Newtake, worn, disappointed, and
+gloomy to a degree beyond the experience of those who knew him. Neither did
+the cloud speedily evaporate, as was most usual with his transient phases of
+depression. Circumstances combined to deepen it, and as the winter crowded
+down more quickly than usual, its leaden months of scanty daylight and cold
+rains left their mark on Will as time had never done before.</p>
+<p>During those few and sombre days which represented the epact of the dying
+year, Martin Grimbal returned to Chagford. He had extended his investigations
+beyond the time originally allotted to them, and now came back to his home
+with plenty of fresh material, and even one or two new theories for his book.
+He had received no communications during his absence, and the news of the
+bee-keeper&rsquo;s death and his sweetheart&rsquo;s disappearance, suddenly
+delivered by his housekeeper, went far to overwhelm him. It danced joy up
+again through the grey granite. For a brief hour splendid vistas of happiness
+reopened, and his laborious life swept suddenly into a bright region that he
+had gazed into longingly aforetime and lost for ever. He fought with himself
+to keep down this rosy-fledged hope; but it leapt in him, a young giant born
+at a word. The significance of the freedom of Chris staggered him. To find
+her was the cry of his heart, and, as Will had done before him, he
+straightway set out upon a systematic attempt to discover the missing girl.
+Of such uncertain temper was Blanchard&rsquo;s mind at this season, however,
+that he picked a quarrel out of Martin&rsquo;s design, and questioned the
+antiquary&rsquo;s right to busy himself upon an undertaking which the brother
+of Chris had already failed to accomplish.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She belonged to me, not to you,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;an&rsquo; I
+done all a man could do to find her. See her again we sha&rsquo;n&rsquo;t,
+that&rsquo;s my feelin&rsquo;, despite what she wrote to me and left so
+mysterious on the window. Madness comed awver her, I reckon, an&rsquo;
+she&rsquo;ve taken her life, an&rsquo; theer ban&rsquo;t no call for you or
+any other man to rip up the matter again. Let it bide as &rsquo;t is. Such
+black doin&rsquo;s be best set to rest.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>But, while Martin did not seek or desire Will&rsquo;s advice in the
+matter, he was surprised at the young farmer&rsquo;s attitude, and it
+extracted something in the nature of a confession from him, for there was
+little, he told himself, that need longer be hidden from the woman&rsquo;s
+brother.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I can speak now, at least to you, Will,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I
+can tell you, at any rate. Chris was all the world to me&mdash;all the world,
+and accident kept me from knowing she belonged to another man until too late.
+Now that he has gone, poor fellow, she almost seems within reach again. You
+know what it is to love. I can&rsquo;t and won&rsquo;t believe she has taken
+her life. Something tells me she lives, and I am not going to take any
+man&rsquo;s word about it. I must satisfy myself.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Thereupon Blanchard became more reasonable, withdrew his objections and
+expressed a very heartfelt hope that Martin might succeed where he had
+failed. The lover entered methodically upon his quest and conducted the
+inquiry with a rigorous closeness and scrupulous patience quite beyond
+Will&rsquo;s power despite his equally earnest intentions. For six months
+Martin pursued his hope, and few saw or heard anything of him during that
+period.</p>
+<p>Once, during the early summer, Will chanced upon John Grimbal at the first
+meeting of the otter hounds in Teign Vale; but though the younger purposely
+edged near his enemy where he stood, and hoped that some word might fall to
+indicate their ancient enmity dead, John said nothing, and his blue eyes were
+hard and as devoid of all emotion as turquoise beads when they met the
+farmer&rsquo;s face for one fraction of time.</p>
+<p>Before this incident, however, there had arisen upon Will&rsquo;s life the
+splendour of paternity. A time came when, through one endless night and
+silver April morning, he had tramped his kitchen floor as a tiger its cage,
+and left a scratched pathway on the stones. Then his mother hasted from aloft
+and reported the arrival of a rare baby boy.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Phoebe &rsquo;s doin&rsquo; braave, an&rsquo; she prays of &rsquo;e
+to go downlong fust thing an&rsquo; tell Miller all &rsquo;s well. Doctor
+Parsons hisself says &rsquo;t is a &rsquo;mazing fine cheel, so it
+ban&rsquo;t any mere word of mine as wouldn&rsquo;t weigh, me bein&rsquo; the
+gran&rsquo;mother.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>They talked a little while of the newcomer, then, thankful for an
+opportunity to be active after his long suspense, the father hurried away,
+mounted a horse, and soon rattled down the valleys into Chagford, at a pace
+which found his beast dead lame on the following day. Mighty was the
+exhilaration of that wild gallop as he sped past cot and farm under morning
+sunshine with his great news. Labouring men and chance wayfarers were
+overtaken from time to time. Some Will knew, some he had never seen, but to
+the ear of each and all without discrimination he shouted his intelligence.
+Not a few waved their hats and nodded and remembered the great day in their
+own lives; one laughed and cried &ldquo;Bravo!&rdquo; sundry, who knew him
+not, marvelled and took him for a lunatic.</p>
+<p>Arrived at Chagford, familiar forms greeted Will in the market-place, and
+again he bawled his information without dismounting.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A son &rsquo;tis, Chapple&mdash;comed an hour ago&mdash;a brave
+li&rsquo;l bwoy, so they tell!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Gude luck to it, then! An&rsquo; now you&rsquo;m a parent, you
+must&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>But Will was out of earshot, and Mr. Chapple wasted no more breath.</p>
+<p>Into Monks Barton the farmer presently clattered, threw himself off his
+horse, tramped indoors, and shouted for his father-in-law in tones that made
+the oak beams ring. Then the miller, with Mr. Blee behind him, hastened to
+hear what Will had come to tell.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;All right, all right with Phoebe?&rdquo; were Mr. Lyddon&rsquo;s
+first words, and he was white and shaking as he put the question.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Right as ninepence, faither&mdash;gran&rsquo;faither, I should say.
+A butivul li&rsquo;l man she&rsquo;ve got&mdash;out o&rsquo; the common fine,
+Parsons says, as ought to knaw&mdash;fat as a slug wi&rsquo;
+&rsquo;mazin&rsquo; dark curls on his wee head, though my mother says
+&rsquo;tis awnly a sort o&rsquo; catch-crop, an&rsquo; not the lasting hair
+as&rsquo;ll come arter.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A bwoy! Glory be!&rdquo; said Mr. Blee. &ldquo;If theer&rsquo;s
+awnly a bit o&rsquo; the gracious gudeness of his gran&rsquo;faither in un,
+&rsquo;twill prove a prosperous infant.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Thank God for a happy end to all my prayers,&rdquo; said Mr.
+Lyddon. &ldquo;Billy, get Will something to eat an&rsquo; drink. I guess
+he&rsquo;s hungry an&rsquo; starved.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Caan&rsquo;t eat, Miller; but I&rsquo;ll have a drop of the best,
+if it&rsquo;s all the same to you. Us must drink their healths, both of
+&rsquo;em. As for me &rsquo;tis a gert thing to be the faither of a cheel
+as&rsquo;ll graw into a man some day, an&rsquo; may even be a historical
+character, awnly give un time.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So &rsquo;tis a gert thing. Sit down; doan&rsquo;t tramp about. I
+lay you&rsquo;ve been on your feet enough these late hours.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Will obeyed, but proceeded with his theme, and though his feet were still
+his hands were not.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Us be faced wi&rsquo; the upbringing an&rsquo; edication of un. I
+mean him to be brought up to a power o&rsquo; knowledge, for theer&rsquo;s
+nothin&rsquo; like it. Doan&rsquo;t you think I be gwaine to shirk
+doin&rsquo; the right thing by un&rsquo;, Miller, &rsquo;cause it aint so. If
+&rsquo;twas my last fi&rsquo;-pun&rsquo; note was called up for larnin&rsquo;
+him, he&rsquo;d have it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Theer&rsquo;s no gert hurry yet,&rdquo; declared Billy.
+&ldquo;Awnly you&rsquo;m right to look in the future and weigh the debt every
+man owes to the cheel he gets. He&rsquo;ll never cost you less thought or
+halfpence than he do to-day, an&rsquo;, wi&rsquo;out croakin&rsquo; at such a
+gay time, I will say he&rsquo;ll graw into a greater care an&rsquo; trouble,
+every breath he draws.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not him! Not the way I&rsquo;m gwaine to bring un up. Stern
+an&rsquo; strict an&rsquo; no nonsense, I promise &rsquo;e&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s right. Tame un from the breast. I&rsquo;d like for my
+paart to think as the very sapling be grawin&rsquo; now as&rsquo;ll give his
+li&rsquo;l behind its fust lesson in the ways o&rsquo; duty,&rdquo; declared
+Mr. Blee. &ldquo;Theer &rsquo;s certain things you must be flint-hard about,
+an&rsquo; fust comes lying. Doan&rsquo;t let un lie; flog it out of un;
+an&rsquo; mind, &rsquo;tis better for your arm to ache than for his soul to
+burn.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You leave me to do right by un. You caan&rsquo;t teach me, Billy,
+not bein&rsquo; a parent; though I allow what you say is true
+enough.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; set un to work early; get un into ways o&rsquo; work so
+soon as he&rsquo;s able to wear corduroys. An&rsquo; doan&rsquo;t never let
+un be cruel to beastes; an&rsquo; doan&rsquo;t let un&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Theer, theer!&rdquo; cried Mr. Lyddon. &ldquo;Have done with
+&rsquo;e! You speak as fules both, settin&rsquo; out rules o&rsquo; life for
+an hour-old babe. You talk to his mother about taming of un an&rsquo; grawing
+saplings for his better bringing-up. She&rsquo;ll tell &rsquo;e a thing or
+two. Just mind the slowness o&rsquo; growth in the human young. &rsquo;T will
+be years before theer&rsquo;s enough of un to beat.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They do come very gradual to fulness o&rsquo; body an&rsquo;
+reason,&rdquo; admitted Billy; &ldquo;and &rsquo;t is gude it should be so;
+&rsquo;t is well all men an&rsquo; women &rsquo;s got to be childer fust, for
+they brings brightness an&rsquo; joy &rsquo;pon the earth as babies, though
+&rsquo;t is mostly changed when they &rsquo;m grawed up. If us could awnly
+foretell the turnin&rsquo; out o&rsquo; childern, an&rsquo; knaw which
+&rsquo;t was best to drown an&rsquo; which to save in tender youth, what a
+differ&rsquo;nt world this would be!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They &rsquo;m poor li&rsquo;l twoads at fust, no doubt,&rdquo; said
+Will to his father-in-law.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess, indeed they be. &rsquo;T is a coorious circumstance, but
+generally allowed, that humans are the awnly creatures o&rsquo; God wi&rsquo;
+understandin&rsquo;, an&rsquo; yet they comes into the world more helpless
+an&rsquo; brainless, an&rsquo; bides longer helpless an&rsquo; brainless than
+any other beast knawn.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Shouldn&rsquo;t call &rsquo;em &lsquo;beastes&rsquo; &rsquo;zactly,
+seem&rsquo; they&rsquo;ve got the Holy Ghost from the church font ever
+after,&rdquo; objected Billy. &ldquo;&rsquo;T is the differ&rsquo;nce between
+a babe an&rsquo; a pup or a kitten. The wan gets God into un at
+christenin&rsquo;, t&rsquo; other wouldn&rsquo;t have no Holy Ghost in un if
+you baptised un over a hunderd times. For why? They &rsquo;m not built in the
+Image.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;When all&rsquo;s said, you caan&rsquo;t look tu far ahead or be tu
+forehanded wi&rsquo; bwoys,&rdquo; resumed Will. &ldquo;Gallopin&rsquo;
+down-long I said to myself, &lsquo;Theer&rsquo;s things he may do an&rsquo;
+things he may not do. He shall choose his awn road in reason, but he must be
+guided by me in the choice.&rsquo; I won&rsquo;t let un go for a
+sailor&mdash;never. I&rsquo;ll cut un off wi&rsquo; a shillin&rsquo; if he
+thinks of it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Time enough when he can walk an&rsquo; talk, I reckon,&rdquo; said
+Billy, who, seeing how his master viewed the matter, now caught Mr.
+Lyddon&rsquo;s manner.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess, that&rsquo;s very well,&rdquo; continued Will, &ldquo;but time
+flies that fast wi&rsquo; childer. Then I thought, &lsquo;He&rsquo;ll come to
+marry some day, sure&rsquo;s Fate.&rsquo; Myself, I believe in tolerable
+early marryin&rsquo;s.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;By God! I knaw it!&rdquo; retorted Mr. Lyddon, with an expression
+wherein appeared mingled feelings not a few; &ldquo;Ess, fay! You&rsquo;m
+right theer. I should take Time by the forelock if I was you, an&rsquo; see
+if you can find a maiden as&rsquo;ll suit un while you go back-along through
+the village.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Awnly, as &rsquo;tis better for the man to number more years than
+the wummon,&rdquo; added Billy, &ldquo;it might be wise to bide a week or
+two, so&rsquo;s he shall have a bit start of his lady.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Now, you&rsquo;m fulin me! An&rsquo; I caan&rsquo;t stay no more
+whether or no, &rsquo;cause I was promised to see Phoebe an&rsquo; my son in
+the arternoon. Us be gwaine to call un Vincent William Blanchard, arter you
+an&rsquo; me, Miller; an&rsquo; if it had been a gal, us meant to call un
+arter mother; an&rsquo; I do thank God &rsquo;bout the wee bwoy in all solemn
+soberness, &rsquo;cause &rsquo;tis the fust real gude thing as have falled to
+us since the gwaine of poor Chris. &rsquo;Twill be a joy to my mother
+an&rsquo; a gude gran&rsquo;son to you, I hope.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Go home, go home,&rdquo; said Mr. Lyddon. &ldquo;Get along with
+&rsquo;e this minute, an&rsquo; tell your wife I&rsquo;m greatly pleased,
+an&rsquo; shall come to see her mighty soon. Let us knaw every day how she
+fares&mdash;an&rsquo;&mdash;an&rsquo;&mdash;I&rsquo;m glad as you called the
+laddie arter me. &rsquo;Twas a seemly thought.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Will departed, and his mind roamed over various splendid futures for his
+baby. Already he saw it a tall, straight, splendid man, not a hair shorter
+than his own six feet two inches. He hoped that it would possess his natural
+wisdom, augmented by Phoebe&rsquo;s marvellous management of figures and
+accounts. He also desired for it a measure of his mother&rsquo;s calm and
+stately self-possession before the problems of life, and he had no objection
+that his son should reflect Miller Lyddon&rsquo;s many and amiable
+virtues.</p>
+<p>He returned home, and his mother presently bid him come to see Phoebe.
+Then a sudden nervousness overtook Will, tough though he was. The door shut,
+and husband and wife were alone together, for Damaris disappeared. But where
+were all those great and splendid pictures of the future? Vanished, vanished
+in a mist. Will&rsquo;s breast heaved; he saw Phoebe&rsquo;s star-bright eyes
+peeping at him, and he touched the treasure beside her&mdash;oh, so small it
+was!</p>
+<p>He bent his head low over them, kissed his wife shyly, and peeped with
+proper timidity under the flannel.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Look, look, Will, dearie! Did &rsquo;e ever see aught like un?
+An&rsquo; come evenin&rsquo;, he &rsquo;m gwaine to have his fust li&rsquo;l
+drink!&rdquo;</p>
+<h2><a id="III_II" name="III_II"></a>CHAPTER II<br />
+THE KNIGHT OF FORLORN HOPES</h2>
+<p>The child brought all a child should bring to Newtake, though it could not
+hide the fact that Will Blanchard drifted daily a little nearer to the end of
+his resources. But occasional success still flattered his ambition, and he
+worked hard and honestly. In this respect at least the man proved various
+fears unfounded, yet the result of his work rarely took shape of sovereigns.
+He marvelled at the extraordinary steadiness with which ill-fortune clung to
+Newtake and cursed when, on two quarter-days out of the annual four, another
+dip had to be made into the dwindling residue of his uncle&rsquo;s bequest.
+Some three hundred pounds yet remained when young Blanchard entered upon a
+further stage of his career,&mdash;that most fitly recorded as happening
+within the shadow of a granite cross.</p>
+<p>After long months of absence from home, Martin Grimbal returned, silent,
+unsuccessful, and sad. Upon the foundations of facts he had built many
+tentative dwelling-places for hope; but all had crumbled, failure crowned his
+labours, and as far from the reach of his discovery seemed the secret of
+Chris as the secrets of the sacred circles, stone avenues, and empty,
+hypaethral chambers of the Moor. Spiritless and bitterly discouraged, he
+returned after such labours as Will had dreamed not of; and his life,
+succeeding upon this deep disappointment, seemed far advanced towards its end
+in Martin&rsquo;s eyes&mdash;a journey whose brightest incidents, happiest
+places of rest, most precious companions were all left behind. This second
+death of hope aged the man in truth and sowed his hair with grey. Now only a
+melancholy memory of one very beautiful and very sad remained to him. Chris
+indeed promised to return, but he told himself that such a woman had never
+left an unhappy mother for such period of time if power to come home still
+belonged to her. Then, surveying the past, he taxed himself heavily with a
+deliberate and cruel share in it. Why had he taken the advice of Blanchard
+and delayed his offer of work to Hicks? He told himself that it was because
+he knew such a step would definitely deprive him of Chris for ever; and
+therein he charged himself with offences that his nature was above
+committing. Then he burst into bitter blame of Will, and at a weak
+moment&mdash;for nothing is weaker than the rare weakness of a strong
+man&mdash;he childishly upbraided the farmer with that fateful advice
+concerning Clement, and called down upon his head deep censure for the
+subsequent catastrophe. Will, as may be imagined, proved not slow to resent
+such an attack with heart and voice. A great heat of vain recrimination
+followed, and the men broke into open strife.</p>
+<p>Sick with himself at this pitiable lapse, shaken in his self-respect,
+desolate, unsettled, and uncertain of the very foundations on which he had
+hitherto planted his life, the elder man existed through a black month, then
+braced himself again, looked out into the world, set his dusty desk in order,
+and sought once more amidst the relics of the past for comfort and
+consolation. He threw himself upon his book and told himself that it must
+surely reward his pains; he toiled mightily at his lonely task, and added a
+little to man&rsquo;s knowledge.</p>
+<p>Once it happened that the Rev. Shorto-Champernowne met Martin. Riding over
+the Moor after a visit to his clerical colleague of Gidleigh, the clergyman
+trotted through Scorhill Circle, above northern Teign, and seeing a
+well-known parishioner, drew up a while.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How prosper your profound studies?&rdquo; he inquired. &ldquo;Do
+these evidences of aboriginal races lead you to any conclusions of note? For
+my part, I am not wholly devoid of suspicion that a man might better employ
+his time, though I should not presume to make any such suggestion to
+you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You may be right; but one is generally unwise to stamp on his
+ruling passion if it takes him along an intellectual road. These cryptic
+stones are my life. I want to get the secret of them or find at least a
+little of it. What are these lonely rings? Where are we standing now? In a
+place of worship, where men prayed to the thunder and the sun and stars? Or a
+council chamber? Or a court of justice, that has seen many a doom pronounced,
+much red blood flow? Or is it a grave? &rsquo;T is the fashion to reject the
+notion that they represent any religious purpose; yet I cannot see any
+argument against the theory. I go on peeping and prying after a spark of
+truth. I probe here, and in the fallen circle yonder towards Cosdon; I follow
+the stone rows to Fernworthy; I trudge again and again to the Grey
+Wethers&mdash;that shattered double ring on Sittaford Tor. I eat them up with
+my eyes and repeople the heath with those who raised them. Some clay a gleam
+of light may come. And if it does, it will reach me through deep study on
+those stone men of old. It is along the human side of my investigations I
+shall learn, if I learn anything at all.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I hope you may achieve your purpose, though the memoranda and data
+are scanty. Your name is mentioned in the <i>Western Morning News</i> as a
+painstaking inquirer.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yet when theories demand proof&mdash;that&rsquo;s the
+rub!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, indeed. You are a knight of forlorn hopes, Grimbal,&rdquo;
+answered the Vicar, alluding to Martin&rsquo;s past search for Chris as much
+as to his present archaeologic ambitions. Then he trotted on over the river,
+and the pedestrian remained as before seated upon a recumbent stone in the
+midst of the circle of Scorhill. Silent he sat and gazed into the lichens of
+grey and gold that crowned each rude pillar of the lonely ring. These, as it
+seemed, were the very eyes of the granite, but to Martin they represented but
+the cloak of yesterday, beneath which centuries of secrets were hidden. Only
+the stones and the eternal west wind, that had seen them set up and still
+blew over them, could tell him anything he sought to know.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A Knight of Forlorn Hopes,&rdquo; mused the man. &ldquo;So it is,
+so it is. The grasshopper, rattling his little kettledrum there, knows nearly
+as much of this hoary secret as I do; and the bird, that prunes his wing on
+the porphyry, and is gone again. Not till some Damnonian spirit rises from
+the barrow, not till some chieftain of these vanished hosts shall take shape
+out of the mists and speak, may we glean a grain of this buried knowledge.
+And who to-day would believe ten thousand Damnonian ghosts, if they stirred
+here once again and thronged the Moor and the moss and the ruined stone
+villages with their moonbeam shapes?</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Gone for ever; and she&mdash;my Chris&mdash;my dear&mdash;is she to
+dwell in the darkness for all time, too? O God, I would rather hear one
+whisper of her voice, feel one touch of her brown hand, than learn the primal
+truth of every dumb stone wonder in the world!&rdquo;</p>
+<h2><a id="III_III" name="III_III"></a>CHAPTER III<br />
+CONCERNING THE GATE-POST</h2>
+<p>So that good store of roots and hay continue for the cattle during those
+months of early spring while yet the Moor is barren; so that the potato-patch
+prospers and the oats ripen well; so that neither pony nor bullock is lost in
+the shaking bogs, and late summer is dry enough to allow of ample
+peat-storing&mdash;when all these conditions prevail, your moorman counts his
+year a fat one. The upland farmers of Devon are in great measure armed
+against the bolts of chance by the nature of their lives, the grey character
+of even their most cheerful experiences and the poverty of their highest
+ambitions. Their aspirations, becoming speedily cowed by ill-requited toil
+and eternal hardship, quickly dwarf and shrink, until even the most sanguine
+seldom extend hope much beyond necessity.</p>
+<p>Will grumbled, growled, and fought on, while Phoebe, who knew how nobly
+the valleys repaid husbandry, mourned in secret that his energetic labours
+here could but produce such meagre results. Very gradually their environment
+stamped its frosty seal on man and woman; and by the time that little Will
+was two years old his parents viewed life, its good and its evil, much as
+other Moor folks contemplated it. Phoebe&rsquo;s heart was still sweet
+enough, but she grew more selfish for herself and her own, more self-centred
+in great Will and little Will. They filled her existence to the gradual
+exclusion of wider sympathies. Miller Lyddon had given his grandson a silver
+mug on the day he was baptised, though since that time the old man held more
+aloof from the life of Newtake than Phoebe understood. Sometimes she wondered
+that he had never offered to assist her husband practically, but Will much
+resented the suggestion when Phoebe submitted it to him. There was no need
+for any such thing, he declared. As for him, transitory ambitions and hopes
+gleamed up in his career as formerly, though less often. So man and wife
+found their larger natures somewhat crushed by the various immediate problems
+that each day brought along with it. Beyond the narrow horizon of their own
+concerns they rarely looked, and Chagford people, noting the change, declared
+that life at Newtake was tying their tongues and lining their foreheads. Will
+certainly grew more taciturn, less free of advice, perhaps less frank than
+formerly. A sort of strangeness shadowed him, and only his mother or his son
+could dispel it. The latter soon learnt to understand his father&rsquo;s many
+moods, and would laugh or cry, show joy or fear, according to the tune of the
+man&rsquo;s voice.</p>
+<p>There came an evening in mid-September when Will sat at the open hearth
+and smoked, with his eyes fixed on a fire of scads.<a id="footnotetag13"
+name="footnotetag13"></a><a href="#footnote13"><sup>13</sup></a> He remained
+very silent, and Phoebe, busy about a small coat of red cloth, to keep the
+cold from her little son&rsquo;s bones during the coming winter, knew that it
+was not one of her husband&rsquo;s happiest evenings. His eyes were looking
+through the fire and the wall behind it, through the wastes and wildernesses
+beyond, through the granite hills to the far-away edge of the world, where
+Fate sat spinning the threads of the lives of his loved ones. Threads they
+looked, in his gloomy survey of that night, much deformed with knot and
+tangle, for the Spinner cared nothing at all about them. She suffered each to
+wind heedlessly away; she minded not that they were ugly; she spared no
+strand of gold or silver from her skein of human happiness to brighten the
+grey fabric of them. So it seemed to Will, and his temper chimed with the
+rough night. The wind howled and growled down the chimney, uttered many a
+sudden yell and ghostly moan, struck with claws invisible at the glowing
+heart of the peat fire, and sent red sparks dancing from a corona of faint
+blue flame.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Winter&rsquo;s comin&rsquo; quick,&rdquo; said Phoebe, biting her
+thread.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess, winter&rsquo;s allus comin&rsquo; up here. The fight begins
+again so soon as ever &rsquo;t is awver&mdash;again and again and again,
+&rsquo;cordin&rsquo; to the workin&rsquo; years of a man&rsquo;s life. Then
+he turns on his back for gude an&rsquo; all, an&rsquo; takes his rest, wheer
+theer&rsquo;s no more seasons, nor frost, nor sunshine, in the world
+under.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;m glumpy, dear heart. What&rsquo;s amiss? What&rsquo;s
+crossed &rsquo;e? Tell me, an&rsquo; I lay I&rsquo;ll find a word to smooth
+it away. Nothin&rsquo; contrary happened to market?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, no&mdash;awnly my nature. When the wind&rsquo;s spelling winter
+in the chimbley, an&rsquo; the yether&rsquo;s dead again, &rsquo;t is wisht
+lookin&rsquo; forrard. The airth &rsquo;s allus dyin&rsquo;, an&rsquo; the
+life of her be that short, an&rsquo; grubbing of bare food an&rsquo; rent out
+of her is sour work after many years. Thank God I&rsquo;m a hopeful,
+far-seem&rsquo; chap, an&rsquo; sound as a bell; but I doan&rsquo;t make
+money for all my sweat, that&rsquo;s the mystery.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You will some day. Luck be gwaine to turn &rsquo;fore long, I hope.
+An&rsquo; us have got what&rsquo;s better &rsquo;n money, what caan&rsquo;t
+be bought.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The li&rsquo;l bwoy?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Aye; if us hadn&rsquo;t nothin&rsquo; but him, theer&rsquo;s many
+would envy our lot.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Childer&rsquo;s no such gert blessin&rsquo;, neither.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Will! How can you say it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I do say it. We &rsquo;m awnly used to keep up the breed, then
+thrawed o&rsquo; wan side. I&rsquo;m sick o&rsquo; men an&rsquo; women folks.
+Theer&rsquo;s too many of &rsquo;em.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But childer&mdash;our li&rsquo;l Will. The moosic of un be sweeter
+than song o&rsquo; birds all times, an&rsquo; you&rsquo;d be fust to say so
+if you wasn&rsquo;t out of yourself.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He &rsquo;m a braave, small lad enough; but theer again! Why should
+he have been pitched into this here home? He might have been put in a palace
+just as easy, an&rsquo; born of a royal queen mother, &rsquo;stead o&rsquo;
+you; he might have opened his eyes &rsquo;pon marble walls an&rsquo; jewels
+an&rsquo; precious stones, &rsquo;stead of whitewash an&rsquo; a peat fire.
+Be that baaby gwaine to thank us for bringing him in the world, come he graw
+up? Not him! Why should he?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But he will. We &rsquo;m his faither an&rsquo; mother. Do &rsquo;e
+love your mother less for bearin&rsquo; you in a gypsy van? Li&rsquo;l
+Will&rsquo;s to pay us noble for all our toil some day, an&rsquo; be a joy to
+our grey hairs an&rsquo; a prop to our auld age, please God.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ha, ha!&mdash;story-books! Gi&rsquo; me a cup o&rsquo; milk; then
+us&rsquo;ll go to bed.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She obeyed; he piled turf upon the hearth, to keep the fire alight until
+morning, then took up the candle and followed Phoebe through another chamber,
+half-scullery, half-storehouse, into which descended the staircase from
+above. Here hung the pale carcase of a newly slain pig, suspended by its hind
+legs from a loop in the ceiling; and Phoebe, many of whose little delicacies
+of manner had vanished of late, patted the carcase lovingly, like the good
+farmer&rsquo;s wife she was.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Wish theer was more so big in the sties,&rdquo; she said.</p>
+<p>Arrived at her bedside, the woman prayed before sinking to rest within
+reach of her child&rsquo;s cot; while Will, troubling Heaven with no petition
+or thanksgiving, was in bed five minutes sooner than his wife.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Gude-night, lad,&rdquo; said Phoebe, as she put the candle out, but
+her husband only returned an inarticulate grunt for answer, being already
+within the portal of sleep.</p>
+<p>A fair morning followed on the tempestuous night, and Winter, who had
+surely whispered her coming under the darkness, vanished again at dawn. The
+Moor still provided forage, but all light was gone out of the heather, though
+the standing fern shone yellow under the sun, and the recumbent bracken shed
+a rich russet in broad patches over the dewy green where Will had chopped it
+down and left it to dry for winter fodder. He was very late this year in
+stacking the fern, and designed that labour for his morning&rsquo;s
+occupation.</p>
+<p>Ted Chown chanced to be away for a week&rsquo;s holiday, so Will entered
+his farmyard early. The variable weather of his mind rarely stood for long at
+storm, but, unlike the morning, he had awakened in no happy mood.</p>
+<p>A child&rsquo;s voice served for a time to smooth his brow, now clouded
+from survey of a broken spring in his market-cart; then came the lesser Will
+with a small china mug for his morning drink. Phoebe watched him sturdily
+tramp across the yard, and the greater Will laughed to see his son&rsquo;s
+alarm before the sudden stampede of a belated heifer, which now hastened
+through the open gate to join its companions on the hillside.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Cooshey, cooshey won&rsquo;t hurt &rsquo;e, my li&rsquo;l
+bud!&rdquo; cried Phoebe, as Ship jumped and barked at the lumbering beast.
+Then the child doubled round a dung-heap and fled to his father&rsquo;s arms.
+From the byre a cow with a full udder softly lowed, and now small Will had a
+cup of warm milk; then, with his red mouth like a rosebud in mist and his
+father&rsquo;s smile magically and laughably reproduced upon his little face,
+he trotted back to his mother.</p>
+<p>A moment later Will, still milking, heard himself loudly called from the
+gate. The voice he knew well enough, but it was pitched unusually high, and
+denoted a condition of excitement and impatience very seldom to be met with
+in its possessor. Martin Grimbal, for it was he, did not observe Blanchard,
+as the farmer emerged from the byre. His eye was bent in startled and
+critical scrutiny of a granite post, to which the front gate of Newtake
+latched, and he continued shouting aloud until Will stood beside him. Then he
+appeared on his hands and knees beside the gate-post. He had flung down his
+stick and satchel; his mouth was slightly open; his cap rested on the side of
+his head; his face seemed transfigured before some overwhelming
+discovery.</p>
+<p>Relations were still strained between these men; and Will did not forget
+the fact, though it had evidently escaped Martin in his present
+excitement.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What the deuce be doin&rsquo; now?&rdquo; asked Blanchard
+abruptly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Man alive! A marvel! Look here&mdash;to think I have passed this
+stone a hundred times and never noticed!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He rose, brushed his muddy knees, still gazing at the gate-post, then took
+a trowel from his bag and began to cut away the turf about the base of
+it.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Let that bide!&rdquo; called out the master sharply. &ldquo;What be
+&rsquo;bout, delving theer?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I forgot you didn&rsquo;t know. I was coming to see you on my way
+to the Moor. I wanted a drink and a handshake. We mustn&rsquo;t be enemies,
+and I&rsquo;m heartily sorry for what I said&mdash;heartily. But here&rsquo;s
+a fitting object to build new friendship on. I just caught sight of the
+incisions through a fortunate gleam of early morning light. Come this side
+and see for yourself. To think you had what a moorman would reckon good
+fortune at your gate and never guessed it!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Fortune at my gate? Wheer to? I aint heard nothin&rsquo; of
+it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Here, man, here! D&rsquo; you see this post?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not bein&rsquo; blind, I do.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yet you were blind, and so was I. There &rsquo;s excuse for
+you&mdash;none for me. It&rsquo;s a cross! Yes, a priceless old Christian
+cross, buried here head downward by some profane soul in the distant past,
+who found it of size and shape to make a gate-post. They are common enough in
+Cornwall, but very rare in Devon. It&rsquo;s a great&mdash;a remarkable
+discovery in fact, and I&rsquo;m right glad I found it on your threshold; for
+we may be friends again beside this symbol fittingly enough&mdash;eh,
+Will?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Bother your rot,&rdquo; answered the other coldly, and quite
+unimpassioned before Martin&rsquo;s eloquence. &ldquo;You doubted my judgment
+not long since and said hard things and bad things; now I take leave to doubt
+yours. How do &rsquo;e knaw this here &rsquo;s a cross any more than t&rsquo;
+other post the gate hangs on?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Martin, recalled to reality and the presence of a man till then
+unfriendly, blushed and shrank into himself a little. His voice showed that
+he suffered pain.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I read granite as you read sheep and soil and a crop ripening above
+ground or below&mdash;it&rsquo;s my business,&rdquo; he explained, not
+without constraint, while the enthusiasm died away out of his voice and the
+fire from his face. &ldquo;See now, Will, try and follow me. Note these very
+faint lines, where the green moss takes the place of the lichen. These are
+fretted grooves&mdash;you can trace them to the earth, and on a
+&lsquo;rubbing,&rsquo; as we call it, they would be plainer still. They
+indicate to me incisions down the sides of a cross-shaft. They are all that
+many years of weathering have left. Look at the shape too: the stone grows
+slightly thinner every way towards the ground. What is hidden we can&rsquo;t
+say yet, but I pray that the arms may be at least still indicated. You see it
+is the base sticking into the air, and more&rsquo;s the pity, a part has
+gone, for I can trace the incisions to the top. God knows the past history of
+it, but&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Perhaps He do and perhaps He doan&rsquo;t,&rdquo; interrupted the
+farmer. &ldquo;Perhaps it weer a cross an&rsquo; perhaps it weern&rsquo;t;
+anyway it&rsquo;s my gate-post now, an&rsquo; as to diggin&rsquo; it up, you
+may be surprised to knaw it, Martin Grimbal, but I&rsquo;ll see you damned
+fust! I&rsquo;m weary of all this bunkum &rsquo;bout auld stones an&rsquo;
+circles an&rsquo; the rest; I&rsquo;m sick an&rsquo; tired o&rsquo;
+leavin&rsquo; my work a hunderd times in summer months to shaw gaping fules
+from Lunnon an&rsquo; Lard knaws wheer, them roundy-poundies &rsquo;pon my
+land. &rsquo;Tis all rot, as every moorman knaws; yet you an&rsquo; such as
+you screams if us dares to put a finger to the stone nowadays. Ban&rsquo;t
+the granite ours under Venwell? You knaw it is; an&rsquo; because
+dead-an&rsquo;-gone folk, half-monkeys belike, fashioned their homes
+an&rsquo; holes out of it, be that any cause why it shouldn&rsquo;t be
+handled to-day? They&rsquo;ve had their use of it; now &rsquo;tis our turn;
+an &rsquo;tis awnly such as you be, as comes here in shining summer, when the
+land puts on a lying faace, as though it didn&rsquo;t knaw weather an&rsquo;
+winter&mdash;&rsquo;tis awnly such as you must cry out against us of the soil
+if we dares to set wan stone &rsquo;pon another to make a wall or to keep the
+blasted rabbits out the young wheat.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Your attitude is one-sided, Will,&rdquo; said Martin Grimbal
+gently; &ldquo;besides, remember this is a cross. We&rsquo;re dealing with a
+relic of our faith, take my word for it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Faith be damned! What&rsquo;s a cross to me? &rsquo;Tisdoin&rsquo;
+more gude wheer&rsquo;t is than ever it done afore, I&rsquo;ll
+swear.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I hope you&rsquo;ll live to see you&rsquo;re wrong, Blanchard.
+I&rsquo;ve met you in an evil hour it seems. You&rsquo;re not yourself. Think
+about it. There&rsquo;s no hurry. You pride yourself on your common sense as
+a rule. I&rsquo;m sure it will come to your rescue. Granted this discovery is
+nothing to you, yet think what it means to me. If I&rsquo;d found a diamond
+mine I couldn&rsquo;t be better pleased&mdash;not half so pleased as
+now.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Will reflected a moment; but the other had not knowledge of character to
+observe or realise that he was slowly becoming reasonable.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So I do pride myself on my common sense, an&rsquo; I&rsquo;ve some
+right to. A cross is a cross&mdash;I allow that&mdash;and whatever I may
+think, I ban&rsquo;t so small-minded as to fall foul of them as think
+differ&rsquo;nt. My awn mother be a church-goer for that matter, an&rsquo;
+you&rsquo;ll look far ways for her equal. But of coourse I knaw what I knaw.
+Me an&rsquo; Hicks talked out matters of religion so dry as chaff.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yet a cross means much to many, and always will while the land
+continues to call itself Christian.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I knaw, I knaw. &rsquo;Twill call itself Christian long arter your
+time an&rsquo; mine; as to bein&rsquo; Christian&mdash;that&rsquo;s another
+story. Clem Hicks lightened such matters to me&mdash;fule though he was in
+the ordering of his awn life. But s&rsquo;pose you digs the post up, for
+argeyment&rsquo;s sake. What about me, as have to go out &rsquo;pon the Moor
+an&rsquo; blast another new wan out the virgin granite wi&rsquo; gunpowder?
+Do&rsquo;e think I&rsquo;ve nothin&rsquo; better to do with my time than
+that?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Here, in his supreme anxiety and eagerness, forgetting the manner of man
+he argued with, Martin made a fatal mistake.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s reasonable and business-like,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I
+wouldn&rsquo;t have you suffer for lost time, which is part of your living.
+I&rsquo;ll give you ten pounds for the stone, Will, and that should more than
+pay for your time and for the new post.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He glanced into the other&rsquo;s face and instantly saw his error. The
+farmer&rsquo;s countenance clouded and his features darkened until he looked
+like an angry Redskin. His eyes glinted steel-bright under a ferocious frown;
+the squareness of his jaw became much marked.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You dare to say that, do&rsquo;e? An&rsquo; me as good a man,
+an&rsquo; better, than you or your brother either! Money&mdash;you remind me
+I&rsquo;m&mdash;Theer! You can go to blue, blazin&rsquo; hell for your
+granite crosses&mdash;that&rsquo;s wheer you can go&mdash;you or any other
+poking, prying pelican! Offer money to me, would &rsquo;e? Who be you, or any
+other man, to offer me money for wasted time? As if I was a road scavenger or
+another man&rsquo;s servant! God&rsquo;s truth! you forget who you&rsquo;m
+talkin&rsquo; to!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;This is to purposely misunderstand me, Blanchard. I never, never,
+meant any such thing. Am I one to gratuitously insult or offend another?
+Typical this! Your cursed temper it is that keeps you back in the world and
+makes a failure of you,&rdquo; answered the student of stones, his own temper
+nearly lost under exceptional provocation.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Who says I be a failure?&rdquo; roared Will in return. &ldquo;What
+do you know, you grey, dreamin&rsquo; fule, as to whether I&rsquo;m
+successful or not so? Get you gone off my land or&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll go, and readily enough. I believe you&rsquo;re mad.
+That&rsquo;s the conclusion I&rsquo;m reluctantly driven to&mdash;mad. But
+don&rsquo;t for an instant imagine your lunatic stupidity is going to stand
+between the world and this discovery, because it isn&rsquo;t.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He strapped on his satchel, picked up his stick, put his hat on straight,
+and prepared to depart, breathing hard.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Go,&rdquo; snorted Will; &ldquo;go to your auld stones&mdash;they
+&rsquo;m the awnly fit comp&rsquo;ny for &rsquo;e. Bruise your silly shins
+against &rsquo;em, an&rsquo; ax &rsquo;em if a moorman&rsquo;s in the right
+or wrong to paart wi&rsquo; his gate-post to the fust fule as wants
+it!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Martin Grimbal strode off without replying, and Will, in a sort of grim
+good-humour at this victory, returned to milking his cows. The encounter, for
+some obscure reason, restored him to amiability. He reviewed his own dismal
+part in it with considerable satisfaction, and, after going indoors and
+eating a remarkably good breakfast, he lighted his pipe and, in the most
+benignant of moods, went out with a horse and cart to gather withered
+fern.</p>
+<h2><a id="III_IV" name="III_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV<br />
+MARTIN&rsquo;S RAID</h2>
+<p>Mrs. Blanchard now dwelt alone, and all her remaining interests in life
+were clustered about Will. She perceived that his enterprise by no means
+promised to fulfil the hopes of those who loved him, and realised too late
+that the qualities which enabled her father to wrest a living from the
+moorland farm were lacking in her son. He, of course, explained it otherwise,
+and pointed to the changes of the times and an universal fall in the price of
+agricultural produce. His mother cast about in secret how to help him, but no
+means appeared until, upon an evening some ten days after Blanchard&rsquo;s
+quarrel with Grimbal over the gate-post, she suddenly determined to visit
+Monks Barton and discuss the position with Miller Lyddon.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I want to have a bit of a tell with &rsquo;e,&rdquo; she said,
+&ldquo;&rsquo;pon a matter so near to your heart as mine. Awnly you&rsquo;ve
+got power an&rsquo; I haven&rsquo;t.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I knaw what you&rsquo;m come about before you speak,&rdquo;
+answered the other.&ldquo; Sit you down an&rsquo; us&rsquo;ll have a gude
+airing of ideas. But I&rsquo;m sorry we won&rsquo;t get the value o&rsquo;
+Billy Blee&rsquo;s thoughts &rsquo;pon the point, for he&rsquo;s away
+to-night.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Damaris rather rejoiced than sorrowed in this circumstance, but she was
+too wise to say so.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A far-thinkin&rsquo; man, no doubt,&rdquo; she admitted.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He is; an&rsquo; &rsquo;t is straange your comin&rsquo; just this
+night, for Blee&rsquo;s away on a matter touching Will more or less,
+an&rsquo; doan&rsquo;t reckon to be home &rsquo;fore light.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What coorious-fashion job be that then?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Caan&rsquo;t tell &rsquo;e the facts. I&rsquo;m under a promise not
+to open my mouth, but theer&rsquo;s no gert harm. Martin Grimbal&rsquo;s
+foremost in the thing so you may judge it ban&rsquo;t no wrong act, and he
+axed Billy to help him at my advice. You see it&rsquo;s necessary to force
+your son&rsquo;s hand sometimes. He&rsquo;m that stubborn when his
+mind&rsquo;s fixed.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A firm man, an&rsquo; loves his mother out the common well. A gude
+son, a gude husband, a gude faither, a hard worker. How many men&rsquo;s all
+that to wance, Miller?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He is so&mdash;all&mdash;an&rsquo; yet&mdash;the man have got his
+faults, speaking generally.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s awnly to say he be a man; an&rsquo; if you
+caan&rsquo;t find words for the faults, &rsquo;t is clear they ban&rsquo;t
+worth namin&rsquo;.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I can find words easy enough, I assure &rsquo;e; but a man&rsquo;s
+a fule to waste breath criticising the ways of a son to his mother&mdash;if
+so be he&rsquo;s a gude son.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What fault theer is belongs to me. I was set on his gwaine to
+Newtake as master, like his gran&rsquo;faither afore him. I urged the step
+hot, and I liked the thought of it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So did he&mdash;else he wouldn&rsquo;t have gone.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You caan&rsquo;t say that. He might have done different but for
+love of me. &rsquo;T is I as have stood in his way in this thing.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Doan&rsquo;t fret yourself with such a thought, Mrs. Blanchard;
+Will&rsquo;s the sort as steers his awn ship. Theer&rsquo;s no blame
+&rsquo;pon you. An&rsquo; for that matter, if your faither saved gude money
+at Newtake, why caan&rsquo;t Will?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Times be changed. You&rsquo;ve got to make two blades o&rsquo;
+grass graw wheer wan did use, if you wants to live nowadays.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Hard work won&rsquo;t hurt him.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But it will if he reckons&rsquo;t is all wasted work. What&rsquo;s
+more bitter than toiling to no account, an&rsquo; <i>knawin</i> all the while
+you be?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not all wasted work, surely?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They wouldn&rsquo;t allow it for the world. He&rsquo;s that gay
+afore me, an&rsquo; Phoebe keeps a stiff upper lip, tu; but I go up
+unexpected now an&rsquo; again an&rsquo; pop in unawares an&rsquo; sees the
+truth. You with your letter or message aforehand, doan&rsquo;t find out
+nothing, an&rsquo; won&rsquo;t.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;m out o&rsquo; luck, I allow. What&rsquo;s the exact
+reason?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;ll find it in the Book, same as I done. I knaw you set
+gert store &rsquo;pon the Word. Well, then, &rsquo;them the Lard loveth He
+chasteneth.&rsquo; That&rsquo;s why Will&rsquo;s languishin&rsquo; like.
+&rsquo;T won&rsquo;t last for ever.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah! But theer&rsquo;s other texts to other purpose. Not that I want
+&rsquo;e to dream my Phoebe&rsquo;s less to me than your son to you.
+I&rsquo;ve got my eye on &rsquo;em, an&rsquo; that&rsquo;s the truth;
+an&rsquo; on my li&rsquo;l grandson, tu.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Theer&rsquo;s gert things buddin&rsquo; in that bwoy.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I hope so. I set much store on him. Doan&rsquo;t you worrit,
+mother, for the party to Newtake be bound up very close wi&rsquo; my
+happiness, an&rsquo; if they was wisht, ban&rsquo;t me as would long be
+merry. I be gwaine to give Master Will rope enough to hang himself, having a
+grudge or two against him yet; then, when the job&rsquo;s done, an&rsquo;
+he&rsquo;s learnt the hard lesson to the dregs, I&rsquo;ll cut un down in
+gude time an&rsquo; preach a sarmon to him while he&rsquo;s in a mood to larn
+wisdom. He&rsquo;s picking up plenty of information, you be sure&mdash;things
+that will be useful bimebye: the value of money, the shortness o&rsquo; the
+distance it travels, the hardness o&rsquo; Moor ground, an&rsquo; men&rsquo;s
+hearts, an&rsquo; such-like branches of larning. Let him bide, an&rsquo;
+trust me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The mother was rendered at once uneasy and elated by this speech. That, if
+only for his wife and son&rsquo;s sake, Will would never be allowed to fail
+entirely seemed good to know; but she feared, and, before the patronising
+manner of the old man, felt alarm for the future. She well knew how Will
+would receive any offer of assistance tendered in this spirit.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Like your gude self so to promise; but remember he &rsquo;m of a
+lofty mind and fiery.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Stiff-necked he be, for certain; but he may graw quiet &rsquo;fore
+you think it. Nothing tames a man so quick as to see his woman and childer
+folk hungry&mdash;eh? An&rsquo; specially if &rsquo;t is thanks to his awn
+mistakes.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Mrs. Blanchard flushed and felt a wave of anger surging through her
+breast. But she choked it down.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You &rsquo;m hard in the grain, Lyddon&mdash;so them often be
+who&rsquo;ve lived over long as widow men. Theer &rsquo;s a power o&rsquo;
+gude in my Will, an&rsquo; your eyes will be opened to see it some day. He
+&rsquo;m young an&rsquo; hopeful by nature; an&rsquo; such as him, as allus
+looks up to gert things, feels a come down worse than others who be content
+to crawl. He &rsquo;m changing, an&rsquo; I knaw it, an&rsquo; I&rsquo;ve
+shed more &rsquo;n wan tear awver it, bein&rsquo; on the edge of age myself
+now, an&rsquo; not so strong-minded as I was &rsquo;fore Chris went. He
+&rsquo;m changing, an&rsquo; the gert Moor have made his blood beat slower, I
+reckon, an&rsquo; froze his young hope a bit.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He &rsquo;s grawiug aulder, that&rsquo;s all. &rsquo;T is right as
+he should chatter less an&rsquo; think more.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I suppose so; yet a mother feels a cold cloud come awver her heart
+to watch a cheel fighting the battle an&rsquo; not winning it. Specially when
+she can awnly look on an&rsquo; do nothin&rsquo;.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Doan&rsquo;t you fear. You &rsquo;m low in spirit, else you&rsquo;d
+never have spoke so open; but I thank you for tellin&rsquo; me that things be
+tighter to Newtake than I guessed. You leave the rest to me. I knaw how far
+to let &rsquo;em go; an&rsquo; if we doan&rsquo;t agree &rsquo;pon that
+question, you must credit me with the best judgment, an&rsquo; not think no
+worse of me for helpin&rsquo; in my awn way an&rsquo; awn time.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>With which promise Mrs. Blanchard was contented. Surveying the position in
+the solitude of her home, she felt there was much to be thankful for. Yet she
+puzzled her heart and head to find schemes by which the miller&rsquo;s
+charity might be escaped. She considered her own means, and pictured her few
+possessions sold at auction; she had already offered to go and dwell at
+Newtake and dispose of her cottage. But Will exploded so violently when the
+suggestion reached his ears that she never repeated it.</p>
+<p>While the widow thus bent her thoughts upon her son, and gradually sank to
+sleep with the problems of the moment unsolved, a remarkable series of
+incidents made the night strange at Newtake Farm.</p>
+<p>Roused suddenly a little after twelve o&rsquo;clock by an unusual sound,
+Phoebe woke with a start and cried to her husband:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Will&mdash;Will, do hark to Ship! He &rsquo;m barkin&rsquo; that
+savage!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Will turned and growled sleepily that it was nothing, but the bark
+continued, so he left his bed and looked out of the window. A waning moon had
+just thrust one glimmering point above the sombre flank of the hill. It
+ascended as he watched, dispensed a sinister illumination, and like some
+remote bale-fire hung above the bosom of the nocturnal Moor. His dog still
+barked, and in the silence Will could hear a clink and thud as it leapt to
+the limit of its chain. Then out of the night a lantern danced at Newtake
+gate, and Blanchard, his eyes now trained to the gloom, discovered several
+figures moving about it.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Baggered if it bau&rsquo;t that damned Grimbal come arter my
+gate-post,&rdquo; he gasped, launched instantly to high wakefulness by the
+suspicion. Then, dragging on his trousers, and thrusting the tail of his
+nightshirt inside them, he tumbled down-stairs, with passion truly
+formidable, and hastened naked footed through the farmyard.</p>
+<p>Four men blankly awaited him. Ignoring their leader&mdash;none other than
+Martin himself&mdash;he turned upon Mr. Blee, who chanced to be nearest, and
+struck from his hand a pick.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What be these blasted hookem-snivey dealings, then?&rdquo; Will
+thundered out, &ldquo;an&rsquo; who be you, you auld twisted thorn, to come
+here stealin&rsquo; my stone in the dead o&rsquo; night?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Billy&rsquo;s little eyes danced in the lantern fire, and he answered
+hastily before Martin had time to speak.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, to be plain, the moon and the dog&rsquo;s played us false,
+an&rsquo; you&rsquo;d best to knaw the truth fust as last. Mr.
+Grimbal&rsquo;s writ you two straight, fair letters &rsquo;bout this job, so
+he&rsquo;ve explained to me, an&rsquo; you never so much as answered neither;
+so, seem&rsquo; this here&rsquo;s a right Christian cross, ban&rsquo;t decent
+it should bide head down&rsquo;ards for all time. An&rsquo; Mr. Grimbal have
+brought up a flam-new granite post, hasp an&rsquo; all
+complete&mdash;&rsquo;t is in the cart theer&mdash;an&rsquo; he called on me
+as a discreet, aged man to help un, an&rsquo; so I did; an&rsquo; Peter
+Bassett an&rsquo; Sam Bonus here corned likewise, by my engagement, to do the
+heavy work an&rsquo; aid in a gude deed.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Dig an inch, wan of &rsquo;e, and I&rsquo;ll shaw what&rsquo;s a
+gude deed! I doan&rsquo;t want no talk with you or them hulking gert fules.
+&rsquo;T is you I&rsquo;d ax, Martin Grimbal, by what right you&rsquo;m
+here.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You wouldn&rsquo;t answer my letters, and I couldn&rsquo;t find it
+in my heart to leave an important matter like this. I know I wasn&rsquo;t
+wise, but you don&rsquo;t understand what a priceless thing this is. I
+thought you&rsquo;d find the new one in the morning and laugh at it. For
+God&rsquo;s sake be reasonable and sensible, Blanchard, and let me take it
+away. There&rsquo;s a new post I&rsquo;ll have set up. It&rsquo;s here
+waiting. I can&rsquo;t do more.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But you&rsquo;ll do a darned sight less. Right&rsquo;s right,
+an&rsquo; stealin&rsquo;s stealin&rsquo;. You wasn&rsquo;t wise, as you
+say&mdash;far from it. You&rsquo;m in the wrong now, an&rsquo; you knaw it,
+whatever you was before. A nice bobbery! Why doan&rsquo;t he take my plough
+or wan of the bullocks? Damned thieves, the lot of&rsquo;e!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Doan&rsquo;t cock your nose so high, Farmer,&rdquo; said Bonus, who
+had never spoken to Will since he left Newtake; &ldquo;&rsquo;t is very
+onhandsome of &rsquo;e to be tellin&rsquo; like this to
+gentle-folks.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Gentlefolks! Gentlefolks would ax your help, wouldn&rsquo;t they?
+You, as be no better than a common poacher since I turned &rsquo;e off! You
+shut your mouth and go home-long, an&rsquo; mind your awn business, an&rsquo;
+keep out o&rsquo; the game preserves. Law&rsquo;s law, as you&rsquo;m like to
+find sooner&rsquo;n most folks.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>This pointed allusion to certain rumours concerning the labourer&rsquo;s
+present way of life angered Bonus not a little, but it also silenced him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Law&rsquo;s law, as you truly say, Will Blanchard,&rdquo; answered
+Mr. Blee, &ldquo;an&rsquo; theer it do lie in a nutshell. A man&rsquo;s
+gate-post is his awn as a common, natural gate-post; but bein&rsquo; a
+sainted cross o&rsquo; the Lard sticked in the airth upsy-down by some
+ancient devilry, &rsquo;t is no gate-post, nor yet every-day moor-stone, but
+just the common property of all Christian souls.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;m out o&rsquo; bias to harden your heart, Mr. Blanchard,
+when this gentleman sez &rsquo;t is what &rsquo;t is,&rdquo; ventured the man
+Peter Bassett, slowly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; so you be, Blanchard, an&rsquo; &rsquo;t is a awful deed
+every ways, an&rsquo; you&rsquo;ll larn it some day. You did ought to be
+merry an&rsquo; glad to hear such a thing &rsquo;s been found &rsquo;pon
+Newtake. Think o&rsquo; the fortune a cross o&rsquo; Christ brings to
+&rsquo;e!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; how much has it brought, you auld fule?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Gude or bad, you&rsquo;ll be a sight wuss off it you leave it wheer
+&rsquo;t is, now you knaw. Theer&rsquo;ll be hell to pay if it&rsquo;s let
+bide now, sure as eggs is eggs an&rsquo; winter, winter. You&rsquo;ll rue it;
+you&rsquo;ll gnash awver it; &rsquo;t will turn against &rsquo;e an&rsquo;
+rot the root an&rsquo; blight the ear an&rsquo; starve the things an&rsquo;
+break your heart. Mark me, you&rsquo;m doin&rsquo; a cutthroat deed an&rsquo;
+killin&rsquo; all your awn luck by leavin&rsquo; it here an hour
+longer.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>But Will showed no alarm at Mr. Blee&rsquo;s predictions.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Be it as &rsquo;t will, you doan&rsquo;t touch my stone&mdash;cross
+or no cross. Damn the cross! An&rsquo; you tu, every wan of &rsquo;e, dirty
+night birds!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then Martin, who had waited, half hoping that Billy&rsquo;s argument might
+carry weight, spoke and ended the scene.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We&rsquo;ll talk no more and we&rsquo;ll do no more,&rdquo; he
+said. &ldquo;You&rsquo;re wrong in a hundred ways to leave this precious
+stone to shut a gate and keep in cows, Blanchard. But if you wouldn&rsquo;t
+heed my letters, I suppose you won&rsquo;t heed my voice.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why the devil should I heed your letters? I told &rsquo;e wance for
+all, didn&rsquo;t I? Be I a man as changes my mind like a cheel?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Crooked words won&rsquo;t help &rsquo;e, Farmer,&rdquo; said the
+stolid Bassett. &ldquo;You &rsquo;m wrong, an&rsquo; you knaw right well you
+&rsquo;m wrong, an&rsquo; theer&rsquo;ll come a day of reckoning for
+&rsquo;e, sure &rsquo;s we &rsquo;m in a Christian land.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Let it come, an&rsquo; leave me to meet it. An&rsquo; now, clear
+out o&rsquo; this, every wan, or I&rsquo;ll loose the dog &rsquo;pon
+&rsquo;e!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He turned hurriedly as he spoke and fetched the bobtailed sheep-dog on its
+chain. This he fastened to the stone, then watched the defeated raiders
+depart. Grimbal had already walked away alone, after directing that a post
+which he had brought to supersede the cross, should be left at the side of
+the road. Now, having obeyed his command, Mr. Blee, Bonus, and Bassett
+climbed into the cart and slowly passed away homewards. The moon had risen
+clear of earth and threw light sufficient to show Bassett&rsquo;s white smock
+still gleaming through the night as Will beheld his enemies depart.</p>
+<p>Ten minutes later, while he washed his feet, the farmer told Phoebe of the
+whole matter, including his earlier meeting with Martin, and the
+antiquary&rsquo;s offer of money. Upon this subject his wife found herself in
+complete disagreement with Blanchard, and did not hesitate to say so.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Martin Grimbal &rsquo;s so gude a friend as any man could have,
+an&rsquo; you did n&rsquo;t ought to have bullyragged him that way,&rdquo;
+she declared.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You say that! Ban&rsquo;t a man to speak his mind to thieves
+an&rsquo; robbers?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No such thing. &rsquo;T is a sacred stone an&rsquo; not your
+property at all. To refuse ten pound for it!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Hold your noise, then, an&rsquo; let me mind my business my awn
+way,&rdquo; he answered roughly, getting back to bed; but Phoebe was roused
+and had no intention of speaking less than her mind.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You &rsquo;m a knaw-nought gert fule,&rdquo; she said,
+&ldquo;an&rsquo; so full of silly pride as a turkey-cock. What &rsquo;s the
+stone to you if Grimbal wants it? An&rsquo; him taking such a mint of trouble
+to come by it. What right have you to fling away ten pounds like that,
+an&rsquo; what &rsquo;s the harm to earn gude money honest? Wonder you
+ban&rsquo;t shamed to sell anything. &rsquo;T is enough these times for a
+body to say wan thing for you to say t&rsquo;other.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>This rebuke from a tongue that scarcely ever uttered a harsh word startled
+Will not a little. He was silent for half a minute, then made reply.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You can speak like that&mdash;you, my awn wife&mdash;you, as ought
+to be heart an&rsquo; soul with me in everything I do? An&rsquo; the husband
+I am to &rsquo;e. Then I should reckon I be fairly alone in the world,
+an&rsquo; no mistake&mdash;&rsquo;cept for mother.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Phoebe did not answer him. Her spark of anger was gone and she was passing
+quickly from temper to tears.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;T is queer to me how short of friends I &rsquo;pear to be
+gettin&rsquo;,&rdquo; confessed Will gloomily. &ldquo;I must be
+differ&rsquo;nt to what I fancied for I allus felt I could do with a
+waggon-load of friends. Yet they &rsquo;m droppin&rsquo; off. Coourse I knaw
+why well enough, tu. They&rsquo;ve had wind o&rsquo; tight times to Newtake,
+though how they should I caan&rsquo;t say, for the farm &rsquo;s got a
+prosperous look to my eye, an&rsquo; them as drops in dinnertime most often
+finds meat on the table. Straange a man what takes such level views as me
+should fall out wi&rsquo; his elders so much.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;T is theer fault as often as yours; an&rsquo; you&rsquo;ve
+got me as well as your mother, Will; an&rsquo; you&rsquo;ve got your son.
+Childern knaw the gude from the bad, same as dogs, in a way hid from grawn
+folks. Look how the li&rsquo;l thing do run to &rsquo;e &rsquo;fore anybody
+in the world.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So he do; an&rsquo; if you &rsquo;m wise enough to see that, you
+ought to be wise enough to see I&rsquo;m right &rsquo;bout the gate-post. Who
+&rsquo;s Martin Grimbal to offer me money? A self-made man, same as me. Yet
+he might have had it, an&rsquo; welcome if he&rsquo;d axed proper.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Of course, if you put it so, Will.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Theer &rsquo;s no ways else to put it as I can see.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But for your awn peace of mind it might be wisest to dig the cross
+up. I listened by the window an&rsquo; heard Billy Blee tellin&rsquo; of
+awful cusses, an&rsquo; he &rsquo;s wise wi&rsquo;out knawin&rsquo; it
+sometimes.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s all witchcraft an&rsquo; stuff an&rsquo; nonsense,
+an&rsquo; you ought to knaw better, Phoebe. &rsquo;T is as bad as setting
+store on the flight o&rsquo; magpies, or gettin&rsquo; a dead tooth from the
+churchyard to cure toothache, an&rsquo; such-like folly.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ban&rsquo;t folly allus, Will; theer &rsquo;s auld tried wisdom in
+some ancient sayings.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, you guide your road by my light if you want to be happy.
+&rsquo;T is for you I uses all my thinking brain day an&rsquo;
+night&mdash;for your gude an&rsquo; the li&rsquo;l man&rsquo;s.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I knaw&mdash;I knaw right well &rsquo;t is so, dear Will, an&rsquo;
+I&rsquo;m sorry I spoke so quick.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll forgive &rsquo;e before you axes me, sweetheart. Awnly
+you must larn to trust me, an&rsquo; theer &rsquo;s no call for you to fear.
+Us must speak out sometimes, an&rsquo; I did just now, an&rsquo; &rsquo;t is
+odds but some of them chaps, Grimbal included, may have got a penn&rsquo;orth
+o&rsquo; wisdom from me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So &rsquo;t is, then,&rdquo; she said, cuddling to him;
+&ldquo;an&rsquo; you&rsquo;ll do well to sleep now; an&rsquo;&mdash;an&rsquo;
+never tell again, Will, you&rsquo;ve got nobody but your mother while
+I&rsquo;m above ground, &rsquo;cause it&rsquo;s against justice an&rsquo;
+truth an&rsquo; very terrible for me to hear.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;T was a thoughtless speech,&rdquo; admitted Will,
+&ldquo;an&rsquo; I&rsquo;m sorry I spake it. &rsquo;T was a hasty word
+an&rsquo; not to be took serious.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>They slept, while the moon wove wan harmonies of ebony and silver into
+Newtake. A wind woke, proclaiming morning, as yet invisible; and when it
+rustled dead leaves or turned a chimney-cowl, the dog at the gate stirred and
+growled and grated his chain against the granite cross.</p>
+<h2><a id="III_V" name="III_V"></a>CHAPTER V<br />
+WINTER</h2>
+<p>As Christmas again approached, adverse conditions of weather brought like
+anxieties to a hundred moormen besides Will Blanchard, but the widespread
+nature of the trouble by no means diminished his individual concern. A summer
+of unusual splendour had passed unblessed away, for the sustained drought
+represented scanty hay and an aftermath of meagre description. Cereals were
+poor, with very little straw, and the heavy rains of November arrived too
+late to save acres of starved roots on high grounds. Thus the year became
+responsible for one prosperous product alone: rarely was it possible to dry
+so well those stores gathered from the peat beds. Huge fires, indeed, glowed
+upon many a hearth, but the glory of them served only to illumine anxious
+faces. A hard winter was threatened, and the succeeding spring already
+appeared as no vision to welcome, but a hungry spectre to dread.</p>
+<p>Then, with the last week of the old year, winter swept westerly on
+hyperborean winds, and when these were passed a tremendous frost won upon the
+world. Day followed day of weak, clear sunshine and low temperature. The sun,
+upon his shortest journeys, showed a fiery face as he sulked along the stony
+ridges of the Moor, and gazed over the ice-chained wilderness, the frozen
+waters, and the dark mosses that never froze, but lowered black, like wounds
+on a white skin. Dartmoor slept insensible under granite and ice; no
+sheep-bell made music; no flocks wandered at will; only the wind moaned in
+the dead bells of the heather; only the foxes slunk round cot and farm; only
+the shaggy ponies stamped and snorted under the lee of the tors and thrust
+their smoking muzzles into sheltered clefts and crannies for the withered
+green stuff that kept life in them. Snow presently softened the outlines of
+the hills, set silver caps on the granite, and brought the distant horizon
+nearer to the eye under crystal-clear atmosphere. Many a wanderer, thus
+deceived, plodded hopefully forward at sight of smoke above a roof-tree, only
+to find his bourne, that seemed so near, still weary miles away. The high
+Moors were a throne for death. Cold below freezing-point endured throughout
+the hours of light and grew into a giant when the sun and his winter glory
+had huddled below the hills.</p>
+<p>Newtake squatted like a toad upon this weary waste. Its crofts were bare
+and frozen two feet deep; its sycamores were naked save for snow in the
+larger forks, and one shivering concourse of dead leaves, where a bough had
+been broken untimely, and thus held the foliage. Suffering almost animate
+peered from its leaded windows; the building scowled; cattle lowed through
+the hours of day, and a steam arose from their red hides as they crowded
+together for warmth. Often it gleamed mistily in the light of Will&rsquo;s
+lantern when at the dead icy hour before dawn he went out to his beasts. Then
+he would rub their noses, and speak to them cheerfully, and note their
+congealed vapours where these had ascended and frozen in shining spidery
+hands of ice upon the walls and rafters of the byre. Fowls, silver-spangled
+and black, scratched at the earth from habit, fought for the daily grain with
+a ferocity the summer never saw, stalked spiritless in puffed plumage about
+the farmyard and collected with subdued clucking upon their roosts in a barn
+above the farmyard carts as soon as the sun had dipped behind the hills.
+Ducks complained vocally, and as they slipped on the glassy pond they quacked
+out a mournful protest against the times.</p>
+<p>The snow which fell did not melt, but shone under the red sunshine,
+powdered into dust beneath hoof and heel; every cart-rut was full of thin
+white ice, like ground window-glass, that cracked drily and split and tinkled
+to hobnails or iron-shod wheel. The snow from the house-top, thawed by the
+warmth within, ran dribbling from the eaves and froze into icicles as thick
+as a man&rsquo;s arm. These glittered almost to the ground and refracted the
+sunshine in their prisms.</p>
+<p>Warm-blooded life suffered for the most part silently, but the inanimate
+fabric of the farm complained with many a creak and crack and groan in the
+night watches, while Time&rsquo;s servant the frost gnawed busily at old
+timbers and thrust steel fingers into brick and mortar. Only the hut-circles,
+grey glimmering through the snow on Metherill, laughed at those cruel nights,
+as the Neolithic men who built them may have laughed at the desperate weather
+of their day; and the cross beside Blanchard&rsquo;s gate, though an infant
+in age beside them, being fashioned of like material, similarly endured. Of
+more lasting substance was this stone than an iron tongue stuck into it to
+latch the gate, for the metal fretted fast and shed rust in an orange streak
+upon the granite.</p>
+<p>Where first this relic had risen, when yet its craftsman&rsquo;s work was
+perfect and before the centuries had diminished its just proportions, no
+living man might say. Martin Grimbal suspected that it had marked a
+meeting-place, indicated some Cistercian way, commemorated a notable deed, or
+served to direct the moorland pilgrim upon his road to that trinity of great
+monasteries which flourished aforetime at Plympton, at Tavistock, and at
+Buckland of the Monks; but between its first uprising and its last, a
+duration of many years doubtless extended.</p>
+<p>The antiquary&rsquo;s purpose had been to rescue the relic, judge, by
+close study of the hidden part, to what date it might be assigned, then
+investigate the history of Newtake Farm, and endeavour to trace the cross if
+possible. After his second repulse, however, and following upon a
+conversation with Phoebe, whom he met at Chagford, Martin permitted the
+matter to remain in abeyance. Now he set about regaining Will&rsquo;s
+friendship&rsquo;in a gradual and natural manner. That done, he trusted to
+disinter the coveted granite at some future date and set it up on sanctified
+ground in Chagford churchyard, if the true nature of the relic justified that
+course. For the present, however, he designed no step, for his purpose was to
+visit the Channel Islands early in the new year, that he might study their
+testimony to prehistoric times.</p>
+<p>A winter, to cite whose parallel men looked back full twenty years, still
+held the land, though February had nearly run. Blanchard daily debated the
+utmost possibility of his resources with Phoebe, and fought the inclement
+weather for his early lambs. Such light as came into life at Newtake was
+furnished by little Will, who danced merrily through ice and snow, like a
+scarlet flower in his brilliant coat. The cold pleased him; he trod the
+slippery duck pond in triumph, his bread-and-milk never failed. To Phoebe her
+maternal right in the infant seemed recompense sufficient for all those
+tribulations existence just now brought with it; from which conviction
+resulted her steady courage and cheerfulness. Her husband&rsquo;s nebulous
+rationalism clouded Phoebe&rsquo;s religious views not at all. She daily
+prayed to Christ for her child&rsquo;s welfare, and went to church whenever
+she could, at the express command of her father. A flash of folly from Will
+had combined with hard weather to keep the miller from any visit to Newtake.
+Mr. Lyddon, on the beginning of the great frost, had sent two pairs of thick
+blankets from the Monks Barton stores to Phoebe, and Will, opening the parcel
+during his wife&rsquo;s absence, resented the gift exceedingly, and returned
+it by the bearer with a curt message of thanks and the information that he
+did not need them. Much hurt, the donor turned his face from Newtake for six
+weeks after this incident, and Phoebe, who knew nothing of the matter,
+marvelled at her father&rsquo;s lengthy and unusual silence.</p>
+<p>As for Will, during these black days, the steadfast good temper of his
+wife almost irritated him; but he saw the prime source of her courage, and
+himself loved their small son dearly. Once a stray journal fell into his
+hands, and upon an article dealing with emigration he built secret castles in
+the air, and grew more happy for the space of a week. His mother ailed a
+little through the winter, and he often visited her. But in her presence he
+resolutely put off gloom, spoke with sanguine tongue of the prosperity he
+foresaw during the coming spring, and always foretold the frost must break
+within four-and-twenty-hours. Damaris Blanchard was therefore deceived in
+some measure, and when Will spent five shillings upon a photograph of his
+son, she felt that the Newtake prospects must at least be more favourable
+than she feared, and let the circumstance of the picture be generally
+known.</p>
+<p>Not until the middle of March came a thaw, and then unchained waters and
+melted snows roared and tumbled from the hills through every coomb and
+valley. Each gorge, each declivity contributed an unwonted torrent; the
+quaking bogs shivered as though beneath them monsters turned in sleep or
+writhed in agony; the hoarse cry of Teign betokened new tribulations to the
+ears of those who understood; and over the Moor there rolled and crowded down
+a sodden mantle of mist, within whose chilly heart every elevation of note
+vanished for days together. Wrapped in impenetrable folds were the high
+lands, and the gigantic vapour stretched a million dripping tentacles over
+forests and wastes into the valleys beneath. Now it crept even to the heart
+of the woods; now it stealthily dislimned in lonely places; now it redoubled
+its density and dominated all things. The soil steamed and exuded vapour as a
+soaked sponge, and upon its surcharged surface splashes and streaks and
+sheets of water shone pallid and ash-coloured, like blind eyes, under the
+eternal mists and rains. These accumulations threw back the last glimmer of
+twilight and caught the first grey signal of approaching dawn; while the
+land, contrariwise, had welcomed night while yet wan sunsets struggled with
+the rain, and continued to cherish darkness long after morning was in the
+sky. Every rut and hollow, every scooped cup on the tors was brimming now;
+springs unnumbered and unknown had burst their secret places; the water
+floods tumbled and thundered until their rough laughter rang like a knell in
+the ears of the husbandmen; and beneath crocketed pinnacles of half a hundred
+church towers rose the mournful murmur of prayer for fair weather.</p>
+<p>There came an afternoon in late March when Mr. Blee returned to Monks
+Barton from Chagford, stamped the mud off his boots and leggings, shook his
+brown umbrella, and entered the kitchen to find his master reading the
+Bible.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis all set down, Blee,&rdquo; exclaimed Mr. Lyddon with the
+triumphant voice of a discoverer. &ldquo;These latter rains be displayed in
+the Book, according to my theory that everything &rsquo;s theer!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Pity you didn&rsquo;t find &rsquo;em out afore they comed; then us
+might have bought the tarpaulins cheap in autumn, &rsquo;stead of
+payin&rsquo; through the nose for &rsquo;em last month. Now &rsquo;t is fancy
+figures for everything built to keep out rain. Rabbit that umberella!
+It&rsquo;s springed a leak, an&rsquo; the water&rsquo;s got down my
+neck.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Have some hot spirits, then, an&rsquo; listen to this&mdash;all set
+out in Isaiah forty-one&mdash;eighteen: &lsquo;I will open rivers in high
+places and fountains in the midst of the valleys; I will make the wilderness
+a pool of water and the dry land springs of water.&rsquo; Theer! If that
+ban&rsquo;t a picter of the present plague o&rsquo; rain, what should
+be?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So &rsquo;t is; an&rsquo; the fountains in the midst of the valleys
+be the awfullest part. Burnish it all! The high land had the worst of the
+winter, but we in the low coombs be gwaine to get the worst o&rsquo; the
+spring&mdash;safe as water allus runs down-long.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;T will find its awn level, which the prophet
+knawed.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I wish he knawed how soon.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;T is in the Word, I&rsquo;ll wager. I may come upon it
+yet.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The airth be damn near drowned, an&rsquo; the air&rsquo;s thick
+like a washin&rsquo;-day everywheers, an&rsquo; a terrible braave sight
+o&rsquo; rain unshed in the elements yet.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;T will pass, sure as Noah seed a rainbow.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess, &rsquo;t will pass; but Monks Barton&rsquo;s like to be washed
+to Fingle Bridge fust. Oceans o&rsquo; work waitin&rsquo;, but what can us be
+at? Theer ban&rsquo;t a bit o&rsquo; land you couldn&rsquo;t most swim
+across.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Widespread trouble, sure &rsquo;nough&mdash;all awver the South
+Hams, high an&rsquo; low.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;By the same token, I met Will Blanchard an hour agone. Gwaine in
+the dispensary, he was. The li&rsquo;l bwoy&rsquo;s queer&mdash;no gert ill,
+but a bit of a tisseck on the lungs. He got playin&rsquo; &rsquo;bout, busy
+as a rook, in the dirt, and catched cold.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Miller Lyddon was much concerned at this bad news.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, my gude God!&rdquo; he exclaimed, &ldquo;that&rsquo;s worse
+hearin&rsquo; than all or any you could have fetched down. What do Doctor
+say?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Wasn&rsquo;t worth while to call un up, so Will thought.
+Ban&rsquo;t nothin&rsquo; to kill a beetle, or I lay the mother of un would
+have Doctor mighty soon. Will reckoned to get un a dose of
+physic&mdash;an&rsquo; a few sweeties. Nature&rsquo;s all for the young buds.
+He won&rsquo;t come to no hurt.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Fust thing morning send a lad riding to Newtake,&rdquo; ordered Mr.
+Lyddon. &ldquo;Theer&rsquo;s no sleep for me to-night, no, nor any more at
+all till I hear tell the dear tibby-lamb&rsquo;s well again. &rsquo;Pon my
+soul, I wonder that headstrong man doan&rsquo;t doctor the cheel
+hisself.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Maybe he will. Ban&rsquo;t nothin &rsquo;s beyond him.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll go silly now. If awnly Mrs. Blanchard was up theer
+wi&rsquo; Phoebe.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Doan&rsquo;t you grizzle about it. The bwoy be gwaine to make auld
+bones yet&mdash;hard as a nut he be. Give un years an&rsquo; he&rsquo;ll help
+carry you to the graave in the fulness of time, I promise &rsquo;e,&rdquo;
+said Billy, in his comforting way.</p>
+<h2><a id="III_VI" name="III_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI<br />
+THE CROSS UPREARED</h2>
+<p>Mr. Blee had but reported Will correctly, and it was not until some hours
+later that the child at Newtake caused his parents any alarm. Then he awoke
+in evident suffering, and Will, at Phoebe&rsquo;s frantic entreaty, arose and
+was soon galloping down through the night for Doctor Parsons.</p>
+<p>His thundering knock fell upon the physician&rsquo;s door, and a moment
+later a window above him was opened.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why can&rsquo;t you ring the bell instead of making that fiendish
+noise, and waking the whole house? Who is it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Blanchard, from Newtake.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What&rsquo;s wrong?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;T is my bwoy. He&rsquo;ve got something amiss with his
+breathing parts by the looks of it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Doan&rsquo;t delay. Gert fear comed to his mother under the
+darkness, &rsquo;cause he seemed nicely when he went to sleep, then woke up
+worse. So I felt us had better not wait till morning.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll be with you in five minutes.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Soon the Doctor appeared down a lane from the rear of the house. He was
+leading his horse by the bridle.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m better mounted than you,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;so
+I&rsquo;ll push forward. Every minute saved is gained.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Will thanked him, and Doctor Parsons disappeared. When the father reached
+home, it was to hear that his child was seriously ill, though nothing of a
+final nature could be done to combat the sickness until it assumed a more
+definite form.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s a grave case,&rdquo; said the physician, drearily in the
+dawn, as he pulled on his gloves and discussed the matter with Will before
+departing. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll be up again to-night. We mustn&rsquo;t overlook
+the proverbial vitality of the young, but if you are wise you will school
+your mind and your wife&rsquo;s to be resigned. You understand.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He stroked his peaked naval beard, shook his head, then mounted his horse
+and was gone.</p>
+<p>From that day forward life stood still at Newtake, in so far as it is
+possible for life to do so, and a long-drawn weariness of many words dragged
+dully of a hundred pages would be necessary to reflect that tale of noctural
+terrors and daylight respites, of intermittent fears, of nerve-shattering
+suspense, and of the ebb and flow of hope through a fortnight of time.
+Overtaxed and overwrought, Phoebe ceased to be of much service in the
+sick-room after a week without sleep; Will did all that he could, which was
+little enough; but his mother took her place in the house unquestioned at
+this juncture, and ruled under Doctor Parsons. The struggle seemed to make
+her younger again, to rub off the slow-gathering rust of age and charm up all
+her stores of sense and energy.</p>
+<p>So they battled for that young life. More than once a shriek from Phoebe
+would echo to the farm that little Will was gone; and yet he lived; many a
+time the child&rsquo;s father in his strength surveyed the perishing atom,
+and prayed to take the burden, all too heavy for a baby&rsquo;s shoulders. In
+one mood he supplicated, in another cursed Heaven for its cruelty.</p>
+<p>There came a morning in early April when their physician, visiting Newtake
+before noon, broke it to husband and wife that the child could scarcely
+survive another day. He promised to return in the evening, and left them to
+their despair. Mrs. Blanchard, however, refused to credit this assurance, and
+cried to them to be hopeful still.</p>
+<p>In the afternoon Mr. Blee rode up from Monks Barton. Daily a messenger
+visited Newtake for Mr. Lyddon&rsquo;s satisfaction, but it was not often
+that Billy came. Now he arrived, however, entered the kitchen, and set down a
+basket laden with good things. The apartment lacked its old polish and
+cleanliness. The whitewash was very dirty; the little eight-day clock on the
+mantelpiece had run down; the begonias in pots on the window-ledge were at
+death&rsquo;s door for water. Between two of them a lean cat stretched in the
+sun and licked its paws; beside the fire lay Ship with his nose on the
+ground; and Will sat close by, a fortnight&rsquo;s beard upon his chin. He
+looked listlessly up as Mr. Blee entered and nodded but did not speak.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, what &rsquo;s the best news? I&rsquo;ve brought &rsquo;e
+fair-fashioned weather at any rate. The air &rsquo;s so soft as milk, even up
+here, an&rsquo; you can see the green things grawin&rsquo; to make up for
+lost time. Sun was proper hot on my face as I travelled along. How be the
+poor little lad?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Alive, that&rsquo;s all. Doctor&rsquo;s thrawed un awver
+now.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Never! Yet I&rsquo;ve knawed even Parsons to make mistakes.
+I&rsquo;ve brought &rsquo;e a braave bunch o&rsquo; berries, got by the
+gracious gudeness of Miller from Newton Abbot; also a jelly; also a bottle
+o&rsquo; brandy&mdash;the auld stuff from down cellar&mdash;I brushed the
+Dartmoor dew, as &rsquo;t is called, off the bottle myself; also a fowl for
+the missis.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No call to have come. &rsquo;T is all awver bar the end.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Never say it while the child&rsquo;s livin&rsquo;! They &rsquo;m
+magical li&rsquo;l twoads for givin&rsquo; a doctor the lie. You &rsquo;m
+wisht an&rsquo; weary along o&rsquo; night watchings.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Us must faace it. Ban&rsquo;t no oncommon thing. Hope&rsquo;s dead
+in me these many days; an&rsquo; dying now in Phoebe&mdash;dying cruel by
+inches. She caan&rsquo;t bring herself to say &lsquo;gude-by&rsquo; to the
+li&rsquo;l darling bwoy.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What mother could? What do Mrs. Blanchard the elder say?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She plucks up &rsquo;bout it. She &rsquo;m awver
+hopeful.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Doan&rsquo;t say so! A very wise woman her.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Phoebe entered at this moment, and Mr. Blee turned from where he was
+standing by his basket.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I be cheerin&rsquo; your gude man up,&rdquo; he said.</p>
+<p>She sighed, and sat down wearily near Will.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve brought &rsquo;e a chick for your awn eatin&rsquo;
+an&rsquo;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Here a scuffle and snarling and spitting interrupted Billy. The hungry
+cat, finding a fowl almost under its nose, had leapt to the ground with it,
+and the dog observed the action. Might is right in hungry communities; Ship
+asserted himself, and almost before the visitor realised what had happened,
+poor Phoebe&rsquo;s chicken was gone.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Out on the blamed thieves!&rdquo; cried Billy, astounded at such
+manners. He was going to strike the dog, but Will stopped him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Let un bide,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;He didn&rsquo;t take it,
+an&rsquo; since it weern&rsquo;t for Phoebe, better him had it than the cat.
+He works for his livin&rsquo;, she doan&rsquo;t.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Such gwaines-on &rsquo;mongst dumb beasts o&rsquo; the field I
+never seen!&rdquo; protested Billy; &ldquo;an&rsquo; chickens worth what they
+be this spring!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Presently conversation drifted into a channel that enabled the desperate,
+powerless man to use his brains and employ his muscles; while for the mother
+it furnished a fresh gleam of hope built upon faith. Billy it was who brought
+about this consummation. Led by Phoebe he ascended to the sick-room and bid
+Mrs. Blanchard &ldquo;good-day.&rdquo; She sat with the insensible child on
+her lap by the fire, where a long-spouted kettle sent forth jets of
+steam.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;This here jelly what I&rsquo;ve brought would put life in a corpse
+I do b&rsquo;lieve; an&rsquo; them butivul grapes, tu,&mdash;they&rsquo;ll
+cool his fever to rights, I should judge.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He &rsquo;m past all that,&rdquo; said Phoebe.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Never!&rdquo; cried the other woman. &ldquo;He&rsquo;m a bit easier
+to my thinkin&rsquo;.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Let me take un then,&rdquo; said the mother. &ldquo;You&rsquo;m
+most blind for sleep.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not a bit of it. I&rsquo;ll have forty winks later, after
+Doctor&rsquo;s been again.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Will here entered, sat down by his mother, and stroked the child&rsquo;s
+little limp hand.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He ban&rsquo;t fightin&rsquo; so hard, by the looks of it,&rdquo;
+he said.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No more he is. Come he sleep like this till dark, I lay he&rsquo;ll
+do braave.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Nobody spoke for some minutes, then Billy, having pondered the point in
+silence, suddenly relieved his mind and attacked Will, to the astonishment of
+all present.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis a black thought for you to knaw this trouble&rsquo;s of
+your awn wicked hatching, Farmer,&rdquo; he said abruptly; &ldquo;though it
+ban&rsquo;t a very likely time to say so, perhaps. Yet theer&rsquo;s life
+still, so I speak.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Will glared speechless; but Billy knew himself too puny and too venerable
+to fear rough handling. He regarded the angry man before him without fear,
+and explained his allusion.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You may glaze &rsquo;pon me, an&rsquo; stick your savage eyes out
+your head; but that doan&rsquo;t alter truth. &rsquo;T &rsquo;as awnly a bit
+ago in the fall as I told un what would awvertake un,&rdquo; he continued,
+turning to the women. &ldquo;He left the cross what Mr. Grimbal found
+upsy-down in the airth; he stood up afore the company an&rsquo; damned the
+glory of all Christian men. Ess fay, he done that fearful thing, an&rsquo; if
+&rsquo;t weern&rsquo;t enough to turn the Lard&rsquo;s hand from un, what
+was? Snug an&rsquo; vitty he weer afore that, so far as anybody knawed;
+an&rsquo; since&mdash;why, troubles have tumbled &rsquo;pon each
+other&rsquo;s tails like apple-dranes out of a nest.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The face of Phoebe was lighted with some eagerness, some deep anxiety, and
+not a little passion as she listened to this harangue.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You mean that gate-stone brought this upon us?&rdquo; she
+asked.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, no, never,&rdquo; declared Damaris; &ldquo;&rsquo;t is contrary
+to all reason.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;T is true, whether or no; an&rsquo; any fule, let alone a
+man as knaws like I do, would tell &rsquo;e the same. &rsquo;T is common
+sense if you axes me. Your man was told &rsquo;t was a blessed cross,
+an&rsquo; he flouted the lot of us an&rsquo; left it wheer &rsquo;t was.
+&rsquo;T is a challenge, if you come to think of it, a scoffin&rsquo; of the
+A&rsquo;mighty to the very face of Un. I wouldn&rsquo;t stand it myself if I
+was Him.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Will, do &rsquo;e hear Mr. Blee?&rdquo; asked Phoebe.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I hear un. &rsquo;T is tu late now, even if what he said was true,
+which it ban&rsquo;t.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Never tu late to do a gude deed,&rdquo; declared Billy;
+&ldquo;an&rsquo; you&rsquo;ll have to come to it, or you&rsquo;ll get the
+skin cussed off your back afore you &rsquo;m done with. Gormed if ever I seed
+sich a man as you! Theer be some gude points about &rsquo;e, as everything
+must have from God A&rsquo;mighty&rsquo;s workshop, down to poisonous
+varmints. But certain sure am I that you don&rsquo;t ought to think twice
+&rsquo;pon this job.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Do &rsquo;e mean it might even make the differ&rsquo;nee between
+life an&rsquo; death to the bwoy?&rdquo; asked Phoebe breathlessly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I do. Just all that.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Will&mdash;for God&rsquo;s love, Will!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What do &rsquo;e say, mother?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It may be truth. Strange things fall out. Yet it never hurted my
+parents in the past.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;For why?&rdquo; asked Billy. &ldquo;&rsquo;Cause they didn&rsquo;t
+knaw &rsquo;t was theer, so allowance was made by the Watching Eye. Now
+&rsquo;t is differ&rsquo;nt, an&rsquo; His rage be waxing.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Your blessed God &rsquo;s got no common sense, then&mdash;an&rsquo;
+that&rsquo;s all I&rsquo;ve got to say &rsquo;bout it. What would you have me
+do?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Will put the question to Mr. Blee, but his wife it was who answered, being
+now worked up to a pitch of frenzy at the delay.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Go! Dig&mdash;dig as you never digged afore! Dig the holy stone out
+the ground direckly minute! Now, now, Will, &rsquo;fore the life&rsquo;s out
+of his li&rsquo;l flutterin&rsquo; body. Lay bare the cross, an&rsquo; drag
+un out for God in heaven to see! Doan&rsquo;t stand clackin&rsquo; theer,
+when every moment&rsquo;s worth more&rsquo;n gawld.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So like&rsquo;s not He&rsquo;ll forgive &rsquo;e if &rsquo;e
+do,&rdquo; argued Mr. Blee. &ldquo;Allowed the Lard o&rsquo; Hosts graws a
+bit short in His temper now an&rsquo; again, as with them gormed Israelites,
+an&rsquo; sich like, an&rsquo; small blame to Him; but He&rsquo;s all for
+mercy at heart, &rsquo;cordin&rsquo; to the opinion of these times, so
+you&rsquo;d best to dig.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why doan&rsquo;t he strike me down if I&rsquo;ve angered
+Him&mdash;not this innocent cheel?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The sins of the fathers be visited&mdash;&rdquo; began Mr. Blee
+glibly, when Mrs. Blanchard interrupted.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ban&rsquo;t the time to argue, Will. Do it, an&rsquo; do it sharp,
+if&rsquo;t will add wan grain o&rsquo; hope to the baaby&rsquo;s
+chance.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The younger woman&rsquo;s sufferings rose to a frantic half-hushed scream
+at the protracted delay.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O Christ, why for do &rsquo;e hold back? Ban&rsquo;t anything worth
+tryin&rsquo; for your awn son? I&rsquo;d scratch the stone out wi&rsquo; my
+raw, bleedin&rsquo; finger-bones if I was a man. Do &rsquo;e want to send me
+mad? Do &rsquo;e want to make me hate the sight of &rsquo;e? Go&mdash;go for
+love of your mother, if not of me!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; I&rsquo;ll help,&rdquo; said Billy, &ldquo;an&rsquo; that
+chap messin&rsquo; about in the yard can lend a hand likewise. I be a cracked
+vessel myself for strength, an&rsquo; past heavy work, but my best is yours
+to call &rsquo;pon in this pass.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Will turned and left the sick-room without more words, while Billy
+followed him.</p>
+<p>The farmer fetched two picks and a shovel, called Ted Chown and a minute
+later had struck the first blow towards restoration of his granite cross. All
+laboured with their utmost power, and Will, who had flung off his coat and
+waistcoat, bared his arms, tightened his belt, and did the work of two men.
+The manual labour sweetened his mind a little, and scoured it of some
+bitterness. While Mr. Blee, with many a grunt and groan, removed the soil as
+the others broke it away, Blanchard, during these moments of enforced
+idleness, looked hungrily at the little window of the upper chamber where all
+his hopes and interests were centred. Then he swung his pick again.</p>
+<p>Presently a ray of sunlight brightened Newtake, and contributed to soothe
+the toiling father. He read promise into it, and when three feet below the
+surface indications of cross-arms appeared upon the stone, Will felt still
+more heartened. Grimbal&rsquo;s prediction was now verified; and it remained
+only to prove Billy&rsquo;s prophecy also true. His tremendous physical
+exertions, the bright setting sunshine, and the discovery of the cross
+affected Will strangely. His mind swung round from frank irreligion, to a
+sort of superstitious credulity, awestricken yet joyful, that made him cling
+to the saving virtue of the stone. Because Martin had been right in his
+assertion concerning the gate-post, Blanchard felt a hazy conviction that
+Blee&rsquo;s estimate of the stone&rsquo;s virtue must also prove correct. He
+saw his wife at the window, and waved to her, and cried aloud that the cross
+was uncovered.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A poor thing in holy relics, sure &rsquo;nough,&rdquo; said Billy,
+wiping his forehead.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But a cross&mdash;a clear cross? Keep workin&rsquo;, Chown, will
+&rsquo;e? You still think &rsquo;twill serve, doan&rsquo;t &rsquo;e,
+Blee?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No room for doubt, though woful out o&rsquo; repair,&rdquo;
+answered Billy, occupied with the ancient monument. &ldquo;Just the stumps
+o&rsquo; the arms left, but more&rsquo;n enough to swear by.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>All laboured on; then the stone suddenly subsided and fell in such a
+manner that with some sloping of one side of the excavated pit they were able
+to drag it out.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Something&rsquo;s talking to me as us have done the wan thing
+needful,&rdquo; murmured Will, in a subdued voice, but with more light than
+the sunset on his face. &ldquo;Something&rsquo;s hurting me bad that I said
+what I said in the chamber, an&rsquo; thought what I thought. God&rsquo;s
+nigher than us might think, minding what small creatures we be. I hope
+He&rsquo;ll forgive them words.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;s a peacock for eyes, as be well knawn,&rdquo; declared
+Mr. Blee. &ldquo;An&rsquo; He&rsquo;ve got His various manners an&rsquo;
+customs o&rsquo; handlin&rsquo; the human race. Some He softens wi&rsquo;
+gude things an&rsquo; gude fortune till they be bound to turn to Him for
+sheer shame; others He breaks &rsquo;pon the rocks of His wrath till they
+falls on their knees an&rsquo; squeals for forgiveness. I&rsquo;ve seed it
+both ways scores o&rsquo; times; an&rsquo; if your little lad &rsquo;s spared
+to &rsquo;e, you&rsquo;ll be brought to the Lard by a easier way than you
+deserve, Blanchard.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I knaw, I knaw, Mr. Blee. He &rsquo;m surely gwaine to let us keep
+li&rsquo;l Willy, an&rsquo; win us to heaven for all time.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The cross now lay at their feet, and Billy was about to return to the
+house and see how matters prospered, when Will bade him stay a little
+longer.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not yet,&rdquo; he said.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What more&rsquo;s to do?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I feel a kind o&rsquo; message like to set it plumb-true under the
+sky. Us caan&rsquo;t lift it, but if I pull a plank or two out o&rsquo; the
+pig&rsquo;s house an&rsquo; put a harrow chain round &rsquo;em, we could get
+the cross on an&rsquo; let a horse pull un up theer to the hill, and set un
+up. Then us would have done all man can.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He pointed to the bosom of the adjacent hill, now glowing in great sunset
+light.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Starve me! but you &rsquo;m wise. Us&rsquo;ll set the thing up
+under the A&rsquo;mighty&rsquo;s eye. &rsquo;Twill serve&mdash;mark my words.
+&rsquo;Twill turn the purpose of the Lard o&rsquo; Hosts, or I&rsquo;m no
+prophet.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis in my head you &rsquo;m right. I be lifted up in a way I
+never was.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The Lard &rsquo;s found &rsquo;e by the looks of it,&rdquo; said
+Billy critically, &ldquo;either that, or you &rsquo;m light-headed for want
+of sleep. But truly I think He&rsquo;ve called &rsquo;e. Now &rsquo;t is for
+you to answer.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>They cleaned the cross with a bucket or two of water, then dragged it
+half-way up the hill, and, where a rabbit burrow lessened labour, raised
+their venerable monument under the afterglow.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It do look as if it had been part o&rsquo; the view for all
+time,&rdquo; declared Ted Chown, as the party retreated a few paces; and,
+indeed, the stone rose harmoniously upon its new site, and might have stood
+an immemorial feature of the scene.</p>
+<p>Blanchard stayed not a moment when the work was done but strode to Newtake
+like a jubilant giant, while Mr. Blee and Chown, with the horse, tools, and
+rough sledge, followed more slowly.</p>
+<p>The father proceeded homewards at tremendous speed; a glorious hope filled
+his heart, sharing the same with sorrow and repentance. He mumbled shamefaced
+prayers as he went, speaking half to himself, half to Heaven. He rambled on
+from a petition for forgiveness into a broken thanksgiving for the mercy he
+already regarded as granted. His labours, the glamour of the present
+achievement, and the previous long strain upon his mind and body, united to
+smother reason for one feverish hour. Will walked blindly forward, now with
+his eyes upon the window under Newtake&rsquo;s dark roof below him, now
+turning to catch sight of the grey cross uplifted on the hill above. A great
+sweeping sea of change was tumbling through his intellect, and old
+convictions with scraps of assured wisdom suffered shipwreck in it. His mind
+was exalted before the certainty of unutterable blessing; his soul clung to
+the splendid assurance of a Personal God who had wrought actively upon his
+behalf, and received his belated atonement.</p>
+<p>Far behind, Mr. Blee was improving the occasion for benefit of young Ted
+Chown.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;See how he do stride the hill wi&rsquo; his head held high, same as
+Moses when he went down-long from the Mount. Look at un an&rsquo; do
+likewise, Teddy; for theer goes a man as have grasped God! &rsquo;Tis a gert,
+gay day in human life when it comes.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Will Blanchard hurried through the farm gate, where it swung idly with its
+sacred support gone forever; then he drew a great breath and glanced upwards
+before proceeding into the darkness of the unlighted house. As he did so
+wheels grated at the entrance, and he knew that Doctor Parsons must be just
+behind him. Above stairs the sick-room was still unlighted, the long-necked
+kettle still puffed steam, but the fire had shrunk, and Will&rsquo;s first
+word was a protest that it had been allowed to sink so low. Then he looked
+round, and the rainbow in his heart faded and died. Damaris sat like a stone
+woman by the window; Phoebe lay upon the bed and hugged a little body in a
+blanket. Her hair had fallen down; out of the great shadows he saw the white
+blur on her face, and heard her voice sound strange as she cried
+monotonously, in a tone from which the first passion had vanished through an
+hour of iteration.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O God, give un back to me; O God, spare un; O kind God, give my
+li&rsquo;l bwoy back.&rdquo;</p>
+<h2><a id="III_VII" name="III_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII<br />
+GREY TWILIGHT</h2>
+<p>In the soft earth they laid him, &ldquo;the little child whose heart had
+fallen asleep,&rdquo; and from piling of a miniature mound, from a small
+brown tumulus, now quite hid under primroses, violets, and the white anemones
+of the woods, Will Blanchard and his mother slowly returned to Newtake. He
+wore his black coat; she was also dressed in black; the solitary mourning
+coach dragged slowly up the hill to the Moor, and elsewhere another like it
+conveyed Mr. Lyddon homeward.</p>
+<p>Neither mother nor son had any heart to speak. The man&rsquo;s soul was up
+in arms; he had rebelled against his life, and since the death of his boy,
+while Phoebe remained inert in her desolation and languished under a mental
+and bodily paralysis wherein she had starved to death but for those about
+her, he, on the contrary, found muscle and mind clamouring for heroic
+movement. He was feverishly busy upon the farm, and ranged in thought with a
+savage activity among the great concerns of men. His ill-regulated mind,
+smarting under the blows of Chance, whirled from that past transient wave of
+superstitious emotion into an opposite extreme. Now he was ashamed of his
+weakness, and suffered convictions proper to the narrowness of an immature
+intellect to overwhelm him. He assured himself that his tribulations were not
+compatible with the existence of a Supreme Being. Like poor humanity the wide
+world over, his judgment became vitiated, his views distorted under the
+stroke of personal sorrow, and, beneath the pressure of that gigantic egotism
+which ever palsies the mind of man at sudden loss of what he holds dearest
+upon earth, poor Blanchard cried in his heart there was no God.</p>
+<p>Here we are faced with a curious parallel, offered within the limits of
+this narrative. As the old labourer, Blee, had arrived at the same
+conclusion, then modified it and returned to a creed in the light of
+subsequent events, so now Will had found himself, on the evening of his
+child&rsquo;s funeral, with fresh interests aroused and recent convictions
+shaken. An incipient negation of Deity, built upon the trumpery basis of his
+personal misfortunes, was almost shattered within the week that saw its first
+existence. A mystery developed in his path, and startling incidents awoke a
+new train of credulity akin to that already manifested over the ancient
+cross. The man&rsquo;s uneven mind was tossed from one extreme of opinion to
+the other, and that element of superstition, from which no untutored
+intellect in the lap of Nature is free, now found fresh food and put forth a
+strong root within him.</p>
+<p>Returning home, Will approached Phoebe with a purpose to detail the sad,
+short scene in Chagford churchyard, but his voice rendered her hysterical, so
+he left her with his mother, put on his working clothes, and wandered out
+into the farmyard. Presently he found himself idly regarding a new gate-post:
+that which Martin Grimbal formerly brought and left hard by the farm. Ted
+Chown had occupied himself in erecting it during the morning.</p>
+<p>The spectacle reminded Will of another, and he lifted his eyes to the
+cross on the undulation spread before him. As he did so some object appeared
+to flutter out of sight not far above it, among the rocks and loose
+&lsquo;clatters&rsquo; beneath the summit of the tor. This incident did not
+hold Will&rsquo;s mind, but, prompted to motion, restless, and in the power
+of dark thoughts, he wandered up the Moor, tramped through the heather, and
+unwittingly passed within a yard of the monument he had raised upon the hill.
+He stood a moment and looked at the cross, then cursed and spat upon it. The
+action spoke definitely of a mental chaos unexampled in one who, until that
+time, had never lacked abundant self-respect. His deed done, it struck Will
+Blanchard like a blow; he marvelled bitterly at himself, he knew such an act
+was pitiful, and remembered that the brain responsible for it was his own.
+Then he clenched his hands and turned away, and stood and stared out over the
+world.</p>
+<p>A wild, south-west wind blew, and fitful rain-storms sped separately
+across the waste. Over the horizon clouds massed darkly, and the wildernesses
+spread beneath them were of an inflamed purple. The seat of the sun was
+heavily obscured at this moment, and the highest illumination cast from sky
+to earth broke from the north. The effect thus imparted to the scene, though
+in reality no more than usual, affected the mind as unnatural, and even
+sinister in its operation of unwonted chiaro-oscuro. Presently the sullen
+clearness of the distance was swept and softened by a storm. Another, falling
+some miles nearer, became superimposed upon it. Immediately the darkness of
+the horizon lifted and light generally increased, though every outline of the
+hills themselves vanished under falling rain. The turmoil of the clouds
+proceeded, and after another squall had passed there followed an aerial
+battle amid towers and pinnacles and tottering precipices of sheer gloom. The
+centre of illumination wheeled swiftly round to the sun as the storm
+travelled north, then a few huge silver spokes of wan sunshine turned
+irregularly upon the stone-strewn desert.</p>
+<p>Will watched this elemental unrest, and it served to soothe that greater
+storm of sorrows and self-condemnation then raging within him. His nature
+found consolation here, the cool hand of the Mother touched his forehead as
+she passed in her robe of rain, and for the first time since childhood the
+man hid his face and wept.</p>
+<p>Presently he moved forward again, walked to the valleys and wandered
+towards southern Teign, unconsciously calmed by his own random movements and
+the river&rsquo;s song. Anon, he entered the lands of Metherill, and soon
+afterwards, without deliberate intention, moved through that Damnonian
+village which lies there. A moment later and he stood in the hut-circle where
+he himself had been born. Its double stone courses spread around him, hiding
+the burrows of the rabbits; and sprung from between two granite blocks, brave
+in spring verdure, with the rain twinkling in little nests of flower buds as
+yet invisible, there rose a hawthorn. Within the stones a ewe stood and
+suckled its young, but there was no other sign of life. Then Blanchard,
+sitting here to rest and turning his eyes whither he had come, again noticed
+some sudden movement, but, looking intently at the spot, he saw nothing and
+returned to his own thoughts. Sitting motionless Will retraced the brief
+course of his career through long hours of thought; and though his spirit
+bubbled to white heat more than once during the survey, yet subdued currents
+of sense wound amid his later reflections. Crushed for a moment under the
+heavy load of life and its lessons, he presented a picture familiar enough,
+desirable enough, necessary enough to all humanity, yet pathetic as
+exemplified in the young and unintelligent and hopeful. It was the picture of
+the dawn of patience&mdash;a patience sprung from no religious inspiration,
+but representing Will&rsquo;s tacit acknowledgment of defeat in his earlier
+battles with the world. The emotion did not banish his present rebellion
+against Fate and evil fortune undeserved; but it caused him to look upon life
+from a man&rsquo;s standpoint rather than a child&rsquo;s, and did him a
+priceless service by shaking to their foundations his self-confidence and
+self-esteem. Selfish at least he was not from a masculine standard, and now
+his thoughts returned to Phoebe in her misery, and he rose and retraced his
+steps with a purpose to comfort her if he could.</p>
+<p>The day began to draw in. Unshed rains massed on the high tors, but
+towards the west one great band of primrose sky rolled out above the vanished
+sun and lighted a million little amber lamps in the hanging crystals of the
+rain. They twinkled on thorns and briars, on the grass, the silver crosiers
+of uncurling ferns, and all the rusty-red young heather.</p>
+<p>Then it was that rising from his meditations and turning homeward, the man
+distinctly heard himself called from some distance. A voice repeated his name
+twice&mdash;in clear tones that might have belonged to a boy or a woman.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Will! Will!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Turning sharply upon a challenge thus ringing through absolute loneliness
+and silence, Blanchard endeavoured, without success, to ascertain from whence
+the summons came. He thought of his mother, then of his wife, yet neither was
+visible, and nobody appeared. Only the old time village spread about him with
+its hoary granite peering from under caps of heather and furze, ivy and
+upspringing thorn. And each stock and stone seemed listening with him for the
+repetition of a voice. The sheep had moved elsewhere, and he stood
+companionless in that theatre of vanished life. Trackways and circles wound
+grey around him, and the spring vegetation above which they rose all swam
+into one dim shade, yet moved with shadows under oncoming darkness.
+Attributing the voice to his own unsettled spirit, Blanchard proceeded upon
+his road to where the skeleton of a dead horse stared through the gloaming
+beside a quaking bog. Its bones were scattered by ravens, and Will used the
+bleached skull as a stepping stone. Presently he thought of the flame-tongues
+that here were wont to dance through warm summer nights. This memory recalled
+his own nickname in
+Chagford&mdash;&ldquo;Jack-o&rsquo;-Lantern&rdquo;&mdash;and, for the first
+time in his life, he began to appreciate its significance. Then, being a
+hundred yards from his starting-place in the hut-circle, he heard the hidden
+voice again. Clear and low, it stole over the intervening wilderness, and
+between two utterances was an interval of some seconds.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Will! Will!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>For one instant the crepitation of fear passed over Blanchard&rsquo;s
+scalp and skin. He made an involuntary stride away from the voice; then he
+shook himself free of all alarm, and, not desirous to lose more self-respect
+that day, turned resolutely and shouted back,&mdash;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I hear &rsquo;e. What&rsquo;s the business? I be comin&rsquo; to
+&rsquo;e if you&rsquo;ll bide wheer you be.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>That some eyes were watching him out of the gathering darkness he did not
+doubt, and soon pushing back, he stood once more in the ruined citadel of old
+stones, mounted one, steadied himself by a young ash that rose beside it, and
+raised his voice again,&mdash;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Now, then! I be here. What&rsquo;s to do? Who&rsquo;s callin&rsquo;
+me?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>An answer came, but of a sort widely different from what he expected.
+There arose, within twenty yards of him, a sound that might have been the cry
+of a child or the scream of a trapped animal. Assuming it to be the latter,
+Will again hesitated. Often enough he had laughed at the folk-tales of witch
+hares as among the most fantastic fables of the old; yet at this present
+moment mystic legends won point from the circumstances in which he found
+himself. He hurried forward to the edge of a circle from which the sound
+proceeded. Then, looking before him, he started violently, sank to his knees
+behind a rock, and so remained, glaring into the ring of stones.</p>
+<p class="thoughtBreak">In less than half an hour Blanchard, with his coat wrapped round some
+object that he carried, returned to Newtake and summoned assistance with a
+loud voice.</p>
+<p>Presently his wife and mother entered the kitchen, whereupon Will
+discovered his burden and revealed a young child. Phoebe fainted dead away at
+sight of it, and while her husband looked to her Mrs. Blanchard tended the
+baby, which was hungry but by no means alarmed. As for Will, his altered
+voice and most unusual excitement of manner indicated something of the shock
+he had received. Having described the voice which called him, he proceeded
+after this fashion to detail what followed:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I looked in the very hut-circle I was born, an&rsquo; I shivered
+all over, for I thought &rsquo;twas the li&rsquo;l ghost of our wee
+bwoy&mdash;by God, I did! It sat theer all alone, an&rsquo; I stared
+an&rsquo; froze while I stared. Then it hollered like a gude un, an&rsquo;
+stretched out its arms, an&rsquo; I seed &rsquo;twas livin&rsquo; an&rsquo;
+never thought how it comed theer. He &rsquo;in somethin&rsquo; smaller than
+our purty darling, yet like him in a way, onless I&rsquo;m
+forgetting.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis like,&rdquo; said Damaris, dandling the child and making
+it happy. &ldquo;&rsquo;Tis a li&rsquo;l bwoy, two year old or more, I should
+guess. It keeps crying &rsquo;Mam, mam,&rsquo; for its mother. God forgive
+the woman.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A gypsy&rsquo;s baby, I reckon,&rdquo; said Phoebe languidly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I doan&rsquo;t think it,&rdquo; answered her husband;
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m most feared to guess what &rsquo;tis. Wan thing&rsquo;s
+sure; I was called loud an&rsquo; clear or I&rsquo;d never have turned back;
+an&rsquo; yet, second time I was called, my flesh crept.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The little flannels an&rsquo; frock be thick an&rsquo; gude, but
+they doan&rsquo;t shaw nought.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The thing&rsquo;s most as easy to think a miracle as not. He looked
+up in my eyes as I brought un away, an&rsquo; after he&rsquo;d got used to me
+he was quiet as a mouse an&rsquo; snuggled to me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They&rsquo;d have said &rsquo;twas a fairy changeling in my young
+days,&rdquo; mused Mrs. Blanchard, &ldquo;but us knaws better now. &rsquo;Tis
+a li&rsquo;l gypsy, I&rsquo;ll warn &rsquo;e, an&rsquo; some wicked
+mother&rsquo;s dropped un under your nose to ease her conscience.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What will you do? Take un to the poorhouse?&rdquo; asked
+Phoebe.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;Poorhouse&rsquo;! Never! This be mine, tu. Mine! I was
+called to it, weern&rsquo;t I? By a human voice or another, God knaws.
+Theer&rsquo;s more to this than us can see.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>His women regarded him with blank amazement, and he showed considerable
+impatience tinder their eyes. It was clear he desired that they should dwell
+on no purely materialistic or natural explanation of the incident.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Baan&rsquo;t a gypsy baaby,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;&rsquo;tis awnly
+the legs an&rsquo; arms of un as be brown. His body&rsquo;s as white as
+curds, an&rsquo; his hair&rsquo;s no darker than our awn Willy&rsquo;s
+was.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If it ban&rsquo;t a gypsy&rsquo;s, whose be it?&rdquo; said Phoebe,
+turning to the infant for the first time.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Mine now,&rdquo; answered Will stoutly. &ldquo;&rsquo;Twas sent
+an&rsquo; give into my awn hand by one what knawed who &rsquo;twas they
+called. My heart warmed to un as he lay in my arms, an&rsquo; he&rsquo;m mine
+hencefarrard.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What do &rsquo;e say, Phoebe?&rdquo; asked Mrs. Blanchard, somewhat
+apprehensively. She knew full well how any such project must have struck her
+if placed in the bereaved mother&rsquo;s position. Phoebe, however, made no
+immediate answer. Her sorrowful eyes were fixed on the child, now sitting
+happily on the elder woman&rsquo;s lap.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A nice li&rsquo;l thing, wi&rsquo; a wunnerful curly head&mdash;eh,
+Phoebe? Seems more &rsquo;n chance to me, comin&rsquo; as it have on this
+night-black day. An&rsquo; like our li&rsquo;l angel, tu, in a way?&rdquo;
+asked Will.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Like him&mdash;in a way, but more like you,&rdquo; she answered;
+&ldquo;more like you than your awn was&mdash;terrible straange that&mdash;the
+living daps o&rsquo; Will! Ban&rsquo;t it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Damaris regarded her son and then the child.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He be like&mdash;very,&rdquo; she admitted. &ldquo;I see him
+strong. An&rsquo; to think he found the bwoy &rsquo;pon that identical spot
+wheer he fust drawed breath himself!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis a thing of hidden meaning,&rdquo; declared Will.
+&ldquo;An&rsquo; he looked at me kindly fust he seed me; &rsquo;twas awnly
+hunger made un shout&mdash;not no fear o&rsquo; me. My heart warmed to un as
+I told &rsquo;e. An&rsquo; to come this day!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Phoebe had taken the child, and was looking over its body in a half-dazed
+fashion for the baby marks she knew. Silently she completed the survey, but
+there was neither caress in her fingers nor softness in her eyes. Presently
+she put the child back on Mrs. Blanchard&rsquo;s lap and spoke, still
+regarding it with a sort of dull, almost vindictive astonishment.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Terrible coorious! Ban&rsquo;t no child as ever I seed or heard
+tell of; an&rsquo; nothin&rsquo; of my dead lamb &rsquo;bout it, now I scans
+closer. But so like to Will! God! I can see un lookin&rsquo; out o&rsquo; its
+baaby eyes!&rdquo;</p>
+<h2><a id="IV_I" name="IV_I"></a>BOOK IV<br />
+HIS SECRET<br />
+<br />CHAPTER I<br />
+A WANDERER RETURNS</h2>
+<p>Ripe hay swelled in many a silver-russet billow, all brightened by the
+warm red of sorrel under sunshine. When the wind blew, ripples raced over the
+bending grasses, and from their midst shone out mauve scabious and flashed
+occasional poppies. The hot July air trembled agleam with shining insects,
+and drowsily over the hayfield, punctuated by stridulation of innumerable
+grasshoppers, there throbbed one sustained murmur, like the remote and mellow
+music of wood and strings. A lark still sang, and the swallows, whose
+full-fledged young thrust open beaks from the nests under Newtake eaves,
+skimmed and twittered above the grass lands, or sometimes dipped a purple
+wing in the still water where the irises grew.</p>
+<p>Blanchard and young Ted Chown had set about their annual labour of saving
+the hay, and now a rhythmic breathing of two scythes and merry clink of
+whetstones against steel sounded afar on the sleepy summer air. The familiar
+music came to Phoebe&rsquo;s ear where she sat at an open kitchen window of
+Newtake. Her custom was at times of hay harvest to assist in the drying of
+the grass, and few women handled a fork better; but there had recently
+reached the farm an infant girl, and the mother had plenty to do without
+seeking beyond her cradle.</p>
+<p>Phoebe made no demur about receiving Will&rsquo;s little foundling of the
+hut-circle. His heart&rsquo;s desire was usually her amibition also, and
+though Timothy, as the child had been called, could boast no mother&rsquo;s
+love, yet Phoebe proved a kind nurse, and only abated her attention upon the
+arrival of her own daughter. Then, as time softened the little mound in
+Chagford churchyard with young green, so before another baby did the
+mother&rsquo;s bereavement soften, sink deeper into memory, revive at longer
+intervals to conjure tears. Her character, as has been indicated, admitted of
+no supreme sustained sorrow. Suffer she did, and fiery was her agony; but
+another child brought occupation and new love; while her husband, after the
+first sentimental outburst of affection over the infant he had found at
+Metherill, settled into an enduring regard for him, associated him, by some
+mental process impossible of explanation, with his own lost one, and took an
+interest, blended of many curious emotions, in the child.</p>
+<p>Drying hay soon filled the air with a pleasant savour, and stretched out
+grey-green ribbons along the emerald of the shorn meadows. Chown snuffled and
+sweated and sneezed, for the pollen always gave him hay fever; his master
+daily worked like a giant from dawn till the owl-light, drank gallons of
+cider, and performed wonders with the scythe. A great hay crop gladdened the
+moormen, and Will, always intoxicated by a little fair fortune, talked much
+of his husbandry, already calculated the value of the aftermath, and reckoned
+what number of beasts he might feed next winter.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Most looks as if I&rsquo;d got a special gift wi&rsquo;
+hay,&rdquo; he said to his mother on one occasion. She had let her cottage to
+holiday folk, and was spending a month on the Moor.</p>
+<p>Mrs. Blanchard surveyed the scene from under her sunbonnet and nodded.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Spare no trouble, no trouble, an&rsquo; have it stacked come
+Saturday. Theer&rsquo;ll be thunder an&rsquo; gert rains after this heat. Be
+the rushes ready for thatchin&rsquo; of it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not yet; but that&rsquo;s not to say I&rsquo;ve forgot.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll cut some for &rsquo;e myself come the cool of the
+evenin&rsquo;. An&rsquo; you can send Ted with the cart to gather &rsquo;em
+up.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, no, mother. I&rsquo;ll make time to-morrow.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Twill be gude to me, an&rsquo; like auld days, when I was a
+li&rsquo;l maid. You sharp the sickle an&rsquo; fetch the skeiner out, tu,
+for I was a quick hand at bindin&rsquo; ropes o&rsquo; rushes, an&rsquo; have
+made many a yard of &rsquo;em in my time.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then she withdrew from the tremendous sunshine, and Will, now handling a
+rake, proceeded with his task.</p>
+<p>Two days later a rick began to rise majestically at the corner of
+Blanchard&rsquo;s largest field, while round about it was gathered the human
+life of the farm. Phoebe, with her baby, sat on an old sheepskin rug in the
+shadow of the growing pile; little Tim rollicked unheeded with Ship in the
+sweet grass, and clamoured from time to time for milk from a glass bottle;
+Will stood up aloft and received the hay from Chown&rsquo;s fork, while Mrs.
+Blanchard, busy with the &ldquo;skeiner&rdquo; stuck into the side of the
+rick, wound stout ropes of rushes for the thatching.</p>
+<p>Then it was that Will, glancing out upon the Moor, observed a string of
+gypsy folk making slow progress towards Chagford. Among the various Romany
+cavalcades which thus passed Newtake in summer time this appeared not the
+least strange. Two ordinary caravans headed the procession. A man conducted
+each, a naked-footed child or two trotted beside them, and an elder boy led
+along three goats. The travelling homes were encumbered with osier-and
+cane-work, and following them came a little broken-down, open vehicle. This
+was drawn by two donkeys, harnessed tandem-fashion, and the chariot had been
+painted bright blue. A woman drove the concern, and in it appeared a
+knife-grinding machine and a basket of cackling poultry, while some
+tent-poles stuck out behind. Will laughed at this spectacle, and called his
+wife&rsquo;s attention to it, whereon Phoebe and Damaris went as far as the
+gate of the hayfield to win a nearer view. The gypsies, however, had already
+passed, but Mrs. Blanchard found time to observe the sky-blue carriage and
+shake her head at it.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What gwaines-on! Theer&rsquo;s no master minds &rsquo;mongst them
+people nowadays,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Your faither wouldn&rsquo;t have let
+his folk make a show of themselves like that.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They &rsquo;m mostly chicken stealers nowadays,&rdquo; declared
+Will; &ldquo;an&rsquo; so surly as dogs if you tell &rsquo;em to go
+&rsquo;bout theer business.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not to none o&rsquo; your name&mdash;never,&rdquo; declared his
+mother. &ldquo;No gypsy&rsquo;s gwaine to forget my husband in his
+son&rsquo;s time. Many gude qualities have they got, chiefly along o&rsquo;
+living so much in the awpen air.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; gude appetites for the same cause! Go after Tim, wan of
+&rsquo;e. He&rsquo;ve trotted down the road half a mile, an&rsquo; be
+runnin&rsquo; arter that blue concern as if&rsquo;t was a circus. Theer!
+Blamed if that damned gal in the thing ban&rsquo;t stoppin&rsquo; to let un
+catch up! Now he&rsquo;m feared, an&rsquo; have turned tail an&rsquo; be
+coming back. &rsquo;Tis all right; Ship be wi&rsquo; un.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Presently the greater of Will&rsquo;s two ricks approached completion, and
+all the business of thatch and spar gads and rush ropes began. At his
+mother&rsquo;s desire he wasted no time, and toiled on, long after his party
+had returned to Newtake; but with the dusk he made an end for that day, stood
+up, rested his back, and scanned the darkening scene before descending.</p>
+<p>At eveningtide there had spread over the jagged western outlines of the
+Moor an orange-tawny sunset, whereon the solid masses of the hills burnt into
+hazy gold, all fairy-bright, unreal, unsubstantial as a cloud-island above
+them, whose solitary and striated shore shone purple through molten fire.</p>
+<p>Detail vanished from the Moor; dim and dimensionless it spread to the
+transparent splendour of the horizon, and its eternal attributes of great
+vastness, great loneliness, great silence reigned together unfretted by
+particulars. Gathering gloom diminished the wide glory of the sky, and slowly
+robbed the pageant of its colour. Then rose each hill and undulation in a
+different shade of night, and every altitude mingled into the outlines of its
+neighbour. Nocturnal mists, taking grey substance against the darkness of the
+lower lands, wound along the rivers, and defined the depths and ridges of the
+valleys. Moving waters, laden with a last waning gleam, glided from beneath
+these vapoury exhalations, and even trifling rivulets, now invisible save for
+chance splashes of light, lacked not mystery as they moved from darkness into
+darkness with a song. Stars twinkled above the dewy sleep of the earth, and
+there brooded over all things a prodigious peace, broken only by batrachian
+croakings from afar.</p>
+<p>These phenomena Will Blanchard observed; then yellow candle fires twinkled
+from the dark mass of the farmhouse, and he descended in splendid weariness
+and strode to supper and to bed.</p>
+<p>Yet not much sleep awaited the farmer, for soon after midnight a gentle
+patter of small stones at his window awakened him. Leaping from his bed and
+looking into the darkness he saw a vague figure that raised its hand and
+beckoned without words. Fear for the hay was Will&rsquo;s first emotion, but
+no indication of trouble appeared. Once he spoke, and as he did so the figure
+beckoned again, then approached the door. Blanchard went down to find a woman
+waiting for him, and her first whispered word made him start violently and
+drop the candle and matches that he carried. His ears were opened and he knew
+Chris without seeing her face.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I be come back&mdash;back home-along, brother Will,&rdquo; she
+said, very quietly. &ldquo;I looked for mother to home, but found she
+weern&rsquo;t theer. An&rsquo; I be sorry to the heart for all the sorrow
+I&rsquo;ve brought &rsquo;e both. But it had to be. Strange thoughts
+an&rsquo; voices was in me when Clem went, an&rsquo; I had to hide myself or
+drown myself&mdash;so I went.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;God&rsquo;s gudeness! Lucky I be made o&rsquo; strong stuff, else I
+might have thought &rsquo;e a ghost an&rsquo; no less. Come in out the night,
+an&rsquo; I&rsquo;ll light a candle. But speak soft. Us must break this very
+gentle to mother.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Say you&rsquo;ll forgive me, will &rsquo;e? Can &rsquo;e do it? If
+you knawed half you&rsquo;d say &lsquo;yes.&rsquo; I&rsquo;m grawed a auld,
+cold-hearted woman, wi&rsquo; a grey hair here an&rsquo; theer
+a&rsquo;ready.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So&rsquo;ve I got wan an&rsquo; another, tu, along o&rsquo; worse
+sorrow than yours. Leastways as bad as yourn. Forgive &rsquo;e? A thousand
+times, an&rsquo; thank Heaven you&rsquo;m livin&rsquo;! Wheer ever have
+&rsquo;e bided? An&rsquo; me an&rsquo; Grimbal searched the South Hams,
+an&rsquo; North, tu, inside out for &rsquo;e, an&rsquo; he put notices in the
+papers&mdash;dozens of &rsquo;em.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Along with the gypsy folk for more &rsquo;n three year now.
+&rsquo;Twas the movin&rsquo; an&rsquo; rovin&rsquo;, and the opening my eyes
+on new things that saved me from gwaine daft. Sometimes us coined through
+Chagford, an&rsquo; then I&rsquo;d shut my eyes tight an&rsquo; lie in the
+van, so&rsquo;s not to see the things his eyes had seen&mdash;so&rsquo;s not
+to knaw when us passed the cottage he lived in. But now I&rsquo;ve got to
+feel I could come back again.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You might have writ to say how you was faring.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I didn&rsquo;t dare. You&rsquo;d bin sure to find me, an&rsquo; I
+didn&rsquo;t want &rsquo;e to then. &rsquo;Tis awver an&rsquo; done,
+an&rsquo; &rsquo;twas for the best.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;m a woman, an&rsquo; can say them silly words, an&rsquo;
+think &rsquo;em true in your heart, I s&rsquo;pose. &lsquo;For the
+best!&rsquo; I caan&rsquo;t see much that happens for the best under my eyes.
+Will &rsquo;e have bite or sup?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, nothin&rsquo;. You get back to your bed. Us&rsquo;ll talk in
+the marnin&rsquo;. I&rsquo;ll bide here. You an&rsquo; Phoebe be well,
+an&rsquo;&mdash;an&rsquo; dear mother?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We&rsquo;m well. You doan&rsquo;t ax me after the fust cheel Phoebe
+had.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I knaw. I put some violets theer that very night. We were camped
+just above Chagford, not far from here.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Theer&rsquo;s a li&rsquo;l gal now, an&rsquo; a bwoy as I&rsquo;ll
+tell&rsquo;e about bimebye. A sheer miracle&rsquo;t was that falled out the
+identical day I buried my Willy. No natural fashion of words can explain it.
+But that&rsquo;ll keep. Now let me look at&rsquo;e. Fuller in the body
+seemin&rsquo;ly, an&rsquo; gypsy-brown, by God! So brown as me, every bit.
+Well, well, I caan&rsquo;t say nothin&rsquo;. I&rsquo;m carried off my legs
+wi&rsquo; wonder, an&rsquo; joy, tu, for that matter. Next to Phoebe
+an&rsquo; mother I allus loved &rsquo;e best. Gimme a kiss. What a woman, to
+be sure! Like a thief in the night you went; same way you&rsquo;ve comed
+back. Why couldn&rsquo;t &rsquo;e wait till marnin&rsquo;?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The childer&mdash;they grawed to love me that dear&mdash;also the
+men an&rsquo; women. They&rsquo;ve been gude to me beyond power o&rsquo;
+words for faither&rsquo;s sake. They knawed I was gwaine, an&rsquo; I left
+&rsquo;em asleep. &rsquo;T was how they found me when I runned away. I falled
+asleep from weariness on the Moor, an&rsquo; they woke me, an&rsquo; I
+thrawed in my lot with them from the day I left that pencil-written word for
+&rsquo;e on the window-ledge.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Me bein&rsquo; in the valley lookin&rsquo; for your drowned body
+the while! Women &rsquo;mazes me more the wiser I graw. Come this way, to the
+linhay. There&rsquo;s a sweet bed o&rsquo; dry fern in the loft, and you must
+keep out o&rsquo; sight till mother&rsquo;s told cunning. I&rsquo;ll hit upon
+a way to break it to her so soon as she&rsquo;s rose. An&rsquo; if I
+caan&rsquo;t, Phoebe will. Come along quiet. An&rsquo; I be gwaine to lock
+&rsquo;e in, Chris, if&rsquo;t is all the same to you. For why? Because you
+might fancy the van folks was callin&rsquo; to &rsquo;e, an&rsquo; grow
+hungry for the rovin&rsquo; life again.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She made no objection, and asked one more question as they went to the
+building.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How be Mrs. Hicks, my Clem&rsquo;s mother?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Alive; that&rsquo;s all. A poor auld bed-lier now; just fading away
+quiet. But weak in the head as a baaby. Mother sees her now an&rsquo; again.
+She never talks of nothin&rsquo; but snuff. &rsquo;T is the awnly brightness
+in her life. She&rsquo;s forgot everythin&rsquo; &rsquo;bout the past,
+an&rsquo; if you went to see her, she&rsquo;d hold out her hand an&rsquo;
+say, &rsquo;Got a little bit o&rsquo; snuff for a auld body, dearie?
+&rsquo;an&rsquo; that&rsquo;s all.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>They talked a little longer, while Will shook down a cool bed of dry
+fern&mdash;not ill-suited to the sultry night; then Chris kissed him again,
+and he locked her in and returned to Phoebe.</p>
+<p>Though the wanderer presently slept peacefully enough, there was little
+more repose that night for her brother or his wife. Phoebe herself became
+much affected by the tremendous news. Then they talked into the early dawn
+before any promising mode of presenting Chris to her mother occurred to them.
+At breakfast Will followed a suggestion of Phoebe&rsquo;s, and sensibly
+lessened the shock of his announcement.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A &rsquo;mazin&rsquo; wonnerful dream I had last night,&rdquo; he
+began abruptly. &ldquo;I thought I was roused long arter midnight by a gert
+knocking, an&rsquo; I went down house an&rsquo; found a woman at the door.
+&lsquo;Who be you?&rsquo; I sez. &lsquo;Why, I be Chris, brother Will,&rsquo;
+she speaks back, &lsquo;Chris, come home-along to mother an&rsquo;
+you.&rsquo; Then I seed it was her sure enough, an&rsquo; she telled me all
+about herself, an&rsquo; how she&rsquo;d dwelt wi&rsquo; gypsy people.
+Natural as life it weer, I assure &rsquo;e.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>This parable moved Mrs. Blanchard more strongly than Will expected. She
+dropped her piece of bread and dripping, grew pale, and regarded her son with
+frightened eyes. Then she spoke.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Tell me true, Will; don&rsquo;t &rsquo;e play with a mother
+&rsquo;bout a life-an&rsquo;-death thing like her cheel. I heard voices in
+the night, an&rsquo; thought &rsquo;t was a dream&mdash;but&mdash;oh, bwoy,
+not Chris, not our awn Chris!&mdash;&rsquo;t would &rsquo;most kill me for
+pure joy, I reckon.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Listen to me, mother, an&rsquo; eat your food. Us won&rsquo;t have
+no waste here, as you knaw very well. I haven&rsquo;t tawld &rsquo;e the end
+of the story. Chris, &rsquo;pearin&rsquo; to be back again, I thinks,
+&lsquo;this will give mother palpitations, though &rsquo;t is quite a usual
+thing for a darter to come back to her mother,&rsquo; so I takes her away to
+the linhay for the night an&rsquo; locks her in; an&rsquo; if &rsquo;t was
+true, she might be theer now, an&rsquo; if it weer
+n&rsquo;t&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Damaris rose, and held the table as she did so, for her knees were weak
+under her.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I be strong&mdash;strong to meet my awn darter. Gimme the key,
+quick&mdash;the key, Will&mdash;do &rsquo;e hear me, child?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll come along with &rsquo;e.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, I say. What! Ban&rsquo;t I a young woman still? &rsquo;T was
+awnly essterday Chris corned in the world. You just bide with Phoebe,
+an&rsquo; do what I tell &rsquo;e.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Will handed over the key at this order, and Mrs. Blanchard, grasping it
+without a word, passed unsteadily across the farmyard. She fumbled at the
+lock, and dropped the key once, but picked it up quickly before Will could
+reach her, then she unfastened the door and entered.</p>
+<h2><a id="IV_II" name="IV_II"></a>CHAPTER II<br />
+HOPE RENEWED</h2>
+<p>Jon Grimbal&rsquo;s desires toward Blanchard lay dormant, and the usual
+interests of life filled his mind. The attitude he now assumed was one of
+sustained patience and observation; and it may best be described in words of
+his own employment.</p>
+<p>Visiting Drewsteignton, about a month after the return of Chris Blanchard
+to her own, the man determined to extend his ride and return by devious ways.
+He passed, therefore, where the unique Devonian cromlech stands hard by
+Bradmere pool. A lane separates this granite antiquity from the lake below,
+and as John Grimbal rode between them, his head high enough to look over the
+hedge, he observed a ladder raised against the Spinsters&rsquo; Rock, as the
+cromlech is called, and a man with a tape-measure sitting on the cover
+stone.</p>
+<p>It was the industrious Martin, home once again. After his difference with
+Blanchard, the antiquary left Devon for another tour in connection with his
+work, and had devoted the past six months to study of prehistoric remains in
+Guernsey, Herm, and other of the Channel Islands.</p>
+<p>Before departing, he had finally regained his brother&rsquo;s friendship,
+though the close fraternal amity of the past appeared unlikely to return
+between them. Now John recognised Martin, and his first impulse produced
+pleasure, while his second was one of irritation. He felt glad to see his
+brother; he experienced annoyance that Martin should thus return to Chagford
+and not call immediately at the Red House.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Hullo! Home again! I suppose you forgot you had a
+brother?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;John, by all that&rsquo;s surprising! Forget? Was it probable? Have
+I so many flesh-and-blood friends to remember? I arrived yesterday and called
+on you this morning, only to find you were at Drewsteignton; so I came to
+verify some figures at the cromlech, hoping we might meet the
+sooner.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He was beside his brother by this time, and they shook hands over the
+hedge.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll leave the ladder and walk by you and have a
+chat.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s too hot to ride at a walk. Come you here to Bradmere
+Pool. We can lie down in the shade by the water, and I&rsquo;ll tether my
+horse for half an hour.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Five minutes later the brothers sat under the shadow of oaks and beeches
+at the edge of a little tarn set in fine foliage.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Pleasant to see you,&rdquo; said Martin. &ldquo;And looking younger
+I do think. It&rsquo;s the open air. I&rsquo;ll wager you don&rsquo;t get
+slimmer in the waist-belt though.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, I&rsquo;m all right.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What&rsquo;s the main interest of life for you now?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>John reflected before answering.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not quite sure. Depends on my mood. Just been buying a greyhound
+bitch at Drewsteignton. I&rsquo;m going coursing presently. A kennel will
+amuse me. I spend most of my time with dogs. They never change. I turn to
+them naturally. But they overrate humanity.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Our interests are so different. Yet both belong to the fresh air
+and the wild places remote from towns. My book is nearly finished. I shall
+publish it in a year&rsquo;s time, or even less.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Have you come back to stop?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, for good and all now.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You have found no wife in your wanderings?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, John. I shall never marry. That was a dark spot in my life, as
+it was in yours. We both broke our shins over that.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I broke nothing&mdash;but another man&rsquo;s bones.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He was silent for a moment, then proceeded abruptly on this theme.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The old feeling is pretty well dead though. I look on and watch the
+man ruining himself; I see his wife getting hard-faced and thin, and I wonder
+what magic was in her, and am quite content. I wouldn&rsquo;t kick him a yard
+quicker to the devil if I could. I watch him drift there.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t talk like that, dear old chap. You &rsquo;re not the
+man you pretend to be, and pretend to think yourself. Don&rsquo;t sour your
+nature so. Let the past lie and go into the world and end this lonely
+existence.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why don&rsquo;t you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The circumstances are different. I am not a man for a wife. You
+are, if ever there was one.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I had him within a hair&rsquo;s-breadth once,&rdquo; resumed the
+other inconsequently. &ldquo;Blanchard, I mean. There &rsquo;s a secret
+against him. You didn&rsquo;t know that, but there is. Some black devilry for
+all I can tell. But I missed it. Perhaps if I knew it would quicken up my
+spirit and remind me of all the brute made me endure.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yet you say the old feeling is dead!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So it is&mdash;starved. Hicks knew. He broke his neck an hour too
+soon. It was like a dream of a magnificent banquet I had some time ago. I
+woke with my mouth watering, just as the food was uncovered, and I felt so
+damned savage at being done out of the grub that I got up and went
+down-stairs and had half a pint of champagne and half a cold roast partridge!
+I watch Blanchard go down the hill&mdash;that&rsquo;s all. If this knowledge
+had come to me when I was boiling, I should have used it to his utmost harm,
+of course. Now I sometimes doubt, even if I could hang the man, whether I
+should take the trouble to do it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Get away from him and all thought of him.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I do. He never crosses my mind unless he crosses my eyes. I ride
+past Newtake occasionally, and see him sweating and slaving and fighting the
+Moor. Then I laugh, as you laugh at a child building sand castles against an
+oncoming tide. Poor fool!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If you pity, you might find it in your heart to forgive.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My attitude is assured. We will call it one of mere indifference.
+You made up that row over the gate-post when his first child died,
+didn&rsquo;t you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, yes. We shall be friendly&mdash;we must be, if only for the
+sake of the memory of Chris. You and I are frank to-day. But you saw long ago
+what I tried to hide, so it is no news to you. You will understand. When
+Hicks died I thought perhaps after years&mdash;but that&rsquo;s over now. She
+&rsquo;s gone.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Didn&rsquo;t you know? She &rsquo;s back again.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Back! Good God!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>John laughed at his brother&rsquo;s profound agitation.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Like as not you&rsquo;d see her if you went over Rushford Bridge.
+She &rsquo;s back with her mother. Queer devils, all of them; but I suppose
+you can have her for the asking now if you couldn&rsquo;t before. Damnably
+like her brother she is. She passed me two days ago, and looked at me as if I
+was transparent, or a mere shadow hiding something else.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>A rush of feeling overwhelmed Martin before this tremendous news. He could
+not trust himself to speak. Then a great hope wrestled with him and
+conquered. In his own exaltation he desired to see all whom he loved equally
+lifted up towards happiness.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I wish to Heaven you would open your eyes and raise them from your
+dogs and find a wife, John.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah! We all want the world to be a pretty fairy tale for our
+friends. You scent your own luck ahead, and wish me to be lucky too. I ought
+to thank you for that; but, instead, I&rsquo;ll give you some advice.
+Don&rsquo;t bother yourself with the welfare of others; to do that is to ruin
+your own peace of mind and court more trouble than your share. Every
+big-hearted man is infernally miserable&mdash;he can&rsquo;t help it. The
+only philosopher&rsquo;s stone is a stone heart; that is what the world
+&rsquo;s taught me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Never! You &rsquo;re echoing somebody else, not yourself,
+I&rsquo;ll swear. I know you better. We must see much of each other in the
+future. I shall buy a little trap that I may drive often to the Red House.
+And I should like to dedicate my book to you, if you would take it as a
+compliment.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, no; give it to somebody who may be able to serve you. I&rsquo;m
+a fool in such things and know no more about the old stones than the foxes
+and rabbits that burrow among them. Come, I must get home. I&rsquo;m glad you
+have returned, though I hated you when you supported them against me; but
+then love of family &rsquo;s a mere ghost against love of women. Besides, how
+seldom it is that a man&rsquo;s best friend is one of his own
+blood.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>They rose and departed. John trotted away through Sandypark, having first
+made Martin promise to sup with him that night, and the pedestrian proceeded
+by the nearest road to Rushford Bridge.</p>
+<p>Chris he did not see, but it happened that Mr. Lyddon met him just outside
+Monks Barton, and though Martin desired no such thing at the time, nothing
+would please the miller but that his friend should return to the farm for
+some conversation.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Home again, an&rsquo; come to glasses, tu! Well, they clear the
+sight, an&rsquo; we must all wear &rsquo;em sooner or late. &rsquo;T is a
+longful time since I seed &rsquo;e, to be sure.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;All well, I hope?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Nothing to grumble at. Billy an&rsquo; me go down the hill as
+gradual an&rsquo; easy as any man &rsquo;s a right to expect. But he&rsquo;s
+gettin&rsquo; so bald as a coot; an&rsquo; now the shape of his head comes to
+be knawed, theer &rsquo;s wonnerful bumps &rsquo;pon it. Then your
+brother&rsquo;s all for sport an&rsquo; war. A Justice of the Peace
+they&rsquo;ve made un, tu. He&rsquo;s got his volunteer chaps to a smart
+pitch, theer&rsquo;s no gainsaying. A gert man for wild diversions he is.
+Gwaine coursin&rsquo; wi&rsquo; long-dogs come winter, they tell
+me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And how are Phoebe and her husband?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A little under the weather just now; but I&rsquo;m watchin&rsquo;
+&rsquo;em unbeknawnst. Theer&rsquo;s a glimmer of hope in the dark if
+you&rsquo;ll believe it, for Will ackshally comed to me esster-night to ax my
+advice&mdash;<i>my</i> advice&mdash;on a matter of stock! What do &rsquo;e
+think of that?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He was fighting a losing battle in a manly sort of way it seemed to
+me when last I saw him.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So he was, and is. I give him eighteen month or
+thereabout&mdash;then&rsquo;ll come the end of it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The &lsquo;end&rsquo;! What end? You won&rsquo;t let them starve?
+Your daughter and the little children?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You mind your awn business, Martin,&rdquo; said Mr. Lyddon, with
+nods and winks. &ldquo;No, they ban&rsquo;t gwaine to starve, but my
+readin&rsquo; of Will&rsquo;s carater has got to be worked out.
+Tribulation&rsquo;s what he needs to sweeten him, same as winter sweetens
+sloes; an&rsquo; &rsquo;t is tribulation I mean him to have. If
+Phoebe&rsquo;s self caan&rsquo;t change me or hurry me &rsquo;t is odds you
+won&rsquo;t. Theer&rsquo;s a darter for &rsquo;e! My Phoebe. She&rsquo;ll
+often put in a whole week along o&rsquo; me still. You mind this: if
+it&rsquo;s grawn true an&rsquo; thrawn true from the plantin&rsquo;, a
+darter&rsquo;s love for a faither lasts longer &rsquo;n any mortal love at
+all as I can hear tell of. It don&rsquo;t wear out wi&rsquo; marriage,
+neither, as I&rsquo;ve found, thank God. Phoebe rises above auld age and the
+ugliness an&rsquo; weakness an&rsquo; bad temper of auld age. Even a poor,
+doddering ancient such as I shall be in a few years won&rsquo;t weary her;
+she&rsquo;ll look back&rsquo;ards with butivul clear eyes, an&rsquo;
+won&rsquo;t forget. She&rsquo;ll see&mdash;not awnly a cracked, shrivelled
+auld man grizzling an&rsquo; grumbling in the chimbley corner, but what the
+man was wance&mdash;a faither, strong an&rsquo; lusty, as dandled her,
+an&rsquo; worked for, an&rsquo; loved her with all his heart in the days of
+his bygone manhood. Ess, my Phoebe&rsquo;s all that; an&rsquo; she comes here
+wi&rsquo; the child; an&rsquo; it pleases me, for rightly onderstood,
+childern be a gert keeper-off of age.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m sure she&rsquo;s a good daughter to you, Miller. And
+Will?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Doan&rsquo;t you fret. We&rsquo;ve worked it out in our
+minds&mdash;me an&rsquo; Billy; an&rsquo; if two auld blids like us
+can&rsquo;t hatch a bit o&rsquo; wisdom, what brains is worth anything?
+We&rsquo;m gwaine to purify the awdacious young chap &rsquo;so as by
+fire,&rsquo; in holy phrase.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;re dealing with a curious temperament.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m dealing with a damned fule,&rdquo; said Mr. Lyddon
+frankly; &ldquo;but theer&rsquo;s fules an&rsquo; fules, an&rsquo; this
+partickler wan&rsquo;s grawed dear to me in some ways despite myself.
+&rsquo;T is Phoebe&rsquo;s done it at bottom I s&rsquo;pose. The man&rsquo;s
+so full o&rsquo; life an&rsquo; hope. Enough energy in un for ten men;
+an&rsquo; enough folly for twenty. Yet he&rsquo;ve a gude heart an&rsquo;
+never lied in&rsquo;s life to my knawledge.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s to give him praise, and high praise. How&rsquo;s his
+sister? I hear she&rsquo;s returned after all.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess&mdash;naughty twoad of a gal&mdash;runned arter the gypsies!
+But she&rsquo;m sobered now. Funny to think her mother, as seemed like a
+woman robbed of her right hand when Chris went, an&rsquo; beginned to graw
+into the sere onusual quick for a widow, took new life as soon as her gal
+comed back. Just shaws what strength lies in a darter, as I tell
+&rsquo;e.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The old man&rsquo;s garrulity gained upon him, and though Martin much
+desired to be gone, he had not the heart to hasten.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A darter&rsquo;s the thing an&rsquo;&mdash;but&rsquo;t is a secret
+yet&mdash;awnly you&rsquo;ll see what you&rsquo;ll see. Coourse Billy&rsquo;s
+very well for gathered wisdom and high conversation &rsquo;bout the world to
+come; but he ban&rsquo;t like a woman round the house, an&rsquo; for all his
+ripe larnin&rsquo; he&rsquo;ll strike fire sometimes&mdash;mostly when I
+gives him a bad beating at &lsquo;Oaks&rsquo; of a evenin&rsquo;. Then
+he&rsquo;m so acid as auld rhubarb, an&rsquo; dots off to his bed
+wi&rsquo;out a &lsquo;gude-night.&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>For another ten minutes Mr. Lyddon chattered, but at the end of that time
+Martin escaped and proceeded homewards. His head throbbed and his mind was
+much excited by the intelligence of the day. The yellow stubbles, the green
+meadows, the ploughed lands similarly spun before him and whirled up to meet
+the sky. As he re-entered the village a butcher&rsquo;s cart nearly knocked
+him down. Hope rose in a glorious new sunrise&mdash;the hope that he had
+believed was set for ever. Then, passing that former home of Clement Hicks
+and his mother, did Grimbal feel great fear and misgiving. The recollection
+of Chris and her love for the dead man chilled him. He remembered his own
+love for Chris when he thought she must be dead. He told himself that he must
+hope nothing; he repeated to himself how fulfilment of his desire, now
+revived after long sleep, might still be as remote as when Chris Blanchard
+said him nay in the spring wastes under Newtake five years and more ago. His
+head dinned this upon his heart; but his heart would not believe and
+responded with a sanguine song of great promise.</p>
+<h2><a id="IV_III" name="IV_III"></a>CHAPTER III<br />
+ANSWERED</h2>
+<p>At a spot in the woods some distance below Newtake, Martin Grimbal sat and
+waited, knowing she whom he sought must pass that way. He had called at the
+farm and been welcomed by Phoebe. Will was on the peat beds, and, asking
+after Chris, he learnt that she had gone into the valley to pick blackberries
+and dewberries, where they already began to ripen in the coombs.</p>
+<p>Under aisles of woodland shadows he sat, where the river murmured down
+mossy stairs of granite in a deep dingle. Above him, the varying foliage of
+oak and ash and silver birch was already touched with autumn, and trembled
+into golden points where bosses of pristine granite, crowned with the
+rowan&rsquo;s scarlet harvest, arose above their luxuriance. The mellow
+splendour of these forests extended to the river&rsquo;s brink, along which
+towered noble masses of giant osmunda, capped by seed spears of tawny red.
+Here and there gilded lances splashed into the stream or dotted its still
+pools with scattered sequins of sunshine, where light winnowed through the
+dome of the leaves; and at one spot, on a wrinkled root that wound crookedly
+from the alder into the river, there glimmered a halcyon, like an opal on a
+miser&rsquo;s bony finger. From above the tree-tops there sounded cynic
+bird-laughter, and gazing upwards Martin saw a magpie flaunt his black and
+white plumage across the valley; while at hand the more musical merriment of
+a woodpecker answered him.</p>
+<p>Then a little child&rsquo;s laugh came to his ear, rippling along with the
+note of the babbling water, and one moment later a small, sturdy boy
+appeared. A woman accompanied him. She had slipped a foot into the river, and
+thus awakened the amusement of her companion.</p>
+<p>Chris steadied herself after the mishap, balanced her basket more
+carefully, then stooped down to pick some of the berries that had scattered
+from it on the bank. When she rose a man with a brown face and soft grey eyes
+gleaming through gold-rimmed spectacles appeared immediately before.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Thank God I see you alive again. Thank God!&rdquo; he said with
+intense feeling, as he took her hand and shook it warmly. &ldquo;The best
+news that ever made my heart glad, Chris.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She welcomed him, and he, looking into her eyes, saw new knowledge there,
+a shadow of sobriety, less of the old dance and sparkle. But he remembered
+the little tremulous updrawing of her lip when a smile was born, and her
+voice rang fuller and sweeter than any music he had ever heard since last she
+spoke to him. A smile of welcome she gave him, indeed, and a pressure of his
+hand that sent magic messages with it to the very core of him. He felt his
+blood leap and over his glasses came a dimness.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I was gwaine to write first moment I heard &rsquo;e was home.
+An&rsquo; I wish I had, for I caan&rsquo;t tell &rsquo;e what I feel. To
+think of &rsquo;e searchin&rsquo; the wide world for such a good-for-nought!
+I thank you for your generous gudeness, Martin. I&rsquo;ll never forget
+it&mdash;never. But I wasn&rsquo;t worth no such care.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not worth it! It proved the greatest, bitterest grief of all my
+life&mdash;but one&mdash;that I couldn&rsquo;t find you. We grew by cruel
+stages to think&mdash;to think you were dead. The agony of that for us! But,
+thank God, it was not so. All at least is well with you now?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;All ban&rsquo;t never well with men an&rsquo; women. But I&rsquo;m
+more fortunate than I deserve to be, and can make myself of use. I&rsquo;ve
+lived a score of years since we met. An I&rsquo;ve comed back to find&rsquo;t
+is a difficult world for those I love best, unfortunately.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Thus, in somewhat disjointed fashion, Chris made answer.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Sit a while and speak to me,&rdquo; replied Martin. &ldquo;The
+laddie can play about. Look at him marching along with that great branch of
+king fern over his shoulder!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;T is an elfin cheel some ways. Wonnerful eyes he&rsquo;ve
+got. They burn me if I look at&rsquo;em close,&rdquo; said Chris. She
+regarded Timothy without sentiment and her eyes were bright and hard.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I hope he will turn out well. Will spoke of him the other day. He
+is very fond of the child. It is singularly like him, too&mdash;a sort of
+little pocket edition of him.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So I&rsquo;ve heard others say. Caan&rsquo;t see it at all myself.
+Look at the eyes of un.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Will believes the boy has got very unusual intelligence and may go
+far.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;May go so far as the workhouse,&rdquo; she answered, with a laugh.
+Then, observing that her reply pained Martin, Chris snatched up small Tim as
+he passed by and pressed him to her breast and kissed him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You like him better than you think, Chris&mdash;poor little
+motherless thing.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Perhaps I do. I wonder if his mother ever looks hungry towards
+Newtake when she passes by?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Perhaps others took him and told the mother that he was
+dead.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She&rsquo;s dead herself more like. Else the thing wouldn&rsquo;t
+have falled out.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>There was a pause, then Martin talked of various matters. But he could not
+fight for long against the desire of his heart and presently plunged, as he
+had done five years before, into a proposal.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He being gone&mdash;poor Clem&mdash;do you think&mdash;? Have you
+thought, I mean? Has it made a difference, Chris? &rsquo;T is so hard to put
+it into words without sounding brutal and callous. Only men are selfish when
+they love.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What do you mean?&rdquo; she asked.</p>
+<p>A sudden inspiration prompted his reply. He said nothing for a moment, but
+with a hand that shook somewhat, drew forth his pocketbook, opened it,
+fumbled within, and then handed over to Chris the brown ruins of flowers long
+dead.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You picked them,&rdquo; he said slowly; &ldquo;you picked them long
+ago and flung them away from you when you said &lsquo;No&rsquo; to
+me&mdash;said it so kindly in the past. Take them in your hand
+again.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Dead bluebells,&rdquo; she answered. &ldquo;Ess, I can call home
+the time. To think you gathered them up!&rdquo; She looked at him with
+something not unlike love in her eyes and fingered the flowers gently.
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;m a gude man, Martin &mdash;the husband for a gude lass.
+Best to find one if you can. Wish I could help&rsquo;e.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, Chris, there&rsquo;s only one woman in the world for me. Could
+you&mdash;even now? Could you let me stand between you and the world? Could
+you, Chris? If you only knew what I cannot put into words. I&rsquo;d try so
+hard to make you happy.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I knaw, I knaw. But theer&rsquo;s no human life so long as the road
+to happiness, Martin. And yet&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He took her hand and for a moment she did not resist him. Then little
+Tim&rsquo;s voice chimed out merrily at the stream margin, and the music had
+instant effect upon Chris Blanchard.</p>
+<p>She drew her hand from Martin and the next moment he saw his dead
+bluebells hurrying away and parting company for ever on the dancing water.
+Chris watched them until they vanished; then she turned and looked at him, to
+find that he grew very pale and agitated. Even his humility had hardly
+foreseen this decisive answer after the yielding attitude Chris first assumed
+when she suffered him to hold her hand. He looked into her face inquiring and
+frightened. The silence that followed was broken by continued laughter and
+shouting from Timothy. Then Martin tried to connect the child&rsquo;s first
+merriment with the simultaneous change in the mood of the woman he
+worshipped, but failed to do so.</p>
+<p>At that moment Chris spoke. She made utterance under the weight of great
+emotion and with evident desire to escape the necessity of a direct negative,
+while yet leaving her refusal of Martin&rsquo;s offer implicit and
+distinct.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I mind when a scatter of paper twinkled down this river just like
+them dead blossoms. Clem thrawed them, an&rsquo; they floated away to the
+sea, past daffadowndillies an&rsquo; budding lady-ferns an&rsquo; such-like.
+&rsquo;T was a li&rsquo;l bit of poetry he&rsquo;d made up to please
+me&mdash;and I, fule as I was, didn&rsquo;t say the right thing when he axed
+me what I thought; so Clem tore the rhymes in pieces an&rsquo; sent them
+away. He said the river would onderstand. An&rsquo; the river onderstands why
+I dropped them dead blossoms in, tu. A wise, ancient stream, I doubt.
+An&rsquo; you &rsquo;m wise, tu; an&rsquo; can take my answer wi&rsquo;out
+any more words, as will awnly make both our hearts ache.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not even if I wait patiently? You couldn&rsquo;t marry me, dear
+Chris? You couldn&rsquo;t get to love me?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I couldn&rsquo;t marry you. I&rsquo;m a widow in heart for all
+time. But I thank God for the gude-will of such a man as you. I cherish it
+and &rsquo;t will be dear to me all my life. But I caan&rsquo;t come to
+&rsquo;e, so doan&rsquo;t ax it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yet you&rsquo;re young to live for a memory, Chris.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Better &rsquo;n nothing. And listen; I&rsquo;ll tell you this, if
+&rsquo;t will make my &lsquo;No&rsquo; sound less hard to your ear. I loves
+you&mdash;I loves you better &rsquo;n any living man &rsquo;cept Will,
+an&rsquo; not less than I love even him. I wish I could bring &rsquo;e a
+spark of joy by marryin&rsquo; you, for you was allus very gude, an&rsquo;
+thought kindly of Clem when but few did. I&rsquo;d marry you if &rsquo;t was
+awnly for that; yet it caan&rsquo;t never be, along o&rsquo; many reasons.
+You must take that cold comfort, Martin.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He sighed, then spoke.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So be it, dear one. I shall never ask again. God knows what holds
+you back if you can even love me a little.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess, God knaws&mdash;everything.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I must not cry out against that. Yet it makes it all the harder. To
+think that you will dedicate all your beautiful life to a memory! it only
+makes my loss the greater, and shows the depths of you to me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She uttered a little scream and her cheek paled, and she put up her hands
+with the palms outward as though warding away his words.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Doan&rsquo;t &rsquo;e say things like that or give me any praise,
+for God&rsquo;s sake. I caan&rsquo;t bear it. I be weak, weak flesh an&rsquo;
+blood, weaker &rsquo;n water. If you could only see down in my heart,
+you&rsquo;d be cured of your silly love for all time.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He did not answer, but picked up her basket and proceeded with her out of
+the valley. Chris gave a hand to the child, and save for Tim&rsquo;s prattle
+there was no speaking.</p>
+<p>At length they reached Newtake, when Martin yielded up the basket and bade
+Chris &ldquo;good-night.&rdquo; He had already turned, when she called him
+back in a strange voice.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Kiss the li&rsquo;l bwoy, will &rsquo;e? I want &rsquo;e to.
+I&rsquo;m that fond of un. An&rsquo; he &rsquo;peared to take to &rsquo;e;
+an&rsquo; he said &lsquo;By-by&rsquo; twice to &rsquo;e, but you didn&rsquo;t
+hear un.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then the man kissed Tim on a small, purple-stained mouth, and saw his eyes
+very lustrous with sleep, for the day was done.</p>
+<p>Woman and child disappeared; the sacking nailed along the bottom of
+Newtake Gate to keep the young chicks in the farmyard rustled over the
+ground, and Martin, turning his face away, moved homewards.</p>
+<p>But the veil was not lifted for him; he did not understand. A secret,
+transparent enough to any who regarded Chris Blanchard and her circumstances
+from a point without the theatre of action, still remained concealed from all
+who loved her.</p>
+<h2><a id="IV_IV" name="IV_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV<br />
+THE END OF THE FIGHT</h2>
+<p>Will Blanchard was of the sort who fight a losing battle,</p>
+<p class="poem">&ldquo;Still puffing in the dark at one poor coal,<br />
+Held on by hope till the last spark is out.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>But the extinction of his ambitions, the final failure of his enterprise
+happened somewhat sooner than Miller Lyddon had predicted. There dawned a
+year when, just as the worst of the winter was past and hope began to revive
+for another season, a crushing catastrophe terminated the struggle.</p>
+<p>Mr. Blee it was who brought the ill news to Monks Barton, having first
+dropped it at Mrs. Blanchard&rsquo;s cottage and announced it promiscuously
+about the village. Like a dog with a bone he licked the intelligence over
+and, by his delay in imparting the same, reduced his master to a very fever
+of irritation.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Such a gashly thing! Of all fules! The last straw I do think.
+He&rsquo;s got something to grumble at now, poor twoad. Your son-in-law; but
+now&mdash;theer&mdash;gormed if I knaw how to tell &rsquo;e!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Alarmed at this prelude, with its dark hints of unutterable woe, Mr.
+Lyddon took off his spectacles in some agitation, and prayed to know the
+worst without any long-drawn introduction.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll come to it fast enough, I warn &rsquo;e. To think after
+years an&rsquo; years he didn&rsquo;t knaw the duffer&rsquo;nce &rsquo;twixt
+a bullock an&rsquo; a sheep! Well&mdash;well! Of coourse us knawed times was
+tight, but Jack-o&rsquo;-Lantern be to the end of his dance now. &rsquo;T is
+all awver.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What&rsquo;s the matter? Come to it, caan&rsquo;t
+&rsquo;e?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No ill of the body&mdash;not to him or the fam&rsquo;ly. An&rsquo;
+you must let me tell it out my awn way. Well, things bein&rsquo; same as they
+are, the bwoy caan&rsquo;t hide it. Dammy! Theer&rsquo;s patches in the coat
+of un now&mdash;neat sewed, I&rsquo;ll grant &rsquo;e, but a patch is a
+patch; an&rsquo; when half a horse&rsquo;s harness is odds an&rsquo; ends
+o&rsquo; rope, then you knaw wi&rsquo;out tellin&rsquo; wheer a man be
+driving to. &rsquo;T is &rsquo;cordin&rsquo; to the poetry!&mdash;</p>
+<p class="poem">&ldquo;&lsquo;Out to elbows,<br />
+<span class="i2">Out to toes,</span><br />
+Out o&rsquo; money,<br />
+<span class="i2">Out o&rsquo; clothes.&rsquo;</span><br /></p>
+<p>But&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Caan&rsquo;t &rsquo;e say what&rsquo;s happened, you
+chitterin&rsquo; auld magpie? I&rsquo;ll go up village for the news in a
+minute. I lay &rsquo;tis knawn theer.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ban&rsquo;t I tellin&rsquo; of &rsquo;e? &rsquo;Tis like this. Will
+Blanchard&rsquo;s been mixin&rsquo; a bit of chopped fuzz with the
+sheep&rsquo;s meal these hard times, like his betters. But now I&rsquo;ve
+seed hisself today, lookin&rsquo; so auld as Cosdon &rsquo;bout it. He was
+gwaine to the horse doctor to Moreton. An&rsquo; he tawld me to keep my mouth
+shut, which I&rsquo;ve done for the most paart.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A little fuzz chopped fine doan&rsquo;t hurt sheep.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Just so. &rsquo;Cause why? They aint got no &lsquo;bibles&rsquo; in
+their innards; but he&rsquo;ve gone an&rsquo; given it same way to the
+bullocks.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Gude God!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis death to beasts wi&rsquo; &lsquo;bibles.&rsquo;
+An&rsquo; death it is. The things caan&rsquo;t eat such stuff&rsquo; cause it
+sticketh an&rsquo; brings inflammation. I seed same fule&rsquo;s trick done
+wance thirty year ago; an&rsquo; when the animals weer cut awpen, theer
+&lsquo;bibles&rsquo; was hell-hot wi&rsquo; the awfulest inflammation ever
+you heard tell of.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How many&rsquo;s down? &rsquo;Twas all he had to count
+upon.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Awnly eight standin&rsquo; when he left. I could have cried
+&rsquo;bout it when he tawld me. He &rsquo;m clay in the Potter&rsquo;s hand
+for sartain. Theer&rsquo;s nought squenches a chap like havin&rsquo; the
+bailiffs in.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Cruel luck! I&rsquo;d meant to let him be sold out for his
+gude&mdash;but now.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Do what you meant to. Doan&rsquo;t go back on it. &rsquo;Tis for
+his gude. &rsquo;Twas his awn mistake. He tawld me the blame was his. Let un
+get on the bed rock. Then he&rsquo;ll be meek as a worm.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I doubt it. A sale of his goods will break his heart.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not it! He haven&rsquo;t got much as&rsquo;ll be hard to paart
+from. Stern measures&mdash;stern measures for his everlastin&rsquo; welfare.
+Think of the wild-fire sawl of un! Never yet did a sawl want steadin&rsquo;
+worse&rsquo;n his. Keep you to the fust plan, and he&rsquo;ll thank&rsquo;e
+yet.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Elsewhere two women&mdash;his wife and sister&mdash;failed utterly in
+well-meaning efforts to comfort the stricken farmer. Presently, before
+nightfall, Mrs. Blanchard also arrived at Newtake, and Will listened dully
+with smouldering eyes as his mother talked. The veterinary surgeon from
+Moreton had come, but his efforts were vain. Only two beasts out of
+five-and-twenty still lived.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Send for butcher,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;He&rsquo;ll be more use
+than I can be. The thing is done and can&rsquo;t be undone.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Chris entered most closely into her brother&rsquo;s feelings and spared
+him the expressions of sorrow and sympathy which stung him, even from his
+mother&rsquo;s lips, uttered at this crisis. She set about preparing supper,
+which weeping Phoebe had forgotten.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;ll weather it yet, bwoy,&rdquo; Mrs. Blanchard said.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Theer&rsquo;s a little bit as I&rsquo;ve got stowed away
+for&rsquo;e; an&rsquo; come the hay&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Doan&rsquo;t talk that way. &rsquo;Tis done with now. I&rsquo;m
+quite cool&rsquo;pon it. We must go as we&rsquo;m driven. No more
+gropin&rsquo; an&rsquo; fightin&rsquo; on this blasted wilderness for me,
+that&rsquo;s all. I be gwaine to turn my back &rsquo;pon it&mdash;fog
+an&rsquo; filthy weather an&rsquo; ice an&rsquo; snow. You wants angels from
+heaven to help &rsquo;e, if you&rsquo;re to do any gude here; an&rsquo;
+heaven&rsquo;s long tired o&rsquo; me an&rsquo; mine. So I&rsquo;ll make
+shift to do wi&rsquo;out. An&rsquo; never tell me no more lies &rsquo;bout
+God helpin&rsquo; them as helps themselves, &rsquo;cause I&rsquo;ve proved it
+ban&rsquo;t so. I be gwaine to furrin&rsquo; lands to dig for gawld or
+di&rsquo;monds. The right build o&rsquo; man for gawld-seekin&rsquo;, me;
+&rsquo;cause I&rsquo;ve larned patience an&rsquo; caan&rsquo;t be choked off
+a job tu easy.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Think twice. Bad luck doan&rsquo;t dog a man for ever. An&rsquo;
+Phoebe an&rsquo; the childer.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My mind&rsquo;s made up. I figured it out comin&rsquo; home from
+Moreton. I&rsquo;m away in six weeks or less. A chap what&rsquo;s got to dig
+for a livin&rsquo; may just as well handle his tools where theer&rsquo;s
+summat worth findin&rsquo; hid in the land, as here, on this black, damned
+airth, wheer your pick strikes fire out o&rsquo; stone twenty times a day.
+The Moor&rsquo;s the Moor. Everybody knaws the way of it. Scratch its faace
+an&rsquo; it picks your pocket an&rsquo; breaks your heart&mdash;not as
+I&rsquo;ve got a heart can be broken.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If &rsquo;e could awnly put more trust in the God of your faithers,
+my son. He done for them, why shouldn&rsquo;t He do for you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Better ax Him. Tired of the fam&rsquo;ly, I reckon.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You hurt your mother, Will, tellin&rsquo; so wicked as
+that.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; faither so cruel,&rdquo; sobbed Phoebe. &ldquo;I
+doan&rsquo;t knaw what ever us have done to set him an&rsquo; God against us
+so. I&rsquo;ve tried that hard; an&rsquo; you&rsquo;ve toiled till the
+muscles shawed through your skin; an&rsquo; the li&rsquo;l bwoy took just as
+he beginned to string words that butivul; an&rsquo; no sign of another
+though&rsquo;t is my endless prayer.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The ways of Providence&mdash;&rdquo; began Mrs. Blanchard drearily;
+but Will stopped her, as she knew he would.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Doan&rsquo;t mother&mdash;I caan&rsquo;t stand no more on that head
+today. I&rsquo;ll dare anybody to name Providence more in my house, so long
+as &rsquo;tis mine. Theer&rsquo;s the facts to shout out &rsquo;gainst that
+rot. A honest, just, plain-dealin&rsquo; man&mdash;an&rsquo; look at
+me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Meantime we&rsquo;re ruined an&rsquo; faither doan&rsquo;t hold out
+a finger.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Take it stern an&rsquo; hard like me. &rsquo;Tis all chance
+drawin&rsquo; of prize or blank in gawld diggin&rsquo;. The &lsquo;new
+chums,&rsquo; as they call &rsquo;em, often finds the best gawld,
+&rsquo;cause they doan&rsquo;t knaw wheer to look for it, an&rsquo; goes
+pokin&rsquo; about wheer a skilled man wouldn&rsquo;t. That&rsquo;s the
+crooked way things happen in this poor world.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You wouldn&rsquo;t go&mdash;not while I lived, sure? I
+couldn&rsquo;t draw breath comfortable wi&rsquo;out knawin&rsquo; you was
+breathin&rsquo; the same air, my son.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;ll live to knaw I was in the right. If fortune
+doan&rsquo;t come to you, you must go to it, I reckon. Anyways, I ban&rsquo;t
+gwaine to bide here a laughing-stock to Chagford; an&rsquo; you&rsquo;m the
+last to ax me to.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Miller would never let Phoebe go.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I shouldn&rsquo;t say &rsquo;by your leave&rsquo; to him, I
+promise&rsquo;e. He can look on an&rsquo; see the coat rottin&rsquo; off my
+back in this desert an&rsquo; watch his darter gwaine thin as a lath along
+o&rsquo; taking so much thought. He can look on at us, hisself so comfortable
+as a maggot in a pear, an&rsquo; see. Not that I&rsquo;d take help&mdash;not
+a penny from any man. I&rsquo;m not gwaine to fail. I&rsquo;ll be a snug chap
+yet.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The stolid Chown entered at this moment.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Butcher&rsquo;ll be up bimebye. An&rsquo; the last of em&rsquo;s
+failed down,&rdquo; he said.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So be it. Now us&rsquo;ll taake our supper,&rdquo; answered his
+master.</p>
+<p>The meal was ready and presently Blanchard, whose present bitter humour
+prompted him to simulate a large indifference, made show of enjoying his
+food. He brought out the brandy for his mother, who drank a little with her
+supper, and helped himself liberally twice or thrice until the bottle was
+half emptied. The glamour of the spirit made him optimistic, and he spoke
+with the pseudo-philosophy that alcohol begets.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Might have been worse, come to think of it. If the things
+weren&rsquo;t choked, I doubt they&rsquo;d been near starved. &rsquo;Most all
+the hay&rsquo;s done, an&rsquo; half what&rsquo;s left&mdash;a load or
+so&mdash;I&rsquo;d promised to a chap out Manaton way. But theer&rsquo;t
+is&mdash;my hand be forced, that&rsquo;s all. So time&rsquo;s saved, if you
+look at it from a right point.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;m hard an&rsquo; braave, an&rsquo; you&rsquo;ve got a way
+with you &rsquo;mong men. Faace life, same as faither did, an&rsquo;
+us&rsquo;ll look arter Phoebe an&rsquo; the childer,&rdquo; said Chris.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I couldn&rsquo;t leave un,&rdquo; declared Will&rsquo;s wife.
+&ldquo;&rsquo;T is my duty to keep along wi&rsquo;un for better or
+worse.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Us&rsquo;ll talk &rsquo;bout all that later. I be gwaine to act
+prompt an&rsquo; sell every stick, an&rsquo; then away, a free
+man.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;All our furniture an&rsquo; property!&rdquo; moaned Phoebe, looking
+round her in dismay.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;All&mdash;to the leastest bit o&rsquo; cracked cloam.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A forced sale brings nought,&rdquo; sighed Damaris.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Theer&rsquo;s hunderds o&rsquo; pounds o&rsquo; gude chattels here,
+an&rsquo; they doan&rsquo;t go for a penny less than they &rsquo;m worth.
+Because I&rsquo;m down, ban&rsquo;t no reason for others to try to rob me. If
+I doan&rsquo;t get fair money I&rsquo;ll make a fire wi&rsquo; the stuff
+an&rsquo; burn every stick of it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The valuer man, Mr. Bambridge, must be seen, an&rsquo; bills
+printed out an&rsquo; sticked &rsquo;pon barn doors an&rsquo; such-like, same
+as when Mrs. Lezzard died,&rdquo; said Phoebe. &ldquo;What&rsquo;ll faither
+think then?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Will laughed bitterly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll see a few&rsquo;s dabbed up on his awn damned outer
+walls, if I&rsquo;ve got to put &rsquo;em theer myself. An&rsquo; as to the
+lists, I&rsquo;ll make &rsquo;em this very night. Ban&rsquo;t my way to let
+the dust fall upon a job marked for doin&rsquo;. To-night I&rsquo;ll draw the
+items.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Us was gwaine to stay along with &rsquo;e, Will,&rdquo; said his
+mother.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Very gude&mdash;as you please. Make shake-downs in the parlour,
+an&rsquo; I&rsquo;ll write in the kitchen when you&rsquo;m gone to bed. Set
+the ink an&rsquo; pen an&rsquo; paper out arter you&rsquo;ve cleared away.
+I&rsquo;m allowed to be peart enough in matters o&rsquo; business anyway,
+though no farmer o&rsquo; course, arter this.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;None will dare to say any such thing,&rdquo; declared Phoebe.
+&ldquo;You can&rsquo;t do miracles more than others.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I mind when Ellis, to Two Streams Farm, lost a mort o&rsquo;
+bullocks very same way,&rdquo; said Mrs. Blanchard.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis that as they&rsquo;ll bring against me an&rsquo; say,
+wi&rsquo; such a tale in my knawledge, I ought to been wiser. But I never
+heard tell of it before, though God knows I&rsquo;ve heard the story often
+enough to-day.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>It was now dark, and Will, lighting a lantern, rose and went out into the
+yard. From the kitchen window his women watched him moving here and there;
+while, as he passed, the light revealed great motionless, rufous shapes on
+every hand. The corpses of the beasts hove up into the illumination and then
+vanished again as the narrow circle of lantern light bobbed on, jerking to
+the beat of Will&rsquo;s footsteps. From the window Damaris observed her son
+make a complete perambulation of his trouble without comment. Then a little
+emotion trembled on her tongue.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;God&rsquo;s hand be lifted &rsquo;gainst the bwoy, same as &rsquo;t
+was &rsquo;gainst the patriarch Job seemin&rsquo;ly. Awnly he bent to the rod
+and Will&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;m noble an&rsquo; grand under his sorrows. Who should knaw
+but me?&rdquo; cried Phoebe. &ldquo;A man in ten thousand, he is, an&rsquo;
+never yields to no rod. He&rsquo;ll win his way yet; an&rsquo; I be gwaine to
+cleave to un if he travels to the other end o&rsquo; the airth.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I doan&rsquo;t judge un, gal. God knaws he&rsquo;s been the world
+to me since his faither died. He&rsquo;m my dear son. But if he&rsquo;d awnly
+bend afore the A&rsquo;mighty breaks him.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;s got me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess, an&rsquo; he&rsquo;m mouldin&rsquo; you to his awn vain pride
+an&rsquo; wrong ways o&rsquo; thinking. If you could lead un right, &rsquo;t
+would be a better wife&rsquo;s paart.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;m wiser&rsquo;n me, an&rsquo; stronger. Ban&rsquo;t my
+place to think against him. Us&rsquo;ll go our ways, childern tu, an&rsquo;
+turn our backs &rsquo;pon this desert. I hate the plaace now, same as
+Will.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Chris here interrupted Phoebe and called her from the other room.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Wheer&rsquo;s the paper an&rsquo; ink to? I be setting out the
+things against Will comes in. He axed for &rsquo;em to be ready, &rsquo;cause
+theer&rsquo;s a deal o&rsquo; penmanship afore him to-night. An&rsquo;
+wheer&rsquo;s that li&rsquo;l dictionary what I gived un years ago? I lay
+he&rsquo;ll want it.&rdquo;</p>
+<h2><a id="IV_V" name="IV_V"></a>CHAPTER V<br />
+TWO MIGHTY SURPRISES</h2>
+<p>Will returned from survey of his tribulation. Hope was dead for the
+moment, and death of hope in a man of Blanchard&rsquo;s character proved
+painful. The writing materials distracted his mind. Beginning without
+interest, his composition speedily absorbed him; and before the task was half
+completed, he already pictured it set out in great black or red print upon
+conspicuous places.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I reckon it&rsquo;ll make some of &rsquo;em stare to see the
+scholar I am, anyways,&rdquo; he reflected.</p>
+<p>Through the hours of night he wrote and re-wrote. His pen scratched along,
+echoed by an exactly similar sound from the wainscots, where mice nibbled in
+the silence. Anon, from the debris of his composition, a complete work took
+shape; and when Phoebe awoke at three o&rsquo;clock, discovered her husband
+was still absent, and sought him hurriedly, she found the inventory completed
+and Will just fastening its pages together with a piece of string. He was
+wide awake and in a particularly happy humour.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ban&rsquo;t you never comin&rsquo; to bed? &rsquo;T is most
+marnin&rsquo;,&rdquo; she said.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Just comin&rsquo;. What a job! Look here&mdash;twelve pages. I be
+surprised myself to think how blamed well I&rsquo;ve got through wi&rsquo;
+it. You doan&rsquo;t knaw what you can do till you try. I used to wonder at
+Clem&rsquo;s cleverness wi&rsquo; a pen; but I be purty near so handy myself
+an&rsquo; never guessed it!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m sure you&rsquo;ve made a braave job of it. I&rsquo;ll
+read it fust thing to-morrow.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You shall hear it now.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not now, Will; &rsquo;t is so late an&rsquo; I&rsquo;m three paarts
+asleep. Come to bed, dearie.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh&mdash;if you doan&rsquo;t care&mdash;if it&rsquo;s nought to you
+that I&rsquo;ve sit up all night slavin&rsquo; for our gude&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then I&rsquo;ll hear it now. Coourse I knaw &rsquo;t is fine
+readin&rsquo;. Awnly I thought you&rsquo;d be weary.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Sit here an&rsquo; put your toes to the heat.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He set Phoebe in the chimney corner, wrapped his coat round her, and threw
+more turf on the fire.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Now you&rsquo;m vitty; an&rsquo; if theer&rsquo;s anything left
+out, tell me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I lay, wi&rsquo; your memory, you&rsquo;ve forgot little
+enough.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I lay I haven&rsquo;t. All&rsquo;s here; an&rsquo; &rsquo;t is a
+gert wonder what a lot o&rsquo; gude things us have got. They did ought to
+fetch a couple o&rsquo; hunderd pound at least, if the sale&rsquo;s carried
+out proper.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They didn&rsquo;t cost so much as that.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;By Gor! Didn&rsquo;t they? Well, set out in full, like this here,
+they do sound as if they ought to be worth it. Now, I&rsquo;ll read &rsquo;em
+to see how it all sounds in spoken words.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He cleared his throat and began:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;Sale this day to Newtake Farm, near Chagford, Dartmoor,
+Devonshire. Mr. William Blanchard, being about to leave England for foreign
+parts, desires to sell at auction his farm property, household goods, cloam,
+and effects, etc., etc., as per items below, to the best bidder. Many things
+so good as new.&rsquo; How do &rsquo;e like that, Phoebe?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Butivul; but do &rsquo;e mean in all solemn seriousness to go out
+England? &rsquo;T is a awful thought, come you look at it close.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess, &rsquo;t is a gert, bold thing to do; but I doan&rsquo;t fear
+it. I be gettin&rsquo; into a business-like way o&rsquo; lookin&rsquo;
+&rsquo;pon life of late; an&rsquo; I counts the cost an&rsquo; moves arter,
+as is the right order. Listen to these items set out here. If they &rsquo;m
+printed big, wan under t&rsquo;other, same as I&rsquo;ve wrote &rsquo;em,
+they&rsquo;ll fill a barn door purty nigh!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then he turned to his papers.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;The said goods and chattels are as follows,
+namely,&rsquo;&mdash;reg&rsquo;lar lawyer&rsquo;s English, you see, though
+how I comed to get it so pat I caan&rsquo;t tell. Yet theer
+&rsquo;tis&mdash;&lsquo;namely, 2 washing trays; 3 zinc buckets; 1 meat
+preserve; 1 lantern; 2 bird-cages; carving knife and steel (Sheffield
+make)&mdash;&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Do&rsquo;e judge that&rsquo;s the best order, Will?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Coourse &rsquo;t is! I thought that out specially. Doan&rsquo;t go
+thrawin&rsquo; me from my stride in the middle. Arter &lsquo;Sheffield
+make,&rsquo; &lsquo;half-dozen knives and forks; sundry ditto, not so good;
+hand saw; 2 hammers; 1 cleaver; salting trendle; 3
+wheelbarrows&mdash;&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Doan&rsquo;t forget you lent wan of &rsquo;em to Farmer
+Thackwell.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, I gived it to un, him bein&rsquo; pushed for need of wan. It
+slipped my memory. &lsquo;2 wheelbarrows.&rsquo; Then I goes on, &lsquo;pig
+stock; pig trough; 2 young breeding sows; 4 garden tools; 2 peat cutters; 2
+carts; 1 market trap; 1 empty cask; 1 Dutch oven; 1 funnel; 2 firkins and a
+cider jib; small sieve; 3 pairs new Bedford harrows; 1 chain harrow (out of
+repair).&rsquo; You see all&rsquo;s straight enough, which it ban&rsquo;t in
+some sales. No man shall say he&rsquo;s got less than full value.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;m the last to think of such a thing.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I am. It goes on like this: &lsquo;5 mattocks; 4 digging picks; 4
+head chains; 1 axe; sledge and wedges; also hooks, eyes, and hasps for hard
+wood.&rsquo; Never used &rsquo;em all the time us been here. &lsquo;2 sets of
+trap harness, much worn.&rsquo; I ban&rsquo;t gwaine to sell the
+dogs&mdash;eh? Us won&rsquo;t sell Ship or your li&rsquo;l terrier. What do
+&rsquo;e say?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No. Nobody would buy two auld dogs, for that matter.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Though how a upland dog like Ship be gwaine to faace the fiery
+sunshine on furrin gawld diggings, I caan&rsquo;t answer. Here goes again:
+&lsquo;1 sofa; 1 armchair; 4 fine chairs with green cloth seats; 1 bedstead;
+2 cots; 1 cradle; feather beds and palliasses and bolster pillows to match;
+wash-stands and sets of crockery, mostly complete; 2 swing glasses; 3 bedroom
+chairs; 1 set of breeching harness&mdash;&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Hadn&rsquo;t &rsquo;e better put that away from the
+furniture?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No gert odds. &lsquo;Also 1 set leading harness; 2 tressels and
+ironing board; 2 fenders; fire-irons and fire-dogs; 1 old oak chest; 1
+wardrobe; 1 Brussels carpet (worn in 1 spot only)&mdash;&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ban&rsquo;t worn worth namin&rsquo;.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess fay, &rsquo;tis wheer I sit Sundays&mdash;&rsquo;9 feet by 11;
+3 four-prong dung forks.&rsquo; I&rsquo;ll move them. They doan&rsquo;t come
+in none tu well theer, I allow. &lsquo;5 cane-seated chairs, 1 specimen of
+wax fruit under glass.&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I caan&rsquo;t paart wi&rsquo; that, lovey. Faither gived it to me;
+an&rsquo; &rsquo;twas mother&rsquo;s wance on a time.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, bein&rsquo; a forced sale it ought to go. An&rsquo;
+seein&rsquo; how Miller&rsquo;s left us to sail our awn boat to
+hell&mdash;but still, if you&rsquo;m set on it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He crossed it out, then suddenly laughed until the walls rang.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Hush! You&rsquo;ll wake everybody. What do &rsquo;e find to be
+happy about?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I was thinkin&rsquo; that down in them furrin, fiery paarts
+we&rsquo;m gwaine to, as your wax plums an&rsquo; pears&rsquo;ll damned soon
+run away. They&rsquo;ll melt for sartin!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Caan&rsquo;t be so hot as that! The li&rsquo;l gal will never stand
+it. Read on now. Theer ban&rsquo;t much left, surely?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Scores o&rsquo; things! &lsquo;1 stuffed kingfisher in good case
+with painted picture at back; 1 fox mask; 1 mahogany 2-lap table; 1
+warming-pan; Britannia metal teapot and 6 spoons ditto metal; 5
+spoons&mdash;smaller&mdash;ditto metal.&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I found the one us lost.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then &rsquo;tis &lsquo;6 spoons&mdash;smaller&mdash;ditto
+metal.&rsquo; Then, &lsquo;ironing stove; 5 irons; washing boiler; 4 fry
+pans; 2 chimney crooks; 6 saucepans; pestle and mortar; chimney ornaments; 4
+coloured almanacs&mdash;one with picture of the
+Queen&mdash;&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They won&rsquo;t fetch nothin&rsquo;.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They might. &lsquo;Knife sharper; screen; pot plants; 1 towel-rail;
+1 runner; 2 forms; kitchen table; scales and weights and beam; 1 set of
+casters; 4 farm horses, aged; 3 ploughs; 1 hay wain; 1 stack of dry fern;
+1-1/2 tons good manure; old iron and other sundries, including poultry,
+ducks, geese, and fowls.&rsquo; That&rsquo;s all.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not quite; but I caan&rsquo;t call to mind much you&rsquo;ve left
+out &rsquo;cept all the china an&rsquo; linen.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah! that&rsquo;s your job. An&rsquo; I just sit here an&rsquo;
+brought the things to my memory, wan by wan! An&rsquo; that bit at the top
+came easy as cutting a stick!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis a wonnerful piece o&rsquo; work! An&rsquo; the piano,
+Will?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I hadn&rsquo;t forgot that. Must take it along wi&rsquo; us, or
+else send it down to mother. Couldn&rsquo;t look her in the faace if I sold
+that.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ban&rsquo;t worth much.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Caan&rsquo;t say. Cost faither five pound, though that was long
+ago. Anyway I be gwaine to buy it in.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Silence then fell upon them. Phoebe sighed and shivered. A cock crew and
+his note came muffled from the hen-roost. A dim grey dawn just served to
+indicate the recumbent carcasses without.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Come to bed now an&rsquo; take a little rest &rsquo;fore
+marnin&rsquo;, dearie. You&rsquo;ve worked hard an&rsquo; done
+wonders.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ban&rsquo;t you surprised I could turn it out?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That I be. I&rsquo;d never have thought &rsquo;twas in &rsquo;e. So
+forehanded, tu! A&rsquo;most afore them poor things be cold.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis the forehandedness I prides myself &rsquo;pon. Some of
+us doan&rsquo;t know all that&rsquo;s in me yet. But they&rsquo;ll live to
+see it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I knaw right well they will.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;This&rsquo;ll &rsquo;maze mother to-morrow.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Twill, sure &rsquo;nough.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Would &rsquo;e like me to read it just wance more wi&rsquo;out
+stoppin&rsquo;, Phoebe?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, dear love, not now. Give it to us all arter breakfast in the
+marnin&rsquo;.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So I will then; an&rsquo; take it right away to the auctioneer the
+minute after.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He put his papers away in the drawer of the kitchen table and retired.
+Uneasy sleep presently overtook him and long he tossed and turned, murmuring
+of his astonishment at his own powers with a pen.</p>
+<p>His impetuosity carried the ruined man forward with sufficient speed over
+the dark bitterness of failure confessed, failure advertised, failure
+proclaimed in print throughout the confines of his little world. He suffered
+much, and the wide-spread sympathy of friends and acquaintance proved no
+anodyne but rather the reverse. He hated to see eyes grow grave and mouths
+serious upon his entry; he yearned to turn his back against Chagford and
+resume the process of living in a new environment. Temporary troubles vexed
+him more than the supreme disaster of his failure. Mr. Bambridge made
+considerable alterations in his cherished lucubration; and when the
+advertisement appeared in print, it looked mean and filled but a paltry
+space. People came up before the sale to examine the goods, and Phoebe, after
+two days of whispered colloquies upon her cherished property, could bear it
+no longer, and left Newtake with her own little daughter and little Timothy.
+The Rev. Shorto-Champernowne himself called, stung Will into sheer madness,
+which he happily restrained, then purchased an old oak coffer for two pounds
+and ten shillings.</p>
+<p>Miller Lyddon made no sign, and hard things were muttered against him and
+Billy Blee in the village. Virtuous indignation got hold upon the Chagford
+quidnuncs and with one consent they declared Mr. Lyddon to blame. Where was
+his Christian charity&mdash;that charity which should begin at home and so
+seldom does? This interest in others&rsquo; affairs took shape on the night
+before the Newtake sale. Then certain of the baser sort displayed their anger
+in a practical form, and Mr. Blee was hustled one dark evening, had his hat
+knocked off, and suffered from a dead cat thrown by unseen hands. The reason
+for this outrage also reached him. Then, chattering with indignation and
+alarm, he hurried home and acquainted Mr. Lyddon with the wild spirit
+abroad.</p>
+<p>As for Blanchard, he roamed moodily about the scene of his lost battle. In
+his pockets were journals setting forth the innumerable advantages of certain
+foreign regions that other men desired to people for their private ends. But
+Will was undecided, because all the prospects presented appeared to lead
+directly to fortune.</p>
+<p>The day of the sale dawned fine and at the appointed hour a thin stream of
+market carts and foot passengers wound towards Newtake from the village
+beneath and from a few outlying farms. Blanchard had gone up the adjacent
+hill; and lying there, not far distant from the granite cross, he reclined
+with his dog and watched the people. Him they did not see; but them he
+counted and found some sixty souls had been attracted by his advertisement.
+Men laughed and joked, and smoked; women shrugged their shoulders, peeped
+about and disparaged the goods. Here and there a purchaser took up his
+station beside a coveted lot. Some noticed that none of those most involved
+were present; others spread a rumour that Miller Lyddon designed to stop the
+sale at the last moment and buy in everything. But no such incident broke the
+course of proceedings.</p>
+<p>Will, from his hiding-place in the heather, saw Mr. Bambridge drive up,
+noted the crowd follow him about the farm, like black flies, and felt himself
+a man at his own funeral. The hour was dark enough. In the ear of his mind he
+listened to the auctioneer&rsquo;s hammer, like a death-bell, beating away
+all that he possessed. He had worked and slaved through long years for
+this,&mdash;for the sympathy of Chagford, for the privilege of spending a
+thousand pounds, for barely enough money to carry himself abroad. A few more
+figures dotted the white road and turned into the open gate at Newtake. One
+shape, though too remote to recognise with certainty, put him in mind of
+Martin Grimbal, another might have been Sam Bonus. He mused upon the two men,
+so dissimilar, and his mind dwelt chiefly with the former. He found himself
+thinking how good it would be if Martin proposed to Chris again; that the
+antiquary had done so was the last idea in his thoughts.</p>
+<p>Presently a brown figure crept through Newtake gate, hesitated a while,
+then began to climb the hill and approach Blanchard. Ship recognised it
+before Will&rsquo;s eyes enabled him to do so, and the dog rose from a long
+rest, stretched, sniffed the air, then trotted off to the approaching
+newcomer.</p>
+<p>It was Ted Chown; and in five minutes he reached his master with a letter.
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis from Miller Lyddon,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;It comed by the
+auctioneer. I thought you was up here.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Blanchard took it without thanks, waited until the labourer had departed,
+then opened the letter with some slight curiosity.</p>
+<p>He read a page of scriptural quotations and admonitions, then tore the
+communication in half with a curse and flung it from him. But presently his
+anger waned; he rose, picked up his father-in-law&rsquo;s note, and plodded
+through it to the end.</p>
+<p>His first emotion was one of profound thanksgiving that he had done so.
+Here, at the very end of the letter, was the practical significance of
+it.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Powder fust, jam arter, by God!&rdquo; cried Will aloud. Then a
+burst of riotous delight overwhelmed him. Once again in his darkest hour had
+Fortune turned the wheel. He shouted, put the letter into his breast pocket,
+rose up and strode off to Chagford as fast as his legs would carry him. He
+thought what his mother and wife would feel upon such news. Then he swore
+heartily&mdash;swore down blessings innumerable on Miller Lyddon, whistled to
+his dog, and so journeyed on.</p>
+<p>The master of Monks Barton had reproved Will through long pages, cited
+Scripture at him, displayed his errors in a grim procession, then praised him
+for his prompt and manly conduct under the present catastrophe, declared that
+his character had much developed of recent years, and concluded by offering
+him five-and-thirty shillings a week at Monks Barton, with the only
+stipulation that himself, his wife, and the children should dwell at the
+farm.</p>
+<p>Praise, of which he had received little enough for many years, was pure
+honey to Will. From the extremity of gloom and from a dark and settled enmity
+towards Mr. Lyddon, he passed quicker than thought to an opposite condition
+of mind.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis a fairy story&mdash;awnly true!&rdquo; he said to
+himself as he swept along.</p>
+<p>Will came near choking when he thought of the miller. Here was a man that
+believed in him! Newtake tumbled clean out of his mind before this revelation
+of Mr. Lyddon&rsquo;s trust and confidence. He was full to the brainpan with
+Monks Barton. The name rang in his ears. Before he reached Chagford he had
+planned innumerable schemes for developing the valley farm, for improving,
+saving, increasing possibilities in a hundred directions. He pictured himself
+putting money into the miller&rsquo;s pocket. He determined to bring that
+about if he had to work four-and-twenty hours a day to do it. He almost
+wished some profound peril would threaten his father-in-law, that he, at the
+cost of half his life, if need be, might rescue him and so pay a little of
+this great debt. Ship, taking the cue from his master, as a dog will, leapt
+and barked before him. In the valley below, Phoebe wept on Mrs.
+Blanchard&rsquo;s bosom, and Chris said hard things of those in authority at
+Monks Barton; up aloft at Newtake, shillings rather than pounds changed hands
+and many a poor lot found no purchaser.</p>
+<p>Passing by a gate beneath the great hill of Middledown, Will saw two
+sportsmen with a keeper and a brace of terriers, emerge from the wild land
+above. They were come from rabbit shooting, as the attendant&rsquo;s heavy
+bag testified. They faced him as he passed, and, recognising John Grimbal,
+Will did not look at his companion. At rest with the world just then, happy
+and contented to a degree he had not reached for years, the young farmer was
+in such amiable mood that he had given the devil &ldquo;good day&rdquo; on
+slightest provocation. Now he was carried out of himself, and spoke upon a
+joyous inclination of the moment.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Marnin&rsquo; to &rsquo;e, Jan Grimbal! Glad to hear tell as your
+greyhound winned the cup down to Newton coursing.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The other was surprised into a sort of grunt; then, as Will moved rapidly
+out of earshot, Grimbal&rsquo;s companion addressed him. It was Major
+Tremayne; and now the soldier regarded Blanchard&rsquo;s vanishing figure
+with evident amazement, then spoke.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;By Jove! Tom Newcombe, by all that&rsquo;s wonderful,&rdquo; he
+said.</p>
+<h2><a id="IV_VI" name="IV_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI<br />
+THE SECRET OUT</h2>
+<p>NOW many different persons in various places were simultaneously concerned
+with Will Blanchard and his affairs.</p>
+<p>At Newtake, Martin Grimbal was quietly buying a few lots&mdash;and those
+worth the most money. He designed these as a gift for Phoebe; and his object
+was not wholly disinterested. The antiquary could by no means bring himself
+to accept his last dismissal from Chris. Seeing the vague nature of those
+terms in which she had couched her refusal, and remembering her frank
+admission that she could love him, he still hoped. All his soul was wrapped
+up in the winning of Chris, and her face came between him and the
+proof-sheets of his book; the first thoughts of his wakening mind turned to
+the same problem; the last reflections of a brain sinking to rest were
+likewise occupied with it. How could he win her? Sometimes his yearning
+desires clamoured for any possible road to the precious goal, and he
+remembered his brother&rsquo;s hint that a secret existed in Will&rsquo;s
+life. At such times he wished that he knew it, and wondered vaguely if the
+knowledge were of a nature to further his own ambition. Then he blushed and
+thought ill of himself But this personal accusation was unjust, for it is the
+property of a strong intellect engaged about affairs of supreme importance,
+to suggest every possible action and present every possible point of view by
+the mere mechanical processes of thinking. The larger a brain, the more
+alternative courses are offered, the more facets gleam with thought, the more
+numerous the roads submitted to judgment. It is a question of intellect, not
+ethics. Right actions and crooked are alike remorselessly presented, and the
+Council of Perfection, which holds that to think amiss is sin, must convict
+every saint of unnumbered offences. As reasonably might we blame him who
+dreams murder. Departure from rectitude can only begin where evil thought is
+converted into evil action, for thought alone of all man&rsquo;s possessions
+and antecedents is free, and a lifetime of self-control and high thinking
+will not shut the door against ideas. That Martin&mdash;a man of luminous if
+limited intellect&mdash;should have considered every possible line of action
+which might assist him to come at the highest good life could offer was
+inevitable; but he missed the reason of certain sinister notions and accused
+himself of baseness in giving birth to them. Nevertheless, the idea recurred
+and took shape. He associated John&rsquo;s assertion of a secret with another
+rumour that had spread much farther afield. This concerned the parentage of
+little Timothy the foundling, for it was whispered widely of late that the
+child belonged to Blanchard. Of course many people knew all the facts, were
+delighted to retail them, and could give the mother&rsquo;s name. Only those
+most vitally concerned had heard nothing as yet.</p>
+<p>These various matters were weighing not lightly on Martin&rsquo;s mind
+during the hours of the Newtake sale; and meantime Will thundered into his
+mother&rsquo;s cottage and roared the news. He would hear of no objection to
+his wish, that one and all should straightway proceed to Monks Barton, and he
+poured forth the miller&rsquo;s praises, while Phoebe was reduced to tears by
+perusal of her father&rsquo;s letter to Will.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Thank Heaven the mystery&rsquo;s read now, an&rsquo; us can see how
+Miller had his eyes &rsquo;pon &rsquo;e both all along an&rsquo; just waited
+for the critical stroke,&rdquo; said Mrs. Blanchard. &ldquo;Sure I&rsquo;ve
+knawed him these many years an&rsquo; never could onderstand his hard way in
+this; but now all&rsquo;s clear.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He might have saved us a world of trouble and a sea o&rsquo; tears
+if he&rsquo;d awnly spoken sooner, whether or no,&rdquo; murmured Chris, but
+Will would tolerate no unfriendly criticism.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;m a gert man, wi&rsquo; his awn way o&rsquo; doin&rsquo;
+things, like all gert men,&rdquo; he burst out; &ldquo;an&rsquo; ban&rsquo;t
+for any man to call un in question. He knawed the hard stuff I was made of
+and let me bide accordin&rsquo;. An&rsquo; now get your bonnets on, the lot
+of &rsquo;e, for I&rsquo;m gwaine this instant moment to Monks
+Barton.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>They followed him in a breathless procession, as he hurried across the
+farmyard.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Rap to the door quick, dear heart,&rdquo; said Phoebe, &ldquo;or
+I&rsquo;ll be cryin&rsquo; again.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No more rappin&rsquo; after thicky butivul letter,&rdquo; answered
+Will. &ldquo;Us&rsquo;ll gaw straight in.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You walk fust, Phoebe&mdash;&rsquo;tis right you should,&rdquo;
+declared Mrs. Blanchard. &ldquo;Then Will can follow &rsquo;e; an&rsquo; me
+an&rsquo; Chris&mdash;us&rsquo;ll walk &rsquo;bout for a bit, till you
+beckons from window.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Cheer up, Phoebe,&rdquo; cried Will. &ldquo;Trouble&rsquo;s blawed
+awver for gude an&rsquo; all now by the look of it. &rsquo;Tis plain sailing
+hencefarrard, thank God, that is, if a pair o&rsquo; strong arms, working
+morning an&rsquo; night for Miller, can bring it about.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>So they went together, where Mr. Lyddon waited nervously within; and
+Damaris and Chris walked beside the river.</p>
+<p>Upon his island sat the anchorite Muscovy duck as of yore. He was getting
+old. He still lived apart and thought deeply about affairs; but his
+conclusions he never divulged.</p>
+<p>Yet another had been surprised into unutterable excitement during that
+afternoon. John Grimbal found the fruit of long desire tumble into his hand
+at last, as Major Tremayne made his announcement. The officer was spending a
+fortnight at the Red House, for his previous friendship with John Grimbal had
+ripened.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;By Jove! Tom Newcombe, by all that&rsquo;s wonderful!&rdquo; he
+exclaimed, as Will swung past him down the hill to happiness.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s not his name. It&rsquo;s Blanchard. He&rsquo;s a young
+fool of a farmer, and Lord knows what he&rsquo;s got to be so cock-a-hoop
+about. Up the hill they&rsquo;re selling every stick he&rsquo;s got at
+auction. He&rsquo;s ruined.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He might be ruined, indeed, if I liked. &lsquo;Tom Newcombe&rsquo;
+he called himself when he was with us.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A soldier!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He certainly was, and my servant; about the most decent,
+straightforward, childlike chap that ever I saw.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;God!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;re surprised. But it&rsquo;s a fact. That&rsquo;s
+Newcombe all right. You couldn&rsquo;t forget a face and a laugh like his.
+The handsomest man I&rsquo;ve ever seen, bar none. He borrowed a suit of my
+clothes, the beggar, when he vanished. But a week later I had the things back
+with a letter. He trusted me that far. I tried to trace him, of course, but
+was not sorry I failed.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A letter!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, giving a reason for his desertion. Some chap was running after
+his girl and had got her in a corner and bullied her into saying
+&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; though she hated the sight of him. I&rsquo;d have done
+anything for Tom. But he took the law into his own hands. He
+disappeared&mdash;we were at Shorncliffe then if I remember rightly. The chap
+had joined to get abroad, and he told me all his harum-scarum ambitions once.
+I hope the poor devil was in time to rescue his sweetheart,
+anyway.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, he was in time for that.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m glad.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Should you see him again, Tremayne, I would advise your pretending
+not to know him. Unless, of course, you consider it your duty to proclaim
+him.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Bless your life, I don&rsquo;t know him from Adam,&rdquo; declared
+the Major. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m not going to move after all these years. I wish
+he&rsquo;d come back to me again, all the same. A good servant.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Poor brute! What&rsquo;s the procedure with a deserter? Do you send
+soldiers for him or the police?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A pair of handcuffs and the local bobby, that&rsquo;s all. Then the
+man&rsquo;s handed over to the military authorities and
+court-martialled.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What would he get?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Depends on circumstances and character. Tom might probably have six
+months, as he didn&rsquo;t give himself up. I should have thought, knowing
+the manner of man, that he would have done his business, married the girl,
+then come back and surrendered. In that case, being peace time, he would only
+have forfeited his service, which didn&rsquo;t amount to much.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>So John Grimbal learned the secret of his enemy at last; but, to pursue a
+former simile, the fruit had remained so long out of reach that now it was
+not only overripe, but rotten. There began a painful resuscitation of desires
+towards revenge&mdash;desires long moribund. To flog into life a passion near
+dead of inanition was Grimbal&rsquo;s disgusting task. For days and nights
+the thing was as Frankenstein&rsquo;s creation of grisly shreds and patches;
+then it moved spasmodically,&mdash;or he fancied that it moved.</p>
+<p>He fooled himself with reiterated assurances that he was glorying in the
+discovery; he told himself that he was not made of the human stuff that can
+forgive bitter wrongs or forget them until cancelled. He painted in lurid
+colours his past griefs; through a ghastly morass of revenge grown stale, of
+memories deadened by time, he tried to struggle back to his original
+starting-point in vanished years, and feel as he felt when he flung Will
+Blanchard over Rushford Bridge.</p>
+<p>Once he wished to God the truth had never reached him; then he urged
+himself to use it instantly and plague his mind no more. A mental exhaustion
+and nausea overtook him. Upon the night of his discovery he retired to sleep
+wishing that Blanchard would be as good as his rumoured word and get out of
+England. But this thought took a shape of reality in the tattered medley of
+dreams, and Grimbal, waking, leapt on to the floor in frantic fear that his
+enemy had escaped him.</p>
+<p>As yet he knew nothing of Will&rsquo;s good fortune, and when it came to
+his ears it unexpectedly failed to reawaken resentment or strengthen his
+animosity. For, as he retraced the story of the past years, it was with him
+as with a man reading the narrative of another&rsquo;s wrongs. He could not
+yet absorb himself anew in the strife; he could not revive the personal
+element.</p>
+<p>Sometimes he looked at himself in the glass as he shaved; and the sight of
+the grey hair thickening on the sides of his head, the spectacle of the deep
+lines upon his forehead and the stamp of many a shadowy crow&rsquo;s-foot
+about his blue eyes&mdash;these indications served more than all his thoughts
+to sting him into deeds and to rekindle an active malignancy.</p>
+<h2><a id="IV_VII" name="IV_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII<br />
+SMALL TIMOTHY</h2>
+<p>A year and more than a year passed by, during which time some pure
+sunshine brightened the life of Blanchard. Chagford laughed at his sustained
+good fortune, declared him to have as many lives as a cat, and secretly
+regretted its outspoken criticism of Miller Lyddon before the event of his
+generosity. Life at Monks Barton was at least wholly happy for Will himself.
+No whisper or rumour of renewed tribulation reached his ear; early and late
+he worked, with whole-hearted energy; he differed from Mr. Blee as seldom as
+possible; he wearied the miller with new designs, tremendous enterprises,
+particulars concerning novel machinery, and much information relating to
+nitrates. Newtake had vanished out of his life, like an old coat put off for
+the last time. He never mentioned the place and there was now but one farm in
+all Devon for him.</p>
+<p>Meantime a strange cloud increased above him, though as yet he had not
+discerned so much as the shadow of it. This circumstance possessed no
+connection with John Grimbal. Time passed and still he did not take action,
+though he continued to nurse his wrongs through winter, spring, and summer,
+as a child nurses a sick animal. The matter tainted his life but did not
+dominate it. His existence continued to be soured and discoloured, yet not
+entirely spoiled. Now a new stone of stumbling lay ahead and Grimbal&rsquo;s
+interest had shifted a little.</p>
+<p>Like the rest of Chagford he heard the rumour of little Timothy&rsquo;s
+parentage&mdash;a rumour that grew as the resemblance ripened between
+Blanchard and the child. Interested by this thought and its significance, he
+devoted some time to it; and then, upon an early October morning, chance
+hurried the man into action. On the spur of an opportunity he played the
+coward, as many another man has done, only to mourn his weakness too
+late.</p>
+<p>There came a misty autumn sunrise beside the river and Grimbal, hastening
+through the valley of Teign, suddenly found himself face to face with Phoebe.
+She had been upon the meadows since grey dawn, where many mushrooms set in
+silvery dew glimmered like pearls through the mist; and now, with a full
+basket, she was returning to Monks Barton for breakfast. As she rested for a
+moment at a stile between two fields, Grimbal loomed large from the foggy
+atmosphere and stood beside her. She moved her basket for him to pass and her
+pulses quickened but slightly, for she had met him on numerous occasions
+during past years and they were now as strangers. To Phoebe he had long been
+nothing, and any slight emotion he might awaken was in the nature of
+resentment that the man could still harden his heart against her husband and
+remain thus stubborn and obdurate after such lapse of time. When, therefore,
+John Grimbal, moved thereto by some sudden prompting, addressed Will&rsquo;s
+wife, she started in astonishment and a blush of warm blood leapt to her
+face. He himself was surprised at his own voice; for it sounded unfamiliar,
+as though some intelligent thing had suddenly possessed him and was using his
+vocal organs for its own ends.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t move. Why, &rsquo;t is a year since we met alone, I
+think. So you are back at Monks Barton. Does it bring thoughts? Is it all
+sweet? By your face I should judge not.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She stared and her mouth trembled, but she did not answer.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You needn&rsquo;t tell me you&rsquo;re happy,&rdquo; he continued,
+with hurried words. &ldquo;Nobody is, for that matter. But you might have
+been. Looking at your ruined life and my own, I can find it in my heart to be
+sorry for us both.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Who dares to say my life is ruined?&rdquo; she flashed out.
+&ldquo;D&rsquo; you think I would change Will for the noblest in the land? He
+<i>is</i> the noblest. I want no pity&mdash;least of all yourn. I&rsquo;ve
+been a very lucky woman&mdash;and&mdash;everybody knaws it whatever they may
+say here an&rsquo; theer.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She was strong before him now; her temper appeared in her voice and she
+took her basket and rose to leave him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Wait one moment. Chance threw us here, and I&rsquo;ll never speak
+to you again if you resent it. But, meeting you like this, something seemed
+to tell me to say a word and let you know. I&rsquo;m sorry you are so
+wretched&mdash;honestly.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I ban&rsquo;t wretched! Never was a happier wife.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Never was a better one, I know; but happy? Think. I was fond of you
+once and I can read between the lines&mdash;the little thin lines on your
+forehead. They are newcomers. I&rsquo;m not deceived. Nor is it hidden. That
+the man has proved faithless is common knowledge now. Facts are hard things
+and you&rsquo;ve got the fact under your eyes. The child&rsquo;s his living
+image.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Who told you, and how dare you foul my ears and thoughts with such
+lies?&rdquo; she asked, her bosom heaving. &ldquo;You&rsquo;m a coward, as
+you always was, but never more a coward than this minute.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;D&rsquo; you pretend that nobody has told you this? Aren&rsquo;t
+your own eyes bright enough to see it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The man was in a pitiful mood, and now he grew hot and forgot himself
+wholly before her stinging contempt. She did not reply to his question and he
+continued,&mdash;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Your silence is an answer. You know well enough. Who&rsquo;s the
+mother? Perhaps you know that, too. Is she more to him than you
+are?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Phoebe made a great effort to keep herself from screaming. Then she moved
+hastily away, but Grimbal stopped her and dared her to proceed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Wait. I&rsquo;ll have this out. Why don&rsquo;t you face him with
+it and make him tell you the truth? Any plucky woman would. The scandal grows
+into a disgrace and your father&rsquo;s a fool to stand it. You can tell him
+so from me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Mind your awn business an&rsquo; let me pass, you hulking, gert,
+venomous wretch!&rdquo; she cried. Then a blackguard inspiration came to the
+man, and, suffering under a growing irritation with himself as much as with
+Phoebe, he conceived an idea by which his secret might after all be made a
+bitter weapon. He assured himself, even while he hated the sight of her, that
+justice to Phoebe must be done. She had dwelt in ignorance long enough. He
+determined to tell her that she was the wife of a deserter. The end gained
+was the real idea in his mind, though he tried to delude himself. The sudden
+idea that he might inform Blanchard through Phoebe of his knowledge really
+actuated him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You may turn your head away as if I was dirt, you little fool, and
+you may call me what names you please; but I&rsquo;m raising this question
+for your good, not my own. What do I care? Only it&rsquo;s a man&rsquo;s part
+to step in when he sees a woman being trampled on.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A man!&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;You&rsquo;m not in our lives any
+more, an&rsquo; we doan&rsquo;t want &rsquo;e in &rsquo;em. More like to a
+meddlin&rsquo; auld woman than a man, if you ax me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You can say that? Then we&rsquo;ll put you out of the question. I,
+at least, shall do my duty.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Is it part of your duty to bully me here alone? Why doan&rsquo;t
+&rsquo;e faace the man, like a man, &rsquo;stead of blusterin&rsquo; to me
+&rsquo;bout it? Out on you! Let me pass, I tell &rsquo;e.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Doan&rsquo;t make that noise. Just listen and stand still.
+I&rsquo;m in earnest. It pleases me to know the true history of this child,
+and I mean to. As a Justice of the Peace I mean to.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ax Will Blanchard then an&rsquo; let him answer. Maybe you&rsquo;ll
+be sorry you spoke arter.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You can tell him I want to see him; you can say I order him to come
+to the Red House between eight and nine next Monday.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Be you a fule? Who&rsquo;s he, to come at your bidding?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;s a&mdash;well, no matter. You&rsquo;ve got enough to
+trouble you. But I think he will come. Tell him that I know where he was
+during the autumn and winter of the year that I returned home from Africa.
+Tell him I know where he came from to marry you. Tell him the grey suit of
+clothes reached the owner safely&mdash;remember, the grey suit of clothes.
+That will refresh his memory. Then I think he will come fast enough and let
+me have the truth concerning this brat. If he refuses, I shall take steps to
+see justice done.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I lay he&rsquo;s never put himself in the power of a black-hearted,
+cruel beast like you,&rdquo; blazed out the woman, furious and frightened at
+once.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Has he not? Ask him. You don&rsquo;t know where he was during those
+months? I thought you didn&rsquo;t. I do. Perhaps this child&mdash;perhaps
+the other woman&rsquo;s the married one&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Phoebe dropped her basket and her face grew very pale before the horrors
+thus coarsely spread before her. She staggered and felt sick at the
+man&rsquo;s last speech. Then, with one great sob of breath, she turned her
+back on him, nerved herself to use her shaking legs, and set off at her best
+speed, as one running from some dangerous beast of the field.</p>
+<p>Grimbal made no attempt to follow, but watched her fade into the mist,
+then turned and pursued his way through the dripping woodlands. Sunrise fires
+gleamed along the upper layers of the fading vapours and gilded
+autumn&rsquo;s handiwork. Ripe seeds fell tapping through the gold of the
+horse-chestnuts, and many acorns also pattered down upon a growing carpet of
+leaves. Webs and gossamers twinkled in the sunlight, and the flaming foliage
+made a pageant of colour through waning mists where red leaves and yellow
+fell at every breath along the thinning woods. Beneath trees and hedgerows
+the ripe mosses gleamed, and coral and amber fungi, with amanita and other
+hooded folk. In companies and clusters they sprang or arose misshapen,
+sinister, and alone. Some were orange and orange-tawny; others white and
+purple; not a few peered forth livid, blotched, and speckled, as with venom
+spattered from some reptile&rsquo;s jaws. On the wreck of the year they
+flourished, sucked strange life from rotten stick and hollow tree, opened
+gills on lofty branch and bough, shone in the green grass rings of the
+meadows, thrust cup and cowl from the concourse of the dead leaves in
+ditches, clustered like the uprising roof-trees of a fairy village in dingle
+and in dene.</p>
+<p>At the edge of the woods John Grimbal stood, and the hour was very dark
+for him and he cursed at the loss of his manhood. His heart turned to gall
+before the thought of the thing he had done, as he blankly marvelled what
+unsuspected base instinct had thus disgraced him. He had plumbed a
+possibility unknown within his own character, and before his shattered
+self-respect he stood half passionate, half amazed. Chance had thus wrecked
+him; an impulse had altered the whole face of the problem; and he gritted his
+teeth as he thought of Blanchard&rsquo;s feelings when Phoebe should tell her
+story. As for her, she at least had respected him during the past years; but
+what must henceforth be her estimate of him? He heaped bitter contempt upon
+himself for this brutality to a woman; he raged, as he pursued long chains of
+consequences begot of this single lapse of self-control. His eye was cleared
+from passion; he saw the base nature of his action and judged himself as
+others would judge him. This spectacle produced a definite mental issue and
+aroused long-stagnant emotions from their troubled slumbers. He discovered
+that a frank hatred of Will Blanchard awoke and lived. He told himself this
+man was to blame for all, and not content with poisoning his life, now
+ravaged his soul also and blighted every outlook of his being. Like a speck
+upon an eyeball, which blots the survey of the whole eye, so this wretch had
+fastened upon him, ruined his ambitions, wrecked his life, and now dragged
+his honour and his very manhood into the dust. John Grimbal found himself
+near choked by a raging fit of passion at last. He burnt into sheer frenzy
+against Blanchard; and the fuel of the fire was the consciousness of his own
+craven performance of that morning. Flying from self-contemplation, he sought
+distraction and even oblivion at any source where his mind could win it; and
+now he laid all blame on his enemy and suffered the passion of his own shame
+and remorse to rise, as it had been a red mist, against this man who was
+playing havoc with his body and soul. He trembled under the loneliness of the
+woods in a debauch of mere brute rage that exhausted him and left a mark on
+the rest of his life. Even his present powers appeared trifling and their
+exercise a deed unsatisfying before this frenzy. What happiness could be
+achieved by flinging Blanchard into prison for a few months at most? What
+salve could be won from thought of this man&rsquo;s disgrace and social ruin?
+The spectacle sank into pettiness now. His blood was surging through his
+veins and crying for action. Primitive passion gripped him and craved
+primitive outlet. At that hour, in his own deepest degradation, the man came
+near madness, and every savage voice in him shouted for blood and blows and
+batterings in the flesh.</p>
+<p>Phoebe Blauchard hastened home, meanwhile, and kept her own counsel upon
+the subject of the dawn&rsquo;s sensational incidents. Her first instinct was
+to tell her husband everything at the earliest opportunity, but Will had
+departed to his work before she reached the farm, and on second thoughts she
+hesitated to speak or give John Grimbal&rsquo;s message. She feared to
+precipitate the inevitable. In her own heart what mystery revolved about
+Will&rsquo;s past performances undoubtedly embraced the child fashioned in
+his likeness; and though she had long fought against the rumour and deceived
+herself by pretending to believe Chris, whose opinion differed from that of
+most people, yet at her heart she felt truth must lie hidden somewhere in the
+tangle. Will and Mr. Lyddon alone knew nothing of the report, and Phoebe
+hesitated to break it to her husband. He was happy&mdash;perhaps in the
+consciousness that nobody realised the truth; and yet at his very gates a
+bitter foe guessed at part of his secret and knew the rest. Still Phoebe
+could not bring herself to speak immediately. A day of mental stress and
+strain ended, and she retired and lay beside Will very sad. Under darkness of
+night the threats of the enemy grew into an imminent disaster of terrific
+dimensions, and with haunting fear she finally slept, to waken in a
+nightmare.</p>
+<p>Will, wholly ignorant of the facts, soothed Phoebe&rsquo;s alarm and
+calmed her as she clung to him in hysterical tears.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No ill shall come to &rsquo;e while I live,&rdquo; she sobbed:
+&ldquo;not if all the airth speaks evil of &rsquo;e. I&rsquo;ll cleave to
+&rsquo;e, and fight for &rsquo;e, an&rsquo; be a gude wife, tu,&mdash;a
+better wife than you&rsquo;ve been husband.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Bide easy, an&rsquo; doan&rsquo;t cry no more. My arm&rsquo;s round
+&rsquo;e, dearie. Theer, give awver, do! You&rsquo;ve been dreamin&rsquo;
+ugly along o&rsquo; the poor supper you made, I reckon. Doan&rsquo;t &rsquo;e
+think nobody&rsquo;s hand against me now, for ban&rsquo;t so. Folks begin to
+see the manner of man I am; an&rsquo; Miller knaws, which is all I care
+about. He&rsquo;ve got a strong right arm workin&rsquo; for him an&rsquo; a
+tidy set o&rsquo; brains, though I sez it; an&rsquo; you might have a worse
+husband, tu, Phoebe; but theer&mdash;shut your purty eyes&mdash;I knaw they
+&rsquo;m awpen still, for I can hear your lashes against the sheet. An&rsquo;
+doan&rsquo;t &rsquo;e go out in the early dews mushrooming no more, for
+&rsquo;t is cold work, an&rsquo; you&rsquo;ve got to be strong these next
+months.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She thought for a moment of telling him boldly concerning the legend
+spreading on every side; but, like others less near and dear to him, she
+feared to do so.</p>
+<p>Knowing Will Blanchard, not a man among the backbiters had cared to risk a
+broken head by hinting openly at the startling likeness between the child and
+himself; and Phoebe felt her own courage unequal to the task just then. She
+racked her brains with his dangers long after he was himself asleep, and
+finally she determined to seek Chris next morning and hear her opinion before
+taking any definite step.</p>
+<p>On the same night another pair of eyes were open, and trouble of a sort
+only less deep than that of the wife kept her father awake. Billy had taken
+an opportunity to tell his master of the general report and spread before him
+the facts as he knew them.</p>
+<p>The younger members of the household had retired early, and when Miller
+Lyddon took the cards from the mantelpiece and made ready for their customary
+game, Mr. Blee shook his head and refused to play.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Got no heart for cards to-night,&rdquo; he said.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What&rsquo;s amiss, then? Thank God I&rsquo;ve heard little to call
+ill news for a month or two. Not but what I&rsquo;ve fancied a shadow on my
+gal&rsquo;s face more&rsquo;n wance.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If not on hers, wheer should &rsquo;e see it?&rdquo; asked Mr. Blee
+eagerly.&ldquo; I&rsquo;ve seed it, tu, an&rsquo; for that matter
+theer&rsquo;s sour looks an&rsquo; sighs elsewheer. People ban&rsquo;t blind,
+worse luck. &rsquo;Tis grawed to be common talk, an&rsquo; I&rsquo;ve fired
+myself to tell you, &rsquo;cause &rsquo;tis fitting an&rsquo; right,
+an&rsquo; it might come more grievous from less careful lips.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Go on then; an&rsquo; doan&rsquo;t rack me longer&rsquo;n you can
+help. Use few words.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Many words must go to it, I reckon. &rsquo;Tis well knawn I unfolds
+a bit o&rsquo; news like the flower of the field&mdash;gradual and sure. You
+might have noticed that love-cheel by the name of Timothy &rsquo;bout the
+plaace? Him as be just of age to harry the ducks an&rsquo;
+such-like.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A nice li&rsquo;l bwoy, tu, an&rsquo; fond of me; an&rsquo; you
+caan&rsquo;t say he&rsquo;m a love-cheel, knawin&rsquo; nothin&rsquo;
+&rsquo;bout him.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Love-cheel or changeling, &rsquo;tis all wan. Have&rsquo;e ever
+thought &rsquo;twas coorious the way Blanchard comed by un?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Certainly &rsquo;twas&mdash;terrible coorious.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You never doubted it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why for should I? Will&rsquo;s truthful as light, whatever else he
+may be.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You believe as he went &rsquo;pon the Moor an&rsquo; found that
+bwoy in a roundy-poundy under the gloamin&rsquo;?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess, I do.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Have&rsquo;e ever looked at the laddie close?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oftentimes&mdash;so like Will as two peas.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Theer &rsquo;tis! The picter of Will! How do&rsquo;e read
+that?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Never tried to. An accident, no more.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A damn queer accident, if you ax me. Burnish it all! You
+doan&rsquo;t see yet, such a genius of a man as you tu! Why, Will
+Blanchard&rsquo;s the faither of the li&rsquo;l twoad! You&rsquo;ve awnly got
+to know the laws of nature an&rsquo; such-like to swear to it. The way he
+walks an&rsquo; holds his head, his curls, his fashion of lording it awver
+the birds an&rsquo; beasts, the sudden laugh of un&mdash;he&rsquo;s
+Will&rsquo;s son, for a thousand pound, an&rsquo; his mother&rsquo;s alive,
+like as not.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No mother would have gived up a child that way.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Zactly so! Onless she gived it to the faither!&rdquo; said
+Billy triumphantly.</p>
+<p>Mr. Lyddon reflected and showed an evident disposition to scoff at the
+whole story.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis stuff an&rsquo; rubbish!&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;You
+might as well find a mare&rsquo;s nest t&rsquo;other side an&rsquo; say
+&rsquo;twas Will&rsquo;s sister&rsquo;s child. &rsquo;Tis almost so like her
+as him, an&rsquo; got her brown eyes in the bargain.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;God forbid!&rdquo; answered Billy, in horror. &ldquo;That&rsquo;s
+flat libel, an&rsquo; I&rsquo;d be the last to voice any such thing for
+money. If a man gets a cheel wrong side the blanket &rsquo;tis just a passing
+sarcumstance, an&rsquo; not to be took too serious. Half-a-crown a week is
+its awn punishment like. But if a gal do, &rsquo;tis destruction to the end
+of the chapter, an&rsquo; shame everlasting in the world to come, by all
+accounts. You didn&rsquo;t ought to think o&rsquo; such things,
+Miller,&mdash;takin&rsquo; a pure, gude maiden&rsquo;s carater like that.
+Surprised at &rsquo;e!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis just as mad a thought wan way as t&rsquo;other, and if
+you&rsquo;m surprised so be I. To be a tale-bearer at your time o&rsquo;
+life!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That gormed Blanchard&rsquo;s bewitched &rsquo;e from fust to
+last!&rdquo; burst out Billy. &ldquo;If a angel from heaven comed down-long
+and tawld &rsquo;e the truth &rsquo;bout un, you wouldn&rsquo;t
+b&rsquo;lieve. God stiffen it! You make me mad! You&rsquo;d stand &rsquo;pon
+your head an&rsquo; waggle your auld legs in the air for un if he axed
+&rsquo;e.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll speak to him straight an&rsquo; take his word for it. If
+it&rsquo;s true, he &rsquo;m wickedly to blame, I knaw that.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I was thinkin&rsquo; of your darter. &rsquo;Tis black thoughts have
+kept her waking since this reached her ears.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Did you tell her what people were sayin&rsquo;? I warrant you
+did!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;m wrong then. No such thing. I may have just heaved a
+sigh when I seed the bwoy playin&rsquo; in front of her, an&rsquo; looked at
+Blanchard, an&rsquo; shook my head, or some such gentle hint as that. But no
+more.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, I doan&rsquo;t believe a word of it; an&rsquo; I&rsquo;ll
+tell you this for your bettering,&mdash;&rsquo;tis poor religion in you,
+Blee, to root into other people&rsquo;s troubles, like a pig in a trough;
+an&rsquo; auld though you be, you &rsquo;m not tu auld to mind what it felt
+like when the blood was hot an&rsquo; quick to race at the sight of a
+maid.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I practice same as I preach, whether or no,&rdquo; said Billy
+stoutly, &ldquo;an&rsquo; I can&rsquo;t lay claim to creating nothing lawful
+or unlawful in my Maker&rsquo;s image. &rsquo;Tis something to say that, in
+these godless days. I&rsquo;ve allus kept my foot on the world, the flesh,
+an&rsquo; the Devil so tight as the best Christian in company; an&rsquo; if
+that ban&rsquo;t a record for a stone, p&rsquo;raps you&rsquo;ll tell me a
+better. Your two-edged tongue do make me feel sometimes as though I did ought
+to go right away from &rsquo;e, though God knaws&mdash;God, He
+knaws&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Billy hid his face and began to weep, while Mr. Lyddon watched the
+candle-light converge to a shining point upon his bald skull.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Doan&rsquo;t go against a word in season, my dear sawl. &rsquo;Tis
+our duty to set each other right. That&rsquo;s what we&rsquo;m put here for,
+I doubt. Many&rsquo;s the time you&rsquo;ve given me gude advice, an&rsquo;
+I&rsquo;ve thanked &rsquo;e an&rsquo; took it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then he went for the spirits and mixed Mr. Blee a dose of more than usual
+strength.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;m the most biting user of language in Chagford, when you
+mind to speak sour,&rdquo; declared Billy. &ldquo;If I thought you meant all
+you said, I&rsquo;d go an&rsquo; hang myself in the barn this instant moment.
+But you doan&rsquo;t.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He snuffled and dried his scanty tears on a red handkerchief, then cheered
+up and drank his liquor.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It do take all sorts to make a world, an&rsquo; a man must act
+accordin&rsquo; as he&rsquo;m built,&rdquo; continued Mr. Lyddon.
+&ldquo;Ban&rsquo;t no more use bein&rsquo; angered wi&rsquo; a chap given to
+women than &rsquo;tis bein&rsquo; angered wi&rsquo; a fule, because
+he&rsquo;s a fule. What do &rsquo;e expect from a fule but folly, or a crab
+tree but useless fruit, or hot blood but the ways of it? This ban&rsquo;t to
+speak of Will Blanchard, though. &rsquo;Pon him we&rsquo;ll say no more till
+he&rsquo;ve heard what&rsquo;s on folks&rsquo; tongues. A maddening
+bwoy&mdash;I&rsquo;ll allow you that&mdash;an&rsquo; he&rsquo;ve took a year
+or two off my life wan time an&rsquo; another. &rsquo;Pears I ban&rsquo;t
+never to graw to love un as I would; an&rsquo; yet I caan&rsquo;t quite help
+it when I sees his whole-hearted ferment to put money into my pocket; or when
+I hears him talk of nitrates an&rsquo; the ways o&rsquo; the world; or
+watches un playin&rsquo; make-believe wi&rsquo; the childer&mdash;himself the
+biggest cheel as ever laughed at fulishness or wanted spankin&rsquo;
+an&rsquo; putting in the corner.&rdquo;</p>
+<h2><a id="IV_VIII" name="IV_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII<br />
+FLIGHT</h2>
+<p>On the following morning Miller Lyddon arose late, looked from his window
+and immediately observed the twain with whom his night thoughts had been
+concerned. Will stood at the gate smoking; small Timothy, and another lad, of
+slightly riper years, appeared close by. The children were fighting tooth and
+nail upon the ownership of a frog, and this reptile itself, fastened by the
+leg to a stick, listlessly watched the progress of the battle. Will likewise
+surveyed the scene with genial attention, and encouraged the particular
+little angry animal who had most claim upon his interest. Timothy kicked and
+struck out pretty straight, but fought in silence; the bigger boy screamed
+and howled and scratched.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Vang into un, man, an&rsquo; knock his ugly head off!&rdquo; said
+Will encouragingly, and the babe to whom he spoke made renewed efforts as
+both combatants tumbled into the road, the devil in their little bright eyes,
+each puny muscle straining. Tim had his foe by the hair, and the elder was
+trying to bite his enemy&rsquo;s leg, when Martin Grimbal and Chris Blanchard
+approached from Rushford Bridge. They had met by chance, and Chris was coming
+to the farm while the antiquary had business elsewhere. Now a scuffle in a
+cloud of dust arrested them and the woman, uninfluenced by considerations of
+sportsmanship, pounced upon Timothy, dragged him from his operations, and,
+turning to Will, spoke as Martin Grimbal had never heard her speak
+before.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You, a grawed man, to stand theer an&rsquo; see that gert wild
+beast of a bwoy tear this li&rsquo;l wan like a savage tiger! Look at his
+sclowed faace all streaming wi&rsquo; blood! &rsquo;S truth! I&rsquo;d like
+to sarve you the same, an&rsquo; I would for two pins! I&rsquo;m ashamed of
+&rsquo;e!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He hit wi&rsquo; his fistes like a gude un,&rdquo; said Will,
+grinning; &ldquo;an&rsquo; he&rsquo;m made o&rsquo; the right stuff,
+I&rsquo;ll swear. Couldn&rsquo;t have done better if he was my awn son. I be
+gwaine to give un a braave toy bimebye. You see t&rsquo;other kid&rsquo;s
+faace come to-morrow!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Martin Grimbal watched Chris fondle the gasping Timothy, clean his wounds,
+calm his panting heart; then, as though a superhuman voice whispered in his
+ear, her secret stood solved, and the truth of Timothy&rsquo;s parentage
+confronted him in a lightning flash of the soul. He looked at Chris as a man
+might gaze upon a spectre; he stared at her and through her into her past; he
+pieced each part of the puzzle to its kindred parts until all stood complete;
+he read &ldquo;mother&rdquo; in her voice, in her caressing hands and
+gleaming eyes as surely as man reads morning in the first light of dawn; and
+he marvelled that a thing so clear and naked had been left to his discovery.
+The revelation shook him not a little, for he was familiar with the rumours
+concerning Tim&rsquo;s paternity, and had been disposed to believe them; but
+from the moment of the new thought&rsquo;s inception it gripped him, for he
+felt that the thing was true. As lamps, so ordered that the light of each may
+fall on the fringe of darkness where its fellow fades, and thus complete a
+chain of illumination, so the present discovery, duly considered, was but one
+point of truth revealing others. It made clear much that had not been easy to
+understand, and the tremendous fact rose in his mind as a link in such a
+perfect sequence of evidence that doubt actually vanished before he had lost
+sight of Chris and passed dumfounded upon his way. Her lover&rsquo;s sudden
+death, her own disappearance, the child&rsquo;s advent at Newtake, and the
+woman&rsquo;s subsequent return&mdash;these main incidents connected a
+thousand others and explained what little mystery still obscured the
+position. He pursued his road and marvelled as he went how a tragedy so
+thinly veiled had thus escaped every eye. Within the story that Chris had
+told, this other story might be intercalated without convicting her of any
+spoken falsehood. Now he guessed at the reason why Timothy&rsquo;s mother had
+refused to marry him on his last proposal; then, thinking of the child, he
+knew Tim&rsquo;s father.</p>
+<p>So he stood before the truth; and it filled his heart with some agony and
+some light. Examining his love in this revelation, he discovered strange
+things; and first, that it was love only that had opened his eyes and enabled
+him to solve the secret at all. Nobody had made the discovery but himself,
+and he, of all men the least likely to come at any concern others desired to
+hide from him, had fathomed this great fact, had won it from the heart of
+unconscious Chris. His love widened and deepened into profound pity as he
+thought of all that her secret and the preservation of it must have meant;
+and tears dimmed his eyes as he pictured her life since her lover&rsquo;s
+passing.</p>
+<p>To him the discovery hurt Chris so little that for a time he underrated
+the effect of it upon other people. His affection rose clean above the
+unhappy fact, and it was some time before he began to appreciate the
+spectacle of Chris under the world&rsquo;s eye with the truth no longer
+hidden. Then a sense of his own helplessness overmastered him; he walked
+slowly, drew up at a gate and stood motionless, leaning over it. So silent
+did he stand, and so long, that a stoat hopped across the road within two
+yards of him.</p>
+<p>He realised to the full that he was absolutely powerless. Chris alone must
+disperse the rumours fastening on her brother if they were to be dispersed.
+He knew that she would not suffer any great cloud of unjust censure to rest
+upon Will, and he saw what a bitter problem must be overwhelming her. Nobody
+could help her and he, who knew, was as powerless as the rest. Then he asked
+himself if that last conviction was true. He probed the secret places of his
+mind to find an idea; he prayed for some chance spark or flash of genius to
+aid him before this trial; he mourned his own simple brains, so weak to aid
+him in this vital pass. But of all living men the accidental discovery was
+most safe with him. His heart went out to the secret mother, and he told
+himself that he would guard her mystery like gold.</p>
+<p>It was strange in a nature so timorous that not once did a suspicion he
+had erred overtake him, and presently he wondered to observe how ancient this
+discovery of the motherhood of Chris had grown within his mind. It appeared
+as venerable as his own love for her. He yearned for power to aid; without
+conscious direction of his course he proceeded and strode along for hours.
+Then he ate a meal of bread and cheese at an inn and tramped forward once
+more upon a winding road towards the village of Zeal.</p>
+<p>Through his uncertainty, athwart the deep perplexity of his mind, moved
+hope and a shadowed joy. Within him arose again the vision of happiness once
+pictured and prayed for, once revived, never quite banished to the grey limbo
+of ambitions beyond fulfilment. Now realities saddened the thought of it and
+brought ambition within a new environment less splendid than the old. But,
+despite clouds, hope shone fairly forth at last. So a planet, that the eye
+has followed at twilight and then lost a while, beams anew at dawn after
+lapse of days, and wheels in wide mazes upon some new background of the
+unchanging stars.</p>
+<p>Elsewhere Mr. Lyddon braced himself to a painful duty, and had private
+speech with his son-in-law. Like a thunderbolt the circling suspicions fell
+on Will, and for a moment smothered his customary characteristics under sheer
+surprise.</p>
+<p>The miller spoke nervously, and walked up and down with his eyes
+averted.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ban&rsquo;t no gert matter, I hope, an&rsquo; I won&rsquo;t keep
+&rsquo;e from your work five minutes. You&rsquo;ve awnly got to say
+&lsquo;No,&rsquo; an&rsquo; theer&rsquo;s an end of it so far as I&rsquo;m
+concerned. &rsquo;Tis this: have &rsquo;e noticed heads close together now
+an&rsquo; again when you passed by of late?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not me. Tu much business on my hands, I assure &rsquo;e. Coourse
+theer&rsquo;s envious whisperings; allus is when a man gets a high place,
+same as what I have, thanks to his awn gude sense an&rsquo; the wisdom of
+others as knaws what he&rsquo;s made of. But you trusted me wi&rsquo; all
+your heart, an&rsquo; you&rsquo;ll never live to mourn it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I never want to. You&rsquo;m grawing to be much to me by slow
+stages. Yet these here tales. This child Timothy. Who&rsquo;s his faither,
+Will, an&rsquo; who&rsquo;s his mother?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How the flaming hell should I knaw? I found him same as you finds a
+berry on a briar. That&rsquo;s auld history, surely?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The child graws so &rsquo;mazing like you, that even dim eyes such
+as mine can see it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>A sudden flash of light came into Blanchard&rsquo;s face. Then the fire
+died as quickly as it had been kindled, and he grew calm.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;God A&rsquo;mighty!&rdquo; he said, in a voice hushed and awed.
+&ldquo;They think that! I lay that&rsquo;s why your darter&rsquo;s cried
+o&rsquo; nights, then, an&rsquo; Chris have grawed sad an&rsquo; wisht in her
+ways, an&rsquo; mother have pet the bwoy wan moment an&rsquo; been short
+wi&rsquo; un the next.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He remained marvellously quiet under this attack, but amazement chiefly
+marked his attitude. Miller Lyddon, encouraged by this unexpected
+reasonableness, spoke again more sternly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The thing looks bad to a wife an&rsquo; mother, an&rsquo;
+&rsquo;tis my duty to ax &rsquo;e for a plain, straightforward answer
+&rsquo;pon it. Human nature&rsquo;s got a ugly trick of repeatin&rsquo;
+itself in this matter, as we all knaws. But I&rsquo;ll say nought an&rsquo;
+think nought till you answers me. Be the bwoy yourn or not? Tell me true,
+with your hand on this.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He took his Bible from the mantelpiece, while Will, apparently cowed by
+the gravity of the situation, placed both palms upon it, then fixed his eyes
+solemnly upon Mr. Lyddon.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;As God in heaven&rsquo;s my judge, he ban&rsquo;t no cheel of mine,
+and I knaw nothing about him&mdash;no, nor yet his faither nor mother nor
+plaace of birth. I found un wheer I said, and if I&rsquo;ve lied by a
+fraction, may God choke me as I stand here afore you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; I believe you to the bottom!&rdquo; declared his
+father-in-law. &ldquo;I believe you as I hopes to be believed myself, when I
+stands afore the Open Books an&rsquo; says I&rsquo;ve tried to do my duty.
+You&rsquo;ve got me on your side, an&rsquo; that&rsquo;s to say you&rsquo;ll
+have Phoebe an&rsquo; your mother, tu, for certain.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then Blanchard&rsquo;s mood changed, and there came a tremendous rebound
+from the tension of the last few minutes. In the anti-climax following upon
+his oath, passion, chained a while by astonishment, broke loose in a
+whirlwind.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Let &rsquo;em believe or disbelieve, who cares?&rdquo; he thundered
+out. &ldquo;Not me&mdash;not a curse for you or anybody, my awn blood or not
+my awn blood. To harbour lies against me! But women loves to believe bad most
+times.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Who said they believed it, Will? Doan&rsquo;t go mad, now
+&rsquo;tis awver and done.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They <i>did</i> believe it; I knaw, I seed it in theer faaces, come
+to think of it. &rsquo;Tis the auld song. I caan&rsquo;t do no right. Course
+I&rsquo;ve got childer an&rsquo; ruined maids in every parish of the Moor!
+God damn theer lying, poisonous tongues, the lot of &rsquo;em! I&rsquo;m sick
+of this rotten, lie-breeding hole, an&rsquo; of purty near every sawl in it
+but mother. She never would think against me. An&rsquo; me, so true to Phoebe
+as the honey-bee to his awn butt! I&rsquo;ll go&mdash;I&rsquo;ll get out of
+it&mdash;so help me, I will&mdash;to a clean land, &rsquo;mongst
+clean-thinking folk, wheer men deal fair and judge a chap by his works. For a
+thought I&rsquo;d wring the neck of the blasted child, by God I
+would!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;ve done no wrong.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Nor me neither. I had no more hand in his getting than he had
+himself. Poor li&rsquo;l brat; I&rsquo;m sorry I spoke harsh of him. He was
+give me&mdash;he was give me&mdash;an&rsquo; I wish to God he <i>was</i>
+mine. Anyways he shaa&rsquo;n&rsquo;t come to no harm. I&rsquo;ll fight the
+lot of &rsquo;e for un, till he &rsquo;s auld enough to fight for
+hisself.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then Will burst out of Monks Barton and vanished. He passed far from the
+confines of the farm, roamed on to the high Moor, and nothing further was
+seen of him until the following day.</p>
+<p>Those most concerned assembled after his departure and heard the result of
+the interview.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Solemn as a minister he swore,&rdquo; explained Mr. Lyddon;
+&ldquo;an&rsquo; then, a&rsquo;most before his hands was off the Book, he
+burst out like a screeching, ravin&rsquo; hurricane. I half felt the oath was
+vain then, an&rsquo; &rsquo;t was his real nature bubblin&rsquo; up
+like.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>They discussed the matter, all save Chris, who sat apart, silent and
+abstracted. Presently she rose and left them, and faced her own trouble
+single-handed, as she had similarly confronted greater sorrows in the
+past.</p>
+<p>She was fully determined to conceal her cherished secret still; yet not
+for the superficial reason that had occurred to any mind. Vast mental
+alterations had transformed Chris Blanchard since the death of Clement. Her
+family she scarcely considered now; no power of logic would have convinced
+her that she had wronged them or darkened their fame. In the past, indeed,
+not the least motive of her flight had centred in the fear of Will; but now
+she feared nobody, and her own misfortune held no shadow of sin or shame for
+her, looking back upon it. Those who would have denied themselves her society
+or friendship upon this knowledge it would have given her no pang to lose.
+She could feel fiercely still, as she looked back to the birth of her son and
+traced the long course of her sufferings; and she yet experienced occasional
+thrills of satisfaction in her weaker moments, when she lowered the mask and
+reflected, not without pride, on the strength and determination that had
+enabled her to keep her secret. But to reveal the truth now was a prospect
+altogether hateful in the eyes of Chris, and she knew the reason. More than
+once had she been upon the brink of disclosure, since recent unhappy
+suspicions had darkened Phoebe&rsquo;s life; but she had postponed the
+necessary step again and again, at one thought. Her fortitude, her apathy,
+her stoic indifference, broke down and left her all woman before one
+necessity of confession; her heart stood still when she remembered that
+Martin Grimbal must know and judge. His verdict she did, indeed, dread with
+all her soul, and his only; for him she had grown to love, and the thought of
+his respect and regard was precious to her. Everybody must know, everybody or
+nobody. For long she could conceive of no action clearing Will in the eyes of
+the wider circle who would not be content to take his word, and yet leaving
+herself uninvolved. Then the solution came. She would depart once more with
+the child. Such a flight was implicit confession, and could not be
+misunderstood. Martin must, indeed, know, but she would never see him after
+he knew. To face him after the truth had reached his ear seemed to Chris a
+circumstance too terrible to dwell upon. Her action, of course, would
+proclaim the parentage of Timothy, and free Will from further slanderings;
+while for herself, through tears she saw the kind faces of the gypsy people
+and her life henceforth devoted to her little one.</p>
+<p>To accentuate the significance of the act she determined to carry out her
+intention that same day, and during the afternoon opportunity offered. Her
+son, playing alone in the farmyard, came readily enough for a walk, and
+before three o&rsquo;clock they had set out. The boy&rsquo;s face was badly
+scratched from his morning battle, but pain had ceased, and his injuries only
+served as an object of great interest to Timothy. Where water in ditch or
+puddle made a looking-glass he would stop to survey himself.</p>
+<p>A spectator, aware of certain facts, had viewed the progress of Chris with
+some slight interest. Three ways were open to her, three main thoroughfares
+leading out of Chagford to places of parallel or greater importance. Upon the
+Moor road Will wandered in deep perturbation; on that to Okehampton walked
+another man, concerned with the same problem from a different aspect; the
+third highway led to Moreton; and thither Chris might have proceeded
+unchallenged. But a little public vehicle would be returning just then from
+the railway station. That the runaway knew, and therefore selected another
+path.</p>
+<p>In her pocket was all the money that she had; in her heart was a sort of
+alloyed sorrow. Two thoughts shared her mind after she had decided upon a
+course of action. She wondered how quickly Tim would learn to call her
+&ldquo;mother,&rdquo; for that was the only sweet word life still held; yet
+of the child&rsquo;s father she did not think, for her mind, without special
+act of volition, turned and turned again to him upon whom the Indian summer
+of her love had descended.</p>
+<h2><a id="IV_IX" name="IV_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX<br />
+UNDER COSDON BEACON</h2>
+<p>Beneath a region where the &ldquo;newtakes&rdquo; straggle up
+Cosdon&rsquo;s eastern flank and mark a struggle between man and the giant
+beacon, Chris Blanchard rested a while upon the grass by the highway. Tim,
+wrapped in a shawl, slept soundly beside his mother, and she sat with her
+elbows on her knees and one hand under her chin. It was already dusk; dark
+mist wreaths moved upon the Moor, and oncoming night winds sighed of rain.
+Then a moment before her intended departure from this most solitary spot she
+heard footsteps upon the road. Not interested to learn anything of the
+passer-by, Chris remained with her eyes upon the ground, but the footsteps
+stopped suddenly before her, whereupon she looked up and saw Martin
+Grimbal.</p>
+<p>After a perambulation of twenty miles he had now set his face homewards,
+and thus the meeting was accomplished. Utmost constraint at first marked the
+expression of both man and woman, and it was left for Martin to break the
+silence, for Chris only started at seeing him, but said nothing. Her mind,
+however, ranged actively upon the reason of Grimbal&rsquo;s sudden
+appearance, and she did not at first believe it accidental.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why, my dear, what is this? You have wandered far
+afield!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He addressed her in unnatural tones, for surprise and emotion sent his
+voice up into his head, and it came thin and tremulous as a woman&rsquo;s.
+Even as he spoke Martin feared. From the knowledge gleaned by him that
+morning he suspected the meaning of this action, and thought that Chris was
+running away.</p>
+<p>And she, at the same moment, divined that he guessed the truth in so far
+as the present position was concerned. Still she did not speak, and he grew
+calmer and took her silence as an admission.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;re going away from Chagford? Is it wise?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess, Martin, &rsquo;tis best so. You see this poor child be
+breedin&rsquo; trouble, an&rsquo; bringing bad talk against Will. He
+ban&rsquo;t wanted&mdash;little Timothy&mdash;an&rsquo; I ban&rsquo;t wanted
+overmuch, so it comed to me I&rsquo;d&mdash;I&rsquo;d just slip away out of
+the turmoil an&rsquo; taake Tim. Then&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She stopped, for her heart was beating so fast that she could speak no
+more. She remembered her own arguments in the recent past,&mdash;that this
+flight must tell all who cared to reflect that the child was her own. Now she
+looked up at Martin to see if he had guessed it. But he exhibited extreme
+self-control and she was reassured.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Just like your thoughtful self to try and save others from sorrow.
+Where are you going to, Chris? Don&rsquo;t tell me more than you please; but
+I may be useful to you on this, the first stage of the journey.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;To Okehampton to-night. To-morrow&mdash;but I&rsquo;d rather not
+say any more. I don&rsquo;t care so long as you think I&rsquo;m
+right.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I haven&rsquo;t said that yet. But I&rsquo;ll go as far as Zeal
+with you. Then we&rsquo;ll get a covered cab or something. We may reach the
+village before rain.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No call for your coming. &rsquo;Tis awnly a short mile.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But I must. I&rsquo;ll carry the laddie. Poor little man! Hard to
+be the cause of such a bother.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He picked Timothy up so gently that the child did not wake.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Now,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;come along. You must be tired
+already.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How gude you be!&rdquo; she said wearily. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m glad you
+doan&rsquo;t scold or fall into a rage wi&rsquo; me, for I knaw I&rsquo;m
+right. The bwoy&rsquo;s better away, and I&rsquo;m small use to any now. But
+I can be busy with this little wan. I might do worse than give up my life to
+un&mdash;eh, Martin?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then some power put words in his mouth. He trembled when he had spoken
+them, but he would not have recalled them.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You couldn&rsquo;t do better. It&rsquo;s a duty staring you in the
+face.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She started violently, and her dark skin flamed under the night.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why d&rsquo;you say that?&rdquo; she asked, with loud, harsh voice,
+and stopping still as she did so. &ldquo;Why d&rsquo;you say
+&lsquo;duty&rsquo;?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He, too, stood and looked at her.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My dear,&rdquo; he answered, &ldquo;love&rsquo;s a quick, subtle
+thing. It can make even such a man as I am less stupid than Nature built him.
+It fires dull brains; it adds sight to dim eyes; it shows the bookworm how to
+find out secrets hidden from keener spirits; it lifts a veil from the loved
+one and lets the lover see more than anybody else can. Be patient with me. I
+spoke because I love you still with all my heart and soul, Chris; I spoke,
+because what I feel for you is lifelong, and cannot change. Had I not still
+worshipped the earth under your feet I would have died rather than tell you.
+But love makes me bold. I have watched you so long and prayed for you so
+often. I have seen little differences in you that nobody else saw. And to-day
+I know. I knew when you picked up Timothy and flew at Will. Since then
+I&rsquo;ve wandered Heaven can tell where, just thinking and thinking and
+wondering and seeing no way. And all the time God meant me to come and find
+you and tell you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She understood; she gave one bitter cry that started an echo from ruined
+mine-workings hard at hand; then she turned from him, and, in a moment of
+sheer hopeless misery, flung herself and her wrecked ambitions upon the
+ground by the wayside.</p>
+<p>For a moment the man stood scared by this desperate answer to his words.
+Then he put his burden down, approached Chris, knelt beside her, and tried to
+raise her. She sat up at last with panting breast and eyes in which some
+terror sat.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You!&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;You to knaw! Wasn&rsquo;t my cup full
+enough before but that my wan hope should be cut away, tu? My God, I
+&rsquo;mauld in sorrow now&mdash;very auld. But &rsquo;t is awver at last.
+You knaw, an&rsquo; I had to hear it from your awn lips! Theer &rsquo;s
+nought worse in the world for me now.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Her hands were pressed against her bosom, and as he unconsciously moved a
+little towards her she shrank backwards, then rose to her feet. Timothy woke
+and cried, upon which she turned to him and picked him up.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Go!&rdquo; she cried suddenly. &ldquo;If ever you loved me, get out
+of my sight now, or you&rsquo;ll make me want to kill myself
+again.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He saw the time was come for strong self-assertion, and spoke.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Listen!&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;You don&rsquo;t understand, but you
+must. I&rsquo;m the only man in the world who knows&mdash;the only one, and
+I&rsquo;ve told you because it was stamped into my brain to tell you, and
+because I love you perhaps better than one creature has any right to love
+another.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You knaw. Isn&rsquo;t it enough? Who else did I care for? Who else
+mattered to me? Mother or brother or other folk? I pray you to go an&rsquo;
+leave me. God knaws how hard it was to hide it, but I hugged it an&rsquo;
+suffered more &rsquo;n any but a mother could fathom &rsquo;cause things weer
+as they weer. Then came this trouble, an&rsquo; still none seed. But &rsquo;t
+was meant you should, an&rsquo; the rest doan&rsquo;t matter. I&rsquo;d so
+soon go back now as not.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So you shall,&rdquo; he answered calmly; &ldquo;only hear this
+first. Last time I spoke about what was in my heart, Chris, you told me you
+could love me, but that you would not marry me, and I said I would never ask
+you again. I shall keep my word, sweetheart. I shall not ask; I shall take
+without asking. You love me; that is all I care for. The little boy came
+between last time; now nothing does.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He took the woman in his arms and kissed her, but the next moment he was
+flying to where water lay in a ditch, for his unexpected attitude had
+overpowered Chris. She raised her hands to his shoulders, uttered a faint
+cry, then slipped heavily out of his arms in a faint. The man rushed this way
+and that, the child sat and howled noisily, the woman remained long
+unconscious, and heavy rain began to fall out of the darkness; yet, to his
+dying day that desolate spot of earth brought light to Martin&rsquo;s eyes as
+often as he passed it.</p>
+<p>Chris presently recovered her senses, and spoke words that made her
+lover&rsquo;s heart leap. She uttered them in a sad, low voice, but her hand
+was in his, pressing it close the while.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Awften an&rsquo; awften I&rsquo;ve axed the A&rsquo;mighty to give
+me wan little glint o&rsquo; knawledge as how &rsquo;twould all end. If
+I&rsquo;d knawed! But I never guessed how big your sawl was, Martin. I never
+thought you was the manner of man to love a woman arter that.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;God knows what&rsquo;s in my heart, Chris.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll tell &rsquo;e everything some day. Lookin&rsquo; back it
+doan&rsquo;t &rsquo;pear no ways wicked, though it may seem so in cold
+daylight to cold hearts.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Come, come with me, for the rain grows harder. I know where I can
+hire a covered carriage at an inn. &rsquo;Tis only five minutes farther on,
+and poor Tim&rsquo;s unhappy.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;m hungry. You won&rsquo;t be hard &rsquo;pon my li&rsquo;l
+bwoy if I come to &rsquo;e, Martin?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You know as well as I can tell you. There&rsquo;s one other thing.
+About Chagford, Chris? Are you afraid of it? I&rsquo;ll turn my back on it if
+you like. I&rsquo;ll take you to Okehampton now if you would rather go
+there.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Never! &rsquo;Tis for you to care, not me. So you knaw an&rsquo;
+forgive&mdash;what&rsquo;s the rest? Shadows. But let me hold your hand
+an&rsquo; keep my tongue still. I&rsquo;m sick an&rsquo; fainty wi&rsquo;
+this gert turn o&rsquo; the wheel. &rsquo;T is tu deep for any
+words.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He felt not less uplifted, but his joy was a man&rsquo;s. It rolled and
+tumbled over his being like the riotous west wind. Under such stress his mind
+could find no worthy thing to say, and yet he was intoxicated and had to
+speak. He was very unlike himself. He uttered platitudes; then the weight of
+Timothy upon his arm reminded him that the child existed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He shall go to a good school, Chris.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She sighed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I wish I could die quick here by the roadside, dear Martin, for
+living along with you won&rsquo;t be no happier than I am this moment. My
+thoughts do all run back, not forward. I&rsquo;ve lived long enough, I
+reckon. If I&rsquo;d told &rsquo;e! But I&rsquo;d rather been skinned alive
+than do it. I&rsquo;d have let the rest knaw years agone but for
+you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Driving homewards half an hour later, Chris Blanchard told Martin that
+part of her story which concerned her life after the birth of Timothy.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The travellin&rsquo; people was pure gawld to me,&rdquo; she said.
+&ldquo;And theer&rsquo;s much to say of theer gert gudeness. But I can tell
+&rsquo;e that another time. It chanced the very day Will&rsquo;s li&rsquo;l
+wan was buried we was to Chagford, an&rsquo; the sad falling-out quickened my
+awn mind as to a thought &rsquo;bout my cheel. It comed awver me to leave un
+at Newtake. I left the vans wheer they was camped that afternoon, an&rsquo;
+hid &rsquo;pon the hill wi&rsquo; the baaby. Then Will comed out hisself,
+an&rsquo; I chaanged my thought an&rsquo; followed un wheer he roamed,
+knawin&rsquo; the colour of his mind through them black hours as if
+&rsquo;twas my awn. &rsquo;Twas arter he&rsquo;d left the roundy-poundy wheer
+he was born that I put my child in it, then called tu un loud an&rsquo;
+clear. He never knawed the voice, which was the awnly thing I feared. But a
+voice long silent be soon forgot. I bided at hand till I saw the bwoy in
+brother Will&rsquo;s arms. An&rsquo; then I knawed &rsquo;twas well an&rsquo;
+that mother would come to see it. Arterwards I suffered very terrible
+wi&rsquo;out un. But I fought wi&rsquo; myself an&rsquo; kept away up to the
+time I&rsquo;d fixed in my mind. That was so as nobody should link me with
+the li&rsquo;l wan in theer thoughts. Waitin&rsquo; was the hard deed, and
+seein&rsquo; my bwoy for the first time when I went to Newtake was hard tu.
+But &rsquo;tis all wan now.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She remained silent until the lengthy ride was ended and her
+mother&rsquo;s cottage reached. Then, as that home she had thought to enter
+no more appeared again, the nature of the woman awoke for one second, and she
+flung herself on Martin&rsquo;s heart.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;May God make me half you think me, for I love you true, an&rsquo;
+you&rsquo;m the best man He ever fashioned,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;An&rsquo;
+to-morrow&rsquo;s Sunday,&rdquo; she added inconsequently, &ldquo;an&rsquo;
+I&rsquo;ll kneel in church an&rsquo; call down lifelong blessings on
+&rsquo;e.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t go to-morrow, my darling. And yet&mdash;but no,
+we&rsquo;ll not go, either of us. I couldn&rsquo;t hear my own banns read out
+for the world, and I don&rsquo;t think you could; yet read they&rsquo;ll be
+as sure as the service is held.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She said nothing, but he knew that she felt; then mother and child were
+gone, and Martin, dismissing his vehicle, proceeded to Monks Barton with the
+news that all was well.</p>
+<p>Mrs. Blanchard heard her daughter&rsquo;s story and its sequel. She
+exhibited some emotion, but no grief. The sorrow she may have suffered was
+never revealed to any eye by word or tear.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I reckoned of late days theer was Blanchard blood to the
+child,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;an&rsquo; I won&rsquo;t hide from you I
+thought more&rsquo;n wance you was so like to be the mother as Will the
+faither of un. Go to bed now, if you caan&rsquo;t eat, an&rsquo; taake the
+bwoy, an&rsquo; thank God for lining your dark cloud with this silver. If He
+forgives &rsquo;e, an&rsquo; this here gude grey Martin forgives &rsquo;e,
+who be I to fret? Worse&rsquo;n you&rsquo;ve been forgived at fust hand by
+the Lard when He travelled on flesh-an&rsquo;-blood feet &rsquo;mong men;
+an&rsquo; folks have short memories for dates, an&rsquo; them as sniggers now
+will be dust or dotards &rsquo;fore Tim&rsquo;s grawed. When you&rsquo;ve
+been a lawful wife ten year an&rsquo; more, who&rsquo;s gwaine to mind this?
+Not little Tim&rsquo;s fellow bwoys an&rsquo; gals, anyway. His awn
+generation won&rsquo;t trouble him, an&rsquo; he&rsquo;ll find a wise
+guardian in Martin, an&rsquo; a lovin&rsquo; gran&rsquo;mother in me. Dry
+your eyes an&rsquo; be a Blanchard. God A&rsquo;mighty sends sawls in the
+world His awn way, an&rsquo; chooses the faithers an&rsquo; mothers for
+&rsquo;em; an&rsquo; He&rsquo;s never taught Nature to go second to parson
+yet, worse luck. &rsquo;Tis done, an&rsquo; to grumble at a dead man&rsquo;s
+doin&rsquo;s&mdash;specially if you caan&rsquo;t mend &rsquo;em&mdash;be
+vain.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My share was half, an&rsquo; not less,&rdquo; said Chris.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Aye, you say so, but &rsquo;tis a deed wheer the blame ban&rsquo;t
+awften divided equal,&rdquo; answered Mrs. Blanchard. &ldquo;Wheer&rsquo;s
+the maiden as caan&rsquo;t wait for her weddin&rsquo; bells?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The use of the last two words magically swept Chris back into the past.
+The coincidence was curious, and she remembered when a man, destined never to
+listen to such melody, declared impatiently that he heard it in the hidden
+heart of a summer day long past. She did not reply to her mother, but arose
+and took her child and went to rest.</p>
+<h2><a id="IV_X" name="IV_X"></a>CHAPTER X<br />
+BAD NEWS FOR BLANCHARD</h2>
+<p>On the morning that saw the wedding of Chris and Martin, Phoebe Blanchard
+found heart and tongue to speak to her husband of the thing she still kept
+locked within her mind. Since the meeting with John Grimbal she had suffered
+much in secret, but still kept silence; and now, after a quiet service before
+breakfast on a morning in mid-December, most of those who had been present as
+spectators returned to the valley, and Phoebe spoke to Will as they walked
+apart from the rest. A sight of the enemy it was that loosed her lips, for,
+much to the surprise of all present, John Grimbal had attended his
+brother&rsquo;s wedding. As the little gathering streamed away after the
+ceremony, he had galloped off again with a groom behind him, and the incident
+now led to greater things.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Chill-fashion weddin&rsquo;,&rdquo; said Will, as he walked
+homewards, &ldquo;but it &rsquo;pears to me all Blanchards be fated to wed
+coorious. Well, &rsquo;t is a gude matter out o&rsquo; hand. I knaw I raged
+somethin&rsquo; terrible come I fust heard it, but I think differ&rsquo;nt
+now, specially when I mind what Chris must have felt those times she seed me
+welting her child an&rsquo; heard un yell, yet set her teeth an&rsquo; never
+shawed a sign.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Did &rsquo;e note Jan Grimbal theer?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I seed un, an&rsquo; I catched un wi&rsquo; his eye on you more
+&rsquo;n wance. He &rsquo;s grawed to look nowadays as if his mouth allus had
+a sour plum in it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;His brain&rsquo;s got sour stuff hid in it if his mouth
+haven&rsquo;t. Be you ever feared of un?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not me. Why for should I be? He&rsquo;ll be wan of the fam&rsquo;ly
+like, now. He caan&rsquo;t keep his passion alive for ever. We &rsquo;m
+likely to meet when Martin do come home again from honeymooning.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Will, I must tell you something&mdash;something gert an&rsquo;
+terrible. I should have told &rsquo;e &rsquo;fore now but I was
+frightened.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not feared to speak to me?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess, seeing the thing I had to say. I&rsquo;ve waited weeks in fear
+an&rsquo; tremblin&rsquo;, expecting something to happen, an&rsquo; all
+weighed down with fright an&rsquo; dread. Now, what wi&rsquo; the cheel
+that&rsquo;s comin&rsquo;, I caan&rsquo;t carry this any more.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Being already lachrymose, after the manner of women at a wedding, Phoebe
+now shed a tear or two. Will thereupon spoke words of comfort, and blamed her
+for hiding any matter from him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;More trouble?&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Yet I doan&rsquo;t think
+it,&mdash;not now,&mdash;just as I be right every way. I guess &rsquo;t is
+your state makes you queer an&rsquo; glumpy.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I hope &rsquo;t was vain talk an&rsquo; not true anyway.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;More talk &rsquo;bout me? You&rsquo;d think Chagford was most tired
+o&rsquo; my name, wouldn&rsquo;t &rsquo;e? Who was it now?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Him&mdash;Jan Grimbal. I met him &rsquo;mong the mushrooms. He
+burst out an&rsquo; said wicked, awful things, but his talk touched the
+li&rsquo;l bwoy. He thought Tim was yourn an&rsquo; he was gwaine to do
+mischief against you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Damn his black mind! I wonder he haven&rsquo;t rotted away
+wi&rsquo; his awn bile &rsquo;fore now.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But that weern&rsquo;t all. He talked an&rsquo; talked, an&rsquo;
+threatened if you didn&rsquo;t go an&rsquo; see him, as he&rsquo;d tell
+&rsquo;bout you in the past, when you was away that autumn-time &rsquo;fore
+us was married.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Did he, by God! Doan&rsquo;t he wish he knawed!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He does knaw, Will&mdash;least he said he did.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Never dream it, Phoebe. &rsquo;T is a lie. For why? &rsquo;Cause if
+he did knaw I shouldn&rsquo;t&mdash;but theer, I&rsquo;ve never tawld
+&rsquo;e, an&rsquo; I ban&rsquo;t gwaine to now. Awnly I&rsquo;ll say
+this,&mdash;if Grimbal really knawed he&rsquo;d have&mdash;but he can&rsquo;t
+knaw, and theer &rsquo;s an end of it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;To think I should have been frighted by such a story all these
+weeks! An&rsquo; not true. Oh! I wish I&rsquo;d told &rsquo;e when he sent
+the message. &rsquo;T would have saved me so much.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess, never keep nothin&rsquo; from me, Phoebe. Theer &rsquo;s
+troubles that might crush wan heart as comes a light load divided between
+two. What message?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Some silly auld story &rsquo;bout a suit of grey clothes. He said I
+was to tell &rsquo;e the things was received by the awner.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Will Blanchard stood still so suddenly that it seemed as though magic had
+turned him into stone. He stood, and his hands unclasped, and Phoebe&rsquo;s
+church service which he carried fell with a thud into the road. His wife
+watched him change colour, and noted in his face an expression she had never
+before seen there.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Christ A&rsquo;mighty!&rdquo; he whispered, with his eyes
+reflecting a world of sheer amazement and even terror; &ldquo;he <i>does</i>
+knaw!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What? Knaw what, Will? For the Lard&rsquo;s sake doan&rsquo;t
+&rsquo;e look at me like that; you&rsquo;ll frighten my heart into my
+mouth.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;To think he knawed an&rsquo; watched an&rsquo; waited all these
+years! The spider patience o&rsquo; that man! I see how &rsquo;t was. He let
+the world have its way an&rsquo; thought to see me broken wi&rsquo;out any
+trouble from him. Then, when I conquered, an&rsquo; got to Miller&rsquo;s
+right hand, an&rsquo; beat the world at its awn game, he&mdash;an&rsquo; been
+nursing this against me! The heart of un!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He spoke to himself aloud, gazing straight before him at nothing.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Will, tell me what &rsquo;t is. Caan&rsquo;t your awn true wife
+help &rsquo;e now or never?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Recalled by her words he came to himself, picked up her book, and walked
+on. She spoke again and then he answered,&mdash;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, &rsquo;t is a coil wheer you caan&rsquo;t do nought&mdash;nor
+nobody. The black power o&rsquo; waitin&rsquo;&mdash;&rsquo;t is that I never
+heard tell of. I thought I knawed what was in men to the core&mdash;me,
+thirty years of age, an&rsquo; a ripe man if ever theer was wan. But this
+malice! &rsquo;T is enough to make &rsquo;e believe in the devil.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What have you done?&rdquo; she cried aloud. &ldquo;Tell me the
+worst of it, an&rsquo; how gert a thing he&rsquo;ve got against
+you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Bide quiet,&rdquo; he answered. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll tell &rsquo;e,
+but not on the public road. Not but he&rsquo;ll take gude care every ear has
+it presently. Shut your mouth now an&rsquo; come up to our chamber arter
+breakfast an&rsquo; I&rsquo;ll tell &rsquo;e the rights of it. An&rsquo; that
+dog knawed an&rsquo; could keep it close all these years!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;s dangerous, an&rsquo; terrible, an&rsquo; strong. I see
+it in your faace, Will.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So he is, then; ban&rsquo;t no foxin&rsquo; you &rsquo;bout it now.
+&rsquo;T is an awful power of waitin&rsquo; he&rsquo;ve got; an&rsquo; he
+haven&rsquo;t bided his time these years an&rsquo; years for nothin&rsquo;. A
+feast to him, I lay. He&rsquo;ve licked his damned lips many a score o&rsquo;
+times to think of the food he&rsquo;d fat his vengeance with
+bimebye.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Can he taake you from me? If not I&rsquo;ll bear it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess fay, I&rsquo;m done for; credit, fortune, all gone. It might
+have been death if us had been to war at the time.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She clung to him and her head swam.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Death! God&rsquo;s mercy! you&rsquo;ve never killed nobody,
+Will?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not as I knaws on, but p&rsquo;r&rsquo;aps ban&rsquo;t tu late to
+mend it. It freezes me&mdash;it freezes my blood to think what his thoughts
+have been. No, no, ban&rsquo;t death or anything like that. But &rsquo;t is
+prison for sure if&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He broke off and his face was very dark.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What, Will? If what? Oh, comfort me, comfort me, Will, for
+God&rsquo;s sake! An&rsquo; another li&rsquo;l wan comin&rsquo;!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Doan&rsquo;t take on,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Ban&rsquo;t my way to
+squeal till I&rsquo;m hurt. Let it bide, an&rsquo; be bright an&rsquo; cheery
+come eating, for mother &rsquo;s down in the mouth at losin&rsquo; Chris,
+though she doan&rsquo;t shaw it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Mrs. Blanchard, with little Timothy, joined the breakfast party at Monks
+Barton, and a certain gloom hanging over the party, Mr. Blee commented upon
+it in his usual critical spirit.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;This here givin&rsquo; in marriage do allus make a looker-on down
+in the mouth if he &rsquo;s a sober-minded sort o&rsquo; man. &rsquo;T is the
+contrast between the courageousness of the two poor sawls jumpin&rsquo; into
+the state, an&rsquo; the solid fact of bein&rsquo; a man&rsquo;s wife or a
+woman&rsquo;s husband for all time. The vows they swear! An&rsquo; that
+Martin&rsquo;s voice so strong an&rsquo; cheerful! A teeming cause o&rsquo;
+broken oaths the marriage sarvice; yet each new pair comes along like sheep
+to the slaughter.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You talk like a bachelor man,&rdquo; said Damaris.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not so, Mrs. Blanchard, I assure &rsquo;e! Lookers-on see most of
+the game. Ban&rsquo;t the mite as lives in a cheese what can tell e&rsquo;
+&rsquo;bout the flavour of un. Look at a married man at a
+weddin&rsquo;&mdash;all broadcloth an&rsquo; cheerfulness, like the fox as
+have lost his tail an&rsquo; girns to see another chap in the same
+pickle.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yet you tried blamed hard to lose your tail an&rsquo; get a wife,
+for all your talk,&rdquo; said Will, who, although his mind was full enough,
+yet could generally find a sharp word for Mr. Blee.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Bah to you!&rdquo; answered the old man angrily. &ldquo;<i>That</i>
+for you! &rsquo;T is allus your way to bring personal talk into high
+conversation. I was improvin&rsquo; the hour with general thoughts; but the
+vulgar tone you give to a discourse would muzzle the wisdom o&rsquo;
+Solomon.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Miller Lyddon here made an effort to re-establish peace and soon
+afterwards the meal came to an end.</p>
+<p>Half an hour later Phoebe heard from her husband the story of his brief
+military career: of how he had enlisted as a preliminary to going abroad and
+making his fortune, how he had become servant to one Captain Tremayne, how
+upon the news of Phoebe&rsquo;s engagement he had deserted, and how his
+intention to return and make a clean breast of it had been twice changed by
+the circumstances that followed his marriage. Long he took in detailing every
+incident and circumstance.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Coming to think,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;of coourse &rsquo;t is
+clear as Grimbal must knaw my auld master. I seed his name raised to a Major
+in the <i>Western Morning News</i> a few year agone, an&rsquo; he was to
+Okehampton with a battalion when Hicks come by his death. So that&rsquo;s
+how&rsquo;t is; an&rsquo; I ban&rsquo;t gwaine to bide Grimbal&rsquo;s time
+to be ruined, you may be very sure of that. Now I knaw, I act.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He may be quite content you should knaw. That&rsquo;s meat
+an&rsquo; drink enough for him, to think of you gwaine in fear day an&rsquo;
+night.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess, but that&rsquo;s not my way. I ban&rsquo;t wan to wait an
+enemy&rsquo;s pleasure.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You won&rsquo;t go to him, Will?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Go to un? Ess fay&mdash;&rsquo;fore the day&rsquo;s done,
+tu.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s awnly to hasten the end.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The sooner the better.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He tramped up and down the bedroom with his eyes on the ground, his hands
+in his pockets.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A tremendous thing to tumble up on the surface arter all these
+years; an&rsquo; a tremendous time for it to come. &rsquo;T was a crime
+&rsquo;gainst the Queen for my awn gude ends. I had to choose &rsquo;tween
+her an&rsquo; you; I&rsquo;d do the same to-morrow. The fault weern&rsquo;t
+theer. It lay in not gwaine back.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You couldn&rsquo;t; your arm was broke.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I ought to have gone back arter &rsquo;t was well. Then time had
+passed, an&rsquo; uncle&rsquo;s money corned, an&rsquo; they never found me.
+But theer it lies ahead now, sure enough.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Perhaps for sheer shame he&rsquo;ll bide quiet &rsquo;bout it. A
+man caan&rsquo;t hate another man for ever.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I thought not, same as you, but Grimbal shaws we &rsquo;m
+wrong.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Let us go, then; let us do what you thought to do &rsquo;fore
+faither comed forward so kind. Let us go away to furrin paarts, even
+now.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I doubt if he&rsquo;d let me go. &rsquo;T is mouse an&rsquo; cat
+for the minute. Leastways so he&rsquo;s thought since he talked to &rsquo;e.
+But he&rsquo;ll knaw differ&rsquo;nt &rsquo;fore he lies in his bed to-night.
+Must be cut an&rsquo; dried an&rsquo; settled.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Be slow to act, Will, an&rsquo;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Theer! theer!&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;doan&rsquo;t &rsquo;e offer me
+no advice, theer&rsquo;s a gude gal, &rsquo;cause I couldn&rsquo;t stand it
+even from you, just this minute. God knaws I&rsquo;m not above takin&rsquo;
+it in a general way, for the best tried man can larn from babes an&rsquo;
+sucklings sometimes; but this is a thing calling for nothin&rsquo; but shut
+lips. &rsquo;T is my job an&rsquo; I&rsquo;ve got to see it through my own
+way.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;ll be patient, Will? &rsquo;T isn&rsquo;t like other
+times when you was right an&rsquo; him wrong. He&rsquo;s got the whip-hand of
+&rsquo;e, so you mustn&rsquo;t dictate.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not me. I can be reasonable an&rsquo; just as any man. I never hid
+from myself I was doin&rsquo; wrong at the time. But, when all&rsquo;s said,
+this auld history&rsquo;s got two sides to it&mdash;&rsquo;specially if you
+remember that &rsquo;t was through John Grimbal&rsquo;s awn act I had to do
+wan wrong thing to save you doin&rsquo; a worse wan. He&rsquo;ll have to be
+reasonable likewise. &rsquo;T is man to man.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Will&rsquo;s conversation lasted another hour, but Phoebe could not shake
+his determination, and after dinner Blanchard departed to the Red House, his
+destination being known to his wife only.</p>
+<p>But while Will marched upon this errand, the man he desired to see had
+just left his own front door, struck through leafless coppices of larch and
+silver beech that approached the house, and then proceeded to where bigger
+timber stood about a little plateau of marshy land, surrounded by tall flags.
+The woodlands had paid their debt to Nature in good gold, and all the trees
+were naked. An east wind lent a hard, clean clearness to the country. In the
+foreground two little lakes spread their waters steel-grey in a cup of lead;
+the distance was clear and cold and compact of all sober colours save only
+where, through a grey and interlacing nakedness of many boughs, the roof of
+the Red House rose.</p>
+<p>John Grimbal sat upon a felled tree beside the pools, and while he
+remained motionless, his pipe unlighted, his gun beside him, a spaniel worked
+below in the sere sedges at the water&rsquo;s margin. Presently the dog
+barked, a moor-hen splashed, half flying, half swimming, across the larger
+lake, and a snipe got up and jerked crookedly away on the wind. The dog stood
+with one fore-paw lifted and the water dripping along his belly. He waited
+for a crack and puff of smoke and the thud of a bird falling into the water
+or the underwood. But his master did not fire; he did not even see the
+flushing of the snipe; so the dog came up and remonstrated with his eyes.
+Grimbal patted the beast&rsquo;s head, then rose from his seat on the felled
+tree, stretched his arms, sat down again and lighted his pipe.</p>
+<p>The event of the morning had turned his thoughts in the old direction, and
+now they were wholly occupied with Will Blanchard. Since his fit of futile
+spleen and fury after the meeting with Phoebe, John had slowly sunk back into
+the former nerveless attitude. From this an occasional wonder roused
+him&mdash;a wonder as to whether the woman had ever given her husband his
+message at all. His recent active hatred seemed a little softened, though why
+it should be so he could not have explained. Now he sometimes assured himself
+that he should not proceed to extremities, but hang his sword over
+Will&rsquo;s head a while and possibly end by pardoning him altogether.</p>
+<p>Thus he paltered with his better part and presented a spectacle of one
+mentally sick unto death by reason of shattered purpose. His unity of design
+was gone. He had believed the last conversation with Phoebe in itself
+sufficient to waken his pristine passion, but anger against himself had been
+a great factor of that storm, apart from which circumstance he made the
+mistake of supposing that his passion slept, whereas in reality it was dead.
+Now, if Grimbal was to be stung into activity, it must be along another line
+and upon a fresh count.</p>
+<p>Then, as he reflected by the little tarns, there approached Will Blanchard
+himself; and Grimbal, looking up, saw him standing among white tussocks of
+dead grass by the water-side and rubbing the mud off his boots upon them. For
+a moment his breath quickened, but he was not surprised; and yet, before Will
+reached him, he had time to wonder at himself that he was not.</p>
+<p>Blanchard, calling at the Red House ten minutes after the master&rsquo;s
+departure, had been informed by old Lawrence Vallack, John&rsquo;s factotum,
+that he had come too late. It transpired, however, that Grimbal had taken his
+gun and a dog, so Will, knowing the estate, made a guess at the
+sportsman&rsquo;s destination, and was helped on his way when he came within
+earshot of the barking spaniel.</p>
+<p>Now that animal resented his intrusion, and for a moment it appeared that
+the brute&rsquo;s master did also. Will had already seen Grimbal where he
+sat, and came swiftly towards him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What are you doing here, William Blanchard? You&rsquo;re
+trespassing and you know it,&rdquo; said the landowner loudly. &ldquo;You can
+have no business here.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Haven&rsquo;t I? Then why for do&rsquo;e send me
+messages?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Will stood straight and stern in front of his foe. His face was more
+gloomy than the sombre afternoon; his jaw stood out very square; his grey
+eyes were hard as the glint of the east wind. He might have been accuser, and
+John Grimbal accused. The sportsman did not move from his seat upon the log.
+But he felt a flush of blood pulse through him at the other&rsquo;s voice, as
+though his heart, long stagnant, was being sluiced.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That? I&rsquo;d forgotten all about it. You&rsquo;ve taken your
+time in obeying me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;This marnin&rsquo;, an&rsquo; not sooner, I heard what you telled
+her when you catched Phoebe alone.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah! now I understand the delay. Say what you&rsquo;ve got to say,
+please, and then get out of my sight.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;T is for you to speak, not me. What be you gwaine to do,
+an&rsquo; when be you gwaine to do it? I allow you&rsquo;ve bested me, God
+knaws how; but you&rsquo;ve got me down. So the sooner you say what your next
+step is, the better.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The older man laughed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;T isn&rsquo;t the beaten party makes the terms as a
+rule.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I want no terms; I wouldn&rsquo;t make terms with you for a sure
+plaace in heaven. Tell me what you be gwaine to do against me. I&rsquo;ve a
+right to knaw.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I can&rsquo;t tell you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You mean as you won&rsquo;t tell me?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I mean I can&rsquo;t&mdash;not yet. After speaking to your wife I
+forgot all about it. It doesn&rsquo;t interest me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Be you gwaine to give me up?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Probably I shall&mdash;as a matter of duty. I&rsquo;m a bit of a
+soldier myself. It&rsquo;s such a dirty coward&rsquo;s trick to desert. Yes,
+I think I shall make an example of you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Will looked at him steadily.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You want to wake the devil in me&mdash;I see that. But you
+won&rsquo;t. I&rsquo;m aulder an&rsquo; wiser now. So you &rsquo;m to give me
+up? I knawed it wi&rsquo;out axin&rsquo;.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And that doesn&rsquo;t wake you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No. Seein&rsquo; why I deserted an&rsquo; mindin&rsquo; your share
+in drivin&rsquo; me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Grimbal did not answer, and Will asked him to name a date.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I tell you I shall suit myself, not you. When you will like it
+least, be sure of that. I needn&rsquo;t pretend what I don&rsquo;t feel. I
+hate the sight of you still, and the closer you come the more I hate you. It
+rolls years off me to see your damned brown face so near and hear your voice
+in my ear,&mdash;years and years; and I&rsquo;m glad it does. You&rsquo;ve
+ruined my life, and I&rsquo;ll ruin yours yet.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>There was a pause; Blanchard stared cold and hard into Grimbal&rsquo;s
+eyes; then John continued, and his flicker of passion cooled a little as he
+did so,&mdash;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;At least that&rsquo;s what I said to myself when first I heard this
+little bit of news&mdash;that I&rsquo;d ruin you; now I&rsquo;m not
+sure.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;At least I&rsquo;ll thank you to make up your mind. &rsquo;T is
+turn an&rsquo; turn about. You be uppermost just this minute. As to ruining
+me, that&rsquo;s as may be.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, I shall decide presently. I suppose you won&rsquo;t run away.
+And it &rsquo;s no great matter if you do, for a fool can&rsquo;t hide
+himself under his folly.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I sha&rsquo;n&rsquo;t run. I want to get through with this and have
+it behind me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You &rsquo;re in a hurry now.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It &rsquo;s just an&rsquo; right. I knaw that. An&rsquo;
+ban&rsquo;t no gert odds who &rsquo;s informer. But I want to have it behind
+me&mdash;an&rsquo; you in front. Do &rsquo;e see? This out o&rsquo; hand,
+then it &rsquo;s my turn again. Keepin&rsquo; me waitin&rsquo; &rsquo;pon
+such a point be tu small an&rsquo; womanish for a fight between men. &rsquo;T
+is your turn to hit, Jan Grimbal, an&rsquo; theer &rsquo;s no guard
+&rsquo;gainst the stroke, so if you &rsquo;re a man, hit an&rsquo; have done
+with it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah! you don&rsquo;t like the thought of waiting!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, I do not. I haven&rsquo;t got your snake&rsquo;s patience. Let
+me have what I&rsquo;ve got to have, an&rsquo; suffer it, an&rsquo; make
+an&rsquo; end of it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You &rsquo;re in a hurry for a dish that won&rsquo;t be pleasant
+eating, I assure you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s just an&rsquo; right I tell &rsquo;e; an&rsquo; I knaw
+it is, though all these years cover it. Your paart &rsquo;s differ&rsquo;nt.
+I lay you &rsquo;m in a worse hell than me, even now.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A moralist! How d&rsquo; you like the thought of a damned good
+flogging&mdash;fifty lashes laid on hot and strong?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Doan&rsquo;t you wish you had the job? Thrashing of a man wi&rsquo;
+his legs an&rsquo; hands tied would just suit your sort of
+courage.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;As to that, they won&rsquo;t flog you really; and I fancy I could
+thrash you still without any help. Your memory &rsquo;s short. Never mind.
+Get you gone now; and never speak to me again as long as you live, or I shall
+probably hit you across the mouth with my riding-whip. As to giving you up,
+you &rsquo;re in my hands and must wait my time for that.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Must I, by God? Hark to a fule talkin&rsquo;! Why should I wait
+your pleasure, an&rsquo; me wi&rsquo; a tongue in my head? You&rsquo;ve jawed
+long enough. Now you can listen. I&rsquo;ll give <i>myself</i> up, so theer!
+I&rsquo;ll tell the truth, an&rsquo; what drove me to desert, an&rsquo; what
+you be anyway&mdash;as goes ridin&rsquo; out wi&rsquo; the yeomanry so braave
+in black an&rsquo; silver with your sword drawed! That&rsquo;ll spoil your
+market for pluck an&rsquo; valour, anyways. An&rsquo; when I&rsquo;ve done
+all court-martial gives me, I&rsquo;ll come back!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He swung away as he spoke; and the other sat on motionless for an hour
+after Will had departed.</p>
+<p>John Grimbal&rsquo;s pipe went out; his dog, weary of waiting, crept to
+his feet and fell asleep there; live fur and feathers peeped about and
+scanned his bent figure, immobile as a tree-trunk that supported it; and the
+gun, lying at hand, drew down a white light from a gathering gloaming.</p>
+<p>One great desire was in the sportsman&rsquo;s mind,&mdash;he already found
+himself hungry for another meeting with Blanchard.</p>
+<h2><a id="IV_XI" name="IV_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI<br />
+PHOEBE TAKES THOUGHT</h2>
+<p>That night Will sat and smoked in his bedroom and talked to Phoebe, who
+had already gone to rest. She looked over her knees at him with round, sad
+eyes; while beside her in a cot slept her small daughter. A candle burned on
+the mantelpiece and served to illuminate one or two faded pictures; a
+daguerreotype of Phoebe as a child sitting on a donkey, and an ancient
+silhouette of Miller Lyddon, cut for him on his visit to the Great
+Exhibition. In a frame beneath these appeared the photograph of little Will
+who had died at Newtake.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He thinks he be gwaine to bide his time an&rsquo; let me stew
+an&rsquo; sweat for it,&rdquo; said the man moodily.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Awnly a born devil could tell such wickedness. Ban&rsquo;t theer no
+ways o&rsquo; meetin&rsquo; him, now you knaw? If you&rsquo;d speak to
+faither&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What &rsquo;s the use bringing sorrow on his grey hairs?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, it&rsquo;s got to come; you knaw that. Grimbal isn&rsquo;t
+the man to forgive.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Forgive! That would be worst of all. If he forgived me now
+I&rsquo;d go mad. Wait till I&rsquo;ve had soldier law, then us&rsquo;ll talk
+&rsquo;bout forgiving arter.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Phoebe shivered and began to cry helplessly, drying her eyes upon the
+sheet.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Theer&mdash;theer,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;doan&rsquo;t be a cheel.
+We &rsquo;m made o&rsquo; stern stuff, you an&rsquo; me. &rsquo;T is awnly a
+matter of years, I s&rsquo;pose, an&rsquo; the reason I went may lessen the
+sentence a bit. Mother won&rsquo;t never turn against me, an&rsquo; so long
+as your faither can forgive, the rest of the world&rsquo;s welcome to look so
+black as it pleases.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Faither&rsquo;ll forgive &rsquo;e.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He might&mdash;just wance more. He&rsquo;ve got to onderstand my
+points better late days.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Come an&rsquo; sleep then, an&rsquo; fret no more till
+marnin&rsquo; light anyway.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis the thing hidden, hanging over my head, biding behind
+every corner. I caan&rsquo;t stand it; I caan&rsquo;t wait for it. I&rsquo;ll
+grow sheer devil if I&rsquo;ve got to wait; an&rsquo;, so like as not,
+I&rsquo;ll meet un faace to faace some day an&rsquo; send un wheer neither
+his bark nor bite will harm me. Ess fay&mdash;solemn truth. I won&rsquo;t
+answer for it. I can put so tight a hand &rsquo;pon myself as any man since
+Job, but to sit down under this&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Theer&rsquo;s nought else you can do,&rdquo; said Phoebe. She
+yawned as she spoke, but Will&rsquo;s reply strangled the yawn and
+effectually woke her up.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So Jan Grimbal said, an&rsquo; I blamed soon shawed un he was out.
+Theer&rsquo;s a thing I can do an&rsquo; shall do. &rsquo;T will sweep the
+ground from under un; &rsquo;t will blaw off his vengeance harmless as a gun
+fired in the air; &rsquo;t will turn his malice so sour as beer after
+thunder. I be gwaine to give myself up&mdash;then us&rsquo;ll see who&rsquo;s
+the fule!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Phoebe was out of bed with her arms round her husband in a moment.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, no&mdash;never. You couldn&rsquo;t, Will; you
+daren&rsquo;t&mdash;&rsquo;tis against nature. You ban&rsquo;t free to do no
+such wild thing. You forget me, an&rsquo; the li&rsquo;l maid, an&rsquo;
+t&rsquo; other comin&rsquo;!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Doan&rsquo;t &rsquo;e choke me,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;an&rsquo;
+doan&rsquo;t &rsquo;e look so terrified. Your small hands caan&rsquo;t keep
+off what&rsquo;s ahead o&rsquo; me; an&rsquo; I wouldn&rsquo;t let &rsquo;em
+if they could. &rsquo;T is in this world that a chap&rsquo;s got to pay for
+his sins most times, an&rsquo; damn short credit, tu, so far as I can see. So
+what they want to bleat &rsquo;bout hell-fire for I&rsquo;ve never
+onderstood, seeing you get your change here. Anyway, so sure as I do a trick
+that ban&rsquo;t &rsquo;zactly wise, the whip &rsquo;s allus behind
+it&mdash;the whip&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He repeated the word in a changed voice, for it reminded him of what
+Grimbal had threatened. He did not know whether there might be truth in it.
+His pride winced and gasped. He thought of Phoebe seeing his bare back
+perhaps years afterwards. A tempest of rage blackened his face and he spoke
+in a voice hoarse and harsh.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Get up an&rsquo; go to bed. Doan&rsquo;t whine, for God&rsquo;s
+sake, or you&rsquo;ll drive me daft. I&rsquo;ve paid afore, an&rsquo;
+I&rsquo;ll pay again; an&rsquo; may the Lard help him who ever owes me ought.
+No mercy have I ever had from living man,&mdash;&rsquo;cept
+Miller,&mdash;none will I ever shaw.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not to-morrow, Will&mdash;not this week. Promise that, an&rsquo;
+I&rsquo;ll get into bed an&rsquo; bide quiet. For your love o&rsquo; me, just
+leave it till arter Christmas time. Promise that, else you&rsquo;ll kill me.
+No, no, no&mdash;you shaa&rsquo;n&rsquo;t shout me down &rsquo;pon this.
+I&rsquo;ll cry to &rsquo;e while I&rsquo;ve got life left. Promise not till
+Christmas be past.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll promise nothing. I must think in the peace o&rsquo;
+night. Go to sleep an &rsquo;bide quiet, else you&rsquo;ll wake the
+li&rsquo;l gal.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I won&rsquo;t&mdash;I won&rsquo;t&mdash;I&rsquo;ll never sleep
+again. Caan&rsquo; t&rsquo;e think o&rsquo; me so well as yourself&mdash;you
+as be allus thinking o&rsquo; me? Ban&rsquo;t I to count in an awful pass
+like this? I&rsquo;m no fair-weather wife, as you knaws by now. If you gives
+yourself up, I&rsquo;ll kill myself. You think I couldn&rsquo;t, but I could.
+What&rsquo;s my days away from you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Hush, hush!&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Be you mad? &rsquo;T is a matter
+tu small for such talk as that.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Promise, then, promise you&rsquo;ll be dumb till arter
+Christmas.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So I will, if you &rsquo;m that set on it; but if you knawed what
+waitin&rsquo; meant to the likes o&rsquo; me, you wouldn&rsquo;t ax.
+You&rsquo;ve got my word, now keep quiet, theer &rsquo;s a dear love,
+an&rsquo; dry your eyes.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He put her into bed, and soon stretched himself beside her. Then she clung
+to him as though powers were already dragging him away for ever. Will, bored
+and weary, was sorry for his wife with all his soul, and kept grunting words
+of good cheer and comfort as he sank to sleep. She still begged and prayed
+for delay, and by her importunity made him promise at last that he would take
+no step until after New Year&rsquo;s Day. Then, finding she could win no more
+in that direction, Phoebe turned to another aspect of the problem, and began
+to argue with unexpected if sophistic skill. Her tears were now dry, her eyes
+very bright beneath the darkness; she talked and talked with feverish
+volubility, and her voice faded into a long-drawn murmur as Will&rsquo;s
+hearing weakened on the verge of unconsciousness.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why for d&rsquo; you say you was wrong in what you done? Why
+d&rsquo; you harp an&rsquo; harp &rsquo;pon that, knawin&rsquo; right well
+you&rsquo;d do the same again to-morrow? You wasn&rsquo;t wrong, an&rsquo;
+the Queen&rsquo;s self would say the same if she knawed. &rsquo;T was to save
+a helpless woman you runned; an&rsquo; her&mdash;Queen
+Victoria&mdash;wi&rsquo; her big heart as can sigh for the sorrow of even
+such small folks as us&mdash;she&rsquo;d be the last to blame
+&rsquo;e.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She&rsquo;ll never knaw nothin&rsquo; &rsquo;bout it, gude or bad.
+They doan&rsquo;t vex her ears wi&rsquo; trifles. I deserted, an&rsquo;
+that&rsquo;s a crime.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I say &rsquo;t weern&rsquo;t no such thing. You had to choose
+between that an&rsquo; letting me die. You saved my life; an&rsquo; the facts
+would be judged the same by any as was wife an&rsquo; mother, high or low.
+God A&rsquo;mighty &rsquo;s best an&rsquo; awnly judge how much you was
+wrong; an&rsquo; you knaw He doan&rsquo;t blame &rsquo;e, else your heart
+would have been sore for it these years an&rsquo; years. You never blamed
+yourself till now.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess, awften an&rsquo; awften I did. It comed an&rsquo; went,
+an&rsquo; comed an&rsquo; went again, like winter frosts. True as I&rsquo;m
+living it comed an&rsquo; went like that.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Thus he spoke, half incoherently, his voice all blurred and vague with
+sleep.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You awnly think &rsquo;t was so. You&rsquo;d never have sat down
+under it else. It ban&rsquo;t meant you should give yourself up now, anyways.
+God would have sent the sojers to find &rsquo;e when you runned away if
+He&rsquo;d wanted &rsquo;em to find &rsquo;e. You didn&rsquo;t hide. You
+looked the world in the faace bold as a lion, didn&rsquo;t &rsquo;e? Coourse
+you did; an&rsquo; &rsquo;t is gwaine against God&rsquo;s will an&rsquo; wish
+for you to give yourself up now. So you mustn&rsquo;t speak an&rsquo; you
+must tell no one&mdash;not even faither. I was wrong to ax &rsquo;e to tell
+him. Nobody at all must knaw. Be dumb, an&rsquo; trust me to be dumb.
+&rsquo;T is buried an&rsquo; forgot. I&rsquo;ll fight for &rsquo;e, my
+dearie, same as you&rsquo;ve fought for me many a time; an&rsquo; &rsquo;t
+will all fall out right for &rsquo;e, for men &rsquo;s come through worse
+passes than this wi&rsquo; fewer friends than what you&rsquo;ve
+got.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She stopped to win breath and, in the silence, heard Will&rsquo;s regular
+respiration and knew that he slept. How much he had heard of her speech
+Phoebe could not say, but she felt glad to think that some hours at least of
+rest and peace now awaited him. For herself she had never been more widely
+awake, and her brains were very busy through the hours of darkness. A hundred
+thoughts and schemes presented themselves. She gradually eliminated everybody
+from the main issue but Will, John Grimbal, and herself; and, pursuing the
+argument, began to suspect that she alone had power to right the wrong. In
+one direction only could such an opinion lead&mdash;a direction tremendous to
+her. Yet she did not shrink from the necessity ahead; she strung herself up
+to face it; she longed for an opportunity and resolved to make one at the
+earliest moment.</p>
+<p>Now that night was the longest in the whole year; and yet to Phoebe it
+passed with magic celerity.</p>
+<p>Will awakened about half-past five, rose immediately according to his
+custom, lighted a candle, and started to dress himself. He began the day in
+splendid spirits, begotten of good sleep and good health; but his wife saw
+the lightness of heart, the bustling activity of body, sink into apathy and
+inertia as remembrance overtook his wakening hour. It was like a brief and
+splendid dawn crushed by storm-clouds at the very rise of the sun.</p>
+<p>Phoebe presently dressed her little daughter and, as soon as the child had
+gone down-stairs, Will resumed the problems of his position.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I be in two minds this marnin&rsquo;,&rdquo; he said.
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve a thought to tell mother of this matter. She &rsquo;m that
+wise, I&rsquo;ve knawed her put me on the right track &rsquo;fore now,
+an&rsquo; never guess she&rsquo;d done it. Not but what I allus awn up to
+taking advice, if I follow it, an&rsquo; no man &rsquo;s readier to profit by
+the wisdom of his betters than me. That&rsquo;s how I&rsquo;ve done all I
+have done in my time. T&rsquo; other thought was to take your counsel
+an&rsquo; see Miller &rsquo;pon it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I was wrong, Will&mdash;quite wrong. I&rsquo;ve been thinking, tu.
+He mustn&rsquo;t knaw, nor yet mother, nor nobody. Quite enough knaws as
+&rsquo;t is.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What&rsquo;s the wisdom o&rsquo; talkin&rsquo; like that? Who
+&rsquo;s gwaine to hide the thing, even if they wanted to? God knaws I
+ban&rsquo;t. I&rsquo;d like, so well as not, to go up Chagford next
+market-day an&rsquo; shout out the business afore the world.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You can&rsquo;t now. You must wait. You promised. I thought about
+it with every inch of my brain last night, an&rsquo; I got a sort of
+feeling&mdash;I caan&rsquo;t explain, but wait. I&rsquo;ve trusted you all my
+life long an&rsquo; allus shall; now &rsquo;t is your turn to trust me, just
+this wance. I&rsquo;ve got great thoughts. I see the way; I may do much
+myself. You see, Jan Grimbal&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Will stood still with his chin half shorn.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You dare to do that,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;an&rsquo; I&rsquo;ll
+raise Cain in this plaace; I&rsquo;ll&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He broke off and laughed at himself.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Here be I blusterin&rsquo; like a gert bully now! Doan&rsquo;t be
+feared, Phoebe. Forgive my noise. You mean so well, but you caan&rsquo;t hide
+your secrets, fortunately. Bless your purty eyes&mdash;tu gude for me,
+an&rsquo; allus was, braave li&rsquo;l woman!</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But no more of that&mdash;no seekin&rsquo; him, an&rsquo; no speech
+with him, if that&rsquo;s the way your poor, silly thought was. My bones
+smart to think of you bearin&rsquo; any of it. But doan&rsquo;t you put no
+oar into this troubled water, else the bwoat&rsquo;ll capsize, sure as death.
+I&rsquo;ve promised &rsquo;e not to say a word till arter New Year; now you
+must promise me never, so help you, to speak to that man, or look at un, or
+listen to a word from un. Fly him like you would the devil; an&rsquo; a gude
+second to the devil he is&mdash;if &rsquo;t is awnly in the matter o&rsquo;
+patience. Promise now.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You &rsquo;m so hasty, Will. You doan&rsquo;t onderstand a
+woman&rsquo;s cleverness in such matters. &rsquo;T is just the fashion thing
+as shaws what we &rsquo;m made of.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Promise!&rdquo; he thundered angrily. &ldquo;Now, this instant
+moment, in wan word.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She gave him a single defiant glance. Then the boldness of her eyes faded
+and her lips drooped at the corners.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I promise, then.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I should think you did.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>A few minutes later Will was gone, and Phoebe dabbed her moist eyes and
+blamed herself for so clumsily revealing her great intention,&mdash;to see
+John Grimbal and plead with him. This secret ambition was now swept away, and
+she knew not where to turn or how to act for her husband.</p>
+<h2><a id="IV_XII" name="IV_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII<br />
+NEW YEAR&rsquo;S EVE AND NEW YEAR&rsquo;S DAY</h2>
+<p>From this point in his career Will Blanchard, who lacked all power of
+hiding his inner heart, soon made it superficially apparent that new troubles
+had overtaken him. No word concerning his intolerable anxieties escaped him,
+but a great cloud of tribulation encompassed every hour, and was revealed to
+others by increased petulance and shortness of temper. This mental friction
+quickly appeared on the young man&rsquo;s face, and his habitual expression
+of sulkiness which formerly belied him, now increased and more nearly
+reflected the reigning temperament of Blanchard&rsquo;s mind. His nerves were
+on the rack and he grew sullen and fretful. A dreary expression gained upon
+his features, an expression sad as a winter twilight brushed with rain. To
+Phoebe he seldom spoke of the matter, and she soon abandoned further attempts
+to intrude upon his heart though her own was breaking for him. Billy Blee and
+the farm hands were Will&rsquo;s safety-valve. One moment he showered hard
+and bitter words; the next, at sight of some ploughboy&rsquo;s tears or older
+man&rsquo;s reasonable anger, Will instantly relented and expressed his
+sorrow. The dullest among them grew in time to discern matters were amiss
+with him, for his tormented mind began to affect his actions and disorder the
+progress of his life. At times he worked laboriously and did much with his
+own hands that might have been left to others; but his energy was displayed
+in a manner fitful and spasmodic; occasionally he would vanish altogether for
+four-and-twenty hours or more; and none knew when he might appear or
+disappear.</p>
+<p>It happened on New Year&rsquo;s Eve that a varied company assembled at the
+&ldquo;Green Man&rdquo; according to ancient custom. Here were Inspector
+Chown, Mr. Chapple, Mr. Blee, Charles Coomstock, with many others; and the
+assembly was further enriched by the presence of the bell-ringers. Their
+services would be demanded presently to toll out the old year, to welcome
+with joyful peal the new; and they assembled here until closing time that
+they might enjoy a pint of the extra strong liquor a prosperous publican
+provided for his customers at this season.</p>
+<p>The talk was of Blanchard, and Mr. Blee, provided with a theme which
+always challenged his most forcible diction, discussed Will freely and
+without prejudice.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I &rsquo;most goes in fear of my life, I tell &rsquo;e; but thank
+God &rsquo;t is the beginning of the end. He&rsquo;ll spread his wings afore
+spring and be off again, or I doan&rsquo;t knaw un. Ess fay, he&rsquo;ll
+depart wi&rsquo; his fiery nature an&rsquo; horrible ideas &rsquo;pon
+manuring of land; an&rsquo; a gude riddance for Monks Barton, I
+say.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Mazing &rsquo;t is,&rdquo; declared Mr. Coomstock,
+&ldquo;that he should look so black all times, seeing the gude fortune as
+turns up for un when most he wants it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So &rsquo;t is,&rdquo; admitted Billy. &ldquo;The faace of un weer
+allus sulky, like to the faace of a auld ram cat, as may have a gude heart in
+un for all his glowerin&rsquo; eyes. But him! Theer ban&rsquo;t no
+pleasin&rsquo; un. What do he want? Surely never no man &rsquo;s failed on
+his feet awftener.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;T is that what &rsquo;s spoilin&rsquo; un, I reckon,&rdquo;
+said Mr. Chappie. &ldquo;A li&rsquo;l ill-fortune he wants now, same as a
+salad o&rsquo; green stuff wants some bite to it. He&rsquo;d grumble in
+heaven, by the looks of un. An&rsquo; yet it do shaw the patience of God
+wi&rsquo; human sawls.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess, it do,&rdquo; answered Mr. Blee; &ldquo;but patience
+ban&rsquo;t a virtue, pushed tu far. Justice is justice, as I&rsquo;ve said
+more &rsquo;n wance to Miller an&rsquo; Blanchard, tu, an&rsquo; a man of my
+years can see wheer justice lies so clear as God can. For why? Because theer
+ban&rsquo;t room for two opinions. I&rsquo;ve give my Maker best scores
+an&rsquo; scores o&rsquo; times, as we all must; but truth caan&rsquo;t
+alter, an&rsquo; having put thinking paarts into our heads, &rsquo;t is more
+&rsquo;n God A&rsquo;mighty&rsquo;s Self can do to keep us from usin&rsquo;
+of&rsquo;em.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A tremenjous thought,&rdquo; said Mr. Chapple.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So &rsquo;t is. An&rsquo; what I want to knaw is, why should
+Blanchard have his fling, an&rsquo; treat me like dirt, an&rsquo; ride
+rough-shod awver his betters, an&rsquo; scowl at the sky all times, an&rsquo;
+nothin&rsquo; said?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Providence doan&rsquo;t answer a question just &rsquo;cause we
+&rsquo;m pleased to ax wan,&rdquo; said Abraham Chown. &ldquo;What happens
+happens, because &rsquo;t is foreordained, an&rsquo; you caan&rsquo;t judge
+the right an&rsquo; wrong of a man&rsquo;s life from wan year or two or ten,
+more &rsquo;n you can judge a glass o&rsquo; ale by a tea-spoon of it. Many
+has a long rope awnly to hang themselves in the end, by the wonnerful
+foresight of God.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;All the same, theer&rsquo;d be hell an&rsquo; Tommy to pay mighty
+quick, if you an&rsquo; me did the things that bwoy does, an&rsquo; carried
+on that onreligious,&rdquo; replied Mr. Blee, with gloomy conviction.
+&ldquo;Ban&rsquo;t fair to other people, an&rsquo; if &rsquo;t was Doomsday
+I&rsquo;d up an&rsquo; say so. What gude deeds have he done to have life
+smoothed out, an&rsquo; the hills levelled an&rsquo; the valleys filled up?
+An&rsquo; nought but sour looks for it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But be you sure he &rsquo;m happy?&rdquo; inquired Mr. Chapple.
+&ldquo;He &rsquo;m not the man to walk &rsquo;bout wi&rsquo; a fiddle-faace
+if &rsquo;t was fair weather wi&rsquo; un. He&rsquo;ve got his troubles same
+as us, depend upon it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Blanchard himself entered at this moment. It wanted but half an hour to
+closing time when he did so, and he glanced round the bar, snorted at the
+thick atmosphere of alcohol and smoke, then pulled out his pipe and took a
+vacant chair.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Gude evenin&rsquo;, Will,&rdquo; said Mr. Chapple.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A happy New Year, Blanchard,&rdquo; added the landlord.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Evening, sawls all,&rdquo; answered Will, nodding round him.
+&ldquo;Auld year&rsquo;s like to die o&rsquo; frost by the looks of
+it&mdash;a stinger, I tell &rsquo;e. Anybody seen Farmer Endicott? I&rsquo;ve
+been looking for un since noon wi&rsquo; a message from my
+faither-in-law.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I gived thicky message this marnin&rsquo;,&rdquo; cried Billy.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess, I knaw you did; that&rsquo;s my trouble. You gived it wrong.
+I&rsquo;ll just have a pint of the treble X then. &rsquo;T is the night for
+&rsquo;t.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Will&rsquo;s demeanour belied the recent conversation respecting him. He
+appeared to be in great spirits, joked with the men, exchanged shafts with
+Billy, and was the first to roar with laughter when Mr. Blee got the better
+of him in a brisk battle of repartee. Truth to tell, the young man&rsquo;s
+heart felt somewhat lighter, and with reason. To-morrow his promise to Phoebe
+held him no longer, and his carking, maddening trial of patience was to end.
+The load would drop from his shoulders at daylight. His letter to Mr. Lyddon
+had been written; in the morning the miller must read it before breakfast,
+and learn that his son-in-law had started for Plymouth to give himself up for
+the crime of the past. John Grimbal had made no sign, and the act of
+surrender would now be voluntary&mdash;a thought which lightened
+Blanchard&rsquo;s heart and induced a turn of temper almost jovial. He joined
+a chorus, laughed with the loudest, and contrived before closing time to
+drink a pint and a half of the famous special brew. Then the bell-ringers
+departed to their duties, and Mr. Chapple with Mr. Blee, Will, and one or two
+other favoured spirits spent a further half-hour in their host&rsquo;s
+private parlour, and there consumed a little sloe gin, to steady the humming
+ale.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You an&rsquo; me must see wan another home,&rdquo; said Will when
+he and Mr. Blee departed into the frosty night.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Fust time as ever you give me an arm,&rdquo; murmured Billy.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Won&rsquo;t be the last, I&rsquo;m sure,&rdquo; declared Will.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve allus had a gude word for &rsquo;e ever since I knawed
+&rsquo;e,&rdquo; answered Billy.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; why for shouldn&rsquo;t &rsquo;e?&rdquo; asked Will.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Beginning of New Year &rsquo;s a solemn sarcumstance,&rdquo;
+proceeded Billy, as a solitary bell began to toll. &ldquo;Theer &rsquo;s the
+death-rattle of eighteen hunderd an&rsquo; eighty-six! Well, well, we must
+all die&mdash;men an&rsquo; mice.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; the devil take the hindmost.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Mr. Blee chuckled.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Let &rsquo;s go round this way,&rdquo; he said.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why? Ban&rsquo;t your auld bones ready for bed yet? Theer &rsquo;s
+nought theer but starlight an&rsquo; frost.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Be gormed to the frost! I laugh at it. Ban&rsquo;t that. &rsquo;T
+is the Union workhouse, wheer auld Lezzard lies. I likes to pass, an&rsquo;
+nod to un as he sits on the lew side o&rsquo; the wall in his white coat,
+chumping his thoughts between his gums.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He &rsquo;m happier &rsquo;n me or you, I lay.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not him! You should see un glower &rsquo;pon me when I gives un
+&rsquo;gude day.&rsquo; I tawld un wance as the Poor Rates was up
+somethin&rsquo; cruel since he&rsquo;d gone in the House, an&rsquo; he looked
+as though he&rsquo;d &rsquo;a&rsquo; liked to do me violence. No, he
+ban&rsquo;t happy, I warn &rsquo;e.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, you won&rsquo;t see un sitting under the stars in his white
+coat, poor auld blid. He &rsquo;m asleep under the blankets, I
+lay.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Thin wans! Thin blankets an&rsquo; not many of &rsquo;em. An&rsquo;
+all his awn doin&rsquo;. Patent justice, if ever I seed it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Tramp along! You can travel faster &rsquo;n that. Ess fay! Justice
+is the battle-cry o&rsquo; God against men most times. Maybe they &rsquo;m
+strong on it in heaven, but theer &rsquo;s damned little filters down here.
+Theer go the bells! Another New Year come. Years o&rsquo; the Lard they call
+&rsquo;em! Years o&rsquo; the devil most times, if you ax me. What do
+&rsquo;e want the New Year to bring to you, Billy?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A contented &rsquo;eart,&rdquo; said Mr. Blee, &ldquo;an&rsquo;
+perhaps just half-a-crown more a week, if &rsquo;t was seemly. Brains be paid
+higher &rsquo;n sweat in this world, an&rsquo; I&rsquo;m mostly brain now in
+my dealin&rsquo;s wi&rsquo; Miller. A brain be like a nut, as ripens all the
+year through an&rsquo; awnly comes to be gude for gathering when the tree
+&rsquo;s in the sere. &rsquo;T is in the autumn of life a man&rsquo;s brain
+be worth plucking like&mdash;eh?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Doan&rsquo;t knaw. They &rsquo;m maggoty mostly at your
+age!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; they &rsquo;m milky mostly at yourn!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Listen to the bells an&rsquo; give awver chattering,&rdquo; said
+Will.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;After gude store o&rsquo; drinks, a sad thing like holy bells
+ringing in the dark afar off do sting my nose an&rsquo; bring a drop to my
+eye,&rdquo; confessed Mr. Blee. &ldquo;An&rsquo; you&mdash;why, theer
+&rsquo;s a baaby hid away in the New Year for you&mdash;a human creature as
+may do gert wonders in the land an&rsquo; turn out into Antichrist, for all
+you can say positive. Theer &rsquo;s a braave thought for
+&rsquo;e!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>This remark sobered Blanchard and his mind travelled into the future, to
+Phoebe, to the child coming in June.</p>
+<p>Billy babbled on, and presently they reached Mrs. Blanchard&rsquo;s
+cottage. Damaris herself, with a shawl over her head, stood and listened to
+the bells, and Will, taking leave of Mr. Blee, hastened to wish his mother
+all happiness in the year now newly dawned. He walked once or twice up and
+down the little garden beside her, and with a tongue loosened by liquor came
+near to telling her of his approaching action, but did not do so. Meantime
+Mr. Blee steered himself with all caution over Rushford Bridge to Monks
+Barton.</p>
+<p>Presently the veteran appeared before his master and Phoebe, who had
+waited for the advent of the New Year before retiring. Miller Lyddon was
+about to suggest a night-cap for Billy, but changed his mind.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Enough &rsquo;s as gude as a feast,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Canst
+get up-stairs wi&rsquo;out help?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Coourse I can! But the chap to the &lsquo;Green Man&rsquo;s&rsquo;
+that perfuse wi&rsquo; his liquor at seasons of rejoicing. More went down
+than was chalked up; I allow that. If you&rsquo;ll light my chamber cannel,
+I&rsquo;ll thank &rsquo;e, missis; an&rsquo; a Happy New Year to
+all.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Phoebe obeyed, launched Mr. Blee in the direction of his chamber, then
+turned to receive Will&rsquo;s caress as he came home and locked the door
+behind him.</p>
+<p>The night air still carried the music of the bells. For an hour they
+pealed on; then the chime died slowly, a bell at a time, until two clanged
+each against the other. Presently one stopped and the last, weakening softly,
+beat a few strokes more, then ceased to fret the frosty birth-hour of another
+year.</p>
+<p>The darkness slipped away, and Blanchard who had long learned to rise
+without awakening his wife, was up and dressed again soon after five
+o&rsquo;clock. He descended silently, placed a letter on the mantelpiece in
+the kitchen, abstracted a leg of goose and a hunch of bread from the larder,
+then set out upon a chilly walk of five miles to Moreton Hampstead. From
+there he designed to take train and proceed to Plymouth as directly and
+speedily as possible.</p>
+<p>Some two hours later Will&rsquo;s letter found itself in Mr.
+Lyddon&rsquo;s hand, and his father-in-law learnt the secret. Phoebe was
+almost as amazed as the miller himself when this knowledge came to her ear;
+for Will had not breathed his intention to her, and no suspicion had crossed
+his wife&rsquo;s mind that he intended to act with such instant promptitude
+on the expiration of their contract.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I doubted I knawed him through an&rsquo; through at last, but
+&rsquo;t is awnly to-day, an&rsquo; after this, that I can say as I
+do,&rdquo; mused Mr. Lyddon over an untasted breakfast. &ldquo;To think he
+runned them awful risks to make you fast to him! To think he corned all
+across England in the past to make you his wife against the danger on wan
+side, an&rsquo; the power o&rsquo; Jan Grimbal an&rsquo; me drawed up
+&rsquo;pon the other!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Pursuing this strain to Phoebe&rsquo;s heartfelt relief, the miller
+neither assumed an attitude of great indignation at Will&rsquo;s action nor
+affected despair of his future. He was much bewildered, however.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;ll keep me &rsquo;mazed so long as I live, &rsquo;pears to
+me. But he &rsquo;m gone for the present, an&rsquo; I doan&rsquo;t say
+I&rsquo;m sorry, knawin&rsquo; what was behind. No call for you to sob
+yourself into a fever. Please God, he&rsquo;ll be back long &rsquo;fore you
+want him. Us&rsquo;ll make the least we can of it, an&rsquo; bide patient
+until we hear tell of him. He&rsquo;ve gone to Plymouth&mdash;that&rsquo;s
+all Chagford needs to knaw at present.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Theer &rsquo;s newspapers an&rsquo; Jan Grimbal,&rdquo; sobbed
+Phoebe.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A dark man wi&rsquo; fixed purposes, sure enough,&rdquo; admitted
+her father, for Will&rsquo;s long letter had placed all the facts before him.
+&ldquo;What he&rsquo;ll do us caan&rsquo;t say, though, seein&rsquo;
+Will&rsquo;s act, theer &rsquo;s nothin&rsquo; more left for un. Why has the
+man been silent so long if he meant to strike in the end? Now I must go
+an&rsquo; tell Mrs. Blanchard. Will begs an&rsquo; prays of me to do that so
+soon as he shall be gone; an&rsquo; he &rsquo;m right. She ought to knaw; but
+&rsquo;t is a job calling for careful choice of words an&rsquo; a light hand.
+Wonder is to me he didn&rsquo;t tell her hisself. But he never does what
+you&rsquo;d count &rsquo;pon his doing.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You won&rsquo;t tell Billy, faither, will &rsquo;e? Ban&rsquo;t no
+call for that.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I won&rsquo;t tell him, certainly not; but Blee &rsquo;s a ferret
+when a thing &rsquo;s hid. A detective mind theer is to Billy. How would it
+do to tell un right away an&rsquo; put un &rsquo;pon his honour to say
+nothing?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He mustn&rsquo;t knaw; he mustn&rsquo;t knaw. He couldn&rsquo;t
+keep a secret like that if you gived un fifty pounds to keep it. So soon tell
+a town-crier as him.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then us won&rsquo;t,&rdquo; promised Mr. Lyddon, and ten minutes
+after he proceeded to Mrs. Blanchard&rsquo;s cottage with the news. His first
+hasty survey of the position had not been wholly unfavourable to Will, but he
+was a man of unstable mind in his estimates of human character, and now he
+chiefly occupied his thoughts with the offence of desertion from the army.
+The disgrace of such an action magnified itself as he reflected upon
+Will&rsquo;s unhappy deed.</p>
+<p>Phoebe, meantime, succumbed and found herself a helpless prey of terrors
+vague and innumerable. Will&rsquo;s fate she could not guess at; but she felt
+it must be severe; she doubted not that his sentence would extend over long
+years. In her dejection and misery she mourned for herself and wondered what
+manner of babe would this be that now took substance through a season of such
+gloom and accumulated sorrows. The thought begat pity for the coming little
+one,&mdash;utmost commiseration that set Phoebe&rsquo;s tears flowing
+anew,&mdash;and when the miller returned he found his daughter stricken
+beyond measure and incoherent under her grief. But Mr. Lyddon came back with
+a companion, and it was her husband, not her father, who dried Phoebe&rsquo;s
+eyes and cheered her lonely heart. Will, indeed, appeared and stood by her
+suddenly; and she heard his voice and cried a loud thanksgiving and clasped
+him close.</p>
+<p>Yet no occasion for rejoicing had brought about this unexpected
+reappearance. Indeed, more ill-fortune was responsible for it. When Mr.
+Lyddon arrived at Mrs. Blanchard&rsquo;s gate, he found both Will and Doctor
+Parsons standing there, then learnt the incident that had prevented his
+son-in-law&rsquo;s proposed action.</p>
+<p>Passing that way himself some hours earlier, Will had been suddenly
+surprised to see blue smoke rising from a chimney of the house. It was a very
+considerable time before such event might reasonably be expected and a second
+look alarmed Blanchard&rsquo;s heart, for on the little chimney-stack he knew
+each pot, and it was not the kitchen chimney but that of his mother&rsquo;s
+bedroom which now sent evidence of a newly lighted fire into the morning.</p>
+<p>In a second Will&rsquo;s plans and purposes were swept away before this
+spectacle. A fire in a bedroom represented a circumstance almost outside his
+experience. At least it indicated sickness unto death. He was in the house a
+moment later, for the latch lifted at his touch; and when he knocked at his
+mother&rsquo;s door and cried his name, she bade him come in.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What&rsquo;s this? What&rsquo;s amiss with &rsquo;e, mother?
+Doan&rsquo;t say &rsquo;t is anything very bad. I seed the smoke an&rsquo; my
+heart stood still.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She smiled and assured him her illness was of no account.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ban&rsquo;t nothing. Just a shivering an&rsquo; stabbing in the
+chest. My awn fulishness to be out listening to they bells in the frost. But
+no call to fear. I awnly axed my li&rsquo;l servant to get me a cup o&rsquo;
+tea, an&rsquo; she comed an&rsquo; would light the fire, an&rsquo; would go
+for doctor, though theer ban&rsquo;t no &rsquo;casion at all.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Every occasion, an&rsquo; the gal was right, an&rsquo; it shawed
+gude sense in such a dinky maid as her. Nothin&rsquo; like taaking a cold in
+gude time. Do &rsquo;e catch heat from the fire?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Mrs. Blanchard&rsquo;s eyes were dull, and her breathing a little
+disordered. Will instantly began to bustle about. He added fuel to the flame,
+set on a kettle, dragged blankets out of cupboards and piled them upon his
+mother. Then he found a pillow-case, aired it until the thing scorched,
+inserted a pillow, and placed it beneath the patient&rsquo;s head. His
+subsequent step was to rummage dried marshmallows out of a drawer, concoct a
+sort of dismal brew, and inflict a cup upon the sick woman. Doctor Parsons
+still tarrying, Will went out of doors, knocked a brick from the fowl-house
+wall, brought it in, made it nearly red hot, then wrapped it up in an old rug
+and applied it to his parent&rsquo;s feet,&mdash;all of which things the sick
+woman patiently endured.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You &rsquo;m doin&rsquo; me a power o&rsquo; gude, dearie,&rdquo;
+she said, as her discomfort and suffering increased.</p>
+<p>Presently Doctor Parsons arrived, checked Will in fantastic experiments
+with a poultice, and gave him occupation in a commission to the
+physician&rsquo;s surgery. When he returned, he heard that his mother was
+suffering from a severe chill, but that any definite declaration upon the
+case was as yet impossible.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No cause to be &rsquo;feared?&rdquo; he asked.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;T is idle to be too sanguine. You know my philosophy.
+I&rsquo;ve seen a scratched finger kill a man; I&rsquo;ve known puny babes
+wriggle out of Death&rsquo;s hand when I could have sworn it had closed upon
+them for good and all. Where there &rsquo;s life there &rsquo;s
+hope.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess, I knaw you,&rdquo; answered Will gloomily; &ldquo;an&rsquo; I
+knaw when you say that you allus mean there ban&rsquo;t no hope at
+all.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, no. A strong, hale woman like your mother need not give us any
+fear at present. Sleep and rest, cheerful faces round her, and no amateur
+physic. I&rsquo;ll see her to-night and send in a nurse from the Cottage
+Hospital at once.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then it was that Miller Lyddon arrived, and presently Will returned home.
+He wholly mistook Phoebe&rsquo;s frantic reception, and assumed that her
+tears must be flowing for Mrs. Blanchard.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She&rsquo;ll weather it,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Keep a gude heart.
+The gal from the hospital ban&rsquo;t coming &rsquo;cause theer &rsquo;s
+danger, but &rsquo;cause she &rsquo;m smart an&rsquo; vitty &rsquo;bout a
+sick room, an&rsquo; cheerful as a canary an&rsquo; knaws her business. Quick
+of hand an&rsquo; light of foot for sartin. Mother&rsquo;ll be all right; I
+feel it deep in me she will.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Presently conversation passed to Will himself, and Phoebe expressed a hope
+this sad event would turn him from his determination for some time at
+least.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What determination?&rdquo; he asked. &ldquo;What be talkin&rsquo;
+about?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The letter you left for faither, and the thing you started to
+do,&rdquo; she answered.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;S truth! So I did; an&rsquo; if the sight o&rsquo; the smoke
+an&rsquo; then hearin&rsquo; o&rsquo; mother&rsquo;s trouble didn&rsquo;t
+blaw the whole business out of my brain!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He stood amazed at his own complete forgetfulness.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Queer, to be sure! But coourse theer weern&rsquo;t room in my mind
+for anything but mother arter I seed her stricken down.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>During the evening, after final reports from Mrs. Blanchard&rsquo;s
+sick-room spoke of soothing sleep, Miller Lyddon sent Billy upon an errand,
+and discussed Will&rsquo;s position.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Jan Grimbal &rsquo;s waited so long,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;that
+maybe he&rsquo;ll wait longer still an&rsquo; end by doin&rsquo;
+nothin&rsquo; at all.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not him! You judge the man by yourself,&rdquo; declared Will.
+&ldquo;But he &rsquo;s made of very different metal. I lay he&rsquo;s
+bidin&rsquo; till the edge of this be sharp and sure to cut deepest. So like
+&rsquo;s not, when he hears tell mother &rsquo;s took bad he&rsquo;ll choose
+that instant moment to have me marched away.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>There was a moment&rsquo;s silence, then Blanchard burst out into a fury
+bred of sudden thought, and struck the table heavily with his fist.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;God blast it! I be allus waitin&rsquo; now for some wan&rsquo;s
+vengeance! I caan&rsquo;t stand this life no more. I caan&rsquo;t an&rsquo; I
+won&rsquo;t&mdash;&rsquo;t is enough to soften any man&rsquo;s
+wits.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Quiet! quiet, caan&rsquo;t &rsquo;e?&rdquo; said the miller, as
+though he told a dog to lie down. &ldquo;Theer now! You&rsquo;ve been
+an&rsquo; gived me palpitations with your noise. Banging tables won&rsquo;t
+mend it, nor bad words neither. This thing hasn&rsquo;t come by chance. You
+&rsquo;m ripening in mind an&rsquo; larnin&rsquo; every day. You mark my
+word; theer &rsquo;s a mort o&rsquo; matters to pick out of this new trouble.
+An&rsquo; fust, patience.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Patience! If a patient, long-suffering man walks this airth, I be
+him, I should reckon. I caan&rsquo;t wait the gude pleasure of that dog, not
+even for you, Miller.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;T is discipline, an&rsquo; sent for the strengthening of
+your fibre. Providence barred the road to-day, else you&rsquo;d be in prison
+now. Ban&rsquo;t meant you should give yourself up&mdash;that&rsquo;s how I
+read it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;T is cowardly, waitin&rsquo; an&rsquo; playin&rsquo; into
+his hands; an&rsquo; if you awnly knawed how this has fouled my mind
+wi&rsquo; evil, an&rsquo; soured the very taste of what I eat, an&rsquo;
+dulled the faace of life, an&rsquo; blunted the right feeling in me even for
+them I love best, you&rsquo;d never bid me bide on under it. &rsquo;T is
+rotting me&mdash;body an&rsquo; sawl&mdash;that&rsquo;s what &rsquo;t is
+doin&rsquo;. An&rsquo; now I be come to such a pass that if I met un
+to-morrow an&rsquo; he swore on his dying oath he&rsquo;d never tell, I
+shouldn&rsquo;t be contented even wi&rsquo; that.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No such gude fortune,&rdquo; sighed Phoebe.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;T wouldn&rsquo;t be gude fortune,&rdquo; answered her
+husband. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m like a dirty chamber coated wi&rsquo; cobwebs
+an&rsquo; them ghostly auld spiders as hangs dead in unsecured corners.
+Plaaces so left gets worse. My mind &rsquo;s all in a ferment, an&rsquo;
+&rsquo;t wouldn&rsquo;t be none the better now if Jan Grimbal broke his
+damned neck to-morrow an&rsquo; took my secret with him. I caan&rsquo;t
+breathe for it; it &rsquo;s suffocating me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Phoebe used subtlety in her answer, and invited him to view the position
+from her standpoint rather than his own.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Think o&rsquo; me, then, an&rsquo; t&rsquo; others. &rsquo;T is
+plain selfishness, this talk, if you looks to the bottom of it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;As to that, I doan&rsquo;t say so,&rdquo; began Mr. Lyddon, slowly
+stuffing his pipe. &ldquo;No. When a man goes so deep into his heart as what
+Will have before me this minute, doan&rsquo;t become no man to judge un, or
+tell &rsquo;bout selfishness. Us have got to save our awn sawls, an&rsquo; us
+must even leave wife, an&rsquo; mother, and childer if theer &rsquo;s no
+other way to do it. Ban&rsquo;t no right living&mdash;ban&rsquo;t no fair
+travelling in double harness wi&rsquo; conscience, onless you&rsquo;ve got a
+clean mind. An&rsquo; yet waitin&rsquo; &rsquo;pears the only way o&rsquo;
+wisdom just here. You&rsquo;ve never got room in that head o&rsquo; yourn for
+more &rsquo;n wan thought to a time; an&rsquo; I doan&rsquo;t blame &rsquo;e
+theer neither, for a chap wi&rsquo; wan idea, if he sticks to it, goes
+further &rsquo;n him as drives a team of thoughts half broken in. I mean you
+&rsquo;m forgettin&rsquo; your mother for the moment. I should say, wait for
+her mendin&rsquo; &rsquo;fore you do anything.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Back came Blanchard&rsquo;s mind to his mother with a whole-hearted
+swing.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;you &rsquo;m right theer. My plaace is
+handy to her till she &rsquo;m movin&rsquo;; an&rsquo; if he tries to take me
+before she &rsquo;m down-house again, by God! I&rsquo;ll&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Let it bide that way then. Put t&rsquo; other matter out o&rsquo;
+your mind so far as you can. Fill your pipe an&rsquo; suck deep at it. I
+haven&rsquo;t seen &rsquo;e smoke this longful time; an&rsquo; in my view
+theer &rsquo;s no better servant than tobacco to a mind puzzled at wan
+o&rsquo; life&rsquo;s cross-roads.&rdquo;</p>
+<h2><a id="IV_XIII" name="IV_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII<br />
+MR. LYDDON&rsquo;S TACTICS</h2>
+<p>In the morning Mrs. Blanchard was worse, and some few days later lay in
+danger of her life. Her son spent half his time in the sick-room, walked
+about bootless to make no sound, and fretted with impatience at thought of
+the length of days which must elapse before Chris could return to Chagford.
+Telegrams had been sent to Martin Grimbal, who was spending his honeymoon out
+of England; but on the most sanguine computation he and his wife would
+scarcely be home again in less than ten days or a fortnight.</p>
+<p>Hope and gloom succeeded each other swiftly within Will Blanchard&rsquo;s
+mind, and at first he discounted the consistent pessimism of Doctor Parsons
+somewhat more liberally than the issue justified. When, therefore, he was
+informed of the truth and stood face to face with his mother&rsquo;s danger,
+hope sank, and his unstable spirit was swept from an altitude of secret
+confidence to the opposite depth of despair.</p>
+<p>Through long silences, while she slept or seemed to do so, the young man
+traced back his life and hers; and he began to see what a good mother means.
+Then he accused himself of many faults and made impetuous confession to his
+wife and her father. On these occasions Phoebe softened his self-blame, but
+Mr. Lyddon let Will talk, and told him for his consolation that every
+mother&rsquo;s son must be accused of like offences.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Best of childer falls far short,&rdquo; he assured Will;
+&ldquo;best brings tu many tears, if &rsquo;t is awnly for wantonness;
+an&rsquo; him as thinks he&rsquo;ve been all he should be to his mother lies
+to himself; an&rsquo; him as says he has, lies to other people.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Will&rsquo;s wild-hawk nature was subdued before this grave crisis in his
+parent&rsquo;s life; he sat through long nights and tended the fire with
+quiet fingers; he learnt from the nurse how to move a pillow tenderly, how to
+shut a door without any sound. He wearied Doctor Parsons with futile
+propositions, but the physician&rsquo;s simulated cynicism often broke down
+in secret before this spectacle of the son&rsquo;s dog-like pertinacity.
+Blanchard much desired to have a vein opened for his mother, nor was all the
+practitioner&rsquo;s eloquence equal to convincing him such a course could
+not be pursued.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She &rsquo;m gone that gashly white along o&rsquo; want o&rsquo;
+blood,&rdquo; declared Will; &ldquo;an&rsquo; I be busting wi&rsquo; gude red
+blood, an&rsquo; why for shouldn&rsquo;t you put in a pipe an&rsquo; draw off
+a quart or so for her betterment? I&rsquo;ll swear &rsquo;t would strengthen
+the heart of her.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Time passed, and it happened on one occasion, while walking abroad between
+his vigils, that Blanchard met John Grimbal. Will had reflected curiously of
+late days into what ghostly proportions his affair with the master of the Red
+House now dwindled before this greater calamity of his mother&rsquo;s
+sickness; but sudden sight of the enemy roused passion and threw back the
+man&rsquo;s mind to that occasion of their last conversation in the
+woods.</p>
+<p>Yet the first words that now passed were to John Grimbal&rsquo;s credit.
+He made an astonishing and unexpected utterance. Indeed, the spoken word
+surprised him as much as his listener, and he swore at himself for a fool
+when Will&rsquo;s retort reached his ear.</p>
+<p>They were passing at close quarters,&mdash;Blanchard on foot, John upon
+horseback,&mdash;when the latter said,&mdash;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How &rsquo;s Mrs. Blanchard to-day?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Mind your awn business an&rsquo; keep our name off your
+lips!&rdquo; answered the pedestrian, who misunderstood the question, as he
+did most questions where possible, and now supposed that Grimbal meant
+Phoebe.</p>
+<p>His harsh words woke instant wrath.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What a snarling, cross-bred cur you are! I should judge your own
+family will be the first to thank me for putting you under lock and key. Hell
+to live with, you must be.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;God rot your dirty heart! Do it&mdash;do it; doan&rsquo;t
+jaw&mdash;do it! But if you lay a finger &rsquo;pon me while my mother
+&rsquo;s bad or have me took before she &rsquo;m stirring again, I&rsquo;ll
+kill you when I come out. God &rsquo;s my judge if I doan&rsquo;t!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then, forgetting what had taken him out of doors, and upon what matter he
+was engaged, Will turned back in a tempest, and hastened to his
+mother&rsquo;s cottage.</p>
+<p>At Monks Barton Mr. Lyddon and his daughter had many and long
+conversations upon the subject of Blanchard&rsquo;s difficulties. Both
+trembled to think what might be the issue if his mother died; both began to
+realise that there could be no more happiness for Will until a definite
+extrication from his present position was forthcoming. At his
+daughter&rsquo;s entreaty the miller finally determined on a strong step. He
+made up his mind to visit Grimbal at the Red House, and win from him, if
+possible, some undertaking which would enable him to relieve his son-in-law
+of the present uncertainty.</p>
+<p>Phoebe pleaded for silence, and prayed her father to get a promise at any
+cost in that direction.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Let him awnly promise &rsquo;e never to tell of his free will,
+an&rsquo; the door against danger &rsquo;s shut,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;When
+Will knaws Grimbal &rsquo;s gwaine to be dumb, he&rsquo;ll rage a while, then
+calm down an&rsquo; be hisself again. &rsquo;T is the doubt that drove him
+frantic.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll see the man, then; but not a word to Will&rsquo;s ear.
+All the fat would be in the fire if he so much as dreamed I was about any
+such business. As to a promise, if I can get it I will. An&rsquo;
+&rsquo;twixt me an&rsquo; you, Phoebe, I&rsquo;m hopeful of it. He &rsquo;s
+kept quiet so long that theer caan&rsquo;t be any fiery hunger &rsquo;gainst
+Will in un just now. I&rsquo;ll soothe un down an&rsquo; get his word of
+honour if it &rsquo;s to be got. Then your husband can do as he
+pleases.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Leave the rest to me, Faither.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>A fortnight later the cautious miller, after great and exhaustive
+reflection, set out to carry into practice his intention. An appointment was
+made on the day that Will drove to Moreton to meet his sister and Martin
+Grimbal. This removed him out of the way, while Billy had been despatched to
+Okehampton for some harness, and Mr. Lyddon&rsquo;s daughter, alone in the
+secret, was spending the afternoon with her mother-in-law.</p>
+<p>So Miller walked over to the Red House and soon found himself waiting for
+John Grimbal in a cheerless but handsome dining-room. The apartment suggested
+little occupation. A desk stood in the window, and upon it were half a dozen
+documents under a paper-weight made from a horse&rsquo;s hoof. A fire burned
+in the broad grate; a row of chairs, upholstered in dark red leather, stood
+stiffly round; a dozen indifferent oil-paintings of dogs and horses filled
+large gold frames upon the walls; and upon a massive sideboard of black oak a
+few silver cups, won by Grimbal&rsquo;s dogs at various shows and coursing
+meetings, were displayed.</p>
+<p>Mr. Lyddon found himself kept waiting about ten minutes; then John
+entered, bade him a cold &ldquo;good afternoon&rdquo; without shaking hands,
+and placed an easy-chair for him beside the fire.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Would you object to me lighting my pipe, Jan Grimbal?&rdquo; asked
+the miller humbly; and by way of answer the other took a box of matches from
+his pocket and handed it to the visitor.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Thank you, thank you; I&rsquo;m obliged to you. Let me get a light,
+then I&rsquo;ll talk to &rsquo;e.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He puffed for a minute or two, while Grimbal waited in silence for his
+guest to begin.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Now, wi&rsquo;out any beatin&rsquo; of the bush or waste of time,
+I&rsquo;ll speak. I be come &rsquo;bout Blanchard, as I dare say you guessed.
+The news of what he done nine or ten years ago comed to me just a month
+since. A month &rsquo;t was, or might be three weeks. Like a bolt from the
+blue it falled &rsquo;pon me an&rsquo; that&rsquo;s a fact. An&rsquo; I heard
+how you knawed the thing&mdash;you as had such gude cause to hate un
+wance.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;Once?&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, no man&rsquo;s hate can outlive his reason, surely? I was
+with &rsquo;e, tu, then; but a man what lets himself suffer lifelong trouble
+from a fule be a fule himself. Not that Blanchard &rsquo;s all fule&mdash;far
+from it. He&rsquo;ve ripened a little of late years&mdash;though slowly as
+fruit in a wet summer. Granted he bested you in the past an&rsquo; your
+natural hope an&rsquo; prayer was to be upsides wi&rsquo; un some day. Well,
+that&rsquo;s all dead an&rsquo; buried, ban&rsquo;t it? I hated the shadow of
+un in them days so bad as ever you did; but you gets to see more of the
+world, an&rsquo; the men that walks in it when you &rsquo;m moved away from
+things by the distance of a few years. Then you find how wan deed bears upon
+t&rsquo; other. Will done no more than you&rsquo;d &rsquo;a&rsquo; done if
+the cases was altered. In fact, you &rsquo;m alike at some points, come to
+think of it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Is that what you&rsquo;ve walked over here to tell me?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No; I&rsquo;m here to ax &rsquo;e frank an&rsquo; plain, as a
+sportsman an&rsquo; a straight man wi&rsquo; a gude heart most times, to tell
+me what you &rsquo;m gwaine to do &rsquo;bout this job. I&rsquo;m auld,
+an&rsquo; I assure &rsquo;e you&rsquo;ll hate yourself if you give un up.
+&rsquo;T would be outside your carater to do it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You say that! Would you harbour a convict from Princetown if you
+found him hiding on your farm?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ban&rsquo;t a like case. Theer &rsquo;s the personal point of view,
+if you onderstand me. A man deserts from the army ten years ago, an&rsquo;
+you, a sort o&rsquo; amateur soldier, feels &rsquo;t is your duty to give un
+to justice.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, isn&rsquo;t that what has happened?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No fay! Nothing of the sort. If &rsquo;t was your duty, why
+didn&rsquo;t you do it fust minute you found it out? If you&rsquo;d writ to
+the authorities an&rsquo; gived the man up fust moment, I might have said
+&rsquo;t was a hard deed, but I&rsquo;d never have dared to say &rsquo;t
+weern&rsquo;t just. Awnly you done no such thing. You nursed the power
+an&rsquo; sucked the thought, same as furriners suck at poppy poison. You
+played with the picture of revenge against a man you hated, an&rsquo; let the
+idea of what you&rsquo;d do fill your brain; an&rsquo; then, when you wanted
+bigger doses, you told Phoebe what you knawed&mdash;reckoning as she&rsquo;d
+tell Will bimebye. That&rsquo;s bad, Jan Grimbal&mdash;worse than poisoning
+foxes, by God! An&rsquo; you knaw it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Who are you, to judge me and my motives?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An auld man, an&rsquo; wan as be deeply interested in this
+business. Time was when we thought alike touching the bwoy; now we
+doan&rsquo;t; &rsquo;cause your knowledge of un hasn&rsquo;t grawed past the
+point wheer he downed us, an&rsquo; mine has.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You &rsquo;re a fool to say so. D&rsquo; you think I haven&rsquo;t
+watched the young brute these many years? Self-sufficient, ignorant,
+hot-headed, always in the wrong. What d&rsquo; you find to praise in the
+clown? Look at his life. Failure! failure! failure! and making of enemies at
+every turn. Where would he be to-day but for you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Theer &rsquo;s a rare gert singleness of purpose &rsquo;bout
+un.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A grand success he is, no doubt. I suppose you couldn&rsquo;t get
+on without him now. Yet you cursed the cub freely enough once.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Bitter speeches won&rsquo;t serve &rsquo;e, Grimbal; but they show
+me mighty clear what&rsquo;s hid in you. Your sawl &rsquo;s torn every way by
+this thing, an&rsquo; you turn an&rsquo; turn again to it, like a dog to his
+vomit, yet the gude in &rsquo;e drags &rsquo;e away.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Better cut all that. You won&rsquo;t tell me what you&rsquo;ve come
+for, so I&rsquo;ll tell you. You want me to promise not to move in this
+matter,&mdash;is that so?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why, not ezackly. I want more &rsquo;n that. I never thought for a
+minute you would do it, now you&rsquo;ve let the time pass so far. I knaw
+you&rsquo;ll never act so ugly a paart now; but Will doan &rsquo;t, an&rsquo;
+he&rsquo;ll never b&rsquo;lieve me if I told un.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The other made a sound, half growl, half mirthless laugh.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;ve taken it all for granted, then&mdash;you, who know
+more about what &rsquo;s in my mind than I do myself? You &rsquo;re a fond
+old man; and if you&rsquo;d wanted to screw me up to the pitch of taking the
+necessary trouble, you couldn&rsquo;t have gone a better way. I&rsquo;ve been
+too busy to bother about the young rascal of late or he&rsquo;d lie in gaol
+now.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Doan&rsquo;t say no such vain things! D&rsquo; you think I
+caan&rsquo;t read what your face speaks so plain? A man&rsquo;s eyes tell the
+truth awftener than what his tongue does, for they &rsquo;m harder to break
+into lying. &rsquo;Tu busy&rsquo;! You be foul to the very brainpan wi&rsquo;
+this job an&rsquo; you knaw it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Is the hatred all on my side, d&rsquo; you suppose? Curse the brute
+to hell! And you&rsquo;d have me eat humble-pie to the man who &rsquo;s
+wrecked my life?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No such thing at all. All the hatred be on your side. He&rsquo;d
+forgived &rsquo;e clean. Even now, though you &rsquo;m fretting his guts to
+fiddlestrings because of waiting for &rsquo;e, he feels no malice&mdash;no
+more than the caged rat feels &rsquo;gainst the man as be carrying him,
+anyway.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You &rsquo;re wrong there. He&rsquo;d kill me to-morrow. He let me
+know it. In a weak moment I asked him the other day how his mother was; and
+he turned upon me like a mad dog, and told me to keep his name off my lips,
+and said he&rsquo;d have my life if I gave him up.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s coorious then, for he &rsquo;s hungry to give himself
+up, so soon as the auld woman &rsquo;s well again.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Talk! I suppose he sent you to whine for him?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not so. He&rsquo;d have blocked my road if he&rsquo;d
+guessed.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, I&rsquo;m honest when I say I don&rsquo;t care a curse what
+he does or does not. Let him go his way. And as to proclaiming him, I shall
+do so when it pleases me. An odious crime that,&mdash;a traitor to his
+country.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Doan&rsquo;t become you nor me to dwell &rsquo;pon that, seeing how
+things was.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Grimbal rose.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You think he &rsquo;s a noble fellow, and that your daughter had a
+merciful escape. It isn&rsquo;t for me to suggest you are mistaken. Now
+I&rsquo;ve no more time to spare, I&rsquo;m afraid.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The miller also rose, and as he prepared to depart he spoke a final
+word.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You &rsquo;m terrible pushed for time, by the looks of it. I knaw
+&rsquo;t is hard in this life to find time to do right, though every man can
+make a &rsquo;mazing mort o&rsquo; leisure for t&rsquo; other thing. But hear
+me: you &rsquo;m ruinin&rsquo; yourself, body an&rsquo; sawl, along o&rsquo;
+this job&mdash;body an&rsquo; sawl, like apples in a barrel rots each other.
+You &rsquo;m in a bad way, Jan Grimbal, an&rsquo; I&rsquo;m sorry for
+&rsquo;e&mdash;brick house an&rsquo; horses an&rsquo; dogs notwithstanding.
+Have a spring cleaning in that sulky brain o&rsquo; yourn, my son, an&rsquo;
+be a man wi&rsquo; yourself, same as you be a man wi&rsquo; the
+world.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The other sneered.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t get hot. The air is cold. And as you&rsquo;ve given so
+much good advice, take some, too. Mind your own business, and let your
+son-in-law mind his.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Mr. Lyddon shook his head.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Such words do only prove me right. Look in your heart an&rsquo; see
+how &rsquo;t is with you that you can speak to an auld man so. &rsquo;T is
+common metal shawing up in &rsquo;e, an&rsquo; I&rsquo;m sorry to find
+it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He set off home without more words and, as chance ordered the incident,
+emerged from the avenue gates of the Red House while a covered vehicle passed
+by on the way from Moreton Hampstead. Its roof was piled with luggage, and
+inside sat Chris, her husband, and Will. They spied Mr. Lyddon and made room
+for him; but later on in the evening Will taxed the miller with his
+action.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I knawed right well wheer you&rsquo;d come from,&rdquo; he said
+gloomily, &ldquo;an&rsquo; I&rsquo;d &rsquo;a&rsquo; cut my right hand off
+rather than you should have done it. You did n&rsquo;t ought, Faither; for
+I&rsquo;ll have no living man come between me an&rsquo; him.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I made it clear I was on my awn paart,&rdquo; explained Mr. Lyddon;
+but that night Will wrote a letter to his enemy and despatched it by a lad
+before breakfast on the following morning.</p>
+
+<blockquote> <p>&ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo; Miller seen
+you yesterday out of his own head, and if I had knowed he was coming I would
+have took good care to prevent it.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;W. BLANCHARD.&rdquo;</p></blockquote>
+<h2><a id="IV_XIV" name="IV_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV<br />
+ACTION</h2>
+<p>Time passed, and Mrs. Blanchard made a slow return to health. Her daughter
+assumed control of the sick-room, and Martin Grimbal was denied the
+satisfaction of seeing Chris settled in her future home for a period of
+nearly two months. Then, when the invalid became sufficiently restored to
+leave Chagford for change of air, both Martin and Chris accompanied her and
+spent a few weeks by the sea.</p>
+<p>Will, meantime, revolved upon his own affairs and suffered torments long
+drawn out. For these protracted troubles those of his own house were
+responsible, and both Phoebe and the miller greatly erred in their treatment
+of him at this season. For the woman there were indeed excuses, but Mr.
+Lyddon might have been expected to show more wisdom and better knowledge of a
+character at all times transparent enough. Phoebe, nearing maternal
+tribulation, threw a new obstacle in her husband&rsquo;s way, and implored
+him by all holy things, now that he had desisted from confession thus far, to
+keep his secret yet a little longer and wait for the birth of the child. She
+used every possible expedient to win this new undertaking from Will, and her
+father added his voice to hers. The miller&rsquo;s expressed wish, strongly
+urged, frequently repeated, at last triumphed, and against his own desire and
+mental promptings, Blanchard, at terrible cost to himself, had promised
+patience until June.</p>
+<p>Life, thus clouded and choked, wrought havoc with the man. His natural
+safety-valves were blocked, his nerves shattered, his temper poisoned.
+Primitive characteristics appeared as a result of this position, and he
+exhibited the ferocity of an over-driven tame beast, or a hunted wild one. In
+days long removed from this crisis he looked back with chill of body and
+shudder of mind to that nightmare springtime; and he never willingly
+permitted even those dearest to him to retrace the period.</p>
+<p>The struggle lasted long, but his nature beat Blanchard before the end,
+burst its bonds, shattered promises and undertakings, weakened marital love
+for a while, and set him free by one tremendous explosion and victory of
+natural force. There had come into his head of late a new sensation, as of
+busy fingers weaving threads within his skull and iron hands moulding the
+matter of his brain into new patterns. The demon things responsible for his
+torment only slept when he slept, or when, as had happened once or twice, he
+drank himself indifferent to all mundane matters. Yet he could not still them
+for long, and even Phoebe had heard mutterings and threats of the
+thread-spinners who were driving her husband mad.</p>
+<p>On an evening in late May she became seriously alarmed for his reason.
+Circumstances suddenly combined to strangle the last flickering breath of
+patience in Will, and the slender barriers were swept away in such a storm as
+even Phoebe&rsquo;s wide experience of him had never parallelled. Miller
+Lyddon was out, at a meeting in the village convened to determine after what
+fashion Chagford should celebrate the Sovereign&rsquo;s Jubilee; Billy also
+departed about private concerns, and Will and his wife had Monks Barton much
+to themselves. Even she irritated the suffering man at this season, and her
+sunken face and chatter about her own condition and future hopes of a son
+often worried him into sheer frenzy. His promise once exacted she rarely
+touched upon that matter, believing the less said the better, but he
+misunderstood her reticence and held it selfish. Indeed, Blanchard fretted
+and chafed alone now; for John Grimbal&rsquo;s sustained silence had long ago
+convinced Mr. Lyddon that the master of the Red House meant no active harm,
+and Phoebe readily grasped at the same conclusion.</p>
+<p>This night, however, the flood-gates crumbled, and Will, before a futile
+assertion from Phoebe touching the happy promise of the time to come and the
+cheerful spring weather, dashed down his pipe with an oath, clenched his
+hands, then leapt to his feet, shook his head, and strode about like a
+maniac.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Will! You&rsquo;ve brawk un to shivers&mdash;the butivul wood pipe
+wi&rsquo; amber that I gived &rsquo;e last birthday!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Damn my birthday&mdash;a wisht day for me &rsquo;t was! I&rsquo;ve
+lived tu long&mdash;tu long by all my years, an&rsquo; nobody cares wan salt
+tear that I be roastin&rsquo; in hell-fire afore my time. I caan&rsquo;t
+stand it no more&mdash;no more at all&mdash;not for you or your faither or
+angels in heaven or ten million babies to be born into this blasted
+world&mdash;not if I was faither to &rsquo;em all. I must live my life free,
+or else I&rsquo;ll go in a madhouse. Free&mdash;do &rsquo;e hear me?
+I&rsquo;ve suffered enough and waited more &rsquo;n enough. Ban&rsquo;t
+months nor weeks neither&mdash;&rsquo;t is a long, long lifetime. You talk
+o&rsquo; time dragging! If you knawed&mdash;if you knawed! An&rsquo; these
+devil-spinners allus knotting an&rsquo; twisting. I could do things&mdash;I
+could&mdash;things man never dreamed. An&rsquo; I will&mdash;for they
+&rsquo;m grawing and grawing, an&rsquo; they&rsquo;ll burst my skull if I let
+&rsquo;em bide in it. Months ago I&rsquo;ve sat on a fence unbeknawnst wheer
+men was shooting, an&rsquo; whistled for death. So help me, &rsquo;t is true.
+Me to do that! Theer &rsquo;s a cur for &rsquo;e; an&rsquo; yet ban&rsquo;t
+me neither, but the spinners in my head. Death &rsquo;s a party easily
+called, mind you. A knife, or a pinch o&rsquo; powder, or a drop o&rsquo;
+deep water&mdash;they &rsquo;ll bring un to your elbow in a moment. Awnly, if
+I done that, I&rsquo;d go in company. Nobody should bide to laugh. Them as
+would cry might cry, but him as would laugh should come along o&rsquo;
+me&mdash;he should, by God!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Will, Will! It isn&rsquo;t my Will talking so?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It be me, an&rsquo; it ban&rsquo;t me. But I&rsquo;m in earnest at
+last, an&rsquo; speakin&rsquo; truth. The spinners knaw, an&rsquo; they
+&rsquo;m right. I&rsquo;m sick to sheer hate o&rsquo; my life; and
+you&rsquo;ve helped to make me so&mdash;you and your faither likewise. This
+thing doan&rsquo;t tear your heart out of you an&rsquo; grind your nerves to
+pulp as it should do if you was a true wife.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, my dear, my lovey, how can &rsquo;e say or think it? You knaw
+what it has been to me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I knaw you&rsquo;ve thought all wrong &rsquo;pon it when
+you&rsquo;ve thought at all. An&rsquo; Miller, tu. You&rsquo;ve prevailed
+wi&rsquo; me to go on livin&rsquo; a coward&rsquo;s life for countless ages
+o&rsquo; time&mdash;me&mdash;me&mdash;creepin&rsquo; on the earth wi&rsquo;
+my tail between my legs an&rsquo; knawin&rsquo; I never set eyes on a man as
+ban&rsquo;t braver than myself. An&rsquo; him&mdash;Grimbal&mdash;laughing,
+like the devil he is, to think on what my life must be!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I caan&rsquo;t be no quicker. The cheel&rsquo;s movin&rsquo;
+an&rsquo; bracin&rsquo; itself up an&rsquo; makin&rsquo; ready to come in the
+world, ban&rsquo;t it? I&rsquo;ve told &rsquo;e so fifty times. It&rsquo;s
+little longer to wait.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s no longer. It&rsquo;s nearer than sleep or food or
+drink. It&rsquo;s comin&rsquo; &rsquo;fore the moon sets. &rsquo;T is that or
+the madhouse&mdash;nothin&rsquo; else. If you&rsquo;d felt the fire as have
+been eatin&rsquo; my thinking paarts o&rsquo; late days you&rsquo;d knaw.
+Ban&rsquo;t no use your cryin&rsquo;, for &rsquo;t isn&rsquo;t love of me
+makes you. Rivers o&rsquo; tears doan&rsquo;t turn me no more. I&rsquo;m
+steel now&mdash;fust time for a month&mdash;an&rsquo; while I&rsquo;m steel
+I&rsquo;ll act like steel an&rsquo; strike like steel. I&rsquo;ve had shaky
+nights an&rsquo; silly nights an&rsquo; haunted nights, but my head &rsquo;s
+clear for wance, an&rsquo; I&rsquo;ll use it while &rsquo;tis.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not to do no rash thing, Will? For Christ&rsquo;s sake, you
+won&rsquo;t hurt yourself or any other?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I must meet him wance for all.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He &rsquo;m at the council &rsquo;bout Jubilee wi&rsquo; faither
+an&rsquo; parson an&rsquo; the rest.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But he&rsquo;ll go home arter. An&rsquo; I&rsquo;ll have
+&rsquo;Yes&rsquo; or &rsquo;No&rsquo; to-night&mdash;I will, if I&rsquo;ve
+got to shake the word out of his sawl. I ban&rsquo;t gwaine to be driven
+lunatic for him or you or any. Death&rsquo;s a sight better than a soft head
+an&rsquo; a lifetime o&rsquo; dirt an&rsquo; drivelling an&rsquo; babbling,
+like the brainless beasts they feed an&rsquo; fatten in asylums. That&rsquo;s
+worse cruelty than any I be gwaine to suffer at human hands&mdash;to be mewed
+in wan of them gashly mad-holes wi&rsquo; the rack an&rsquo; ruins o&rsquo;
+empty flesh grinning an&rsquo; gibbering &rsquo;pon me from all the corners
+o&rsquo; the airth. I be sane now&mdash;sane enough to knaw I&rsquo;m gwaine
+mad fast&mdash;an&rsquo; I won&rsquo;t suffer it another hour. It&rsquo;s
+come crying and howling upon my mind like a storm this night, an&rsquo; this
+night I&rsquo;ll end it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Wait at least until the morning. See him then.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Go to bed, an&rsquo; doan&rsquo;t goad me to more waiting, if you
+ever loved me. Get to bed&mdash;out of my sight! I&rsquo;ve had enough of
+&rsquo;e and of all human things this many days. An&rsquo; that&rsquo;s as
+near madness as I&rsquo;m gwaine. What I do, I do to-night.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She rose from her chair in sudden anger at his strange harshness, for the
+wife who has never heard an unkind word resents with passionate protest the
+sting of the first when it falls. Now genuine indignation inflamed Phoebe,
+and she spoke bitterly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Enough of me&rsquo;! Ess fay! Like enough you have&mdash;a
+poor, patient creature sweatin&rsquo; for &rsquo;e, an&rsquo; thinkin&rsquo;
+for &rsquo;e, an&rsquo; blotting her eyes with tears for &rsquo;e, an&rsquo;
+bearin&rsquo; your childer an&rsquo; your troubles, tu! &rsquo;Enough of
+me.&rsquo; Ess, I&rsquo;ll get gone to my bed an&rsquo; stiffen my joints
+wi&rsquo; kneelin&rsquo; in prayer for &rsquo;e, an&rsquo; weary God&rsquo;s
+ear for a fule!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>His answer was an action, and before she had done speaking he stretched
+above him and took his gun from its place on an old beam that extended across
+the ceiling.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What in God&rsquo;s name be that for? You
+wouldn&rsquo;t&mdash;?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Shoot a fox? Why not? I&rsquo;m a farmer now, and I&rsquo;d kill
+best auld red Moor fox as ever gave a field forty minutes an&rsquo; beat it.
+You was whinin&rsquo; &rsquo;bout the chicks awnly this marnin&rsquo;.
+I&rsquo;ll sit under the woodstack a bit an&rsquo; think &rsquo;fore I
+starts. Ban&rsquo;t no gude gwaine yet.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Will&rsquo;s explanation of his deed was the true one, but Phoebe realised
+in some dim fashion that she stood within the shadow of a critical night and
+that action was called upon from her. Her anger waned a little, and her heart
+began to beat fast, but she acted with courage and promptitude.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Let un be to-night&mdash;auld fox, I mean. Theer &rsquo;m more
+chicks than young foxes, come to think of it; an&rsquo; he &rsquo;m awnly
+doin&rsquo; what you forget to do&mdash;fighting for his vixen an&rsquo;
+cubs.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She looked straight into Will&rsquo;s eyes, took the gun out of his hands,
+climbed on to a chair, and hung the weapon up again in its place.</p>
+<p>He laughed curiously, and helped his wife to the ground again.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Thank you,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Now go an&rsquo; do what you
+want to do, an&rsquo; doan&rsquo;t forget the future happiness of women
+an&rsquo; childer lies upon it.&rdquo; Her anger was nearly gone, as he spoke
+again.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How little you onderstand me arter all these years&mdash;an&rsquo;
+never will&mdash;nobody never will but mother. What did &rsquo;e fear? That
+I&rsquo;d draw trigger on the man from behind a tree,
+p&rsquo;r&rsquo;aps?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No&mdash;not that, but that you might be driven to kill yourself
+along o&rsquo; having such a bad wife.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Now we &rsquo;m both on the mad road,&rdquo; he said bitterly. Then
+he picked up his stick and, a moment later, went out into the night.</p>
+<p>Phoebe watched his tall figure pass over the river, and saw him
+silhouetted against dead silver of moonlit waters as he crossed the
+stepping-stones. Then she climbed for the gun again, hid it, and presently
+prepared for her father&rsquo;s return.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What butivul peace an quiet theer be in ministerin&rsquo; to a gude
+faither,&rdquo; she thought, &ldquo;as compared wi&rsquo; servin&rsquo; a
+stormy husband!&rdquo; Then sorrow changed to active fear, and that, in its
+turn, sank into a desolate weariness and indifference. She detected no
+semblance of justice in her husband&rsquo;s outburst; she failed to see how
+circumstances must sooner or late have precipitated his revolt; and she felt
+herself very cruelly misjudged, very gravely wronged.</p>
+<p>Meantime Blanchard passed through a hurricane of rage against his enemy
+much akin to that formerly recorded of John Grimbal himself, when the brute
+won to the top of him and he yearned for physical conflict. That night Will
+was resolved to get a definite response or come to some conclusion by force
+of arms. His thoughts carried him far, and before he took up his station
+within the grounds of the Red House, at a point from which the avenue
+approach might be controlled, he had already fallen into a frantic hunger for
+fight and a hope that his enemy would prove of like mind. He itched for
+assault and battery, and his heart clamoured to be clean in his breast
+again.</p>
+<p>Whatever might happen, he was determined to give himself up on the
+following day. He had done all he could for those he loved, but he was
+powerless to suffer more. He longed now to trample his foe into the dust,
+and, that accomplished, he would depart, well satisfied, and receive what
+punishment was due. His accumulated wrongs must be paid at last, and he fully
+determined, an hour before John Grimbal came homewards, that the payment
+should be such as he himself had received long years before on Rushford
+Bridge. His muscles throbbed for action as he sat and waited at the top of a
+sloping bank dotted with hawthorns that extended upwards from the edge of the
+avenue and terminated on the fringe of young coverts.</p>
+<p>And now, by a chance not uncommon, two separate series of circumstances
+were about to clash, while the shock engendered was destined to precipitate
+the climax of Will Blanchard&rsquo;s fortunes, in so far as this record is
+concerned. On the night that he thus raged and suffered the gall bred of long
+inaction to overflow, John Grimbal likewise came to a sudden conclusion with
+himself, and committed a deed of nature definite so far as it went.</p>
+<p>In connection with the approaching Jubilee rejoicings a spirit in some
+sense martial filled the air, and Grimbal with his yeomanry was destined to
+play a part. A transient comet-blaze of militarism often sparkles over
+fighting nations at any season of universal joy, and that more especially if
+the keystone of the land&rsquo;s constitution be a crown. This fire found
+material inflammable enough in the hearts of many Devonshire men, and before
+its warm impulse John Grimbal, inspired by a particular occasion, compounded
+with his soul at last. Rumoured on long tongues from the village ale-house,
+there had come to his ears the report of certain ill-considered utterances
+made by his enemy upon the events of the hour. They were only a hot-headed
+and very miserable man&rsquo;s foolish comments upon things in general and
+the approaching festival in particular, and they served but to illustrate the
+fact that no ill-educated and passionate soul can tolerate universal
+rejoicings, itself wretched; but Grimbal clutched at this proven disloyalty
+of an old deserter, and told himself that personal questions must weigh with
+him no more.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The sort of discontented brute that drifts into Socialism and all
+manner of wickedness,&rdquo; he thought. &ldquo;The rascal must be muzzled
+once for all, and as a friend to the community I shall act, not as an enemy
+to him.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>This conclusion he came to on the evening of the day which saw
+Blanchard&rsquo;s final eruption, and he was amazed to find how
+straightforward and simple his course appeared when viewed from the
+impersonal standpoint of duty. His brother was due to dine with John Grimbal
+in half an hour, for both men were serving on a committee to meet that night
+upon the question of the local celebrations at Chagford, and they were going
+together. Time, however, remained for John to put his decision into action.
+He turned to his desk, therefore, and wrote. The words to be employed he knew
+by heart, for he had composed his letter many months before, and it was with
+him always; yet now, seen thus set out upon paper for the first time, it
+looked strange.</p>
+<blockquote><p> &ldquo;RED HOUSE, CHAGFORD, DEVON.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;<i>To the Commandant, Royal Artillery, Plymouth.</i></p>
+<p>&ldquo;SIR,&mdash;It has come to my knowledge that the man, William
+Blanchard, who enlisted in the Royal Artillery under the name of Tom Newcombe
+and deserted from his battery when it was stationed at Shorncliffe some ten
+years ago, now resides at this place on the farm of Monks Barton, Chagford.
+My duty demands that I should lodge this information, and I can, of course,
+substantiate it, though I have reason to believe the deserter will not
+attempt to evade his just punishment if apprehended. I have the honour to
+be,</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Your obedient servant,</p>
+<p>&ldquo;JOHN GRIMBAL,</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Capt. Dev. Yeomanry.&rdquo;</p></blockquote>
+<p>He had just completed this communication when Martin arrived, and as his
+brother entered he instinctively pushed the letter out of sight. But a moment
+later he rebelled against himself for the act, knowing the ugly tacit
+admission represented by it. He dragged forth the letter, therefore, and
+greeted his brother by thrusting the note before him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Read that,&rdquo; he said darkly; &ldquo;it will surprise you, I
+think. I want to do nothing underhand, and as you &rsquo;re linked to these
+people for life now, it is just that you should hear what is going to happen.
+There&rsquo;s the knowledge I once hinted to you that I possessed concerning
+William Blanchard. I have waited and given him rope enough. Now he&rsquo;s
+hanged himself, as I knew he would, and I must act. A few days ago he spoke
+disrespectfully of the Queen before a dozen other loafers in a public-house.
+That&rsquo;s a sin I hold far greater than his sin against me. Read what I
+have just written.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Martin gazed with mildness upon John&rsquo;s savage and defiant face. His
+brother&rsquo;s expression and demeanour by no means chimed with the judicial
+moderation of his speech. Then the antiquary perused the letter, and there
+fell no sound upon the silence, except that of a spluttering pen as John
+Grimbal addressed an envelope.</p>
+<p>Presently Martin dropped the letter on the desk before him, and his face
+was very white, his voice tremulous as he spoke.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;This thing happened more than ten years ago.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It did; but don&rsquo;t imagine I have known it ten
+years.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;God forbid! I think better of you. Yet, if only for my sake,
+reflect before you send this letter. Once done, you have ruined a life. I
+have seen Will several times since I came home, and now I understand the
+terrific change in him. He must have known that you know this. It was the
+last straw. He seems quite broken on the wheel of the world, and no wonder.
+To one of his nature, the past, since you discovered this terrible secret,
+must have been sheer torment.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>John Grimbal doubled up the letter and thrust it into the envelope, while
+Martin continued:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What do you reap? You&rsquo;re not a man to do an action of this
+sort and live afterwards as though you had not done it. I warn you, you
+intend a terribly dangerous thing. This may be the wreck of another soul
+besides Blanchard&rsquo;s. I know your real nature, though you&rsquo;ve
+hidden it so close of late years. Post that letter, and your life&rsquo;s
+bitter for all time. Look into your heart, and don&rsquo;t pretend to deceive
+yourself.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>His brother lighted a match, burnt red wax, and sealed the letter with a
+signet ring.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Duty is duty,&rdquo; he said.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, yes; right shall be done and this extraordinary thing made
+known in the right quarter. But don&rsquo;t let it come out through you;
+don&rsquo;t darken your future by such an act. Your personal relations with
+the man, John,&mdash;it&rsquo;s impossible you should do this after all these
+years.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The other affixed a stamp to his letter.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t imagine personal considerations influence me. I&rsquo;m
+a soldier, and I know what becomes a soldier. If I find a traitor to his
+Queen and country am I to pass upon the other side of the road and not do my
+duty because the individual happens to be a private enemy? You rate me low
+and misjudge me rather cruelly if you imagine that I am so weak.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Martin gasped at this view of the position, instantly believed himself
+mistaken, and took John at his word. Thereon he came near blushing to think
+that he should have read such baseness into a brother&rsquo;s character.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I beg your pardon,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I ought to be ashamed to
+have misunderstood you so. I could not escape the personal factor in this
+terrible business, but you, I see, have duly weighed it. I wronged you. Yes,
+I wronged you, as you say. The writing of that letter was a very courageous
+action, under the circumstances&mdash;as plucky a thing as ever man did,
+perhaps. Forgive me for taking so mean a view of it, and forgive me for even
+doubting your motives.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I want justice, and if I am misunderstood for doing my
+duty&mdash;why, that is no new thing. I can face that, as better men have
+done before me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>There was a moment or two of silence; then Martin spoke, almost
+joyfully.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Thank God, I see a way out! It seldom happens that I am quick in
+any question of human actions, but for once, I detect a road by which right
+may be done and you still spared this terrible task. I do, indeed, because I
+know Blanchard better than you do. I can guess what he has been enduring of
+late, and I will show him how he may end the torture himself by doing the
+right thing even now.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s fear of me scorching the man, not shame of his own
+crime.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then, as the stronger, as a soldier, put him out of his misery and
+set your mind at ease. Believe me, you may do it without any reflection on
+yourself. Tell him you have decided to take no step in the affair, and leave
+the rest to me. I will wager I can prevail upon him to give himself up. I am
+singularly confident that I can bring it about. Then, if I fail, do what you
+consider to be right; but first give me leave to try and save you from this
+painful necessity.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>There followed a long silence. John Grimbal saw how much easier it was to
+deceive another than himself, and, before the spectacle of his deluded
+brother, felt that he appreciated his own real motives and incentives at
+their true worth. The more completely was Martin hoodwinked, the more
+apparent did the truth grow within John&rsquo;s mind. What was in reality
+responsible for his intended action never looked clearer than then, and as
+Martin spoke in all innocence of the courage that must be necessary to
+perform such a deed, Grimbal passed through the flash of a white light and
+caught a glimpse of his recent mental processes magnified by many degrees in
+the blinding ray. The spectacle sickened him a little, weakened him, touched
+the depths of him, stirred his nature. He answered presently in a voice
+harsh, abrupt, and deep.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve lied often enough in my life,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;and
+may again, but I think never to you till to-day. You&rsquo;re such a
+clean-minded, big-hearted man that you don&rsquo;t understand a mind of my
+build&mdash;a mind that can&rsquo;t forgive, that can&rsquo;t forget,
+that&rsquo;s fed full for years on the thought of revenging that frightful
+blow in the past. What you feared and hinted just now was partly the truth,
+and I know it well enough. But that is only to say my motives in this matter
+mixed.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;None but a brave man would admit so mucn, but now you wrong
+yourself, as I wronged you. We are alike. I, too, have sometimes in dark
+moments blamed myself for evil thoughts and evil deeds beyond my real
+deserts. So you. I know nothing but your sense of duty would make you post
+that letter.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We&rsquo;ve wrecked each other&rsquo;s lives, he and I; only
+he&rsquo;s a boy, and his life&rsquo;s before him; I&rsquo;m a man, and my
+life is lived, for I&rsquo;m the sort that grows old early, and he&rsquo;s
+helped Time more than anybody knows but myself.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t say that. Happiness never comes when you are hungering
+most for it; sorrow never when you believe yourself best tuned to bear it.
+Once I thought as you do now. I waited long for my good fortune, and said
+&rsquo;good-by&rsquo; to all my hope of earthly delight.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You were easier to satisfy than I should have been. Yet you were
+constant, too,&mdash;constant as I was. We&rsquo;re built that way.
+More&rsquo;s the pity.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I have absolutely priceless blessings; my cup of happiness is full.
+Sometimes I ask myself how it comes about that one so little deserving has
+received so much; sometimes I waken in the very extremity of fear, for joy
+like mine seems greater than any living thing has a right to.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m glad one of us is happy.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I shall live to see you equally blessed.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It is impossible.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>There was a pause, then a gong rumbled in the hall, and the brothers went
+to dinner. Their conversation now ranged upon varied local topics, and it was
+not until the cloth had been removed according to old-fashioned custom, and
+fruit and wine set upon a shining table, that John returned to the crucial
+subject of the moment.</p>
+<p>He poured out a glass of port for Martin, and pushed the cigars towards
+him, then spoke,&mdash;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Drink. It&rsquo;s very good. And try one of those. I shall not post
+that letter.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Man, I knew it! I knew it well, without hearing so from you.
+Destroy the thing, dear fellow, and so take the first step to a peace I fear
+you have not known for many days. All this suffering will vanish quicker than
+a dream then. Justice is great, but mercy is greater. Yours is the privilege
+of mercy, and yet justice shall not suffer either&mdash;not if I know Will
+Blanchard.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>They talked long and drank more than usual, while the elder man&rsquo;s
+grim and moody spirit lightened a little before his determination and his
+wine. The reek of past passions, the wreckage of dead things, seemed to be
+sweeping out of his mind. He forgot the hour and their engagement until the
+time fixed for that conference was past. Then he looked at his watch, rose
+from the table, and hurried to the hall.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Let us not go,&rdquo; urged Martin. &ldquo;They will do very well
+without us, I am sure.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>But John&rsquo;s only answer was to pull on his driving gloves. He
+anticipated some satisfaction from the committee meeting; he suspected,
+indeed, that he would be asked to take the chair at it, and, like most men,
+he was not averse to the exercise of a little power in a small corner.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We must go,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I have important suggestions to
+make, especially concerning the volunteers. A sham fight on Scorhill would be
+a happy thought. We&rsquo;ll drive fast, and only be twenty minutes
+late.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>A dog-cart had been waiting half an hour, and soon the brothers quickly
+whirled down Red House avenue. A groom dropped from behind and opened the
+gate; then it was all his agility could accomplish to scramble into his seat
+again as a fine horse, swinging along at twenty miles an hour, trotted
+towards Chagford.</p>
+<h2><a id="IV_XV" name="IV_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV<br />
+A BATTLE</h2>
+<p>Silent and motionless sat Blanchard, on the fringe of a bank at the
+coppice edge. He watched the stars move onward and the shadows cast by
+moonlight creep from west to north, from north to east. Hawthorn scented the
+night and stood like masses of virgin silver under the moon; from the Red
+House &rsquo;owl tree&rsquo;&mdash;a pollarded elm, sacred to the wise
+bird&mdash;came mewing of brown owls; and once a white one struck, swift as a
+streak of feathered moonlight, on the copse edge, and passed so near to
+Blanchard that he saw the wretched shrew-mouse in its talons.
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis for the young birds somewheers,&rdquo; he thought;
+&ldquo;an&rsquo; so they&rsquo;ll thrive an&rsquo; turn out braave owlets
+come bimebye; but the li&rsquo;l, squeakin&rsquo;, blind shrews,
+what&rsquo;ll they do when no mother comes home-along to
+&rsquo;em?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He mused drearily upon this theme, but suddenly started, for there came
+the echo of slow steps in the underwood behind him. They sank into silence
+and set Will wondering as to what they might mean. Then another sound, that
+of a galloping horse and the crisp ring of wheels, reached him, and,
+believing that John Grimbal was come, he strung himself to the matter in
+hand. But the vehicle did not stop. A flash of yellow light leapt through the
+distance as a mail-cart rattled past upon its way to Moreton. This
+circumstance told Will the hour and he knew that his vigil could not be much
+longer protracted.</p>
+<p>Then death stalked abroad again, but this time in a form that awoke the
+watcher&rsquo;s deep-rooted instincts, took him clean out of himself, and
+angered him to passion, not in his own cause but another&rsquo;s. There came
+the sudden scream of a trapped hare,&mdash;that sound where terror and agony
+mingle in a cry half human,&mdash;and so still was the hour that Blanchard
+heard the beast&rsquo;s struggles though it was fifty yards distant. A hare
+in a trap at any season meant a poacher&mdash;a hated enemy of society in
+Blanchard&rsquo;s mind; and his instant thought was to bring the rascal to
+justice if he could. Now the recent footfall was explained and Will doubted
+not that the cruel cry which had scattered his reveries would quickly attract
+some hidden man responsible for it. The hare was caught by a wire set in a
+run at the edge of the wood, and now Blanchard crawled along on his stomach
+to within ten yards of the tragedy, and there waited under the shadow of a
+white-thorn at the edge of the woods. Within two minutes the bushes parted
+and, where the foliage of a young silver birch showered above lesser
+brushwood, a man with a small head and huge shoulders appeared. Seeing no
+danger he crept into the open, lifted his head to the moon, and revealed the
+person and features of Sam Bonus, the labourer with whom Will had quarrelled
+in times long past. Here, then, right ahead of him, appeared such a battle as
+Blanchard had desired, but with another foe than he anticipated. That
+accident mattered nothing, however. Will only saw a poacher, and to settle
+the business of such an one out of hand if possible was, in his judgment, a
+definite duty to be undertaken by every true man at any moment when
+opportunity offered.</p>
+<p>He walked suddenly from shadow and stood within three yards of the robber
+as Bonus raised the butt of his gun to kill the shrieking beast at his
+feet.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You! An&rsquo; red-handed, by God! I knawed &rsquo;t was no lies
+they told of &rsquo;e.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The other started and turned and saw who stood against him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Blanchard, is it? An&rsquo; what be you doin&rsquo; here? Come for
+same reason, p&rsquo;r&rsquo;aps?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;d make you pay, if &rsquo;t was awnly for sayin&rsquo;
+that! I&rsquo;m a man to steal others&rsquo; fur out of season, ban&rsquo;t
+I? But I doan&rsquo;t have no words wi&rsquo; the likes o&rsquo; you.
+I&rsquo;ve took you fair an&rsquo; square, anyways, an&rsquo; will just ax if
+you be comin&rsquo; wi&rsquo;out a fuss, or am I to make &rsquo;e?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The other snarled.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&mdash;you come a yard nearer an&rsquo; I&rsquo;ll blaw your
+damned head&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>But the threat was left unfinished, and its execution failed, for Will had
+been taught to take an armed man in his early days on the river, and had seen
+an old hand capture more than one desperate character. He knew that
+instantaneous action might get him within the muzzle of the gun and out of
+danger, and while Bonus spoke, he flew straight upon him with such unexpected
+celerity that Sam had no time to accomplish his purpose. He came down heavily
+with Blanchard on top of him, and his weapon fell from his hand. But the
+poacher was not done with. As they lay struggling, he found his foot clear
+and managed to kick Will twice on the leg above the knee. Then Blanchard,
+hanging like a dog to his foe, freed an arm, and hit hard more than once into
+Sam&rsquo;s face. A blow on the nose brought red blood that spurted over both
+men black as ink under the moonlight.</p>
+<p>It was not long before they broke away and rose from their first struggle
+on the ground, but Bonus finally got to his knees, then to his feet, and
+Will, as he did the same, knew by a sudden twinge in his leg that if the
+poacher made off it must now be beyond his power to follow.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No odds,&rdquo; he gasped, answering his thought aloud, while they
+wrestled. &ldquo;If you&rsquo;ve brawk me somewheers &rsquo;t is no matter,
+for you &rsquo;m marked all right, an&rsquo; them squinting eyes of
+yourn&rsquo;ll be blacker &rsquo;n sloes come marnin&rsquo;.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>This obvious truth infuriated Bonus. He did not attempt to depart, but,
+catching sight of his gun, made a tremendous effort to reach it. The other
+saw this aim and exerted his strength in an opposite direction. They fought
+in silence awhile&mdash;growled and cursed, sweated and swayed, stamped and
+slipped and dripped blood under the dewy and hawthorn-scented night. Bonus
+used all his strength to reach the gun; Will sacrificed everything to his
+hold. He suffered the greater punishment for a while, because Sam fought with
+all his limbs, like a beast; but presently Blanchard threw the poacher
+heavily, and again they came down together, this time almost on the wretched
+beast that still struggled, held by the wire at hand. It had dragged the fur
+off its leg, and white nerve fibres, torn bare, glimmered in the red flesh
+under the moon.</p>
+<p>Both fighters were now growing weaker, and each knew that a few minutes
+more must decide the fortune of the battle. Bonus still fought for the gun,
+and now his weight began to tell. Then, as he got within reach, and stretched
+hand to grasp it, Blanchard, instead of dragging against him, threw all his
+force in the same direction, and Sam was shot clean over the gun. This time
+they twisted and Will fell underneath. Both simultaneously thrust a hand for
+the weapon; both gripped it, and then exerted their strength for possession.
+Will meant using it as a club if fate was kind; the other man, rating his own
+life at nothing, and, believing that he bore Blanchard the grudge of his own
+ruin, intended, at that red-hot moment, to keep his word and blow the
+other&rsquo;s brains out if he got a chance to do so.</p>
+<p>Then, unheard by the combatants, a distant gate was thrown open, two
+brilliant yellow discs of fire shone along the avenue below, and John Grimbal
+returned to his home. Suddenly, seeing figures fighting furiously on the edge
+of the hill not fifty yards away, he pulled up, and a din of conflict sounded
+in his ears as the rattle of hoof and wheel and harness ceased. Leaping down
+he ran to the scene of the conflict as fast as possible, but it was ended
+before he arrived. A gun suddenly exploded and flashed a red-hot tongue of
+flame across the night. A hundred echoes caught the detonation and as the
+discharge reverberated along the stony hills to Fingle Gorge, Will Blanchard
+staggered backwards and fell in a heap, while the poacher reeled, then
+steadied himself, and vanished under the woods.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Bring a lamp,&rdquo; shouted Grimbal, and a moment later his groom
+obeyed; but the fallen man was sitting up by the time John reached him, and
+the gun that had exploded was at his feet.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You &rsquo;m tu late by half a second,&rdquo; he gasped. &ldquo;I
+fired myself when I seed the muzzle clear. Poachin&rsquo; he was, but the man
+&rsquo;s marked all right. Send p&rsquo;liceman for Sam Bonus to-morrer,
+an&rsquo; I lay you&rsquo;ll find a picter.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Blanchard!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ess fay, an&rsquo; no harm done &rsquo;cept a stiff leg. Best to
+knock thicky poor twoad on the head. I heard the scream of un and comed along
+an&rsquo; waited an&rsquo; catched my gen&rsquo;leman in the act.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The groom held a light to the mangled hare.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Scat it on the head,&rdquo; said Will, &ldquo;then give me a
+hand.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He was helped to his feet; the servant went on before with the lamp, and
+Blanchard, finding himself able to walk without difficulty, proceeded, slowly
+supporting himself by the poacher&rsquo;s gun.</p>
+<p>Grimbal waited for him to speak and presently he did so.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Things falls out so different in this maze of a world from what man
+may count on.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How came it that you were here?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Blamed if I can tell &rsquo;e till I gather my wits together.
+&rsquo;Pears half a century or so since I comed; yet ban&rsquo;t above two
+hour agone.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You didn&rsquo;t come to see Sam Bonus, I suppose?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No fay! Never a man farther from my thought than him when I seed un
+poke up his carrot head under the moon. I was &rsquo;pon my awn affairs
+an&rsquo; comed to see you. I wanted straight speech an&rsquo; straight
+hitting; an&rsquo; I got &rsquo;em, for that matter. An&rsquo; fightin&rsquo;
+&rsquo;s gude for the blood, I reckon&mdash;anyway for my fashion
+blood.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You came to fight me, then?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I did&mdash;if I could make &rsquo;e fight.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;With that gun?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;With nought but a savage heart an&rsquo; my two fistes. The gun
+belongs to Sam Bonus. Leastways it did, but &rsquo;t is mine now&mdash;or
+yours, as the party most wronged.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Come this way and drink a drop of brandy before you go home. Glad
+you had some fighting as you wanted it so bad. I know what it feels like to
+be that way, too. But there wouldn&rsquo;t have been blows between us. My
+mind was made up. I wrote to Plymouth this afternoon. I wrote, and an hour
+later decided not to post the letter. I&rsquo;ve changed my intentions
+altogether, because the point begins to appear in a new light. I&rsquo;m
+sorry for a good few things that have happened of late years.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Will breathed hard a moment; then he spoke slowly and not without more
+emotion than his words indicated.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s straight speech&mdash;if you mean it. I never knawed
+how &rsquo;t was that a sportsman, same as you be, could keep rakin&rsquo;
+awver a job an&rsquo; drive a plain chap o&rsquo; the soil like me into hell
+for what I done ten year agone.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Let the past go. Forget it; banish it for all time as far as you
+have the power. Blame must be buried both sides. Here&rsquo;s the letter upon
+my desk. I&rsquo;ll burn it, and I&rsquo;ll try to burn the memory often
+years with it. Your road&rsquo;s clear for me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Thank you,&rdquo; said Blanchard, very slowly. &ldquo;I lay
+I&rsquo;ll never hear no better news than that on this airth. Now I&rsquo;m
+free&mdash;free to do how I please, free to do it undriven.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>There was a long silence. Grimbal poured out half a tumbler of brandy,
+added soda water, then handed the stimulant to Will; and Blauchard, after
+drinking, sat in comfort a while, rubbed his swollen jaw, and scraped the
+dried blood of Bonus off his hands.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why for did you chaange so sudden?&rdquo; he asked, as Grimbal
+turned to his desk.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I could tell you, but it doesn&rsquo;t matter. A letter in the mind
+looks different to one on paper; and duty often changes its appearance, too,
+when a man is honest with himself. To be honest with yourself is the hardest
+sort of honesty. I&rsquo;ve had speech with others about this&mdash;my
+brother more particularly.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I wish to God us could have settled it without no help from
+outside.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Grimbal rang the bell, then answered.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;As to settling it, I know nothing about that. I&rsquo;ve settled
+with my own conscience&mdash;such as it is.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;d come for &lsquo;Yes&rsquo; or
+&lsquo;No.&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Now you have a definite answer.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; thank you. Then what &rsquo;s it to be between us, when I
+come back? May I ax that? Them as ban&rsquo;t enemies no more might grow to
+be friends&mdash;eh?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>What response Grimbal would have made is doubtful. He did not reply, for
+his servant, Lawrence Vallack, entered at the moment, and he turned abruptly
+upon the old man.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Where &rsquo;s the letter I left upon my desk? It was directed to
+Plymouth.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;All right, sir, all right; don&rsquo;t worrit. I&rsquo;ve eyes in
+my head for my betters still, thank God. I seed un when I come to shut the
+shutters an&rsquo; sent Joe post-haste to the box. &rsquo;T was in plenty of
+time for the mail.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>John emptied his lungs in a great respiration, half-sigh, half-groan. He
+could not speak. Only his fingers closed and he half lifted his hand as
+though to crush the smirking ancient. Then he dropped his arm and looked at
+Blanchard, asking the question with his eyes that he could find no words
+for.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I heard the mail go just &rsquo;fore the hare squealed,&rdquo; said
+Will stolidly, &ldquo;an&rsquo; the letter with it for certain.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Grimbal started up and rushed to the hall while the other limped after
+him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Doan&rsquo;t &rsquo;e do nothin&rsquo; fulish. I believe you never
+meant to post un. Ess, I&rsquo;ll take your solemn word for that. An&rsquo;
+if you didn&rsquo;t mean to send letter, &rsquo;t is as if you hadn&rsquo;t
+sent un. For my mind weer fixed, whatever you might do.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t jaw, now! There &rsquo;s time to stop the mail yet. I
+can get to Moreton as soon or sooner than that crawling cart if I ride. I
+won&rsquo;t be fooled like this!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He ran to the stables, called to the groom, clapped a saddle on the horse
+that had just brought him home, and in about three minutes was riding down
+the avenue, while his lad reached the gate and swung it open just in time.
+Then Grimbal galloped into the night, with heart and soul fixed upon his
+letter. He meant to recover it at any reasonable cost. The white road
+streaked away beneath him, and a breeze created by his own rapid progress
+steadied him as he hastened on. Presently at a hill-foot, he saw how to save
+a mile or more by short cuts over meadow-land, so left the highway, rode
+through a hayfield, and dashed from it by a gap into a second. Then he
+grunted and the sound was one of satisfaction, for his tremendous rate of
+progress had served its object and already, creeping on the main road far
+ahead, he saw the vehicle which held the mail.</p>
+<p>Meanwhile Blanchard and the man-servant stood and watched John
+Grimbal&rsquo;s furious departure.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Pity,&rdquo; said Will. &ldquo;No call to do it. I&rsquo;ve took
+his word, an&rsquo; the end &rsquo;s the same, letter or no letter. Now let
+me finish that theer brandy, then I&rsquo;ll go home.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>But Mr. Vallack heard nothing. He was gazing out into the night and
+shaking with fear.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;High treason &rsquo;gainst the law of the land to lay a finger on
+the mail. A letter posted be like a stone flinged or a word spoken&mdash;out
+of our keeping for all time. An&rsquo; me to blame for it. I&rsquo;m a ruined
+man along o&rsquo; taking tu much &rsquo;pon myself an&rsquo; being tu eager
+for others. He&rsquo;ll fling me out, sure &rsquo;s death. &rsquo;T is all up
+wi&rsquo; me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;As to that, I reckon many a dog gets a kick wheer he thinks he
+&rsquo;s earned a pat,&rdquo; said Will; &ldquo;that&rsquo;s life, that is.
+An&rsquo; maybe theer&rsquo;s sore hearts in dumb beasts, tu, sometimes, for
+a dog loves praise like a woman. He won&rsquo;t sack &rsquo;e. You done what
+&rsquo;peared your duty.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Blanchard then left the house, slowly proceeded along the avenue and
+presently passed out on to the highroad. As he walked the pain of his leg
+diminished, but he put no strain upon it and proceeded very leisurely towards
+home. Great happiness broke into his mind, undimmed by aching bones and
+bruises. The reflection that he was reconciled to John Grimbal crowded out
+lesser thoughts. He knew the other had spoken truth, and accepted his
+headlong flight to arrest the mail as sufficient proof of it. Then he thought
+of the possibility of giving himself up before Grimbal&rsquo;s letter should
+come to be read.</p>
+<p>At home Phoebe was lying awake in misery waiting for him. She had brought
+up to their bedroom a great plate of cold bacon with vegetables and a pint of
+beer; and as Will slowly appeared she uttered a cry and embraced him with
+thanksgivings. Upon Blanchard&rsquo;s mind the return to his wife impressed
+various strange thoughts. He soothed her, comforted her, and assured her of
+his safety. But to him it seemed that he spoke with a stranger, for half a
+century of experience appeared to stretch between the present and his
+departure from Monks Barton about three hours before. His wife experienced
+similar sensations. That this cheerful, battered, hungry man could be the
+same who had stormed from her into the night a few short hours before,
+appeared impossible.</p>
+<h2><a id="IV_XVI" name="IV_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI<br />
+A PAIR OF HANDCUFFS</h2>
+<p>Mr. Blee, to do him justice, was usually the first afoot at Monks Barton,
+both winter and summer. The maids who slept near him needed no alarum, for
+his step on the stair and his high-pitched summons, &ldquo;Now then, you lazy
+gals, what be snorin&rsquo; theer for, an&rsquo; the day broke?&rdquo; was
+always sufficient to ensure their wakening.</p>
+<p>At an early hour of the morning that dawned upon Will&rsquo;s nocturnal
+adventures, Billy stood in the farmyard and surveyed the shining river to an
+accompaniment of many musical sounds. On Monks Barton thatches the pigeons
+cooed and bowed and gurgled to their ladies, cows lowed from the byres, cocks
+crew, and the mill-wheel, already launched upon the business of the day,
+panted from its dark habitation of dripping moss and fern.</p>
+<p>Billy sniffed the morning, then proceeded to a pig&rsquo;s sty, opened a
+door within it, and chuckled at the spectacle that greeted him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Burnish it all! auld sow &rsquo;s farrowed at last, then. Busy
+night for her, sure &rsquo;nough! An&rsquo; so fine a litter as ever I seed,
+by the looks of it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He bustled off to get refreshment for the gaunt, new-made mother, and as
+he did so met Ted Chown, who now worked at Mr. Lyddon&rsquo;s, and had just
+arrived from his home in Chagford.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Marnin&rsquo;, sir; have &rsquo;e heard the news? Gert tidings
+up-long I &rsquo;sure &rsquo;e.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not so gert as what I&rsquo;ve got, I&rsquo;ll lay. Butivul litter
+&rsquo;t is. Come an&rsquo; give me a hand.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Bonus was catched poachin&rsquo; last night to the Red House.
+An&rsquo; he&rsquo;ve had his faace smashed in, nose broke, an&rsquo; all. He
+escaped arter; but he went to Doctor fust thing to-day an&rsquo; got hisself
+plastered; an&rsquo; then, knawin&rsquo; &rsquo;t weern&rsquo;t no use to
+hide, comed right along an&rsquo; gived hisself up to faither.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My stars! An&rsquo; no more&rsquo;n what he desarved, that&rsquo;s
+certain.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But that ban&rsquo;t all, even. Maister Jan Grimbal&rsquo;s
+missing! He rode off last night, Laard knaws wheer, an&rsquo; never a sign of
+un seed since. They&rsquo;ve sent to the station &rsquo;bout it
+a&rsquo;ready; an&rsquo; they &rsquo;m scourin&rsquo; the airth for un.
+An&rsquo; &rsquo;t was Maister Blanchard as fought wi&rsquo; Bonus, for Sam
+said so.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Guy Fawkes an&rsquo; angels! Here, you mix this. I must tell Miller
+an&rsquo; run about a bit. Gwaine to be a gert day, by the looks of
+it!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He hurried into the house, met his master and began with breathless
+haste,&mdash;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Awful doin&rsquo;s! Awful doin&rsquo;s, Miller. Such a
+sweet-smellin&rsquo; marnin&rsquo;, tu! Bear yourself stiff against it, for
+us caan&rsquo;t say what remains to be told.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What&rsquo;s wrong now? Doan&rsquo;t choke yourself. You &rsquo;m
+grawin&rsquo; tu auld for all the excitements of modern life, Billy.
+Wheer&rsquo;s Will?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You may well ax. Sleepin&rsquo; still, I reckon, for he comed in
+long arter midnight. I was stirrin&rsquo; at the time an&rsquo; heard un.
+Sleepin&rsquo; arter black deeds, if all they tell be true.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Black deeds!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The bwoy Ted&rsquo;s just comed wi&rsquo; it. &rsquo;T is this way:
+Bonus be at death&rsquo;s door wi&rsquo; a smashed nose, an&rsquo; Blanchard
+done it; an&rsquo; Jan Grimbal&rsquo;s vanished off the faace o&rsquo; the
+airth. Not a sign of un seed arter he drove away last night from the Jubilee
+gathering. An&rsquo; if &rsquo;t is murder, you&rsquo;ll be in the
+witness-box, knawin&rsquo; the parties same as you do; an&rsquo; the sow
+&rsquo;s got a braave litter, though what&rsquo;s that arter such
+news?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Guess you &rsquo;m dreamin&rsquo;, Blee,&rdquo; said Mr. Lyddon, as
+he took his hat and walked into the farmyard.</p>
+<p>Billy was hurt.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Dreamin&rsquo;, be I? I&rsquo;m a man as dreams blue murders, of
+coourse! Tu auld to be relied on now, I s&rsquo;pose. Theer! Theer!&rdquo; he
+changed his voice and it ran into a cracked scream of excitement.
+&ldquo;Theer! P&rsquo;r&rsquo;aps I&rsquo;m dreamin&rsquo;, as Inspector
+Chown an&rsquo; Constable Lamacraft be walkin&rsquo; in the gate this instant
+moment!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>But there was no mistaking this fact. Abraham Chown entered, marched
+solemnly to the party at the door, cried &ldquo;Halt!&rdquo; to his
+subordinate, then turned to Mr. Lyddon.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Good-day to you, Miller,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;though &rsquo;t is
+a bad day, I&rsquo;m fearin&rsquo;. I be here for Will Blanchard,
+<i>alias</i> Tom Newcombe.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If you mean my son-in-law, he &rsquo;s not out of bed to my
+knawledge.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Dear sawls! Doan&rsquo;t &rsquo;e say &rsquo;t is blue
+murder&mdash;doan&rsquo;t &rsquo;e say that!&rdquo; implored Mr. Blee. His
+head shook and his tongue revolved round his lips.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not as I knaws. We &rsquo;m actin&rsquo; on instructions from the
+military to Plymouth.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Theer &rsquo;s allus wickedness hid under a alias
+notwithstanding,&rdquo; declared Billy, rather disappointed; &ldquo;have
+&rsquo;e found Jan Grimbal?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They be searchin&rsquo; for un. Jim Luke, Inspector to Moreton,
+an&rsquo; his men be out beatin&rsquo; the country. But I&rsquo;m here,
+wi&rsquo; my staff, for William Blanchard. March!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Lamacraft, thus addressed, proceeded a pace or two until stopped by Mr.
+Lyddon.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No call to go in. He&rsquo;ll come down. But I&rsquo;m sore puzzled
+to knaw what this means, for awnly last night I heard tell from Jan
+Grimbal&rsquo;s awn lips that he&rsquo;d chaanged his mind about a private
+matter bearin&rsquo; on this.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I want the man, anyways, an&rsquo; I be gwaine to have un,&rdquo;
+declared Inspector Chown. He brought a pair of handcuffs from his pocket and
+gave them to the constable.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Put up them gashly things, Abraham Chown,&rdquo; said the miller
+sternly. &ldquo;Doan&rsquo;t &rsquo;e knaw Blanchard better &rsquo;n
+that?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Handcuffed he&rsquo;ll be, whether he likes it or not,&rdquo;
+answered the other; &ldquo;an&rsquo; if theer&rsquo;s trouble, I bid all
+present an&rsquo; any able-bodied men &rsquo;pon the premises to help me take
+him in the Queen&rsquo;s name.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Billy hobbled round the corner, thrust two fingers into his mouth, and
+blew a quavering whistle; whereupon two labourers, working a few hundred
+yards off, immediately dropped their tools and joined him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Run you here,&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;P&rsquo;lice be corned to
+taake Will Blanchard, an&rsquo; us must all give the Law a hand, for
+theer&rsquo;ll be blows struck if I knaw un.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Will Blanchard! What have he done?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Been under a alias&mdash;that&rsquo;s the least of it,
+but&mdash;God, He knaws&mdash;it may rise to murder. &rsquo;T is our bounden
+duty to help Chown against un.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Be danged if I do!&rdquo; said one of the men.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Nor me,&rdquo; declared the other. &ldquo;Let Chown do his job
+hisself&mdash;an&rsquo; get his jaw broke for his trouble.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>But they followed Mr. Blee to where the miller still argued against
+Lamacraft&rsquo;s entrance.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why didn&rsquo;t they send soldiers for un? That&rsquo;s what he
+reckoned on,&rdquo; said Mr. Lyddon.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;T is my job fust.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m sorry you&rsquo;ve come in this high spirit. You knaw the
+man and ought to taake his word he&rsquo;d go quiet and my guarantee for
+it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I knaw my duty, an&rsquo; doan&rsquo;t want no teachin&rsquo; from
+you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;re a fule!&rdquo; said Miller, in some anger.
+&ldquo;An&rsquo; &rsquo;t will take more &rsquo;n you an&rsquo; that
+moon-faced lout to put them things on the man, or I&rsquo;m much
+mistaken.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He went indoors while the labourers laughed, and the younger constable
+blushed at the insult.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How do &rsquo;e like that, Peter Lamacraft?&rdquo; asked a
+labourer.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No odds to me,&rdquo; answered the policeman, licking his hands
+nervously and looking at the door. &ldquo;I ban&rsquo;t feared of nought said
+or done if I&rsquo;ve got the Law behind me. An&rsquo; you&rsquo;m liable
+yourself if you doan&rsquo;t help.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Caan&rsquo;t wait no more,&rdquo; declared Mr. Chown. &ldquo;If
+he&rsquo;s in bed, us&rsquo;ll take un in bed. Come on, you!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Thus ordered to proceed, Lamacraft set his face resolutely forward and was
+just entering the farm when Phoebe appeared. Her tears were dry, though her
+voice was unsteady and her eyelids red.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Gude mornin&rsquo;, Mr. Chown,&rdquo; she said.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Marnin&rsquo;, ma&rsquo;am. Let us pass, if you please.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Are you coming in? Why?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Us caan&rsquo;t bide no more, an&rsquo; us caan&rsquo;t give no
+more reasons. The Law ban&rsquo;t &rsquo;spected to give reasons for its
+deeds, an&rsquo; us won&rsquo;t be bamboozled an&rsquo; put off a minute
+longer,&rdquo; answered Chown grimly. &ldquo;March, I tell &rsquo;e, Peter
+Lamacraft.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You caan&rsquo;t see my husband.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But we&rsquo;m gwaine to see un. He&rsquo;ve got to see me,
+an&rsquo; come along wi&rsquo; me, tu. An&rsquo; if he&rsquo;s wise,
+he&rsquo;ll come quiet an&rsquo; keep his mouth shut. That much I&rsquo;ll
+tell un for his gude.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If you&rsquo;ll listen, I might make you onderstand how &rsquo;tis
+you caan&rsquo;t see Will,&rdquo; said Phoebe quietly. &ldquo;You must knaw
+he runned away an&rsquo; went soldiering before he married me. Then he comed
+back for love of me wi&rsquo;out axin&rsquo; any man&rsquo;s
+leave.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So much the worse, ma&rsquo;am; he&rsquo;m a desarter!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The dark wickedness!&rdquo; gasped Mr. Blee; &ldquo;an&rsquo; him
+dumb as a newt &rsquo;bout it all these years an&rsquo; years! The conscience
+of un!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, you needn&rsquo;t trouble any more,&rdquo; continued Phoebe
+to the policemen. &ldquo;My husband be gwaine to take this matter into his
+awn hands now.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Inspector Chown laughed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s gude, that is!&mdash;now he &rsquo;m blawn
+upon!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He &rsquo;s gwaine to give himself up&mdash;he caan&rsquo;t do
+more,&rdquo; said Phoebe, turning to her father who now reappeared.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Coourse he caan&rsquo;t do more. What more do &rsquo;e want?&rdquo;
+the miller inquired.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Him,&rdquo; answered Mr. Chown. &ldquo;No more an&rsquo; no less;
+an&rsquo; everything said will be used against him.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You glumpy auld Dowl!&rdquo; growled a labouring man.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;All right, all right. You just wait, all of &rsquo;e! Wheer&rsquo;s
+the man? How much longer be I to bide his pleasure? March! Damn it all! be
+the Law a laughing-stock?&rdquo; The Inspector was growing very hot and
+excited.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;s gone,&rdquo; said Phoebe, as Mr. Lamacraft entered the
+farm, put one foot on the bottom step of the stairs, then turned for further
+orders. &ldquo;He&rsquo;s gone, before light. He rested two hours or so, then
+us harnessed the trap an&rsquo; he drove away to Moreton to take fust train
+to Plymouth by way o&rsquo; Newton Abbot. An&rsquo; he said as Ted Chown was
+to go in arter breakfast an&rsquo; drive the trap home.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Couldn&rsquo;t tell me nothin&rsquo; as had pleased me
+better,&rdquo; said the miller. &ldquo;&rsquo;T is a weight off
+me&mdash;an&rsquo; off him I reckon. Now you &rsquo;m answered, my son; you
+can telegraph back as you corned wi&rsquo; your auld handcuffs tu late by
+hours, an&rsquo; that the man&rsquo;s on his way to give hisself
+up.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve only got your word for it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; what better word should &rsquo;e have?&rdquo; piped
+Billy, who in the space of half a minute had ranged himself alongside his
+master. &ldquo;You to question the word o&rsquo; Miller Lyddon, you
+crooked-hearted raven! Who was it spoke for &rsquo;e fifteen year ago
+an&rsquo; got &rsquo;em to make &rsquo;e p&rsquo;liceman &rsquo;cause you was
+tu big a fule to larn any other trade? Gert, thankless twoad! An&rsquo; who
+was it let &rsquo;em keep the &rsquo;Green Man&rsquo; awpen two nights in wan
+week arter closin&rsquo; time, &rsquo;cause he wanted another drop
+hisself?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Come you away,&rdquo; said the Inspector to his constable.
+&ldquo;Ban&rsquo;t for the likes of we to have any talk wi&rsquo; the likes
+o&rsquo; they. But they&rsquo;ll hear more of this; an&rsquo; if
+theer&rsquo;s been any hookem-snivey dealin&rsquo;s with the Law,
+they&rsquo;ll live to be sorry. An&rsquo; you follow me likewise,&rdquo; he
+added to his son, who stood hard by. &ldquo;You come wi&rsquo; me, Ted, for
+you doan&rsquo;t do no more work for runaway soldiers, nor yet bald-headed
+auld antics like this here!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He pointed to Mr. Blee, then turned to depart.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Get off honest man&rsquo;s land, you black-bearded beast!&rdquo;
+screamed Billy. &ldquo;You &rsquo;m most like of any wan ever I heard tell of
+to do murder yourself; an&rsquo; auld as I be, I&rsquo;d crawl on my hands
+an&rsquo; knees to see you scragged for &rsquo;t, if &rsquo;t was so far as
+the sun in heaven!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s libel,&rdquo; answered Mr. Chown, with cold and
+haughty authority; &ldquo;an&rsquo; you&rsquo;ve put yourself in the grip of
+the Law by sayin&rsquo; it, as you&rsquo;ll knaw before you &rsquo;m much
+aulder.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then, with this trifling advantage, he retreated, while Lamacraft and Ted
+brought up the rear.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So theer&rsquo;s an end of that. Now us&rsquo;ll fall to wi&rsquo;
+no worse appetites,&rdquo; declared Miller. &ldquo;An&rsquo; as to
+Will,&rdquo; he added, &ldquo;&rsquo;fore you chaps go, just mind an&rsquo;
+judge no man till you knaw what&rsquo;s proved against him. Onless
+theer&rsquo;s worse behind than I&rsquo;ve larned so far, I&rsquo;m gwaine to
+stand by un.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; me, tu!&rdquo; said Mr. Blee, with a fine disregard for
+his recent utterances. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve teached the chap purty nigh all he
+knaws an&rsquo; I ban&rsquo;t gwaine to turn on un now, onless &rsquo;t is
+proved blue murder. An&rsquo; that Chown &rsquo;s a disgrace to his cloth;
+an&rsquo; I&rsquo;d pull his ugly bat&rsquo;s ears on my awn behalf if I was
+a younger an&rsquo; spryer man.&rdquo;</p>
+<h2><a id="IV_XVII" name="IV_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII<br />
+SUSPENSE</h2>
+<p>The fate of John Grimbal was learned within an hour or two of Inspector
+Chown&rsquo;s departure from Monks Barton; and by the time that Martin
+Grimbal had been apprised of the matter his brother already lay at the Red
+House.</p>
+<p>John had been found at daybreak upon the grass-land where he rode
+overnight on his journey to intercept the mail. A moment after he descried
+the distant cart, his horse had set foot in a hole; and upon the accident
+being discovered, the beast was found lying with a broken leg within twenty
+yards of its insensible master. His horse was shot, John Grimbal carried home
+with all despatch, and Doctor Parsons arrived as quickly as possible, to do
+all that might be done for the sufferer until an abler physician than himself
+reached the scene.</p>
+<p>Three dreary days saw Grimbal at the door of death, then a brief interval
+of consciousness rewarded unceasing care, and a rumour spread that he might
+yet survive. Martin, when immediate fear for his brother&rsquo;s life was
+relieved, busied himself about Blanchard, and went to Plymouth. There he saw
+Will, learned all facts concerning the letter, and did his best to win
+information of the prisoner&rsquo;s probable punishment. Fears, magnified
+rumours, expressed opinions, mostly erroneous, buzzed in the ears of the
+anxious party at Monks Barton. Then Martin Grimbal returned to Chagford and
+there came an evening when those most interested met after supper at the farm
+to hear all he could tell them.</p>
+<p>Long faces grouped round Martin as he made his statement in a grey June
+twilight. Mr. Blee and the miller smoked, Mrs. Blanchard sat with her hand in
+her daughter&rsquo;s, and Phoebe occupied a comfortable arm-chair by the wood
+fire. Between intervals of long silence came loud, juicy, sounds from
+Billy&rsquo;s pipe, and when light waned they still talked on until Chris
+stirred herself and sought the lamp.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They tell me,&rdquo; began Martin, &ldquo;that a deserting soldier
+is punished according to his character and with regard to the fact whether he
+surrenders himself or is apprehended. Of course we know Will gave himself up,
+but then they will find out that he knew poor John&rsquo;s unfortunate letter
+had reached its destination&mdash;or at any rate started for it; and they may
+argue, not knowing the truth, that it was the fact of the information being
+finally despatched made Will surrender. They will say, I am afraid, as they
+said to me: &rsquo;Why did he wait until now if he meant to do the right
+thing? Why did he not give himself up long ago?&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s easy answered: to please others,&rdquo; explained Mr.
+Lyddon. &ldquo;Fust theer was his promise to Phoebe, then his mother&rsquo;s
+illness, then his other promise, to bide till his wife was brought to bed.
+Looking back I see we was wrong to use our power against his awn wish; but so
+it stands.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I ought to go; I ought to be alongside un,&rdquo; moaned Phoebe;
+&ldquo;I was at the bottom of everything from fust to last. For me he run
+away; for me he stopped away. Mine&rsquo;s the blame, an&rsquo; them as judge
+him should knaw it an&rsquo; hear me say so.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Caan&rsquo;t do no such vain thing as that,&rdquo; declared Mr.
+Blee. &ldquo;&rsquo;T was never allowed as a wife should be heard &rsquo;pon
+the doin&rsquo;s of her awn husband. &rsquo;Cause why? She&rsquo;d be
+one-sided&mdash;either plump for un through thick an&rsquo; thin, or else all
+against un, as the case might stand.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;As to the sentence,&rdquo; continued Martin, &ldquo;if a man with a
+good character deserts and thinks better of it and goes back to his regiment,
+he is not as a rule tried by court-martial at all. Instead, he loses all his
+former service and has to begin to reckon his period of engagement&mdash;six
+or seven years perhaps&mdash;all over again. But a notoriously bad character
+is tried by court-martial in any case, whether he gives himself up or not;
+and he gets a punishment according to the badness of his past record. Such a
+man would have from eighty-four days&rsquo; imprisonment, with hard labour,
+up to six months, or even a year, if he had deserted more than once. Then the
+out-and-out rascals are sentenced to be &lsquo;dismissed her Majesty&rsquo;s
+service.&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But the real gude men,&rdquo; pleaded Phoebe&mdash;&ldquo;them as
+had no whisper &rsquo;gainst &rsquo;em, same as Will? They couldn&rsquo;t be
+hard &rsquo;pon them, &rsquo;specially if they knawed all?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I should hope not; I&rsquo;m sure not. You see the case is so
+unusual, as an officer explained to me, and such a great length of time has
+elapsed between the action and the judgment upon it. That is in Will&rsquo;s
+favour. A good soldier with a clean record who deserts and is apprehended
+does not get more than three months with hard labour and sometimes less.
+That&rsquo;s the worst that can happen, I hope.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What&rsquo;s hard labour to him?&rdquo; murmured Billy, whose tact
+on occasions of universal sorrow was sometimes faulty. &ldquo;&rsquo;Tis the
+rankle of bein&rsquo; in every blackguard&rsquo;s mouth that&rsquo;ll cut
+Will to the quick.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What blackguards say and think ban&rsquo;t no odds,&rdquo; declared
+Mrs. Blanchard. &ldquo;&rsquo;Tis better&mdash;far better he should do what
+he must do. The disgrace is in the minds of them that lick theer lips upon
+his sorrow. Let him pay for a wrong deed done, for the evil he did that gude
+might come of it. I see the right hand o&rsquo; God holding&rsquo; the
+li&rsquo;l strings of my son&rsquo;s life, an&rsquo; I knaw better&rsquo;n
+any of &rsquo;e what&rsquo;ll be in the bwoy&rsquo;s heart now.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yet, when all&rsquo;s said, &rsquo;tis a mournful sarcumstance
+an&rsquo; sent for our chastening,&rdquo; contended Mr. Blee stoutly.
+&ldquo;Us mustn&rsquo;t argue away the torment of it an&rsquo; pretend
+&rsquo;tis nought. Ban&rsquo;t a pleasing thing, &rsquo;specially at such a
+time when all the airth s gwaine daft wi&rsquo; joy for the gracious gudeness
+o&rsquo; God to the Queen o&rsquo; England. In plain speech, &rsquo;t is a
+damn dismal come-along-of-it, an&rsquo; I&rsquo;ve cried by night, auld
+though I am, to think o&rsquo; the man&rsquo;s babes grawin&rsquo; up
+wi&rsquo; this round theer necks. An&rsquo; wan to be born while he &rsquo;m
+put away! Theer &rsquo;s a black picksher for &rsquo;e! Him doin&rsquo; hard
+labour as the Law directs, an&rsquo; his wife doin&rsquo; hard labour,
+tu&mdash;in her lonely bed! Why, gormed if I&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;For God&rsquo;s sake shut your mouth, you horrible old man!&rdquo;
+burst out Martin, as Phoebe hurried away in tears and Chris followed her.
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;re a disgrace to humanity and I don&rsquo;t hesitate&mdash;I
+don&rsquo;t hesitate at all to say you have no proper feeling in
+you!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Martin&rsquo;s right, Billy,&rdquo; declared Mr. Lyddon without
+emotion. &ldquo;You &rsquo;m a thought tu quick to meet other people&rsquo;s
+troubles half way, as I&rsquo;ve told &rsquo;e before to-night. Ban&rsquo;t a
+comely trait in &rsquo;e. You&rsquo;ve made her run off sobbing her poor,
+bruised heart out. As if she hadn&rsquo;t wept enough o&rsquo; late. Do
+&rsquo;e think us caan&rsquo;t see what it all means an&rsquo; the wisht
+cloud that&rsquo;s awver all our heads, lookin&rsquo; darker by contrast
+wi&rsquo; the happiness of the land, owing to the Jubilee of a gert Queen?
+Coourse we knaw. But&rsquo;t is poor wisdom to talk &rsquo;bout the blackness
+of a cloud to them as be tryin&rsquo; to find its silver lining. If you
+caan&rsquo;t lighten trouble, best to hold your peace.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What&rsquo;s the use of cryin&rsquo; &lsquo;peace&rsquo; when us
+knaws in our hearts &rsquo;tis war? Us must look inside an&rsquo; outside,
+an&rsquo; count the cost same as I be doin&rsquo; now,&rdquo; declared Mr.
+Blee. &ldquo;Then to be catched up so harsh &rsquo;mong friends! Well, well,
+gude-night, all; I&rsquo;ll go to my rest. Hard words doan&rsquo;t break,
+though they may bruise. But I&rsquo;ll do my duty, whether or no.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He rose and shuffled to the door, then looked round and opened his mouth
+to speak again. But he changed his mind, shook his head, snorted
+expressively, and disappeared.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A straange-fashioned chap,&rdquo; commented Mrs. Blanchard,
+&ldquo;wi&rsquo; sometimes a wise word stuck in his sour speech, like a gude
+currant in a bad dumpling.&rdquo;</p>
+<h2><a id="IV_XVIII" name="IV_XVIII"></a>CHAPTER XVIII<br />
+THE NIGHT OF JUBILEE</h2>
+<p>Unnumbered joy fires were writing the nation&rsquo;s thanksgiving across
+the starry darkness of a night in June. Throughout the confines of
+Britain&mdash;on knolls arising beside populous towns, above the wild cliffs
+of our coasts, in low-lying lands, upon the banks of rivers, at the fringes
+of forests and over a thousand barren heaths, lonely wastes, and stony
+pinnacles of untamed hills, like some mundane galaxy of stars or many-tongued
+outbreak of conflagration, the bonfires glimmered. And their golden seed was
+sown so thickly, that from no pile of those hundreds then brightening the
+hours of darkness had it been possible to gaze into the night and see no
+other.</p>
+<p>Upon the shaggy fastnesses of Devon&rsquo;s central waste, within the
+bounds, metes, and precincts of Dartmoor Forest, there shone a whole
+constellation of little suns, and a wanderer in air might have counted a
+hundred without difficulty, whilst, for the beholders perched upon Yes Tor,
+High Wilhays, or the bosom of Cosdon during the fairness and clearness of
+that memorable night, fully threescore beacons flamed. All those granite
+giants within the field of man&rsquo;s activities, all the monsters whose
+enormous shades fell at dawn or evening time upon the hamlets and villages of
+the Moor, now carried on their lofty crowns the flames of rejoicing. Bonfires
+of varying size, according to the energy and importance of the communities
+responsible for them, dotted the circumference of the lonely region in a
+vast, irregular figure, but thinned and ceased towards the unpeopled heart of
+the waste. On Wattern, at Cranmere, upon Fur Tor, and under the hoary,
+haunted woods of Wistman, no glad beacons blazed or voices rang. There
+Nature, ignorant of epochs and heeding neither olympiad nor lustrum, cycle
+nor century, ruled alone; there, all self-centred, self-contained, unwitting
+of conscious existence and its little joys, her perfection above praise and
+more enduring than any chronicle of it, asking for no earthborn acclamations
+of her eternal reign, demanding only obedience from all on penalty of death,
+the Mother swayed her sceptre unseen. Seed and stone, blade and berry, hot
+blood and cold, did her bidding and slept or stirred at her ordinance. A
+nightjar harshly whirred beneath her footstool; wan tongues of flame rose and
+fell upon her quaking altars; a mountain fox, pattering quick-footed to the
+rabbit warren, caught light from those exhalations in his round, green eyes
+and barked.</p>
+<p>Humanity thronged and made merry around numberless crackling piles of
+fire. Men and women, boys and girls, most noisily rejoiced, and from each
+flaming centre of festivity a thin sound of human shouting and laughter
+streamed starward with the smoke.</p>
+<p>Removed by brief distance in space, the onlooker, without overmuch strain
+or imagination, might stride a pace or two backward in time and conceive
+himself for a moment as in the presence of those who similarly tended beacons
+on these granite heights of old. Then, truly, the object and occasion were
+widely different; then, perchance, in answer to evil rumour moving zigzag on
+black bat-wings through nights of fear, many a bale-fire had shot upwards,
+upon the keystone of Cosdon&rsquo;s solemn arch, beckoned like a bloody hand
+towards north and south, and cried danger to a thousand British warriors
+lurking in moor, and fen, and forest. Answering flames had leapt from Hay
+Tor, from Buckland Beacon, from Great Mis Tor in the west; and their warning,
+caught up elsewhere, would quickly penetrate to the heart of the South Hams,
+to the outlying ramparts of the Cornish wastes, to Exmoor and the coast-line
+of the north. But no laughter echoed about those old-time fires. Their lurid
+light smeared wolfskins, splashed on metal and untanned hide, illumined
+barbaric adornments, fierce faces, wild locks, and savage eyes. Anxious
+Celtic mothers and maidens stood beside their men, while fear and rage leapt
+along from woman&rsquo;s face to woman&rsquo;s face, as some gasping wretch,
+with twoscore miles of wilderness behind him, told of high-beaked monsters
+moving under banks of oars, of dire peril, of death and ruin, suddenly sprung
+in a night from behind the rim of the sea.</p>
+<p>Since then the peaks of the Moor have smiled or scowled under countless
+human fires, have flashed glad tidings or flamed ill news to many
+generations. And now, perched upon one enormous mass of stone, there towered
+upward a beacon of blazing furze and pine. In its heart were tar barrels and
+the monster bred heat enough to remind the granite beneath it of those fires
+that first moulded its elvan ingredients to a concrete whole and hurled them
+hither.</p>
+<p>About this eye of flame crowded those who had built it, and the roaring
+mass of red-hot timber and seething pitch represented the consummation of
+Chagford&rsquo;s festivities on the night of Jubilee. The flames, obedient to
+such light airs as were blowing, bent in unison with the black billows of
+smoke that wound above them. Great, trembling tongues separated from the mass
+and soared upward, gleaming as they vanished; sparks and jets, streams and
+stars of light, shot from the pile to illuminate the rolling depths of the
+smoke cloud, to fret its curtain with spangles and jewels of gold atid ruby,
+to weave strange, lurid lights into the very fabric of its volume. Far away,
+as the breezes drew them, fell a red glimmer of fire, where those charred
+fragments caught in the rush and hurled aloft, returned again to earth; and
+the whole incandescent structure, perched as it was upon the apex of Yes Tor,
+suggested at a brief distance a fiery top-knot of streaming flame on some
+vast and demoniac head thrust upward from the nether world.</p>
+<p>Great splendour of light gleamed upon a ring of human beings. Adventurous
+spirits leapt forth, fed the flames with faggots and furze and risked their
+hairy faces within the range of the bonfire&rsquo;s scorching breath.
+Alternate gleam and glow played fantastically upon the spectators, and,
+though for the most part they moved but little while their joy fire was at
+its height, the conflagration caused a sheer devil&rsquo;s dance of impish
+light and shadow to race over every face and form in the assemblage. The
+fantastic magician of the fire threw humps on to straight backs, flattened
+good round breasts, wrote wrinkles on smooth faces, turned eyes and lips into
+shining gems, made white teeth yellow, cast a grotesque spell of the unreal
+on young shapes, of the horrible upon old ones. A sort of monkey coarseness
+crept into the red, upturned faces; their proportions were distorted, their
+delicacy destroyed. Essential lines of figures were concealed by the inky
+shadows; unimportant features were thrown into a violent prominence; the
+clean fire impinged abruptly on a night of black shade, as sunrise on the
+moon. There was no atmosphere. Human noses poked weirdly out of nothing,
+human hands waved without arms, human heads moved without bodies, bodies
+bobbed along without legs. The heart-beat and furnace roar of the fire was
+tremendous, but the shouts of men, the shriller laughter of women, and the
+screams and yells of children could be heard through it, together with the
+pistol-like explosion of sap turned to steam, and rending its way from green
+wood. Other sounds also fretted the air, for a hundred yards distant&mdash;in
+a hut-circle&mdash;the Chagford drum-and-fife band lent its throb and squeak
+to the hour, and struggled amain to increase universal joy. So the fire
+flourished, and the plutonian rock-mass of the tor arose, the centre of a
+scene itself plutonian.</p>
+<p>Removed by many yards from the ring of human spectators, and scattered in
+wide order upon the flanks of the hill, stood tame beasts. Sheep huddled
+there and bleated amazement, their fleeces touched by the flicker of the
+distant fire; red heifers and steers also faced the flame and chewed the cud
+upon a spectacle outside all former experience; while inquisitive ponies drew
+up in a wide radius, snorted and sniffed with delicate, dilated nostrils at
+the unfamiliar smell of the breeze, threw up their little heads, fetched a
+compass at top speed and so returned; then crowded flank to flank, shoulder
+to shoulder, and again blankly gazed at the fire which reflected itself in
+the whites of their shifty eyes.</p>
+<p>Fitting the freakish antics of the red light, a carnival spirit, hard to
+rouse in northern hearts, awakened within this crowd of Devon men and women,
+old men and children. There was in their exhilaration some inspiration from
+the joyous circumstance they celebrated; and something, too, from the barrel.
+Dancing began and games, feeble by day but not lacking devil when pursued
+under cover of darkness. There were hugging and kissing, and yells of
+laughter when amorous couples who believed themselves safe were suddenly
+revealed lip to lip and heart to heart by an unkind flash of fire. Some, as
+their nature was, danced and screamed that flaming hour away; some sat
+blankly and smoked and gazed with less interest than the outer audience of
+dumb animals; some laboured amain to keep the bonfire at blaze. These last
+worked from habit and forgot their broadcloth. None bade them, but it was
+their life to be toiling; it came naturally to mind and muscle, and they
+laughed while they laboured and sweated. A dozen staid groups witnessed the
+scene from surrounding eminences, but did not join the merrymakers. Mr.
+Shorto-Champernowne, Doctor Parsons, and the ladies of their houses stood
+with their feet on a tumulus apart; and elsewhere Mr. Chapple, Charles
+Coomstock, Mr. Blee, and others, mostly ancient, sat on the granite,
+inspected the pandemonium spread before them, and criticised as experts who
+had seen bonfires lighted before the greater part of the present gathering
+was out of its cradle. But no cynic praising of past time to the
+disparagement of the present marked their opinions. Mr. Chapple indeed
+pronounced the fire brilliantly successful, and did not hesitate to declare
+that it capped all his experience in this direction.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A braave blaze,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;a blaze as gives the
+thoughtful eye an&rsquo; nose a tidy guess at what the Pit&rsquo;s like to
+be. Ess, indeed, a religious fire, so to say; an&rsquo; I warrant the prophet
+sat along just such another when he said man was born to trouble sure as the
+sparks fly up&rsquo;ard.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Somewhat earlier on the same night, under the northern ramparts of
+Dartmoor, and upon the long, creeping hill that rises aloft from Okehampton,
+then dips again, passes beneath the Belstones, and winds by Sticklepath and
+Zeal under Cosdon, there rattled a trap holding two men. From their
+conversation it appeared that one was a traveller who now returned southward
+from a journey.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Gert, gay, fanciful doin&rsquo;s to-night,&rdquo; said the driver,
+looking aloft where Cosdon Beacon swelled. &ldquo;You can see the light from
+the blaze up-long, an&rsquo; now an&rsquo; again you can note a sign in the
+night like a red-hot wire drawed up out the airth. They &rsquo;m sky-rockets,
+I judge.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;T is a joyful night, sure &rsquo;nough.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The driver illustrated a political ignorance quite common in rural
+districts ten years ago and not conspicuously rare to-day. He laboured under
+uneasy suspicions that the support of monarchy was a direct and dismal tax
+upon the pockets of the poor.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Pity all the fuss ban&rsquo;t about a better job,&rdquo; he said.
+&ldquo;Wan auld, elderly lady &rsquo;s so gude as another, come to think of
+it. Why shouldn&rsquo;t my mother have a jubilee?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What for? &rsquo;Cause she&rsquo;ve borne a damned fule?&rdquo;
+asked the other man angrily. &ldquo;If that&rsquo;s your way o&rsquo;
+thought, best keep it in your thoughts. Anyhow, I&rsquo;ll knock your silly
+head off if I hears another word to that tune, so now you knaw.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The speaker was above medium height and breadth, the man who drove him
+happened to be unusually small.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, well, no offence,&rdquo; said the latter.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;There is offence; an&rsquo; it I heard a lord o&rsquo; the land
+talk that way to-night, I&rsquo;d make un swallow every dirty word of it. To
+hell wi&rsquo; your treason!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The driver changed the subject.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Now you can see a gude few new fires,&rdquo; he said.
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s the Throwleigh blaze; an&rsquo; that, long ways off,
+be&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes Tor by the look of it. All Chagford&rsquo;s traapsed up-long, I
+warn &rsquo;e, to-night.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>They were now approaching a turning of the ways and the traveller suddenly
+changed his destination.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Come to think of it, I&rsquo;ll go straight on,&rdquo; he said.
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;ll save you a matter o&rsquo; ten miles, tu. Drive ahead a
+bit Berry Down way. Theer I&rsquo;ll leave &rsquo;e an&rsquo; you&rsquo;ll be
+back home in time to have some fun yet.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The driver, rejoicing at this unhoped diminution of his labours, soon
+reached the foot of a rough by-road that ascends to the Moor between the
+homesteads of Berry Down and Creber.</p>
+<p>Yes Tor now arose on the left under its cap of flame, and the wayfarer,
+who carried no luggage, paid his fare, bid the other
+&ldquo;good-night,&rdquo; and then vanished into the darkness.</p>
+<p>He passed between the sleeping farms, and only watch-dogs barked out of
+the silence, for Gidleigh folks were all abroad that night. Pressing onwards,
+the native hurried to Scorhill, then crossed the Teign below Batworthy Farm,
+passed through the farmyard, and so proceeded to the common beneath Yes Tor.
+He whistled as he went, then stopped a moment to listen. The first drone of
+music and remote laughter reached his ear. He hurried onwards until a gleam
+lighted his face; then he passed through the ring of beasts, still glaring
+fascinated around the fire; and finally he pushed among the people.</p>
+<p>He stood revealed and there arose a sudden whisper among some who knew
+him, but whom he knew not. One or two uttered startled cries at this
+apparition, for all associated the newcomer with events and occurrences
+widely remote from the joy of the hour. How he came among them now, and what
+event made it possible for him to stand in their midst a free man, not the
+wisest could guess.</p>
+<p>A name was carried from mouth to mouth, then shouted aloud, then greeted
+with a little cheer. It fell upon Mr. Blee&rsquo;s ear as he prepared to
+start homewards; and scarcely had the sound of it set him gasping when a big
+man grew out of the flame and shadow and stood before him with extended
+hand.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Burnish it all! You! Be it Blanchard or the ghost of un?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The man hisself&mdash;so big as bull&rsquo;s beef, an&rsquo; so
+free as thicky fire!&rdquo; said Will.</p>
+<p>Riotous joy sprang and bubbled in his voice. He gripped Billy&rsquo;s hand
+till the old man jumped and wriggled.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Free! Gude God! Doan&rsquo;t tell me you&rsquo;ve brawke
+loose&mdash;doan&rsquo;t &rsquo;e say that! Christ! if you haven&rsquo;t
+squashed my hand till theer&rsquo;s no feeling in it! Doan&rsquo;t &rsquo;e
+say you&rsquo;ve runned away?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No such thing,&rdquo; answered Will, now the centre of a little
+crowd. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll tell &rsquo;e, sawls all, if you mind to hear.
+&rsquo;Tis this way: Queen Victoria, as have given of the best she&rsquo;ve
+got wi&rsquo; both hands to the high men of the land, so they tell me,
+caan&rsquo;t forget nought, even at such a time as this here. She&rsquo;ve
+made gert additions to all manner o&rsquo; men; an&rsquo; to me, an&rsquo;
+the likes o&rsquo; me she&rsquo;ve given what&rsquo;s more precious than
+bein&rsquo; lords or dukes. I&rsquo;m free&mdash;me an&rsquo; all as runned
+from the ranks. The Sovereign Queen&rsquo;s let deserters go free, if you can
+credit it; an&rsquo; that&rsquo;s how I stand here this minute.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>A buzz and hum with cheers and some laughter and congratulations followed
+Will&rsquo;s announcement. Then the people scattered to spread his story, and
+Mr. Blee spoke.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Come you down home to wance. Ban&rsquo;t none up here as cares a
+rush &rsquo;bout &rsquo;e but me. But theer &rsquo;s a many anxious folks
+below. I comed up for auld sake&rsquo;s sake an&rsquo; because ban&rsquo;t in
+reason to suppose I&rsquo;ll ever see another joy fire &rsquo;pon Yes Tor
+rock, at my time o&rsquo; life. But us&rsquo;ll go an&rsquo; carry this rare
+news to Chagford an&rsquo; the Barton.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>They faded from the red radius of the fire and left it slowly dying. Will
+helped Billy off rough ground to the road. Then he set off at a speed
+altogether beyond the old man&rsquo;s power, so Mr. Blee resorted to
+stratagem.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Bate your pace; &rsquo;bate your pace; I caan&rsquo;t travel
+that gait an&rsquo; talk same time. Yet theer&rsquo;s a power o&rsquo; fine
+things I might tell &rsquo;e if you&rsquo;d listen.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;T is hard to walk slow towards a mother an&rsquo; wife like
+what mine be, after near a month from &rsquo;em; but let&rsquo;s have your
+news, Billy, an&rsquo; doan&rsquo;t croak, for God&rsquo;s sake. Say
+all&rsquo;s well wi&rsquo; all.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I ban&rsquo;t no croaker, as you knaws. Happy, are
+&rsquo;e?&mdash;happy for wance? I suppose you&rsquo;ll say now, as
+you&rsquo;ve said plenty times a&rsquo;ready, that you &rsquo;m to the tail
+of your troubles for gude an&rsquo; all&mdash;just in your auld, silly
+fashion?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not me, auld chap, never no more&mdash;so long as you &rsquo;m
+alive! Ha, ha, ha&mdash;that&rsquo;s wan for you! Theer! if &rsquo;t
+isn&rsquo;t gude to laugh again!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I be main glad as I&rsquo;ve got no news to make &rsquo;e do
+anything else, though ban&rsquo;t often us can be prophets of gude nowadays.
+But if you&rsquo;ve grawed a streak wiser of late, then theer&rsquo;s hope,
+even for a scatterbrain like you, the Lard bein&rsquo; all-powerful. Not that
+jokes against such as me would please Him the better.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve thought a lot in my time, Billy; an&rsquo; I
+haven&rsquo;t done thinking yet. I&rsquo;ve comed to reckon as I caan&rsquo;t
+do very well wi&rsquo;out the world, though the world would fare easy enough
+wi&rsquo;out me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Billy nodded.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s sense so far as it goes,&rdquo; he admitted.
+&ldquo;Obedience be hard to the young; to the auld it comes natural; to me
+allus was easy as dirt from my youth up. Obedience to betters in heaven
+an&rsquo; airth. But you&mdash;you with your born luck&mdash;never heard tell
+of nothin&rsquo; like it &rsquo;t all. What&rsquo;s a fix to you? You goes in
+wan end an&rsquo; walks out t&rsquo; other, like a rabbit through a hedge.
+Theer you was&mdash;in such a tight pass as you might say neither God nor
+angels could get &rsquo;e free wi&rsquo;out a Bible miracle, when, burnish it
+all! if the Jubilee Queen o&rsquo; England doan&rsquo;t busy herself
+&rsquo;bout &rsquo;e!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;T is true as I&rsquo;m walkin&rsquo; by your side. I&rsquo;d
+give a year o&rsquo; my wages to knaw how I could shaw what I think about
+it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You might thank her. &rsquo;T is all as humble folks can do most
+times when Queens or Squires or the A&rsquo;mighty Hisself spares a thought
+to better us. Us can awnly say &rsquo;thank you.&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>There was a silence of some duration; then Billy again bid his companion
+moderate his pace.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m forgetting all I&rsquo;ve got to tell &rsquo;e, though
+I&rsquo;ve news enough for a buke,&rdquo; he said.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How&rsquo;s Jan Grimbal, fust plaace?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;On his legs again an&rsquo; out o&rsquo; danger if the Lunnon
+doctor knaws anything. A hunderd guineas they say that chap have had! Your
+name was danced to a mad tune &rsquo;pon Grimbal&rsquo;s lips &rsquo;fore his
+senses corned back to un. Why for I caan&rsquo;t tell &rsquo;e. He&rsquo;ve
+shook hands wi&rsquo; Death for sartain while you was away.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; mother, an&rsquo; wife, an&rsquo; Miller?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Your mother be well&mdash;a steadfast woman her be. Joy
+doan&rsquo;t lift her up, an&rsquo; sorrow doan&rsquo;t crush her.
+Theer&rsquo;s gert wisdom in her way of life. &rsquo;T is my awn, for that
+matter. Then Miller&mdash;well, he &rsquo;m grawin&rsquo; auld an&rsquo;
+doan&rsquo;t rate me quite so high as formerly&mdash;not that I judge anybody
+but myself. An&rsquo; your missis&mdash;theer, if I haven&rsquo;t kept it for
+the last! &rsquo;Tis news four-an-twenty hour old now an&rsquo; they wrote to
+&rsquo;e essterday, but I lay you missed the letter awin&rsquo; to
+me&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Get on!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, she&rsquo;ve brought &rsquo;e a bwoy&mdash;so now
+you&rsquo;ve got both sorts&mdash;bwoy an&rsquo; cheel. An&rsquo; all
+doin&rsquo; well as can be, though wisht work for her, thinkin&rsquo;
+&rsquo;pon you the while.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Will stood still and uttered a triumphant but inarticulate
+sound&mdash;half-laugh, half-sob, half-thanksgiving. Then the man spoke, slow
+and deep,&mdash;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He shall go for a soldier!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Theer! Now I knaw &rsquo;t is Blanchard back an&rsquo; no other!
+Hear me, will &rsquo;e; doan&rsquo;t plan no such uneven way of life for
+un.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;By God, he shall!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The words came back over Will Blanchard&rsquo;s shoulder, for he was fast
+vanishing.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Might have knawed he wouldn&rsquo;t walk along wi&rsquo; me arter
+that,&rdquo; thought Billy. Then he lifted up his voice and bawled to the
+diminishing figure, already no more than a darker blot on the darkness of
+night.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;For the Lard&rsquo;s love go in quiet an&rsquo; gradual, or
+you&rsquo;ll scare the life out of &rsquo;em all.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>And the answer came back,&mdash;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I knaw, I knaw; I ban&rsquo;t the man to do a rash deed!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Mr. Blee chuckled and plodded on through the night while Will strode far
+ahead.</p>
+<p>Presently he stood beside the wicket of Mrs. Blanchard&rsquo;s cottage and
+hesitated between two women. Despite circumstances, there came no uncertain
+answer from the deepest well-springs of him. He could not pass that gate just
+then. And so he stopped and turned and entered; and she, his mother, sitting
+in thought alone, heard a footfall upon the great nightly silence&mdash;a
+sudden, familiar footfall that echoed to her heart the music it loved
+best.</p>
+<h2>THE END.</h2>
+<hr class="full" />
+<h2>Footnotes:</h2>
+<blockquote class="footnote"><a id="footnote1" name="footnote1"></a>
+<span class='fnheader'>Footnote 1:</span> <a href=
+"#footnotetag1">(return)</a>
+<p><i>At Chagford.</i> The place of the poet&rsquo;s passing is believed to
+have been an ancient dwelling-house adjacent to St. Michael&rsquo;s Church.
+At that date it was a private residence of the Whiddon family; but during
+later times it became known as the &ldquo;Black Swan Inn,&rdquo; or tavern (a
+black swan being the crest of Sir John Whiddon, Judge of Queen&rsquo;s Bench
+in the first Mary&rsquo;s reign); while to-day this restored Mansion appears
+as the hostelry of the &ldquo;Three Crowns.&rdquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<blockquote class="footnote"><a id="footnote2" name="footnote2"></a>
+<span class='fnheader'>Footnote 2:</span> <a href=
+"#footnotetag2">(return)</a>
+<p><i>The sweet poet.</i></p>
+<p class="poem">&ldquo;Wassaile the trees, that they may beare<br />
+You many a Plum, and many a Peare;<br />
+For more or lesse fruites they will bring,<br />
+As you doe give them Wassailing.&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="signed"><i>Hesperides.</i></p>
+</blockquote>
+<blockquote class="footnote"><a id="footnote3" name="footnote3"></a>
+<span class='fnheader'>Footnote 3:</span> <a href=
+"#footnotetag3">(return)</a>
+<p><i>Rames</i> = skeleton; remains.</p>
+</blockquote>
+<blockquote class="footnote"><a id="footnote4" name="footnote4"></a>
+<span class='fnheader'>Footnote 4:</span> <a href=
+"#footnotetag4">(return)</a>
+<p><i>Muty-hearted</i> = soft-hearted.</p>
+</blockquote>
+<blockquote class="footnote"><a id="footnote5" name="footnote5"></a>
+<span class='fnheader'>Footnote 5:</span> <a href=
+"#footnotetag5">(return)</a>
+<p><i>Caddling</i> = loafing, idling.</p>
+</blockquote>
+<blockquote class="footnote"><a id="footnote6" name="footnote6"></a>
+<span class='fnheader'>Footnote 6:</span> <a href=
+"#footnotetag6">(return)</a>
+<p><i>Venwell rights</i> = Venville rights.</p>
+</blockquote>
+<blockquote class="footnote"><a id="footnote7" name="footnote7"></a>
+<span class='fnheader'>Footnote 7:</span> <a href=
+"#footnotetag7">(return)</a>
+<p><i>Hatch-mouthed</i> = foul mouthed; profane.</p>
+</blockquote>
+<blockquote class="footnote"><a id="footnote8" name="footnote8"></a>
+<span class='fnheader'>Footnote 8:</span> <a href=
+"#footnotetag8">(return)</a>
+<p><i>Awnself</i>=selfish.</p>
+</blockquote>
+<blockquote class="footnote"><a id="footnote9" name="footnote9"></a>
+<span class='fnheader'>Footnote 9:</span> <a href=
+"#footnotetag9">(return)</a>
+<p><i>Playing</i> = swarming.</p>
+</blockquote>
+<blockquote class="footnote"><a id="footnote10" name="footnote10"></a>
+<span class='fnheader'>Footnote 10:</span> <a href=
+"#footnotetag10">(return)</a>
+<p><i>Bosky-eyed</i> = intoxicated.</p>
+</blockquote>
+<blockquote class="footnote"><a id="footnote11" name="footnote11"></a>
+<span class='fnheader'>Footnote 11:</span> <a href=
+"#footnotetag11">(return)</a>
+<p><i>Things</i> = beasts; sheep and cattle.</p>
+</blockquote>
+<blockquote class="footnote"><a id="footnote12" name="footnote12"></a>
+<span class='fnheader'>Footnote 12:</span> <a href=
+"#footnotetag12">(return)</a>
+<p><i>Mommet</i> = scarecrow.</p>
+</blockquote>
+<blockquote class="footnote"><a id="footnote13" name="footnote13"></a>
+<span class='fnheader'>Footnote 13:</span> <a href=
+"#footnotetag13">(return)</a>
+<p><i>Scad</i> = the outer rind of the peat, with ling and grass still
+adhering to it.</p>
+</blockquote>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Children of the Mist, by Eden Phillpotts
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHILDREN OF THE MIST ***
+
+***** This file should be named 14527-h.htm or 14527-h.zip *****
+This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
+        https://www.gutenberg.org/1/4/5/2/14527/
+
+Produced by Charles Aldarondo, Robert Ledger and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team
+
+
+Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions
+will be renamed.
+
+Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no
+one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation
+(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without
+permission and without paying copyright royalties.  Special rules,
+set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to
+copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to
+protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark.  Project
+Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you
+charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission.  If you
+do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the
+rules is very easy.  You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose
+such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and
+research.  They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do
+practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks.  Redistribution is
+subject to the trademark license, especially commercial
+redistribution.
+
+
+
+*** START: FULL LICENSE ***
+
+THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
+PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
+
+To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
+distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
+(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at
+https://gutenberg.org/license).
+
+
+Section 1.  General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic works
+
+1.A.  By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
+and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
+(trademark/copyright) agreement.  If you do not agree to abide by all
+the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy
+all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession.
+If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the
+terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or
+entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
+
+1.B.  "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark.  It may only be
+used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
+agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement.  There are a few
+things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
+even without complying with the full terms of this agreement.  See
+paragraph 1.C below.  There are a lot of things you can do with Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement
+and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.  See paragraph 1.E below.
+
+1.C.  The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation"
+or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works.  Nearly all the individual works in the
+collection are in the public domain in the United States.  If an
+individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are
+located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from
+copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative
+works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg
+are removed.  Of course, we hope that you will support the Project
+Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by
+freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of
+this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with
+the work.  You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by
+keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others.
+
+1.D.  The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
+what you can do with this work.  Copyright laws in most countries are in
+a constant state of change.  If you are outside the United States, check
+the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement
+before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or
+creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project
+Gutenberg-tm work.  The Foundation makes no representations concerning
+the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United
+States.
+
+1.E.  Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
+
+1.E.1.  The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate
+access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently
+whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the
+phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed,
+copied or distributed:
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+1.E.2.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived
+from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is
+posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied
+and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees
+or charges.  If you are redistributing or providing access to a work
+with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the
+work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1
+through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the
+Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or
+1.E.9.
+
+1.E.3.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
+with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
+must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional
+terms imposed by the copyright holder.  Additional terms will be linked
+to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the
+permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.
+
+1.E.4.  Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
+work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.
+
+1.E.5.  Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
+electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
+prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
+active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm License.
+
+1.E.6.  You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
+compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any
+word processing or hypertext form.  However, if you provide access to or
+distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than
+"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version
+posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org),
+you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a
+copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon
+request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other
+form.  Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
+
+1.E.7.  Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
+performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
+unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
+
+1.E.8.  You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
+access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided
+that
+
+- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
+     the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
+     you already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  The fee is
+     owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he
+     has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the
+     Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.  Royalty payments
+     must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you
+     prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax
+     returns.  Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and
+     sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the
+     address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to
+     the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."
+
+- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
+     you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
+     does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+     License.  You must require such a user to return or
+     destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium
+     and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of
+     Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any
+     money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
+     electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days
+     of receipt of the work.
+
+- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
+     distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+1.E.9.  If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set
+forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from
+both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael
+Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark.  Contact the
+Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.
+
+1.F.
+
+1.F.1.  Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
+effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
+public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm
+collection.  Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain
+"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or
+corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual
+property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a
+computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by
+your equipment.
+
+1.F.2.  LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
+of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
+liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
+fees.  YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
+LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
+PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3.  YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
+TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
+LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
+INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
+DAMAGE.
+
+1.F.3.  LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
+defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
+receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
+written explanation to the person you received the work from.  If you
+received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with
+your written explanation.  The person or entity that provided you with
+the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a
+refund.  If you received the work electronically, the person or entity
+providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to
+receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund.  If the second copy
+is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further
+opportunities to fix the problem.
+
+1.F.4.  Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
+in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER
+WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO
+WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
+
+1.F.5.  Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
+warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.
+If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the
+law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be
+interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by
+the applicable state law.  The invalidity or unenforceability of any
+provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.
+
+1.F.6.  INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
+trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
+providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance
+with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production,
+promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works,
+harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees,
+that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do
+or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm
+work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any
+Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause.
+
+
+Section  2.  Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
+electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers
+including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers.  It exists
+because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from
+people in all walks of life.
+
+Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
+assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
+goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
+remain freely available for generations to come.  In 2001, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
+and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.
+To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
+and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4
+and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org.
+
+
+Section 3.  Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
+Foundation
+
+The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
+501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
+state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
+Revenue Service.  The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
+number is 64-6221541.  Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at
+https://pglaf.org/fundraising.  Contributions to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent
+permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.
+
+The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S.
+Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered
+throughout numerous locations.  Its business office is located at
+809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email
+business@pglaf.org.  Email contact links and up to date contact
+information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official
+page at https://pglaf.org
+
+For additional contact information:
+     Dr. Gregory B. Newby
+     Chief Executive and Director
+     gbnewby@pglaf.org
+
+
+Section 4.  Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
+spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
+increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
+freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
+array of equipment including outdated equipment.  Many small donations
+($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
+status with the IRS.
+
+The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
+charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
+States.  Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
+considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
+with these requirements.  We do not solicit donations in locations
+where we have not received written confirmation of compliance.  To
+SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any
+particular state visit https://pglaf.org
+
+While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
+have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
+against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
+approach us with offers to donate.
+
+International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
+any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
+outside the United States.  U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
+
+Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
+methods and addresses.  Donations are accepted in a number of other
+ways including including checks, online payments and credit card
+donations.  To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate
+
+
+Section 5.  General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.
+
+Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm
+concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared
+with anyone.  For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project
+Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.
+
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
+editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S.
+unless a copyright notice is included.  Thus, we do not necessarily
+keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.
+
+
+Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility:
+
+     https://www.gutenberg.org
+
+This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
+including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
+Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
+subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
+
+
+</pre>
+
+</body>
+</html>
diff --git a/old/14527.txt b/old/14527.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..52062a4
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/14527.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,19635 @@
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Children of the Mist, by Eden Phillpotts
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Children of the Mist
+
+Author: Eden Phillpotts
+
+Release Date: December 30, 2004 [EBook #14527]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHILDREN OF THE MIST ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Charles Aldarondo, Robert Ledger and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHILDREN OF THE MIST
+
+BY
+
+EDEN PHILLPOTTS
+
+Author of "Down Dartmoor Way," "Some Everyday Folks," "My Laughing
+Philosopher," "Lying Prophets," etc.
+
+1898
+
+
+
+
+    BOOK I--THE BOY'S ROMANCE
+
+       I  THE PIXIES' PARLOUR
+      II  A CLEAR UNDERSTANDING
+     III  EXIT WILL
+      IV  BY THE RIVER
+       V  THE INCIDENT OF MR. JOEL FORD
+      VI  AN UNHAPPY POET
+     VII  LIBATION TO POMONA
+    VIII  A BROTHERS' QUARREL
+      IX  OUTSIDE EXETER GAOL
+       X  THE BRINGING OF THE NEWS
+      XI  LOVE AND GREY GRANITE
+     XII  A STORY-BOOK
+    XIII  THE MILLER'S OFFER
+     XIV  LOGIC
+
+    BOOK II--THE ENTERPRISE
+
+       I  SPRINGTIME
+      II  NEWTAKE FARM
+     III  OVER A RIDING-WHIP
+      IV  DEFEATED HOPES
+       V  THE ZEAL OF SAM BONUS
+      VI  A SWARM OF BEES
+     VII  AN OFFER OF MARRIAGE
+    VIII  MR. BLEE FORGETS HIMSELF
+      IX  A DIFFERENCE WITH THE DUCHY
+       X  CONNECTING LINKS
+      XI  TOGETHER
+     XII  THROUGH ONE GREAT DAY
+    XIII  THE WILL
+     XIV  A HUNDRED POUNDS
+      XV  "THE ANGEL OF THE DARKER DRINK"
+     XVI  BEFORE THE DAWN
+    XVII  MISSING
+
+    BOOK III--HIS GRANITE CROSS
+
+       I  BABY
+      II  THE KNIGHT OF FORLORN HOPES
+     III  CONCERNING THE GATE-POST
+      IV  MARTIN'S RAID
+       V  WINTER
+      VI  THE CROSS UPREARED
+     VII  GREY TWILIGHT
+
+    BOOK IV--HIS SECRET
+
+        I    A WANDERER RETURNS
+       II    HOPE RENEWED
+      III    ANSWERED
+       IV    THE END OF THE FIGHT
+        V    TWO MIGHTY SURPRISES
+       VI    THE SECRET OUT
+      VII    SMALL TIMOTHY
+     VIII    FLIGHT
+       IX    UNDER COSDON BEACON
+        X    BAD NEWS FOR BLANCHARD
+       XI    PHOEBE TAKES THOUGHT
+      XII    NEW YEAR'S EVE AND NEW YEAR'S DAY
+     XIII    MR. LYDDON'S TACTICS
+      XIV    ACTION
+       XV    A BATTLE
+      XVI    A PAIR OF HANDCUFFS
+     XVII    SUSPENSE
+    XVIII    THE NIGHT OF JUBILEE
+
+
+
+CHILDREN OF THE MIST
+
+
+BOOK I
+
+THE BOY'S ROMANCE
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+THE PIXIES' PARLOUR
+
+
+Phoebe Lyddon frowned, and, as an instant protest, twin dimples peeped
+into life at the left corner of her bonny mouth. In regarding that
+attractive ripple the down-drawn eyebrows were forgotten until they rose
+again into their natural arches. A sweet, childish contour of face
+chimed with her expression; her full lips were bright as the bunch of
+ripe wood-strawberries at the breast of her cotton gown; her eyes as
+grey as Dartmoor mists; while, for the rest, a little round chin, a
+small, straight nose, and a high forehead, which Phoebe mourned and kept
+carefully concealed under masses of curly brown hair, were the sole
+features to be specially noted about her. She was a trifle below the
+standard of height proper to a girl of nineteen, but all compact, of
+soft, rounded lines, plump, fresh of colour, healthy, happy, sweet as a
+ripe apple.
+
+From a position upon swelling hillsides above the valley of a river, she
+scanned the scene beneath, made small her eyes to focus the distance,
+and so pursued a survey of meadow and woodland, yet without seeing what
+she sought. Beneath and beyond, separated from her standpoint by
+grasslands and a hedge of hazel, tangled thickets of blackthorn, of
+bracken, and of briar sank to the valley bottom. Therein wound tinkling
+Teign through the gorges of Fingle to the sea; and above it, where the
+land climbed upward on the other side, spread the Park of Whiddou, with
+expanses of sweet, stone-scattered herbage, with tracts of deep fern,
+coverts of oak, and occasional habitations for the deer.
+
+This spectacle, through a grey veil of fine rain, Phoebe noted at
+mid-afternoon of a day in early August; and, as she watched, there
+widened a rift under the sun's hidden throne, and a mighty, fan-shaped
+pencil of brightness straggled downwards, proceeded in solemn sweep
+across the valley, and lighted the depths of the gorge beyond with a
+radiance of misty silver. The music of jackdaws welcomed this first
+indication of improved weather; then Phoebe's sharp eyes beheld a
+phenomenon afar off through the momentary cessation of the rain. Three
+parts of a mile away, on a distant hillside, like the successive
+discharges of a dozen fowling-pieces, little blotches of smoke or mist
+suddenly appeared. Rapidly they followed each other, and sometimes the
+puffs of vapour were exploded together, sometimes separately. For a
+moment the girl felt puzzled; then she comprehended and laughed.
+
+"'Tis the silly auld sheep!" she said to herself. "They 'm shakin 'theer
+fleeces 'cause they knaw the rain's over-past. Bellwether did begin, I
+warrant, then all the rest done the same."
+
+Each remote member of the flock thus freed its coat from the accumulated
+moisture of a long rainfall; then the huddled heap, in which they had
+combined to withstand the weather and show tail to the western storm,
+began to scatter. With coughs and sneezes the beasts wandered forward
+again, and pursued their business of grazing.
+
+Steadily the promises of the sky multiplied and Phoebe's impatience
+increased. Her position did not, however, depend for comfort upon the
+return of sunshine, for she stood out of the weather, where sundry giant
+rocks to the number of five arose in a fantastic pile. Nature's primal
+architects were responsible for the Pixies' Parlour, and upon the awful
+morning of Dartmoor's creation these enormous masses had first been
+hurled to their present position--outposts of the eternal granite,
+though themselves widely removed from the central waste of the Moor.
+This particular and gigantic monument of the past stands with its feet
+in land long cultivated. Plough and harrow yearly skirt the Pixies'
+Parlour; it rises to-day above yellow corn, to-morrow amid ripening
+roots; it crowns the succeeding generations of man's industry, and
+watches a ceaseless cycle of human toil. The rocks of which it is
+composed form a sort of rude chamber, sacred to fairy folk since a time
+before the memory of the living; briars and ivy-tods conceal a part of
+the fabric; a blackthorn, brushed at this season with purple fruit,
+rises above it; one shadowed ledge reveals the nightly roosting place of
+hawk or raven; and marks of steel on the stone show clearly where some
+great or small fragment of granite has been blasted from the parent pile
+for the need of man. Multi-coloured, massive, and picturesque, the
+Parlour, upon Phoebe Lyddon's visit to it, stood forth against the red
+bosom of naked land; for a fierce summer had early ripened the vanished
+harvest, and now its place was already ploughed again, while ashes of
+dead fire scattered upon the earth showed where weed and waste had been
+consumed after ingathering of the grain.
+
+Patches of August blue now lightened the aerial grey; then sunshine set
+a million gems twinkling on the great bejewelled bosom of the valley.
+Under this magic heat an almost instantaneous shadowy ghost of fresh
+vapour rose upon the riparian meadows, and out of it, swinging along
+with the energy of youth and high spirits, came a lad. Phoebe smiled and
+twinkled a white handkerchief to him, and he waved his hat and bettered
+his pace for answer.
+
+Soon Will Blanchard reached his sweetheart, and showed himself a brown,
+straight youngster, with curly hair, pugnacious nose, good shoulders,
+and a figure so well put together that his height was not apparent until
+he stood alongside another man. Will's eyes were grey as Phoebe's, but
+of a different expression; soft and unsettled, cloudy as the recent
+weather, full of the alternate mist and flash of a precious stone, one
+moment all a-dreaming, the next aglow. His natural look was at first
+sight a little stern until a man came to know it, then this impression
+waned and left a critic puzzled. The square cut of his face and abrupt
+angle of his jaw did not indeed belie Will Blanchard, but the man's
+smile magically dissipated this austerity of aspect, and no sudden
+sunshine ever brightened a dark day quicker than pleasure made bright
+his features. It was a sulky, sleepy, sweet, changeable face--very
+fascinating in the eyes of women. His musical laugh once fluttered
+sundry young bosoms, brightened many pretty eyes and cheeks, but Will's
+heart was Phoebe Lyddon's now--had been for six full months--and albeit
+a mere country boy in knowledge of the world, younger far than his
+one-and-twenty years of life, and wholly unskilled in those arts whose
+practice enables men to dwell together with friendship and harmony, yet
+Will Blanchard was quite old enough and wise enough and rich enough to
+wed, and make a husband of more than common quality at that--in his own
+opinion.
+
+Fortified by this conviction, and determined to wait no longer, he now
+came to see Phoebe. Within the sheltering arms of the Pixies' Parlour he
+kissed her, pressed her against his wet velveteen jacket, then sat down
+under the rocks beside her.
+
+"You 'm comed wi' the sun, dear Will."
+
+"Ay--the weather breaks. I hope theer'll be a drop more water down the
+river bimebye. You got my letter all right?"
+
+"Ess fay, else I shouldn't be here. And this tremendous matter in
+hand?"
+
+"I thought you'd guess what 't was. I be weary o' waitin' for 'e. An' as
+I comed of age last month, I'm a man in law so well as larnin', and I'm
+gwaine to speak to Miller Lyddon this very night."
+
+Phoebe looked blank. There was a moment's silence while Will picked and
+ate the wood-strawberries in his sweetheart's dress.
+
+"Caan't 'e think o' nothin' wiser than to see faither?" she said at
+last.
+
+"Theer ban't nothin' wiser. He knaws we 'm tokened, and it's no manner
+o' use him gwaine on pretendin' to himself 't isn't so. You 'm
+wife-old, and you've made choice o' me; and I'm a ripe man, as have
+thought a lot in my time, and be earnin' gude money and all. Besides, 't
+is a dead-sure fact I'll have auld Morgan's place as head waterkeeper,
+an' the cottage along with it, in fair time."
+
+"Ban't for me to lift up no hindrances, but you knaw faither."
+
+"Ess, I do--for a very stiff-necked man."
+
+"Maybe 't is so; but a gude faither to me."
+
+"An' a gude friend to me, for that matter. He aint got nothing 'gainst
+me, anyway--no more 's any man living."
+
+"Awnly the youth and fieriness of 'e."
+
+"Me fiery! I lay you wouldn't find a cooler chap in Chagford."
+
+"You 'm a dinky bit comical-tempered now and again, dear heart."
+
+He flushed, and the corners of his jaw thickened.
+
+"If a man was to say that, I'd knock his words down his throat."
+
+"I knaw you would, my awn Will; an' that's bein' comical-tempered,
+ban't it?"
+
+"Then perhaps I'd best not to see your faither arter all, if you 'm that
+way o' thinkin'," he answered shortly.
+
+Then Phoebe purred to him and rubbed her cheek against his chin, whereon
+the glint vanished from his eyes, and they were soft again.
+
+"Mother's the awnly livin' sawl what understands me," he said slowly.
+
+"And I--I too, Will!" cried Phoebe. "Ess fay. I'll call you a holy angel
+if you please, an' God knaws theer 's not an angel in heaven I'd have
+stead of 'e."
+
+"I ban't no angel," said Will gravely, "and never set up for no such
+thing; but I've thought a lot 'bout the world in general, and I'm purty
+wise for a home-stayin' chap, come to think on it; and it's borne in
+'pon me of late days that the married state 's a gude wan, and the
+sooner the better."
+
+"But a leap in the dark even for the wisest, Will?"
+
+"So's every other step us takes for that matter. Look at them
+grasshoppers. Off they goes to glory and doan't knaw no more 'n the dead
+wheer they'll fetch up. I've seed 'em by the river jump slap in the
+water, almost on to a trout's back. So us hops along and caan't say
+what's comin' next. We 'm built to see just beyond our awn nose-ends and
+no further. That's philosophy."
+
+"Ban't comfortin' if 't is," said Phoebe.
+
+"Whether or no, I'll see your faither 'fore night and have a plain
+answer. I'm a straight, square man, so's the miller."
+
+"You'll speed poorly, I'm fearin', but 't is a honest thing; and I'll
+tell faither you 'm all the world to me. He doan't seem to knaw what it
+is for a gal to be nineteen year old somehow."
+
+Solemnly Will rose, almost overweighted with the consciousness of what
+lay before him.
+
+"We'll go home-along now. Doan't 'e tell him I'm coming. I'll take him
+unbeknawnst. And you keep out the way till I be gone again."
+
+"Does your mother knaw, Will?"
+
+"Ess, she an' Chris both knaw I be gwaine to have it out this night.
+Mother sez I be right, but that Miller will send me packing wi' a flea
+in my ear; Chris sez I be wrong to ax yet awhile."
+
+"You can see why that is; 'she 's got to wait herself," said Phoebe,
+rather spitefully.
+
+"Waitin' 's well enough when it caan't be helped. But in my case, as a
+man of assured work and position in the plaace, I doan't hold it needful
+no more."
+
+Together the young couple marched down over the meadows, gained the side
+of the river, and followed its windings to the west. Through a dip in
+the woods presently peeped the ancient stannary town of Chagford, from
+the summit of its own little eminence on the eastern confines of
+Dartmoor. Both Will and Phoebe dwelt within the parish, but some
+distance from the place itself. She lived at Monks Barton, a farm and
+mill beside the stream; he shared an adjacent cottage with his mother
+and sister. Only a bend of the river separated the dwellings of the
+lovers--where Rushford Bridge spanned the Teign and beech and fir rose
+above it.
+
+In a great glory of clearness after rain, boy and girl moved along
+together under the trees. The fisherman's path which they followed wound
+where wet granite shone and ivy glimmered beneath the forest; and the
+leaves still dripped briskly, making a patter of sound through the
+underwood, and marking a thousand circles and splashes in the smooth
+water beneath the banks of the stream. Against a purple-grey background
+of past rain the green of high summer shone bright and fresh, and each
+moss-clad rock and fern-fringed branch of the forest oaks sent forth its
+own incense of slender steam where the sunlight sparkled and sucked up
+the moisture. Scarce half a mile from Phoebe's home a shining yellow
+twig bent and flashed against the green, and a broad back appeared
+through a screen of alder by the water's edge.
+
+"'T is a rod," said Will. "Bide a moment, and I'll take the number of
+his ticket. He 'm the first fisherman I've seen to-day."
+
+As under-keeper or water-bailiff to the Fishing Association, young
+Blanchard's work consisted in endless perambulation of the river's bank,
+in sharp outlook for poacher and trespasser, and in the survey of
+fishermen's bridges, and other contrivances for anglers that occurred
+along the winding course of the waters. His also was the duty of noting
+the license numbers, and of surprising those immoral anglers who sought
+to kill fish illegally on distant reaches of the river. His keen eyes,
+great activity, and approved pluck well fitted Will for such duties. He
+often walked twenty miles a day, and fishermen said that he knew every
+big trout in the Teign from Fingle Bridge to the dark pools and rippling
+steps under Sittaford Tor, near the river's twin birthplaces. He also
+knew where the great peel rested, on their annual migration from sea to
+moor; where the kingfisher's nest of fish-bones lay hidden; where the
+otter had her home beneath the bank, and its inland vent-hole behind a
+silver birch.
+
+Will bid the angler "good afternoon," and made a few general remarks on
+sport and the present unfavourable condition of the water, shrunk to
+mere ribbons of silver by a long summer drought. The fisherman was a
+stranger to Will--a handsome, stalwart man, with a heavy amber
+moustache, hard blue eyes, and a skin tanned red by hotter suns than
+English Augusts know. His disposition, also, as it seemed, reflected
+years of a tropic or subtropic existence, for this trivial meeting and
+momentary intrusion upon his solitude resulted in an explosion as sudden
+as unreasonable and unexpected.
+
+"Keep back, can't you?" he exclaimed, while the young keeper approached
+his side; "who 's going to catch fish with your lanky shadow across the
+water?"
+
+Will was up in arms instantly.
+
+"Do 'e think I doan't knaw my business? Theer 's my shadder 'pon the
+bank a mile behind you; an' I didn't ope my mouth till you'd fished the
+stickle to the bottom and missed two rises."
+
+This criticism angered the elder man, and he freed his tailfly fiercely
+from the rush-head that held it.
+
+"Mind your own affairs and get out of my sight, whoever you are. This
+river's not what it used to be by a good deal. Over-fished and poached,
+and not looked after, I'll swear."
+
+Thus, in ignorance, the sportsman uttered words of all most like to set
+Will Blanchard's temper loose--a task sufficiently easy at the best of
+times.
+
+"What the hell d' you knaw 'bout the river?" he flamed out. "And as to
+'my affairs,' 't is my affairs, an' I be water-bailiff, an' I'll thank
+you for the number of your ticket--so now then!"
+
+"What's become of Morgan?" asked the other.
+
+"He 'm fust, I be second; and 't is my job to take the license numbers."
+
+"Pity you're such an uncivil young cub, then."
+
+"Gimme your ticket directly minute!"
+
+"I'm not going to."
+
+The keeper looked wicked enough by this time, but he made a great effort
+to hold himself in.
+
+"Why for not?"
+
+"Because I didn't take one."
+
+"That ban't gwaine to do for me."
+
+"Ban't it? Then you'll have to go without any reason. Now run away and
+don't bleat so loud."
+
+"Look here," retorted Will, going straight up to the fisherman, and
+taking his measure with a flashing eye, "You gimme your ticket number or
+your name an' address, else I'll make 'e."
+
+They counted nearly the same inches, but the angler was the elder, and a
+man of more powerful build and massive frame than his younger opponent.
+His blue eyes and full, broad face spoke a pugnacity not less pronounced
+than the keeper's own finer features indicated; and thus these two,
+destined for long years to bulk largely each upon the life of the other,
+stood eye to eye for the first time. Will's temper was nearly gone, and
+now another sneer set it loose with sudden and startling result.
+
+"Make me, my young moorcock? Two more words and I'll throw you across
+the river!"
+
+The two words were not forthcoming, but Will dropped his stick and shot
+forward straight and strong as an angry dog. He closed before the
+stranger could dispose of his rod, gripped him with a strong wrestling
+hold, and cross-buttocked him heavily in the twinkling of an eye. The
+big man happily fell without hurt upon soft sand at the river's brink;
+but the indignity of this defeat roused his temper effectually. He
+grinned nevertheless as he rose again, shook the sand off his face, and
+licked his hands.
+
+"Good Devon, sure enough, my son; now I'll teach _you_ something you
+never heard tell of, and break your damned fool's neck for you into the
+bargain!"
+
+But Phoebe, who had wandered slowly on, returned quickly at the sound of
+the scuffle and high words. Now she fluttered between the combatants and
+rendered any further encounter for the time impossible. They could not
+close again with the girl between them, and the stranger, his anger
+holding its breath, glanced at her with sudden interest, stayed his
+angry growl, suffered rage to wane out of his eyes and frank admiration
+to appear in them.
+
+"Doan't be fighting!" cried Phoebe. "Whatever's the mischief, Will? Do
+bate your speed of hand! You've thrawed the gentleman down, seemin'ly."
+
+"Wheer 's his ticket to then?"
+
+"Why, it isn't Miller Lyddon's young maid, surely!" burst out the
+fisherman; "not Phoebe grown to woman!"
+
+A Devon accent marked the speech, suddenly dragged from him by surprise.
+
+"Ess, I be Phoebe Lyddon; but don't 'e fall 'pon each other again, for
+the Lard's sake," she said.
+
+"The boy 's as tetchy in temper as a broody hen. I was only joking all
+the time, and see how he made me pay for my joke. But to think I should
+remember you! Grown from bud to pretty blossom, by God! And I danced you
+on my knee last time I saw you!"
+
+"Then you 'm wan of they two Grimbal brothers as was to be home again in
+Chagford to-day!" exclaimed Will.
+
+"That's so; Martin and I landed at Plymouth yesterday. We got to
+Chagford early this morning."
+
+Will laughed.
+
+"I never!" he said. "Why, you be lodging with my awn mother at the
+cottage above Rushford Bridge! You was expected this marnin', but I
+couldn't wait for 'e. You 'm Jan Grimbal--eh?"
+
+"Right! And you're a nice host, to be sure!"
+
+"'T is solemn truth, you 'm biding under our roof, the 'Three Crowns'
+bein' full just now. And I'm sorry I thrawed 'e; but you was that
+glumpy, and of course I didn't know 'e from Adam. I'm Will Blanchard."
+
+"Never mind, Will, we'll try again some day. I could wrestle a bit once,
+and learned a new trick or two from a Yankee in Africa."
+
+"You've come back 'mazin' rich they say, Jan Grimbal?"
+
+"So, so. Not millionaires, but all right--both of us, though I'm the
+snug man of the two. We got to Africa at the right moment, before 1867,
+you know, the year that O'Reilly saw a nigger-child playing with the
+first Kimberley diamond ever found. Up we went, the pair of us. Things
+have hummed since then, and claims and half-claims and quarter-claims
+are coming to be worth a Jew's eye. We're all right, anyway, and I've
+got a stake out there yet."
+
+"You 'm well pleased to come back to dear li'l Chagford after so many
+years of foreign paarts, I should think, Mr. Grimbal?" said Phoebe.
+
+"Ay, that I am. There's no place like Devon, in all the earth, and no
+spot like Chagford in Devon. I'm too hard grit to wink an eyelid at
+sight of the old scenes again myself; but Martin, when he caught first
+sight of great rolling Cosdon crowning the land--why, his eyes were
+wetted, if you'll believe it."
+
+"And you comed right off to fish the river fust thing," said Will
+admiringly.
+
+"Ay, couldn't help it. When I heard the water calling, it was more than
+my power to keep away. But you're cruel short of rain, seemingly, and
+of course the season 's nearly over."
+
+"I'll shaw you dark hovers, wheer braave feesh be lying yet," promised
+Will; and the angler thanked him, foretelling a great friendship. Yet
+his eyes rarely roamed from Phoebe, and anon, as all three proceeded,
+John Grimbal stopped at the gate of Monks Barton and held the girl in
+conversation awhile. But first he despatched Will homewards with a
+message for his mother. "Let Mrs. Blanchard know we'll feed at seven
+o'clock off the best that she can get," he said; "and tell her not to
+bother about the liquor. I'll see to that myself."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+A CLEAR UNDERSTANDING
+
+
+Monks Barton, or Barton Monachorum, as the farm was called in a Tudor
+perambulation of Chagford, owed its name to traditions that holy men
+aforetime dwelt there, performed saintly deeds, and blessed a spring in
+the adjacent woods, whose waters from that date ever proved a magical
+medicament for "striking" of sore eyes. That the lands of the valley had
+once been in monastic possession was, however, probable enough; and some
+portions of the old farm did in truth rise upon the ruins of a still
+more ancient habitation long vanished. Monks Barton stood, a picturesque
+agglomeration of buildings, beside the river. The mill-wheel, fed by a
+stream taken from the Teign some distance up the valley and here
+returned again to the parent water, thundered on its solemn round in an
+eternal twinkling twilight of dripping ferns and green mosses; while
+hard by the dwelling-house stood and offered small diamond panes and one
+dormer-window to the south. Upon its whitewashed face three fruit-trees
+grew--a black plum, a cherry, a winter pear; and before the farmhouse
+stretched a yard sloping to the river ford, where a line of massive
+stepping-stones for foot-passengers crossed the water. On either side of
+this space, walled up from the edge of the stream, little gardens of
+raspberry and gooseberry bushes spread; and here, too, appeared a few
+apple-trees, a bed of herbs, a patch of onions, purple cabbages, and a
+giant hollyhock with sulphur-coloured blossoms that thrust his proud
+head upwards, a gentleman at large, and the practical countrymen of the
+kitchen-garden. The mill and outbuildings, the homestead and wood-stacks
+embraced a whole gamut of fine colour, ranging from the tawny and
+crimson of fretted brick and tile to varied greys of drying timber; from
+the cushions and pillows of moss and embroidery of houseleeks and
+valerian, that had flourished for fifty years on a ruined shippen, to
+the silver gleam of old thatches and the shining gold of new. Nor was
+the white face of the dwelling-house amiss. Only one cold, crude eye
+stared out from this time-tinctured scene; only one raw pentroof of
+corrugated iron blotted it, made poets sigh, artists swear, and Miller
+Lyddon contemplate more of the same upon his land.
+
+A clucking and grunting concourse of fowls and pigs shared the farmyard;
+blue pigeons claimed the roof; and now, in the westering light, with
+slow foot, sweet breath, and swelling udder, many kine, red as the ripe
+horse-chestnut, followed each other across the ford, assembled
+themselves together and lowed musically to the milkers. Phoebe Lyddon
+and John Grimbal still stood at the farm-gate, and they watched, as a
+boy and an aged man came forward with buckets and stools. Then, to the
+muffled thud of the water-wheel and the drone and murmur of the river,
+was added a purr of milk, foaming into tin pails, and sharp, thin
+monitions from the ancient, as he called the cows by their names and bid
+them be still.
+
+In John Grimbal, newly come from South Africa, this scene awakened a
+lively satisfaction and delight. It told him that he was home again; and
+so did the girl, though it seemed absurd to think that Phoebe had ever
+sat upon his knee and heard his big stories, when as yet he himself was
+a boy and the world still spread before him unconquered. He mused at the
+change and looked forward to bringing himself and his success in life
+before those who had known him in the past. He very well remembered who
+had encouraged his ambitions and spoken words of kindness and of hope;
+who also had sneered, criticised his designs unfavourably, and thrown
+cold water upon his projects. John Grimbal meant to make certain souls
+smart as he had smarted; but he feared his brother a little in this
+connection, and suspected that Martin would not assert himself among the
+friends of his youth, would not assume a position his riches warranted,
+would be content with too humble a manner of life.
+
+As a matter of fact, the ambition of neither extended much beyond a life
+of peace among the scenes of his childhood; but while the younger
+traveller returned with unuttered thanksgivings in his heart that he was
+privileged again to see the land he loved and henceforth dwell amid its
+cherished scenes, the greater energy and wider ambition of his brother
+planned a position of some prominence if not power. John was above all
+else a sportsman, and his programme embraced land, a stout new
+dwelling-house, preserves of game in a small way, some fishing, and the
+formation of a new rifle-corps at Chagford. This last enterprise he
+intended to be the serious business of life; but his mind was open to
+any new, agreeable impressions and, indeed, it received them at every
+turn. Phoebe Lyddon awoke a very vital train of thoughts, and when he
+left her, promising to come with his brother on the following day to see
+the miller, John Grimbal's impressionable heart was stamped with her
+pretty image, his ear still held the melody of her voice.
+
+He crossed the stepping-stones, sat down upon the bank to change his
+flies, and looked at the home of Phoebe without sentiment, yet not
+without pleasure. It lay all cuddled on the bosom of a green hill; to
+the west stretched meadows and orchard along the winding valley of the
+river; to the east extended more grass-land that emerged into ferny
+coombs and glades and river dells, all alive with the light of wild
+flowers and the music of birds, with the play of dusky sunshine in the
+still water, and of shadows on the shore.
+
+A little procession of white ducks sailed slowly up the river, and each
+as it passed twisted its head to peer up at the spectator. Presently the
+drake who led them touched bottom, and his red-gold webs appeared. Then
+he paddled ashore, lifted up his voice, waggled his tail, and with a
+crescendo of quacking conducted his harem into the farmyard. One lone
+Muscovy duck, perchance emulating the holy men of old in their
+self-communion, or else constrained by circumstance to a solitary life,
+appeared apart on a little island under the alders. A stranger in a
+strange land, he sat with bent head and red-rimmed, philosophic eyes,
+regarding his own breast while sunset lights fired the metallic lustre
+of his motley. Quite close to him a dead branch thrust upwards from the
+water, and the river swirled in oily play of wrinkles and dimples beyond
+it. Here, with some approach to his old skill, the angler presently cast
+a small brown moth. It fell lightly and neatly, cocked for a second,
+then turned helplessly over, wrecked in the sudden eddy as a natural
+insect had been. A fearless rise followed, and in less than half a
+minute a small trout was in the angler's net. John Grimbal landed this
+little fish carefully and regarded it with huge satisfaction before
+returning it to the river. Then, having accomplished the task set by
+sudden desire,--to catch a Teign trout again, feel it, smell it, see
+the ebony and crimson, the silver belly warming to gold on its sides and
+darkening to brown and olive above,--having by this act renewed
+sensations that had slept for fifteen years, he put up his rod and
+returned to his temporary quarters at the dwelling of Mrs. Blanchard.
+
+His brother was waiting in the little garden to welcome him. Martin
+walked up and down, smelled the flowers, and gazed with sober delight
+upon the surrounding scene. Already sunset fires had waned; but the high
+top of the fir that crowned Rushford Bridge still glowed with a great
+light on its red bark; an uprising Whiddon, where it lay afar off under
+the crown of Cranbrook, likewise shone out above the shadowed valley.
+
+Martin Grimbal approached his brother and laid his hand upon the
+fisherman's arm. He stood the smaller in stature, though of strong
+build. His clean-shaved face had burned much darker than John's; he was
+indeed coffee-brown and might have been mistaken for an Indian but for
+his eyes of ordinary slate-grey. Without any pretension to good looks,
+Martin Grimbal displayed what was better--an expression of such frank
+benignity and goodness that his kind trusted him and relied upon him by
+intuition. Honest and true to the verge of quixotism was this man in all
+dealings with his fellows, yet he proved a faulty student of character.
+First he was in a measure blinded by his own amiable qualities to acute
+knowledge of human nature; secondly, he was drawn away from humanity
+rather than not, for no cynic reason, but by the character of his
+personal predilections and pursuits.
+
+"I've seen father's grave, John," were his first words to his brother.
+"It's beside the mother's, but that old stone he put up to her must be
+moved and--"
+
+"All right, all right, old chap. Stones are in your line, not mine.
+Where's dinner? I want bread, not a stone, eh?"
+
+Martin did not laugh, but shrugged his shoulders in good-tempered
+fashion. His face had a measure of distinction his brother's lacked, and
+indeed, while wanting John's tremendous physical energy and robust
+determination, he possessed a finer intellect and instinct less animal.
+Even abroad, during their earlier enterprises, Martin had first provided
+brains sufficient for himself and John; but an accident of fortune
+suddenly favoured the elder; and while John took full care that Martin
+should benefit with himself, he was pleased henceforth to read into his
+superior luck a revelation of superior intelligence, and from that
+moment followed his own inclinations and judgment. He liked Martin no
+less, but never turned to him for counsel again after his own accidental
+good fortune; and henceforward assumed an elder brother's manner and a
+show of superior wisdom. In matters of the world and in knowledge of
+such human character as shall be found to congregate in civilisation's
+van, or where precious metals and precious stones have been discovered
+to abound, John Grimbal was undoubtedly the shrewder, more experienced
+man; and Martin felt very well content that his elder brother should
+take the lead. Since the advent of their prosperity a lively gratitude
+had animated his mind. The twain shared nothing save bonds of blood,
+love of their native land, and parity of ambition, first manifested in
+early desires to become independent. Together they had gone abroad,
+together they returned; and now each according to his genius designed to
+seek happiness where he expected to find it. John still held interests
+in South Africa, but Martin, content with less fortune, and mighty
+anxious to be free of all further business, realised his wealth and now
+knew the limits of his income.
+
+The brothers supped in good spirits and Will Blanchard's sister waited
+upon them. Chris was her "brother in petticoats," people said, and
+indeed she resembled him greatly in face and disposition. But her eyes
+were brown, like her dead father's, and a gypsy splendour of black hair
+crowned her head. She was a year younger than Will, wholly wrapped up in
+him and one other.
+
+A familiarity, shy on Martin's side and patronising in John, obtained
+between the brothers and their pretty attendant, for she knew all about
+them and the very cottage in which their parents had dwelt and died. The
+girl came and went, answered John Grimbal's jests readily, and
+ministered to them as one not inferior to those she served. The elder
+man's blue eyes were full of earthy admiration. He picked his teeth
+between the courses and admired aloud, while Chris was from the room.
+
+"'Tis wonderful how pretty all the women look, coming back to them after
+ten years of nigger girls. Roses and cream isn't in it with their skins,
+though this one's dark as a clear night--Spanish fashion."
+
+"Miss Blanchard seems very beautiful to me certainly," admitted Martin.
+
+"I've seen only two maids--since setting foot in Chagford," continued
+his brother, "and it would puzzle the devil to say which was best to
+look at."
+
+"Your heart will soon be lost, I'll wager--to a Chagford girl, I hope. I
+know you talked about flying high, but you might be happier to take a
+mate from--well, you understand."
+
+"It's all very well to build theories on board ship about bettering
+myself socially and all that, but it's rot; I'll be knocked over by one
+of the country witches, I know I shall,--I feel it. I love the sound of
+the Devon on their lips, and the clear eyes of them, and the bright
+skin. 'Tis all I can do to keep from hugging the women, and that's a
+fact. But you, you cold-blooded beggar, your heart's still for the grey
+granite and the old ghostly stones, and creepy, lonely places on the
+Moor! We're that different, you and me."
+
+Martin nodded thoughtfully, and, the meal being now ended, both men
+strolled out of doors, then wandered down to smoke a pipe on Rushford
+Bridge and listen to the nightly murmur of the river. Darkness moved on
+the face of land and water; twilight had sucked all the colour away from
+the valley; and through the deepening monochrome of the murk there
+passed white mists with shadowy hands, and peeped blind pale eyes along
+the winding water, where its surface reflected the faded west. Nocturnal
+magic conjured the least meadow into an unmeasured sea of vapour; awoke
+naiads in the waters and dryads in the woods; transformed the solemn
+organ music of great beetles into songs of a roaming spirit; set unseen
+shapes stirring in the starlight; whispered of invisible, enchanted
+things, happy and unhappy, behind the silence.
+
+A man moved from the bridge as the brothers reached it. Then Will
+Blanchard, knocking out his pipe and taking a big inspiration, set his
+face steadily toward Monks Barton and that vital interview with Miller
+Lyddon now standing in the pathway of his life.
+
+He rapped at the farm door and a step came slowly down the stone-paved
+passage. Then Billy Blee, the miller's right-hand man, opened to him.
+Bent he was from the small of the back, with a highly coloured, much
+wrinkled visage, and ginger hair, bleached by time to a paler shade. His
+poll was bald and shining, and thick yellow whiskers met beneath a
+clean-shorn chin. Billy's shaggy eyebrows, little bright eyes, and long
+upper lip, taken with the tawny fringe under his chops, gave him the
+look of an ancient and gigantic lion-monkey; and indeed there was not
+lacking in him an ape-like twist, as shall appear.
+
+"Hullo! boy Blanchard! An' what might you want?" he asked.
+
+"To see Miller."
+
+"Come in then; we'm all alone in kitchen, him and me, awver our grog and
+game. What's the matter now?"
+
+"A private word for Miller's ear," said Will cautiously.
+
+"Come you in then. Us'll do what we may for 'e. Auld heads be the best
+stepping-stones young folks can have, understood right; awnly the likes
+of you mostly chooses to splash through life on your awn damn silly
+roads."
+
+Mr. Blee, whose friendship and familiarity with his master was of the
+closest, led on, and Will soon stood before Mr. Lyddon.
+
+The man who owned Monks Barton, and who there prosperously combined the
+callings of farmer and miller, had long enjoyed the esteem of the
+neighbourhood in which he dwelt, as had his ancestors before him,
+through many generations. He had won reputation for a sort of silent
+wisdom. He never advised any man ill, never hesitated to do a kindly
+action, and himself contrived to prosper year in, year out, no matter
+what period of depression might be passing over Chagford. Vincent Lyddon
+was a widower of sixty-five--a grey, thin, tall man, slow of speech and
+sleepy of eye. A weak mouth, and a high, round forehead, far smoother
+than his age had promised, were distinguishing physical features of him.
+His wife had been dead eighteen years, and of his two children one only
+survived. The elder, a boy toddling in early childhood at the water's
+edge, was unmissed until too late, and found drowned next day after a
+terrible night of agony for both parents. Indeed, Mrs. Lyddon never
+recovered from the shock, and Phoebe was but a year old when her mother
+died. Further, it need only be mentioned that the miller had heard of
+Will's courting more than once, but absolutely refused to allow the
+matter serious consideration. The romance was no more than philandering
+of children in his eyes.
+
+"Will--eh? Well, my son, and how can I serve you?" asked the master of
+Monks Barton, kindly enough. He recrossed his legs, settled in his
+leather chair, and continued the smoking of a long clay pipe.
+
+"Just this, Mr. Lyddon," began Will abruptly. "You calls me your 'son'
+as a manner o' speech, but I wants to be no less in fact."
+
+"You ban't here on that fool's errand, bwoy, surely? I thought I'd made
+my mind clear enough to Phoebe six months ago."
+
+"Look you here now. I be earnin' eighteen shillings a week an' a bit
+awver; an' I be sure of Morgan's berth as head-keeper presently; an' I'm
+a man as thinks."
+
+"That's brave talk, but what have 'e saved, lad?" inquired Mr. Blee.
+
+The lover looked round at him sharply.
+
+"I thought you was out the room," he said. "I be come to talk to Miller,
+not you."
+
+"Nay, nay, Billy can stay and see I'm not tu hard 'pon 'e," declared Mr.
+Lyddon. "He axed a proper question. What's put by to goody in the
+savings' bank, Will?"
+
+"Well--five pounds; and 't will be rose to ten by Christmas, I assure
+'e."
+
+"Fi' puns! an' how far 's that gwaine?"
+
+"So far as us can make it, in coourse."
+
+"Doan't you see, sonny, this ban't a fair bargain? I'm not a hard man--"
+
+"By gor! not hard enough by a powerful deal," said Billy.
+
+"Not hard on youth; but this match, so to call it, looks like mere
+moonshine. Theer 's nought _to_ it I can see--both childer, and neither
+with as much sense as might sink a floatin' straw."
+
+"We love each other wi' all our hearts and have done more 'n half a
+year. Ban't that nothing?"
+
+"I married when I was forty-two," remarked the miller, reflectively,
+looking down at his fox-head slippers, the work of Phoebe's fingers.
+
+"An' a purty marryin' time tu!" declared Mr. Blee. "Look at me," he
+continued, "parlous near seventy, and a bacherlor-man yet."
+
+"Not but Widow Comstock will have 'e if you ax her a bit oftener. Us all
+knows that," said the young lover, with great stratagem.
+
+Billy chuckled, and rubbed his wrinkles.
+
+"Time enough, time enough," he answered, "but you--scarce out o'
+clouts--why, 't is playin' at a holy thing, that's what 't is--same as
+Miss Phoebe, when she was a li'l wee cheel, played at bein' parson in
+her night-gownd, and got welted for it, tu, by her gude faither."
+
+"We 'm both in earnest anyway--me and Phoebe."
+
+"So am I," replied the miller, sitting up and putting down his pipe; "so
+am I in earnest, and wan word 's gude as a hunderd in a pass like this.
+You must hear the truth, an' that never broke no bones. You 'm no more
+fitted to have a wife than that tobacco-jar--a hot-headed, wild-fire of
+a bwoy--"
+
+"A right Jack-o'-Lantern, as everybody knaws," suggested Mr. Blee.
+
+"Ess fay, 'tis truth. Shifting and oncertain as the marsh gallopers on
+the moor bogs of a summer night. Awnly a youth's faults, you mind; but
+still faults. No, no, my lad, you've got to fight your life's battle and
+win it, 'fore you'm a mate for any gal; an' you've got to begin by
+fightin' yourself, an' breaking an' taming yourself, an' getting
+yourself well in hand. That's a matter of more than months for the best
+of us."
+
+"And then?" said Will, "after 'tis done? though I'm not allowin' I'm
+anything but a ripe man as I stand here afore you now."
+
+"Then I'd say, 'I'm glad to see you grawed into a credit to us all, Will
+Blanchard, and worth your place in the order o' things; but you doan't
+marry Phoebe Lyddon--never, never, never, not while I'm above ground.'"
+
+His slow eyes looked calmly and kindly at Will, and he smiled into the
+hot, young, furious face.
+
+"That's your last word then?"
+
+"It is, my lad."
+
+"And you won't give a reason?"
+
+"The reason is, 'what's bred in the bone comes out in the flesh.' I
+knawed your faither. You'm as volatile as him wi'out his better paarts."
+
+"Leave him wheer he lies--underground. If he'd lived 'stead of bein' cut
+off from life, you'd 'a' bin proud to knaw him."
+
+"A gypsy-man and no better, Will," said Mr. Blee. "Not but what he made
+a gude end, I allow."
+
+"Then I'll be up and away. I've spoke 'e fair, Miller--fair an'
+straight--an' so you to me. You won't allow this match. Then we'll wed
+wi'out your blessin', an' sorry I shall be."
+
+"If that's your tune, my young rascal, I'll speak again! Phoebe's under
+age, remember that, and so sure as you dare take her a yard from her awn
+door you'll suffer for it. 'Tis a clink job, you mind--a prison
+business; and what's more, you 'm pleased to speak so plain that I will
+tu, and tell 'e this. If you dare to lift up your eyes to my child
+again, or stop her in the way, or have speech with her, I'll set
+p'liceman 'pon 'e! For a year and more she 'm not her awn mistress; and,
+at the end of that time, if she doan't get better sense than to tinker
+arter a harum-scarum young jackanapes like you, she ban't a true Lyddon.
+Now be off with 'e an' doan't dare to look same way Phoebe 's walkin',
+no more, else theer'll be trouble for 'e."
+
+"Wonnerful language, an' in a nutshell," commented Billy, as, blowing
+rather hard, the miller made an end of his warning.
+
+"Us'll leave it theer, then, Mr. Lyddon; and you'll live to be sorry
+ever you said them words to me. Ess fay, you'll live to sing different;
+for when two 's set 'pon a matter o' marryin', ban't fathers nor
+mothers, nor yet angels, be gwaine to part 'em. Phoebe an' me will be
+man an' wife some day, sure 's the sun 's brighter 'n the mune. So now
+you knaw. Gude night to 'e."
+
+He took up his hat and departed; Billy held up his hands in mute
+amazement; but the miller showed no emotion and relighted his pipe.
+
+"The rising generation do take my breath away twenty times a day," said
+Mr. Blee. "To think o' that bwoy, in li'l frocks awnly yesterday,
+standin' theer frontin' two aged men wi' such bouldacious language!"
+
+"What would you do, Billy, if the gal was yourn?"
+
+"Same as you, to a hair. Bid her drop the chap for gude 'n all. But
+theer 's devil's pepper in that Blanchard. He ain't done with yet."
+
+"Well, well, he won't shorten my sleep, I promise you. Near two years is
+a long time to the young. Lord knaws wheer a light thing like him will
+be blawed to, come two years. Time 's on my side for certain. And Phoebe
+'s like to change also."
+
+"Why, a woman's mind 's no more 'n a feather in a gale of wind at her
+time o' life; though to tell her so 's the sure way to make her
+steadfast."
+
+A moment later Phoebe herself entered. She had heard Will depart and
+now, in a fever of impatience, crept with bright, questioning eyes to
+her father's chair. Whereupon Mr. Blee withdrew in a violent hurry. No
+one audibly desired him to do so, but a side-look from the girl was
+enough.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+EXIT WILL
+
+
+Phoebe's conversation with her father occupied a space of time extending
+over just two minutes. He met her eager eyes with a smile, patted her
+head, pinched her ear, and by his manner awakened a delicious flutter of
+hope in the girl before he spoke. When, therefore, Phoebe learned that
+Will was sent about his business for ever, and must henceforth be wholly
+dismissed from her mind, the shock and disappointment of such
+intelligence came as a cruel blow. She stood silent and thunderstruck
+before Miller Lyddon, a world of reproaches in her frightened eyes; then
+mutely the corners of her little mouth sank as she turned away and
+departed with her first great sorrow.
+
+Phoebe's earliest frantic thought had been to fly to Will, but she knew
+such a thing was impossible. There would surely be a letter from him on
+the following morning hidden within their secret pillar-box between two
+bricks of the mill wall. For that she must wait, and even in her misery
+she was glad that with Will, not herself, lay decision as to future
+action. She had expected some delay; she had believed that her father
+would impose stern restrictions of time and make a variety of conditions
+with her sweetheart; she had even hoped that Miller Lyddon might command
+lengthened patience for the sake of her headstrong, erratic Will's
+temper and character; but that he was to be banished in this crushing
+and summary fashion overwhelmed Phoebe, and that utterly. Her nature,
+however, was not one nourished from any very deep wells of character.
+She belonged to a class who suffer bitterly enough under sorrow, but the
+storm of it while tearing like a tropical tornado over heart and soul,
+leaves no traces that lapse of time cannot wholly and speedily
+obliterate. On them it may be said that fortune's sharpest strokes
+inflict no lasting scars; their dispositions are happily powerless to
+harbour the sustained agony that burrows and gnaws, poisons man's
+estimate of all human affairs, wrecks the stores of his experience, and
+stamps the cicatrix of a live, burning grief on brow and brain for ever.
+They find their own misery sufficiently exalted; but their temperament
+is unable to sustain a lifelong tribulation or elevate sorrow into
+tragedy. And their state is the more blessed. So Phoebe watered her
+couch with tears, prayed to God to hear her solemn promises of eternal
+fidelity, then slept and passed into a brief dreamland beyond sorrow's
+reach.
+
+Meantime young Blanchard took his stormy heart into a night of stars.
+The moon had risen; the sky was clear; the silvery silence remained
+unbroken save for the sound of the river, where it flowed under the
+shadows of great trees and beneath aerial bridges and banners of the
+meadow mists. Will strode through this scene, past his mother's cottage,
+and up a hill behind it, into the village. His mind presented in turn a
+dozen courses of action, and each was built upon the abiding foundation
+of Phoebe's sure faithfulness. That she would cling to him for ever the
+young man knew right well; no thought of a rival, therefore, entered
+into his calculations. The sole problem was how quickest to make Mr.
+Lyddon change his mind; how best to order his future that the miller
+should regard him as a responsible person, and one of weight in affairs.
+Not that Will held himself a slight man by any means; but he felt that
+he must straightway assert his individuality and convince the world in
+general and Miller Lyddon in particular of faulty judgment. He was very
+angry still as he retraced the recent conversation. Then, among those
+various fancies and projects in his mind, the wildest and most foolish
+stood out before him as both expedient and to be desired. His purpose in
+Chagford was to get advice from another man; but before he reached the
+village his own mind was established.
+
+Slated and thatched roofs glimmered under moonlight, and already the
+hamlet slept. A few cats crept like shadows through the deserted
+streets, from darkness into light, from light back to darkness; and one
+cottage window, before which Will Blanchard stood, still showed a candle
+behind a white blind. Most quaint and ancient was this habitation--of
+picturesque build, with tiny granite porch, small entrance, and
+venerable thatches that hung low above the upper windows. A few tall
+balsams quite served to fill the garden; indeed so small was it that
+from the roadway young Blanchard, by bending over the wooden fence,
+could easily reach the cottage window. This he did, tapped lightly, and
+then waited for the door to be opened.
+
+A man presently appeared and showed some surprise at the sight of his
+late visitor.
+
+"Let me in, Clem," said Will. "I knawed you'd be up, sitting readin'
+and dreamin'. 'T is no dreamin' time for me though, by God! I be corned
+straight from seeing Miller 'bout Phoebe."
+
+"Then I can very well guess what was last in your ears."
+
+Clement Hicks spoke in an educated voice. He was smaller than Will but
+evidently older. Somewhat narrow of build and thin, he looked delicate,
+though in reality wiry and sound. He was dark of complexion, wore his
+hair long for a cottager, and kept both moustache and beard, though the
+latter was very scant and showed the outline of his small chin through
+it. A forehead remarkably lofty but not broad, mounted almost
+perpendicularly above the man's eyes; and these were large and dark and
+full of fire, though marred by a discontented expression. His mouth was
+full-lipped, his other features huddled rather meanly together under the
+high brow: but his face, while admittedly plain even to ugliness, was
+not commonplace; for its eyes were remarkable, and the cast of thought
+ennobled it as a whole.
+
+Will entered the cottage kitchen and began instantly to unfold his
+experiences.
+
+"You knaw me--a man with a level head, as leaps after looking, not
+afore. I put nothing but plain reason to him and he flouted me like you
+might a cheel. An' I be gwaine to make him eat his words--such hard
+words as they was tu! Think of it! Me an' Phoebe never to meet no more!
+The folly of sayin' such a thing! Wouldn't 'e reckon that grey hairs
+knawed better than to fancy words can keep lovers apart?"
+
+"Grey hairs cover old brains; and old brains forget what it feels like
+to have a body full o' young blood. The best memory can't keep the
+feeling of youth fresh in a man."
+
+"Well, I ban't the hot-headed twoad Miller Lyddon thinks, or pretends he
+thinks, anyway. I'll shaw un! I can wait, an' Phoebe can wait, an' now
+she'll have to. I'm gwaine away."
+
+"Going away. Why?"
+
+"To shaw what 's in me. I ban't sorry for this for some things. Now no
+man shall say that I'm a home-stayin' gaby, tramping up an' down Teign
+Vale for a living. I'll step out into the wide world, same as them
+Grimbals done. They 'm back again made of money, the pair of 'em."
+
+"It took them fifteen years and more, and they were marvellously lucky."
+
+"What then? I'm as like to fare well as they. I've worked out a
+far-reaching plan, but the first step I've thought on 's terrible
+coorious, an' I reckon nobody but you'd see how it led to better things.
+But you 'm book-larned and wise in your way, though I wish your wisdom
+had done more for yourself than it has. Anyway, you 'm tokened to Chris
+and will be one of the family some day perhaps when Mother Coomstock
+dies, so I'll leave my secret with you. But not a soul else--not mother
+even. So you must swear you'll never tell to man or woman or cheel what
+I've done and wheer I be gone."
+
+"I'll swear if you like."
+
+"By the livin' God."
+
+"By any God you believe is alive."
+
+"Say it, then."
+
+"By the living God, I, Clement Hicks, bee-master of Chagford, Devon,
+swear to keep the secret of my friend and neighbour, William Blanchard,
+whatever it is."
+
+"And may He tear the life out of you if you so much as think to tell."
+
+Hicks laughed and shook his hair from his forehead.
+
+"You're suspicious of the best friend you've got in the world."
+
+"Not a spark. But I want you to see what an awful solemn thing I reckon
+it."
+
+"Then may God rot me, and plague me, and let me roast in hell-fire with
+the rogues for ever and a day, if I so much as whisper your news to man
+or mouse! There, will that do?"
+
+"No call to drag in hell fire, 'cause I knaw you doan't set no count on
+it. More doan't I. Hell's cold ashes now if all what you ve said is
+true. But you've sworn all right and now I'll tell 'e."
+
+He bent forward and whispered in the other's ear, whereon Hicks started
+in evident amazement and showed himself much concerned.
+
+"Good Heavens! Man alive, are you mad?"
+
+"You doan't 'zactly look on ahead enough, Clem," said Will loftily.
+"Ban't the thing itself's gwaine to make a fortune, but what comes of
+it. 'Tis a tidy stepping-stone lead-in' to gert matters very often, as
+your books tell, I dare say."
+
+"It can't lead to anything whatever in your case but wasted years."
+
+"I'm best judge of that. I've planned the road, and if I ban't home
+again inside ten year as good a man as Grimbal or any other I'll say I
+was wrong."
+
+"You're a bigger fool than even I thought, Blanchard."
+
+Will's eye flashed.
+
+"You 'm a tidy judge of a fule, I grant," he said angrily, "or should
+be. But you 'm awnly wan more against me. You'll see you 'm wrong like
+the rest. Anyway, you've got to mind what you've sweared. An' when
+mother an' Chris ax 'e wheer I be, I'll thank you to say I'm out in the
+world doin' braave, an' no more."
+
+"As you like. It 's idle, I know, trying to make you change your mind."
+
+A thin voice from an upper chamber of the cottage here interrupted their
+colloquy, and the mother of the bee-keeper reminded him that he was due
+early on the following day at Okehampton with honey, and that he ought
+long since to be asleep.
+
+"If that's Will Blanchard," she concluded, "tell un to be off home to
+bed. What 's the wisdom o' turning night hours into day like this here?"
+
+"All right, mother," shouted Will. "Gude-night to 'e. I be off this
+moment."
+
+Then bidding his friend farewell, he departed.
+
+"Doan't think twice o' what I said a minute since. I was hot 'cause you
+couldn't see no wisdom in my plan. But that's the way of folks. They
+belittle a chap's best thoughts and acts till the time comes for luck to
+turn an' bring the fruit; then them as scoffed be the first to turn
+round smilin' an' handshaking and sayin', 'What did us say? Didn't us
+tell 'e so from the very beginning?'"
+
+Away went the youthful water-keeper, inspired with the prospect of his
+contemplated flight. He strode home at a rapid pace, to find all lights
+out and the household in bed. Then he drank half a pint of cider, ate
+some bread and cheese, and set about a letter to Phoebe.
+
+A little desk on a side-table, the common property of himself, his
+mother, and sister, was soon opened, and materials found. Then, in his
+own uncial characters, that always tended hopefully upward, and thus
+left a triangle of untouched paper at the bottom of every sheet, Will
+wrote a letter of two folios, or eight complete pages. In this he
+repeated the points of his conversation with Phoebe's father, told her
+to be patient, and announced that, satisfied of her unfailing love and
+steadfastness through all, he was about to pass into the wider world,
+and carve his way to prosperity and fortune. He hid particulars from
+her, but mentioned that Clement Hicks would forward any communications.
+Finally he bid her keep a stout heart and live contented in the
+certainty of ultimate happiness. He also advised Phoebe to forgive her
+father. "I have already done it, honor bright," he wrote; "'t is a wise
+man's part to bear no malice, especially against an old grey body whose
+judgment 'pears to be gone bad for some reason." He also assured Phoebe
+that he was hers until death should separate them; in a postscript he
+desired her to break his departure softly to his mother if opportunity
+to do so occurred; and, finally, he was not ashamed to fill the empty
+triangles on each page with kisses, represented by triangles closely
+packed. Bearing this important communication, Will walked out again into
+the night, and soon his letter awaited Phoebe in the usual receptacle.
+He felt therein himself, half suspecting a note might await him, but
+there was nothing. He hesitated for a moment, then climbed the gate into
+Monks Barton farmyard, went softly and stood in the dark shadow of the
+mill-house. The moon shone full upon the face of the dwelling, and its
+three fruit-trees looked as though painted in profound black against the
+pale whitewash; while Phoebe's dormer-window framed the splendour of the
+reflected sky, and shone very brightly. The blind was down, and the
+maiden behind it had been asleep an hour or two; but Will pictured her
+as sobbing her heart out still. Perhaps he would never see her again.
+The path he had chosen to follow might take him over seas and through
+vast perils; indeed, it must do so if the success he desired was to be
+won. He felt something almost like a catch in his throat as he turned
+away and crossed the sleeping river. He glanced down through dreaming
+glades and saw one motionless silver spot on the dark waters beneath the
+alders. Sentiment was at its flood just then, and he spoke a few words
+under his breath. "'Tis thicky auld Muscovy duck, roostin' on his li'l
+island; poor lone devil wi' never a mate to fight for nor friend to swim
+along with. Worse case than mine, come to think on it!" Then an emotion,
+rare enough with him, vanished, and he sniffed the night air and felt
+his heart beat high at thoughts of what lay ahead.
+
+Will returned home, made fast the outer door, took off his boots, and
+went softly up a creaking stair. Loud and steady music came from the
+room where John Grimbal lay, and Blanchard smiled when he heard it.
+"'Tis the snore of a happy man with money in his purse," he thought.
+Then he stood by his mother's door, which she always kept ajar at night,
+and peeped in upon her. Damaris Blanchard slumbered with one arm on the
+coverlet, the other behind her head. She was a handsome woman still, and
+looked younger than her eight-and-forty years in the soft ambient light.
+"Muneshine do make dear mother so purty as a queen," said Will to
+himself. And he would never wish her "good-by," perhaps never see her
+again. He hastened with light, impulsive step into the room, thinking
+just to kiss the hand on the bed, but his mother stirred instantly and
+cried, "Who's theer?" with sleepy voice. Then she sat up and listened--a
+fair, grey-eyed woman in an old-fashioned night-cap. Her son had
+vanished before her eyes were opened, and now she turned and yawned and
+slept again.
+
+Will entered his own chamber near at hand, doffed for ever the velveteen
+uniform of water-keeper, and brought from a drawer an old suit of
+corduroy. Next he counted his slight store of money, set his 'alarum'
+for four o'clock, and, fifteen minutes later, was in bed and asleep, the
+time then being a little after midnight.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+BY THE RIVER
+
+
+Clement Hicks paid an early visit to Will's home upon the following
+morning. He had already set out to Okehampton with ten pounds of honey
+in the comb, and at Mrs. Blanchard's cottage he stopped the little
+public vehicle which ran on market-days to the distant town. That the
+son of the house was up and away at dawn told his family nothing, for
+his movements were at all times erratic, and part of his duty consisted
+in appearing on the river at uncertain times and in unexpected
+localities. Clement Hicks often called for a moment upon his way to
+market, and Chris, who now greeted her lover, felt puzzled at the
+unusual gravity of his face. She turned pale when she heard his
+tremendous news; but the mother was of more Spartan temperament and
+received intelligence of Will's achievement without changing colour or
+ceasing from her occupation.
+
+Between Damaris Blanchard and her boy had always existed a perfect
+harmony of understanding, rare even in their beautiful relationship. The
+thoughts of son and mother chimed; not seldom they anticipated each
+other's words. The woman saw much of her dead husband reflected in Will
+and felt a moral conviction that through the storms of youth, high
+temper, and inexperience, he would surely pass to good things, by reason
+of the strenuous honesty and singleness of purpose that actuated him;
+he, on his side, admired the great calmness and self-possession of his
+mother. She was so steadfast, so strong, and wiser than any woman he had
+ever seen. With a fierce, volcanic affection Will Blanchard loved her.
+She and Phoebe alike shared his whole heart.
+
+"It is a manly way of life he has chosen, and that is all I may say. He
+is ambitious and strong, and I should be the last to think he has not
+done well to go into the world for a while," said Clement.
+
+"When is he coming back again?" asked Chris.
+
+"He spoke of ten years or so."
+
+"Then 'twill be more or less," declared Mrs. Blanchard, calmly. "Maybe a
+month, maybe five years, or fifteen, not ten, if he said ten. He'll shaw
+the gude gold he's made of, whether or no. I'm happy in this and not
+surprised. 'Twas very like to come arter last night, if things went
+crooked."
+
+"'Tis much as faither might have done," said Chris.
+
+"'Tis much what he did do. Thank you for calling, Clem Hicks. Now best
+be away, else they'll drive off to Okehampton without 'e."
+
+Clement departed, Chris wept as the full extent of her loss was
+impressed upon her, and Mrs. Blanchard went up to her son's room. There
+she discovered the velveteen suit with a card upon them: "Hand over to
+Mr. Morgan, Head Water-keeper, Sandypark." She looked through his
+things, and found that he had taken nothing but his money, one suit of
+working clothes, and a red tie--her present to him on his birthday
+during the previous month. All his other possessions remained in their
+usual places. With none to see, the woman's eye moistened; then she sat
+down on Will's bed and her heart grew weak for one brief moment as she
+pictured him fighting the battle. It hurt her a little that he had told
+Clement Hicks his intention and hid it from his mother. Yet as a son, at
+least, he had never failed. However, all affairs of life were a matter
+of waiting, more or less, she told herself; and patience was easier to
+Damaris Blanchard than to most people. Under her highest uneasiness,
+maternal pride throbbed at thought of the manly independence indicated
+by her son's action. She returned to the duties of the day, but found
+herself restless, while continually admonishing Chris not to be so. Her
+thoughts drifted to Monks Barton and Will's meeting with his
+sweetheart's father. Presently, when her daughter went up to the
+village, Mrs. Blanchard put off her apron, donned the cotton sunbonnet
+that she always wore from choice, and walked over to see Mr. Lyddon.
+They were old friends, and presently Damaris listened sedately to the
+miller without taking offence at his directness of speech. He told the
+story of his decision and Will's final reply, while she nodded and even
+smiled once or twice in the course of the narrative.
+
+"You was both right, I reckon," she said placidly, looking into Mr.
+Lyddon's face. "You was wise to mistrust, not knawin' what's at the root
+of him; and he, being as he is, was in the right to tell 'e the race
+goes to the young. Wheer two hearts is bent on joining, 'tis join they
+will--if both keeps of a mind long enough."
+
+"That's it, Damaris Blanchard; who's gwaine to b'lieve that a bwoy an'
+gal, like Will an' Phoebe, do knaw theer minds? Mark me, they'll both
+chaange sweethearts a score of times yet 'fore they come to mate."
+
+"Caan't speak for your darter, Lyddon; but I knaw my son. A masterful
+bwoy, like his faither before him, wild sometimes an' wayward tu, but
+not with women-folk. His faither loved in wan plaace awnly. He'll be
+true to your cheel whatever betides, or I'm a fule."
+
+"What's the use of that if he ban't true to himself? No, no, I caan't
+see a happy ending to the tale however you look at it. Wish I could. I
+fear't was a ugly star twinkled awver his birthplace, ma'am."
+
+"'Twas all the stars of heaven, Miller," said the mother, frankly, "for
+he was born in my husband's caravan in the auld days. We was camped up
+on the Moor, drawn into one of them roundy-poundies o' grey granite
+stones set up by Phoenicians at the beginning of the world. Ess fay, a
+braave shiny night, wi' the li'l windows thrawed open to give me air.
+An' 'pon Will's come-of-age birthday, last month, if us didn't all drive
+up theer an' light a fire an' drink a dish of tea in the identical spot!
+'Tis out Newtake' way."
+
+"Like a story-book."
+
+"'Twas Clem Hicks, his thought, being a fanciful man. But I'll bid you
+gude-marnin' now. Awnly mind this, as between friends and without a
+spark of malice: Will Blanchard means to marry your maid, sure as you'm
+born, if awnly she keeps strong for him. It rests with her, Miller, not
+you."
+
+"Much what your son said in sharper words. Well, you'm out o' reckoning
+for once, wise though you be most times; for if a maiden's happiness
+doan't rest with her faither, blamed if I see wheer it should. And to
+think such a man as me doan't knaw wiser 'n two childern who caan't
+number forty year between 'em is flat fulishness, surely?"
+
+"I knaw Will," said Mrs. Blanchard, slowly and emphatically; "I knaw un
+to the core, and that's to say more than you or anybody else can. A
+mother may read her son like print, but no faither can see to the bottom
+of a wife-old daughter--not if he was Solomon's self. So us'll wait an'
+watch wi'out being worse friends."
+
+She went home again the happier for her conversation; but any thought
+that Mr. Lyddon might have been disposed to devote to her prophecy was
+for the time banished by the advent of John Grimbal and his brother.
+
+Like boys home from school, they dwelt in the present delight of their
+return, and postponed the varied duties awaiting them, to revel again in
+the old sights, sounds, and scents. To-day they were about an angling
+excursion, and the fishers' road to Fingle lying through Monks Barton,
+both brothers stopped a while and waited upon their old friend of the
+mill, according to John's promise of the previous afternoon. Martin
+carried the creel and the ample luncheon it contained; John smoked a
+strong cigar and was only encumbered with his light fly-rod; the younger
+designed to accompany his brother through Fingle Valley; then leave him
+there, about his sport, and proceed alone to various places of natural
+and antiquarian interest. But John meant fishing and nothing else. To
+him great woods were no more than cover for fur and feathers; rivers and
+streams meant a vehicle for the display of a fly to trout, and only
+attracted him or the reverse, according to the fish they harboured. When
+the moorland waters spouted and churned, cherry red from their springs
+in the peat, he deemed them a noble spectacle; when, as at present,
+Teign herself had shrunk to a mere silver thread, and the fingerling
+trout splashed and wriggled half out of water in the shallows, he freely
+criticised its scanty volume and meagre depths.
+
+Miller Lyddon welcomed the men very heartily. He had been amongst those
+who dismissed them with hope to their battle against the world, and now
+he reminded them of his sanguine predictions. Will Blanchard's
+disappearance amused John Grimbal and he laughed when Billy Blee
+appeared red-hot with the news. Mr. Lyddon made no secret of his
+personal opinion of Blanchard, and all debated the probable design of
+the wanderer.
+
+"Maybe he's 'listed," said John, "an' a good thing too if he has. It
+makes a man of a young fellow. I'm for conscription myself--always have
+been."
+
+"I be minded to think he've joined the riders," declared Billy. "Theer
+comed a circus here last month, with braave doin's in the way of
+horsemanship and Merry Andrews, and such like devilries. Us all goes to
+see it from miles round every year; an' Will was theer. Circus folk do
+see the world in a way denied to most, and theer manner of life takes
+'em even as far as Russia and the Indies I've heard."
+
+"Then there's the gypsy blood in him--" declared Mr. Lyddon, "that might
+send him roaming oversea, if nothing else did."
+
+"Or my great doings are like to have fired him," said John. "How's
+Phoebe?" he continued, dismissing Will. "I saw her yesterday--a bowerly
+maiden she's grown--a prize for a better man that this wild youngster,
+now bolted God knaws where."
+
+"So I think," agreed the miller, "an' I hope she'll soon forget the
+searching grey eyes of un and his high-handed way o' speech. Gals like
+such things. Dear, dear! though he made me so darned angry last night, I
+could have laughed in his faace more 'n wance."
+
+"Missy's under the weather this marnin'," declared Billy. "Who tawld her
+I ban't able to say, but she knawed he'd gone just arter feedin' the
+fowls, and she went down valley alone, so slow, wi' her purty head that
+bent it looked as if her sunbonnet might be hiding an auld gran'mother's
+poll."
+
+"She'll come round," said Martin; "she's only a young girl yet."
+
+"And there 's fish as good in the sea as ever came out, and better,"
+declared his brother. "She must wait for a man who is a man,--somebody
+of good sense and good standing, with property to his name."
+
+Miller Lyddon noted with surprise and satisfaction John Grimbal's warmth
+of manner upon this question; he observed also the stout, hearty body of
+him, and the handsome face that crowned it. Then the brothers proceeded
+down-stream, and the master of Monks Barton looked after them and caught
+himself hoping that they might meet Phoebe.
+
+At a point where the river runs between a giant shoulder of heather-clad
+hill on one side and the ragged expanses of Whiddon Park upon the other,
+John clambered down to the streamside and began to fish, while Martin
+dawdled at hand and watched the sport. A pearly clearness, caught from
+the clouds, characterised earth as well as air, and proved that every
+world-picture depends for atmosphere and colour upon the sky-picture
+extended above it. Again there was movement and some music, for the
+magic of the wind in a landscape's nearer planes is responsible for
+both. The wooded valley lay under a grey and breezy forenoon; swaying
+alders marked each intermittent gust with a silver ripple of upturned
+foliage, and still reaches of the river similarly answered the wind with
+hurrying flickers and furrows of dimpled light. Through its transparent
+flood, where the waters ran in shadow and escaped reflections, the river
+revealed a bed of ruddy brown and rich amber. This harmonious colouring
+proceeded from the pebbly bottom, where a medley of warm agate tones
+spread and shimmered, like some far-reaching mosaic beneath the crystal.
+Above Teign's shrunken current extended oak and ash, while her banks
+bore splendid concourse of the wild water-loving dwellers in that happy
+valley. Meadowsweet nodded creamy crests; hemlock and fool's parsley and
+seeding willow-herb crowded together beneath far-scattered filigree of
+honeysuckles and brambles with berries, some ripe, some red; while the
+scarlet corals of briar and white bryony gemmed every riotous trailing
+thicket, dene, and dingle along the river's brink; and in the grassy
+spaces between rose little chrysoprase steeples of wood sage all set in
+shining fern. Upon the boulders in midstream subaqueous mosses, now
+revealed and starved by the drought, died hard, and the seeds of
+grasses, figworts, and persicarias thrust up flower and foliage,
+flourishing in unwonted spots from which the next freshet would rudely
+tear them. Insect life did not abundantly manifest itself, for the day
+was sunless; but now and again, with crisp rattle of his gauze wings, a
+dragon-fly flashed along the river. Through these scenes the Teign
+rolled drowsily and with feeble pulses. Upon one bank rose the confines
+of Whiddon; on the other, abrupt and interspersed with gulleys of
+shattered shale, ascended huge slopes whereon a whole summer of sunshine
+had scorched the heather to dry death. But fading purple still gleamed
+here and there in points and splashes, and the lesser furze, mingling
+therewith, scattered gold upon the tremendous acclivities even to the
+crown of fir-trees that towered remote and very blue upon the uplifted
+sky-line. Swallows, with white breasts flashing, circled over the river,
+and while their elevation above the water appeared at times tremendous,
+the abrupt steepness of the gorge was such that the birds almost brushed
+the hillside with their wings. A sledge, laden with the timber of barked
+sapling oaks, creaked and jingled over the rough road beside the stream;
+a man called to his horses and a dog barked beside him; then they
+disappeared and the spacious scene was again empty, save for its
+manifold wild life and music.
+
+John Grimbal fished, failed, and cursed the poor water and the lush
+wealth of the riverside that caught his fly at every critical moment. A
+few small trout he captured and returned; then, flinging down rod and
+net, he called to his brother for the luncheon-basket. Together they sat
+in the fern beside the river and ate heartily of the fare that Mrs.
+Blanchard had provided; then, as John was about to light a pipe, his
+brother, with a smile, produced a little wicker globe and handed it to
+him. This unexpected sight awoke sudden and keen appetite on the elder's
+face. He smacked his lips, swore a hearty oath of rejoicing, and held
+out an eager hand for the thing.
+
+"My God! to think I'll suck the smoke of that again,--the best baccy in
+the wide world!"
+
+The little receptacle contained a rough sort of sun-dried Kaffir
+tobacco, such as John and Martin had both smoked for the past fifteen
+years.
+
+"I thought it would be a treat. I brought home a few pounds," said the
+younger, smiling again at his brother's hungry delight. John cut into
+the case, loaded his pipe, and lighted it with a contented sign. Then he
+handed the rest back to its owner.
+
+"No, no," said Martin. "I'll just have one fill, that's all. I brought
+this for you. 'T will atone for the poor sport. The creel I shall leave
+with you now, for I'm away to Fingle Bridge and Prestonbury. We'll meet
+at nightfall."
+
+Thereupon he set off down the valley, his mind full of early British
+encampments, while John sat and smoked and pondered upon his future. He
+built no castles in the air, but a solid country house of red brick,
+destined to stand in its own grounds near Chagford, and to have a snug
+game-cover or two about it, with a few good acres of arable land
+bordering on forest. Roots meant cover for partridges in John Grimbal's
+mind; beech and oak in autumn represented desirable food for pheasants;
+and corn, once garnered and out of the way, left stubble for all manner
+of game.
+
+Meantime, whilst he reviewed his future with his eyes on a blue cloud of
+tobacco smoke, Martin passed Phoebe Lyddon farther down the valley. Him
+she recognised as a stranger; but he, with his eyes engaged in no more
+than unconscious guarding of his footsteps, his mind buried in the
+fascinating problems of early British castramentation, did not look at
+her or mark a sorrowful young face still stained with tears.
+
+Into the gorge Phoebe had wandered after reading her sweetheart's
+letter. There, to the secret ear of the great Mother, instinct had drawn
+her and her grief; and now the earliest shock was over; a dull, numb
+pain of mind followed the first sorrow; unwonted exercise had made her
+weary; and physical hunger, not to be stayed by mental suffering, forced
+her to turn homewards. Red-eyed and unhappy she passed beside the river,
+a very picture of a woful lover.
+
+The sound of Phoebe's steps fell on John Grimbal's ear as he lay upon
+his back with crossed knees and his hands behind his head. He partly
+rose therefore, thrust his face above the fern, saw the wayfarer, and
+then sprang to his feet. The cause of her tearful expression and
+listless demeanour was known to him, but he ignored them and greeted her
+cheerily.
+
+"Can't catch anything big enough to keep, and sha'n't until the rain
+comes," he said; "so I'll walk along with you, if you're going home."
+
+He offered his hand; then, after Phoebe had shaken it, moved beside her
+and put up his rod as he went.
+
+"Saw your father this morning, and mighty glad I was to find him so
+blooming. To my eye he looks younger than my memory picture of him. But
+that's because I've grown from boy to man, as you have from child to
+woman."
+
+"So I have, and 't is a pity my faither doan't knaw it," answered
+Phoebe, smarting under her wrongs, and willing to chronicle them in a
+friendly ear. "If I ban't full woman, who is? Yet I'm treated like a
+baaby, as if I'd got no 'pinions an' feelings, and wasn't--wasn't auld
+enough to knaw what love meant."
+
+Grimbal's eyes glowed at the picture of the girl's indignation, and he
+longed to put his arms round her and comfort her.
+
+"You must be wise and dutiful, Phoebe," he said. "Will Blauchard's a
+plucky fellow to go off and face the world. And perhaps he'll be one of
+the lucky ones, like I was."
+
+"He will be, for certain, and so you'd say if you knawed him same as I
+do. But the cruel waitin'--years and years and years--'t is enough to
+break a body's heart."
+
+Her voice fluttered like bells in a wild wind; she trembled on the brink
+of tears; and he saw by little convulsive movements and the lump in her
+round throat that she could not yet regard her lot with patience. She
+brought out her pocket-handkerchief again, and the man noticed it was
+all wet and rolled into a ball.
+
+"Life's a blank thing at lovers' parting," he said; "but time rubs the
+rough edges off matters that fret our minds the worst. Days and nights,
+and plenty of 'em, are the best cure for all ills."
+
+"An' the best cure for life tu! The awnly cure. Think of years an' years
+without him. Yesterday us met up in Pixies' Parlour yonder, an' I was
+peart an' proud as need be; to-day he's gone, and I feel auld and wisht
+and all full of weary wonder how I'm gwaine to fare and if I'llever see
+him again. 'T is cruel--bitter cruel for me."
+
+That she could thus pity herself so soon argued a mind incapable of
+harbouring great sorrow for many years; and the man at her side, without
+appreciating this fact, yet, by a sort of intuition, suspected that
+Phoebe's grief, perhaps even her steadfastness of purpose, would suffer
+diminution before very great lapse of time. Without knowing why, he
+hoped it might be so. Her voice fell melodiously upon an ear long tuned
+to the whine of native women. It came from the lungs, was full and
+sweet, with a shy suddenness about it, like the cooing of wood doves.
+She half slipped at a stile, and he put out his hand and touched her
+waist and felt his heart throb. But Phoebe's eyes rarely met her new
+friend's. The girl looked with troubled brows ahead into the future,
+while she walked beside him; and he, upon her left hand, saw only the
+soft cheek, the pouting lips, and the dimples that came and went.
+Sometimes she looked up, however, and Grimbal noted how the flutter of
+past tears shook her round young breast, marked the spring of her step,
+the freedom of her gait, and the trim turn of her feet and ankles. After
+the flat-footed Kaffir girls, Phoebe's instep had a right noble arch in
+his estimation.
+
+"To think that I, as never wronged faither in thought or deed, should be
+treated so hard! I've been all the world to him since mother died, for
+he's said as much to many; yet he's risen up an' done this, contrary to
+justice and right and Scripture, tu."
+
+"You must be patient, Phoebe, and respect his age, and let the matter
+rest till the time grows ripe. I can't advise you better than that."
+
+"'Patient!' My life's empty, I tell 'e--empty, hollow, tasteless wi'out
+my Will."
+
+"Well, well, we'll see. I'm going to build a big red-brick house
+presently, and buy land, and make a bit of a stir in my small way.
+You've a pretty fancy in such things, I'll bet a dollar. You shall give
+me a helping hand--eh? You must tell me best way of setting up house.
+And you might help me as to furniture and suchlike if you had time for
+it. Will you, for an old friend?"
+
+Phoebe was slightly interested. She promised to do anything in her power
+that might cause Mr. Grimbal satisfaction; and he, very wisely, assured
+her that there was no salve for sorrow like unselfish labours on behalf
+of other people. He left her at the farm-gate, and tramped back to the
+Blanchard cottage with his mind busy enough. Presently he changed his
+clothes, and set a diamond in his necktie. Then he strolled away into
+the village, to see the well-remembered names above the little shop
+windows; to note curiously how Chagford market-place had shrunk and the
+houses dwindled since last he saw them; to call with hearty voice and
+rough greeting at this habitation and that; to introduce himself again
+among men and women who had known him of yore, and who, for the most
+part, quite failed to recognise in their bluff and burly visitor the lad
+who set forth from his father's cottage by the church so many years
+before.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+THE INCIDENT OF MR. JOEL FORD
+
+
+Of Blanchard family history a little more must be said. Timothy
+Blanchard, the husband of Damaris and father of Will and Chris, was in
+truth of the nomads, though not a right gypsy. As a lad, and at a time
+when the Romany folk enjoyed somewhat more importance and prosperity
+than of late years, he joined them, and by sheer force of character and
+mother wit succeeded in rising to power amongst the wanderers. The
+community with which he was connected for the most part confined its
+peregrinations to the West; and time saw Timothy Blanchard achieve
+success in his native country, acquire two caravans, develop trade on a
+regular "circuit," and steadily save money in a small way; while his
+camp of some five-and-twenty souls--men, women, and numerous
+children--shared in their leader's prosperity. These earlier stages of
+the man's career embraced some strange circumstances, chief amongst them
+being his marriage. Damaris Ford was the daughter of a Moor farmer. Her
+girlhood had been spent in the dreary little homestead of "Newtake,"
+above Chagford, within the fringe of the great primeval wastes; and
+here, on his repeated journeys across the Moor, Tim Blanchard came to
+know her and love her well.
+
+Farmer Ford swore round oaths, and sent Blanchard and his caravans
+packing when the man approached him for his daughter's hand; but the
+girl herself was already won, and week after her lover's repulse Damaris
+vanished. She journeyed with her future husband to Exeter, wedded him,
+and became mistress of his house on wheels; then, for the space of four
+years, she lived the gypsy life, brought a son and daughter into the
+world, and tried without avail to obtain her father's forgiveness. That,
+however, she never had, though her mother communicated with her in fear
+and trembling; and when, by strange chance, on Will's advent, Damaris
+Blanchard was brought to bed near her old home, and became a mother in
+one of the venerable hut circles which plentifully scatter that lonely
+region, Mrs. Ford, apprised of the fact in secret, actually stole to her
+daughter's side by night and wept over her grandchild. Now the farmer
+and his wife were dead; Newtake at present stood without a tenant; and
+Mrs. Blanchard possessed no near relations save her children and one
+elder brother, Joel, to whom had passed their parent's small savings.
+
+Timothy Blanchard continued a wandering existence for the space of five
+years after his marriage; then he sold his caravans, settled in
+Chagford, bought the cottage by the river, rented some market-garden
+land, and pursued his busy and industrious way. Thus he prospered
+through ten more years, saving money, developing a variety of schemes,
+letting out on hire a steam thresher, and in various other ways adding
+to his store. The man was on the high road to genuine prosperity when
+death overtook him and put a period to his ambitions. He was snatched
+from mundane affairs leaving numerous schemes half developed and most of
+his money embarked in various enterprises. Unhappily Will was too young
+to continue his father's work, and though Mrs. Blanchard's brother, Joel
+Ford, administered the little estate to the best of his power, much had
+to be sacrificed. In the sequel Damaris found herself with a cottage, a
+garden, and an annual income of about fifty pounds a year. Her son was
+then twelve years of age, her daughter eighteen months younger. So she
+lived quietly and not without happiness, after the first sorrow of her
+husband's loss was in a measure softened by time.
+
+Of Mr. Joel Ford it now becomes necessary to speak. Combining the duties
+of attorney, house-agent, registrar of deaths, births, and marriages,
+and receiver of taxes and debts, the man lived a dingy life at Newton
+Abbot. Acid, cynical, and bald he was, very dry of mind and body, and
+but ten years older than Mrs. Blanchard, though he looked nearer seventy
+than sixty. To the Newton mind Mr. Ford was associated only with Quarter
+Day--that black, recurrent cloud on the horizon of every poor man's
+life. He dwelt with an elderly housekeeper--a widow of genial
+disposition; and indeed the attorney himself was not lacking in some
+urbanity of character, though few guessed it, for he kept all that was
+best in himself hidden under an unlovely crust. His better instincts
+took the shape of family affection. Damaris Blanchard and he were the
+last branches of one of the innumerable families of Ford to be found in
+Devon, and he had no small regard for his only living sister. His annual
+holiday from business--a period of a fortnight, sometimes extended to
+three weeks if the weather was more than commonly fair--he spent
+habitually at Chagford; and Will on these occasions devoted his leisure
+to his uncle, drove him on the Moor, and made him welcome. Will, indeed,
+was a favourite with Mr. Ford, and the lad's high spirits, real
+ignorance of the world, and eternal grave assumption of wisdom even
+tickled the man of business into a sort of dry cricket laughter upon
+occasions. When, therefore, a fortnight after young Blanchard's
+mysterious disappearance, Joel Ford arrived at his sister's cottage for
+the annual visit, he was as much concerned as his nature had power to
+make him at the news.
+
+For three weeks he stayed, missing the company of his nephew not a
+little; and his residence in Chagford had needed no special comment save
+for an important incident resulting therefrom.
+
+Phoebe Lyddon it was who in all innocence and ignorance set rolling a
+pebble that finally fell in thundering avalanches; and her chance word
+was uttered at her father's table on an occasion when John and Martin
+Grimbal were supping at Monks Barton.
+
+The returned natives, and more especially the elder, had been much at
+the mill since their reappearance. John, indeed, upon one pretext or
+another, scarcely spent a day without calling. His rough kindness
+appealed to Phoebe, who at first suspected no danger from it, while Mr.
+Lyddon encouraged the man and made him and his brother welcome at all
+times.
+
+John Grimbal, upon the morning that preceded the present supper party,
+had at last found a property to his taste. It might, indeed, have been
+designed for him. Near Whiddon it lay, in the valley of the Moreton
+Road, and consisted of a farm and the ruin of a Tudor mansion. The
+latter had been tenanted until the dawn of this century, but was since
+then fallen into decay. The farm lands stretched beneath the crown of
+Cranbrook, hard by the historic "Bloody Meadow," a spot assigned to that
+skirmish between Royalist and Parliamentary forces during 1642 which
+cost brilliant young Sidney Godolphin his life. Here, or near at hand,
+the young man probably fell, with a musket-bullet in his leg, and
+subsequently expired at Chagford[1] leaving the "misfortune of his death
+upon a place which could never otherwise have had a mention to the
+world," according to caustic Chancellor Clarendon.
+
+[1] _At Chagford._ The place of the poet's passing is believed
+to have been an ancient dwelling-house adjacent to St. Michael's Church.
+At that date it was a private residence of the Whiddon family; but
+during later times it became known as the "Black Swan Inn," or tavern (a
+black swan being the crest of Sir John Whiddon, Judge of Queen's Bench
+in the first Mary's reign); while to-day this restored Mansion appears
+as the hostelry of the "Three Crowns."
+
+
+Upon the aforesaid ruins, fashioned after the form of a great E, out of
+compliment to the sovereign who occupied the throne at the period of the
+decayed fabric's erection, John Grimbal proposed to build his habitation
+of red brick and tile. The pertaining farm already had a tenant, and
+represented four hundred acres of arable land, with possibilities of
+development; snug woods wound along the boundaries of the estate and
+mingled their branches with others not more stately though sprung from
+the nobler domain of Whiddon; and Chagford was distant but a mile, or
+five minutes' ride.
+
+Tongues wagged that evening concerning the Red House, as the ruin was
+called, and a question arose as to whom John Grimbal must apply for
+information respecting the property.
+
+"I noted on the board two names--one in London, one handy at Newton
+Abbot--a Mr. Joel Ford, of Wolborough Street."
+
+Phoebe blushed where she sat and very nearly said, "My Will's uncle!"
+but thought better of it and kept silent. Meanwhile her father answered.
+
+"Ford's an attorney, Mrs. Blanchard's brother, a maker of agreements
+between man and man, and a dusty, dry sort of chip, from all I've heard
+tell. His father and mine were friends forty years and more agone. Old
+Ford had Newtake Farm on the Moor, and wore his fingers to the bone that
+his son might have good schooling and a learned profession."
+
+"He's in Chagford this very minute," said Phoebe.
+
+Then Mr. Blee spoke. On the occasion of any entertainment at Monks
+Barton he waited at table instead of eating with the family as usual.
+Now he addressed the company from his station behind Mr. Lyddon's chair.
+
+"Joel Ford's biding with his sister. A wonderful deep man, to my certain
+knowledge, an' wears a merchant-like coat an' shiny hat working days an'
+Sabbaths alike. A snug man, I'll wager, if 't is awnly by the token of
+broadcloth on week-days."
+
+"He looks for all the world like a yellow, shrivelled parchment himself.
+Regular gimlet eyes, too, and a very fitch for sharpness, though younger
+than his appearance might make you fancy," said the miller.
+
+"Then I'll pay him a visit and see how things stand," declared John.
+"Not that I'd employ any but my own London lawyer, of course," he added,
+"but this old chap can give me the information I require; no doubt."
+
+"Ess fay! an' draw you a dockyment in all the cautiousness of the law's
+language," promised Billy Blee. "'T is a fact makes me mazed every time
+I think of it," he continued, "that mere fleeting ink on the skin tored
+off a calf can be so set out to last to the trump of doom. Theer be
+parchments that laugh at the Queen's awn Privy Council and make the
+Court of Parliament look a mere fule afore 'em. But it doan't do to be
+'feared o' far-reachin' oaths when you 'm signing such a matter, for 't
+is in the essence of 'em that the parties should swear deep."
+
+"I'll mind what you say, Billy," promised Grimbal; "I'll pump old Ford
+as dry as I can, then be off to London and get such a good, binding deed
+of purchase as you suggest."
+
+And it was this determination that presently led to a violent breach
+between the young man and his elder.
+
+John waited upon Mr. Ford, at Mrs. Blanchard's cottage, where he had
+first lodged with his brother on their return from abroad, and found the
+lawyer exceedingly pleasant when he learned the object of Grimbal's
+visit. Together they drove over to the Red House, and its intending
+tenant soon heard all there was to tell respecting price and the
+provisions under which the estate was to be disposed of. For this
+information he expressed proper gratitude, but gave no hint of his
+future actions.
+
+Mr. Ford heard nothing more for a fortnight. Then he ascertained that
+John Grimbal was in the metropolis, that the sale of the Red House and
+its lands had been conducted by the London agent, and that no penny of
+the handsome commission involved would accrue to him. This position of
+affairs greatly (and to some extent reasonably) angered the local man,
+and he did not forgive what he considered a very flagrant slight.
+Extreme acerbity was bred in him, and his mind, vindictive by nature,
+cherished from that hour a hearty detestation of John Grimbal. The old
+man, his annual holiday ruined by the circumstance, went home to Newton,
+vowing vague vengeance and little dreaming how soon opportunity would
+offer to deal his enemy a return blow; while the purchaser of the Red
+House laughed at Ford's angry letters, told him to his face that he was
+a greedy old rascal, and went on his way well pleased with himself and
+fully occupied with his affairs.
+
+Necessary preliminaries were hastened; an architect visited the
+crumbling fabric of the old Red House and set about his plans. Soon,
+upon the ancient foundations, a new dwelling began to rise. The ancient
+name was retained at Martin's entreaty and the surrounding property
+developed. A stir and hum crept through the domain. Here was planting of
+young birch and larch; here clearing of land; here mounds of manure
+steamed on neglected fallows. John Grimbal took up temporary quarters in
+the home farm that he might be upon the spot at all hours; and what with
+these great personal interests, good news of his property in Africa, and
+the growing distraction of one soft-voiced, grey-eyed girl, the man
+found his life a full and splendid thing.
+
+That he should admit Phoebe into his thoughts and ambitions was not
+unreasonable for two reasons: he knew himself to be heartily in love
+with her by this time, and he had heard from her father a definite
+statement upon the subject of Will Blanchard. Indeed, the miller, from
+motives of worldly wisdom, took an opportunity to let John Grimbal know
+the situation.
+
+"No shadow of any engagement at all," he said. "I made it plain as a
+pikestaff to them both. It mustn't be thought I countenanced their
+crack-brained troth-plighting. 'T was by reason of my final 'Nay' that
+Will went off. He 's gone out of her life, and she 'm free as the air. I
+tell you this because you may have heard different, and you mix with the
+countryside and can contradict any man who gives out otherwise. And,
+mind you, I say it from no ill-will to the bwoy, but out of justice to
+my cheel."
+
+Thus, to gain private ends, Mr. Lyddon spoke, and his information
+greatly heartened the listener. John had more than once sounded Phoebe
+on the subject of Will during the past few months, and was bound to
+confess that any chance he might possess appeared small; but he was
+deeply in love and a man accustomed to have his own way. Increasing
+portions of his time and thought were devoted to this ambition, and when
+Phoebe's father spoke as recorded, Grimbal jumped at the announcement
+and pushed for his own hand.
+
+"If a man that was a man, with a bit of land and a bit of stuff behind
+him, came along and asked to court her, 't would be different, I
+suppose?" he inquired.
+
+"I'd wish just such a man might come, for her sake."
+
+"Supposing I asked if I might try to win Phoebe?"
+
+"I'd desire your gude speed, my son. Nothing could please, me better."
+
+"Then I've got you on my side?"
+
+"You really mean it? Well, well! Gert news to be sure, an' I be pleased
+as Punch to hear 'e. But take my word, for I'm richer than you by many
+years in knawledge of the world, though I haven't seen so much of it.
+Go slow. Wait a while till that brown bwoy graws a bit dim in Phoebe's
+eyes. Your life 's afore you, and the gal 's scarce marriageable, to my
+thinking. Build your house and bide your time."
+
+"So be it; and if I don't win her presently, I sha'n't deserve to."
+
+"Ess, but taake time, lad. She 'm a dutiful, gude maiden, and I'd be
+sore to think my awn words won't carry their weight when the right
+moment comes for speaking 'em. Blanchard's business pulled down the
+corners of her purty mouth a bit; but young hearts caan't keep mournful
+for ever."
+
+Billy Blee then took his turn on the argument. Thus far he had listened,
+and now, according to his custom, argued on the popular side and bent
+his sail to the prevalent wind of opinion.
+
+"You say right, Miller. 'T is out of nature that a maid should fret her
+innards to fiddlestrings 'bout a green bwoy when theer's ripe men
+waitin' for her."
+
+"Never heard better sense," declared John Grimbal, in high good-humour;
+and from the red-letter hour of that conversation he let his love grow
+into a giant. A man of old-fashioned convictions, he honestly believed
+the parent wise who exercised all possible control over a child; and in
+this case personal interest prompted him the more strongly to that
+opinion. Common sense the world over was on his side, and no man with
+the facts before him had been likely to criticise Miller Lyddon on the
+course of action he thought proper to pursue for his daughter's ultimate
+happiness. That he reckoned without his host naturally escaped the
+father's thought at this juncture. Will Blanchard had dwindled in his
+mind to the mere memory of a headstrong youngster, now far removed from
+the scene of his stupidity and without further power to trouble. That he
+could advise John to wait a while until Will's shadow grew less in
+Phoebe's thought, argued kindness and delicacy of mind in Mr. Lyddon.
+Will he only saw and gauged as the rest of the world. He did not fathom
+all of him, as Mrs. Blanchard had said; while concerning Phoebe's inner
+heart and the possibilities of her character, at a pinch, he could speak
+with still less certainty. She was a virgin page, unturned, unscanned.
+No man knew her strength or weakness; she did not know it herself.
+
+Time progressed; the leaf fell and the long drought was followed by a
+mild autumn of heavy rains. John Grimbal's days were spent between the
+Red House and Monks Barton. His rod was put up; but he had already made
+friends and now shot many partridges. He spent long evenings in the
+society of Phoebe and her father at the farm; and the miller not seldom
+contrived to be called away on these occasions. Billy proved ever ready
+to assist, and thus the two old men did the best in their power to aid
+Grimbal's suit. In the great, comfortable kitchen, generally at some
+distance from each other, Phoebe and the squire of the new Red House
+would sit. She, now suspecting, was shy and uneasy; he, his wits
+quickened by love, displayed a tact and deftness of words not to have
+been anticipated from him. At first Phoebe took fire when Grimbal
+criticised Will in anything but a spirit of utmost friendliness; but it
+was vital to his own hopes that he should cloud the picture painted on
+her heart if he could; so, by degrees and with all the cleverness at his
+command, he dropped gall into poor Phoebe's cup in minute doses. He
+mourned the extreme improbability of Blanchard's success, grounding his
+doubt on Will's uneven character; he pictured Blanchard's fight with the
+world and showed how probable it was that he would make it a losing
+battle by his own peculiarities of temper. He declared the remoteness of
+happiness for Miss Lyddon in that direction to be extreme; he deplored
+the unstable nature of a young man's affection all the world over; and
+he made solid capital out of the fact that not once since his departure
+had her lover communicated with Phoebe. She argued against this that her
+father had forbidden it; but Mr. Grimbal overrode the objection, and
+asked what man in love would allow himself to be bound by such a
+command. As a matter of fact, Will had sent two messages at different
+times to his sweetheart. These came through Clement Hicks, and only
+conveyed the intelligence that the wanderer was well.
+
+So Phoebe suffered persistent courting and her soft mould of mind sank a
+little under the storm. Now, weary and weak, she hesitated; now a wave
+of strength fortified her spirit. That John Grimbal should be dogged and
+importunate she took as mere masculine characteristics, and the fact did
+not anger her against him; but what roused her secret indignation almost
+as often as they met was his half-hidden air of sanguine confidence. He
+was humble in a way, always the patient lover, but in his manner she
+detected an indefinable, irritating self-confidence--the demeanour of
+one who already knows himself a conqueror before the battle is fought.
+
+Thus the position gradually developed. As yet her father had not spoken
+to Phoebe or pretended to any knowledge of what was doing; but there
+came a night, at the end of November, when John Grimbal, the miller, and
+Billy sat and smoked at Monks Barton after Phoebe's departure to bed.
+Mr. Blee, very well knowing what matter moved the minds of his
+companions, spoke first.
+
+"Missy have put on a temperate way of late days it do seem. I most begin
+to think that cat-a-mountain of a bwoy 's less in her thoughts than he
+was. She 'm larnin' wisdom, as well she may wi' sich a faither."
+
+"I doan't knaw what to think," answered Mr. Lyddon, somewhat gloomily.
+"I ban't so much in her confidence as of auld days. Damaris Blanchard's
+right, like enough. A maid 's tu deep even for the faither that got her,
+most times. A sweet, dear gal as ever was, for all that. How fares it,
+John? She never names 'e to me, though I do to her."
+
+"I'm biding my time, neighbour. I reckon 't will be right one day. It
+only makes me feel a bit mean now and again to have to say hard things
+about young Blanchard. Still, while she 's wrapped up there, I may
+whistle for her."
+
+"You 'm in the right," declared Billy. "'T is an auld sayin' that all
+manner of dealings be fair in love, an' true no doubt, though I'm a
+bachelor myself an' no prophet in such matters."
+
+"All's fair for certain," admitted John, as though he had not before
+considered the position from this standpoint.
+
+"Ay, an' a darter's welfare lies in her faither's hand. Thank God, I'm
+not a parent to my knowledge; but 'tis a difficult calling in life, an'
+a young maiden gal, purty as a picksher, be a heavy load to a honest
+mind."
+
+"So I find it," said the miller.
+
+"You've forbid Will--lock, stock, and barrel--therefore, of coourse,
+she 's no right to think more of him, to begin with," continued the old
+man. It was a new idea.
+
+"Come to think of it, she hasn't--eh?" asked John.
+
+"No, that's true enough," admitted Mr. Lyddon.
+
+"I speak, though of low position, but well thought of an' at Miller's
+right hand, so to say," continued Mr. Blee; "so theer 't is: Missy's in
+a dangerous pass. Eve's flesh be Eve's flesh, whether hid under flannel
+or silk, or shawed mother-naked to the sun after the manner of furrin
+cannibals. A gal 's a gal; an' if I was faither of such as your darter,
+I'd count it my solemn duty to see her out of the dangers of life an'
+tidily mated to a gude man. I'd say to myself, 'Her'll graw to bless me
+for what I've done, come a few years.'"
+
+So Billy Blee, according to his golden rule, advised men upon the road
+they already desired to follow, and thus increased his reputation for
+sound sense and far-reaching wisdom.
+
+"It's true, every word he says," declared John Grimbal.
+
+"I believe it," answered the miller; "though God forbid any word or act
+of mine should bring wan tear to Phoebe's cheek. Yet, somehow, I doan't
+knaw but you 'm right."
+
+"I am, believe me. It's the truth. You want Phoebe's real happiness
+considered, and that now depends on--well, I'll say it out--on me. We
+have reached the point now when you must speak, as you promised to
+speak, and throw the weight of your influence on my side. Then, after
+you've had your say, I'll have mine and put the great question."
+
+Mr. Lyddon nodded his head and relapsed into taciturnity.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+AN UNHAPPY POET
+
+
+That a man of many nerves, uncertain in temper and with no physical or
+temporal qualifications, should have won for himself the handsomest girl
+in Chagford caused the unreflective to marvel whenever they considered
+the point. But a better knowledge of Chris Blauchard had served in some
+measure to explain the wonder. Of all women, she was the least likely to
+do the thing predicted by experience. She had tremendous force of
+character for one scarce twenty years of age; indeed, she lived a
+superlative life, and the man, woman, child, or dog that came within
+radius of her existence presently formed a definite part of it, and was
+loved or detested according to circumstances. Neutrality she could not
+understand. If her interests were wide, her prejudices were strong. A
+certain unconscious high-handedness of manner made the circle of her
+friends small, but those who did love her were enthusiastic. Upon the
+whole, the number of those who liked her increased with years, and
+avowed enemies had no very definite reasons for aversion. Of her
+physical perfections none pretended two opinions; but the boys had
+always gone rather in fear of Chris, and the few men who had courted her
+during the past few years were all considerably her seniors. No real
+romance entered into this young woman's practical and bustling life
+until the advent of Clement Hicks, though she herself was the flame of
+hearts not a few before his coming.
+
+Neurotic, sensual, as was Chris herself in a healthy fashion, a man of
+varying moods, and perhaps the richer for faint glimmerings of the real
+fire, Hicks yet found himself no better than an aimless, helpless child
+before the demands of reality. Since boyhood he had lived out of touch
+with his environment. As bee-keeper and sign-writer he made a naked
+living for himself and his mother, and achieved success sufficient to
+keep a cottage roof over their heads, but that was all. Books were his
+only friends; the old stones of the Moor, the lonely wastes, the
+plaintive music of a solitary bird were the companions of his happiest
+days. He had wit enough to torture half his waking hours with
+self-analysis, and to grit his teeth at his own impotence. But there was
+no strength, no virile grip to take his fate in his own hands and mould
+it like a man. He only mourned his disadvantages, and sometimes blamed
+destiny, sometimes a congenital infirmity of purpose, for the dreary
+course of his life. Nature alone could charm his sullen moods, and that
+not always. Now and again she spread over the face of his existence a
+transitory contentment and a larger hope; but the first contact with
+facts swept it away again. His higher aspirations were neither deep nor
+enduring, and yet the man's love of nature was lofty and just, and
+represented all the religion he had. No moral principles guided him,
+conscience never pricked. Nevertheless, thus far he had been a clean
+liver and an honest man. Vice, because it affronted his sense of the
+beautiful and usually led towards death, did not attract him. He lived
+too deep in the lap of Nature to be deceived by the pseudo-realism then
+making its appearance in literature, and he laughed without mirth at
+these pictures from city-bred pens at that time paraded as the whole
+truth of the countryman's life. The later school was not then above the
+horizon; the brief and filthy spectacle of those who dragged their
+necrosis, marasmus, and gangrene of body and mind across the stage of
+art and literature, and shrieked Decay, had not as yet appeared to make
+men sicken; the plague-spot, now near healed, had scarce showed the
+faintest angry symptom of coming ill. Hicks might under no circumstances
+have been drawn in that direction, for his morbidity was of a different
+description. Art to this man appeared only in what was wholesome; it
+even embraced a guide to conduct, for it led him directly to Nature, and
+Nature emphatically taught him the value of obedience, the punishment of
+weakness, the reward for excess and every form of self-indulgence. But a
+softness in him shrank from these aspects of the Mother. He tried vainly
+and feebly to dig some rule of life from her smiles alone, to read a
+sermon into her happy hours of high summer sunshine. Beauty was his
+dream; he possessed natural taste, and had cultivated the same without
+judgment. His intricate disposition and extreme sensitiveness frightened
+him away from much effort at self-expression; yet not a few trifling
+scraps and shreds of lyric poetry had fallen from his pen in high
+moments. These, when the mood changed, he read again, and found dead,
+and usually destroyed. He was more easily discouraged than a child who
+sets out to tell its parent a story, and is all silence and shamefaced
+blushes at the first whisper of laughter or semblance of a smile. The
+works of poets dazed him, disheartened him, and secret ambitions toward
+performance grew dimmer with every book he laid his hands on. Ambition
+to create began to die; the dream scenery of his ill-controlled mental
+life more and more seldom took shape of words on paper; and there came a
+time when thought grew wholly wordless for him; a mere personal
+pleasure, selfish, useless, unsubstantial as the glimmer of mirage over
+desert sands.
+
+Into this futile life came Chris, like a breath of sweet air from off
+the deep sea. She lifted him clean out of his subjective existence,
+awoke a healthy, natural love, built on the ordinary emotions of
+humanity, galvanised self-respect and ambition into some activity, and
+presently inspired a pluck strong enough to propose marriage. That was
+two years ago; and the girl still loved this weakly soul with all her
+heart, found his language unlike that of any other man she had seen or
+heard, and even took some slight softening edge of culture into herself
+from him. Her common sense was absolutely powerless to probe even the
+crust of Clement's nature; but she was satisfied that his poetry must be
+a thing as marketable as that in printed books. Indeed, in an elated
+moment he had assured her that it was so. During the earlier stages of
+their attachment, she pestered him to write and sell his verses and make
+money, that their happiness might be hastened; while he, on the first
+budding of his love, and with the splendid assurance of its return, had
+promised all manner of things, and indeed undertaken to make poems that
+should be sent by post to the far-away place where they printed unknown
+poets, and paid them. Chris believed in Clement as a matter of course.
+His honey must at least be worth more to the world than that of his
+bees. Over her future husband she began at once to exercise the control
+of mistress and mother; and she loved him more dearly after they had
+been engaged a year than at the beginning of the contract. By that time
+she knew his disposition, and instead of displaying frantic impatience
+at it, as might have been predicted, her tolerance was extreme. She bore
+with Clem because she loved him with the full love proper to such a
+nature as her own; and, though she presently found herself powerless to
+modify his character in any practical degree, his gloomy and uneven mind
+never lessened the sturdy optimism of Chris herself, or her sure
+confidence that the future would unite them. Through her protracted
+engagement Mrs. Blanchard's daughter maintained a lively and sanguine
+cheerfulness. But seldom was it that she lost patience with the dreamer.
+Then her rare, indignant outbursts of commonplace and common sense, like
+a thunderstorm, sweetened the stagnant air of Clement's thoughts and
+awoke new, wholesome currents in his mind.
+
+As a rule, on the occasion of their frequent country walks, Clem and
+Chris found personal problems and private interests sufficient for all
+conversation, but it happened that upon a Sunday in mid-December, as
+they passed through the valley of the Teign, where the two main streams
+of that river mingle at the foothills of the Moor, the subject of Will
+and Phoebe for a time at least filled their thoughts. The hour was clear
+and bright, yet somewhat cheerless. The sun had already set, from the
+standpoint of all life in the valley, and darkness, hastening out of the
+east, merged the traceries of a million naked boughs into a thickening
+network of misty grey. The river beneath these woods churned in winter
+flood, while clear against its raving one robin sang little tinkling
+litanies from the branch of an alder.
+
+Chris stood upon Lee Bridge at the waters' meeting and threw scraps of
+wood into the river; Clem sat upon the parapet, smoked his pipe, and
+noted with a lingering delight the play of his sweetheart's lips as her
+fingers strained to snap a tough twig. Then the girl spoke, continuing a
+conversation already entered upon.
+
+"Phoebe Lyddon's that weak in will. How far's such as her gwaine in life
+without some person else to lean upon?"
+
+"If the ivy cannot find a tree it creeps along the ground, Chrissy."
+
+"Ess, it do; or else falls headlong awver the first bank it comes to.
+Phoebe's so helpless a maiden as ever made a picksher. I mind her at
+school in the days when we was childer together. Purty as them china
+figures you might buy off Cheap Jack, an' just so tender. She'd come up
+to dinky gals no bigger 'n herself an' pull out her li'l handkercher an'
+ax 'em to be so kind as to blaw her nose for her! Now Will's gone, Lard
+knaws wheer she'll drift to."
+
+"To John Grimbal. Any man could see that. Her father's set on it."
+
+"Why don't Will write to her and keep her heart up and give her a little
+news? 'Twould be meat an' drink to her. Doan't matter 'bout mother an'
+me. We'll take your word for it that Will wants to keep his ways secret.
+But a sweetheart--'tis so differ'nt. I wouldn't stand it!"
+
+"I know right well you wouldn't. Will has his own way. We won't
+criticise him. But there's a masterful man in the running--a prosperous,
+loud-voiced, bull-necked bully of a man, and one not accustomed to take
+'no' for his answer. I'm afraid of John Grimbal in this matter. I've
+gone so far as to warn Will, but he writes back that he knows Phoebe."
+
+"Jan Grimbal's a very differ'nt fashion of man to his brother; that I
+saw in a moment when they bided with us for a week, till the 'Three
+Crowns' could take 'em in. I hate Jan--hate him cruel; but I like
+Martin. He puts me in mind o' you, Clem, wi' his nice way of speech and
+tender quickness for women. But it's Phoebe we'm speaking of. I think
+you should write stern to Will an' frighten him. It ban't fair fightin',
+that poor, dear Phoebe 'gainst the will o' two strong men."
+
+"Well, she's had paltry food for a lover since he went away. He's got
+certain ideas, and she'll hear direct when--but there, I must shut my
+mouth, for I swore by fantastic oaths to say nothing."
+
+"He ought to write, whether or no. You tell Will that Jan Grimbal be
+about building a braave plaace up under Whiddon, and is looking for a
+wife at Monks Barton morning, noon, an' evening. That's like to waken
+him. An' tell him the miller's on t'other side, and clacking Jan Grimbal
+into Phoebe's ear steadier than the noise of his awn water-wheel."
+
+"And she will grow weak, mark me. She sees that red-brick place rising
+out of the bare boughs, higher and higher, and knows that from floor to
+attics all may be hers if she likes to say the word. She hears great
+talk of drawing-rooms, and pictures, and pianos, and greenhouses full of
+rare flowers, and all the rest--why, just think of it!"
+
+"Ban't many gals as could stand 'gainst a piano, I daresay."
+
+"I only know one--mine."
+
+Chris looked at him curiously.
+
+"You 'm right. An' that, for some queer reason, puts me in mind of the
+other wan, Martin Grimbal. He was very pleasant to me."
+
+"He's too late, thank God!"
+
+"Ess, fay! An' if he'd comed afore 'e, Clem, he'd been tu early. Theer's
+awnly wan man in the gert world for me."
+
+"My gypsy!"
+
+"But I didn't mean that. He wouldn't look at me, not even if I was a
+free woman. 'T was of you I thought when I talked to Mr. Grimbal. He'm
+well-to-do, and be seekin' a house in the higher quarter under
+Middledown. You an' him have the same fancy for the auld stones. So you
+might grow into friends--eh, Clem? Couldn't it so fall out? He might
+serve to help--eh? You 'm two-and-thirty year auld next February, an' it
+do look as though they silly bees ban't gwaine to put money enough in
+the bank to spell a weddin' for us this thirty year to come. Theer's
+awnly your aunt, Widow Coomstock, as you can look to for a penny, and
+that tu doubtful to count on."
+
+"Don't name her, Chris. Good Lord! poor drunken old thing, with that
+crowd of hungry relations waiting like vultures round a dying camel!
+Never think of her. Money she has, but I sha'n't see the colour of it,
+and I don't want to."
+
+"Well, let that bide. Martin Grimbal's the man in my thought."
+
+"What can I do there?"
+
+"Doan't knaw, 'zactly; but things might fall out if he got to like you,
+being a bookish sort of man. Anyway, he's very willing to be friends,
+for that he told me. Doan't bear yourself like Lucifer afore him; but
+take the first chance to let him knaw your fortune's in need of
+mendin'."
+
+"You say that! D' you think self-respect is dead in me?" he asked, half
+angry.
+
+There was no visible life about them, so she put her arms round him.
+
+"I ax for love of 'e, dearie, an' for want of 'e. Do 'e think waitin' 's
+sweeter for me than for you?"
+
+Then he calmed down again, sighed, returned the caress, touched her, and
+stroked her breast and shoulder with sudden earthly light in his great
+eyes.
+
+"It 's hard to wait."
+
+"That's why I say doan't lose chances that may mean a weddin' for us,
+Clem. Theer 's so much hid in 'e, if awnly the way to bring it out could
+be found."
+
+"A mine that won't pay working," he said bitterly, the passion fading
+out of eyes and voice. "I know there 's something hidden; I feel there
+'s a twist of brain that ought to rise above keeping bees and take me
+higher than honey-combs. Yet look at hard truth. The clods round me get
+enough by their sweat to keep wives and feed children. I'm only a
+penniless, backboneless, hand-to-mouth wretch, living on the work of
+laborious insects."
+
+"If it ban't your awn fault, then whose be it, Clem?"
+
+"The fault of Chance--to pack my build of brains into the skull of a
+pauper. This poor, unfinished abortion of a head-piece of mine only
+dreams dreams that it cannot even set on paper for others to see."
+
+"You've given up trying whether it can or not, seemin'ly. I never hear
+tell of no verses now."
+
+"What 's the good? But only last night, so it happens, I had a sort of a
+wild feeling to get something out of myself, and I scribbled for hours
+and hours and found a little morsel of a rhyme."
+
+"Will 'e read it to me?"
+
+He showed reluctance, but presently dragged a scrap of paper out of his,
+pocket. Not a small source of trouble was his sweetheart's criticism of
+his verses.
+
+"It was the common sight of a pair of lovers walking tongue-tied, you
+know. I call it 'A Devon Courting.'"
+
+He read the trifle slowly, with that grand, rolling sea-beat of an
+accent that Elizabeth once loved to hear on the lips of Raleigh and
+Drake.
+
+  "Birds gived awver singin',
+   Flittermice was wingin',
+   Mists lay on the meadows--
+     A purty sight to see.
+   Down-long in the dimpsy, the dimpsy, the dimpsy,
+     Down-long in the dimpsy
+   Theer went a maid wi' me.
+
+  "Five gude mile o' walkin',
+   Not wan word o' talkin',
+   Then I axed a question
+     And put the same to she.
+   Up-long in the owl-light, the owl-light, the owl-light,
+     Up-long in the owl-light,
+   Theer corned my maid wi' me.
+
+"But I wonder you write the common words, Clem--you who be so much tu
+clever to use 'em."
+
+"The words are well enough. They were not common once."
+
+"Well, you knaw best. Could 'e sell such a li'l auld funny thing as that
+for money?"
+
+He shook his head.
+
+"No; it was only the toil of making it seemed good. It is worthless."
+
+"An' to think how long it took 'e! If you'd awnly put the time into
+big-fashioned verses full of the high words you've got. But you knaw
+best. Did 'e hear anything of them rhymes 'bout the auld days you sent
+to Lunnon?"
+
+"They sent them back again. I told you 't was wasting three stamps. It
+'s not for me, I know it. The world is full of dumb singers. Maybe I
+haven't got even a pinch of the fire that _must_ break through and show
+its flame, no matter what mountains the earth tumbles on it. God knows I
+burn hot enough sometimes with great thoughts and wild longings for love
+and for sweeter life and for you; but my fires--whether they are
+soul-fires or body-fires--only burn my heart out."
+
+She sighed and squeezed his hand, understanding little enough of what he
+said.
+
+"We must be patient. 'T is a solid thing, patience. I'm puttin' by
+pence; but it 's so plaguy little a gal can earn, best o' times and with
+the best will."
+
+"If I could only write the things I think! But they vanish before pen
+and paper and the need of words, as the mists of the night vanish before
+the hard, searching sun. I am ignorant of how to use words; and those in
+the world who might help me will never know of me. As for those around
+about, they reckon me three parts fool, with just a little gift of
+re-writing names over their dirty shop-fronts."
+
+"Yet it 's money. What did 'e get for that butivul fox wi' the goose in
+his mouth you painted 'pon Mr. Lamacraft's sign to Sticklepath?"
+
+"Ten shillings."
+
+"That's solid money."
+
+"It isn't now. I bought a book with it--a book of lies."
+
+Chris was going to speak, but changed her mind and sighed instead.
+
+"Well, as our affairs be speeding so poorly, we'd best to do some gude
+deed an' look after this other coil. You must let Will knaw what 's
+doin' by letter this very night. 'T is awnly fair, you being set in
+trust for him."
+
+"Strange, these Grimbal brothers," mused Clement, as the lovers
+proceeded in the direction of Chagford. "They come home with everything
+on God's earth that men might desire to win happiness, and, by the look
+of it, each marks his home-coming by falling in love with one he can't
+have."
+
+"Shaws the fairness of things, Clem; how the poor may chance to have
+what the rich caan't buy; so all look to stand equal."
+
+"Fairness, you call it? The damned, cynical irony of this whole
+passion-driven puppet-show--that's what it shows! The man who is loved
+cannot marry the woman he loves lest they both starve; the man who can
+give a woman half the world is loathed for his pains. Not that he 's to
+be pitied like the pauper, for if you can't buy love you can buy women,
+and the wise ones know how to manufacture a very lasting substitute for
+the real thing."
+
+"You talk that black and bitter as though you was deep-read in all the
+wickedness of the world," said Chris; "yet I knaw no man can say sweeter
+things than you sometimes."
+
+"Talk! It 's all talk with me--all snarling and railing and whining at
+hard facts, like a viper wasting its venom on steel. I'm sick of
+myself--weary of the old, stale round of my thoughts. Where can I wash
+and be clean? Chrissy, for God's sake, tell me."
+
+"Put your hope in the Spring," she said, "an' be busy for Will."
+
+
+In reality, with the approach of Christmas, affairs between Phoebe and
+the elder Grimbal had reached a point far in advance of that which
+Clement and Chris were concerned with. For more than three months, and
+under a steadily increasing weight of opposition, Miller Lyddon's
+daughter fought without shadow of yielding. Then came a time when the
+calm but determined iteration of her father's desires and the
+sledge-hammer love-making of John Grimbal began to leave an impression.
+Even then her love for Will was bright and strong, but her sense of
+helplessness fretted her nerves and temper, and her sweetheart's laconic
+messages, through the medium of another man, were sorry comfort in this
+hour of tribulation. With some reason she felt slighted. Neither
+considering Will's peculiarities, nor suspecting that his silence was
+only, the result of a whim or project, she began to resent it. Then John
+Grimbal caught her in a dangerous mood. Once she wavered, and he had the
+wisdom to leave her at the moment of victory. But on the next occasion
+of their meeting, he took good care to keep the advantage he had gained.
+Conscious of his own honest and generous intentions, Grimbal went on his
+way. The subtler manifestations of Phoebe's real attitude towards him
+escaped his observation; her reluctance he set down as resulting from
+the dying shadow of affection for Will Blanchard. That she would be very
+happy and proud and prosperous in the position of his wife, the lover
+was absolutely assured. He pursued her with the greater determination,
+in that he believed he was saving her from herself. What were some few
+months of vague uncertainty and girlish tears compared with a lifetime
+of prosperity and solid happiness? John Grimbal made Phoebe handsome
+presents of pretty and costly things after the first great victory. He
+pushed his advantage with tremendous vigour. His great face seemed
+reflected in Phoebe's eyes when she slept as when she woke; his voice
+was never out of her ears. Weary, hopeless, worn out, she prayed
+sometimes for strength of purpose. But it was a trait denied to her
+character and not to be bestowed at a breath. Her stability of defence,
+even as it stood, was remarkable and beyond expectation. Then the sure
+climax rolled in upon poor Phoebe. Twice she sought Clement Hicks with
+purpose to send an urgent message; on each occasion accident prevented a
+meeting; her father was always smiling and droning his desires into her
+ear; John Grimbal haunted her. His good-nature and kindness were hard to
+bear; his patience made her frantic. So the investment drew to its
+conclusion and the barriers crumbled, for the forces besieged were too
+weak and worn to restore them; while a last circumstance brought victory
+to the stronger and proclaimed the final overthrow.
+
+This culmination resulted from a visit to the spiritual head of Phoebe's
+dwelling-place. The Rev. James Shorto-Champernowne, Vicar of Chagford,
+made an appointment to discuss the position with Mr. Lyddon and his
+daughter. A sportsman of the old type, and a cleric of rare reputation
+for good sense and fairness to high and low, was Mr. Shorto-Champernowne,
+but it happened that his more tender emotions had been buried with a
+young wife these forty years, and children he had none. Nevertheless,
+taking the standpoint of parental discipline, he held Phoebe's alleged
+engagement a vain thing, not to be considered seriously. Moreover, he
+knew of Will's lapses in the past; and that was fatal.
+
+"My child, have little doubt that both religion and duty point in one
+direction and with no faltering hands," he said, in his stately way.
+"Communicate with the young man, inform him that conversation with
+myself has taken place; then he can hardly maintain an attitude of
+doubt, either to the exalted convictions that have led to your decision,
+or to the propriety of it. And, further, do not omit an opportunity of
+well-doing, but conclude your letter with a word of counsel. Pray him to
+seek a Guide to his future life, the only Guide able to lead him aright.
+I mean his Mother Church. No man who turns his back upon her can be
+either virtuous or happy. I mourned his defection from our choir some
+years ago. You see I forget nobody. My eyes are everywhere, as they
+ought to be. Would that he could be whipped back to the House of
+God--with scorpions, if necessary! There is a cowardice, a lack of
+sportsmanlike feeling, if I may so express it, in these fallings away
+from the Church of our fathers. It denotes a failing of intellect amid
+the centres of human activity. There is a blight of unbelief abroad--a
+nebulous, pestilential rationalism. Acquaint him with these facts; they
+may serve to re-establish one whose temperament must be regarded as
+abnormal in the light of his great eccentricity of action. Now farewell,
+and God be with you."
+
+The rotund, grey-whiskered clergyman waved his hand; Miller Lyddon and
+his daughter left the vicarage; while both heard, as it seemed, his
+studied phrases and sonorous voice rolling after them all the way home.
+But poor Phoebe felt that the main issues as to conscience were now only
+too clear; her last anchor was wrenched from its hold, and that night,
+through a mist of unhappy tears, she succumbed, promised to marry John
+Grimbal and be queen of the red castle now rising under Cranbrook's
+distant heights.
+
+That we have dealt too scantily with her tragic experiences may be
+suspected; but the sequel will serve to show how these circumstances
+demand no greater elaboration than has been accorded to them.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+LIBATION TO POMONA
+
+
+A WINTER moon threw black shadows from stock and stone, tree and cot in
+the valley of the Teign. Heavy snow had fallen, and moor-men, coming
+down from the highlands, declared it to lie three feet deep in the
+drifts. Now fine, sharp weather had succeeded the storm, and hard frost
+held both hill and vale.
+
+On Old Christmas Eve a party numbering some five-and-twenty persons
+assembled in the farmyard of Monks Barton, and Billy Blee, as master of
+the pending ceremonies, made them welcome. Some among them were aged,
+others youthful; indeed the company consisted mostly of old men and
+boys, a circumstance very easily understood when the nature of their
+enterprise is considered. The ancients were about to celebrate a
+venerable rite and sacrifice to a superstition, active in their boyhood,
+moribund at the date with which we are concerned, and to-day probably
+dead altogether. The sweet poet[2] of Dean Prior mentions this quaint,
+old-time custom of "christening" or "wassailing" the fruit-trees among
+Christmas-Eve ceremonies; and doubtless when he dwelt in Devon the use
+was gloriously maintained; but an adult generation in the years of this
+narrative had certainly refused it much support. It was left to their
+grandfathers and their sons; and thus senility and youth preponderated
+in the present company. For the boys, this midnight fun with lantern and
+fowling-piece was good Christmas sport, and they came readily enough; to
+the old men their ceremonial possessed solid value, and from the musty
+storehouse of his memory every venerable soul amongst them could cite
+instances of the sovereign virtue hid in such a procedure.
+
+
+[2] _The sweet poet._
+
+  "Wassaile the trees, that they may beare
+   You many a Plum, and many a Peare;
+   For more or lesse fruites they will bring,
+   As you doe give them Wassailing."
+
+   _Hesperides._
+
+
+"A brave rally o' neighbours, sure 'nough," cried Mr. Blee as he
+appeared amongst them. "Be Gaffer Lezzard come?"
+
+"Here, Billy."
+
+"Hast thy fire-arm, Lezzard?"
+
+"Ess, 't is here. My gran'son's carrying of it; but I holds the
+powder-flask an' caps, so no ruin be threatened to none."
+
+Mr. Lezzard wore a black smock-frock, across the breast of which
+extended delicate and skilful needlework. His head was hidden under an
+old chimney-pot hat with a pea-cock's feather in it, and, against the
+cold, he had tied a tremendous woollen muffler round his neck and about
+his ears. The ends of it hung down over his coat, and the general effect
+of smock, comforter, gaitered shanks, boots tied up in straw, long nose,
+and shining spectacles, was that of some huge and ungainly bird, hopped
+from out a fairy-tale or a nightmare.
+
+"Be Maister Chappie here likewise?" inquired Billy.
+
+"I'm waitin'; an' I've got a fowling-piece, tu."
+
+"That's gude then. I be gwaine to carry the auld blunderbuss what's been
+in Miller Lyddon's family since the years of his ancestors, and belonged
+to a coach-guard in the King's days. 'T is well suited to
+apple-christenin'. The cider's here, in three o' the biggest earth
+pitchers us'a' got, an' the lads is ready to bring it along. The Maister
+Grimbals, as will be related to the family presently, be comin' to see
+the custom, an' Miller wants every man to step back-along arterwards an'
+have a drop o' the best, 'cordin' to his usual gracious gudeness. Now,
+Lezzard, me an' you'll lead the way."
+
+Mr. Blee then shouldered his ancient weapon, the other veteran marched
+beside him, and the rest of the company followed in the direction of
+Chagford Bridge. They proceeded across the fields; and along the
+procession bobbed a lantern or two, while a few boys carried flaring
+torches. The light from these killed the moonbeams within a narrow
+radius, shot black tongues of smoke into the clear air, and set the
+meadows glimmering redly where contending radiance of moon and fire
+powdered the virgin snow with diamond and ruby. Snake-like the party
+wound along beside the river. Dogs barked; voices rang clear on the
+crystal night; now and again, with laughter and shout, the lads raced
+hither and thither from their stolid elders, and here and there jackets
+carried the mark of a snowball. Behind the procession a trampled grey
+line stretched out under the moonlight. Then all passed like some dim,
+magic pageant of a dream; the distant dark blot of naked woodlands
+swallowed them up, and the voices grew faint and ceased. Only the
+endless song of the river sounded, with a new note struck into it by the
+world of snow.
+
+For a few moments the valley was left empty, so empty that a fox, who
+had been prowling unsuccessfully about Monks Barton since dusk, took the
+opportunity to leave his hiding-place above the ducks' pool, cross the
+meadows, and get him home to his earth two miles distant. He slunk with
+pattering foot across the snow, marking his way by little regular
+paw-pits and one straight line where his brush roughened the surface.
+Steam puffed in jets from his muzzle, and his empty belly made him angry
+with the world. At the edge of the woods he lifted his head, and the
+moonlight touched his green eyes. Then he recorded a protest against
+Providence in one eerie bark, and so vanished, before the weird sound
+had died.
+
+Phoebe Lyddon and her lover, having given the others some vantage of
+ground, followed them to their destination--Mr. Lyddon's famous orchard
+in Teign valley. The girl's dreary task of late had been to tell herself
+that she would surely love John Grimbal presently--love him as such a
+good man deserved to be loved. Only under the silence and in the
+loneliness of long nights, only in the small hours of day, when sleep
+would not come and pulses were weak, did Phoebe confess that contact
+with him hurt her, that his kisses made her giddy to sickness, that all
+his gifts put together were less to her than one treasure she was too
+weak to destroy--the last letter Will had written. Once or twice, not to
+her future husband, but to the miller, Phoebe had ventured faintly to
+question still the promise of this great step; but Mr. Lyddon quickly
+overruled all doubts, and assisted John Grimbal in his efforts to hasten
+the ceremony. Upon this day, Old Christmas Eve, the wedding-day lay not
+a month distant and, afterwards the husband designed to take his wife
+abroad for a trip to South Africa. Thus he would combine business and
+pleasure, and return in the spring to witness the completion of his
+house. Chagford highly approved the match, congratulated Phoebe on her
+fortune, and felt secretly gratified that a personage grown so important
+as John Grimbal should have chosen his life's partner from among the
+maidens of his native village.
+
+Now the pair walked over the snow; and silent and stealthy as the
+vanished fox, a grey figure followed after them. Dim as some moon-spirit
+against the brightness, this shape stole forward under the rough hedge
+that formed a bank and threw a shadow between meadow and stream. In
+repose the grey man, for a man it was, looked far less substantial than
+the stationary outlines of fences and trees; and when he moved it had
+needed a keen eye to see him at all. He mingled with the moonlight and
+snow, and became a part of a strange inversion of ordinary conditions;
+for in this white, hushed world the shadows alone seemed solid and
+material in their black nakedness, in their keen sharpness of line and
+limit, while things concrete and ponderable shone out a silvery medley
+of snow-capped, misty traceries, vague of outline, uncertain of shape,
+magically changed as to their relations by the unfamiliar carpet now
+spread between them.
+
+The grey figure kept Phoebe in sight, but followed a path of his own
+choosing. When she entered the woods he drew a little nearer, and thus
+followed, passing from shadow to shadow, scarce fifty yards behind.
+
+Meanwhile the main procession approached the scene of its labours.
+Martin Grimbal, attracted by the prospect of reading this page from an
+old Devonian superstition, was of the company. He walked with Billy Blee
+and Gaffer Lezzard; and these high priests, well pleased at their
+junior's attitude towards the ceremony, opened their hearts to him upon
+it.
+
+"'T is an ancient rite, auld as cider--maybe auld as Scripture, to, for
+anything I've heard to the contrary," said Mr. Lezzard.
+
+"Ay, so 't is," declared Billy Blee, "an' a custom to little observed
+nowadays. But us might have better blooth in springtime an' braaver
+apples come autumn if the trees was christened more regular. You doan't
+see no gert stock of sizable apples best o' years now--li'l scrubbly
+auld things most times."
+
+"An' the cider from 'em--poor roapy muck, awnly fit to make 'e thirst
+for better drink," criticised Gaffer Lezzard.
+
+"'Tis this way: theer's gert virtue in cider put to apple-tree roots on
+this particular night, accordin' to the planets and such hidden things.
+Why so, I can't tell 'e, any more 'n anybody could tell 'e why the moon
+sails higher up the sky in winter than her do in summer; but so 't is.
+An' facts be facts. Why, theer's the auld 'Sam's Crab' tree in this very
+orchard we'm walkin' to. I knawed that tree three year ago to give a
+hogshead an' a half as near as damn it. That wan tree, mind, with no
+more than a few baskets of 'Redstreaks' added."
+
+"An' a shy bearer most times, tu," added Mr. Lezzard.
+
+"Just so; then come next year, by some mischance, me being indoors, if
+they didn't forget to christen un! An', burnish it all! theer wasn't
+fruit enough on the tree to fill your pockets!"
+
+"Whether 't is the firing into the branches, or the cider to the roots
+does gude, be a matter of doubt," continued Mr. Lezzard; but the other
+authority would not admit this.
+
+"They 'm like the halves of a flail, depend on it: wan no use wi'out
+t'other. Then theer's the singing of the auld song: who's gwaine to say
+that's the least part of it?"
+
+"'T is the three pious acts thrawn together in wan gude deed," summed up
+Mr. Lezzard; "an' if they'd awnly let apples get ripe 'fore they break
+'em, an' go back to the straw for straining, 'stead of these tom-fule,
+new-fangled hair-cloths, us might get tidy cider still."
+
+By this time the gate of the orchard was reached; Gaffer Lezzard, Billy,
+and the other patriarch, Mr. Chapple,--a very fat old man,--loaded their
+weapons, and the perspiring cider-carriers set down their loads.
+
+"Now, you bwoys, give awver runnin' 'bout like rabbits," cried out Mr.
+Chapple. "You 'm here to sing while us pours cider an' shoots in the
+trees; an' not a drop you'll have if you doan't give tongue proper, so I
+tell 'e."
+
+At this rebuke the boys assembled, and there followed a hasty gabbling,
+to freshen the words in young and uncertain memories. Then a small
+vessel was dipped under floating toast, that covered the cider in the
+great pitchers, and the ceremony of christening the orchard began. Only
+the largest and most famous apple-bearers were thus saluted, for neither
+cider nor gunpowder sufficient to honour more than a fraction of the
+whole multitude existed in all Chagford. The orchard, viewed from the
+east, stretched in long lines, like the legions of some arboreal army;
+the moon set sparks and streaks of light on every snowy fork and bough;
+and at the northwestern foot of each tree a network of spidery
+shadow-patterns, sharp and black, extended upon the snow.
+
+Mr. Blee himself made the first libation, led the first chorus, and
+fired the first shot. Steaming cider poured from his mug, vanished,
+sucked in at the tree-foot, and left a black patch upon the snow at the
+hole of the trunk; then he stuck a fragment of sodden toast on a twig;
+after which the christening song rang out upon the night--ragged at
+first, but settling into resolute swing and improved time as its music
+proceeded. The lusty treble of the youngsters soon drowned the notes of
+their grandfathers; for the boys took their measure at a pace beyond the
+power of Gaffer Lezzard and his generation, and sang with heart and
+voice to keep themselves warm. The song has variants, but this was their
+version--
+
+  "Here 's to thee, auld apple-tree,
+   Be sure you bud, be sure you blaw,
+   And bring forth apples good enough--
+   Hats full, caps full, three-bushel bags full,
+          Pockets full and all--
+   Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!
+              Hats full, caps full, three-bushel bags full,
+                  Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!"
+
+Then Billy fired his blunderbuss, and a flame leapt from its bell mouth
+into the branches of the apple-tree, while surrounding high lands echoed
+its report with a reverberating bellow that rose and fell, and was flung
+from hill to hill, until it gradually faded upon the ear. The boys
+cheered again, everybody drank a drop of the cider, and from under a
+cloud of blue smoke, that hung flat as a pancake above them in the still
+air, all moved onward. Presently the party separated into three groups,
+each having a gunner to lead it, half a dozen boys to sing, and a
+dwindling jar of cider for the purposes of the ceremony. The divided
+choirs clashed their music, heard from a distance; the guns fired at
+intervals, each sending forth its own particular detonation and winning
+back a distinctive echo; then the companies separated widely and
+decreased to mere twinkling, torchlit points in the distance.
+Accumulated smoke from the scattered discharges hung in a sluggish haze
+between earth and moon, and a sharp smell of burnt powder tainted the
+sweetness of the frosty night.
+
+Upon this scene arrived John Grirnbal and his sweetheart. They stood for
+a while at the open orchard gate, gazed at the remote illumination, and
+heard the distant song. Then they returned to discussion of their own
+affairs; while at hand, unseen, the grey watcher moved impatiently and
+anxiously. The thing he desired did not come about, and he blew on his
+cold hands and swore under his breath. Only an orchard hedge now
+separated them, and he might have listened to Phoebe's soft speech had
+he crept ten yards nearer, while John Grimbal's voice he could not help
+hearing from time to time. The big man was just asking a question not
+easy to answer, when an unexpected interruption saved Phoebe from the
+difficulty of any reply.
+
+"Sometimes I half reckon a memory of that blessed boy still makes you
+glum, my dear. Is it so? Haven't you forgot him yet?"
+
+As he spoke an explosion, differing much in sound from those which
+continued to startle the night, rang suddenly out of the distance. It
+arose from a spot on the confines of the orchard, and was sharp in
+tone--sharp almost as the human cries which followed it. Then the
+distant lights hastened towards the theatre of the catastrophe. "What
+has happened?" cried Phoebe, thankful enough to snatch conversation away
+from herself and her affairs.
+
+"Easy to guess. That broken report means a burst gun. One of those old
+fools has got excited, put too much powder into his blunderbuss and
+blown his head off, likely as not. No loss either!"
+
+"Please, please go and see! Oh, if 'tis Billy Blee come to grief,
+faither will be lost. Do 'e run, Mr. Grimbal--Jan, I mean. If any grave
+matter's failed out, send them bwoys off red-hot for doctor."
+
+"Stop here, then. If any ugly thing has happened, there need be no
+occasion for you to see it."
+
+He departed hastily to where a distant galaxy of fiery eyes twinkled and
+tangled and moved this way and that, like the dying sparks on a piece of
+burnt paper.
+
+Then the patient grey shadow, rewarded by chance at last, found his
+opportunity, slipped into the hedge just above Grimbal's sweetheart, and
+spoke to her.
+
+"Phoebe, Phoebe Lyddon!"
+
+The voice, dropping out of empty air as it seemed, made Phoebe jump, and
+almost fall; but there was an arm gripped round her, and a pair of hot
+lips on hers before she had time to open her mouth or cry a word.
+
+"Will!"
+
+"Ess, so I be, alive an' kicking. No time for anything but business now.
+I've followed 'e for this chance. Awnly heard four day ago 'bout the fix
+you'd been drove to. An' Clem's made it clear 't was all my damn silly
+silence to blame. I had a gert thought in me and wasn't gwaine to write
+till--but that's awver an' done, an' a purty kettle of feesh, tu. We
+must faace this coil first."
+
+"Thank God, you can forgive me. I'd never have had courage to ax 'e."
+
+"You was drove into it. I knaw there's awnly wan man in the world for
+'e. Ban't nothin' to forgive. I never ought to have left 'e--a
+far-seein' man, same as me. Blast him! I'd like to tear thicky damned
+fur off you, for I lay it comed from him."
+
+"They were killing me, Will; and never a word from you."
+
+"I knaw, I knaw. What's wan girl against a parish full, an' a blustering
+chap made o' diamonds?"
+
+"The things doan't warm me; they make me shiver. But now--you can
+forgive me--that's all I care for. What shall I do? How can I escape it?
+Oh, Will, say I can!"
+
+"In coourse you can. Awnly wan way, though; an' that's why I'm here. Us
+must be married right on end. Then he's got no more power over 'e than a
+drowned worm, nor Miller, nor any."
+
+"To think you can forgive me enough to marry me after all my wickedness!
+I never dreamed theer was such a big heart in the world as yourn."
+
+"Why, we promised, didn't us? We'm built for each other. I knawed I'd
+only got to come. An' I have, at cost, tu, I promise 'e. Now we'll be
+upsides wi' this tramp from furrin paarts, if awnly you do ezacally what
+I be gwaine to tell you. I'd meant to write it, but I can speak it
+better as the chance has come."
+
+Phoebe's heart glowed at this tremendous change in the position. She
+forgot everything before sight and sound of Will. The nature of her
+promises weakened to gossamer. Her first love was the only love for her,
+and his voice fortified her spirit and braced her nerves. A chance for
+happiness yet remained and she, who had endured enough, was strong in
+determination to win it yet at any cost if a woman could.
+
+"If you awnly knawed the half I've suffered before they forced me, you'd
+forgive," she said. His frank pardon she could hardly realise. It seemed
+altogether beyond the desert of her weakness.
+
+"Let that bide. It's the future now. Clem's told me everything. Awnly
+you and him an' Chris knaw I'm here. Chris will serve 'e. Us must play a
+hidden game, an' fight this Grimbal chap as he fought me--behind back.
+Listen; to-day fortnight you an' me 'm gwaine to be married afore the
+registrar to Newton Abbot. He 'm my awn Uncle Ford, as luck has it, an'
+quite o' my way o' thinkin' when I told him how 't was, an' that Jan
+Grimbal was gwaine to marry you against your will. He advised me, and
+I'm biding in Newton for next two weeks, so as the thing comes out right
+by law. But you've got to keep it still as death."
+
+"If I could awnly fly this instant moment with 'e!"
+
+"You caan't. 'T would spoil all. You must stop home, an' hear your banns
+put up with Grimbal, an' all the rest of it. Wish I could! Meat an'
+drink 't would be, by God! But he'll get his pay all right. An' afore
+the day comes, you nip off to Newton, an' I'll meet 'e, an' us'll be
+married in a wink, an' you'll be back home again to Monks Barton 'fore
+you knaw it."
+
+"Is that the awnly way? Oh, Will, how terrible!"
+
+"God knaws I've done worse 'n that. But no man's gwaine to steal the
+maid of my choosin' from me while I've got brains and body to prevent
+it."
+
+"Let me look at you, lovey--just the same, just the same! 'Tis glorious
+to hear your voice again. But this thin coat, so butivul in shaape, tu!
+You 'm a gentleman by the look of it; but 't is summer wear, not
+winter."
+
+"Ess, 'tis cold enough; an' I've got to get back to Newton to-night. An'
+never breathe that man's name no more. I'll shaw 'e wat 's a man an'
+what ban't. Steal my true love, would 'e?--God forgive un, I
+shaan't--not till we 'm man an' wife, anyway. Then I might. Give 'e up!
+Be I a chap as chaanges? Never--never yet."
+
+Phoebe wept at these words and pressed Will to her heart.
+
+"'Tis strength, an' fire, an' racing blood in me to hear 'e, dear,
+braave heart. I was that weak without 'e. Now the world 's a new plaace,
+an' I doan't doubt fust thought was right, for all they said. I'll meet
+'e as you bid me, an' nothin' shall ever keep me from 'e now--nothing!"
+
+"'T is well said, Phoebe; an' doan't let that anointed scamp kiss 'e
+more 'n he must. Be braave an' cunnin', an' keep Miller from smelling a
+rat. I'd like to smash that man myself now wheer he stands,--Grimbal I
+mean,--but us must be wise for the present. Wipe your shiny eyes an'
+keep a happy faace to 'em, an' never let wan of the lot dream what's hid
+in 'e. Cock your li'l nose high, an' be peart an' gay. An' let un buy
+you what he will,--'t is no odds; we can send his rubbish back again
+arter, when he knaws you'm another man's wife. Gude-bye, Phoebe dearie;
+I've done what 'peared to me a gert deed for love of 'e; but the sight
+of 'e brings it down into no mighty matter."
+
+"You've saved my life, Will--saved all my days; an' while I've got a
+heart beating 't will be yourn, an' I'll work for 'e, an' slave for 'e,
+an' think for 'e, an' love 'e so long as I live--an' pray for 'e, tu,
+Will, my awn!"
+
+He parted from her as she spoke, and she, by an inspiration, hurried
+towards the approaching crowd that the trampled marks of the snow where
+she had been standing might not be noted under the gleam of torches and
+lanterns.
+
+John Grimbal's prophecy was happily not fulfilled in its gloomy
+completeness: nobody had blown his head off; but Billy Blee's
+prodigality of ammunition proved at last too much for the blunderbuss of
+the bygone coach-guard, and in its sudden annihilation a fragment had
+cut the gunner across the face, and a second inflicted a pretty deep
+flesh-wound on his arm. Neither injury was very serious, and the general
+escape, as John Grimbal pointed out, might be considered marvellous, for
+not a soul save Billy himself had been so much as scratched.
+
+With Martin Grimbal on one side and Mr. Chapple upon the other, the
+wounded veteran walked slowly and solemnly along. The dramatic moments
+of the hour were dear to him, and while tolerably confident at the
+bottom of his mind that no vital hurt had been done, he openly declared
+himself stricken to death, and revelled in a display of Christian
+fortitude and resignation that deceived everybody but John Grimbal.
+Billy gasped and gurgled, bid them see to the bandages, and reviewed his
+past life with ingenuous satisfaction.
+
+"Ah, sawls all! dead as a hammer in an hour. 'T is awver. I feel the
+life swelling out of me."
+
+"Don't say that, Billy," cried Martin, in real concern. "The blood's
+stopped flowing entirely now."
+
+"For why? Theer's no more to come. My heart be pumping wind, lifeless
+wind; my lung-play's gone, tu, an' my sight's come awver that coorious.
+Be Gaffer Lezzard nigh?"
+
+"Here, alongside 'e, Bill."
+
+"Gimme your hand then, an' let auld scores be wiped off in this
+shattering calamity. Us have differed wheer us could these twoscore
+years; but theer mustn't be no more ill-will wi' me tremblin' on the lip
+o' the graave."
+
+"None at all; if 't wasn't for Widow Coomstock," said Gaffer Lezzard.
+"You 'm tu pushing theer, an' I say it even now, for truth's truth,
+though it be the last thing a man's ear holds."
+
+"Break it to her gentle," said Billy, ignoring the other's criticism;
+"she'm on in years, and have cast a kindly eye awver me since the early
+sixties. My propositions never was more than agreeable conversation to
+her, but it might have come. Tell her theer's a world beyond marriage
+customs, an' us'll meet theer."
+
+Old Lezzard showed a good deal of anger at this speech, but being in a
+minority fell back and held his peace.
+
+"Would 'e like to see passon, dear sawl?" asked Mr. Chapple, who walked
+on Billy's left with his gun reversed, as though at a funeral.
+
+"Me an' him be out, along o' rheumatics keeping me from the House of God
+this month," said the sufferer, "but at a solemn death-bed hour like
+this here, I'd soon see un as not. Ban't no gert odds, for I forgive all
+mankind, and doan't feel no more malice than a bird in a tree."
+
+"You're a silly old ass," burst out Grimbal roughly. "There's nothing
+worth naming the matter with you, and you know it better than we do. The
+Devil looks after his own, seemingly. Any other man would have been
+killed ten times over."
+
+Billy whined and even wept at this harsh reproof. "Ban't a very fair way
+to speak to an auld gunpowder-blawn piece, like what I be now," he said;
+"gormed if 't is."
+
+"Very onhandsome of 'e, Mr. Grimbal," declared the stout Chappie; "an'
+you so young an' in the prime of life, tu!"
+
+Here Phoebe met them, and Mr. Blee, observing the signs of tears upon
+her face, supposed that anxiety for him had wet her cheeks, and
+comforted his master's child.
+
+"Doan't 'e give way, missy. 'T is all wan, an' I ban't 'feared of the
+tomb, as I've tawld 'em. Us must rot, every bone of us, in our season,
+an' 't is awnly the thought of it, not the fear of it, turns the
+stomach. But what's a wamblyness of the innards, so long as a body's
+sawl be ripe for God?"
+
+"A walkin' sermon!" said Mr. Chappie.
+
+Doctor Parsons was waiting for Billy at Monks Barton, and if John
+Grimbal had been brusque, the practitioner proved scarcely less so. He
+pronounced Mr. Blee but little hurt, bandaged his arm, plastered his
+head, and assured him that a pipe and a glass of spirits was all he
+needed to fortify his sinking spirit. The party ate and drank, raised a
+cheer for Miller Lyddon and then went homewards. Only Mr. Chappie and
+Gaffer Lezzard entered the house and had a wineglass or two of some
+special sloe gin. Mr. Lezzard thawed and grew amiable over this
+beverage, and Mr. Chappie repeated Billy's lofty sentiments at the
+approach of death for the benefit of Miller Lyddon.
+
+"'T is awnly my fearless disposition," declared the wounded man with
+great humility; "no partic'lar credit to me. I doan't care wan iotum for
+the thought of churchyard mould--not wan iotum. I knaw the value of gude
+rich soil tu well; an' a man as grudges the rames[3] of hisself to the
+airth that's kept un threescore years an' ten's a carmudgeonly cuss,
+surely."
+
+
+[3] _Rames_ = skeleton; remains.
+
+
+"An' so say I; theer's true wisdom in it," declared Mr. Chapple, while
+the miller nodded.
+
+"Theer be," concluded Gaffer Lezzard. "I allus sez, in my clenching way,
+that I doan't care a farden damn what happens to my bones, if my
+everlasting future be well thought on by passon. So long as I catch the
+eye of un an' see um beam 'pon me to church now an' again, I'm content
+with things as they are."
+
+"As a saved sawl you 'm in so braave a way as the best; but, to say it
+without rudeness, as food for the land a man of your build be nought,
+Gaffer," argued Mr. Chapple, who viewed the veteran's withered anatomy
+from his own happy vantage ground of fifteen stone.
+
+But Gaffer Lezzard would by no means allow this.
+
+"Ban't quantity awnly tells, my son. 'T is the aluminium in a man's
+bones that fats land--roots or grass or corn. Anybody of larnin', 'll
+tell 'e that. Strip the belly off 'e, an', bone for bone, a lean man
+like me shaws as fair as you. No offence offered or taken, but a gross
+habit's mere clay and does more harm than gude underground."
+
+Mr. Chapple in his turn resented this contemptuous dismissal of tissue
+as matter of no agricultural significance. The old men went wrangling
+home; Miller Lyddon and Billy retired to their beds; the moon departed
+behind the distant moors; and all the darkened valley slept in snow and
+starlight.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+A BROTHERS' QUARREL
+
+
+Though Phoebe was surprised at Will Blanchard's mild attitude toward her
+weakness, she had been less so with more knowledge. Chris Blanchard and
+her lover were in some degree responsible for Will's lenity, and
+Clement's politic letter to the wanderer, when Phoebe's engagement was
+announced, had been framed in words best calculated to shield the
+Miller's sore-driven daughter. Hicks had thrown the blame on John
+Grimbal, on Mr. Lyddon, on everybody but Phoebe herself. Foremost indeed
+he had censured Will, and pointed out that his own sustained silence,
+however high-minded the reason of it, was a main factor in his
+sweetheart's sufferings and ultimate submission.
+
+In answer to this communication Blanchard magically reappeared,
+announced his determination to marry Phoebe by subterfuge, and, the deed
+accomplished, take his punishment, whatever it might be, with light
+heart. Given time to achieve a legal marriage, and Phoebe would at least
+be safe from the clutches of millionaires in general.
+
+Much had already been done by Will before he crept after the
+apple-christeners and accomplished his meeting with Phoebe. A week was
+passed since Clement wrote the final crushing news, and during that
+interval Will had been stopping with his uncle, Joel Ford, at Newton
+Abbot. Fate, hard till now, played him passing fair at last. The old
+Superintendent Registrar still had a soft corner in his heart for Will,
+and when he learnt the boy's trouble, though of cynic mind in all
+matters pertaining to matrimony, he chose to play the virtuous and
+enraged philosopher, much to his nephew's joy. Mr. Ford promised Will he
+should most certainly have the law's aid to checkmate his dishonourable
+adversary; he took a most serious view of the case and declared that all
+thinking men must sympathise with young Blanchard under such
+circumstances. But in private the old gentleman rubbed his hands, for
+here was the very opportunity he desired as much as a man well
+might--the chance to strike at one who had shamefully wronged him. His
+only trouble was how best to let John Grimbal know whom he had to thank
+for this tremendous reverse; for that deed he held necessary to complete
+his revenge.
+
+As to where Will had come from, or whither he was returning, after his
+marriage Joel Ford cared not. The youngster once wedded would be
+satisfied; and his uncle would be satisfied too. The procedure of
+marriage by license requires that one of the parties shall have resided
+within the Superintendent's district for a space of fifteen days
+preceding the giving of notice; then application in prescribed form is
+made to the Registrar; and his certificate and license are usually
+received one clear day later. Thus a resident in a district can be
+married at any time within eight-and-forty hours of his decision. Will
+Blanchard had to stop with his uncle nine or ten days more to complete
+the necessary fortnight, and as John Grimbal's marriage morning was as
+yet above three weeks distant, Phoebe's fate in no way depended upon
+him.
+
+Mr. Ford explained the position to Will, and the lover accepted it
+cheerfully.
+
+"As to the marriage, that'll be hard and fast as a bench of bishops can
+make it; but wedding a woman under age, against the wish of her legal
+guardian, is an offence against the law. Nobody can undo the deed
+itself, but Miller Lyddon will have something to say afterwards. And
+there's that blustering blackguard, John Grimbal, to reckon with.
+Unscrupulous scoundrel! Just the sort to be lawless and vindictive if
+what you tell me concerning him is true."
+
+"And so he be; let un! Who cares a brass button for him? 'T is awnly
+Miller I thinks of. What's worst he can do?"
+
+"Send you to prison, Will."
+
+"For how long?"
+
+"That I can't tell you exactly. Not for marrying his daughter of course,
+but for abduction--that's what he'll bring against you."
+
+"An' so he shall, uncle, an' I'll save him all the trouble I can. That's
+no gert hardship--weeks, or months even. I'll go like a lark, knawin'
+Phoebe's safe."
+
+So the matter stood and the days passed. Will's personal affairs, and
+the secret of the position from which he had come was known only to
+Clement Hicks. The lover talked of returning again thither after his
+marriage, but he remained vague on that point, and, indeed, modified his
+plans after the above recorded conversation with his uncle. Twice he
+wrote to Phoebe in the period of waiting, and the letter had been
+forwarded on both occasions through Clement. Two others knew what was
+afoot, and during that time of trial Phoebe found Chris her salvation.
+The stronger girl supported her sinking spirit and fortified her
+courage. Chris mightily enjoyed the whole romance, and among those
+circumstances that combined to make John Grimbal uneasy during the days
+of waiting was her constant presence at Monks Barton. There she came as
+Phoebe's friend, and the clear, bright eyes she often turned on him made
+him angry, he knew not why. As for Mrs. Blanchard, she had secretly
+learnt more than anybody suspected, for while Will first determined to
+tell her nothing until afterwards, a second thought rebuked him for
+hiding such a tremendous circumstance from his mother, and he wrote to
+her at full length from Newton, saying nothing indeed of the past but
+setting out the future in detail. Upon the subject Mrs. Blanchard kept
+her own counsel.
+
+Preparations for Phoebe's wedding moved apace, and she lived in a dim,
+heart-breaking dream. John Grimbal, despite her entreaties, continued to
+spend money upon her; yet each new gift brought nothing but tears. Grown
+desperate in his determination to win a little affection and regard
+before marriage, and bitterly conscious that he could command neither,
+the man plied her with what money would buy, and busied himself to bring
+her happiness in spite of herself. Troubled he was, nevertheless, and
+constantly sought the miller that he might listen to comforting
+assurances that he need be under no concern.
+
+"'T is natural in wan who's gwaine to say gude-bye to maidenhood so
+soon," declared Mr. Lyddon. "I've thought 'bout her tears a deal. God
+knaws they hurt me more 'n they do her, or you either; but such sad
+whims and cloudy hours is proper to the time. Love for me's got a share
+in her sorrow, tu. 'T will all be well enough when she turns her back on
+the church-door an' hears the weddin'-bells a-clashing for her future
+joy. Doan't you come nigh her much during the next few weeks."
+
+"Two," corrected Mr. Grimbal, moodily.
+
+"Eh! Awnly two! Well, 't is gert darkness for me, I promise you--gert
+darkness comin' for Monks Barton wi'out the butivul sound an' sight of
+her no more. But bide away, theer's a gude man; bide away these coming
+few days. Her last maiden hours mustn't be all tears. But my gifts do
+awnly make her cry, tu, if that's consolation to 'e. It's the
+tenderness of her li'l heart as brims awver at kindness."
+
+In reality, Phoebe's misery was of a complexion wholly different. The
+necessity for living thus had not appeared so tremendous until she found
+herself launched into this sea of terrible deception. In operation such
+sustained falsity came like to drive her mad. She could not count the
+lies each day brought forth; she was frightened to pray for forgiveness,
+knowing every morning must see a renewal of the tragedy. Hell seemed
+yawning for her, and the possibility of any ultimate happiness, reached
+over this awful road of mendacity and deceit, was more than her
+imagination could picture. With loss of self-respect, self-control
+likewise threatened to depart. She became physically weak, mentally
+hysterical. The strain told terribly on her nature; and Chris mourned to
+note a darkness like storm-cloud under her grey eyes, and unwonted
+pallor upon her cheek. Dr. Parsons saw Phoebe at this juncture,
+prescribed soothing draughts, and ordered rest and repose; but to Chris
+the invalid clung, and Mr. Lyddon was not a little puzzled that the
+sister of Phoebe's bygone sweetheart should now possess such power to
+ease her mind and soothe her troubled nerves.
+
+John Grimbal obeyed the injunction laid upon him and absented himself
+from Monks Barton. All was prepared for the ceremony. He had left his
+Red House farm and taken rooms for the present at "The Three Crowns."
+Hither came his brother to see him four nights before the weddingday.
+Martin had promised to be best man, yet a shadow lay between the
+brothers, and John, his mind unnaturally jealous and suspicious from the
+nature of affairs with Phoebe, sulked of late in a conviction that
+Martin had watched his great step with unfraternal indifference and
+denied him the enthusiasm and congratulation proper to such an event.
+
+The younger man found his brother scanning a new black broadcloth coat
+when he entered. He praised it promptly, whereupon John flung it from
+him and showed no more interest in the garment. Martin, not to be
+offended, lighted his pipe, took an armchair beside the fire, and asked
+for some whiskey. This mollified the other a little; he produced
+spirits, loaded his own pipe, and asked the object of the visit.
+
+"A not over-pleasant business, John," returned his brother, frankly;
+"but 'Least said, soonest mended.' Only remember this, nothing must ever
+lessen our common regard. What I am going to say is inspired by my--"
+
+"Yes, yes--cut that. Spit it out and have done with it. I know there's
+been trouble in you for days. You can't hide your thoughts. You've been
+grim as a death's-head for a month--ever since I was engaged, come to
+think of it. Now open your jaws and have done."
+
+John's aggressive and hectoring manner spoke volubly of his own lack of
+ease. Martin nerved himself to begin, holding it his duty, but secretly
+fearing the issue in the light of his brother's hard, set face.
+
+"You've something bothering you too, old man. I'm sure of it. God is
+aware I don't know much about women myself, but--"
+
+"Oh, dry up that rot! Don't think I'm blind, if you are. Don't deceive
+yourself. There's a woman-hunger in you, too, though perhaps you haven't
+found it out yet. What about that Blanchard girl?"
+
+Martin flushed like a schoolboy; his hand went up over his mouth and
+chin as though to hide part of his guilt, and he looked alarmed and
+uneasy.
+
+John laughed without mirth at the other's ludicrous trepidation.
+
+"Good heavens! I've done nothing surely to suggest--?"
+
+"Nothing at all--except look as if you were going to have a fit every
+time you get within a mile of her. Lovers know the signs, I suppose.
+Don't pretend you're made of different stuff to the rest of us, that's
+all."
+
+Martin removed his hand and gasped before the spectacle of what he had
+revealed to other eyes. Then, after a silence of fifteen seconds, he
+shut his mouth again, wiped his forehead with his hand, and spoke.
+
+"I've been a silly fool. Only she's so wonderfully beautiful--don't you
+think so?"
+
+"A gypsy all over--if you call that beautiful."
+
+The other flushed up again, but made no retort.
+
+"Never mind me or anybody else. I want to speak to you about Phoebe, if
+I may, John. Who have I got to care about but you? I'm only thinking of
+your happiness, for that's dearer to me than my own; and you know in
+your heart that I'm speaking the truth when I say so."
+
+"Stick to your gate-posts and old walls and cow-comforts and dead
+stones. We all know you can look farther into Dartmoor granite than most
+men, if that's anything; but human beings are beyond you and always
+were. You'd have come home a pauper but for me."
+
+"D' you think I'm not grateful? No man ever had a better brother than
+you, and you've stood between me and trouble a thousand times. Now I
+want to stand between you and trouble."
+
+"What the deuce d' you mean by naming Phoebe, then?"
+
+"That is the trouble. Listen and don't shout me down. She's breaking her
+heart--blind or not blind, I see that--breaking her heart, not for you,
+but Will Blanchard. Nobody else has found it out; but I have, and I know
+it's my duty to tell you; and I've done it."
+
+An ugly twist came into John Grimbal's face. "You've done it; yes. Go
+on."
+
+"That's all, brother, and from your manner I don't believe it's entirely
+news to you."
+
+"Then get you gone, damned snake in the grass! Get gone, 'fore I lay a
+hand on you! You to turn and bite _me!_ Me, that's made you! I see it
+all--your blasted sheep's eyes at Chris Blanchard, and her always at
+Monks Barton! Don't lie about it," he roared, as Martin raised his hand
+to speak; "not a word more will I hear from your traitor's lips. Get out
+of my sight, you sneaking hypocrite, and never call me 'brother' no
+more, for I'll not own to it!"
+
+"You'll be sorry for this, John."
+
+"And you too. You'll smart all your life long when you think of this
+dirty trick played against a brother who never did you no hurt. You to
+come between me and the girl that's promised to marry me! And for your
+own ends. A manly, brotherly plot, by God!"
+
+"I swear, on my sacred honour, there's no plot against you. I've never
+spoken to a soul about this thing, nor has a soul spoken of it to me;
+that's the truth."
+
+"Rot you, and your sacred honour too! Go, and take your lies with you,
+and keep your own friends henceforth, and never cross my threshold
+more--you or your sacred, stinking honour either."
+
+Martin rose from his chair dazed and bewildered. He had seen his
+brother's passion wither up many a rascal in the past; but he himself
+had never suffered until now, and the savagery of this language hurled
+against his own pure motives staggered him. He, of course, knew nothing
+about Will Blanchard's enterprise, and his blundering and ill-judged
+effort to restrain his brother from marrying Phoebe was absolutely
+disinterested. It had been a tremendous task to him to speak on this
+delicate theme, and regard for John alone actuated him; now he departed
+without another word and went blankly to the little new stone house he
+had taken and furnished on the outskirts of Chagford under Middledown.
+He walked along the straight street of whitewashed cots that led him to
+his home, and reflected with dismay on this catastrophe. The
+conversation with his brother had scarcely occupied five minutes; its
+results promised to endure a lifetime.
+
+Meanwhile, and at the identical hour of this tremendous rupture, Chris
+Blanchard, well knowing that the morrow would witness Phoebe's secret
+marriage to her brother, walked down to see her. It happened that a
+small party filled the kitchen of Monks Barton, and the maid who
+answered her summons led Chris through the passage and upstairs to
+Phoebe's own door. There the girls spoke in murmurs together, while
+various sounds, all louder than their voices, proceeded from the kitchen
+below. There were assembled the miller, Billy Blee, Mr. Chapple, and one
+Abraham Chown, the police inspector of Chagford, a thin, black-bearded
+man, oppressed with the cares of his office.
+
+"They be arranging the programme of festive delights," explained Phoebe.
+"My heart sinks in me every way I turn now. All the world seems thinking
+about what's to come; an' I knaw it never will."
+
+"'T is a wonnerful straange thing to fall out. Never no such happened
+before, I reckon. But you 'm doin' right by the man you love, an' that's
+a thought for 'e more comfortin' than gospel in a pass like this. A
+promise is a promise, and you've got to think of all your life
+stretching out afore you. Will's jonic, take him the right way, and that
+you knaw how to do--a straight, true chap as should make any wife happy.
+Theer'll be waitin' afterwards an' gude need for all the patience you've
+got; but wance the wife of un, allus the wife of un; that's a butivul
+thing to bear in mind."
+
+"'T is so; 't is everything. An' wance we'm wed, I'll never tell a lie
+again, an' atone for all I have told, an' do right towards everybody."
+
+"You caan't say no fairer. Be any matter I can help 'e with?"
+
+"Nothing. It's all easy. The train starts for Moreton at half-past nine.
+Sam Bonus be gwaine to drive me in, and bide theer for me till I come
+back from Newton. Faither's awnly too pleased to let me go. I said 't
+was shopping."
+
+"An' when you come home you'll tell him--Mr. Lyddon--straight?"
+
+"Everything, an' thank God for a clean breast again."
+
+"An' Will?"
+
+"Caan't say what he'll do after. Theer'll be no real marryin' for us yet
+a while. Faither can have the law of Will presently,--that's all I
+knaw."
+
+"Trust Will to do the right thing; and mind, come what may to him,
+theer's allus Clem Hicks and me for friends."
+
+"Ban't likely to be many others left, come to-morrow night. But I've run
+away from my own thoughts to think of you and him often of late days.
+He'll get money and marry you, won't he, when his aunt, Mrs. Coomstock,
+dies?"
+
+"No; I thought so tu, an' hoped it wance; but Clem says what she've got
+won't come his way. She's like as not to marry, tu--there 'm a lot of
+auld men tinkering after her, Billy Blee among 'em."
+
+Sounds arose from beneath. They began with harsh and grating notes,
+interrupted by a violent hawking and spitting. Then followed renewal of
+the former unlovely noises. Presently, at a point in the song, for such
+it was, half a dozen other voices drowned the soloist in a chorus.
+
+"'T is Billy rehearsin' moosic," explained Phoebe, with a sickly smile.
+"He haven't singed for a score of years; but they've awver-persuaded him
+and he's promised to give 'em an auld ballet on my wedding-day."
+
+"My stars! 't is a gashly auld noise sure enough," criticised Phoebe's
+friend frankly; "for all the world like a stuck pig screechin', or the
+hum of the threshin' machine poor faither used to have, heard long ways
+off."
+
+Quavering and quivering, with sudden painful flights into a cracked
+treble, Billy's effort came to the listeners.
+
+    "'Twas on a Monday marnin'
+       Afore the break of day,
+     That I tuked up my turmit-hoe
+       An' trudged dree mile away!"
+
+Then a rollicking chorus, with rough music in it, surged to their ears--
+
+    "An' the fly, gee hoppee!
+     The fly, gee whoppee!
+     The fly be on the turmits,
+     For 't is all my eye for me to try
+     An' keep min off the turmits!"
+
+Mr. Blee lashed his memory and slowly proceeded, while Chris, moved by a
+sort of sudden mother-instinct towards pale and tearful Phoebe, strained
+her to her bosom, hugged her very close, kissed her, and bid her be
+hopeful and happy.
+
+"Taake gude heart, for you 'm to mate the best man in all the airth but
+wan!" she said; "an', if 't is awnly to keep Billy from singing in
+public, 't is a mercy you ban't gwaine to take Jan Grimbal. Doan't 'e
+fear for him. There'll be a thunder-storm for sartain; then he'll calm
+down, as better 'n him have had to 'fore now, an' find some other gal."
+
+With this comfort Chris caressed Phoebe once more, heartily pitying her
+helplessness, and wishing it in her power to undertake the approaching
+ordeal on the young bride's behalf. Then she departed, her eyes almost
+as dim as Phoebe's. For a moment she forgot her own helpless matrimonial
+projects in sorrow for her brother and his future wife. Marriage at the
+registry office represented to her, as to most women, an unlovely,
+uncomfortable, and unfinished ceremony. She had as easily pictured a
+funeral without the assistance of the Church as a wedding without it.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+OUTSIDE EXETER GAOL
+
+
+Within less than twelve hours of the time when she bid Chris farewell
+Phoebe Lyddon was Phoebe Lyddon no more. Will met her at Newton; they
+immediately proceeded to his uncle's office; and the Registrar had made
+them man and wife in space of time so brief that the girl could hardly
+realise the terrific event was accomplished, and that henceforth she
+belonged to Will alone. Mr. Ford had his little joke afterwards in the
+shape of a wedding-breakfast and champagne. He was gratified at the
+event and rejoiced to be so handsomely and tremendously revenged on his
+unfortunate enemy. The young couple partook of the good things provided
+for them; but appetite was lacking to right enjoyment of the banquet,
+and Will and his wife much desired to escape and be alone.
+
+Presently they returned to the station and arrived there before Phoebe's
+train departed. Her husband then briefly explained the remarkable course
+of action he designed to pursue.
+
+"You must be a braave gal and think none the worse of me. But't is this
+way: I've broke law, and a month or two, or six, maybe, in gaol have got
+to be done. Your faither will see to that."
+
+"Prison! O, Will! For marryin' me?"
+
+"No, but for marryin' you wi'out axin' leave. Miller Lyddon told me the
+upshot of taking you, if I done it; an' I have; an' he'll keep his word.
+So that's it. I doan't want to make no more trouble; an' bein' a man of
+resource I'm gwaine up to Exeter by first train, so soon as you've
+started. Then all bother in the matter will be saved Miller."
+
+"O Will! Must you?"
+
+"Ess fay, 't is my duty. I've thought it out through many hours. The
+time'll soon slip off; an' then I'll come back an' stand to work. Here's
+a empty carriage. Jump in. I can sit along with 'e for a few minutes."
+
+"How ever shall I begin? How shall I break it to them, dearie?"
+
+"Hold up your li'l hand," said Will with a laugh. "Shaw 'em the gawld
+theer. That'll speak for 'e. 'S truth!" he continued, with a gesture of
+supreme irritation, "but it's a hard thing to be snatched apart like
+this--man an' wife. If I was takin' 'e home to some lew cot, all our
+very awn, how differ'nt 't would be!"
+
+"You will some day."
+
+"So I will then. I've got 'e for all time, an' Jan Grimbal's missed 'e
+for all time. Damned if I ban't a'most sorry for un!"
+
+"So am I,--in a way,--as you are. My heart hurts me to think of him.
+He'll never forgive me."
+
+"Me, you mean. Well, 't is man to man, an' I ban't feared of nothing on
+two legs. You just tell 'em that 't was to be, that you never gived up
+lovin' me, but was forced into lyin' and such-like by the cruel way they
+pushed 'e. Shaw 'em the copy of the paper if they doan't b'lieve the
+ring. An' when Miller lifts up his voice to cuss me, tell un quiet that
+I knawed what must come of it, and be gone straight to Exeter Gaol to
+save un all further trouble. He'll see then I'm a thinking, calculating
+man, though young in years."
+
+Phoebe was now reduced to sighs and dry sobs. Will sat by her a little
+longer, patted her hands and spoke cheerfully. Then the train departed
+and he jumped from it as it moved and ran along the platform with a last
+earnest injunction.
+
+"See mother first moment you can an' explain how 't is. Mother'll
+understand, for faither did similar identical, though he wasn't put in
+clink for it."
+
+He waved his hand and Phoebe passed homewards. Then the fire died out of
+his eyes and he sighed and turned. But no shadow of weakness manifested
+itself in his manner. His jaw hardened, he smote his leg with his stick,
+and, ascertaining the time of the next train to Exeter, went back to bid
+Mr. Ford farewell before setting about his business.
+
+Will told his uncle nothing concerning the contemplated action; and such
+silence was unfortunate, for had he spoken the old man's knowledge must
+have modified his fantastic design. Knowing that Will came mysteriously
+from regular employment which he declined to discuss, and assuming that
+he now designed returning to it, Mr. Ford troubled no more about him. So
+his nephew thanked the Registrar right heartily for all the goodness he
+had displayed in helping two people through the great crisis of their
+lives, and went on his way. His worldly possessions were represented by
+a new suit of blue serge which he wore, and a few trifles in a small
+carpet-bag.
+
+It was the past rather than the present or future which troubled Will on
+his journey to Exeter; and the secret of the last six months, whatever
+that might be, lay heavier on his mind than the ordeal immediately ahead
+of him. In this coming achievement he saw no shame; it was merely part
+payment for an action lawless but necessary. He prided himself always on
+a great spirit of justice, and justice demanded that henceforth he must
+consider the family into which he had thus unceremoniously introduced
+himself. To no man in the wide world did he feel more kindly disposed
+than to Miller Lyddon; and his purpose was now to save his father-in-law
+all the annoyance possible.
+
+Arrived at Exeter, Will walked cheerfully away to the County Gaol, a
+huge red-brick pile that scarce strikes so coldly upon the eye of the
+spectator as ordinary houses of detention. Grey and black echo the
+significance of a prison, but warm red brick strikes through the eye to
+the brain, and the colour inspires a genial train of ideas beyond
+reason's power instantly to banish. But the walls, if ruddy, were high,
+and the rows of small, remote windows, black as the eye-socket of a
+skull, stretched away in dreary iron-bound perspective where the sides
+of the main fabric rose upward to its chastened architectural
+adornments. Young Blanchard grunted to himself, gripped his stick, from
+one end of which was suspended his carpet-bag, and walked to the wicket
+at the side of the prison's main entrance. He rang a bell that jangled
+with tremendous echoes among the naked walls within; then there followed
+the rattle of locks as the sidegate opened, and a warder looked out to
+ask Will his business. The man was burly and of stout build, while his
+fat, bearded face, red as the gaol walls themselves, attracted Blanchard
+by its pleasant expression. Will's eyes brightened at the aspect of this
+janitor; he touched his hat very civilly, wished the man "good
+afternoon," and was about to step in when the other stopped him.
+
+"Doan't be in such a hurry, my son. What's brought 'e, an' who do 'e
+want?"
+
+"My business is private, mister; I wants to see the head man."
+
+"The Governor? Won't nobody less do? You can't see him without proper
+appointment. But maybe a smaller man might serve your turn?"
+
+Will reflected, then laughed at the warder with that sudden magic of
+face that even softened hard hearts towards him.
+
+"To be plain, mate, I'm here to stop. You'll be sure to knaw 'bout it
+sooner or late, so I'll tell 'e now. I've done a thing I must pay for,
+and 't is a clink job, so I've comed right along."
+
+The warder grew rather sterner, and his eye instinctively roamed for a
+constable.
+
+"Best say no more, then. Awnly you've comed to the wrong place. Police
+station's what you want, I reckon."
+
+"Why for? This be County Gaol, ban't it?"
+
+"Ess, that's so; but we doan't take in folks for the axin'. Tu many
+queer caraters about."
+
+Will saw the man's eyes twinkle, yet he was puzzled at this unexpected
+problem.
+
+"Look here," he said, "I like you, and I'll deal fair by you an' tell
+you the rights of it. Step out here an' listen."
+
+"Mind, what you sez will be used against you, then."
+
+"Theer ban't no secret in it, for that matter."
+
+The husband thereupon related his recent achievement, and concluded
+thus:
+
+"So, having kicked up a mort o' trouble, I doan't want to make no
+more--see? An' I stepped here quiet to keep it out of the papers, an'
+just take what punishment's right an' vitty for marryin' a maid wi'out
+so much as by your leave. Now, then, caan't 'e do the rest?"
+
+He regarded the warder gravely and inquiringly, but as the red-faced man
+slowly sucked up the humour of the situation, his mouth expanded and his
+eyes almost disappeared. Then he spoke through outbursts and shakings of
+deep laughter.
+
+"Oh Lard! Wheerever was you born to?"
+
+Will flushed deeply, frowned, and clenched his fists at this question.
+
+"Shut your gert mouth!" he said angrily. "Doan't bellow like that, or
+I'll hit 'e awver the jaw! Do'e think I want the whole of Exeter City to
+knaw my errand? What's theer to gape an' snigger at? Caan't 'e treat a
+man civil?"
+
+This reproof set the official off again, and only a furious demand from
+Blanchard to go about his business and tell the Governor he wanted an
+interview partially steadied him.
+
+"By Gor! you'll be the death of me. Caan't help it--honour
+bright--doan't mean no rudeness to you. Bless your young heart, an' the
+gal's, whoever she be. Didn't 'e knaw? But theer! course you didn't,
+else you wouldn't be here. Why, 't is purty near as hard to get in
+prison as out again. You'll have to be locked up, an' tried by judge an'
+jury, and plead guilty, and be sentenced, an' the Lard He knaws what
+beside 'fore you come here. How do the lawyers an' p'licemen get their
+living?"
+
+"That's news. I hoped to save Miller Lyddon all such trouble."
+
+"Why not try another way, an' see if you can get the auld gentleman to
+forgive 'e?"
+
+"Not him. He'll have the law in due time."
+
+"Well, I'm 'mazin' sorry I caan't oblige 'e, for I'm sure we'd be gude
+friends, an' you'd cheer us all up butivul."
+
+"But you 'm certain it caan't be managed?"
+
+"Positive."
+
+"Then I've done all a man can. You'll bear witness I wanted to come,
+won't 'e?"
+
+"Oh yes, I'll take my oath o' that. _I_ shaan't forget 'e."
+
+"All right. And if I'm sent here again, bimebye, I'll look out for you,
+and I hopes you'll be as pleasant inside as now."
+
+"I'll promise that. Shall be awnly tu pleased to make you at home. I
+like you; though, to be frank, I reckon you'm tu gnat-brained a chap to
+make a wife happy."
+
+"Then you reckon a damned impedent thing! What d' you knaw 'bout it?"
+
+"A tidy deal. I've been married more years than you have hours, I lay."
+
+"Age ban't everything; 't is the fashion brains in a man's head counts
+most."
+
+"That's right enough. 'T is something to knaw that. Gude-bye to 'e,
+bwoy, an' thank you for makin' me laugh heartier than I have this month
+of Sundays."
+
+"More fule you!" declared Will; but he was too elated at the turn of
+affairs to be anything but amiable just now. Before the other
+disappeared, he stopped him.
+
+"Shake hands, will 'e? I thank you for lightenin' my mind--bein' a man
+of law, in a manner of speakin'. Ess, I'm obliged to 'e. Of coourse I
+doan't _want_ to come to prison 'zackly. That's common sense."
+
+"Most feel same as you. No doubt you're in the wrong, though the law
+caan't drop on honest, straightforrard matrimony to my knowledge. Maybe
+circumstances is for 'e."
+
+"Ess, they be--every jack wan of 'em!" declared Will. "An' if I doan't
+come here to stop, I'll call in some day and tell 'e the upshot of this
+coil in a friendly way."
+
+"Do so, an' bring your missis. Shall be delighted to see the pair of 'e
+any time. Ax for Thomas Bates."
+
+Will nodded and marched off, while the warder returned to his post, and
+when he had again made fast the door behind him, permitted the full
+splendor of his recent experience to tumble over his soul in a laughter
+perhaps louder than any heard before or since within the confines of one
+of Her Majesty's prisons.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+THE BRINGING OF THE NEWS
+
+
+Phoebe meantime returned to Chagford, withdrew herself into her chamber,
+and feverishly busied brains and hands with a task commended that
+morning by Will when she had mentioned it to him. The various trinkets
+and objects of value lavished of late upon her by John Grimbal she made
+into a neat packet, and tied up a sealskin jacket and other furs in a
+second and more bulky parcel. With these and a letter she presently
+despatched a maid to Mr. Grimbal's temporary address. Phoebe's note
+explained how, weak and friendless until the sudden return of Will into
+her life, she had been thrown upon wickedness, falsehood, and deceit to
+win her own salvation in the face of all about her. She told him of the
+deed done that day, begged him to be patient and forget her, and
+implored him to forgive her husband, who had fought with the only
+weapons at his command. It was a feeble communication, and Phoebe
+thought that her love for Will might have inspired words more forcible;
+but relief annihilated any other emotion; she felt thankful that the
+lying, evasion, and prevarication of the last horrible ten days were at
+an end. From the nightmare of that time her poor, bruised conscience
+emerged sorely stricken; yet she felt that the battle now before her was
+a healthy thing by comparison, and might serve to brace her moral senses
+rather than not.
+
+At the tea-table she first met her father, and there were present also
+Billy Blee and Mr. Chapple. The latter had come to Monks Barton about a
+triumphal arch, already in course of erection at Chagford market-place,
+and his presence it was that precipitated her confession, and brought
+Phoebe's news like a thunderbolt upon the company.
+
+Mr. Chapple, looking up suddenly from the saucer that rested upon his
+outspread fingers and thumb, made a discovery, and spoke with some
+concern.
+
+"Faith, Missy, that's ill luck--a wisht thing to do indeed! Put un off,
+like a gude maid, for theer 's many a wise sayin' 'gainst it."
+
+"What's her done?" asked Billy anxiously.
+
+"Luke 'pon her weddin' finger. 'Tis poor speed to put un on 'fore her
+lard an' master do it, at the proper moment ordained by Scripture."
+
+"If she hasn't! Take un off, Miss Phoebe, do!" begged Mr. Blee, in real
+trepidation; and the miller likewise commanded his daughter to remove
+her wedding-ring.
+
+"An auld wife's tale, but, all the same, shouldn't be theer till you 'm
+a married woman," he said.
+
+Thus challenged, the way was made smooth as possible for the young wife.
+She went over to her father, walked close to him, and put her plump
+little hand with its shining addition upon his shoulder.
+
+"Faither dear, I be a married woman. I had to tell lies and play false,
+but't was to you an' Mr. Grimbal I've been double, not to my husband
+that is. I was weak, and I've been punished sore, but--"
+
+"Why, gal alive! what rigmarole 's this? Married--ay, an' so you shall
+be, in gude time. You 'm light-headed, lass, I do b'lieve. But doan't
+fret, I'll have Doctor--"
+
+"Hear me," she said, almost roughly. "I kept my word--my first sacred
+word--to Will. I loved him, an' none else but him; an' 'tis done--I've
+married him this marnin', for it had to be, an' theer's the sign an'
+token of it I've brought along with me."
+
+She drew the copy of the register from her pocket, opened it with
+trembling fingers, set it before Mr. Lyddon, and waited for him to
+speak. But it was some time before he found words or wind to do so.
+Literally the fact had taken his breath. A curious expression, more grin
+than frown--an expression beyond his control in moments of high
+emotion--wrinkled his eyelids, stretched his lips, and revealed the
+perfect double row of his false teeth. His hand went forward to the blue
+paper now lying before him, then the fingers stopped half way and shook
+in the air. Twice he opened his mouth, but only a sharp expiration,
+between a sigh and a bark, escaped.
+
+"My God, you've shook the sawl of un!" cried Billy, starting forward,
+but the miller with an effort recovered his self-possession, scanned the
+paper, dropped it, and lifted up his voice in lamentation.
+
+"True--past altering--'t is a thing done! May God forgive you for this
+wicked deed, Phoebe Lyddon--I'd never have b'lieved it of 'e--never--not
+if an angel had tawld me. My awn that was, and my awnly one! My darter,
+my soft-eyed gal, the crown of my grey hairs, the last light of my
+life!"
+
+"I pray you'll come to forgive me in time, dear faither. I doan't ax 'e
+to yet a while. I had to do it--a faithful promise. 'T was for pure
+love, faither; I lied for him--lied even to you; an' my heart 's been
+near to breakin' for 'e these many days; but you'd never have listened
+if I'd told 'e."
+
+"Go," he said very quietly. "I caan't abear the sight of'e just now. An'
+that poor fule, as thrawed his money in golden showers for 'e! Oh, my
+gude God, why for did 'E leave me any childern at all? Why didn't 'E
+take this cross-hearted wan when t' other was snatched away? Why didn't
+'E fill the cup of my sorrer to the brim at a filling an' not drop by
+drop, to let un run awver now I be auld?"
+
+Phoebe turned to him in bitter tears, but the man's head was down on his
+hands beside his plate and cup, and he, too, wept, with a pitiful
+childish squeak between his sobs. Weakness so overwhelming and so
+unexpected--a father's sorrow manifested in this helpless feminine
+fashion--tore the girl's very heartstrings. She knelt beside him and put
+her arms about him; but he pushed her away and with some return of
+self-control and sternness again bid her depart from him. This Phoebe
+did, and there was silence, while Mr. Lyddon snuffled, steadied himself,
+wiped his face with a cotton handkerchief, and felt feebly for a pair of
+spectacles in his pocket. Mr. Chapple, meantime, had made bold to scan
+the paper with round eyes, and Billy, now seeing the miller in some part
+recovered, essayed to comfort him.
+
+"Theer, theer, maister, doan't let this black come-along-o't quench 'e
+quite. That's better! You such a man o' sense, tu! 'T was
+awver-ordained by Providence, though a artful thing in a young gal; but
+women be such itemy twoads best o' times--stage-players by sex, they
+sez; an' when love for a man be hid in 'em, gormed if they caan't fox
+the God as made 'em!"
+
+"Her to do it! The unthankfulness, the cold cruelty of it! An' me that
+was mother an' father both to her--that did rock her cradle with these
+hands an' wash the li'l year-auld body of her. To forget all--all she
+owed! It cuts me that deep!"
+
+"Deep as a wire into cheese, I lay. An' well it may; but han't no new
+thing; you stablish yourself with that. The ways o' women 's like--'t
+was a sayin' of Solomon I caan't call home just this minute; but he
+knawed, you mind, none better. He had his awn petticoat trouble, same as
+any other Christian man given to women. What do 'e say, neighbour?"
+
+Billy, of opinion that Mr. Chapple should assist him in this painful
+duty, put the last question to his rotund friend, but the other, for
+answer, rose and prepared to depart.
+
+"I say," he answered, "that I'd best go up-along and stop they chaps
+buildin' the triumphant arch. 'Pears won't be called for now. An'
+theer's a tidy deal else to do likewise. Folks was comin' in from the
+Moor half a score o' miles for this merry-makin'."
+
+"'T is a practical thought," said Billy. "Them as come from far be like
+to seem fules if nothin' 's done. You go up the village an' I'll follow
+'e so quick as I can."
+
+Mr. Chapple thereupon withdrew and Billy turned to the miller. Mr.
+Lyddon had wandered once and again up and down the kitchen, then fallen
+into his customary chair; and there he now sat, his elbows on his knees,
+his hands over his face. He was overwhelmed; his tears hurt him
+physically and his head throbbed. Twenty years seemed to have piled
+themselves upon his brow in as many minutes.
+
+"Sure I could shed water myself to see you like this here," said Mr.
+Blee, sympathetically; "but 't is wan of them eternal circumstances we
+'m faaced with that all the rain falled of a wet winter won't wash away.
+Theer 's the lines. They 'm a fact, same as the sun in heaven 's a fact.
+God A'mighty's Self couldn't undo it wi'out some violent invention; an'
+for that matter I doan't see tu clear how even Him be gwaine to magic a
+married woman into a spinster again; any more than He could turn a
+spinster into a married woman, onless some ordinary human man came
+forrard. You must faace it braave an' strong. But that imp o'
+Satan--that damn Blanchard bwoy! Theer! I caan't say what I think 'bout
+him. Arter all that's been done: the guests invited, the banns axed
+out, the victuals bought, and me retracin' my ballet night arter night,
+for ten days, to get un to concert pitch--well, 't is a matter tu deep
+for mere speech."
+
+"The--the young devil! I shall have no pity--not a spark. I wish to God
+he could hang for it!"
+
+"As to that, might act worse than leave it to Jan Grimbal. He'll do
+summat 'fore you've done talkin', if I knaw un. An' a son-in-law 's a
+son-in-law, though he've brought it to pass by a brigand deed same as
+this. 'T is a kicklish question what a man should do to the person of
+his darter's husband. You bide quiet an' see what chances. Grimbal's
+like to take law into his awn hands, as any man of noble nature might in
+this quandary."
+
+The disappointed lover's probable actions offered dreary food for
+thought, and the two old men were still conversing when a maid entered
+to lay the cloth for supper. Then Billy proceeded to the village and Mr.
+Lyddon, unnerved and restless, rambled aimlessly into the open air,
+addressed any man or woman who passed from the adjacent cottages, and
+querulously announced, to the astonishment of chance listeners, that his
+daughter's match was broken off.
+
+An hour later Phoebe reappeared in the kitchen and occupied her usual
+place at the supper-table. No one spoke a word, but the course of the
+meal was suddenly interrupted, for there came a knock at the farmhouse
+door, and without waiting to be answered, somebody lifted the latch,
+tramped down the stone passage, and entered the room.
+
+Now Phoebe, in the privacy of her little chamber beneath the thatch, had
+reflected miserably on the spectacle of her husband far away in a prison
+cell, with his curls cropped off and his shapely limbs clad
+convict-fashion. When, therefore, Will, and not John Grimbal, as she
+expected, stood before her, his wife was perhaps more astonished than
+any other body present. Young Blanchard appeared, however. He looked
+weary and hungry, for he had been on his legs during the greater part of
+the day and had forgotten to eat since his pretence of wedding-breakfast
+ten hours earlier. Now, newly returned from Exeter, he came straight to
+Monks Barton before going to his home.
+
+Billy Blee was the first to find his voice before this sudden
+apparition. His fork, amply laden, hung in the air as though his arm was
+turned to stone; with a mighty gulp he emptied his mouth and spoke.
+
+"Gormed if you ban't the most 'mazin' piece ever comed out o' Chagford!"
+
+"Miller Lyddon," said Will, not heeding Mr. Blee, "I be here to say wan
+word 'fore I goes out o' your sight. You said you'd have law of me if I
+took Phoebe; an' that I done, 'cause we was of a mind. Now we 'm man an'
+wife, an' I'm just back from prison, wheer I went straight to save you
+trouble. But theer 's preambles an' writs an' what not. I shall be to
+mother's, an' you can send Inspector Chown when you like. It had to come
+'cause we was of a mind."
+
+He looked proudly at Phoebe, but departed without speaking to her, and
+silence followed his going. Mr. Lyddon stared blankly at the door
+through which Will departed, then his rage broke forth.
+
+"Curse the wretch! Curse him to his dying day! An' I'll do more--more
+than that. What he can suffer he shall, and if I've got to pay my last
+shilling to get him punishment I'll do it--my last shilling I'll pay."
+
+He had not regarded his daughter or spoken to her since his words at
+their first meeting; and now, still ignoring Phoebe's presence, he began
+eagerly debating with Billy Blee as to what law might have power to do.
+The girl, wisely enough, kept silence, ate a little food, and then went
+quietly away to her bed. She was secretly overjoyed at Will's return and
+near presence; but another visitor might be expected at any moment, and
+Phoebe knew that to be in bed before the arrival of John Grimbal would
+save her from the necessity of a meeting she much feared. She entered
+upon her wedding-night, therefore, while the voices below droned on, now
+rising, now falling; then, while she was saying her prayers with half
+her mind on them, the other half feverishly intent on a certain sound,
+it came. She heard the clink, clink of the gate, thrown wide open and
+now swinging backwards and forwards, striking the hasp each time; then a
+heavy step followed it, feet strode clanging down the passage, and the
+bull roar of a man's voice fell on her ear. Upon this she huddled under
+the clothes, but listened for a second at long intervals to hear when he
+departed. The thing that had happened, however, since her husband's
+departure and John Grimbal's arrival, remained happily hidden from
+Phoebe until next morning, by which time a climax in affairs was past
+and the outcome of tragic circumstances fully known.
+
+When Blanchard left the farm, he turned his steps very slowly homewards,
+and delayed some minutes on Rushford Bridge before appearing to his
+mother. For her voice he certainly yearned, and for her strong sense to
+throw light upon his future actions; but she did not know everything
+there was to be known and he felt that with himself, when all was said,
+lay decision as to his next step. While he reflected a new notion took
+shape and grew defined and seemed good to him.
+
+"Why not?" he said to himself, aloud. "Why not go back? Seeing the
+provocation--they might surely--?" He pursued the idea silently and came
+to a determination. Yet the contemplated action was never destined to be
+performed, for now an accident so trifling as the chance glimmer of a
+lucifer match contributed to remodel the scheme of his life and wholly
+shatter immediate resolutions. Craving a whiff of tobacco, without which
+he had been since morning, Will lighted his pipe, and the twinkle of
+flame as he did so showed his face to a man passing across the bridge at
+that moment. He stopped in his stride, and a great bellow of wrath
+escaped him, half savage, half joyful.
+
+"By God! I didn't think to meet so soon!"
+
+Here was a red-hot raving Nemesis indeed; and Will, while prepared for a
+speedy meeting with his enemy, neither expected nor desired an encounter
+just then. But it had come, and he knew what was before him. Grimbal,
+just returned from a long day's sport, rode back to his hotel in a good
+temper. He drank a brandy-and-soda at the bar, then went up to his rooms
+and found Phoebe's letter; whereupon, as he was in muddy pink, he set
+off straight for Monks Barton; and now he stood face to face with the
+man on earth he most desired to meet. By the light of his match Will saw
+a red coat, white teeth under a great yellow moustache, and a pair of
+mad, flaming eyes, hungry for something. He knew what was coming, moved
+quickly from the parapet of the bridge, and flung away his pipe to free
+his hands. As he did so the other was on him. Will warded one tremendous
+stroke from a hunting-crop; then they came to close quarters, and
+Grimbal, dropping his whip, got in a heavy half-arm blow on his enemy's
+face before they gripped in holds. The younger man, in no trim for
+battle, reeled and tried to break away; but the other had him fast,
+picked him clean off the ground, and, getting in his weight, used a
+Yankee throw, with intent to drop Will against the granite of the
+bridge. But though Blanchard went down like a child before the attack,
+he disappeared rather than fell; and in the pitchy night it seemed as
+though some amiable deity had caught up the vanquished into air. A
+sudden pressure of the low parapet against his own legs as he staggered
+forward, told John Grimbal what was done and, at the same moment, a
+tremendous splash in the water below indicated his enemy's dismal
+position. Teign, though not in flood at the time, ran high, and just
+below the bridge a deep pool opened out. Around it were rocks upon which
+rose the pillars of the bridge. No sound or cry followed Will
+Blanchard's fall; no further splash of a swimmer, or rustle on the
+river's bank, indicated any effort from him. Grimbal's first instincts
+were those of regret that revenge had proved so brief. His desire was
+past before he had tasted it. Then for a moment he hesitated, and the
+first raving lust to kill Phoebe's husband waned a trifle before the
+sudden conviction that he had done so. He crept down to the river,
+ploughed about to find the man, questioning what he should do if he did
+find him. His wrath waxed as he made search, and he told himself that he
+should only trample Blanchard deeper into water if he came upon him. He
+kicked here and there with his heavy boots; then abandoned the search
+and proceeded to Monks Barton.
+
+Into the presence of the miller he thundered, and for a time said
+nothing of the conflict from which he had come. The scene needs no
+special narration. Vain words and wishes, oaths and curses, filled John
+Grimbal's mouth. He stamped on the floor, finding it impossible to
+remain motionless, roared the others down, loaded the miller with bitter
+reproaches for his blindness, silenced Mr. Blee on every occasion when
+he attempted to join the discussion. The man, in fine, exhibited that
+furious, brute passion and rage to be expected from such a nature
+suddenly faced with complete dislocation of cherished hopes. His life
+had been a long record of success, and this tremendous reverse, on his
+first knowledge of it, came near to unhinge John Grimbal's mind. Storm
+succeeded storm, explosion followed upon explosion, and the thought of
+the vanity of such a display only rendered him more frantic. Then chance
+reminded the raging maniac of that thing he had done, and now, removed
+from the deed by a little time, he gloried in it.
+
+"Blast the devil--short shrift he got--given straight into my hand! I
+swore to kill him when I heard it; an' I have--pitched him over the
+bridge and broken his blasted neck. I'd burn in ragin' hell through ten
+lifetimes to do it again. But that's done once for all. And you can tell
+your whore of a daughter she's a widow, not a wife!"
+
+"God be gude to us!" cried Billy, while Mr. Lyddon started in dismay.
+"Is this true you'm tellin'? Blue murder? An' so, like's not, his awn
+mother'll find un when she goes to draw water in the marnin'!"
+
+"Let her, and his sister, too; and my God-damned brother! All in
+it--every cursed one of 'em. I'd like--I'd like--Christ--"
+
+He broke off, was silent for a moment, then strode out of the room
+towards the staircase. Mr. Lyddon heard him and rushed after him with
+Billy. They scrambled past and stood at the stair-foot while Grimbal
+glanced up in the direction of Phoebe's room, and then glared at the two
+old men.
+
+"Why not, you doddering fools? Can you still stand by her, cursed jade
+of lies? My work's only half done! No man's ever betrayed me but he's
+suffered hell for it; and no woman shall."
+
+He raged, and the two with beating hearts waited for him.
+
+Then suddenly laughing aloud, the man turned his back, and passed into
+the night without more words.
+
+"Mad, so mad as any zany!" gasped Mr. Blee. "Thank God the whim's took
+un to go. My innards was curdlin' afore him!"
+
+The extravagance of Grimbal's rage had affected Mr. Lyddon also. With
+white and terrified face he crept after Grimbal, and watched that
+tornado of a man depart.
+
+"My stars! He do breathe forth threatenings and slaughters worse 'n in
+any Bible carater ever I read of," said the miller, "and if what he sez
+be true--"
+
+"I'll wager 't is. Theer 's method in him. Your son-in-law, if I may say
+it, be drownded, sure 's death. What a world!"
+
+"Get the lanterns and call Sam Bonus. He must stand to this door an' let
+no man in while we 'm away. God send the chap ban't dead. I don't like
+for a long-cripple to suffer torture."
+
+"That's your high religion. An' I'll carry the brandy, for 't is a
+liquor, when all 's said, what 's saved more bodies in this world than
+it 's damned sawls in the next, an' a thing pleasant, tu, used with
+sense--specially if a man can sleep 'fore 't is dead in un."
+
+"Hurry, hurry! Every minute may mean life or death. I'll call Bonus; you
+get the lanterns."
+
+Ten minutes later a huge labourer stood guard over Monks Barton, and the
+miller, with his man, entered upon their long and fruitless search. The
+thaw had come, but glimmering ridges of snow still outlined the bases of
+northern-facing hedges along the river. With infinite labour and some
+difficulty they explored the stream, then, wet and weary, returned by
+the southern bank to their starting-point at Rushford Bridge. Here Billy
+found a cloth cap by the water's edge, and that was the only evidence of
+Will's downfall. As they clambered up from the river Mr. Lyddon noted
+bright eyes shining across the night, and found that the windows of Mrs.
+Blanchard's cottage were illuminated.
+
+"They 'm waitin' for him by the looks of it," he said. "What ought us to
+do, I wonder?"
+
+Billy never objected to be the bearer of news, good or ill, so that it
+was sensational; but a thought struck him at seeing the lighted windows.
+
+"Why, it may be he's theer! If so, then us might find Grimbal didn't
+slay un arter all. 'T was such a miz-maze o' crooked words he let fly
+'pon us, that perhaps us misread un."
+
+"I wish I thought so. Come. Us can ax that much."
+
+A few minutes later they stood at Mrs. Blanchard's door and knocked. The
+widow herself appeared, fully dressed, wide awake, and perfectly
+collected. Her manner told Mr. Lyddon nothing.
+
+"What might you want, Miller?"
+
+"'T is Will. There's bin blows struck and violence done, I hear."
+
+"I can tell 'e the rest. The bwoy's paid his score an' got full measure.
+He wanted to be even with you, tu, but they wouldn't let un."
+
+"If he ban't dead, I'll make him smart yet for his evil act."
+
+"I warned 'e. He was cheated behind his back, an' played with the same
+cards what you did, and played better."
+
+"Wheer is he now? That's what I want to knaw."
+
+"Up in the house. They met on the bridge an' Grimbal bested him, Will
+bein' weary an' empty-bellied. When the man flinged him in the stream,
+he got under the arch behind the rocks afore he lost his head for a time
+and went senseless. When he comed to he crawled up the croft and I let
+un in."
+
+"Thank God he's not dead; but punishment he shall have if theer's
+justice in the land."
+
+"Bide your time. He won't shirk it. But he's hurted proper; you might
+let Jan Grimbal knaw, 't will ease his mind."
+
+"Not it," declared Billy; "he thought he'd killed un; cracked the neck
+of un."
+
+"The blow 'pon his faace scatted abroad his left nostril; the fall
+brawked his arm, not his neck; an' the spurs t' other was wearin' tored
+his leg to the bone. Doctor's seen un; so tell Grimbal. Theer's pleasure
+in such payment."
+
+She spoke without emotion, and showed no passion against the master of
+the Red House. When Will had come to her, being once satisfied in her
+immediate motherly agony that his life was not endangered, she allowed
+her mind a sort of secret, fierce delight at his performance and its
+success in the main issue. She was proud of him at the bottom of her
+heart; but before other eyes bore herself with outward imperturbability.
+
+"You'll keep the gal, I reckon?" she said quietly; "if you can hold hand
+off Will till he'm on his legs again, I'd thank you."
+
+"I shall do what I please, when I please; an' my poor fule of a daughter
+stops with me as long as I've got power to make her."
+
+"Hope you'll live to see things might have been worse."
+
+"That's impossible. No worse evil could have fallen upon me. My grey
+hairs a laughing-stock, and your awn brother's hand in it. He knawed
+well enough the crime he was committing."
+
+"You've a short memory, Miller. I lay Jan Grimbal knaws the reason if
+you doan't. The worm that can sting does, if you tread on it. Gude-night
+to 'e."
+
+"An' how do you find yourself now?" Billy inquired, as his master and he
+returned to Monks Barton.
+
+"Weary an' sick, an' filled with gall. Was it wrong to make the match,
+do 'e think, seein' 't was all for love of my cheel? Was I out to push
+so strong for it? I seem I done right, despite this awful mischance."
+
+"An' so you did; an' my feelin's be the same as yours to a split hair,
+though I've got no language for em at this unnatural hour of marnin',"
+said Billy.
+
+Then in silence, to the bobbing illumination of their lanterns, Mr.
+Lyddon and his familiar dragged their weary bodies home.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+LOVE AND GREY GRANITE
+
+
+The lofty central area of Devon has ever presented a subject of
+fascination to geologists; and those evidences of early man which adorn
+Dartmoor to-day have similarly attracted antiquarian minds for many
+generations past. But the first-named student, although his researches
+plunge him into periods of mundane time inconceivably more remote than
+that with which the archaeologist is concerned, yet reaches conclusions
+more definite and arrives at a nearer approximation to truth than any
+who occupy themselves in the same area with manifold and mysterious
+indications of early humanity's sojourn. The granite upheaval during
+that awful revolt of matter represented by the creation of Dartmoor has
+been assigned to a period between the Carboniferous and Permian eras;
+but whether the womb of one colossal volcano or the product of a
+thousand lesser eruptions threw forth this granite monster, none may yet
+assert. Whether Dartmoor first appeared as a mighty shield, with one
+uprising spike in its midst, or as a target supporting many separate
+bosses cannot be declared; for the original aspect of the region has
+long vanished, though our worn and weathered land of tors still shadows,
+in its venerable desolation, those sublimer, more savage glories
+manifested ere the eye of man or beast existed to receive an image of
+them.
+
+But the earliest human problems presented by Devon's watershed admit of
+no sure solution, albeit they date from a time adjacent contrasted with
+that wherein the land was born. Nature's message still endures for man
+to read as his knowledge grows; but the records of our primal fellows
+have grown dim and uncertain as the centuries rolled over them. There
+exists, however, within the lofty, lonely kingdom of the granite, a
+chain of human evidences extending from prehistoric ages to the ruined
+shepherd's cot of yesterday. At many spots a spectator may perceive in
+one survey the stone ruin of the Danmonian's habitation, and hypaethral
+temple or forum, the heather-clad debris left by Elizabethan streamers
+of alluvial tin, the inky peat-ridges from which a moorman has just cut
+his winter firing. But the first-named objects, with kindred fragments
+that have similarly endured, chiefly fire imagination. Seen grey at
+gloaming time, golden through sunny dawns, partaking in those spectral
+transformations cast upon the moor by the movement of clouds, by the
+curtains of the rain, by the silver of breaking day, the monotone of
+night and the magic of the moon, these relics reveal themselves and
+stand as a link between the present and the far past. Mystery broods
+over them and the jealous wings of the ages hide a measure of their
+secret. Thus far these lonely rings of horrent stones and the alignments
+between them have concealed their story from modern man, and only in
+presence of the ancient pound, the foundations of a dwelling, the
+monolith that marked a stone-man's sepulchre, the robbed cairn and naked
+kistvaen, may we speak with greater certainty and, through the
+glimmering dawn of history and the records of Britain's earliest foes,
+burrow back to aboriginal man on Dartmoor. Then research and imagination
+rebuild the eternal rings of granite and, erecting upon them tall domes
+of thatch and skins on wattle ribs, conceive the early village like a
+cluster of gigantic mushrooms, whose cowls are uplifted in that rugged
+fastness through the night of time. We see Palaeolithic man sink into
+mother earth before the superior genius of his Neolithic successor; and
+we note the Damnonian shepherds flourishing in lonely lodges and
+preserving their flocks from the wolf, while Egypt's pyramids were still
+of modern creation, and the stars twinkled in strange constellations,
+above a world innocent as yet of the legends that would name them. The
+stone-workers have vanished away, but their labour endures; their
+fabricated flints still appear, brought to light from barrows and
+peat-ties, from the burrows of rabbits and the mounds of the antiquary
+mole; the ruins of their habitations, the theatres of their assemblies
+and unknown ceremonies still stand, and probably will continue so to do
+as long as Dartmoor's bosom lies bare to the storm and stress of the
+ages.
+
+Modern man has also fretted the wide expanse, has scratched its surface
+and dropped a little sweat and blood; but his mansion and his cot and
+his grave are no more; plutonic rock is the only tablet on which any
+human story has been scribbled to endure. Castles and manor-houses have
+vanished from the moorland confines like the cloudy palaces of a dream;
+the habitations of the mining folk shall not be seen to-day, and their
+handiwork quickly returns to primitive waste; fern and furze hide the
+robbed cairn and bury the shattered cross; flood and lightning and
+tempest roam over the darkness of a region sacred to them, and man
+stretches his hand for what Nature touches not; but the menhir yet
+stands erect, the "sacred" circles are circles still, and these, with
+like records of a dim past, present to thinking travellers the crown and
+first glory of the Moor. Integral portions of the ambient desolation are
+they--rude toys that infant humanity has left in Mother Nature's lap;
+and the spectacle of them twines a golden thread of human interest into
+the fabric of each lonely heath, each storm-scarred mountain-top and
+heron-haunted stream. Nothing is changed since skin-clad soldiers and
+shepherds strode these wastes, felt their hearts quicken at sight of
+women, or their hands clench over celt-headed spears before danger. Here
+the babies of the stone-folk, as the boys and girls to-day, stained
+their little mouths and ringers with fruit of briar and whortle; the
+ling bloomed then as now; the cotton-grass danced its tattered plume;
+the sphagnum mosses opened emerald-green eyes in marsh and quaking bog;
+and hoary granite scattered every ravine and desert valley. About those
+aboriginal men the Moor spread forth the same horizon of solemn
+enfolding hills, and where twinkle the red hides of the moor-man's
+heifers through upstanding fern, in sunny coombs and hawthorn thickets,
+yesterday the stone-man's cattle roamed and the little eyes of a hidden
+bear followed their motions. Here, indeed, the first that came in the
+flesh are the last to vanish in their memorials; here Nature, to whom
+the hut-circle of granite, all clad in Time's lichen livery of gold and
+grey, is no older than the mushroom ring shining like a necklace of
+pearls within it--Nature may follow what course she will, may build as
+she pleases, may probe to the heart of things, may pursue the eternal
+Law without let from the pigmies; and here, if anywhere from man's
+precarious standpoint, shall he perceive the immutable and observe a
+presentment of himself in those ephemera that dance above the burn at
+dawn, and ere twilight passes gather up their gauze wings and perish.
+
+According to individual temperament this pregnant region attracts and
+fascinates the human spectator or repels him. Martin Grimbal loved
+Dartmoor and, apart from ties of birth and early memories, his natural
+predilections found thereon full scope and play. He was familiar with
+most of those literary productions devoted to the land, and now
+developed an ambition to add some result of personal observation and
+research to extant achievements. He went to work with method and
+determination, and it was not until respectable accumulations of notes
+and memoranda already appeared as the result of his labours that the man
+finally--almost reluctantly--reconciled himself to the existence of
+another and deeper interest in his life than that furnished by the grey
+granite monuments of the Moor. Hide it from himself he could no longer,
+nor yet wholly from others. As in wild Devon it is difficult at any time
+to escape from the murmur of waters unseen, so now the steady flood of
+this disquieting emotion made music at all waking hours in Martin's
+archaeologic mind, shattered his most subtle theories unexpectedly, and
+oftentimes swept the granite clean out of his head on the flood of a
+golden river.
+
+After three months of this beautiful but disquieting experience, Martin
+resigned himself to the conclusion that he was in love with Chris
+Blanchard. He became very cautious and timid before the discovery. He
+feared much and contemplated the future with the utmost distrust. Doubt
+racked him; he checked himself from planning courses of conduct built on
+mad presumptions. By night, as a sort of debauch, in those hours when
+man is awake and fancy free, he conceived of a happy future with Chris
+and little children about him; at morning light, if any shadow of that
+fair vision returned, he blushed and looked round furtively, as though
+some thought-reader's cold eye must be sneering at such presumption. He
+despaired of finding neutral ground from which his dry mind could make
+itself attractive to a girl. Now and again he told himself that the new
+emotion must be crushed, in that it began to stand between him and the
+work he had set himself to do for his county; but during more sanguine
+moods he challenged this decision and finally, as was proper and right,
+the flood of the man's first love drowned menhir and hut-circle fathoms
+deep, and demanded all his attention at the cost of mental peace. An
+additional difficulty appeared in the fact that the Blanchard family
+were responsible for John Grimbal's misfortune; and Martin, without
+confusing the two circumstances, felt that before him really lay the
+problem of a wife or a brother. When first he heard of the event that
+set Chagford tongues wagging so briskly, he rightly judged that John
+would hold him one of the conspirators; and an engagement to Chris
+Blanchard must certainly confirm the baffled lover's suspicions and part
+the men for ever. But before those words, as they passed through his
+brain, Martin Grimbal stopped, as the peasant before a shrine. "An
+engagement to Chris Blanchard!" He was too much a man and too deep
+merged in love to hesitate before the possibility of such unutterable
+happiness.
+
+For his brother he mourned deeply enough, and when the thousand rumours
+bred of the battle on the bridge were hatched and fluttered over the
+countryside, Martin it was who exerted all his power to stay them. Most
+people were impressed with the tragic nature of the unfortunate John's
+disappointment; but his energetic measures since the event were held to
+pay all scores, and it was believed the matter would end without any
+more trouble from him. Clement Hicks entertained a different opinion,
+perhaps judging John Grimbal from the secrets of his own character; but
+Will expressed a lively faith that his rival must now cry quits, after
+his desperate and natural but unsuccessful attempt to render Phoebe a
+widow. The shattered youth took his broken bones very easily, and only
+grunted when he found that his wife was not permitted to visit him under
+any pretence whatever; while as for Phoebe, her wild sorrow gradually
+lessened and soon disappeared as each day brought a better account of
+Will. John Grimbal vanished on the trip which was to have witnessed his
+honeymoon. He pursued his original plans with the modification that
+Phoebe had no part in them, and it was understood that he would return
+to Chagford in the spring.
+
+Thus matters stood, and when his brother was gone and Will and Phoebe
+had been married a month, Martin, having suffered all that love could do
+meantime, considered he might now approach the Blanchards. Ignorantly he
+pursued an awkward course, for wholly unaware that Clement Hicks felt
+any interest in Will and his sister beyond that of friendship, Martin
+sought from him the general information he desired upon the subject of
+Chris, her family and concerns.
+
+Together the two men went upon various excursions to ancient relics that
+interested them both, though in different measure. It was long before
+Martin found courage to bring forth the words he desired to utter, but
+finally he managed to do so, in the bracing conditions that obtained on
+Cosdon Beacon upon the occasion of a visit to its summit. By this time
+he had grown friendly with Hicks and must have learnt all and more than
+he desired to know but for the bee-keeper's curious taciturnity. For
+some whim Clement never mentioned his engagement; it was a subject as
+absent from his conversation as his own extreme poverty; but while the
+last fact Martin had already guessed, the former remained utterly
+concealed from him. Neither did any chance discover it until some time
+afterwards.
+
+The hut-circles on Cosdon's south-eastern flank occupied Martin's
+pencil. Clement gazed once upon the drawing, then turned away, for no
+feeling or poetry inspired the work; it was merely very accurate. The
+sketches made, both men ascended immense Cosdon, where its crown of
+cairns frets the long summit; and here, to the sound of the wind in the
+dead heather, with all the wide world of Northern Devon extended beneath
+his gaze under a savage sunset, Martin found courage to speak. At first
+Hicks did not hear. His eyes were on the pageant of the sky and paid
+tribute of sad thought before an infinity of dying cloud splendours. But
+the antiquary repeated his remark. It related to Will Blanchard, and
+upon Clement dropping a monosyllabic reply his companion continued:
+
+"A very handsome fellow, too. Miss Blanchard puts me in mind of him."
+
+"They're much alike in some things. But though Chris knows her brother
+to be good to look at, you'll never get Will to praise her. Funny, isn't
+it? Yet to his Phoebe, she's the sun to a star."
+
+"I think so too indeed. In fact, Miss Blanchard is the most beautiful
+woman I ever saw."
+
+Clement did not answer. He was gazing through the sunset at Chris, and
+as he looked he smiled, and the sadness lifted a little from off his
+face.
+
+"Strange some lucky fellow has not won her before now," proceeded the
+other, glancing away to hide the blush that followed his diplomacy.
+
+Here, by all experience and reason, and in the natural sequence of
+events Clement Hicks might have been expected to make his confession and
+rejoice in his prize, but for some cause, from some queer cross-current
+of disposition, he shut his mouth upon the greatest fact of his life. He
+answered, indeed, but his words conveyed a false impression. What
+sinister twist of mind was responsible for his silence he himself could
+not have explained; a mere senseless monkey-mischief seemed to inspire
+it. Martin had not deceived him, because the elder man was unused to
+probing a fellow-creature for facts or obtaining information otherwise
+than directly. Clement noted the false intonation and hesitation,
+recollected his sweetheart's allusion to Martin Grimbal, and read into
+his companion's question something closely akin to what in reality lay
+behind it. His discovery might have been expected to hasten rather than
+retard the truth, and a first impulse in any man had made the facts
+instantly clear; but Clement rarely acted on impulse. His character was
+subtle, disingenuous, secretive. Safe in absolute possession, the
+discovery of Martin's attachment did not flutter him. He laughed in his
+mind; then he pictured Chris the wife of this man, reviewed the worldly
+improvement in her position such a union must effect, and laughed no
+more. Finally he decided to hold his peace; but his motives for so doing
+were not clear even to himself.
+
+"Yes," he answered, "but she's not one to give her hand without her
+heart."
+
+These words, from Martin's point of view, embraced a definite assurance
+that Chris was free; and, as they walked homewards, he kept silence upon
+this thought for the space of half an hour. The uneasy hopes and black
+fears of love circled him about. Perhaps his timorous mind, in some
+moods, had been almost relieved at declaration of the girl's engagement
+to another. But now the tremendous task of storming a virgin heart lay
+ahead of him, as he imagined. Torments unfelt by those of less sensitive
+mould also awaited Martin Grimbal. The self-assertive sort of man, who
+rates himself as not valueless, and whose love will not prevent callous
+calculation on the weight of his own person and purse upon the argument,
+is doubtless wise in his generation, and his sanguine temperament
+enables him to escape oceans of unrest, hurricanes of torment; but
+self-distrust and humility have their value, and those who are oppressed
+by them fall into no such pitiable extreme as that too hopeful lover on
+whose sanguine ear "No" falls like a thunderbolt from red lips that were
+already considered to have spoken "Yes." A suitor who plunges from lofty
+peaks of assured victory into failure falls far indeed; but Martin
+Grimbal stood little chance of suffering in that sort as his brother
+John had done.
+
+The antiquary spoke presently, fearing he must seem too self-absorbed,
+but Clement had little to say. Yet a chance meeting twisted the
+conversation round to its former topic as they neared home. Upon
+Chagford Bridge appeared Miller Lyddon and Mr. Blee. The latter had been
+whitewashing the apple-tree stems--a course to which his master attached
+more importance than that pursued on Old Christmas Eve--and through the
+gathering dusk the trunks now stood out livid and wan as a regiment of
+ghosts.
+
+"Heard from your brother since he left?" Mr. Lyddon inquired after
+evening greetings.
+
+"I cannot yet. I hope he may write, but you are more likely to hear than
+I."
+
+"Not me. I'm nothing to un now."
+
+"Things will come right. Don't let it prey on your mind. No woman ever
+made a good wife who didn't marry where her heart was," declared Martin,
+exhibiting some ignorance of the subject he presumed to discuss.
+
+"Ah! you was ag'in' us, I mind," said the miller, drawing in. "He said
+as much that terrible night."
+
+"He was wrong--utterly. I only spoke for his good. I saw that your
+daughter couldn't stand the sight of him and shivered if he touched her.
+It was my duty to speak. Strange you didn't see too."
+
+"So easy to talk afterwards! I had her spoken word, hadn't I? She'd
+never lied in all her life afore. Strange if I _had_ seen, I reckon."
+
+"You frightened her into falsehood. Any girl might have been expected to
+lie in that position," said Clement coolly; then Mr. Blee, who had been
+fretting to join the conversation, burst into it unbidden.
+
+"Be gormed if I ban't like a cat on hot bricks to hear 'e! wan might
+think as Miller was the Devil hisself for cruelty instead o' bein', as
+all knaws, the most muty-hearted[4] faither in Chagford."
+
+
+[4] _Muty-hearted_ = soft-hearted.
+
+
+"As to that, I doan't knaw, Billy," declared Mr. Lyddon stoutly; "I be a
+man as metes out to the world same measure as I get from the world.
+Right is right, an' law is law; an' if I doan't have the law of Will
+Blanchard--"
+
+"There's little enough you can do, I believe," said Hicks; "and what
+satisfaction lies in it, I should like to know, if it's not a rude
+question?"
+
+The old man answered with some bitterness, and explained his power.
+
+"William Blanchard's done abduction, according to Lawyer Bellamy of
+Plymouth; an' abduction's felony, and that's a big thing, however you
+look 'pon it."
+
+"Long an' short is," cut in Billy, who much desired to air a little of
+his new knowledge, "that he can get a sentence inside the limits of two
+years, with or without hard labour; at mercy of judge and jury. That's
+his dose or not his dose, 'cording to the gracious gudeness of Miller."
+
+"Will's nearly ready to go," said Clement. "Let his arm once be
+restored, and he'll do your hard labour with a good heart, I promise
+you. He wants to please Mr. Lyddon, and will tackle two months or two
+years or twenty."
+
+"Two an' not a second less--with hard labour I'll wager, when all's
+taken into account."
+
+"Why are you so hot, Billy Blee? You're none the worse."
+
+"Billy's very jealous for me, same as Elijah was for the Lard o' Hosts,"
+said Mr. Lyddon.
+
+Then Martin and Clement climbed the steep hill that lay between them and
+Chagford, while the miller and his man pursued their way through the
+valley.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+A STORY-BOOK
+
+
+Despite the miller's explicit declaration, there was yet a doubt as to
+what he might do in the matter of Will Blanchard. Six weeks is a period
+of time that has often served to cool dispositions more fiery, purposes
+more inflexible than those of Mr. Lyddon, and his natural placidity of
+temperament, despite outbreaks, had begun to reassert itself. Billy
+Blee, misunderstanding his master in this, suspected that the first
+fires of rage were now sunk into a conflagration, not so visible, but
+deeper and therefore more dangerous to the sufferer, if not to other
+people. He failed to observe that each day of waiting lessened the
+miller's desire towards action, and he continued to urge some step
+against Will Blanchard, as the only road by which his master's peace of
+mind might be regained. He went further, and declared delay to be very
+dangerous for Mr. Lyddon's spleen and other physical organs. But though
+humanity still prevented any definite step, Billy's master so far
+adopted his advice as to see a solicitor and learn what the law's power
+might be in the matter. Now he knew, as was recorded in the previous
+chapter; and still Mr. Lyddon halted between two opinions. He usually
+spoke on the subject as he had spoken to Martin Grimbal and Clement
+Hicks; but in reality he felt less desire in the direction of revenge
+than he pretended. Undoubtedly his daughter contributed not a little to
+this irresolution of mind. During the period of Will's convalescence,
+his wife conducted herself with great tact and self-restraint. Deep love
+for her father not only inspired her, but also smoothed difficulties
+from a road not easy. Phoebe kept much out of sight until the miller's
+first dismay and sorrow had subsided; then she crept back into her old
+position and by a thousand deft deeds and proper speeches won him again
+unconsciously. She anticipated his unspoken desire, brightened his
+every-day life by unobtrusive actions, preserved a bright demeanour,
+never mentioned Will, and never contradicted her father when he did so.
+
+Thus the matter stood, and Mr. Lyddon held his hand until young
+Blanchard was abroad again and seeking work. Then he acted, as shall
+appear. Before that event, however, incidents befell Will's household,
+the first being an unexpected visit from Martin Grimbal; for the
+love-sick antiquary nerved himself to this great task a week after his
+excursion to Cosdon. He desired to see Will, and was admitted without
+comment by Mrs. Blanchard. The sufferer, who sat at the kitchen fire
+with his arm still in a sling, received Martin somewhat coldly, being
+ignorant of the visitor's friendly intentions. Chris was absent, and
+Will's mother, after hoping that Mr. Grimbal would not object to discuss
+his business in the kitchen, departed and left the men together.
+
+"Sit down," said Will. "Be you come for your brother or yourself?"
+
+"For myself. I want to make my position clear. You must not associate me
+with John in this affair. In most things our interests were the same,
+and he has been a brother in a thousand to me; but concerning Miss--Mrs.
+Blanchard--he erred in my opinion--greatly erred--and I told him so. Our
+relations are unhappily strained, to my sorrow. I tell you this because
+I desire your friendship. It would be good to me to be friends with you
+and your family. I do not want to lose your esteem by a
+misunderstanding."
+
+"That's fair speech, an' I'm glad to hear 'e say it, for it ban't my
+fault when a man quarrels wi' me, as anybody will tell 'e. An' mother
+an' Chris will be glad. God knaws I never felt no anger 'gainst your
+brother, till he tried to take my girl away from me. Flesh an' blood
+weern't gwaine to suffer that."
+
+"Under the circumstances, and with all the difficulties of your
+position, I never could blame you."
+
+"Nor Phoebe," said the other warmly. "I won't have wan word said against
+her. Absolute right she done. I'm sick an' savage, even now, to think of
+all she suffered for me. I grits my teeth by night when it comes to my
+mind the mort o' grief an' tears an' pain heaped up for her--just
+because she loved wan chap an' not another."
+
+"Let the past go and look forward. The future will be happy presently."
+
+"In the long run 't will for sure. Your brother's got all he wants, I
+reckon, an' I doan't begrudge him a twinge; but I hope theer ban't no
+more wheer that comed from, for his awn sake, 'cause if us met
+unfriendly again, t' other might go awver the bridge, an' break worse 'n
+his arm."
+
+"No, no, Blanchard, don't talk and think like that. Let the past go. My
+brother will return a wiser man, I pray, with his great disappointment
+dulled."
+
+"A gert disappointment! To be catched out stealin', an' shawed up for a
+thief!"
+
+"Well, forgive and forget. It's a valuable art--to learn to forget."
+
+"You wait till you 'm faaced wi' such trouble, an' try to forget! But we
+'m friends, by your awn shawm', and I be glad 't is so. Ax mother to
+step in from front the house, will 'e? I'd wish her to know how we 'm
+standin'."
+
+Mrs. Blanchard appeared with her daughter, and subsequent conversation
+banished a haunting sense of disloyalty to his brother from Martin's
+mind. Chris never looked more splendid or more sweet than in that noon,
+new come from a walk with Clement Hicks. Martin listened to her voice,
+stayed as long as he dared, and then departed with many emotions
+breaking like a storm upon his lonely life. He began to long for her
+with overwhelming desire. He had scarcely looked at a woman till now,
+and this brown-eyed girl of twenty, so full of life, so beautiful, set
+his very soul helplessly adrift on the sea of love. Her sudden laugh,
+like Will's, but softer and more musical, echoed in the man's ear as he
+returned to his house and, in a ferment, tramped the empty rooms.
+
+His own requirements had been amply met by three apartments, furnished
+with sobriety and great poverty of invention; but now he pictured Chris
+singing here, tripping about with her bright eyes and active fingers.
+Like his brother before him, he fell back upon his money, and in
+imagination spent many pounds for one woman's delight. Then from this
+dream he tumbled back into reality and the recollection that his goddess
+must be wooed and won. No man ever yet failed to make love from
+ignorance how to begin, but the extent and difficulties of his
+undertaking weighed very heavily on Martin Grimbal at this juncture. To
+win even a measure of her friendship appeared a task almost hopeless.
+Nevertheless, through sleepless nights, he nerved himself to the
+tremendous attempt. There was not so much of self-consciousness in him,
+but a great store of self-distrust. Martin rated himself and his powers
+of pleasing very low; and unlike the tumultuous and volcanic methods of
+John, his genius disposed him to a courtship of most tardy development,
+most gradual ripening. To propose while a doubt existed of the answer
+struck him as a proceeding almost beyond the bounds of man's audacity.
+He told himself that time would surely show what chance or hope there
+might be, and that opportunity must be left to sneak from the battle at
+any moment when ultimate failure became too certainly indicated. In more
+sanguine moods, however, by moonlight, or alone on the high moors,
+greater bravery and determination awoke in him. At such times he would
+decide to purchase new clothes and take thought for externals generally.
+He also planned some studies in such concerns as pleased women if he
+could learn what they might be. His first deliberate if half-hearted
+attack relied for its effect upon a novel. Books, indeed, are priceless
+weapons in the armory of your timid lover; and let but the lady discover
+a little reciprocity, develop an unsuspected delight in literature, as
+often happens, and the most modest volume shall achieve a practical
+result as far beyond its intrinsic merit as above the writer's dream.
+
+Martin, then, primed with a work of fiction, prayed that Chris might
+prove a reader of such things, and called at Mrs. Blanchard's cottage
+exactly one fortnight after his former visit. Chance favoured him to an
+extent beyond his feeble powers to profit by. Will was out for a walk,
+and Mrs. Blanchard being also from home, Martin enjoyed conversation
+with Chris alone. He began well enough, while she listened and smiled.
+Then he lost his courage and lied, and dragging the novel from his
+pocket, asserted that he had bought the tale for her brother.
+
+"A story-book! I doubt Will never read no such matter in his life, Mr.
+Grimbal."
+
+"But get him to try. It's quite a new thing. There's a poaching
+adventure and so forth--all very finely done according to the critical
+journals."
+
+"He'll never sit down to that gert buke."
+
+"You read it then, and tell him if it is good."
+
+"Me! Well, I do read now and again, an' stories tu; but Will wouldn't
+take my word. Now if Phoebe was to say 't was braave readin', he'd go
+for it fast enough."
+
+"I may leave it, at any rate?"
+
+"Leave it, an' thank you kindly."
+
+"How is Will getting on?"
+
+"Quite well again. Awnly riled 'cause Mr. Lyddon lies so low. Clem told
+us what the miller can do, but us doan't knaw yet what he will do."
+
+"Perhaps he doesn't know himself," suggested Martin. The name of "Clem,"
+uttered thus carelessly by her, made him envious. Then, inspired by the
+circumstance, a request which fairly astounded the speaker by its valour
+dropped on his listener's ear.
+
+"By the way, don't call me 'Mr. Grimbal.' I hope you'll let me be
+'Martin' in a friendly way to you all, if you will be so very kind and
+not mind my asking."
+
+The end of the sentence had its tail between its legs, but he got the
+words cleanly out, and his reward was great.
+
+"Why, of course, if you'd rather us did; an' you can call me 'Chris' if
+you mind to," she said, laughing. "'T is strange you took sides against
+your brother somehow to me."
+
+"I haven't--I didn't--except in the matter of Phoebe. He was wrong
+there, and I told him so,--"
+
+He meant to end the sentence with the other's name, only the word stuck
+in his throat; but "Miss Blanchard" he would not say, after her
+permission, so left a gap.
+
+"He'll not forgive 'e that in a hurry."
+
+"Not readily, but some day, I hope. Now I must really go--wasting your
+precious time like this; and I do hope you may read the book."
+
+"That Will may?"
+
+"No--yes--both of you, in fact. And I'll come to know whether you liked
+it. Might I?"
+
+"Whether Will liked it?"
+
+She nodded and laughed, then the door hid her; while Martin Grimbal went
+his way treading upon air. Those labourers whom he met received from him
+such a "Good evening!" that the small parties, dropping back on Chagford
+from their outlying toil, grinned inquiringly, they hardly knew at what.
+
+Meantime, Chris Blanchard reflected, and the laughter faded out of her
+eyes, leaving them grave and a little troubled. She was sufficiently
+familiar with lovers' ways. The bold, the uncouth, the humble, and
+timorous were alike within her experience. She watched this kind-faced
+man grow hot and cold as he spoke to her, noted the admixture of
+temerity and fear that divided his mind and appeared in his words. She
+had seen his lips tremble and refuse to pronounce her name; and she
+rightly judged that he would possibly repeat it aloud to himself more
+than once before he slept that night. Chris was no flirt, and now
+heartily regretted her light and friendly banter upon the man's
+departure. "I be a silly fule, an' wouldn't whisper a word of this to
+any but Clem," she thought, "for it may be nothing but the nervous way
+of un, an' such a chap 's a right to seek a sight further 'n me for a
+wife; an' yet they all 'pear the same, an' act the same soft sort o'
+style when they 'm like it." Then she considered that, seeing what
+friendship already obtained between Clement and Martin Grimbal, it was
+strange the latter still went in ignorance. "Anyways, if I'm not wrong,
+the sooner he 'm told the better, for he's a proper fashioned man," she
+thought.
+
+While Chris was still revolving this matter in her mind, Mrs. Blanchard
+returned with some news.
+
+"Postmistress stepped out of the office wi' this as I corned down the
+village," she said. "'T is from Mrs. Watson, I fancy."
+
+Her daughter brought a light, and the letter was perused. "Uncle 's took
+bad," Mrs. Blanchard presently announced; "an' sends to say as he wants
+me to go along an' help Sarah Watson nurse un."
+
+"Him ill! I never thought he was made of stuff to be ill."
+
+"I must go, whether or no. I'll take the coach to Moreton to-morrow."
+
+Mrs. Blanchard mentally traversed her wardrobe as she drank tea, and had
+already packed in anticipation before the meal was ended. Will, on
+returning, was much perturbed at this bad news, for since his own
+marriage Uncle Ford had become a hero among men to him.
+
+"What's amiss she doan't say--Mrs. Watson--but it's more 'n a fleabite
+else he wouldn't take his bed. But I hopes I'll have un to rights again
+in a week or so. 'Mind me to take a bottle of last summer's Marshmally
+brew, Chris. Doctors laugh at such physic, but I knaw what I knaw."
+
+"Wonder if't would better him to see me?" mused Will.
+
+"No, no; no call for that. You'll be fit to stand to work by Monday, so
+mind your business an' traapse round an' look for it. Theer 's plenty
+doin' 'pon the land now, an' I want to hear you' ve got a job 'fore I
+come home. Husbands must work for two; an' Phoebe'll be on your hands
+come less than a couple o' years."
+
+"One year and five months and seven days 't is."
+
+"Very well. You've got to mind a brace of things meantime; to make a
+vitty home for her by the sweat of your body, an' to keep your hands off
+her till she 'm free to come to 'e."
+
+"Big things both, though I ban't afeared of myself afore 'em. I've
+thought a lot in my time, an' be allowed to have sense an' spirit for
+that matter."
+
+"Spirit, ess fay, same as your faither afore you; but not so much sense
+as us can see wi'out lightin' cannel."
+
+"Wonder if Uncle Joel be so warm a man as he'd have us think sometimes
+of an evenin' arter his hot whiskey an' water?" said Chris.
+
+"Don't 'e count on no come-by-chance from him. He's got money, that I
+knaw, but ban't gwaine to pass our way, for he tawld me so in as many
+words. Sarah Watson will reap what he's sawed; an' who shall grumble? He
+'m a just man, though not of the accepted way o' thinkin'."
+
+"Why for didn't he marry her?" asked Will.
+
+"Caan't tell'e, more'n the dead. Just a whim. I asked her same question,
+when I was last to Newton, an' she said 't was to save the price of a
+licence she reckoned, though in his way of life he might have got
+matrimony cheap as any man. But theer 't is. Her 's bin gude as a wife
+to un--an' better 'n many--this fifteen year."
+
+"A very kind woman to me while I was biding along with uncle," said
+Will. "All the same you should have some of the money."
+
+"I'm well as I be. An' this dead-man-shoe talk's vain an' giddy. I lay
+he'm long ways from death, an' the further the better. Now I be gwaine
+to pack my box 'fore supper."
+
+Mrs. Blanchard withdrew, and Chris, suddenly recollecting it, mentioned
+Martin Grimbal's visit. Will laughed and read a page or two of the
+story-book, then went out of doors to see Clement Hicks; and his sister,
+with a spare hour before her while a rabbit roasted, sat near the spit
+and occupied her mind with thought.
+
+Will's business related to himself. He was weary of waiting for Mr.
+Lyddon, and though he had taken care to let Phoebe know by Chris that
+his arm was well and strong enough for the worst that might be found for
+it to do, no notice was taken of his message, no sign escaped the
+miller.
+
+All interested persons had their own theories upon this silence. Mrs.
+Blanchard suspected that Mr. Lyddon would do nothing at all, and Will
+readily accepted this belief; but he found it impossible to wait with
+patience for its verification. This indeed was the harder to him because
+Clement Hicks predicted a different issue and foretold an action of most
+malignant sort on the miller's part. What ground existed for attributing
+any such deed to Mr. Lyddon was not manifest, but the bee-keeper stuck
+to it that Will's father-in-law would only wait until he was in good
+employment and then proceed to his confusion.
+
+This conviction he now repeated.
+
+"He's going to make you smart before he's done with you, if human
+nature's a factor to rely upon. It's clear to me."
+
+"I doan't think so ill of un. An' yet I ban't wishful to leave it to
+chance. You, an' you awnly, knaw what lies hid in the past behind me.
+The question is, should I take that into account now, or go ahead as if
+it never had failed out?"
+
+"Let it alone, as it has let you alone. Never rake it up again, and
+forget it if you can. That's my advice to you. Forget you ever--"
+
+"Hush!" said Will. "I'd rather not hear the word, even 'pon your lips."
+
+They then discussed the main matter from the opposite vantage-grounds of
+minds remote in every particular; but no promising procedure suggested
+itself to either man, and it was not until upon his homeward way that
+Will, unaided, arrived at an obvious and very simple conclusion. With
+some glee he welcomed this idea.
+
+"I'll just wait till Monday night," he said to himself, "an' then I'll
+step right down to Miller, an' ax un what's in the wind, an' if I can
+help his hand. Then he must speak if he's a man."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+THE MILLER'S OFFER
+
+
+Will, followed his determination and proceeded to Monks Barton on the
+following Monday evening, at an hour when he knew that Mr. Lyddon would
+have finished supper and be occupied about a pipe or a game of cards
+with Mr. Blee. The old men occasionally passed an hour at "oaks" or
+"cribbage" before retiring, but on this occasion they were engaged in
+conversation, and both looked up with some surprise when Blanchard
+appeared.
+
+"You--you here again!" said the miller, and his mouth remained slightly
+open after the words.
+
+"You 'm allus setting sober hair on end--blessed if you ain't!" was
+Billy's comment.
+
+Will, for his part, made no introductory speeches, but went straight to
+the point.
+
+"Theer's my arm," he said, thrusting it out before him. "'T is mended so
+neat that Doctor Parsons says no Lunnon bone-setter could have done it
+better. So I've comed just to say theer's no call for longer waitin'. 'T
+was a sportsmanlike thing in you, Miller Lyddon, to bide same as you
+did; and now, if you'd set the law movin' an' get the job out o' hand,
+I'd thank you kindly. You see, if they put me in for two year, 't will
+leave mighty li'l time to get a home ready for Phoebe against the day
+she comes of age."
+
+"You needn't be at any trouble about that."
+
+"But I shall be. Do 'e think my wife's gwaine to be any differ'nt to
+lesser folks? A home she'll have, an' a braave, vitty home, tu, though
+I've got to sweat blood for it. So if you'd take your bite so soon as
+convenient, you'd sarve me."
+
+"I doan't say you 'm axin' anything onreasonable," said Mr. Lyddon,
+thoughtfully. "An' what might you think o'doin, when you comes out o'
+prison?"
+
+"First gude work that offers."
+
+"Maybe you doan't kuaw that chaps whose last job was on the treadmill
+finds it uncommon hard to get another?"
+
+"Depends what they was theer for, I should reckon, Miller"
+
+"Not a bit of it. Gaol-birds is all feathered alike inside clink, an'
+honest men feathers 'em all alike when they come out," declared Will's
+father-in-law.
+
+"A sheer Cain, as no man will touch by the hand--that's what you'll be,"
+added Billy, without apparent regret.
+
+"If that's so," said Will, very calmly, "you'd best to think twice 'fore
+you sends me. I've done a high-handed deed, bein' forced into the same
+by happenings here when I went off last summer; but 't is auld history
+now. I'd like to be a credit to 'e some time, not a misery for all time.
+Why not--?" He was going to suggest a course of action more favourable
+to himself than that promised; but it struck him suddenly that any
+attitude other than the one in which he had come savoured of snivelling
+for mercy. So he stopped, left a break of silence, and proceeded with
+less earnestness in his voice.
+
+"You've had a matter of eight weeks to decide in, so I thought I might
+ax'e, man to man, what's gwaine to be done."
+
+"I have decided," said the miller coldly; "I decided a week ago."
+
+Billy started and his blue eyes blinked inquiringly. He sniffed his
+surprise and said "Well!" under his breath.
+
+"Ess, 't is so, I didn't tell 'e, Blee, 'cause I reckoned you'd try an'
+turn me from my purpose, which wasn't to be done."
+
+"Never--not me. I'm allus in flat agreement with 'e, same as any wise
+man finds hisself all times."
+
+"Well, doan't 'e take it ill, me keepin' it to myself."
+
+"No, no--awnly seem' how--"
+
+"If it 's all the same," interrupted Will, "I'd like to knaw what you 'm
+gwaine for to do."
+
+"I'm gwaine to do nort, Will Blanchard--nort at all. God He knaws you
+'ve wronged me, an' more 'n me, an' her--Phoebe--worst of all; but I'll
+lift no hand ag'in' you. Bide free an' go forrard your awn way--"
+
+"To the Dowl!" concluded Billy.
+
+There was a silence, then Will spoke with some emotion.
+
+"You 'm a big, just man, Miller Lyddon; an' if theer was anything could
+make me sorry for the past--which theer ban't--'t would be to knaw
+you've forgived me."
+
+"He ain't done no such thing!" burst out Mr. Blee. "Tellin' 'e to go to
+the Dowl ban't forgivin' of 'e!"
+
+"That was your word," answered Will hotly, "an' if you didn't open your
+ugly mouth so wide, an' shaw such a 'mazing poor crop o' teeth same
+time, me an' Miller might come to onderstanding. I be here to see him,
+not you."
+
+"Gar! you 'm a beast of a bwoy, looked at anyhow, an' I wouldn't have
+no dealin's with 'e for money," snorted the old man.
+
+"Theer we'll leave it then, Blanchard," said Mr. Lyddon, as Will turned
+his back upon the last speaker without answering him. "Go your way an'
+try to be a better man; but doan't ax me to forget what 's passed--no,
+nor forgive it, not yet. I'll come to a Christian sight of it some day,
+God willin'; but it 's all I can say that I bear you no ill-will."
+
+"An' I'm beholden enough for that. You wait an' keep your eye on me.
+I'll shaw you what's in me yet. I'll surprise 'e, I promise. Nobody in
+these paarts 'cept mother, knaws what 's in me. But, wi'out boastful
+words, I'll prove it. Because, Miller, I may assure 'e I'm a man as have
+thought a lot in my time 'bout things in general."
+
+"Ess, you'm a deep thinker, I doan't doubt. Now best to go; an', mind,
+no dealins wi' Phoebe, for that I won't stand."
+
+"I've thought that out, tu. I'll give 'e my word of honour 'pon that."
+
+"Best to seek work t'other side the Moor, if you ax me. Then you'll be
+out the way."
+
+"As to that, I'd guessed maybe Martin Grimbal, as have proved a gert
+friend to me an' be quite o' my way o' thinking, might offer garden work
+while I looked round. Theer ban't a spark o' pride in me--tu much sense,
+I hope, for that."
+
+The miller sighed.
+
+"You've done a far-reachin' thing, as hits a man from all sorts o'
+plaaces, like the echo in Teign Valley. I caan't see no end to it yet."
+
+"Martin Grimbal's took on Wat Widdicombe, so you needn't fule yourself
+he'll give 'e work," snapped Mr. Blee.
+
+"Well, theer be others."
+
+And then that sudden smile, half sly, half sweet, leapt to Will's eyes
+and brightened all his grave face, as the sun gladdens a grey sky after
+rain.
+
+"Look now, Miller Lyddon, why for shouldn't you, the biggest man to
+Chagford, give me a bit of work? I ban't no caddlin'[5] chap, an' for
+you--by God, I'd dig a mountain flat if you axed me!"
+
+
+[5] _Caddling_ = loafing, idling.
+
+
+"Well, I be gormed!" gasped Billy. It was a condition, though whether
+physical or mental he only knew, to which Will reduced Mr. Blee upon
+every occasion of their meeting.
+
+"You hold your jaw an' let me talk to Mr. Lyddon. 'Tis like this, come
+to look at it: who should work for 'e same as what I would? Who should
+think for my wife's faither wi' more of his heart than me? I'd glory to
+do a bit of work for 'e--aye, I would so, high or low; an' do it in a
+way to make you rub your eyes!"
+
+Billy saw the first-formed negative die still-born on his master's lips.
+He began to cry out volubly that Monks Barton was over-manned, and that
+scandal would blast every opening bud on the farm if such a thing
+happened. Will glared at him, and in another moment Mr. Blee might have
+suffered physically had not the miller lifted his hand and bid both be
+silent.
+
+For a full minute no man spoke, while in Mr. Lyddon's mind proceeded a
+strange battle of ideas. Will's audacity awakened less resentment than
+might have been foreseen. The man had bent before the shock of his
+daughter's secret marriage and was now returning to his customary mental
+condition. Any great altitude of love or extremity of hate was beyond
+Mr. Lyddon's calibre. Life slipped away and left his forehead smooth.
+Sorrow brought no great scars, joy no particular exaltation. This
+temperament he had transmitted to Phoebe; and now she came into his mind
+and largely influenced him. A dozen times he opened his mind to say
+"No," but did not say it. Personal amiability could hardly have overcome
+natural dislike of Blanchard at such a moment, but the unexpected
+usually happens when weak natures are called upon to make sudden
+decisions; and though such may change their resolve again and again at a
+later date and before new aspects of the problem, their first hasty
+determination will often be the last another had predicted from them.
+
+A very curious result accrued from Mr. Lyddon's mental conflict, and it
+was reached by an accidental train of thought. He told himself that his
+conclusion was generous to the extreme of the Christian ideal; he
+assured himself that few men so placed had ever before acted with such
+notable magnanimity; but under this repeated mental asseveration there
+spoke another voice which he stifled to the best of his power. The
+utterance of this monitor may best be judged from what followed.
+
+"If I gave you work you'd stand to it, Will Blanchard?" he asked at
+length.
+
+"Try me!"
+
+"Whatsoever it might be?"
+
+"Try me. Ban't for me to choose."
+
+"I will, then. Come to-morrow by five, an' Billy shall show 'e what's to
+do."
+
+It would be difficult to say which, of those who heard the miller's
+resolve received it with most astonishment. Will's voice was almost
+tremulous.
+
+"You'll never be sorry, never. I couldn't have hoped such a thing.
+Caan't think how I comed to ax it. An' yet--but I'll buckle to anything
+and everything, so help me. I'll think for 'e an' labour for 'e as no
+hireling that was ever born could, I will. An' you've done a big,
+grand-fashion thing, an' I'm yours, body an' bones, for it; an' you'll
+never regret it."
+
+The young man was really moved by an issue so unexpected. He had uttered
+his suggestion on the spur of the moment, as he uttered most things, and
+such a reception argued a greatness of heart and generosity of spirit
+quite unparalleled in his experience. So he departed wishing all good on
+Mr. Lyddon and meaning all good with his whole soul and strength.
+
+When he had gone the miller spoke; but contrary to custom, he did not
+look into Mr. Blee's face while so doing.
+
+"You'm astonished, Billy," he said, "an' so be I, come to think of it.
+But I'm gettin' tu auld to fret my life away with vain strife. I be
+gwaine to prove un. He'd stand to anything, eh? 'Twas his word."
+
+"An' well he might."
+
+"Can 'e picture Blanchard cleaning out the pigs' house?"
+
+"No fay!"
+
+"Or worse?"
+
+"Ah!"
+
+They consulted, and it presently appeared that Mr. Lyddon deliberately
+designed to set Will about the most degrading task the farm could
+furnish.
+
+"'Twill sting the very life of un!" said Billy gleefully, and he
+proceeded to arrange an extremely trying programme for Will Blanchard.
+
+"Doan't think any small spite leads me to this way of dealing with un,"
+explained Mr. Lyddon, who knew right well that it was so. "But 'tis to
+probe the stuff he's made of. Nothing should be tu hard for un arter
+what he've done, eh?"
+
+"You'm right. 'Tis true wisdom to chastise the man this way if us can,
+an' shake his wicked pride."
+
+Billy's genius lent itself most happily to this scheme. He applauded the
+miller's resolution until his master himself began to believe that the
+idea was not unjust; he ranged airily, like a blue-fly, from one
+agglomeration of ordure to another; and he finally suggested a task, not
+necessary to dwell on, but which reached the utmost height or depth of
+originality in connection with such a subject. Mr. Lyddon laboured under
+some shadow of doubt, but he quickly agreed when his man reminded him of
+the past course of events.
+
+"'Tis nothin', when all's said. Who'd doubt if he'd got to choose
+between that or two year in gaol? He'm lucky, and I'll tell un so come
+the marnin'."
+
+Thus matters were left, and the miller retired in some secret shame, for
+he had planned an act which, if great in the world's eye, had yet a dark
+side from his own inner view of it; but Mr. Blee suffered no pang from
+conscience upon the question. He heartily disliked Blanchard, and he
+contemplated the morrow with keen satisfaction. If his sharp tongue had
+power to deepen the wound awaiting Will's self-respect, that power would
+certainly be exercised.
+
+Meantime the youth himself passed homeward in a glow of admiration for
+Mr. Lyddon.
+
+"I'd lay down my life smilin' for un," he told Chris, who was astounded
+at his news. "I'll think for un, an' act for un, till he'll feel I'm his
+very right hand. An' if I doan't put a spoke in yellow Billy's wheel,
+call me a fule. Snarling auld swine! But Miller! Theer's gude workin'
+religion in that man; he'm a shining light for sartain."
+
+They talked late upon this wondrous turn of fortune, then Will
+recollected his mother and nothing would serve but that he wrote
+instantly to tell her of the news.
+
+"It'll cheer up uncle, tu, I lay," he said.
+
+"A letter comed while you was out," answered Chris; "he'm holding his
+awn, but 'tis doubtful yet how things be gwaine to fare in the upshot."
+
+"Be it as 'twill, mother can do more 'n any other living woman could for
+un," declared Will.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+LOGIC
+
+
+As Mr. Blee looked out upon a grey morning, the sallows leaping from
+silver to gold, from bud to blossom, scattered brightness through the
+dawn, and the lemon catkins of the hazel, the russet tassels of alders,
+brought light along the river, warmth into the world. A bell beat five
+from Chagford Church tower, and the notes came drowsily through morning
+mists. Then quick steps followed on the last stroke of the hour and Will
+stood by Billy's side in Monks Barton farmyard. The old man raised his
+eyes from contemplation of a spade and barrow, bid Blanchard "Good
+morning" with simulated heartiness, and led the way to work, while Will
+followed, bringing the tools. They passed into a shrubbery of syringa
+bushes twenty yards distant, and the younger man, whose humour had been
+exceedingly amiable until that moment, now flushed to his eyes before
+the spectacle of his labour.
+
+"Do 'e mean that Miller's got nothin' for me to do but this?"
+
+"Plenty, plenty, I 'sure 'e; but that ban't your business, be it?
+Theer's the work, an' I'd rather 'twas yourn than mine. Light your pipe
+an' go ahead. Not a purty job, more 'tis; but beggars mustn't be
+choosers in this hard world."
+
+Billy bolted after these remarks. He heard a growl behind him, but did
+not look round. Half an hour later, he crept back again by a circuitous
+route, watched Will awhile unseen, then stole grinning away to milk the
+cows.
+
+The young man, honestly thunderstruck at the task planned for him,
+judged that thinking would not mend matters, and so began to work
+quickly without stopping to reflect. But his thoughts could not be
+controlled, any more than his disposition changed. A growing
+consciousness of deep and deliberate insult surged up in him. The more
+he brooded the slower he worked, and finally anger mastered
+determination. He flung down his spade, saluted a red sunrise with the
+worst language at his command, and strode down to the river. Here, for
+some time and until blue smoke began to climb from the kitchen chimney
+of the farm, Will paced about; then with a remarkable effort returned to
+his task. He actually started again, and might have carried the matter
+to completion; but an evil demon was abroad, and Billy, spying the young
+man at work anew, reappeared.
+
+"You'm makin' poor speed, my son," he said, viewing the other's progress
+with affected displeasure.
+
+It proved enough, for Will's smouldering fires were ready to leap at any
+fuel.
+
+"Go to blue, blazing hell!" he cried. "You'm at the bottom of this
+business, I'll lay a pound. Get out o' my sight, you hookem-snivey auld
+devil, or I'll rub your dirty ginger poll in it, sure's death!"
+
+"My stars! theer's crooked words! Do 'e try an' keep tighter hand on
+your temper, Blanchard. A man should knaw hisself anyways 'fore he has
+the damn fulishness to take a wife. An' if you ax me--"
+
+Mr. Blee's remarks were here brutally arrested, for the contents of
+Will's spade saluted his furrowed features, and quite obliterated the
+old man. He fled roaring, and the other flung his spade twenty yards
+away, overturned his wheelbarrow, and again strode to the river. He was
+fairly bubbling and boiling now, nor did the business of cleaning
+gaiters and boots, arms and hands, restore him to peace. A black pig
+gazed upon him and grunted as he came up from the water. It seemed to
+him a reincarnation of Billy, and he kicked it hard. It fled screaming
+and limping, while Will, his rage at full flood, proceeded through the
+farmyard on his way home. But here, by unhappy chance, stood Mr. Lyddon
+watching his daughter feed the fowls. Her husband ran full upon Phoebe,
+and she blushed in a great wave of joy until the black scowl upon his
+face told her that something was amiss. His evident anger made her
+start, and the involuntary action upset her bowl of grain. For a moment
+she stood motionless, looking upon him in fear, while at her feet fought
+and struggled a cloud of feathered things around the yellow corn.
+
+"If you've done your job, Will, may'st come and shaake Phoebe by the
+hand," said Mr. Lyddon nervously, while he pretended not to notice the
+other's passion.
+
+"I haven't done it; and if I had, is a scavenger's hand fit to touch
+hers?" thundered Blanchard. "I thought you was a man to swear by, and
+follow through thick an' thin," he continued, "but you ban't. You'm a
+mean, ill-minded sawl, as would trample on your awn flesh an' blood, if
+you got the chance. Do your awn dirty work. Who be I that you should
+call on me to wallow in filth to please your sour spite?"
+
+"You hear him, you hear him!" cried out the miller, now angry enough
+himself. "That's how I'm sarved for returnin' gude to his evil. I've
+treated un as no man else on God's airth would have done; and this is
+what I gets. He's mad, an' that's to speak kind of the wretch!"
+
+The young wife could only look helplessly from one to the other. That
+morning had dawned very brightly for her. A rumour of what was to happen
+reached her on rising, but the short-lived hope was quickly shattered,
+and though she had not seen him since their wedding-day, Phoebe was
+stung into bitterness against Will at this juncture. She knew nothing of
+particulars, but saw him now pouring harsh reproaches on her father, and
+paying the miller's unexampled generosity with hard and cruel words. So
+she spoke to her husband.
+
+"Oh, Will, Will, to say such things! Do 'e love me no better 'n that? To
+slight dear faither arter all he's forgiven!"
+
+"If you think I'm wrong, say it, Phoebe," he answered shortly. "If you'm
+against me, tu--"
+
+"'Against you!' How can you speak so?"
+
+"No matter what I say. Be you on his side or mine? 'Cause I've a right
+to knaw."
+
+"Caan't 'e see 'twas faither's gert, braave, generous thought to give 'e
+work, an' shaw a lesson of gudeness? An' then we meet again--"
+
+"Ess fay--happy meetin' for wife an' husband, me up to the eyes
+in--Theer, any fule can see 'twas done a purpose to shame me."
+
+"You're a fule to say it! 'Tis your silly pride's gwaine to ruin all
+your life, an' mine, tu. Who's to help you if you've allus got the black
+monkey on your shoulder like this here?"
+
+"You'm a overbearin', headstrong madman," summed up the miller, still
+white with wrath; "an' I've done with 'e now for all time. You've had
+your chance an' thrawed it away."
+
+"He put this on me because I was poor an' without work."
+
+"He didn't," cried the girl, whose emotions for a moment took her clean
+from Will to her father. "He never dreamed o' doin' any such thing. He
+couldn't insult a beggar-man; an' you knaw it. 'Tis all your ugly,
+wicked temper!"
+
+"Then I'll take myself off, an' my temper, tu," said Will, and prepared
+to do so; while Mr. Lyddon listened to husband and wife, and his last
+hope for the future dwindled and died, as he heard them quarrel with
+high voices. His daughter clung to him and supported his action, though
+what it had been she did not know.
+
+"Caan't 'e see you're breakin' faither's heart all awver again just as
+'twas mendin'?" she said. "Caan't 'e sing smaller, if 'tis awnly for
+thought of me? Doan't, for God's love, fling away like this."
+
+"I met un man to man, an' did his will with a gude thankful heart, an'
+comed in the dawn to faace a job as--"
+
+"'Tweren't the job, an' you knaw it," broke in Mr. Lyddon. "I wanted to
+prove 'e an' all your fine promises; an' now I knaw their worth, an'
+your worth. An' I curse the day ever my darter was born in the world,
+when I think she'm your wife, an' no law can break it."
+
+He turned and went into the house, and Phoebe stood alone with her
+husband.
+
+"Theer!" cried Will. "You've heard un. That was in his heart when he
+spoke me so fair. An' if you think like he do, say it. Lard knaws I
+doan't want 'e no more, if you doan't want me!"
+
+"Will! How can you! An' us not met since our marriage-day. But you'm
+cruel, cruel to poor faither."
+
+"Say so, an' think so; an' b'lieve all they tell 'e 'gainst your lawful
+husband; an' gude-bye. If you'm so poor-spirited as to see your man do
+thicky work, you choosed wrong. Not that 'tis any gert odds. Stop along
+wi' your faither as you loves so much better 'n me. An' doan't you fear
+I'll ever cross his threshold again to anger un, for I'd rather blaw my
+brains out than do it."
+
+He shook and stuttered with passion; his eyes glowed, his lips changed
+from their natural colour to a leaden blue. He groped for the gate when
+he reached it, and passed quickly out, heedless of Phoebe's sorrowful
+cry to him. He heard her light step following and only hastened his
+speed for answer. Then, hurrying from her, a wave of change suddenly
+flowed upon his furious mind, and he began to be very sorry. Presently
+he stopped and turned, but she had stayed her progress by now, and for a
+moment's space stood and watched him, bathed in tears. At the moment
+when he hesitated and looked back, however, his wife herself had turned
+away and moved homewards. Had she been standing in one place, Will's
+purposes would perchance have faded to air, and his arm been round her
+in a moment; but now he only saw Phoebe retreating slowly to Monks
+Barton; and he let her go.
+
+Blanchard went home to breakfast, and though Chris discovered that
+something was amiss, she knew him too well to ask any questions. He ate
+in silence, the past storm still heaving in a ground-swell through his
+mind. That his wife should have stood up against him was a sore thought.
+It bewildered the youth utterly, and that she might be ignorant of all
+details did not occur to him. Presently he told his wrongs to Chris, and
+grew very hot again in the recital. She sympathised deeply, held him
+right to be angry, and grew angry herself.
+
+"He 'm daft," she said, "an' I'd think harder of him than I do, but that
+he's led by the nose. 'Twas that auld weasel, Billy Blee, gived him the
+wink to set you on a task he knawed you'd never carry through."
+
+"Theer's truth in that," said Will; then he recollected his last meeting
+with the miller's man, and suddenly roared with laughter.
+
+"'Struth! What a picter he was! He agged an' agged at me till I got fair
+mad, an'--well, I spiled his meal, I do b'lieve."
+
+His merriment died away slowly in a series of long-drawn chuckles. Then
+he lighted his pipe, watched Chris cleaning the cups and plates, and
+grew glum again.
+
+"'Twas axin' me--a penniless chap; that was the devil of it. If I'd been
+a moneyed man wi'out compulsion to work, then I'd have been free to say
+'No,' an' no harm done. De'e follow?"
+
+"I'm thankful you done as you did. But wheer shall 'e turn now?"
+
+"Doan't knaw. I'll lay I'll soon find work."
+
+"Theer's some of the upland farms might be wanting harrowin' an' seed
+plantin' done."
+
+"Who's to Newtake, Gran'faither Ford's auld plaace, I wonder?"
+
+"'Tis empty. The last folks left 'fore you went away. Couldn't squeeze
+bare life out of it. That's the fourth party as have tried an' failed."
+
+"Yet gran'faither done all right."
+
+"He was a wonnerful man of business, an' lived on a straw a day, as
+mother says. But the rest--they come an' go an' just bury gude money
+theer to no better purpose than the gawld at a rainbow foot."
+
+"Well, I'll go up in the village an' look around before Miller's got
+time to say any word against me. He'll spoil my market if he can, I
+knaw."
+
+"He'd never dare!"
+
+"I'd have taken my oath he wouldn't essterday. Now I think differ'nt. He
+never meant friendship; he awnly wanted for me to smart. Clem Hicks was
+right."
+
+"Theer's Mr. Grimbal might give 'e work, I think. Go an' ax un, an' tell
+un I sent 'e."
+
+A moment later Chris was sorry she had made this remark.
+
+"What be talkin' 'bout?" Will asked bluntly. "Tell un _you_ sent me?"
+
+"Martin wants to be friends."
+
+"'Martin,' is it?"
+
+"He axed me to call un so."
+
+"Do he knaw you'm tokened to Clem?"
+
+"Caan't say. It almost 'peared as if he didn't last time he called."
+
+"Then sooner he do the better. Axed you to call un 'Martin'!"
+
+He stopped and mused, then spoke again.
+
+"Our love-makin's a poor business, sure enough. I've got what I wanted
+an', arter this marnin', could 'most find it in me to wish my cake was
+dough again; an' you--you ain't got what you want, an' ban't no gert
+sign you will, for Clem's the weakest hand at turnin' a penny ever I
+met."
+
+"I'll wait for un, whether or no," said Chris, fiercely. "I'll wait, if
+need be, till we'm both tottling auld mumpheads!"
+
+"Ess; an' when Martin Grimbal knaws that is so, 'twill be time enough to
+ax un for work, I dare say,--not sooner. Better he should give Clem work
+than me. I'd thought of him myself, for that matter."
+
+"I've axed Clem to ax un long ago, but he won't."
+
+"I'll go and see Clem right away. 'Tis funny he never let the man knaw
+'bout you. Should have been the first thing he tawld un."
+
+"Perhaps he thought 'twas so far off that--"
+
+"Doan't care what he thought. Weern't plain dealin' to bide quiet about
+that, an' I shall tell un so."
+
+"Well, doan't 'e quarrel with Clem. He'm 'bout the awnly friend you've
+got left now."
+
+"I've got mother an' you. I'm all right. I can see as straight as any
+man, an' all my brain-work in the past ban't gwaine to be wasted 'cause
+wan auld miller fellow happens to put a mean trick on me. I'm above
+caring. I just goes along and remembers that people has their failings."
+
+"We must make allowance for other folk."
+
+"So us must; an' I be allus doin' it; so why the hell doan't they make
+allowance for me? That's why I boil awver now an' again--damn it! I gets
+nought but kicks for my halfpence--allus have; an' I won't stand it from
+mortal man much longer!"
+
+Chris kept her face, for Will's views on conduct and man's whole duty to
+man were no new thing.
+
+"Us must keep patient, Will, 'specially with the auld."
+
+"I be patient. It 'mazes me, looking back, to see what I have suffered
+in my time. But a man's a man, not a post or a holy angel. Us wouldn't
+hear such a deal about angels' tempers either if they'd got to faace all
+us have."
+
+"That's profanity an' wickedness."
+
+"'Tis truth. Any fule can be a saint inside heaven; an' them that was
+born theer and have flown 'bout theer all theer time, like birds in a
+wood, did ought to be even-tempered. What's to cross'em?"
+
+"You shouldn't say such things!"
+
+Suddenly a light came into his eyes.
+
+"I doan't envy 'em anyway. Think what it must be never to have no mother
+to love 'e! They 'm poor, motherless twoads, for all their gold crowns
+an' purple wings."
+
+"Will! whatever will 'e say next? Best go to Clem. An' forget what I
+spoke 'bout Martin Grimbal an' work. You was wiser'n me in that."
+
+"I s'pose so. If a man ban't wiser 'n his sister, he's like to have poor
+speed in life," said Will.
+
+Then he departed, but the events of that day were still very far from an
+end, and despite the warning of Chris, her brother soon stood on the
+verge of another quarrel. It needed little to wake fresh storms in his
+breast and he criticised Clement's reticence on the subject of his
+engagement in so dictatorial and hectoring a manner that the elder man
+quickly became incensed. They wrangled for half an hour, Hicks in
+satirical humour, Will loud with assurances that he would have no
+underhand dealings where any member of his family was concerned. Clement
+presently watched the other tramp off, and in his mind was a dim
+thought. Could Blanchard forget the past so quickly? Did he recollect
+that he, Clement Hicks, shared knowledge of it? "He's a fool, whichever
+way you look at him," thought the poet; "but hardly such a fool as to
+forget that, or risk angering me of all men."
+
+Later in the day Will called at a tap-room, drank half a pint of beer,
+and detailed his injuries for the benefit of those in the bar. He asked
+what man amongst them, situated as he had been, had acted otherwise; and
+a few, caring not a straw either way, declared he had showed good pluck
+and was to be commended; But the bulky Mr. Chapple--he who assisted
+Billy Blee in wassailing Miller Lyddon's apple-trees--stoutly criticised
+Will, and told him that his conduct was much to blame. The younger
+argued against this decision and explained, with the most luminous
+diction at his command, that 'twas in the offering of such a task to a
+penniless man its sting and offence appeared.
+
+"He knawed I was at low ebb an' not able to pick an' choose. So he gives
+me a starvin' man's job. If I'd been in easy circumstances an' able to
+say 'Yes' or 'No' at choice, I'd never have blamed un."
+
+"Nonsense and stuff!" declared Mr. Chapple. "Theer's not a shadow of
+shame in it."
+
+"You'm Miller's friend, of coourse," said Will.
+
+"'Tis so plain as a pike, I think!" squeaked a hare-lipped young man of
+weak intellect who was also present. "Blanchard be right for sartain."
+
+"Theer! If soft Gurney sees my drift it must be pretty plain," said
+Will, in triumph.
+
+"But as 'tis awnly him that does, lad," commented Mr. Chapple, drily,
+"caan't say you've got any call to be better pleased. Go you back an' do
+the job, like a wise man."
+
+"I'd clear the peat out o' Cranmere Pool sooner!" said Will.
+
+And he turned homewards again, wretched enough, yet fiercely prodding
+his temper when it flagged, and telling himself repeatedly that he had
+acted as became a man of spirit and of judgment. Then, upon a day
+sufficiently leaden and dreary until that moment, burst forth sudden
+splendours, and Will's life, from a standpoint of extreme sobriety in
+time, instantly passed to rare brightness. Between the spot on the
+highway where Chris met him and his arrival at home, the youth enjoyed
+half a lifetime of glorious hopes and ambitions; but a cloud indeed
+shadowed all this overwhelming joy in that the event responsible for his
+change of fortune was itself sad.
+
+While yet twenty yards from her brother Chris cried the news to him.
+
+"He's dead--Uncle--he went quite sudden at the end; an' he'm to lie to
+Chagford wi' gran'faither an' gran'mother."
+
+"Dead! My God! An' I never seed un more! The best friend to me ever I
+had--leastways I thought so till this marnin'."
+
+"You may think so still."
+
+"Ess, so I do. A kind man inside his skin. I knawed un better'n most
+people--an' he meant well when he married me, out of pure love to us
+both."
+
+"He's left nobody no money but Mrs. Watson and you."
+
+"If 'tis five pound, 'tis welcome to-day; an' if 'tis five shillin',
+I'll thank un an' spend it 'pon a ring to wear for un. He was a gude
+auld blid, an' I'm sorry he's gone."
+
+"Will, Uncle's left 'e a thousand pound!"
+
+"What! You'm jokin'."
+
+"Solemn truth. 'Tis in mother's letter."
+
+A rush of joy lighted up the young man's face. He said not a word; then
+his eyes grew moist.
+
+"To think as he could have loved a daft fule like me so well as that!
+Me--that never done nothin'--no, not so much as to catch a dish of trout
+for un, now an' again, when he was here."
+
+"You couldn't, bein' water-keeper."
+
+"What matter for that? I ought to have poached for un, seein' the manner
+of man he was."
+
+He kept silence for a while, then burst out--
+
+"I'll buy the braavest marble stone can be cut. Nobody shall do it but
+me, wi' doves or anchors or some such thing on it, to make it a fine
+sight so long as the world goes on."
+
+"Theer's plenty room 'pon the auld slate, for that matter," said Chris.
+
+"Damn the auld slate! The man shall have white marble carvings, I tell
+'e, if I've got to spend half the money buying 'em. He b'lieved in me;
+he knawed I'd come to gude; an' I'm grateful to un."
+
+During the evening Will was unusually silent and much busied with
+thought. He knew little of the value of money, and a thousand pounds to
+his mind represented possibilities wholly beyond the real power of that
+sum to achieve. Chris presently visited the vicarage, and after their
+supper, brother and sister sat late and discussed the days to come. When
+the girl retired, Will's thoughts for a moment concerned themselves with
+the immediate past rather than the future; and then it was that he
+caught himself blankly before his own argument of the morning. To him
+the force of the contention, now that his position was magically
+changed, appeared strong as before. A little sophistry had doubtless
+extricated him from this dilemma, but his nature was innocent of it, and
+his face grew longer as the conclusion confronting him became more
+clear. From his own logic--a mysterious abstraction, doubtless--he found
+it difficult to escape without loss of self-respect. He still held that
+the deed, impossible to him as a pauper, might be performed without
+sacrifice of dignity or importance by a man of his present fortune. So
+the muddle-headed youth saw his duty straight ahead of him; and he
+regretted it heartily, but did not attempt to escape from it.
+
+Ten minutes later, in his working clothes, he set out to Monks Barton,
+carrying an old horn lantern that had swung behind his father's caravan
+twenty years before. At the farm all lights were out save one in the
+kitchen; but Will went about his business as silently as possible, and
+presently found the spade where he had flung it, the barrow where he had
+overthrown it in the morning. So he set to work, his pipe under his
+nose, his thoughts afar off in a golden paradise built of Uncle Ford's
+sovereigns.
+
+Billy Blee, whose attic window faced out upon the northern side of the
+farm, had gone to bed, but he was still awake, and the grunt of a
+wheelbarrow quickly roused him. Gazing into the night he guessed what
+was doing, dragged on his trousers, and hurried down-stairs to his
+master.
+
+The miller sat with his head on his hand. His pipe was out and the
+"night-cap" Phoebe had mixed for him long ago, remained untasted.
+
+"Guy Fawkes an 'angels! here's a thing! If that Jack-o'-lantern of a
+bwoy ban't back again. He'm delvin' theer, for all the world like a
+hobgoblin demon, red as blood in the flicker of the light. I fancied't
+was the Dowl hisself. But 't is Blanchard, sure. Theer's some dark
+thought under it, I'll lay, or else he wants to come around 'e again."
+
+His master doubted not that Billy was dreaming, but he went aloft and
+looked to convince himself. In silence and darkness they watched Will at
+work. Then Mr. Blee asked a question as the miller turned to go.
+
+"What in thunder do it mean?"
+
+"God knaws, I doan't. The man or bwoy, or whatever you call un, beats
+me. I ban't built to tackle such a piece as him. He's took a year off my
+life to-day. Go to your bed, Billy, an' let un bide."
+
+"Gormed if I wouldn't like to slip down an' scat un ower the head for
+what he done to me this marnin'. Such an auld man as me, tu! weak in the
+hams this ten year."
+
+"But strong in the speech. Maybe you pricked him with a bitter word,
+an'--theer, theer, if I ban't standin' up for the chap now! Yet if I've
+wished un dead wance, I have fifty times since I first heard tell of un.
+Get to bed. I s'pose us'll knaw his drift come to-morrow."
+
+Mr. Lyddon and Billy retired, and both slept ere Will Blanchard's work
+was done. Upon its completion he sought the cold nocturnal waters of the
+river, and then did a thing he had planned an hour before. Entering the
+farmyard, he flung a small stone at Phoebe's window in the thatch, then
+another. But the first had roused his wife, for she lay above in
+wakefulness and sorrow. She peeped out, saw Blanchard, knew him in the
+lantern light, and opened the window.
+
+"Will, my awn Will!" she said, with a throbbing voice.
+
+"Ess fay, lovey! I knawed you'd sleep sweeter for hearin' tell I've done
+the work."
+
+"Done it?"
+
+"Truth."
+
+"It was a cruel, wicked shame; an' the blame's Billy Blee's, an' I've
+cried my eyes out since I heard what they set you to do; an' I've said
+what I thought; an' I'm sorry to bitterness about this marnin', dear
+Will."
+
+"'T is all wan now. I've comed into a mort of money, my Uncle Ford bein'
+suddenly dead."
+
+"Oh, Will, I could a'most jump out the window!"
+
+"'T would be easier for me to come up-long."
+
+"No, no; not for the world, Will!"
+
+"Why for not? An' you that lovely, twinklin' in your white gownd, an' me
+your lawful husband, an' a man o' money! Damned if I ain't got a mind to
+climb up by the pear-tree!"
+
+"You mustn't, you mustn't! Go away, dear, sweet Will. An' I'm so
+thankful you've forgiven me for being so wicked, dear heart."
+
+"Everybody'll ax to be forgiven now, I reckon; but you--theer ban't
+nothin' to forgive you for. You can tell your faither I've forgived un
+to-morrow, an' tell un I'm rich, tu. 'T will ease his mind. Theer, an'
+theer, an theer!"
+
+Will kissed his hand thrice, then vanished, and his wife shut her window
+and, kneeling, prayed out thankful prayers.
+
+As her husband crossed Rushford Bridge, his thought sped backward
+through the storm and sunshine of past events. But chiefly he remembered
+the struggle with John Grimbal and its sequel. For a moment he glanced
+below into the dark water.
+
+"'T is awver an' past, awver an' past," he said to himself. "I be at the
+tail of all my troubles now, for theer's nought gude money an' gude
+sense caan't do between 'em."
+
+
+
+
+BOOK II
+
+HIS ENTERPRISE
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+SPRINGTIME
+
+
+Nature, waking at the song of woodland birds to find herself naked,
+fashioned with flying fingers such a robe of young green and amber,
+hyacinth and pearl as only she can weave or wear. A scent of the season
+rose from multitudinous "buds, and bells, and stars without a name";
+while the little world of Devon, vale and forest, upland and heathery
+waste, rejoiced in the new life, as it rang and rippled with music and
+colour even to the granite thrones of the Moor. Down by the margin of
+Teign, where she murmured through a vale of wakening leaves and
+reflected asphodels bending above her brink, the valley was born again
+in a very pageant of golden green that dappled all the grey woods,
+clothed branch and bough anew, ran flower-footed over the meadow, hid
+nests of happy birds in every dell and dingle, and spread luxuriant life
+above the ruin of the year that was gone. A song of hope filled each
+fair noon; no wasted energy, no unfulfilled intent as yet saddened the
+eye; no stunted, ruined nursling of Nature yet spoke unsuccess; no
+canker-bitten bud marked the cold finger of failure; for in that first
+rush of life all the earthborn host had set forth, if not equal, at
+least together. The primroses twinkled true on downy coral stems and the
+stars of anemone, celandine, and daisy opened perfect. Countless
+consummate, lustrous things were leaping, mingling, and uncurling, aloft
+and below, in the mazes of the wood, at the margins of the water.
+Verdant spears and blades expanded; fair fans opened and tendrils
+twined; simultaneous showers of heart-shaped, arrow-shaped, flame-shaped
+foliage, all pure emerald and translucent beryl, made opulent outpouring
+of that new life which now pulsed through the Mother's million veins.
+Diaphanous mist wreaths and tender showers wooed the Spring; under
+silver gauze of vernal rain rang wild rapture of thrushes, laughter of
+woodpeckers, chime and chatter of jackdaws from the rock, secret
+crooning of the cushat in the pines. From dawn till dusk the sweet air
+was winnowed by busy wings; from dawn till dusk the hum and murmur of
+life ceased not. Infinite possibility, infinite promise, marked the
+time; and man shared a great new hope with the beasts and birds, and
+wild violet of the wood. Blood and sap raced gloriously together, while
+a chorus of conscious and unconscious creation sang the anthem of the
+Spring in solemn strophe and antistrophe.
+
+As life's litany rises once again, and before the thunder of that music
+rolling from the valleys to the hills, human reason yearly hesitates for
+a moment, while hope cries out anew above the frosty lessons of
+experience. For a brief hour the thinker, perhaps wisely, turns from
+memory, as from a cloud that blots the present with its shadow, and
+spends a little moment in this world of opal lights and azure shades. He
+forgets that Nature adorned the bough for other purpose than his joy;
+forgets that strange creatures, with many legs and hungry mouths, will
+presently tatter each musical dome of rustling green; forgets that he
+gazes upon a battlefield awaiting savage armies, which will fill high
+Summer with ceaseless war, to strew the fair earth with slain. He
+suffers dead Winter to bury her dead, seeks the wine of life that brims
+in the chalices of Spring flowers: plucks blade and blossom, and is a
+child again, if Time has so dealt with him that for a little he can thus
+far retrace his steps; and, lastly, he turns once more to the Mother he
+has forgotten, to find that she has not forgotten him. The whisper of
+her passing in a greenwood glade is the murmur of waters invisible and
+of life unseen; the scent of her garment comes sweet on the bloom of the
+blackthorn; high heaven and lowly forget-me-not alike mirror the blue of
+her wonderful eyes; and the gleam of the sunshine on rippling rivers and
+dreaming clouds reflects the gold of her hair. She moves a queen who,
+passing through one fair corner of her world-wide kingdom, joys in it.
+She, the sovereign of the universe, reigns here too, over the buds and
+the birds, and the happy, unconsidered life of weald and wold. Each busy
+atom and unfolding frond is dear to her; each warm nest and hidden
+burrow inspires like measure of her care and delight; and at this time,
+if ever, we may think of Nature as forgetting Death for one magic
+moment, as sharing the wide joy of her wakening world, as greeting the
+young mother of the year's hopes, as pressing to her bosom the babes of
+Spring with many a sunny smile and rainbowed tear.
+
+Through the woods in Teign Valley passed Clement Hicks and his
+sweetheart about a fortnight after Lawyer Ford had been laid to rest in
+Chagford Churchyard. Chris talked about her brother and the great
+enterprise he had determined upon. She supported Will and spoke with
+sanguine words of his future; but Clement regarded the project
+differently.
+
+"To lease Newtake Farm is a fool's trick," he said. "Everybody knows the
+last experiments there. The place has been empty for ten months, and
+those who touched it in recent years only broke their hearts and wasted
+their substance."
+
+"Well, they weern't such men as Will. Theer's a fitness about it, tu;
+for Will's awn gran'faither prospered at Newtake; an' if he could get a
+living, another may. Mother do like the thought of Will being there
+somehow."
+
+"I know it. The sentiment of the thing has rather blinded her natural
+keen judgment. Curious that I should criticise sentiment in another
+person; but it 's like my cranky, contrary way. Only I was thinking of
+Will's thousand pounds. Newtake will suck it out of his pocket quicker
+than Cranmere sucks up a Spring shower."
+
+"Well, I'm more hopeful. He knows the value of money; an' Phoebe will
+help him when she comes up. The months slip by so quickly. By the time
+I've got the cobwebs out of the farm an' made the auld rooms
+water-sweet, I dare say theer'll be talk of his wife joining him."
+
+"You going up! This is the first I've heard of it."
+
+"I meant to tell 'e to-day. Mother is willing and I'm awnly tu glad. A
+man's a poor left-handed thing 'bout a house. I'd do more 'n that for
+Will."
+
+"Pity he doesn't think and do something for you. Surely a little of this
+money--?"
+
+"Doan't 'e touch on that, Clem. Us had a braave talk 'pon it, for he
+wanted to make over two hundred pound to me, but I wouldn't dream of it,
+and you wouldn't have liked me tu. You 'm the last to envy another's
+fair fortune."
+
+"I do envy any man fortune. Why should I starve, waiting for you, and--?"
+
+"Hush!" she said, as though she had spoken to a little child. "I won't
+hear no wild words to-day in all this gude gold sunshine."
+
+"God damn everything!" he burst out. "What a poor, impotent wretch He's
+made me--a thing to bruise its useless hands beating the door that will
+never open! It maddens me--especially when all the world's happy, like
+to-day--all happy but me. And you so loyal and true! What a fool you
+are to stick to me and let me curse you all your life!"
+
+"Doan't 'e, doan't 'e, Clem," said Chris wearily. She was growing well
+accustomed to these ebullitions. "Doan't grudge Will his awn. Our turn
+will come, an' perhaps sooner than we think for. Look round 'pon the
+sweet fresh airth an' budding flowers. Spring do put heart into a body.
+We 'm young yet, and I'll wait for 'e if 't is till the crack o' doom."
+
+"Life's such a cursed short thing at best--just a stormy day between two
+nights, one as long as past time, the other all eternity. Have you seen
+a mole come up from the ground, wallow helplessly a moment or two, half
+blind in the daylight, then sink back into the earth, leaving only a
+mound? That's our life, yours and mine; and Fate grudges that even these
+few poor hours, which make the sum of it, should be spent together.
+Think how long a man and woman can live side by side at best. Yet every
+Sunday of your life you go to church and babble about a watchful, loving
+Maker!"
+
+"I doan't know, Clem. You an' me ban't everybody. You've told me
+yourself as God do play a big game, and it doan't become this man or
+that woman to reckon their-selves more important than they truly be."
+
+"A great game, yes; but a cursed poor game--for a God. The counters
+don't matter, I know; they'll soon be broken up and flung away; and the
+sooner the better. It's living hell to be born into a world where
+there's no justice--none for king or tinker."
+
+"Sit alongside of me and smell the primrosen an' watch thicky kingfisher
+catching the li'l trout. I doan't like 'e in these bitter moods, Clem,
+when your talk's all dead ashes."
+
+He sat by her and looked out over the river. It was flooded in sunlight,
+fringed with uncurling green.
+
+"I'm sick and weary of life without you. 'Conscious existence is a
+failure,' and the man who found that out and said it was wise. I wish I
+was a bird or beast--or nothing. All the world is mating but you and me.
+Nature hates me because I survive from year to year, not being fit to.
+The dumb things do her greater credit than ever I can. The--"
+
+"Now, I'll go--on my solemn word, I'll go--if you grumble any more!
+Essterday you was so different, and said you'd fallen in love with Miss
+Spring, and pretended to speak to her and make me jealous. You didn't do
+that, but you made me laugh. An' you promised a purty verse for me. Did
+'e make it up after all? I lay not."
+
+"Yes, I did. I wasted two or three hours over it last night."
+
+"Might 'e get ten shillings for it, like t' other?"
+
+"It's not worth the paper it's on, unless you like it. Your praise is
+better than money to me. Nobody wants any thoughts of mine. Why should
+they?"
+
+"Not when they 'm all sour an' poor, same as now; but essterday you
+spoke like to a picture-book. Theer's many might have took gude from
+what you said then."
+
+He pulled a scrap of paper from his pocket and flung it into her lap.
+
+"I call it 'Spring Rain,'" he said. "Yesterday the world was grey, and I
+was happy; to-day the world is all gold, and I'm finding life harder and
+heavier than usual. Read it out slowly to me. It was meant to be read to
+the song of the river, and never a prettier voice read a rhyme than
+yours."
+
+Chris smoothed the paper and recited her lover's lyrics. They had some
+shadow of music in them and echoed Clem's love of beautiful things; but
+they lacked inspiration or much skill.
+
+  "'Neath unnumbered crystal arrows--
+      Crystal arrows from the quiver
+      Of a cloud--the waters shiver
+   In the woodland's dim domain;
+   And the whispering of the rain
+   Tinkles sweet on silver Teign--
+             Tinkles on the river.
+
+  "Through unnumbered sweet recesses--
+      Sweet recesses soft in lining
+      Of green moss with ivy twining--
+   Daffodils, a sparkling train,
+   Twinkle through the whispering rain,
+   Twinkle bright by silver Teign,
+             With a starry shining.
+
+  "'Mid unnumbered little leaf-buds--
+      Little leaf-buds surely bringing
+      Spring once more--song birds are winging;
+   And their mellow notes again
+   Throb across the whispering rain,
+   Till the banks of silver Teign
+             Echo with their singing."
+
+Chris, having read, made customary cheerful comment according to her
+limitations.
+
+"'T is just like essterday--butivul grawing weather, but 'pears to me
+it's plain facts more 'n poetry. Anybody could come to the streamside
+and see it all for themselves."
+
+"Many are far away, pent in bricks and mortar, yearning deep to see the
+dance of the Spring, and chained out of sight of it. This might bring
+one glimpse to them."
+
+"An' so it might, if you sold it for a bit of money. Then it could be
+printed out for 'em like t'other was."
+
+"You don't understand--you won't understand--even you."
+
+"I caan't please 'e to-day. I likes the li'l verses ever so. You do make
+such things seem butivul to my ear--an' so true as a photograph."
+
+Clem shivered and stretched his hand for the paper. Then, in a moment,
+he had torn it into twenty pieces and sent the fragments afloat.
+
+"There! Let her take them to the sea with her. She understands. Maybe
+she'll find a cool corner for me too before many days are passed."
+
+Chris began to feel her patience failing.
+
+"What, in God's name, have I done to 'e you should treat me like this?"
+she asked, with fire in her eyes.
+
+"Been fool enough to love me," he answered. "But it's never too late for
+a woman to change her mind. Leave a sinking ship, or rather a ship that
+never got properly launched, but, sticking out of its element, was left
+to rot. Why don't you leave me, Chris?"
+
+She stroked his hand, then picked it up and laid her soft cheek against
+it.
+
+"Not till the end of the world comes for wan of us, Clem. I'll love 'e
+always, and the better and deeper 'cause you 'm so wisht an' unlucky
+somehow. But you 'm tu wise to be miserable all your time."
+
+"You ought to make me a man if anything could. I burn away with hopes
+and hopes, and more hopes for the future, and miss the paltry thing at
+hand that might save me."
+
+"Then miss it no more, love; seek closer, an' seek sharper. Maybe gude
+work an' gude money 's awnly waitin' for 'e to find it. Doan't look at
+the moon an' stars so much; think of me, an' look lower."
+
+Slowly the beauty of the hour and the sweet-hearted girl at his elbow
+threw some sunshine into Clement's moody heart. For a little while the
+melancholy and shiftless dreamer grew happier. He promised renewed
+activity in the future, and undertook, as a first step towards Martin
+Grimbal, to inform the antiquary of that great fact which his foolish
+whim had thus far concealed.
+
+"Chance might have got it to his ears through more channels than one,
+you would have thought; but he's a taciturn man, asks no questions, and
+invites no confidences. I like him the better for it. Next week, come
+what may, I'll speak to him and tell him the truth, like a plain, blunt
+man."
+
+"Do 'e that very thing," urged Chris. "Say we'm lovers these two year
+an' more; an' that you'd be glad to wed me if your way o' life was
+bettered. Ban't beggin', as he knaws, for nobody doubts you'm the most
+book-learned man in Chagford after parson."
+
+Together they followed the winding of the river and proceeded through
+the valley, by wood, and stile, and meadow, until they reached Rushford
+Bridge. Here they delayed a moment at the parapet and, while they did
+so, John Grimbal passed on foot alone.
+
+"His house is growing," said Clement, as they proceeded to Mrs.
+Blanchard's cottage.
+
+"Aye, and his hearth will be as cold as his heart--the wretch! Well he
+may turn his hard face away from me and remember what fell out on this
+identical spot! But for God's gude grace he'd have been hanged to Exeter
+'fore now."
+
+"You can't put yourself in his shoes, Chris; no woman can. Think what
+the world looked like to him after his loss. The girl he wanted was so
+near. His hands were stretched out for her; his heart was full of her.
+Then to see her slip away."
+
+"An' quite right, tu; as you was the first to say at the time. Who's
+gwaine to pity a thief who loses the purse he's stole, or a poacher that
+fires 'pon another man's bird an' misses it?"
+
+"All the same, I doubt he would have made a better husband for Phoebe
+Lyddon than ever your brother will."
+
+His sweetheart gasped at criticism so unexpected.
+
+"You--you to say that! You, Will's awn friend!"
+
+"It's true; and you know it as well as anybody. He has so little common
+sense."
+
+But Chris flamed up in an instant. Nothing the man's cranky temper could
+do had power to irritate her long. Nothing he might say concerning
+himself or her annoyed her for five minutes; but, upon the subject of
+her brother, not even from Clem did Chris care to hear a disparaging
+word or unfavourable comment. And this criticism, of all others,
+levelled against Will angered her to instant bitter answer before she
+had time to measure the weight of her words.
+
+"'Common sense'! Perhaps you'll be so kind as to give Will Blanchard a
+li'l of your awn--you being so rich in it. Best look at home, and see
+what you can spare!"
+
+So the lovers' quarrel which had been steadily brewing under the
+sunshine now bubbled over and lowered thunder-black for the moment, as
+such storms will.
+
+Clement Hicks, perfectly calm now that his sweetheart's temper was gone,
+marched off; and Chris, slamming the cottage door, vanished, without
+taking any further leave of him than that recorded in her last
+utterance.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+NEWTAKE FARM
+
+
+Clement Hicks told the truth when he said that Mrs. Blanchard fell
+something short of her usual sound judgment and sagacity in the matter
+of Will's enterprise. The home of childhood is often apt enough to
+exercise magic, far-reaching attraction, and even influence a mind for
+the most part unsentimental. To Damaris the thought of her son winning
+his living where her father had done so was pleasant and in accordance
+with eternal fitness. Not without emotion did she accompany Will to
+Newtake Farm while yet the proposed bargain awaited completion; not
+without strange awakenings in the dormant recesses of her memory did
+Will's mother pass and pass again through the scenes of her earliest
+days. From the three stone steps, or "upping stock," at the farmhouse
+door, whereat a thousand times she had seen her father mount his horse,
+to the environment of the farmyard; from the strange, winding staircase
+of solid granite that connected upper and lower storeys, to each mean
+chamber in Newtake, did Mrs. Blanchard's eyes roam thoughtfully amid the
+ghosts of recollections. Her girl's life returned and the occasional
+bright days gleamed forth again, vivid by contrast with the prevailing
+grey. So active became thought that to relieve her mind she spoke to
+Will.
+
+"The li'l chamber over the door was mine," she said; "an' your poor
+uncle had the next. I can just mind him, allus at his books, to his
+faither's pride. Then he went away to Newton to join some lawyer body
+an' larn his business. An' I mind the two small maids as was my elder
+sisters and comed betwixt me an' Joel. Both died--like candles blawed
+out roughly by the wind. They wasn't made o' the stuff to stand
+Dartymoor winters."
+
+She paused for a few moments, then proceeded:
+
+"Theer, to west of the yard, is a croft as had corn in it wan year,
+though 'tis permanent grass now, seemin'ly. Your faither corned through
+theer like a snake by night more'n wance; an' oftentimes I crept down
+house, shivering wi' fear an' love, to meet him under moonlight while
+the auld folks slept. Tim he'd grawed to a power wi' the gypsy people by
+that time; but faither was allus hard against un. He hated wanderers in
+tents or 'pon wheels, or even sea-gwaine sailor-men--he carried it that
+far. Then comed a peep o' day when Tim's bonny yellow caravan 'peared
+around the corner of that windin' road what goes all across the Moor. At
+the first stirring of light, I was ready an' skipped out; an', to this
+hour, I mind the last thing as touched me kindly was the red tongue of
+the sheep-dog. He ran a mile after the van, unhappy-like; then Tim
+ordered un away, an' he stood in the white road an' held up his paw an'
+axed a question as plain as a human. So Tim hit un hard wi' a gert
+stone, an' he yelped an' gived me up for lost, an' bolted home wi' his
+tail between his legs an' his eye thrawed back full of sadness over his
+shoulder. Ess fay! I can see the dust puffin' up under his pads in the
+grey dawn so clear as I can see you."
+
+Again she stopped, but only for breath.
+
+"They never answered my writings. Faither wouldn't an' mother didn't
+dare. But when I was near my time, Timothy, reckoning they'd yield then
+if ever, arranged to be in Chagford when I should be brought to bed. Yet
+'twas ordained differ'nt, an' the roundy-poundy, wheer the caravan was
+drawed up when the moment corned, be just round theer on Metherill hill,
+as you knaws. So it happened right under the very walls of Newtake. In
+the stone circle you comed; an' by night arterwards, sweatin' for
+terror, your gran'mother, as had heard tell of it, sneaked from Newtake
+to kiss me an' press you to her body. Faither never knawed till long
+arter; an' though mother used to say she heard un forgive me on his
+death-bed, 'twas her awn pious wish echoing in her awn ears I reckon.
+But that's all awver an' done."
+
+Mrs. Blanchard now sank into silent perambulation of the deserted
+chambers. In the kitchen the whitewash was grimy, the ceiling and
+windows unclean. Ashes of a peat fire still lay upon the cracked
+hearthstone, and a pair of worn-out boots, left by a tramp or the last
+tenant, stood on the window-sill. Dust and filth were everywhere, but no
+indication of dampness or decay.
+
+"A proper auld rogue's-roost of dirt 'tis just now," said Will; "but a
+few pound spent in the right way will do a deal for it."
+
+"An' soap an' water more," declared Mrs. Blanchard, escaping from her
+reverie. "What's to be spent landlord must spend," she continued. "A
+little whitewash, and some plaster to fill them holes wheer woodwork's
+poking through the ceiling, an' you'll be vitty again. 'Tis
+lonesome-like now, along o' being deserted, an' you'll hear the rats
+galloping an' gallyarding by night, but 'twill soon be all it was
+again--a dear li'l auld plaace, sure enough!"
+
+She eyed the desolation affectionately.
+
+"Theer's money in it, any way, for what wan man can do another can."
+
+"Aye, I hope so, I b'lieve 'tis so; but you'll have to live hard, an'
+work hard, an' be hard, if you wants to prosper here. Your gran'faither
+stood to the work like a giant, an' the sharpest-fashion weather hurt
+him no worse than if he'd been a granite tor. Steel-built to his heart's
+core, an' needed to be."
+
+"An' I be a stern, far-seein' man, same as him. 'Tis generally knawn I'm
+no fule; and my heart's grawed hard, tu of late days, along wi' the
+troubles life's brought."
+
+She shook her head.
+
+"You'm your faither's son, not your gran'faither's. Tim was flesh an'
+blood, same as you. T'other was stone. Stone's best, when you've got to
+fight wi' stone; but if flesh an' blood suffers more, it joys more, tu.
+I wouldn't have 'e differ'nt--not to them as loves 'e, any way."
+
+"I sha'n't change; an' if I did to all the world else, 'twouldn't be to
+you, mother. You knaw that, I reckon. I'm hopeful; I'm more; I'm 'bout
+as certain of fair fortune as a man can be. Venwell rights[6] be mine,
+and theer's no better moorland grazing than round these paarts. The
+farm-land looks a bit foul, along o' being let go to rack, but us'll
+soon have that clean again, an' some gude stuff into it, tu. My awn
+work'll be staring me in the faace before summer; an' by the time Phoebe
+do come to be mistress, nobody'll knaw Newtake, I promise 'e."
+
+
+[6] _Venwell rights_ = Venville rights.
+
+
+Mrs. Blanchard viewed with some uneasiness the spectacle of valley-born
+and valley-nurtured Phoebe taking up her abode on the high lands. For
+herself she loved them well, and the Moor possessed no terrors for her;
+but she had wit to guess that her daughter-in-law would think and feel
+differently. Indeed, neither woman nor man might reasonably be blamed
+for viewing the farm without delight when first brought within the
+radius of its influence.
+
+Newtake stood, a squat and unlovely erection, under a tar-pitched roof
+of slate. Its stone walls were coated with a stucco composition, which
+included tallow as an ingredient and ensured remarkable warmth and
+dryness. Before its face there stretched a winding road of white flint,
+that climbed from the village, five miles distant, and soon vanished
+amid the undulations of the hills; while, opposite, steep heathery
+slopes and grassy coombs ascended abruptly to masses of weathered
+granite; and at the rear a hillside, whereon Metherill's scattered
+hut-circles made incursions even into the fields of the farm, fell to
+the banks of Southern Teign where she babbled between banks of
+brake-fern and heather. Swelling and sinking solemnly along the sky,
+Dartmoor surrounded Newtake. At the entrance of the yard stood a broken
+five-barred gate between twin masses of granite; then appeared a ragged
+outbuilding or two, with roofs of lichen-covered slate; and upon one
+side, in a row, grew three sycamores, bent out of all uprightness by
+years of western winds, and coated as to their trunks with grey lichen.
+Behind a cowyard of shattered stone pavement and cracked mud stood the
+farm itself, and around it extended the fields belonging thereto. They
+were six or seven in number, and embraced some five-and-fifty acres of
+land, mostly indifferent meadow.
+
+Seen from the winding road, or from the bird's-eye elevation of the
+adjacent tor, Newtake, with its mean ship-pens and sties, outbuildings
+and little crofts, all huddled together, poverty-stricken, time-fretted,
+wind-worn, and sad of colour, appeared a mere forlorn fragment of
+civilisation left derelict upon the savage bosom of an untamable land.
+It might have represented some forsaken, night-foundered abode of men,
+torn by earthquake or magic spell from a region wholly different, and
+dropped and stranded here. It sulked solitary, remote, and forgotten;
+its black roof frowned over its windows, and green tears, dribbling down
+its walls in time past, had left their traces, as though even spring
+sunlight was powerless to eradicate the black memories of winters past,
+or soften the bitter certainty of others yet to come. The fields,
+snatched from the Moor in time long past, now showed a desire to return
+to their wild mother again. The bars of cultivation were broken and the
+land struggled to escape. Scabious would presently throw a mauve pallor
+over more than one meadow croft; in another, waters rose and rushes and
+yellow iris flourished and defied husbandry; elsewhere stubble, left
+unploughed by the last defeated farmer, gleamed silver-grey through a
+growth of weeds; while at every point the Moor thrust forward hands
+laden with briar and heather. They surmounted the low stone walls and
+fed and flourished upon the clods and peat that crowned them. Nature
+waved early gold of the greater furze in the van of her oncoming, and
+sent her wild winds to sprinkle croft and hay-field, ploughed land and
+potato patch, with thistledown and the seeds of the knapweed and rattle
+and bracken fern. These heathen things and a thousand others, in all the
+early vigour of spring, rose triumphant above the meek cultivation. They
+trampled it, strangled it, choked it, and maddened the agriculturist by
+their sturdy and stubborn persistence. A forlorn, pathetic blot upon the
+land of the mist was Newtake, seen even under conditions of sunlight and
+fair weather; but beheld beneath autumnal rains, observed at seasons of
+deep snow or in the dead waste of frozen winters, its apparition
+rendered the most heavy-hearted less sad before the discovery that there
+existed a human abode more hateful, a human outlook more oppressive,
+than their own.
+
+To-day heavy moorland vapours wrapped Newtake in ghostly raiment, yet no
+forlorn emotions clouded the survey of those who now wandered about the
+lifeless farm. In the mind of one, here retracing the course of her
+maidenhood, this scene, if sad, was beautiful. The sycamores, whose
+brown spikes had burst into green on a low bough or two, were the trees
+she loved best in the world; the naked field on the hillside, wherein a
+great stone ring shone grey through the silver arms of the mist,
+represented the theatre of her life's romance. There she had stolen
+oftentimes to her lover, and in another such, not far distant, had her
+son been born. Thoughts of little sisters rose in the naked kitchen,
+with the memory of a flat-breasted, wild-eyed mother, who did man's
+work; of a father, who spoke seldom and never twice--a father whose
+heavy foot upon the threshold sent his children scuttling like rabbits
+to hidden lairs and dens. She remembered the dogs; the bright gun-barrel
+above the chimney-piece; the steam of clothes hung to dry after many a
+soaking in "soft" weather; the reek of the peat; the brown eyes and
+steaming nostrils of the bullocks, that sometimes looked through the
+kitchen window in icy winter twilights, as though they would willingly
+change their byres for the warmth within.
+
+Mrs. Blanchard enjoyed the thought that her son should reanimate these
+scenes of her own childhood; and he, burning with energy and zeal, and
+not dead to his own significance as a man of money, saw promises of
+prosperity on either hand. It lay with him, he told his heart, to win
+smiling fatness from this hungry region. Right well he knew how it came
+about that those who had preceded him had failed, missed their
+opportunities, fooled themselves, and flung away their chances.
+Evidences of their ignorance stared at him from the curtains of the
+mist, but he knew better; he was a man who had thought a bit in his time
+and had his head screwed on the right way, thank God. These facts he
+poured into his mother's ear, and she smiled thoughtfully, noted the
+changes time had wrought, and indicated to him those things the landlord
+might reasonably be expected to do before Will should sign and seal.
+
+The survey ended, her son helped Damaris into a little market-cart,
+which he had bought for her upon coming into his fortune. A staid pony,
+also his purchase, completed the equipage, and presently Mrs. Blanchard
+drove comfortably away; while Will, who yet proposed to tramp, for the
+twentieth time, each acre of Newtake land, watched her depart, then
+turned to continue his researches. A world of thought rested on his
+brown face. Arrived at each little field, he licked his pencil, and made
+notes in a massive new pocketbook. He strode along like a conqueror of
+kingdoms, frowned and scratched his curly head as problem after problem
+rose, smiled when he solved them, and entered the solution in his book.
+For the wide world was full of young green, and this sanguine youth
+soared lark-high in soul under his happy circumstances. Will breathed
+out kindness to all mankind just at present, and now before that
+approaching welfare he saw writ largely in beggarly Newtake, before the
+rosy dawn which Hope spread over this cemetery of other men's dead
+aspirations, he felt his heart swell to the world. Two clouds only
+darkened his horizon then. One was the necessity of beginning the new
+life without his life's partner; while the other, formerly tremendous
+enough, had long since shrunk to a shadow on the horizon of the past.
+His secret still remained, but that circumstance was too remote to
+shadow the new enterprise. It existed, however, and its recurrence wove
+occasional gloomy patterns into the web of Will Blanchard's thought.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+OVER A RIDING-WHIP
+
+
+Will completed his survey and already saw, in his mind's eye, a brave
+masque of autumn gold spreading above the lean lands of Newtake. From
+this spectacle to that of garnered harvests and great gleaming stacks
+bursting with fatness the transition was natural and easy. He pictured
+kine in the farmyard, many sheep upon the hills, and Phoebe with such
+geese, ducks, and turkeys as should make her quite forget the poultry of
+Monks Barton. Then, having built castles in the air until his
+imagination was exhausted, Will shut the outer gate with the touch of
+possession, turned a moment to see how Newtake looked from the roadway,
+found only the shadow of it looming through the mist, and so departed,
+whistling and slapping his gaiters with an ash sapling.
+
+It happened that beside a gate which closed the moorland precincts to
+prevent cattle from wandering, a horseman stood, and as the pedestrian
+passed him in the gathering gloaming, he dropped his hunting-stock while
+making an effort to open the gate without dismounting.
+
+"Bide wheer you be!" said Will; "I'll pick un up an' ope the gate for
+'e."
+
+He did so and handed the whip back to its owner. Then each recognised
+the other, and there was a moment of silence.
+
+"'Tis you, Jan Grimbal, is it?" asked the younger. "I didn't knaw 'e in
+the dimpsy light."
+
+He hesitated, and his words when they came halted somewhat, but his
+meaning was evident.
+
+"I'm glad you'm back to home. I'll forget all what's gone, if you will.
+'Twas give an' take, I s'pose. I took my awn anyway, an' you comed near
+killing me for't, so we'm upsides now, eh? We'm men o' the world
+likewise. So--so shall us shake hands an' let bygones be, Jan Grimbal?"
+
+He half raised his hand, and looked up, with a smile at the corner of
+his lip ready to jump into life if the rider should accept his
+friendship. But Grimbal's response was otherwise.
+
+To say little goodness dwelt in this man had been untrue, but recent
+events and the first shattering reverse that life brought him proved
+sufficient to sour his very soul and eclipse a sun which aforetime shone
+with great geniality because unclouded. Fate hits such men particularly
+hard when her delayed blow falls. Existences long attuned to success and
+level fortune; lives which have passed through five-and-thirty years of
+their allotted span without much sorrow, without sharp thorns in the
+flesh, without those carking, gnawing trials of mind and body which Time
+stores up for all humanity--such feel disaster when it does reach them
+with a bitterness unknown by those who have been in misery's school from
+youth. Poverty does not bite the poor as it bites him who has known
+riches and afterwards fights destitution; feeble physical circumstances
+do not crush the congenital invalid, but they often come near to break
+the heart of a man who, until their black advent, has known nothing but
+rude health; great reverses in the vital issues of life and fortune fail
+to obliterate one who knows their faces of old, but the first enemy's
+cannon on Time's road must ever bring ugly shock to him who has advanced
+far and happily without meeting any such thing.
+
+Grimbal's existence had been of a rough-and-ready sort shone over by
+success. Philosophy he lacked, for life had never turned his mind that
+way; religion was likewise absent from him; and his recent tremendous
+disappointment thus thundered upon a mind devoid of any machinery to
+resist it. The possession of Phoebe Lyddon had come to be an accepted
+and accomplished fact; he chose her for his own, to share the good
+things Fortune had showered into his lap--to share them and be a
+crowning glory of them. The overthrow of this scheme at the moment of
+realisation upset his estimate of life in general and set him adrift and
+rudderless, in the hurricane of his first great reverse. Of selfish
+temperament, and doubly so by the accident of consistent success, the
+wintry wind of this calamity slew and then swept John Grimbal's common
+sense before it, like a dead leaf. All that was worst in him rose to the
+top upon his trouble, and since Will's marriage the bad had been winning
+on the good and thrusting it deeper and deeper out of sight or immediate
+possibility of recovery. At all times John Grimbal's inferior
+characteristics were most prominently displayed, and superficial
+students of character usually rated him lower than others really worse
+than himself, but who had wit to parade their best traits. Now, however,
+he rode and strode the country a mere scowling ruffian, with his
+uppermost emotions still stamped on his face. The calamity also bred an
+unsuspected sensitiveness in him, and he smarted often under the
+reflection of what others must be thinking. His capability towards
+vindictiveness proved very considerable. Formerly his anger against his
+fellow-men had been as a thunder-storm, tremendous but brief in
+duration; now, before this bolt of his own forging, a steady, malignant
+activity germinated and spread through the whole tissue of his mind.
+
+Those distractions open to a man of Grimbal's calibre presently blunted
+the edge of his loss, and successful developments of business also
+served to occupy him during the visit he paid to Africa; but no
+interests as yet had arisen to obscure or dull his hatred of Will
+Blanchard. The original blaze of rage sank to a steady, abiding fire,
+less obviously tremendous than that first conflagration, but in reality
+hotter. In a nature unsubtle, revenge will not flourish as a grand
+passion for any length of time. It must reach its outlet quickly and
+attain to its ambition without overmuch delay, else it shrivels and
+withers to a mere stubborn, perhaps lifelong, enmity--a dwarfish, mulish
+thing, devoid of any tragic splendour. But up to the point that John
+Grimbal had reached as yet, his character, though commonplace in most
+affairs, had unexpectedly quickened to a condition quite profound where
+his revenge was concerned.
+
+He still cherished the certainty of a crushing retaliation. He was glad
+he had not done Blanchard any lifelong injury; he was glad the man yet
+lived for time and him to busy themselves about; he was even glad (and
+herein appeared the unsuspected subtlety) that Will had prospered and
+come by a little show of fortune. Half unconsciously he hoped for the
+boy something of his own experiences, and had determined with
+himself--in a spirit very melodramatic but perfectly sincere at
+present--to ruin his enemy if patience and determination could
+accomplish it.
+
+In this mood, with his wrongs sharpened by return to Chagford and his
+purposes red-hot, John Grimbal now ran against his dearest foe, received
+the horsewhip from him, and listened to his offer of peace.
+
+He still kept silence and Will lowered the half-lifted arm and spoke
+again.
+
+"As you please. I can bide very easy without your gude word."
+
+"That's well, then," said the other, in his big voice, as his hands
+tightened. "We've met again. I'm glad I didn't break your neck, for your
+heart's left to break, and by the living God I'll break it! I can wait.
+I'm older than you, but young enough. Remember, I'll run you down sooner
+or later. I've hunted most things, and men aren't the cleverest beasts
+and you're not the cleverest man I've bested in my time. You beat me--I
+know it--but it would have been better for you if you hadn't been born.
+There's the truth for your country ears, you damned young hound. I'll
+fight fair and I'll fight to the finish. Sport--that's what it is. The
+birds and the beasts and the fish have their close time; but there won't
+be any close time for you, not while I can think and work against you.
+So now you know. D' you hear me?"
+
+"Ess," said Will, meeting the other's fierce eyes; "I hear 'e, an' so
+might the dead in Chagford buryin'-ground. You hollers loud enough. I
+ban't 'feared of nothing a hatch-mouthed,[7] crooked-minded man, same as
+you be, can do. An' if I'm a hound, you 'm a dirty red fox, an'
+everybody knaws who comes out top when they meet. Steal my gal, would
+'e? Gaw your ways, an' mend your ways, an' swallow your bile. I doan't
+care a flicker o' wildfire for 'e!"
+
+
+[7] _Hatch-mouthed_ = foul mouthed; profane.
+
+
+John Grimbal heard only the beginning of this speech, for he turned his
+back on Will and rode away while the younger man still shouted after
+him. Blanchard was in a rage, and would have liked to make a third trial
+of strength with his enemy on the spot, but the rider vanished and Will
+quickly cooled as he went down the hill to Chagford. The remembrance of
+this interview, for all his scorn, chilled him when he reflected on John
+Grimbal's threats. He feared nothing indeed, but here was another cloud,
+and a black one, blown violently back from below the horizon of his life
+to the very zenith. Malignity of this type was strange to him and
+differed widely from the petty bickerings, jealousies, and strifes of
+ordinary country existence. It discouraged him to feel in his hour of
+universal contentment that a strong, bitter foe would now be at hand,
+forever watching to bring ruin on him at the first opportunity. As he
+walked home he asked himself how he should feel and act in Grimbal's
+shoes, and tried to look at the position from his enemy's standpoint. Of
+course he told himself that he would have accepted defeat with right
+philosophy. It was a just fix for a man to find himself in,--a proper
+punishment for a mean act. Arguing thus, from the right side of the
+hedge, he forgot what wiser men have forgotten, that there is no
+disputing about man's affection for woman, there is no transposition of
+the standpoint, there is no looking through another's eyes upon a girl.
+Many have loved, and many have rendered vivid pictures of the emotion,
+touched with insight of genius and universally proclaimed true to nature
+from general experience; but no two men love alike, and neither you nor
+another man can better say how a third feels under the yoke, estimate
+his thrall, or foretell his actions, despite your own experience, than
+can one sufferer from gout, though it has torn him half a hundred times,
+gauge the qualities of another's torment under the same disease. Will
+could not guess what John Grimbal had felt for Phoebe; he knew nothing
+of the other's disposition, because, young in knowledge of the world and
+a boy still, despite his age, it was beyond him to appreciate even
+remotely the mind of a man fifteen years older than himself--a man of
+very different temper and one whose life had been such as we have just
+described.
+
+Home went Blanchard, and kept his meeting secret. His mother, returning
+long before him, was already in some argument with Chris concerning the
+disposal of certain articles of furniture, the pristine splendour of
+which had been worn off at Newtake five-and-thirty years before. At
+Farmer Ford's death these things passed to his son, and he, not
+requiring them, had made them over to Damaris.
+
+"They was flam-new when first my parents married and comed to Newtake,
+many a year ago; and now I want 'em to go back theer. They've seed three
+generations, an' I'd be well pleased that a fourth should kick its li'l
+boots out against them. They 'm stout enough yet. Sweat went to building
+of chairs an' tables in them days; now it's steam. Besides, 'twill save
+Will's pocket a tidy bit."
+
+Chris, however, though she could deny Will nothing, was divided here,
+for why should her mother part from those trifles which contributed to
+the ample adornment of her cottage? Certain stout horsehair furniture
+and a piano were the objects Mrs. Blanchard chiefly desired should go to
+Newtake. The piano, indeed, had never been there before. It was a
+present to Damaris from her dead husband, who purchased the instrument
+second-hand for five pounds at a farm sale. Its wiry jingle spoke of
+evolution from harpsichord or spinet to the modern instrument; its
+yellow keys, from which the ivory in some cases was missing, and its
+high back, stained silk front, and fretted veneer indicated age; while
+above the keyboard a label, now growing indistinct, set forth that one
+"William Harper, of Red Lion Street, Maker of piano-fortes to his late
+Majesty" was responsible for the instrument very early in the century.
+
+Now Will joined the discussion, but his mother would take no denial.
+
+"These chairs and sofa be yours, and the piano's my present to Phoebe.
+She'll play to you of a Sunday afternoon belike."
+
+"An' it's here she'll do it; for my Sundays'll be spent along with you,
+of coourse, 'cept when you comes up to my farm to spend 'em. That's what
+I hope'll fall out; an' I want to see Miller theer, tu, after he've
+found I'm right and he'm wrong."
+
+But the event proved that, even in his new capacity as a man of money
+and a landholder, Will was not to win much ground with Mr. Lyddon. Two
+circumstances contributed to the continued conflict, and just as Phoebe
+was congratulating herself and others upon the increasing amity between
+her father and her husband matters fell out which caused the miller to
+give up all hope of Will for the hundredth time. First came the
+occupancy of Newtake at a rent Mr. Lyddon considered excessive; and then
+followed a circumstance that touched the miller himself, for, by the
+offer of two shillings more a week than he received at Monks Barton,
+Will tempted into his service a labourer held in great esteem by his
+father-in-law.
+
+Sam Bonus appeared the incarnation of red Devon earth, built up on solid
+beef and mutton. His tanned face was framed in crisp black hair that no
+razor had ever touched; his eyes were deep-set and bright; his narrow
+brow was wrinkled, not with thought, but as the ape's. A remarkably tall
+and powerful frame supported Sam's little head. He laboured like a horse
+and gave as little trouble, triumphed in feats of brute strength,
+laughed at a day's work, never knew ache or pain. He had always greatly
+admired Blanchard, and, faced with the tempting bait of a florin a week
+more than his present wage, abandoned Monks Barton and readily followed
+Will to the Moor. His defection was greatly deplored, and though Will
+told Mr. Blee what he intended beforehand, and made no secret of his
+design to secure Sam if possible, Billy discredited the information
+until too late. Then the miller heard of his loss, and, not unnaturally,
+took the business ill.
+
+"Gormed if it ban't open robbery!" declared Mr. Blee, as he sat and
+discussed the matter with his master one evening, "an' the thankless,
+ill-convenient twoad to go to Blanchard, of all men!"
+
+"He'll be out of work again soon enough. And he needn't come back to me
+when he is. I won't take him on no more."
+
+"'Twould be contrary to human nature if you did."
+
+"Human nature!" snapped the miller, with extreme irritation. "'Twould
+puzzle Solomon to say what's come over human nature of late days."
+
+"'Tis a nut wi' a maggot in it," mused Billy: "three parts rotten, the
+rest sweet. An' all owing to fantastic inventions an' new ways of
+believin' in God wi'out church-gwaine, as parson said Sunday. Such
+things do certainly Play hell with human nature, in a manner o'
+speakin'. I reckon the uprising men an' women's wickeder than us, as
+sucked our mothers in quieter times afore the railroads."
+
+"Bonus is such a fule!" said Mr. Lyddon, harking back to his loss. "Yet
+I thought he belonged to the gude old-fashioned sort."
+
+"I told un he was out in his reckoning, that he'd be left in the cold
+bimebye, so sure as Blanchard was Blanchard and Newtake was Newtake; but
+he awnly girned his gert, ear-wide girn, an' said he knawed better."
+
+"To think of more gude money bein' buried up theer! You've heard my view
+of all ground wi' granite under it. Such a deal ought to have been done
+wi' that thousand pound."
+
+"Oughts are noughts, onless they've strokes to 'em," declared Billy.
+"'Tis a poor lookout, for he'm the sort as buys experience in the
+hardest market. Then, when it's got, he'll be a pauper man, with what he
+knaws useless for want o' what's spent gettin' it. Theer's the thought
+o' Miss Phoebe, tu,--Mrs. Blanchard, I should say. Caan't see her biding
+up to Newtake nohow, come the hard weather."
+
+"'Wedlock an' winter tames maids an' beastes,'" said Mr. Lyddon
+bitterly. "A true saw that."
+
+"Ess; an' when 'tis wedlock wi' Blanchard, an' winter on Dartymoor,
+'twould tame the daughter of the Dowl, if he had wan."
+
+Billy laughed at this thought. His back rounded as he sat in his chair,
+his head seemed to rise off his lower jaw, and the yellow frill of hair
+under his chin stood stiffly out.
+
+"He's my son-in-law; you 'pear to forget that, Blee," said Mr. Lyddon;
+"I'm sure I wish I could, if 'twas even now an' again."
+
+Thereupon Billy straightened his face and cast both rancour and
+merriment to the winds.
+
+"Why, so he be; an' grey hairs should allus make allowance for the young
+youths; though I ain't forgot that spadeful o' muck yet, an' never
+shall. But theer's poison in bwoy's blood what awnly works out of the
+brain come forty. I'm sure I wish nothing but well to un. He's got his
+saving graces, same as all of us, if we could but see 'em; an' come what
+may, God looks arter His awn chosen fules, so theer's hope even for
+Blanchard." "Cold consolation," said Mr. Lyddon wearily; "but't is all
+we've got. Two nights since I dreamt I saw un starvin' on a dunghill. 'T
+was a parable, I judge, an' meant Newtake Farm."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+DEFEATED HOPES
+
+
+Below Newtake Farm the river Teign wound, with many a foaming fall and
+singing rapid, to confluence with her twin sister in the valley beneath.
+Here, at a certain spot, above the forest and beneath the farm, stood
+Martin Grimbal on a bright afternoon in May. Over his head rose a rowan,
+in a soft cloud of serrated foliage, with clusters of grey-green flower
+buds already foretelling the crimson to come; about his feet a silver
+army of uncurling fronds brightened the earth and softened the sharp
+edges of the boulders scattered down the coomb. Here the lover waited to
+the music of a cuckoo, and his eyes ever turned towards a stile at the
+edge of the pine woods, two hundred yards distant from him.
+
+The hour was one of tremendous possibilities, because Fate had been
+occupied with Martin through many days, and now he stood on the brink of
+great joy or sorrow. Clement Hicks had never spoken to him. During his
+quarrel with Chris, which lasted a fortnight, the bee-keeper purposely
+abstained from doing her bidding, while after their reconciliation every
+other matter in the world was swallowed up for a time in the delight of
+renewed love-making. The girl, assuming throughout these long weeks that
+Martin now knew all, had met him in frank and kindly spirit on those
+occasions when he planned to enjoy her society, and this open warmth
+awoke renewed heart for Grimbal, who into her genial friendship read
+promise and from it recruited hope. His love now dominated his spiritual
+being and filled his life. Grey granite was grey granite only, and no
+more. During his long walks by pillar-stone, remote row, and lonely
+circle, Chris, and Chris alone, occupied his brain. He debated the
+advisability of approaching Will, then turned rather to the thought of
+sounding Mrs. Blanchard, and finally nerved himself to right action and
+determined to address Chris. He felt this present heart-shaking suspense
+must be laid at rest, for the peace of his soul, and therefore he took
+his courage in his hands and faced the ordeal.
+
+That day Chris was going up to Newtake. She had not yet settled there,
+though her brother and Sam Bonus were already upon the ground, but the
+girl came and went, busying her fingers with a hundred small matters
+that daily increased the comfort of the little farm. Her way lay usually
+by the coomb, and Martin, having learned that she was visiting Will on
+the occasion in question, set out before her and awaited her here,
+beside the river, in a lonely spot between the moorland above and the
+forest below. He felt physically nervous, yet hope brightened his mind,
+though he tried to strangle it. Worn and weary with his long struggle,
+he paced up and down, now looking to the stile, now casting dissatisfied
+glances upon his own person. Shaving with more than usual care, he had
+cut his chin deeply, and, though he knew it not, the wound had bled
+again since he left home and ruined both his collar and a new tie, put
+on for the occasion.
+
+Presently he saw her. A sunbonnet bobbed at the stile and Chris
+appeared, bearing a roll of chintz for Newtake blinds. In her other hand
+she carried half a dozen bluebells from the woods, and she came with the
+free gait acquired in keeping stride through long tramps with Will when
+yet her frocks were short. Martin loved her characteristic speed in
+walking. So Diana doubtless moved. The spring sunshine had found Chris
+and the clear, soft brown of her cheek was the most beautiful thing in
+nature to the antiquary. He knew her face so well now: the dainty poise
+of her head, the light of her eyes, the dark curls that always clustered
+in the same places, the little updrawing at the corner of her mouth as
+she smiled, the sudden gleam of her teeth when she laughed, and the
+abrupt transitions of her expression from repose to gladness, from
+gladness back again into repose.
+
+She saw the man before she reached him, and waved her bluebells to show
+that she had done so. Then he rose from his granite seat and took off
+his hat and stood with it off, while his heart thundered, his eye
+watered, and his mouth twitched. But he was outwardly calm by the time
+Chris reached him.
+
+"What a surprise to find 'e here, Martin! Yet not much, neither, for
+wheer the auld stones be, theer you 'm to be expected."
+
+"How are you, Chris? But I needn't ask. Yes, I'm fond of the stones."
+
+"Well you may be. They talk to 'e like friends, seemingly. An' even I
+knaw a sight more 'bout 'em now. You've made me feel so differ'nt to
+'em, you caan't think."
+
+"For that matter," he answered, leaping at the chance, "you've made me
+feel different to them."
+
+"Why, how could I, Martin?"
+
+"I'll tell you. Would you mind sitting down here, just for a moment? I
+won't keep you. I've no right to ask for a minute of your time; but
+there's dry moss upon it--I mean the stone; and I was waiting on
+purpose, if you'll forgive me for waylaying you like this. There's a
+little thing--a big thing, I mean--the biggest--too big for words
+almost, yet it wants words--and yet sometimes it doesn't--at
+least--I--would you sit here?"
+
+He was breathing rather hard, and his words were tripping. Managing his
+voice ill, the tones of it ran away from bass to shrill treble. She saw
+it all at a glance, and realised that Martin had been blundering on, in
+pure ignorance and pure love, all these weary weeks. She sat down
+silently and her mind moved like light along the wide gamut of fifty
+emotions in a second. Anger and sorrow strove together,--anger with Clem
+and his callous, cynic silence, sorrow for the panting wretch before
+her. Chris opened her mouth to speak, then realised where her flying
+thoughts had taken her and that, as yet, Martin Grimbal had said
+nothing. Her unmaidenly attitude and the sudden reflection that she was
+about to refuse one before he had asked her, awoke a hysteric
+inclination to laugh, then a longing to cry. But all the anxious-visaged
+man before her noted was a blush that waved like auroral light from the
+girl's neck to her cheek, from her cheek to her forehead. That he saw,
+and thought it was love, and thanked the Lord in his clumsy fashion
+aloud.
+
+"God be praised! I do think you guess--I do think you guess! But oh, my
+dear, my dear, you don't know what 's in my heart for you. My little
+pearl of a Chris, can you care for such a bear of a man? Can you let me
+labour all my life long to make your days good to you? I love you so--I
+do. I never thought when the moment came I should find tongue to speak
+it, but I have; and now I could say it fifty thousand times. I'd just be
+proud to tie your shoe-string, Chris, my dear, and be your old slave
+and--Chris! my Chris! I've hurt you; I've made you cry! Was I--was I all
+wrong? Don't, don't--I'll go--Oh, my darling one, God knows I
+wouldn't--"
+
+He broke off blankly and stood half sorrowful, half joyous. He knew he
+had no right as yet to go to the comfort of the girl now sobbing beside
+him, but hope was not dead. And Chris, overcome by this outpouring of
+love, now suffered very deep sorrow, while she turned away from him and
+hid her face and wept. The poor distracted fool still failed to guess
+the truth, for he knew tint tears are the outcome of happiness as well
+as misery. He waited, open-mouthed, he murmured something--God knows
+what--then he went close and thought to touch her waist, but feared and
+laid his hand gently on her shoulder.
+
+"Don't 'e!" she said; and he began to understand and to struggle with
+himself to lessen her difficulty.
+
+"Forgive me--forgive me if you can, Chris. Was I all wrong? Then I ought
+to have known better--but even an old stick like me--before you, Chris.
+Somehow I--but don't cry. I wouldn't have brought the tears to your eyes
+for all the world--dense idiot I am--"
+
+"No, no, no; no such thing 't all, Martin. 'Tis I was cruel not to see
+you didn't knaw. You've been treated ill, an' I'm cryin' that such a
+gude--gude, braave, big-hearted man as you, should be brought to this
+for a fule of a gal like me. I ban't worthy a handshake from 'e, or a
+kind word. An'--an'--Clem Hicks--Clem be tokened to me these two year
+an' more. He'm the best man in the world; an' I hate un for not tellin'
+'e--an'--an'--"
+
+Chris sobbed herself to the end of her tears; and the man took his
+trial--like a man. His only thought was the sadness his blunder had
+brought with it for her. To misread her blush seemed in his humility a
+crime. His consistent unselfishness blinded him, for an instant at
+least, to his own grief. He blamed himself and asked pardon and prepared
+to get away out of her sight as soon as possible.
+
+"Forgive me, Chris--I needn't ask you twice, I know--such a stupid
+thing--I didn't understand--I never observed: but more shame to me. I
+ought to have seen, of course. Anybody else would--any man of proper
+feeling."
+
+"How could 'e see it with a secret chap like him? He ought to have told
+'e; I bid un speak months since; an' I thought he had; an' I hate un for
+not doing it!"
+
+"But you mustn't. Don't cry any more, and forget all about it. I could
+almost laugh to think how blind I've been. We'll both laugh next time we
+meet. If you're happy, then I'll laugh always. That's all I care for.
+Now I know you're happy again, I'm happy, too, Chris--honour bright.
+And I'll be a friend still--remember that--always--to you--to you and
+him."
+
+"I hate un, I say."
+
+"Why, he didn't give me credit for being such a bat--such a mole. Now I
+must be away. We'll meet pretty soon, I expect. Just forget this
+afternoon as though it had never been, even though it's such a jolly
+sunny one. And remember me as a friend--a friend still for all my
+foolishness. Good-by for the present. Good-by."
+
+He nodded, making the parting a slight thing and not missing the
+ludicrous in his anxiety to spare her pain. He went down the valley,
+leaving her sitting alone. He assumed a jaunty air and did not look
+round, but hastened off to the stile. Never in his most light-hearted
+moments had he walked thus or struck right and left at the leaves and
+shrubs with such a clumsy affectation of nonchalance. Thus he played the
+fool until out of sight; then his head came down, and his feet dragged,
+and his walk and mien grew years older than his age. He stopped
+presently and stood still, staring upon the silence. Westering sunlight
+winnowed through the underwood, splashed into its sombre depths and
+brightened the sobriety of a grey carpet dotted with dead cones. Sweet
+scents floated downward upon the sad whisper that lives in every pine
+forest; then came suddenly a crisp rattle of little claws and a tiny
+barking, where two red squirrels made love, high aloft, amid the grey
+lichens and emerald haze of a great larch that gleamed like a green lamp
+through the night of the dark surrounding foliage.
+
+Martin Grimbal dropped his stick and flung down his body in the hushed
+and hidden dreamland of the wood. Now he knew that his hope had lied to
+him, that the judgment he prided himself upon, and which had prompted
+him to this great deed, was at fault. The more than common tact and
+delicacy of feeling he had sometimes suspected he possessed in rare,
+exalted moments, were now shown vain ideas born from his own conceit;
+and the event had proved him no more subtle, clever, or far-seeing than
+other men. Indeed, he rated himself as an abject blunderer and thought
+he saw how a great overwhelming fear, at the bottom of his worship of
+Chris, had been the only true note in all that past war of emotions. But
+he had refused to listen and pushed forward; and now he stood thus.
+Looking back in the light of his defeat, his previous temerity amazed
+him. His own ugliness, awkwardness, and general unfitness to be the
+husband of Chris were ideas now thrust upward in all honesty to the top
+of his mind. No mock modesty or simulated delicacy inspired them, for
+after defeat a man is frank with himself. Whatever he may have pretended
+before he puts his love to the test, however he may have blinded himself
+as to his real feelings and beliefs before he offers his heart, after
+the event has ended unfavourably his real soul stands naked before him
+and, according to his character, he decides whether himself or the girl
+is the fool. Grimbal criticised his own audacity with scanty compassion
+now; and the thought of the tears of Chris made him clench one hand and
+smash it hard again and again into the palm of the other. No passionate
+protest rose in his mind against the selfish silence of Clement Hicks;
+he only saw his own blindness and magnified it into an absolute offence
+against Chris. Presently, as the sunlight sank lower, and the straight
+stems of the pines glimmered red-gold against the deepening gloom,
+Martin retraced the scene that was past and recalled her words and
+actions, her tears, the trembling of her mouth, and that gesture when
+the wild flowers dropped from her hand and her fingers went up to cover
+her eyes. Then a sudden desire mastered him: to possess the purple of
+her bluebell bouquet. He knew she would not pick it up again when he was
+gone; so he returned, stood in that theatre of Fate beneath the rowan,
+saw where her body had pressed the grass, and found the fading flowers.
+
+Then he turned to tramp home, with the truth gnawing his heart at last.
+The excitement was over, all flutter of hope and fear at rest. Only that
+bitter fact of failure remained, with the knowledge that one, but
+yesterday so essential and so near, had now vanished like a rainbow
+beyond his reach.
+
+Martin's eyes were opened in the light of this experience. John came
+into his mind, and estimating his brother's sufferings by his own, the
+stricken man found room in his sad heart for pity.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+THE ZEAL OF SAM BONUS
+
+
+Under conditions of spring and summer Newtake Farm flattered Will's
+hopes not a little. He worked like a giant, appropriated some of that
+credit belonging to fine weather, and viewed the future with very
+considerable tranquillity. Of beasts he purchased wisely, being guided
+in that matter by Mr. Lyddon; but for the rest he was content to take
+his own advice. Already his ambition extended beyond the present limits
+of his domain; already he contemplated the possibility of reclaiming
+some of the outlying waste and enlarging his borders. If the Duchy might
+spread greedy fingers and inclose "newtakes," why not the Venville
+tenants? Many besides Will asked themselves that question; the position
+was indeed fruitful of disputes in various districts, especially on
+certain questions involving cattle; and no moorland Quarter breathed
+forth greater discontent against the powers than that of which Chagford
+was the central parish.
+
+Sam Bonus, inspired by his master's sanguine survey of life, toiled
+amain, believed all that Will predicted, and approved each enterprise he
+planned; while as for Chris, in due time she settled at Newtake and
+undertook woman's work there with her customary thoroughness and energy.
+To her lot fell the poultry, the pair of fox-hound puppies that Will
+undertook to keep for the neighbouring hunt, and all the interior
+economy and control of the little household.
+
+On Sundays Phoebe heard of the splendid doings at Newtake; upon which
+she envied Chris her labours, and longed to be at Will's right hand. For
+the present, however, Miller Lyddon refused his daughter permission even
+to visit the farm; and she obeyed, despite her husband's indignant
+protests.
+
+Thus matters stood while the sun shone brightly from summer skies. Will,
+when he visited Chagford market, talked to the grizzled farmers,
+elaborated his experience, shook his head or nodded it knowingly as
+they, in their turn, discussed the business of life, paid due respect to
+their wisdom, and offered a little of his own in exchange for it. That
+the older men lacked pluck was his secret conviction. The valley folk
+were braver; but the upland agriculturists, all save himself, went in
+fear. Their eyes were careworn, their caution extreme; behind the summer
+they saw another shadow forever moving; and the annual struggle with
+those ice-bound or water-logged months of the early year, while as yet
+the Moor had nothing for their stock, left them wearied and spiritless
+when the splendour of the summer came. They farmed furtively, snatching
+at such good as appeared, distrusting their own husbandry, fattening the
+land with reluctance, cowering under the shadow of withered hopes and
+disappointments too numerous to count. Will pitied this mean spirit and,
+unfamiliar with wet autumns and hard winters on the high land, laughed
+at his fellow-countrymen. But they were kind and bid him be cautious and
+keep his little nest-egg snug.
+
+"Tie it up in stout leather, my son," said a farmer from Gidleigh. "Ay,
+an' fasten the bag wi' a knot as'll take 'e half an hour to undo; an'
+remember, the less you open it, the better for your peace of mind."
+
+All of which good counsel Blanchard received with expressions of
+gratitude, yet secretly held to be but the croaking of a past
+generation, stranded far behind that wave of progress on which he
+himself was advancing crest-high.
+
+It happened one evening, when Clement Hicks visited Newtake to go for a
+walk under the full moon with Chris, that he learnt she was away for a
+few days. This fact had been mentioned to Clement; but he forgot it, and
+now found himself here, with only Will and Sam Bonus for company. He
+accepted the young farmer's invitation to supper, and the result proved
+unlucky in more directions than one. During this meal Clem railed in
+surly vein against the whole order of things as it affected himself, and
+made egotistical complaint as to the hardness of life; then, when his
+host began to offer advice, he grew savage and taunted Will with his own
+unearned good fortune. Blanchard, weary after a day of tremendous
+physical exertion, made sharp answer. He felt his old admiration for
+Clem Hicks much lessened of late, and it nettled him not a little that
+his friend should thus attribute his present position to the mere
+accident of a windfall. He was heartily sick of the other's endless
+complaints, and now spoke roughly and to the point.
+
+"What the devil's the gude of this eternal bleat? You'm allus snarlin'
+an' gnashin' your teeth 'gainst God, like a rat bitin' the stick that's
+killin' it."
+
+"And why should God kill me? You've grown so wise of late, perhaps you
+know."
+
+"Why shouldn't He? Why shouldn't He kill you, or any other man, if He
+wants the room of un for a better? Not that I believe parson's stuff
+more 'n you; but grizzlin' your guts to fiddlestrings won't mend your
+fortune. Best to put your time into work, 'stead o' talk--same as me an'
+Bonus. And as for my money, you knaw right well if theer'd been two
+thousand 'stead of wan, I'd have shared it with Chris."
+
+"Easy to say! If there had been two, you would have said, 'If it was
+only four'! That's human nature."
+
+"Ban't my nature, anyway, to tell a lie!" burst out Will.
+
+"Perhaps it's your nature to do worse. What were you about last
+Christmas?"
+
+Blanchard set down knife and fork and looked the other in the face. None
+had heard this, for Bonus, his meal ended, went off to the little tallet
+over a cattle-byre which was his private apartment.
+
+"You'd rip that up again--you, who swore never to open' your mouth upon
+it?"
+
+"You're frightened now."
+
+"Not of you, anyway. But you'd best not to come up here no more. I'm
+weary of you; I don't fear you worse than a blind worm; but such as you
+are, you've grawed against me since my luck comed. I wish Chris would
+drop you as easy as I can, for you'm teachin' her to waste her life,
+same as you waste yours."
+
+"Very well, I'll go. We're enemies henceforth, since you wish it so."
+
+"Blamed if you ban't enough to weary Job! 'Enemies'! It's like a child
+talkin'. 'Enemies'! D'you think I care a damn wan way or t'other? You'm
+so bad as Jan Grimbal wi' his big play-actin' talk. He'm gwaine to cut
+my tether some day. P'r'aps you'll go an' help un to do it! The past is
+done, an' no man who weern't devil all through would go back on such a
+oath as you sweared to me. An' you won't. As to what's to come, you
+can't hurt a straight plain-dealer, same as me, though you'm free an'
+welcome to try if you please to."
+
+"The future may take care of itself; and for your straight speaking I'll
+give you mine. Go your way and I'll go my way; but until you beg my
+forgiveness for this night's talk I'll never cross your threshold again,
+or speak to you, or think of you."
+
+Clement rose from his unfinished food, picked up his hat, and vanished,
+and Will, dismissing the matter with a toss of his head and a
+contemptuous expiration of breath, gave the poet's plate of cold potato
+and bacon to a sheep-dog and lighted his pipe.
+
+Not ten hours later, while yet some irritation at the beekeeper's spleen
+troubled Blanchard's thoughts as he laboured upon his land, a voice
+saluted him from the highway and he saw a friend.
+
+"An' gude-marnin' to you, Martin. Another braave day, sure 'nough. Climb
+awver the hedge. You'm movin' early. Ban't eight o'clock."
+
+"I'm off to the 'Grey Wethers,' those old ruined circles under Sittaford
+Tor, you know. But I meant a visit to you as well. Bonus was in the
+farmyard and brought me with him."
+
+"Ess fay, us works, I tell 'e. We'm fightin' the rabbits now. The li'l
+varmints have had it all theer way tu long; but this wire netting'll
+keep 'em out the corn next year an' the turnips come autumn. How be you
+fearin'? I aint seen 'e this longful time."
+
+"Well, thank you; and as busy as you in my way. I'm going to write a
+book about the Dartmoor stones."
+
+"'S truth! Be you? Who'll read it?"
+
+"Don't know yet. And, after all, I have found out little that sharper
+eyes haven't discovered already. Still, it fills my time. And it is that
+I'm here about."
+
+"You can go down awver my land to the hut-circles an' welcome whenever
+you mind to."
+
+"Sure of it, and thank you; but it's another thing just now--your
+brother-in-law to be. I think perhaps, if he has leisure, he might be
+useful to me. A very clever fellow, Hicks."
+
+But Will was in no humour to hear Clement praised just then, or suggest
+schemes for his advancement.
+
+"He'm a weak sapling of a man, if you ax me. Allus grumblin', an' soft
+wi' it--as I knaw--none better," said Blanchard, watching Bonus struggle
+with the rabbit netting.
+
+"He's out of his element, I think--a student--a bookish man, like
+myself."
+
+"As like you as chalk's like cheese--no more. His temper, tu! A bull in
+spring's a fule to him. I'm weary of him an' his cleverness."
+
+"You see, if I may venture to say so, Chris--"
+
+"I knaw all 'bout that. 'Tis like your gudeness to try an' put a li'l
+money in his pocket wi'out stepping on his corns. They 'm tokened. Young
+people 's so muddle-headed. Bees indeed! Nice things to keep a wife an'
+bring up a fam'ly on! An' he do nothin' but write rhymes, an' tear 'em
+up again, an' cuss his luck, wi'out tryin' to mend it. I thought
+something of un wance, when I was no more 'n a bwoy, but as I get up in
+years I see the emptiness of un."
+
+"He would grow happy and sweeter-hearted if he could marry your sister."
+
+"Not him! Of course, if it's got to be, it will be. I ban't gwaine to
+see Chris graw into an auld maid. An' come bimebye, when I've saved a
+few hunderd, I shall set 'em up myself. But she's makin' a big mistake,
+an', to a friend, I doan't mind tellin' 'e 'tis so."
+
+"I hope you're wrong. They'll be happy together. They have great love
+each for the other. But, of course, that's nothing to do with me. I
+merely want Hicks to undertake some clerical work for me, as a matter of
+business, and I thought you might tell me the best way to tackle him
+without hurting his feelings. He's a proud man, I fancy."
+
+"Ess; an' pride's a purty fulish coat for poverty, ban't it? I've gived
+that man as gude advice as ever I gived any man; but what's
+well-thought-out wisdom to the likes of him? Get un a job if you mind
+to. I shouldn't--not till he shaws better metal and grips the facts o'
+life wi' a tighter hand."
+
+"I'll sound him as delicately as I can. It may be that his self-respect
+would strengthen if he found his talents appreciated and able to command
+a little money. He wants something of that sort--eh?"
+
+"Doan't knaw but what a hiding wouldn't be so gude for un as anything,"
+mused Will. There was no animosity in the reflection. His ill-temper had
+long since vanished, and he considered Clement as he might have
+considered a young, wayward dog which had erred and brought itself
+within reach of the lash.
+
+"I was welted in my time hard an' often, an' be none the worse," he
+continued.
+
+Martin smiled and shook his head.
+
+"Might have served him once; too late now for that remedy, I fear."
+
+There was a brief pause, then Will changed the conversation abruptly.
+
+"How's your brother Jan?" he asked.
+
+"He's furnishing his new house and busy about the formation of a
+volunteer corps. I met him not long since in Fingle Gorge."
+
+"Be you friends now, if I may ax?"
+
+"I tried to be. We live and learn. Things happened to me a while ago
+that taught me what I didn't know. I spoke to him and reminded him of
+the long years in Africa. Blood's thicker than water, Blanchard."
+
+"So 'tis. What did he make of it?"
+
+"He looked up and hesitated. Then he shook his head and set his face
+against me, and said he would not have my friendship as a gift."
+
+"He's a gude hater."
+
+"Time will bring the best of him to the top again some day. I understand
+him, I think. We possess more in common than people suppose. We feel
+deeply and haven't a grain of philosophy between us."
+
+"Well, I reckon I've allus been inclined to deep ways of thought myself;
+and work up here, wi' nothing to break your thoughts but the sight of a
+hawk or the twinkle of a rabbit's scut, be very ripening to the mind. If
+awnly Phoebe was here! Sometimes I'm in a mood to ramp down-long an'
+hale her home, whether or no. But I sweats the longing out o' me wi'
+work."
+
+"The day will soon come. Time drags with me just now, somehow, but it
+races with you, I'll warrant. I must get on with my book, and see Hicks
+and try and persuade him to help me."
+
+"'Tis like your big nature to put it that way. You'rn tu soft-hearted a
+man to dwell in a house all alone. Let the dead stones bide, Martin, an'
+look round for a wife. Theer's more gude advice. Blamed if I doan't
+advise everybody nowadays! Us must all come to it. Look round about an'
+try to love a woman. 'T will surprise 'e an' spoil sleep if you can
+bring yourself to it. But the cuddlin' of a soft gal doan't weaken man's
+thews and sinews neither. It hardens 'em, I reckon, an' puts fight in
+the most poor-spirited twoad as ever failed in love. 'Tis a manly thing,
+an' 'boldens the heart like; an', arter she's said 'Yes' to 'e, you'll
+find a wonnerful change come awver life. 'Tis all her, then. The most
+awnself[8] man feels it more or less, an' gets shook out of his shell.
+You'll knaw some day. Of course I speaks as wan auld in love an' married
+into the bargain."
+
+
+[8] _Awnself_=selfish.
+
+
+"You speak from experience, I know. And is Phoebe as wise as you, Will?"
+
+"Waitin' be harder for a wummon. They've less to busy the mind, an' less
+mind to busy, for that matter."
+
+"That's ungallant."
+
+"I doan't knaw. 'Tis true, anyway. I shouldn't have failed in love wi'
+her if she'd been cleverer'n me."
+
+"Or she with you, perhaps?"
+
+"P'r'aps not. Anyway as it stands we'm halves of a whole: made for man
+and wife. I reckon I weern't wan to miss my way in love like some poor
+fules, as wastes it wheer they might see't wasn't wanted if they'd got
+eyes in their heads."
+
+"What it is to be so wise!"
+
+Will laughed joyously in his wisdom.
+
+"Very gude of 'e to say that. 'Tis a happy thing to have sense enough.
+Not but we larn an' larn."
+
+"So we should. Well, I must be off now. I'm safe on the Moor to-day!"
+
+"Ess, by the looks of it. Theer'll likely come some mist after noon, but
+shouldn't be very thick."
+
+So they parted, Blanchard having unconsciously sown the seed of an ugly
+crop that would take long in reaping. His remarks concerning Clement
+Hicks were safe enough with Martin, but another had heard them as he
+worked within earshot of his master. Bonus, though his judgment was
+scanty, entertained a profound admiration for Will; and thus it came
+about, that a few days later, when in Chagford, he called at the "Green
+Man" and made some grave mischief while he sang his master's praises. He
+extolled the glorious promise of Newtake, and the great improvements
+already visible thereon; he reflected not a little of Will's own
+flamboyant manner to the secret entertainment of those gathered in the
+bar, and presently he drew down upon himself some censure.
+
+Abraham Chown, the police inspector, first shook his head and prophesied
+speedy destruction of all these hopes; and then Gaffer Lezzard
+criticised still more forcibly.
+
+"All this big-mouthed talk's cracklin' of thorns under a potsherd,"
+hesaid. "You an' him be just two childern playin' at shop in the gutter,
+an' the gutter's wheer you'll find yourselves 'fore you think to. What
+do the man _knaw?_ Nothin'."
+
+"Blanchard's a far-seein' chap," answered Sam Bonus stoutly. "An' a gude
+master; an' us'll stick together, fair or foul."
+
+"You may think it, but wait," said a small man in the corner. Charles
+Coomstock, nephew of the widow of that name already mentioned, was a
+wheelwright by trade and went lame, owing to an accident with hot iron
+in youth.
+
+"Ax Clem," continued Mr. Coomstock. "For all his cranky ways he knaws
+Blanchard better'n most of us, an' I heard un size up the chap t'other
+day in a word. He said he hadn't wit enough to keep his brains sweet."
+
+"He'm a braave wan to talk," fired back Bonus. "Him! A poor luny as
+caan't scrape brass to keep a wife on. Blanchard, or me either, could
+crack un in half like a dead stick."
+
+"Not that that's anything for or against," declared Gaffer Lezzard.
+"Power of hand's nought against brain."
+
+"It gaws a tidy long way 'pon Dartymoor, however," declared Bonus. "An'
+Blanchard doan't set no 'mazin' store on Hicks neither, if it comes to
+words. I heard un say awnly t'other forenoon that the man was a weak
+saplin', allus grumblin', an' might be better for a gude hiding."
+
+Now Charles Coomstock did not love his cousin Clement. Indeed, none of
+those who had, or imagined they had, any shadow of right to a place in
+Mary Coomstock's will cared much for others similarly situated; but the
+little wheelwright was by nature a spreader of rumours and reports--an
+intelligencer, malignant from choice. He treasured this assertion,
+therefore, together with one or two others. Sam, now at his third glass,
+felt his heart warm to Will. He would have fought with tongue or fist on
+his behalf, and presently added to the mischief he had already done.
+
+"To shaw 'e, neighbours, just the man he is, I may tell 'e that a larned
+piece like Martin Grimbal ackshually comed all the way to Newtake not
+long since to ax advice of un. An' 'twas on the identical matter of this
+same Hicks. Mr. Grimbal wanted to give un some work to do, 'bout a book
+or some such item; an' Will he ups and sez, 'Doan't,' just short an'
+straight like that theer. 'Doan't,' he sez. 'Let un shaw what's in un
+first'; an' t'other nodded when he said it."
+
+Having now attested his regard for the master of Newtake, Sam jogged
+off. He was pleased with himself, proud of having silenced more than one
+detractor, and as his little brain turned the matter over, his lips
+parted in a grin.
+
+Coomstock meanwhile had limped into the cottage where Clement lived with
+his mother. He did not garble his news, for it needed no artistic touch;
+and, with nice sense of his perfect and effective instrument, he
+realised the weapon was amply sharp enough without whetting, and
+employed the story as it came into his hand. But Mr. Coomstock was a
+little surprised and disappointed at his cousin's reserve and
+self-restraint. He had hoped for a hearty outburst of wrath and the
+assurance of wide-spreading animosity, yet no such thing happened, and
+the talebearer presently departed in some surprise. Mrs. Hicks, indeed,
+had shrilled forth a torrent of indignation upon the sole subject equal
+to raising such an emotion in her breast, for Clem was her only son. The
+man, however, took it calmly, or appeared to do so; and even when
+Charles Coomstock was gone he refused to discuss the matter more.
+
+But had his cousin, with Asmodeus-flight, beheld Clement during the
+subsequent hours which he spent alone, it is possible that the
+wheelwright had felt amply repaid for his trouble. Not until dawn stole
+grey along the village street; not until sparrows in the thatch above
+him began their salutation to the morning; not until Chagford rookery
+had sent forth a harmonious multitude to the hills and valleys did
+Clement's aching eyes find sleep. For hours he tossed and turned, now
+trembling with rage, now prompted by some golden thread in the tangled
+mazes of his mind to discredit the thing reported. Blanchard, as it
+seemed, had come deliberately and maliciously between him and an
+opportunity to win work. He burnt to know what he should do; and, like a
+flame of forked light against the sombre background of his passion, came
+the thought of another who hated Blanchard too. Will's secret glowed and
+gleamed like the writing on the wall; looking out, Hicks saw it stamped
+on the dark earth and across the starry night; and he wished to God that
+the letters might so remain to be read by the world when it wakened.
+Finally he slept and dreamed that he had been to the Red House, that he
+had spoken to John Grimbal, and returned home again with a bag of gold.
+
+When his mother came to call him he was lying half uncovered in a wild
+confusion of scattered bed-clothes; and his arms and body were jerking
+as a dog's that dreams. She saw a sort of convulsion pinch and pucker
+his face; then he made some inarticulate sounds--as it were a frantic
+negation; and then the noise of his own cry awakened him. He looked
+wildly round and lifted his hands as though he expected to find them
+full.
+
+"Where is it? Where is it? The bag of money? I won't--I can't--Where is
+it, I say?"
+
+"I wish I knawed, lovey. Dream-gawld, I'm afeared. You've bin lying
+cold, an' that do allus breed bad thoughts in sleep. 'Tis late; I done
+breakfast an hour ago. An' Okehampton day, tu. Coach'll be along in
+twenty minutes."
+
+He sighed and dragged the clothes over himself.
+
+"You'd best go to-day, mother. The ride will do you good, and I have
+plenty to fill my time at home."
+
+Mrs. Hicks brightened perceptibly before this prospect. She was a
+little, faded woman, with a brown face and red-rimmed, weak eyes, washed
+by many years of sorrow to the palest nondescript colour. She crept
+through the world with no ambition but to die out of the poorhouse, no
+prayer but a petition that the parish might not bury her at the end, no
+joy save in her son. Life at best was a dreary business for her, and an
+occasional trip to Okehampton represented about the only brightness that
+ever crept into it. Now she bustled off full of excitement to get the
+honey, and, having put on a withered bonnet and black shawl, presently
+stood and waited for the omnibus.
+
+Her son dwelt with his thoughts that day, and for him there was no peace
+or pleasure. Full twenty times he determined to visit Newtake at once
+and have it out with Will; but his infirmity of purpose acted like a
+drag upon this resolution, and his pride also contributed a force
+against it. Once he actually started, and climbed up Middledown to reach
+the Moor beyond; then he changed his mind again as new fires of enmity
+swept through it. His wrongs rankled black and bitter; and, faint under
+them, he presently turned and went home shivering though the day was
+hot.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+A SWARM OF BEES
+
+
+Above Chagford rise those lofty outposts of Dartmoor, named respectively
+Nattadown and Middledown. The first lies nearer to the village, and upon
+its side, beneath a fir wood which crowns one spur, spread steep wastes
+of fern and furze. This spot was a favourite one with Clement Hicks, and
+a fortnight after the incidents last related he sat there smoking his
+pipe, while his eyes roved upon the scene subtended before him. The hill
+fell abruptly away, and near the bottom glimmered whitewashed cots along
+a winding road. Still lower down extended marshy common land, laced with
+twinkling watercourses and dotted with geese; while beyond, in many a
+rise and fall and verdant undulation, the country rolled onwards through
+Teign valley and upwards towards the Moor. The expanse seen from this
+lofty standpoint extended like a mighty map, here revealing a patchwork
+of multicoloured fields, here exhibiting tracts of wild waste and wood,
+here beautifully indicating by a misty line, seen across ascending
+planes of forest, the course of the distant river, here revealing the
+glitter of remote waters damaskeened with gold. Little farms and
+outlying habitations were scattered upon the land; and beyond them,
+rising steadily to the sky-line, the regions of the Moor revealed their
+larger attributes, wider expanses, more savage and abrupt configurations
+of barren heath and weathered tor. The day passed gradually from gloom
+to brightness, and the distance, already bathed in light, gleamed out of
+a more sombre setting, where the foreground still reflected the shadows
+of departing clouds, like a picture of great sunshine framed in
+darkness. But the last vapours quickly vanished; the day grew very hot
+and, as the sky indicated noon, all things beneath Clement's eyes were
+soaked in a splendour of June sunlight. He watched a black thread lying
+across a meadow five miles away. First it stretched barely visible
+athwart the distance green; in half an hour it thickened without
+apparent means; within an hour it had absorbed an eighth part at least
+of the entire space. Though the time was very unusual for tilling of
+land, Hicks knew that the combined operations of three horses, a man,
+and a plough were responsible for this apparition, and he speculated as
+to how many tremendous physical and spiritual affairs of life are thus
+wrought by agents not visible to the beholder. Thus were his own
+thoughts twisted back to those speculations which now perpetually
+haunted them like the incubus of a dream. What would Will Blanchard say
+if he woke some morning to find his secret in John Grimbal's keeping?
+And, did any such thing happen, there must certainly be a mystery about
+it; for Blanchard could no more prove how his enemy came to learn his
+secret than might some urban stranger guess how the dark line grew
+without visible means on the arable ground under Gidleigh.
+
+From these dangerous thoughts he was roused by the sight of a woman
+struggling up the steep hill towards him. The figure came slowly on, and
+moved with some difficulty. This much Hicks noted, and then suddenly
+realised that he beheld his mother. She knew his haunt and doubtless
+sought him now. Rising, therefore, he hastened to meet her and shorten
+her arduous climb. Mrs. Hicks was breathless when Clement reached her,
+and paused a while, with her hand pressed to her side, before she could
+speak. At length she addressed him, still panting between the syllables.
+
+"My heart's a pit-pat! Hurry, hurry, for the Lard's sake! The bees be
+playin'[9] an' they'll call Johnson if you ban't theer directly minute!"
+
+
+[9] _Playing_ = swarming.
+
+
+Johnson, a thatcher, was the only other man in Chagford who shared any
+knowledge of apiarian lore with Clement.
+
+"Sorry you should have had the journey only for that, mother. 'Twas so
+unlikely a morning, I never thought to hear of a swarm to-day. I'll
+start at once, and you go home quietly. You're sadly out of breath.
+Where is it?"
+
+"To the Red House--Mr. Grimbal's. It may lead to the handlin' of his
+hives for all us can say, if you do the job vitty, as you 'm bound to."
+
+"John Grimbal's!"
+
+Hicks stood still as though this announcement had turned him into stone.
+
+"Ess fay! Why do 'e stand glazin' like that? A chap rode out for 'e 'pon
+horseback; an' a bit o' time be lost a'ready. They 'm swarmin' in the
+orchard, an' nobody knaws more 'n the dead what to be at."
+
+"I won't go. Let them get Johnson."
+
+"'Won't go'! An' five shillin' hangin' to it, an' Lard knaws what more
+in time to come! 'Won't go'! An' my poor legs throbbin' something cruel
+with climbin' for 'e!"
+
+"I--I'm not going there--not to that man. I have reason."
+
+"O my gude God!" burst out the old woman, "what'll 'e do next? An'
+me--as worked so hard to find 'e--an' so auld as I am! Please, please,
+Clem, for your mother--please. Theer's bin so little money in the house
+of late days, an' less to come. Doan't, if you love me, as I knaws well
+you do, turn your back 'pon the scant work as falls in best o' times."
+
+The man reflected with troubled eyes, and his mother took his arm and
+tried to pull him down the hill.
+
+"Is John Grimbal at home?" he asked.
+
+"How shude I knaw? An' what matter if he is? Your business is with the
+bees, not him. An' you've got no quarrel with him because that Blanchard
+have. After what Will done against you, you needn't be so squeamish as
+to make his enemies yourn."
+
+"My business is with the bees--as you say, mother," he answered slowly,
+repeating her words.
+
+"Coourse 'tis! Who knaws a half of what you knaw 'bout 'em? That's my
+awn braave Clem! Why, there might be a mort o' gude money for a man like
+you at the Red House!"
+
+"I'll go. My business is with the bees. You walk along slowly, or sit
+down a while and get your breath again. I'll hurry."
+
+She praised him and blessed him, crying after him as he
+departed,--"You'll find all set out for 'e--veil, an' gloves, an' a
+couple of bee-butts to your hand."
+
+The man did not reply, but soon stumbled down the steep hill and
+vanished; then five-and-twenty minutes later, with the implements of his
+trade, he stood at the gate of the Red House, entered, and hastened
+along the newly planted avenue.
+
+John Grimbal had not yet gone into residence, but he dwelt at present in
+his home farm hard by; and from this direction he now appeared to meet
+the bee-keeper. The spectacle of Grimbal, stern, grave, and older of
+manner than formerly, impressed Hicks not a little. In silence, after
+the first salutation, they proceeded towards an adjacent orchard; and
+from here as they approached arose an extravagant and savage din, as
+though a dozen baited dogs, each with a tin kettle at his tail, were
+madly galloping down some stone-paved street, and hurtling one against
+the other as they ran.
+
+"They can stop that row," said Hicks. "'Tis an old-fashioned notion that
+it hurries swarming, but I never found it do so."
+
+"You know best, though beating on tin pots and cans at such a time's a
+custom as old as the hills."
+
+"And vain as many others equally old. I have a different method to hurry
+swarming."
+
+Now they passed over the snows of a million fallen petals, while yet
+good store of flowers hung upon the trees. June basked in the heart of
+the orchard and a delicious green sweetness and freshness marked the
+moment. Crimson and cream, all splashed with sunlight, here bloomed
+against a sky of summer blue, here took a shade from the new-born leaves
+and a shadow from branch and bough. To the eye, a mottled, dimpled glory
+of apple-blossom spread above grey trunks and twisted branches, shone
+through deep vistas of the orchard, brightened all the distance; while
+upon the ear, now growing and deepening, arose one sustained and musical
+susurration of innumerable wings.
+
+"You will be wise to stay here," said Hicks. He himself stopped a
+moment, opened his bag, put on his veil and gloves, and tucked his
+trousers inside his stockings.
+
+"Not I. I wish to see the hiving."
+
+Twenty yards distant a play of light and glint and twinkle of many
+frantic bees converged upon one spot, as stars numerically increase
+towards the heart of a cluster. The sky was full of flying insects, and
+their wings sparkled brightly in the sun; though aloft, with only the
+blue for background, they appeared as mere dark points filling the air
+in every direction. The swarm hung at the very heart of a little glade.
+Here two ancient apple-trees stood apart, and from one low bough,
+stretched at right angles to the parent stem, and not devoid of leaves
+and blossoms, there depended a grey-brown mass from which a twinkling,
+flashing fire leaped forth as from gems bedded in the matrix. Each
+transparent wing added to the dazzle under direct sunlight; the whole
+agglomeration of life was in form like a bunch of grapes, and where it
+thinned away to a point the bees dropped off by their own weight into
+the grass below, then rose again and either flew aloft in wide and
+circling flight or rushed headlong upon the swarm once more. Across the
+iridescent cluster passed a gleam and glow of peacock and iris, opal and
+mother-of-pearl; while from its heart ascended a deep murmur, telling of
+tremendous and accumulated energy suddenly launched into this peaceful
+glade of apple-blossom and ambient green. The frenzy of the moment held
+all that little laborious people. There was none of the concerted action
+to be observed at warping, or simultaneous motion of birds in air and
+fishes in water; but each unit of the shining army dashed on its own
+erratic orbit, flying and circling, rushing hither and thither, and
+sooner or later returning to join the queen upon the bough.
+
+The glory of the moment dominated one and all. It was their hour--a
+brief, mad ecstasy in short lives of ceaseless toil. To-day they
+desisted from their labours, and the wild-flowers of the waste places,
+and the old-world flowers in cottage gardens were alike forgotten. Yet
+their year had already seen much work and would see more. Sweet pollen
+from many a bluebell and anemone was stored and sealed for a generation
+unborn; the asphodels and violets, the velvet wallflower and yellow
+crocuses had already yielded treasure; and now new honey jewels were
+trembling in the trumpets of the honeysuckle, at the heart of the wild
+rose, within the deep cups of the candid and orange lilies, amid the
+fairy caps of columbines, and the petals of clove-pinks. There the bees
+now living laboured, and those that followed would find their sweets in
+the clover,--scarlet and purple and white,--in the foxgloves, in the
+upland deserts of the heather with their oases of euphrasy and sweet
+wild thyme.
+
+"Is it a true swarm or a cast?" inquired John Grimbal.
+
+"A swarm, without much question, though it dawned an unlikely day for an
+old queen to leave the hive. Still, the weather came over splendid
+enough by noon, and they knew it was going to. Where are your butts? You
+see, young maiden queens go further afield than old ones. The latter
+take but a short flight for choice."
+
+"There they are," said Grimbal, pointing to a row of thatched hives not
+far off. "So that should be an old queen, by your showing. Is she
+there?"
+
+"I fancy so by the look of them. If the queen doesn't join, the bees
+break up, of course, and go back to the butt. But I've brought a couple
+of queens with me."
+
+"I've seen a good few drones about the board lately."
+
+"Sure sign of swarming at this season. Inside, if you could look, you'd
+find plenty of queen cells, and some capped over. You'd come across a
+murder or two as well. The old queens make short work of the young ones
+sometimes."
+
+"Woman-like."
+
+Hicks admitted the criticism was just. Then, being now upon his own
+ground, he continued to talk, and talk well, until he won a surly
+compliment from his employer.
+
+"You're a bee-master, in truth! Nobody'll deny you that."
+
+Clement laughed rather bitterly.
+
+"Yes, a king of bees. Not a great kingdom for man to rule."
+
+The other studied his dark, unhappy face. Trouble had quickened
+Grimbal's own perceptions, and made him a more accurate judge of sorrow
+when he saw it than of yore.
+
+"You've tried to do greater things and failed, perhaps," he said.
+
+"Why, perhaps I have. A man's a hive himself, I've thought sometimes--a
+hive of swarming, seething thoughts and experiences and passions, that
+come and go as easily as any bees, and store the heart and brain."
+
+"Not with honey, I'll swear."
+
+"No--gall mostly."
+
+"And every hive's got a queen bee too, for that matter," said Grimbal,
+rather pleased at his wit responsible for the image.
+
+"Yes; and the queens take each other's places quick enough, for we're
+fickle brutes."
+
+"A strange swarm we hive in our hearts, God knows."
+
+"And it eats out our hearts for our pains."
+
+"You've found out that, have you?" asked John curiously.
+
+"Long ago."
+
+"Everybody does, sooner or later."
+
+There was a pause. Overhead the multitude dwindled while the great
+glimmering cluster on the tree correspondingly increased, and the fierce
+humming of the bees was like the sound of a fire. Clement feared
+nothing, but he had seen few face a hiving without some distrust. The
+man beside him, however, stood with his hands in his pockets,
+indifferent and quite unprotected.
+
+"You will be wiser to stand farther away, Mr. Grimbal. You're unlikely
+to come off scot-free if you keep so close."
+
+"What do I care? I've been stung by worse than insects."
+
+"And I also," answered Clement, with such evident passion that the other
+grew a little interested. He had evidently pricked a sore point in this
+moody creature.
+
+"Was it a woman stung you?"
+
+"No, no; don't heed me."
+
+Clement was on guard over himself again. "Your business is with
+bees"--his mother's words echoed in his mind to the pulsing monotone of
+the swarm. He tried to change the subject, sent for a pail of water, and
+drew a large syringe from his bag, though the circumstances really
+rendered this unnecessary. But John Grimbal, always finding a sort of
+pleasure in his own torment, took occasion to cross-question Clement.
+
+"I suppose I'm laughed at still in Chagford, am I not? Not that it
+matters to me."
+
+"I don't think so; an object of envy, rather, for good wives are easier
+to get than great riches."
+
+"That's your opinion, is it? I'm not so sure. Are you married?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Going to be, I'll wager, if you think good wives can be picked off
+blackberry bushes."
+
+"I don't say that at all. But I am going to be married certainly. I'm
+fortunate and unfortunate. I've won a prize, but--well, honey's cheap. I
+must wait."
+
+"D' you trust her? Is waiting so easy?"
+
+"Yes, I trust her, as I trust the sun to swing up out of the east
+to-morrow, to set in the west to-night. She's the only being of my own
+breed I do trust. As for the other question, no--waiting isn't easy."
+
+"Nor yet wise. I shouldn't wait. Tell me who she is. Women interest me,
+and the taking of 'em in marriage."
+
+Hicks hesitated. Here he was drifting helpless under this man's hard
+eyes--helpless and yet not unwilling. He told himself that he was safe
+enough and could put a stop on his mouth when he pleased. Besides, John
+Grimbal was not only unaware that the bee-keeper knew anything against
+Blanchard, but had yet to learn that anybody else did,--that there even
+existed facts unfavourable to him. Something, however, told Hicks that
+mention of the common enemy would result from this present meeting, and
+the other's last word brought the danger, if danger it might be, a step
+nearer. Clement hesitated before replying to the question; then he
+answered it.
+
+"Chris Blanchard," he said shortly, "though that won't interest you."
+
+"But it does--a good deal. I've wondered, some time, why I didn't hear
+my own brother was going to marry her. He got struck all of a heap
+there, to my certain knowledge. However, he 's escaped. The Lord be good
+to you, and I take my advice to marry back again. Think twice, if she's
+made of the same stuff as her brother."
+
+"No, by God! Is the moon made of the same stuff as the marsh lights?"
+
+Concentrated bitterness rang in the words, and a man much less acute
+than Grimbal had guessed he stood before an enemy of Will. John saw the
+bee-keeper start at this crucial moment; he observed that Hicks had said
+a thing he much regretted and uttered what he now wished unspoken. But
+the confession was torn bare and laid out naked under Grimbal's eyes,
+and he knew that another man besides himself hated Will. The discovery
+made his face grow redder than usual. He pulled at his great moustache
+and thrust it between his teeth and gnawed it. But he contrived to hide
+the emotion in his mind from Clement Hicks, and the other did not
+suspect, though he regretted his own passion. Grimbals next words
+further disarmed him. He appeared to know nothing whatever about Will,
+though his successful rival interested him still.
+
+"They call the man Jack-o'-Lantern, don't they? Why?"
+
+"I can't tell you. It may be, though, that he is erratic and uncertain
+in his ways. You cannot predict what he will do next."
+
+"That's nothing against him. He's farming on the Moor now, isn't he?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Where did he come from when he dropped out of the clouds to marry
+Phoebe Lyddon?"
+
+The question was not asked with the least idea of its enormous
+significance. Grimbal had no notion that any mystery hung over that
+autumn time during which he made love to Phoebe and Will was absent from
+Chagford. He doubted not that for the asking he could learn how Will had
+occupied himself; but the subject did not interest him, and he never
+dreamed the period held a secret. The sudden consternation bred in Hicks
+by this question astounded him not a little. Indeed, each man amazed the
+other, Grimbal by his question, Hicks by the attitude which he assumed
+before it.
+
+"I'm sure I haven't the least idea," he answered; but his voice and
+manner had already told Grimbal all he cared to learn at the moment; and
+that was more than his wildest hopes had even risen to. He saw in the
+other's face a hidden thing, and by his demeanour that it was an
+important one. Indeed, the bee-keeper's hesitation and evident alarm
+before this chance question proclaimed the secret vital. For the
+present, and before Clement's evident alarm, Grimbal dismissed the
+matter lightly; but he chose to say a few more words upon it, for the
+express purpose of setting Hicks again at his ease.
+
+"You don't like your future brother-in-law?"
+
+"Yes, yes, I do. We've been friends all our lives--all our lives. I like
+him well, and am going to marry his sister--only I see his faults, and
+he sees mine--that's all."
+
+"Take my advice and shut your eyes to his faults. That's the best way if
+you are marrying into his family. I've got cause to think ill enough of
+the scamp, as you know and everybody knows; but life's too short for
+remembering ill turns."
+
+A weight rolled off Clement's heart. For a moment he had feared that the
+man knew something; but now he began to suspect Grimbal's question to be
+what in reality it was--casual interrogation, without any shadow of
+knowledge behind it. Hicks therefore breathed again and trusted that his
+own emotion had not been very apparent. Then, taking the water, he shot
+a thin shower into the air, an operation often employed to hasten
+swarming, and possibly calculated to alarm the bees into apprehension of
+rain.
+
+"Do wasps ever get into the hives?" asked Mr. Grimbal abruptly.
+
+"Aye, they do; and wax-moths and ants, and even mice. These things eat
+the honey and riddle and ruin the comb. Then birds eat the bees, and
+spiders catch them. Honey-bees do nothing but good that I can see, yet
+Nature 's pleased to fill the world with their enemies. Queen and drone
+and the poor unsexed workers--all have their troubles; and so has the
+little world of the hive. Yet during the few weeks of a bee's life he
+does an amount of work beyond imagination to guess at."
+
+"And still finds time to steal from the hives of his fellows?"
+
+"Why, yes, if the sweets are exposed and can be tasted for nothing. Most
+of us might turn robbers on the same terms. Now I can take them, and a
+splendid swarm, too--finest I've seen this year."
+
+The business of getting the glittering bunch of bees into a hive was
+then proceeded with, and soon Clement had shaken the mass into a big
+straw butt, his performance being completely successful. In less than
+half an hour all was done, and Hicks began to remove his veil and shake
+a bee or two off the rim of his hat.
+
+John Grimbal rubbed his cheek, where a bee had stung him under the eye,
+and regarded Hicks thoughtfully.
+
+"If you happen to want work at any time, it might be within my power to
+find you some here," he said, handing the bee-master five shillings.
+Clement thanked his employer and declared he would not forget the offer;
+he then departed, and John Grimbal returned to his farm.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+AN OFFER OF MARRIAGE
+
+
+Billy Blee, who has appeared thus far as a disinterested spectator of
+other people's affairs, had yet his own active and personal interests in
+life. Them he pursued, at odd times, and in odd ways, with admirable
+pertinacity; and as a crisis is now upon him and chance knits the
+outcome of it into the main fabric of this narrative, Billy and his
+actions command attention.
+
+Allusion has already been made, and that frequently, to one Widow
+Coomstock, whose attractions of income, and the ancillary circumstance
+of an ample though elderly person, had won for her certain admirers more
+ancient than herself. Once butt-woman, or sextoness, of Chagford Church,
+the lady had dwelt alone, as Miss Mary Reed, for fifty-five years--not
+because opportunity to change her state was denied her, but owing to the
+fact that experience of life rendered her averse to all family
+responsibilities. Mary Reed had seen her sister, the present Mrs. Hicks,
+take a husband, had watched the result of that step; and this, with a
+hundred parallel instances of misery following on matrimony, had
+determined her against it. But when old Benjamin Coomstock, the timber
+merchant and coal-dealer, became a widower, this ripe maiden, long known
+to him, was approached before his wife's grave became ready for a stone.
+To Chagford's amazement he so far bemeaned himself as to offer the
+sextoness his hand, and she accepted it. Then, left a widow after two
+years with her husband, Mary Coomstock languished a while, and changed
+her methods of life somewhat. The roomy dwelling-house of her late
+partner became her property and a sufficient income went with it. Mr.
+Coomstock's business had been sold in his lifetime; the money was
+invested, and its amount no man knew, though rumour, which usually
+magnifies such matters, spoke of a very handsome figure; and Mrs.
+Coomstock's lavish manner of life lent confirmation to the report. But
+though mundane affairs had thus progressed with her, the woman's
+marriage was responsible for very grave mental and moral deterioration.
+Prosperity, and the sudden exchange of a somewhat laborious life for the
+ease and comfort of independence, played havoc with Widow Coomstock. She
+grew lax, gross in habit and mind, self-indulgent, and ill-tempered.
+When her husband died her old friends lost sight of her, while only
+those who had reason to hope for a reward still kept in touch with her,
+and indeed forced themselves upon her notice. Everybody predicted she
+would take another husband; but, though it was now nearly eight years
+since Mr. Coomstock's death, his widow still remained one. Gaffer
+Lezzard and Billy Blee had long pursued her with varying advantage, and
+the latter, though his proposals were declined, yet saw in each refusal
+an indication to encourage future hope.
+
+Now, urged thereto by whispers that Mr. Lezzard had grown the richer by
+three hundred pounds on the death of a younger brother in Australia,
+Billy determined upon another attack. He also was worth something--less
+indeed than three hundred pounds; though, seeing that he had been
+earning reasonably good wages for half a century, the fact argued but
+poor thrift in Mr. Blee. Of course Gaffer Lezzard's alleged legacy could
+hardly be a sum to count with Mrs. Coomstock, he told himself; yet his
+rival was a man of wide experience and an oily tongue: while, apart from
+any question of opposition, he felt that another offer of marriage might
+now be made with decorum, seeing that it was a full year since the last.
+Mr. Blee therefore begged for a half-holiday, put on his broadcloth,
+blacked his boots, anointed his lion-monkey fringe and scanty locks with
+pomatum, and set forth. Mrs. Coomstock's house stood on the hill rising
+into the village from Chagford Bridge. A kitchen garden spread behind
+it; in front pale purple poppies had the ill-kept garden to themselves.
+
+As he approached, Mr. Blee felt a leaden weight about his newly polished
+boots, and a distinct flutter at the heart, or in a less poetical
+portion of his frame.
+
+"Same auld feeling," he reflected. "Gormed if I ban't gettin' sweaty
+'fore the plaace comes in sight! 'Tis just the sinkin' at the navel,
+like what I had when I smoked my first pipe, five-and-forty years
+agone!"
+
+The approach of another man steadied Billy, and on recognising him Mr.
+Blee forgot all about his former emotions and gasped in the clutch of a
+new one. It was Mr. Lezzard, evidently under some impulse of genial
+exhilaration. There hung an air of aggression about him, but, though he
+moved like a conqueror, his gait was unsteady and his progress slow. He
+had wit to guess Billy's errand, however, for he grinned, and leaning
+against the hedge waved his stick in the air above his head.
+
+"Aw, Jimmery! if it ban't Blee; an' prinked out for a weddin', tu, by
+the looks of it!"
+
+"Not yourn, anyway," snapped back the suitor.
+
+"Well, us caan't say 'zactly--world 's full o' novelties."
+
+"Best pull yourself together, Gaffer, or bad-hearted folks might say you
+was bosky-eyed.[10] That ban't no novelty anyway, but 't is early yet to
+be drunk--just three o'clock by the church."
+
+
+[10] _Bosky-eyed_ = intoxicated.
+
+
+Mr. Blee marched on without waiting for a reply. He knew Lezzard to be
+more than seventy years old and usually regarded the ancient man's
+rivalry with contempt; but he felt uneasy for a few moments, until the
+front door of Mrs. Coomstock's dwelling was opened to him by the lady
+herself.
+
+"My stars! You? What a terrible coorious thing!" she said.
+
+"Why for?"
+
+"Come in the parlour. Theer! coorious ban't the word!"
+
+She laughed, a silly laugh and loud. Then she shambled before him to the
+sitting-room, and Billy, familiar enough with the apartment, noticed a
+bottle of gin in an unusual position upon the table. The liquor stood,
+with two glasses and a jug of water, between the Coomstock family Bible,
+on its green worsted mat, and a glass shade containing the stuffed
+carcass of a fox-terrier. The animal was moth-eaten and its eyes had
+fallen out. It could be considered in no sense decorative; but sentiment
+allowed the corpse this central position in a sorry scheme of adornment,
+for the late timber merchant had loved it. Upon Mrs. Coomstock's parlour
+walls hung Biblical German prints in frames of sickly yellow wood; along
+the window-ledge geraniums and begonias flourished, though gardeners had
+wondered to see their luxuriance, for the windows were seldom opened.
+
+"'It never rains but it pours,'" said Widow Coomstock. She giggled again
+and looked at Billy. She was very fat, and the red of her face deepened
+to purple unevenly about the sides of her nose. Her eyes were bright and
+black. She had opened a button or two at the top of her dress, and her
+general appearance, from her grey hair to her slattern heels, was
+disordered. Her cap had fallen off on to the ground, and Mr. Blee
+noticed that her parting was as a broad turnpike road much tramped upon
+by Time. The room smelt stuffy beyond its wont and reeked not only of
+spirits but tobacco. This Billy sniffed inquiringly, and Mrs. Coomstock
+observed the action. "'Twas Lezzard," she said. "I like to see a man in
+comfort. You can smoke if you mind to. Coomstock always done it, and a
+man's no man without, though a dirty habit wheer they doan't use a
+spittoon."
+
+She smiled, but to herself, and was lost in thought a moment. He saw her
+eyes very bright and her head wagging. Then she looked at him and
+laughed again.
+
+"You'm a fine figure of a man, tu," she said, apropos of nothing in
+particular. But the newcomer understood. He rumpled his hair and snorted
+and frowned at the empty glasses.
+
+"Have a drop?" suggested Mrs. Coomstock; but Billy, of opinion that his
+love had already enjoyed refreshment sufficient for the time, refused
+and answered her former remark.
+
+"A fine figure?--yes, Mary Coomstock, though not so fine for a man as
+you for a woman. Still, a warm-blooded chap an' younger than my years."
+
+"I've got my share o' warm blood, tu, Billy."
+
+It was apparent. Mrs. Coomstock's plump neck bulged in creases over the
+dirty scrap of white linen that represented a collar, while her massive
+bust seemed bursting through her apparel.
+
+"Coourse," said Mr. Blee, "an' your share, an' more 'n your share o'
+brains, tu. He had bad luck--Coomstock--the worse fortune as ever fell
+to a Chaggyford man, I reckon."
+
+"How do 'e come at that, then?"
+
+"To get 'e, an' lose 'e again inside two year. That's ill luck if ever I
+seen it. Death's a envious twoad. Two short year of you; an' then up
+comes a tumour on his neck unbeknawnst, an' off he goes, like a spring
+lamb."
+
+"An' so he did. I waked from sleep an' bid un rise, but theer weern't no
+more risin' for him till the Judgment."
+
+"Death's no courtier. He'll let a day-labourer go so peaceful an'
+butivul as a child full o' milk goes to sleep; while he'll take a gert
+lord or dook, wi' lands an' moneys, an' strangle un by inches, an' give
+un the hell of a twistin'. You caan't buy a easy death seemin'ly."
+
+"A gude husband he was, but jealous," said Mrs. Coomstock, her thoughts
+busy among past years; and Billy immediately fell in with this view.
+
+"Then you'm well rid of un. Theer's as gude in the world alive any
+minute as ever was afore or will be again."
+
+"Let 'em stop in the world then. I doan't want 'em."
+
+This sentiment amused the widow herself more than Billy. She laughed
+uproariously, raised her glass to her lips unconsciously, found it
+empty, grew instantly grave upon the discovery, set it down again, and
+sighed.
+
+"It's a wicked world," she said. "Sure as men's in a plaace they brings
+trouble an' wickedness. An' yet I've heard theer's more women than men
+on the airth when all's said."
+
+"God A'mighty likes 'em best, I reckon," declared Mr. Blee.
+
+"Not but what 't would be a lonesome plaace wi'out the lords of
+creation," conceded the widow.
+
+"Ess fay, you 'm right theer; but the beauty of things is that none need
+n't be lonely, placed same as you be."
+
+"'Once bit twice shy,'" said Mrs. Coomstock. Then she laughed again. "I
+said them very words to Lezzard not an hour since."
+
+"An' what might he have answered?" inquired Billy without, however,
+showing particular interest to know.
+
+"He said he wasn't bit. His wife was a proper creature."
+
+"Bah! second-hand gudes--that's what Lezzard be--a widow-man an' eighty
+if a day. A poor, coffin-ripe auld blid, wi' wan leg in the graave any
+time this twenty year."
+
+Mrs. Coomstock's frame heaved at this tremendous criticism. She gurgled
+and gazed at Billy with her eyes watering and her mouth open.
+
+"You say that! Eighty an' coffin-ripe!"
+
+"Ban't no ontruth, neither. A man 's allus ready for his elm overcoat
+arter threescore an' ten. I heard the noise of his breathin' paarts when
+he had brown kitty in the fall three years ago, an' awnly thrawed it off
+thanks to the gracious gudeness of Miller Lyddon, who sent rich stock
+for soup by my hand. But to hear un, you might have thought theer was a
+wapsies' nest in the man's lungs."
+
+"I doan't want to be nuss to a chap at my time of life, in coourse."
+
+"No fay; 't is the man's paart to look arter his wife, if you ax me. I
+be a plain bachelor as never thought of a female serious 'fore I seed
+you. An' I've got a heart in me, tu. Ban't no auld, rubbishy, worn-out
+thing, neither, but a tough, love-tight heart--at least so 't was till I
+seed you in your weeds eight year agone."
+
+"Eight year a widow! An' so I have been. Well, Blee, you've got a
+powerful command of words, anyways. That I'll grant you."
+
+"'T is the gert subject, Mary."
+
+He moved nearer and put down his hat and stick; she exhibited
+trepidation, not wholly assumed. Then she helped herself to more
+spirits.
+
+"A drop I must have to steady me. You men make a woman's heart go
+flutterin' all over her buzzom, like a flea under her--"
+
+She stopped and laughed, then drank. Presently setting down the glass
+again, she leered in a manner frankly animal at Mr. Blee, and told him
+to say what he might have to say and be quick about it. He fired a
+little at this invitation, licked his lips, cleared his throat, and cast
+a nervous glance or two at the window. But nobody appeared; no
+thunder-visaged Lezzard frowned over the geraniums. Gaffer indeed was
+sound asleep, half a mile off, upon one of those seats set in the open
+air for the pleasure and convenience of wayfarers about the village. So
+Billy rose, crossed to the large sofa whereon Mrs. Coomstock sat,
+plumped down boldly beside her and endeavoured to get his arm round the
+wide central circumference of her person. She suffered this courageous
+attempt without objection. Then Billy gently squeezed her, and she
+wriggled and opened her mouth and shut her eyes.
+
+"Say the word and do a wise thing," he urged. "Say the word, Mary, an'
+think o' me here as master, a-keeping all your damn relations off by
+word of command."
+
+She laughed.
+
+"When I be gone you'll see some sour looks, I reckon."
+
+"Nothing doan't matter then; 't is while you 'm here I'd protect 'e
+'gainst 'em. Look, see! ban't often I goes down on my knees, 'cause a
+man risin' in years, same as me, can pray to God more dignified sittin';
+but now I will." He slid gingerly down, and only a tremor showed the
+stab his gallantry cost him.
+
+"You 'm a masterful auld shaver, sure 'nough!" said Mrs. Coomstock,
+regarding Billy with a look half fish like, half affectionate.
+
+"Rise me up, then," he said. "Rise me up, an' do it quick. If you love
+me, as I see you do by the faace of you, rise me up, Mary, an' say the
+word wance for all time. I'll be a gude husband to 'e an' you'll bless
+the day you took me, though I sez it as shouldn't."
+
+She allowed her fat left hand, with the late Mr. Coomstock's
+wedding-ring almost buried in her third finger, to remain with Billy's;
+and by the aid of it and the sofa he now got on his legs again. Then he
+sat down beside her once more and courageously set his yellow muzzle
+against her red cheek. The widow remained passive under this caress, and
+Mr. Blee, having kissed her thrice, rubbed his mouth and spoke.
+
+"Theer! 'T is signed and sealed, an' I'll have no drawin' back now."
+
+"But--but--Lezzard, Billy. I do like 'e--I caan't hide it from 'e, try
+as I will--but him--"
+
+"I knawed he was t'other. I tell you, forget un. His marryin' days be
+awver. Dammy, the man's 'most chuckle headed wi' age! Let un go his way
+an' say his prayers 'gainst the trump o' God. An' it'll take un his time
+to pass Peter when all 's done--a bad auld chap in his day. Not that I'd
+soil your ears with it."
+
+"He said much the same 'bout you. When you was at Drewsteignton, twenty
+year agone--"
+
+"A lie--a wicked, strammin', gert lie, with no more truth to it than a
+auld song! He 'm a venomous beast to call home such a thing arter all
+these years."
+
+"If I did take 'e, you'd be a gude an' faithful husband, Billy, not a
+gad-about?"
+
+"Cut my legs off if I go gaddin' further than to do your errands."
+
+"An' you'll keep these here buzzin' parties off me? Cuss 'em! They make
+my life a burden."
+
+"Doan't fear that. I'll larn 'em!"
+
+"Theer 's awnly wan I can bide of the whole lot--an' that's my awn
+nephew, Clem Hicks. He'll drink his drop o' liquor an' keep his mouth
+shut, an' listen to me a-talkin' as a young man should. T'others are
+allus yelpin' out how fond they be of me, and how they'd go to the
+world's end for me. I hate the sight of 'em."
+
+"A time-servin' crew, Mary; an' Clement Hicks no better 'n the rest,
+mark my word, though your sister's son. 'T is cupboard love wi' all. But
+money ban't nothin' to me. I've been well contented with enough all my
+life, though 't is few can say with truth that enough satisfies 'em."
+
+"Lezzard said money was nothin' to him neither, having plenty of his
+awn. 'T was my pusson, not my pocket, as he'd falled in love with."
+
+"Burnish it all! Theer 's a shameful speech! 'Your pusson'! Him! I'll
+tell you what Lezzard is--just a damn evil disposition kep' in by skin
+an' bones--that's Lezzard. 'Your pusson'!"
+
+"I'm afraid I've encouraged him a little. You've been so backward in
+mentioning the subject of late. But I'm sure I didn't knaw as he'd got a
+evil disposition."
+
+"Well, 't is so. An' 't is awnly your bigness of heart, as wouldn't
+hurt a beetle, makes you speak kind of the boozy auld sweep. I'll soon
+shaw un wheer he's out if he thinks you 'm tinkering arter him!"
+
+"He couldn't bring an action for breach, or anything o' that, could he?"
+
+"At his time of life! What Justice would give ear to un? An' the shame
+of it!"
+
+"Perhaps he misunderstood. You men jump so at a conclusion."
+
+"Leave that to me. I'll clear his brains double-quick; aye, an' make un
+jump for somethin'!"
+
+"Then I suppose it's got to be. I'm yourn, Billy, an' theer needn't be
+any long waitin' neither. To think of another weddin' an' another
+husband! Just a drop or I shall cry. It's such a supporting thing to a
+lone female."
+
+Whether Mrs. Coomstock meant marriage or Plymouth gin, Billy did not
+stop to inquire. He helped her, filled Lezzard's empty glass for
+himself, and then, finding his future wife thick of speech, bleared of
+eye, and evidently disposed to slumber, he departed and left her to
+sleep off her varied emotions.
+
+"I'll mighty soon change all that," thought Mr. Blee. "To note a fine
+woman in liquor 's the frightfullest sight in all nature, so to say. Not
+but what with Lezzard a-pawin' of her 't was enough to drive her to it."
+
+That night the lover announced his triumph, whereon Phoebe congratulated
+him and Miller Lyddon shook his head.
+
+"'T is an awful experiment, Billy, at your age," he declared.
+
+"Why, so 't is; but I've weighed the subject in my mind for years and
+years, an 't wasn't till Mary Coomstock comed to be widowed that I
+thought I'd found the woman at last. 'T was lookin' tremendous high, I
+knaw, but theer 't is; she'll have me. She 'm no young giglet neither,
+as would lead me a devil's dance, but a pusson in full blooth with ripe
+mind."
+
+"She drinks. I doan't want to hurt your feelings; but everybody says it
+is so," declared the miller.
+
+"What everybody sez, nobody did ought to believe," returned Mr. Blee
+stoutly. "She 'm a gude, lonely sawl, as wants a man round the house to
+keep off her relations, same as us has a dog to keep down varmints in
+general. Theer 's the Hickses, an' Chowns, an' Coomstocks all a-stickin'
+up theer tails an' a-purrin' an' a-rubbin' theerselves against the
+door-posts of the plaace like cats what smells feesh. I won't have none
+of it. I'll dwell along wi' she an' play a husband's part, an' comfort
+the decline of her like a man, I warn 'e."
+
+"Why, Mrs. Coomstock 's not so auld as all that, Billy," said Phoebe.
+"Chris has often told me she's only sixty-two or three."
+
+But he shook his head.
+
+"Ban't a subject for a loving man to say much on, awnly truth 's truth.
+I seed it written in the Coomstock Bible wan day. Fifty-five she were
+when she married first. Well, ban't in reason she twald the naked truth
+'bout it, an' who'd blame her on such a delicate point? No, I'd judge
+her as near my awn age as possible; an' to speak truth, not so well
+preserved as what I be."
+
+"How's Monks Barton gwaine to fare without 'e, Blee?" whined the miller.
+
+"As to that, be gormed if I knaw how I'll fare wi'out the farm. But
+love--well, theer 't is. Theer 's money to it, I knaw, but what do that
+signify? Nothin' to me. You'll see me frequent as I ride here an'
+theer--horse, saddle, stirrups, an' all complete; though God He knaws
+wheer my knees'll go when my boots be fixed in stirrups. But a man must
+use 'em if theer 's the dignity of money to be kept up. 'T is just wan
+of them oncomfortable things riches brings with it."
+
+While Miller Lyddon still argued with Billy against the step he now
+designed, there arrived from Chagford the stout Mr. Chappie, with his
+mouth full of news.
+
+"More weddin's," he said. "I comed down-long to tell 'e, lest you
+shouldn't knaw till to-morrow an' so fall behind the times. Widow
+Coomstock 's thrawed up the sponge and gived herself to that
+importuneous auld Lezzard. To think o' such a Methuselah as him--aulder
+than the century--fillin' the eye o' that full-bodied--"
+
+"It's a black lie--blacker 'n hell--an' if't was anybody but you brought
+the news I'd hit un awver the jaw!" burst out Mr. Blee, in a fury.
+
+"He tawld me hisself. He's tellin' everybody hisself. It comed to a
+climax to-day. The auld bird's hoppin' all awver the village so proud as
+a jackdaw as have stole a shiny button. He'm bustin' wi' it in fact."
+
+"I'll bust un! An' his news, tu. An' you can say, when you'm axed, 't is
+the foulest lie ever falled out of wicked lips."
+
+Billy now took his hat and stick from their corner and marched to the
+door without more words.
+
+"No violence, mind now, no violence," begged Mr. Lyddon. "This
+love-making 's like to wreck the end of my life, wan way or another,
+yet. 'T is bad enough with the young; but when it comes to auld,
+bald-headed fules like you an' Lezzard--"
+
+"As to violence, I wouldn't touch un wi' the end of a dung-fork--I
+wouldn't. But I'm gwaine to lay his lie wance an' for all. I be off to
+parson this instant moment. An' when my banns of marriage be hollered
+out next Sunday marnin', then us'll knaw who 'm gwaine to marry Mother
+Coomstock an' who ban't. I can work out my awn salvation wi' fear an'
+tremblin' so well as any other man; an' you'll see what that
+God-forsaken auld piece looks like come Sunday when he hears what's done
+an' caan't do nought but just swallow his gall an' chew 'pon it."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+MR. BLEE FORGETS HIMSELF
+
+
+The Rev. James Shorto-Champernowne made no difficulty about Billy's
+banns of marriage, although he doubtless held a private opinion upon the
+wisdom of such a step, and also knew that Mrs. Coomstock was now a very
+different woman from the sextoness of former days. He expressed a hope,
+however, that Mr. Blee would make his future wife become a regular
+church-goer again after the ceremony; and Billy took it upon himself to
+promise as much for her. There the matter ended until the following
+Sunday, when a sensation, unparalleled in the archives of St. Michael's,
+awaited the morning worshippers.
+
+Under chiming of bells the customary congregation arrived, and a
+perceptible wave of sensation swept from pew to pew at the appearance of
+more than one unfamiliar face. Of regular attendants we may note Mrs.
+Blanchard and Chris, Martin Grimbal, Mr. Lyddon, and his daughter. Mr.
+Blee usually sat towards the back of the church at a point immediately
+behind those benches devoted to the boys. Here he kept perfect order
+among the lads, and had done so for many years. Occasionally it became
+necessary to turn a youngster out of church, and Billy's procedure at
+such a time was masterly; but of opinion to-day that he was a public
+character, he chose a more conspicuous position, and accepted Mr.
+Lyddon's invitation to take a seat in the miller's own pew. He felt he
+owed this prominence, not only to himself, but to Mrs. Coomstock. She,
+good soul, had been somewhat evasive and indefinite in her manner since
+accepting Billy, and her condition of nerves on Sunday morning proved
+such that she found herself quite unable to attend the house of prayer,
+although she had promised to do so. She sent her two servants, however,
+and, spending the time in private between spirtual and spirituous
+consolations of Bible and bottle, the widow soon passed into a temporary
+exaltation ending in unconsciousness. Thus her maids found her on
+returning from church.
+
+Excitement within the holy edifice reached fever-heat when a most
+unwonted worshipper appeared in the venerable shape of Mr. Lezzard. He
+was supported by his married daughter and his grandson. They sought and
+found a very prominent position under the lectern, and it was
+immediately apparent that no mere conventional attendance for the
+purpose of praising their Maker had drawn Mr. Lezzard and his relations.
+Indeed he had long been of the Baptist party, though it derived but
+little lustre from him. Much whispering passed among the trio. Then his
+daughter, having found the place she sought in a prayer-book, handed it
+to Mr. Lezzard, and he made a big cross in pencil upon the page and bent
+the volume backwards so that its binding cracked very audibly. Gaffer
+then looked about him with a boldness he was far from feeling; but the
+spectacle of Mr. Blee, hard by, fortified his spirit. He glared across
+the aisle and Billy glared back.
+
+Then the bells stopped, the organ droned, and there came a clatter of
+iron nails on the tiled floor. Boys and men proceeded to the choir
+stalls and Mr. Shorto-Champernowne fluttered behind, with his sermon in
+his hand. Like a stately galleon of the olden time he swept along the
+aisle, then reached his place, cast one keen glance over the assembled
+congregation, and slowly sinking upon his hassock enveloped his face and
+whiskers in snowy lawn and prayed a while.
+
+The service began and that critical moment after the second lesson was
+reached with dreadful celerity. Doctor Parsons, having read a chapter
+from the New Testament, which he emerged from the congregation to do,
+and which he did ill, though he prided himself upon his elocution,
+returned to his seat as the Vicar rose, adjusted his double eyeglasses
+and gave out a notice as follows:
+
+"I publish the banns of marriage between William Blee, Bachelor, and
+Mary Coomstock, Widow, both of this parish. If any of you know cause, or
+just impediment, why these two persons should not be joined together in
+holy matrimony, ye are to declare it. This is for the first time of
+asking."
+
+There was a momentary pause. Then, nudged by his daughter, who had grown
+very pale, Gaffer Lezzard rose. His head shook and he presented the
+appearance of a man upon the verge of palsy. He held up his hand,
+struggled with his vocal organs and at last exploded these words,
+sudden, tremulous, and shrill:
+
+"I deny it an' I defy it! The wummon be mine!"
+
+Mr. Lezzard succumbed instantly after this effort. Indeed, he went down
+as though shot through the head. He wagged and gasped and whispered to
+his grandson,--
+
+"Wheer's the brandy to?"
+
+Whereupon this boy produced a medicine bottle half full of spirits, and
+his grandfather, with shaking fingers, removed the cork and drank the
+contents. Meantime the Vicar had begun to speak; but he suffered another
+interruption. Billy, tearing himself from the miller's restraining hand,
+leapt to his feet, literally shaking with rage. He was dead to his
+position, oblivious of every fact save that his banns of marriage had
+been forbidden before the assembled Christians of Chagford. He had
+waited to find a wife until he was sixty years old--for this!
+
+"You--_you_ to do it! You to get up afore this rally o' gentlefolks an'
+forbid my holy banns, you wrinkled, crinkled, baggering auld lizard!
+Gormed if I doan't wring your--"
+
+"Silence in the house of God!" thundered Mr. Shorto-Champernowne, with
+tones so resonant that they woke rafter echoes the organ itself had
+never roused. "Silence, and cease this sacrilegious brawling, or the
+consequences will be unutterably serious! Let those involved," he
+concluded more calmly, "appear before me in the vestry after divine
+service is at an end."
+
+Having frowned, in a very tragic manner, both on Mr. Blee and Mr.
+Lezzard, the Vicar proceeded with the service; but though Gaffer
+remained in his place Billy did not. He rose, jammed on his hat, glared
+at everybody, and assumed an expression curiously similar to that of a
+stone demon which grinned from the groining of two arches immediately
+above him. He then departed, growling to himself and shaking his fists,
+in another awful silence; for the Vicar ceased when he rose, and not
+until Billy disappeared and his footfall was heard no more did the angry
+clergyman proceed.
+
+A buzz and hubbub, mostly of laughter, ascended when presently Mr.
+Shorto-Champernowne's parishioners returned to the air; and any chance
+spectator beholding them had certainly judged he stood before an
+audience now dismissed from a theatre rather than the congregation of a
+church.
+
+"Glad Will weern't theer, I'm sure," said Mrs. Blanchard. "He'd 'a'
+laughed out loud an' made bad worse. Chris did as 't was, awnly parson's
+roarin' luckily drowned it. And Mr. Martin Grimbal, whose eye I catched,
+was put to it to help smilin'."
+
+"Ban't often he laughs, anyway," said Phoebe, who walked homewards with
+her father and the Blanchards; whereon Chris, from being in a boisterous
+vein of merriment, grew grave. Together all returned to the valley. Will
+was due in half an hour from Newtake, and Phoebe, as a special favour,
+had been permitted to dine at Mrs. Blanchard's cottage with her husband
+and his family. Clement Hicks had also promised to be of the party; but
+that was before the trouble of the previous week, and Chris knew he
+would not come.
+
+Meantime, Gaffer Lezzard, supported by two generations of his family,
+explained his reasons for objecting to Mr. Blee's proposed marriage.
+
+"Mrs. Coomstock be engaged, right and reg'lar, to me," he declared.
+"She'd gived me her word 'fore ever Blee axed her. I seed her essterday,
+to hear final 'pon the subjec', an' she tawld me straight, bein' sober
+as you at the time, as 't was _me_ she wanted an' meant for to have. She
+was excited t' other day an' not mistress of herself ezacally; an' the
+crafty twoad took advantage of it, an' jawed, an' made her drink an'
+drink till her didn't knaw what her was sayin' or doin'. But she'm mine,
+an' she'll tell 'e same as what I do; so theer's an end on 't."
+
+"I'll see Mrs. Coomstock," said the Vicar. "I, myself will visit her
+to-morrow."
+
+"Canst punish this man for tryin' to taake her from me?"
+
+"Permit yourself no mean desires in the direction of revenge. For the
+present I decline to say more upon the subject. If it were possible to
+punish, and I am not prepared to say it is not, it would be for brawling
+in the house of God. After an experience extending over forty years, I
+may declare that I never saw any such disreputable and horrifying
+spectacle."
+
+So the Lezzard family withdrew and, on the following day, Mrs. Coomstock
+passed through most painful experiences.
+
+To the clergyman, with many sighs and tears, she explained that Mr.
+Lezzard's character had been maligned by Mr. Blee, that before the
+younger veteran she had almost feared for her life, and been driven to
+accept him out of sheer terror at his importunity. But when facts came
+to her ears afterwards, she found that Mr. Lezzard was in reality all he
+had declared himself to be, and therefore returned to him, threw over
+Mr. Blee, and begged the other to forbid the banns, if as she secretly
+learnt, though not from Billy himself, they were to be called on that
+Sunday. The poor woman's ears tingled under Mr. Shorto-Champernowne's
+sonorous reproof; but he departed at last, and by the time that Billy
+called, during the same day, she had imbibed Dutch courage sufficient to
+face him and tell him she had changed her mind. She had erred--she
+confessed it. She had been far from well at the time and, upon
+reconsideration of the proposal, had felt she would never be able to
+make Mr. Blee happy, or enjoy happiness with him.
+
+As a matter of fact, Mrs. Coomstock had accepted both suitors on one and
+the same afternoon. First Gaffer, who had made repeated but rather vague
+allusion to a sum of three hundred pounds in ready money, was taken
+definitely; while upon his departure, the widow, only dimly conscious of
+what was settled with her former admirer, said, "Yes" to Billy in his
+turn. Had a third suitor called on that event-ful afternoon, it is quite
+possible Mrs. Coomstock would have accepted him also.
+
+The conversation with Mr. Blee was of short duration, and ended by
+Billy calling down a comprehensive curse on the faithless one and
+returning to Monks Barton. He had attached little importance to
+Lezzard's public protest, upon subsequent consideration and after the
+first shock of hearing it; but there was no possibility of doubting what
+he now learned from Mrs. Coomstock's own lips. That she had in reality
+changed her mind appeared only too certain.
+
+So he went home again in the last extremity of fury, and Phoebe, who was
+alone at the time, found herself swept by the hurricane of his wrath. He
+entered snorting and puffing, flung his hat on the settle, his stick
+into the corner; then, dropping into a seat by the fire, he began taking
+off his gaiters with much snuffling and mumbling and repeated
+inarticulate explosions of breath. This cat-like splutter always
+indicated deep feeling in Mr. Blee, and Phoebe asked with concern what
+was the matter now.
+
+"Matter? Tchut--Tchut--Theer ban't no God--that's what's the matter!"
+
+"Billy! How can you?"
+
+"She'm gwaine to marry t'other, arter all! From her awn lips I've heard
+it! That's what I get for being a church member from the womb! That's my
+reward! God, indeed! Be them the ways o' a plain-dealin' God, who knaws
+what's doin' in human hearts? No fay! Bunkum an' rot! I'll never lift my
+voice in hymn nor psalm no more, nor pray a line o' prayer again. Who be
+I to be treated like that? Drunken auld cat! I cussed her--I cussed her!
+Wouldn't marry her now if she axed wi' her mouth in the dirt. Wheer's
+justice to? Tell me that. Me in church, keepin' order 'mong the damn
+boys generation arter generation, and him never inside the door since he
+buried his wife. An' parson siding wi' un, I'll wager. Mother Coomstock
+'ll give un hell's delights, that's wan gude thought. A precious pair
+of 'em! Tchut! Gar!"
+
+"I doan't really think you could have loved Mrs. Coomstock overmuch,
+Billy, if you can talk so ugly an' crooked 'bout her," said Phoebe.
+
+"I did, I tell 'e--for years an' years. I went down on my knees to the
+bitch--I wish I hadn't; I'll be sorry for that to my dying day. I kissed
+her, tu,--s' elp me, I did. You mightn't think it, but I did--a faace
+like a frost-bitten beetroot, as 't is!"
+
+"Doan't 'e, please, say such horrible things. You must be wise about it.
+You see, they say Mr. Lezzard has more money than you. At least, so Mrs.
+Coomstock told her nephew, Clement Hicks. Every one of her relations is
+savage about it."
+
+"Well they may be. Why doan't they lock her up? If she ban't mad, nobody
+ever was. 'Money'! Lezzard! Lying auld--auld--Tchut! Not money enough to
+pay for a graave to hide his rotten bones, I lay. Oh, 't is enough
+to--theer, what 's the use of talkin'? Tchut--Tchut!"
+
+At this point Phoebe, fearing even greater extravagances in Mr. Blee's
+language, left him to consider his misfortunes alone. Long he continued
+in the profoundest indignation, and it was not until Miller Lyddon
+returned, heard the news, and heartily congratulated Billy on a merciful
+escape, that the old man grew a little calmer under his disappointment,
+and moderated the bitterness and profanity of his remarks.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+A DIFFERENCE WITH THE DUCHY
+
+
+Newtake Farm, by reason of Will's recent occupancy, could offer no very
+considerable return during his first year as tenant; but that he
+understood and accepted, and the tribulation which now fell upon him was
+of his own making. To begin with, Sam Bonus vanished from the scene. On
+learning, soon after the event, that Bonus had discussed Hicks and
+himself at Chagford, and detailed his private conversation with Martin
+Grimbal, Blanchard, in a fury, swept off to the loft where his man
+slept, roused him from rest, threw down the balance of his wages, and
+dismissed him on the spot. He would hear no word in explanation, and
+having administered a passionate rebuke, departed as he had come, like a
+whirlwind. Sam, smarting under this injustice, found the devil wake in
+him through that sleepless night, and had there stood rick or stack
+within reach of revenge, he might have dealt his master a return blow
+before morning. As usual, after the lapse of hours, Will cooled down,
+modified his first fiery indignation, and determined, yet without
+changing his mind, to give Bonus an opportunity of explaining the thing
+he had done. Chris had brought the news from Clement himself, and Will,
+knowing that his personal relations with Clement were already strained,
+felt that in justice to his servant he must be heard upon the question.
+But, when he sought Sam Bonus, though still the dawn was only grey, he
+found the world fuller for him by another enemy, for the man had taken
+him at his word and departed. During that day and the next Will made
+some effort to see Bonus, but nothing came of it, so, dismissing the
+matter from his mind, he hired a new labourer--one Teddy Chown, son of
+Abraham Chown, the Inspector of Police--and pursued his way.
+
+Then his unbounded energy led him into difficulties of a graver sort.
+Will had long cast covetous eyes on a tract of moorland immediately
+adjoining Newtake, and there being little to do at the moment, he
+conceived the adventurous design of reclaiming it. The patch was an acre
+and a half in extent--a beggarly, barren region, where the heather
+thinned away and the black earth shone with water and disintegrated
+granite. Quartz particles glimmered over it; at the centre black pools
+of stagnant water marked an abandoned peat cutting; any spot less
+calculated to attract an agricultural eye would have been hard to
+imagine; but Blanchard set to work, began to fill the greedy quag in the
+midst with tons of soil, and soon caused the place to look
+business-like--at least in his own estimation. As for the Duchy, he did
+not trouble himself. The Duchy itself was always reclaiming land without
+considering the rights and wrongs of the discontented Venville tenants,
+and Will knew of many a "newtake" besides this he contemplated. Indeed,
+had not the whole farm, of which he was now master, been rescued from
+the Moor in time past? He worked hard, therefore, and his new assistant,
+though not a Bonus, proved stout and active. Chris, who still dwelt with
+her brother, was sworn to secrecy respecting Will's venture; and so
+lonely a region did the farm occupy that not until he had put a good
+month of work into the adjacent waste were any of those in authority
+aware of the young farmer's performance.
+
+A day came when the new land was cleaned, partly ploughed, and wholly
+surrounded by a fence of split stumps, presently to be connected by
+wires. At these Chown was working, while Will had just arrived with a
+load of earth to add to the many tons already poured upon that hungry
+central patch. He held the tailboard of the cart in his hand and was
+about to remove it; when, looking up, his heart fluttered a moment
+despite his sturdy consciousness of right. On the moor above him rode
+grey old Vogwell, the Duchy's man. His long beard fluttered in the wind,
+and Will heard the thud of his horse's hoofs as he cantered quickly to
+the scene, passed between two of the stakes, and drew up alongside
+Blanchard.
+
+"Marnin', Mr. Vogwell! Fine weather, to be sure, an' gude for the peat
+next month; but bad for roots, an' no mistake. Will 'e have a drink?"
+
+Mr. Vogwell gazed sternly about him, then fixed his little bright eyes
+on the culprit.
+
+"What do this mean, Will Blanchard?"
+
+"Well, why not? Duchy steals all the gude land from Venwell men; why for
+shouldn't us taake a little of the bad? This here weern't no gude to
+man or mouse. Ban't 'nough green stuff for a rabbit 'pon it. So I just
+thought I'd give it a lick an' a promise o' more later on."
+
+"'A lick an' a promise'! You've wasted a month's work on it, to the
+least."
+
+"Well, p'raps I have--though ban't wasted. Do 'e think, Mr. Vogwell, as
+the Duchy might be disposed to give me a hand?"
+
+Will generally tackled difficulties in this audacious fashion, and a
+laugh already began to brighten his eye; but the other quenched it.
+
+"You fool! You knawed you was doin' wrong better'n I can tell you--an'
+such a plaace! A babe could see you 'm workin' awver living springs. You
+caan't fill un even now in the drouth, an' come autumn an' rain 't will
+all be bog again."
+
+"Nothing of the sort," flamed out Will, quite forgetting his recent
+assertion as to the poverty of the place. "Do 'e think, you, as awnly
+rides awver the Moor, knaws more about soil than I as works on it?
+'Twill be gude proofy land bimebye--so good as any Princetown way, wheer
+the prison men reclaim, an' wheer theer's grass this minute as carries a
+bullock to the acre. First I'll plant rye, then swedes, then maybe more
+swedes, then barley; an', with the barley, I'll sow the permanent grass
+to follow. That's gude rotation of crops for Dartymoor, as I knaw an'
+you doan't; an' if the Duchy encloses the best to rob our things[11],
+why for shouldn't we--"
+
+
+[11] _Things_ = beasts; sheep and cattle.
+
+
+"That'll do. I caan't bide here listenin' to your child's-talk all the
+marnin'. What Duchy does an' doan't do is for higher 'n you or me to
+decide. If this was any man's work but yours I'd tell Duchy this night;
+but bein' you, I'll keep mute. Awnly mind, when I comes this way a
+fortnight hence, let me see these postes gone an' your plough an' cart
+t' other side that wall. An' you'll thank me, when you've come to more
+sense, for stoppin' this wild-goose chase. Now I'll have a drop o'
+cider, if it's all the same to you."
+
+Will opened a stone jar which lay under his coat at hand, and answered
+as he poured cider into a horn mug for Mr. Vogwell--
+
+"Here's your drink; but I won't take your orders, so I tell 'e. Damn the
+Duchy, as steals moor an' common wheer it pleases an' then grudges a man
+his toil."
+
+"That's the spirit as'll land 'e in the poorhouse, Will Blanchard," said
+Mr. Vogwell calmly; "and that's such a job as might send 'e to the
+County Asylum," he added, pointing to the operations around him. "As to
+damning Duchy," he continued, "you might as well damn the sun or moon.
+They'd care as little. Theer 'm some varmints so small that, though they
+bite 'e with all their might, you never knaw it; an' so 't is wi' you
+an' Duchy. Mind now, a fortnight. Thank 'e--so gude cider as ever I
+tasted; an' doan't 'e tear an' rage, my son. What's the use?"
+
+"'Twould be use, though, if us all raged together."
+
+"But you won't get none to follow. 'Tis all talk. Duchy haven't got no
+bones to break or sawl to lose; an' moormen haven't got brains enough to
+do aught in the matter but jaw."
+
+"An' all for a royal prince, as doan't knaw difference between yether
+an' fuzz, I lay," growled Will. "Small blame to moormen for being
+radical-minded these days. Who wouldn't, treated same as us?"
+
+"Best not talk on such high subjects, Will Blanchard, or you might get
+in trouble. A fortnight, mind. Gude marnin' to 'e."
+
+The Duchy's man rode off and Will stood angry and irresolute. Then,
+seeing Mr. Vogwell was still observing him, he ostentatiously turned to
+the cart and tipped up his load of earth. But when the representative of
+power had disappeared--his horse and himself apparently sinking into
+rather than behind a heather ridge--Will's energy died and his mood
+changed. He had fooled himself about this enterprise until the present,
+but he could no longer do so. Now he sat down on the earth he had
+brought, let his horse drag the cart after it, as it wandered in search
+of some green thing, and suffered a storm of futile indignation to
+darken his spirit.
+
+Blanchard's unseasoned mind had, in truth, scarcely reached the second
+milestone upon the road of man's experience. Some arrive early at the
+mental standpoint where the five senses meet and merge in that sixth or
+common sense, which may be defined as an integral of the others, and
+which is manifested by those who possess it in a just application of all
+the experience won from life. But of common sense Will had none. He
+could understand laziness and wickedness being made to suffer; he could
+read Nature's more self-evident lessons blazoned across every meadow,
+displayed in every living organism--that error is instantly punished,
+that poor food starves the best seed, that too much water is as bad as
+too little, that the race is to the strong, and so forth; but he could
+not understand why hard work should go unrewarded, why good intentions
+should breed bad results, why the effect of energy, self-denial, right
+ambitions, and other excellent qualities is governed by chance; why the
+prizes in the great lottery fall to the wise, not to the well-meaning.
+He knew himself for a hard worker and a man who accomplished, in all
+honesty, the best within his power. What his hand found to do he did
+with his might; and the fact that his head, as often as not, prompted
+his hand to the wrong thing escaped him. He regarded his life as
+exemplary, felt that he was doing all that might in reason be demanded,
+and confidently looked towards Providence to do the rest. To find
+Providence unwilling to help him brought a wave of riotous indignation
+through his mind on each occasion of making that discovery. These waves,
+sweeping at irregular intervals over Will, left the mark of their high
+tides, and his mind, now swinging like a pendulum before this last
+buffet dealt by Fate in semblance of the Duchy's man, plunged him into a
+huge discontent with all things. He was ripe for mischief and would have
+quarrelled with his shadow; but he did worse--he quarrelled with his
+mother.
+
+She visited him that afternoon, viewed his shattered scheme, and
+listened as Will poured the great outrage upon her ear. Coming up at his
+express invitation to learn the secret, which he had kept from her that
+her joy might be the greater, Mrs. Blanchard only arrived in time to see
+his disappointment. She knew the Duchy for a bad enemy, and perhaps at
+the bottom of her conservative heart felt no particular delight at the
+spectacle of Newtake enlarging its borders. She therefore held that
+everything was for the best, and counselled patience; whereupon her son,
+with a month's wasted toil staring him in the face, rebelled and took
+her unconcerned demeanour ill. Damaris also brought a letter from
+Phoebe, and this added fuel to the flame. Will dwelt upon his wife's
+absence bitterly.
+
+"Job's self never suffered that, for I read 'bout what he went through
+awnly last night, for somethin' to kill an hour in the evenin'. An' I
+won't suffer it. It's contrary to nature, an' if Phoebe ban't here come
+winter I'll go down an' bring her, willy-nilly."
+
+"Time'll pass soon enough, my son. Next summer will be here quick. Then
+her'll have grawin' corn to look at and fine crops risin', an' more
+things feedin' on the Moor in sight of her eyes. You see, upland farms
+do look a little thin to them who have lived all their time in the
+fatness of the valleys."
+
+"If I was bidin' in one of them stone roundy-poundies, with nothin' but
+a dog-kennel for a home, she ought to be shoulder to shoulder wi' me.
+Did you leave my faither cause other people didn't love un?"
+
+"That was differ'nt. Theer s Miller Lyddon. I could much wish you seed
+more of him an' let un come by a better 'pinion of 'e. 'T s awnly
+worldly wisdom, true; but--"
+
+"I'm sick to death o' worldly wisdom! What's it done for me? I stand to
+work nine an' ten hour a day, an' not wi'out my share o' worldly wisdom,
+neither. Then I'm played with an' left to whistle, I ban't gwaine to
+think so much, I tell 'e. It awnly hurts a man's head, an' keeps him
+wakin' o' nights. Life's guess-work, by the looks of it, an' a fule's so
+like to draw a prize as the wisest."
+
+"That's not the talk as'll make Newtake pay, Will. You 'm worse than
+poor Blee to Monks Barton. He's gwaine round givin' out theer ban't no
+God 't all, 'cause Mrs. Coomstock took auld Lezzard 'stead of him."
+
+"You may laugh if you like, mother. 'Tis the fashion to laugh at me
+seemin'ly. But I doan't care. Awnly you'll be sorry some day, so sure as
+you sit in thicky chair. Now, as you've nothin' but blame, best to go
+back home. I'll put your pony in the shafts. 'Twas a pity you corned so
+far for so little."
+
+He went off, his breast heaving, while the woman followed him with her
+eyes and smiled when he was out of sight. She knew him so well, and
+already pictured her repentant son next Sunday. Then Will would be at
+his mother's cottage, and cut the bit of beef at dinner, and fuss over
+her comfort according to his custom.
+
+She went into the farmyard and took the pony from him and led it back
+into the stall. Then she returned to him and put her arm through his and
+spoke.
+
+"Light your pipe, lovey, an' walk a li'l way along down to the stones on
+the hill, wheer you was born. Your auld mother wants to talk to 'e."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+CONNECTING LINKS
+
+
+Spaces of time extending over rather more than a year may now be
+dismissed in a chapter.
+
+Chris Blanchard, distracted between Will and her lover, stayed on at
+Newtake after the estrangement, with a hope that she might succeed in
+healing the breach between them; but her importunity failed of its good
+object, and there came an August night when she found her own position
+at her brother's farm grow no longer tenable.
+
+The blinds were up, and rays from the lamp shot a broad band of light
+into the farmyard, while now and again great white moths struck soft
+blows against the closed window, then vanished again into the night.
+Will smoked and Chris pleaded until a point, beyond which her brother's
+patience could not go, was reached. Irritation grew and grew before her
+ceaseless entreaty on Clement's behalf; for the thousandth time she
+begged him to write a letter of apology and explanation of the trouble
+bred by Sam Bonus; and he, suddenly rising, smashed down his clay pipe
+and swore by all his gods he would hear the name of Hicks mentioned in
+his house no more. Thus challenged to choose between her lover and her
+brother, the girl did not hesitate. Something of Will's own spirit
+informed her; she took him at his word and returned home next morning,
+leaving him to manage his own household affairs henceforth as best he
+might.
+
+Upon the way to Chagford Chris chanced to meet with Martin Grimbal, and,
+having long since accepted his offer of friendship, she did not hesitate
+to tell him of her present sorrow and invite his sympathy. From
+ignorance rather than selfishness did Chris take Martin literally when
+he had hoped in the past they might remain friends, and their
+intercourse was always maintained by her when chance put one in the
+other's way--at a cost to the man beyond her power to guess.
+
+Now he walked beside her, and she explained how only a word was wanting
+between Will and Clement which neither would speak. Hicks had forgiven
+Will, but he refused to visit Newtake until he received an apology from
+the master of it; and Blanchard bore no ill-will to Clement, but
+declined to apologise for the past. These facts Martin listened to,
+while the blood beat like a tide within his temples, and a mist dimmed
+his eyes as the girl laid her brown hand upon his arm now and again, to
+accentuate a point. At such moments the truth tightened upon his soul
+and much distressed him.
+
+The antiquary had abandoned any attempt to forget Chris, or cease from
+worshipping her with all his heart and soul; but the emotion now muzzled
+and chained out of sight he held of nobler composition than that earlier
+love which yearned for possession. Those dreary months that dragged
+between the present and his first disappointment had served as
+foundations for new developments of character in the man. He existed
+through a period of unutterable despair and loneliness; then the fruits
+of bygone battles fought and won came to his aid, and long-past years of
+self-denial and self-control fortified his spirit. The reasonableness of
+Martin Grimbal lifted him slowly but steadily from the ashes of
+disappointment; even his natural humility helped him, and he told
+himself he had no more than his desert. Presently, with efforts the very
+vigour of which served as tonic to character, he began to wrestle at the
+granite again and resume his archaeologic studies. Speaking in general
+terms, his mind was notably sweetened and widened by his experience;
+and, resulting from his own failure to reach happiness, there awoke in
+him a charity and sympathy for others, a fellow-feeling with humanity,
+remarkable in one whose enthusiasm for human nature was not large, whose
+ruling passion, until the circumstance of love tinctured it, had led him
+by ways which the bulk of men had pronounced arid and unsatisfying. Now
+this larger insight was making a finer character of him and planting,
+even at the core of his professional pursuits, something deeper than is
+generally to be found there. His experience, in fact, was telling upon
+his work, and he began slowly to combine with the labour of the
+yard-measure and the pencil, the spade and the camera, just thoughts on
+the subject of those human generations who ruled the Moor aforetime, who
+lived and loved and laboured there full many a day before Saxon keel
+first grated on British shingle.
+
+To Chris did Martin listen attentively. Until the present time he had
+taken Will's advice and made no offer of work to Clement; but now he
+determined to do so, although he knew this action must mean speedy
+marriage for Chris. Love, that often enough can shake a lifetime of
+morality, that can set ethics and right conduct and duty playing a
+devil's dance in the victim's soul, that can change the practised
+customs of a man's life and send cherished opinions, accepted beliefs,
+and approved dogmas spinning into chaos before its fiery onslaught--love
+did not thus overpower Martin Grimbal. His old-fashioned mind was no
+armour against it, and in that the passion proved true; religion
+appeared similarly powerless to influence him; yet now his extreme
+humility, his natural sense of justice and the dimensions of his passion
+itself combined to lead him by a lofty road. Chris desired another man,
+and Martin Grimbal, loving her to that point where her perfect happiness
+dominated and, indeed, became his own, determined that his love should
+bear fruit worthy of its object.
+
+This kindly design was frustrated, however, and the antiquary himself
+denied power to achieve the good action that he proposed, for on
+visiting Clement in person and inviting his aid in the clerical portions
+of a considerable work on moorland antiquities, the poet refused to
+assist.
+
+"You come too late," he said coldly. "I would not help you now if I
+could, Martin Grimbal. Don't imagine pride or any such motive keeps me
+from doing so. The true reason you may guess."
+
+"Indeed! I can do nothing of the sort. What reason is there against your
+accepting an offer to do remunerative and intellectual work in your
+leisure hours--work that may last ten years for all I can see to the
+contrary?"
+
+"The reason is that you invited another man's judgment upon me, instead
+of taking your own. Better follow Will Blanchard's advice still. Don't
+think I'm blind. It is Chris who has made you do this."
+
+"You're a very difficult man to deal with, really. Consider my
+suggestion, Hicks, and all it might mean. I desire nothing but your
+welfare."
+
+"Which is only to say you are offering me charity."
+
+Martin looked at the other quietly, then took his hat and departed. At
+the door he said a last word.
+
+"I don't want to think this is final. You would be very useful to me, or
+I should not have asked you to aid my labour. Let me hear from you
+within a week."
+
+But Clement was firm in his folly; while, although they met on more than
+one occasion, and John Grimbal repeated his offer of regular work, the
+bee-keeper refused that proposal, also. He made some small sums out of
+the Red House hives, but would not undertake any regular daily labour
+there. Clement's refusal of Martin resulted from his own weak pride and
+self-conscious stupidity; but a more subtle tangle of conflicting
+motives was responsible for his action in respect of the elder Grimbal's
+invitation. Some loyalty to the man whom he so cordially disliked still
+inhabited his mind, and with it a very considerable distrust of himself.
+He partly suspected the reason of John Grimbal's offer of work, and the
+possibility of sudden temptation provoking from him utterance of words
+best left unsaid could not be ignored after his former experience at the
+hiving of the swarm.
+
+So he went his way and told nobody--not even Chris--of these
+opportunities and his action concerning them. Such reticence made two
+women sad. Chris, after her conversation with Martin, doubted not but
+that he would make some effort, and, hearing nothing as time passed,
+assumed he had changed his mind; while Mrs. Hicks, who had greatly hoped
+that Clement's visit to the Red House might result in regular
+employment, felt disappointed when no such thing occurred.
+
+The union of Mr. Lezzard and Mrs. Coomstock was duly accomplished to a
+chorus of frantic expostulation on the part of those interested in the
+widow's fortune. Mr. Shorto-Champernowne, having convinced himself that
+the old woman was in earnest, could find no sufficient reason for doing
+otherwise than he was asked, and finally united the couple. To Newton
+Abbot they went for their honeymoon, and tribulation haunted them from
+the first. Mrs. Lezzard refused her husband permission to inquire any
+particulars of her affairs from her lawyer--a young man who had
+succeeded Mr. Joel Ford--while the Gaffer, on his side, parried all his
+lady's endeavours to learn more of the small fortune concerning which he
+had spoken not seldom before marriage. Presently they returned to
+Chagford, and life resolved itself into an unlovely thing for both of
+them. Time brought no better understanding or mutual confidence; on the
+contrary, they never ceased from wrangling over money and Mrs. Lezzard's
+increasing propensity towards drink. The old man suffered most, and as
+his alleged three hundred pounds did not appear, being, indeed, a mere
+lover's effort of imagination, his wife bitterly resented marriage under
+such false pretences, and was never weary of protesting. Of her own
+affairs she refused to tell her husband anything, but as Mr. Lezzard was
+found to possess no money at all, it became necessary to provide him
+with a bare competence for the credit of the family. He did his best to
+win a little more regard and consideration, in the hope that when his
+wife passed away the reward of devotion might be reaped; but she never
+forgave him, expressed the conviction that she would outlive him by many
+years, and exhausted her ingenuity to make the old man rue his bargain.
+Only one experience, and that repeated as surely as Mr. Blee met Mr.
+Lezzard, was more trying to the latter than all the accumulated
+misfortune of his sorry state--Gaffer's own miseries appeared absolutely
+trivial by comparison with Mr. Blee's comments upon them.
+
+With another year Blanchard and Hicks became in some sort reconciled,
+though the former friendship was never renewed. The winter proved a
+severe one, and Will experienced a steady drain on his capital, but he
+comforted himself in thoughts of the spring, watched his wheat dapple
+the dark ground with green, and also foretold exceptional crops of hay
+when summer should return. The great event of his wife's advent at
+Newtake occupied most of his reflections; while as for Phoebe herself
+the matter was never out of her mind. She lived for the day in June that
+should see her by her husband's side; but Miller Lyddon showed no
+knowledge of the significance of Phoebe's twenty-first birthday; and
+when Will brought up the matter, upon an occasion of meeting with his
+father-in-law, the miller deprecated any haste.
+
+"Time enough--time enough," he said. "You doan't want no wife to Newtake
+these years to come, while I _do_ want a darter to home."
+
+So Phoebe, albeit the course of operations was fully planned, forbore to
+tell her father anything, and suffered the day to drift nearer and
+nearer without expressly indicating the event it was to witness.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+TOGETHER
+
+
+Though not free from various temporal problems that daily demanded
+solution, Will very readily allowed his mind a holiday from all affairs
+of business during the fortnight that preceded his wife's arrival at
+Newtake. What whitewash could do was done; a carpet, long since
+purchased but not laid down till now, adorned the miniature parlour;
+while out of doors, becoming suddenly conscious that not a blossom would
+greet Phoebe's eyes, Will set about the manufacture of a flower-bed
+under the kitchen window, bound the plat with neat red tiles, and
+planted therein half a dozen larkspurs--Phoebe's favourite flower--with
+other happy beauties of early summer. The effort looked raw and unhappy,
+however, and as ill luck would have it, these various plants did not
+take kindly to their changed life, and greeted Phoebe with hanging
+heads.
+
+But the great morning came at last, and Will, rising, with the curious
+thought that he would never sleep in the middle of his bed again, donned
+his best dark-brown velveteens and a new pair of leathern gaiters, then
+walked out into the air, where Chown was milking the cows. The day
+dawned as brightly as the events it heralded, and Will, knowing that his
+mother and Chris would be early at Newtake, strolled out to meet them.
+Over against the farm rose moorland crowned by stone, and from off their
+granite couches grey mists blushing to red now rose with lazy
+deliberation and vanished under the sun's kiss. A vast, sweet,
+diamond-twinkling freshness filled the Moor; blue shadows lay in the
+dewy coombs, and sun-fires gleamed along the heather ridges. No
+heath-bell as yet had budded, but the flame of the whins splashed many
+undulations, and the tender foliage of the whortleberry, where it grew
+on exposed granite, was nearly scarlet and flashed jewel-bright in the
+rich texture of the waste. Will saw his cattle pass to their haunts,
+sniffed the savour of them on the wind, and enjoyed the thought of being
+their possessor; then his eyes turned to the valley and the road which
+wound upwards from it under great light. A speck at length appeared
+three parts of a mile distant and away started Blauchard, springing down
+the hillside to intercept it. His heart sang within him; here was a
+glorious day that could never come again, and he meant to live it
+gloriously.
+
+"Marnin', mother! Marnin', Chris! Let me get in between 'e. Breakfast
+will be most ready by time we'm home. I knawed you d keep your word such
+a rare fashion day!"
+
+Will soon sat between the two women, while Mrs. Blanchard's pony
+regulated its own pace and three tongues chattered behind it. A dozen
+brown paper parcels occupied the body of the little cart, for Damaris
+had insisted that the wedding feast should be of her providing. It was
+proposed that Chris and her mother should spend the day at Newtake and
+depart after drinking tea; while Phoebe was to arrive in a fly at one
+o'clock.
+
+After breakfast Chris busied herself indoors and occupied her quick
+fingers in putting a dozen finishing touches; while Mrs. Blanchard
+walked round the farm beside Will, viewed with outspoken approval or
+secret distrust those evidences of success and failure spread about her,
+and passed the abandoned attempt to reclaim land without a word or sign
+that she remembered. Will crowed like a happy child; his mother poured
+advice into his unheeding ears; and then a cart lumbered up with a great
+surprise in it. True to her intention Mrs. Blanchard had chosen the day
+of Phoebe 's arrival to send the old piano to Newtake, and now it was
+triumphantly trundled into the parlour, while Will protested and
+admired. It added not a little to the solid splendour of the apartment,
+and Mrs. Blanchard viewed it with placid but genuine satisfaction. Its
+tarnished veneer and red face looked like an old honest friend, so Will
+declared, and he doubted not that his wife would rejoice as he did.
+
+Presently the cart destined to bring Phoebe's boxes started for Chagford
+under Ted Chown's direction. It was a new cart, and the owner hoped that
+sight of it, with "William Blanchard, Newtake," nobly displayed on the
+tail-board, would please his father-in-law.
+
+Meantime, at Monks Barton the great day had likewise dawned, but Phoebe,
+from cowardice rather than philosophy, did not mention what was to
+happen until the appearance of Chown made it necessary to do so.
+
+Mr. Blee was the first to stand bewildered before Ted's blunt
+announcement that he had come for Mrs. Blanchard's luggage.
+
+"What luggage? What the douce be talkin' 'bout?" he asked.
+
+"Why, everything, I s'pose. She 'm comin' home to-day--that's knawn,
+ban't it?"
+
+"Gormed if 'tis! Not by me, anyways--nor Miller, neither."
+
+Then Phoebe appeared and Billy heard the truth.
+
+"My! An' to keep it that quiet! Theer'll be a tidy upstore when Miller
+comes to hear tell--"
+
+But Mr. Lyddon was at the door and Phoebe answered his questioning eyes.
+
+"My birthday, dear faither. You must remember--why, you was the first to
+give me joy of it! Twenty-one to-day, an' I must go--I must--'tis my
+duty afore everything."
+
+The old man's jaw fell and he looked the picture of sorrowful surprise.
+
+"But--but to spring it like this! Why to-day? Why to-day? It's madness
+and it's cruelty to fly from your home the first living moment you've
+got the power. I'd counted on a merry evenin,' tu, an' axed more 'n wan
+to drink your gude health."
+
+"Many's the merry evenings us'll have, dear faither, please God; but a
+husband's a husband. He've been that wonnerful patient, tu, for such as
+him. 'T was my fault for not remindin' you. An' yet I did, now an'
+again, but you wouldn't see it. Yet you knawed in your heart, an' I
+didn't like to pain 'e dwellin' on it overmuch."
+
+"How did I knaw? I didn't knaw nothin' 't all 'bout it. How should I? Me
+grawin' aulder an' aulder, an' leanin' more an' more 'pon 'e at every
+turn. An' him no friend to me--he 's never sought to win me--he 's--"
+
+"Doan't 'e taake on 'bout Will, dearie; you'll come to knaw un better
+bimebye. I ban't gwaine so far arter all; an' it's got to be."
+
+Then the miller worked himself into a passion, dared Chown to take his
+daughter's boxes, and made a scene very painful to witness and quite
+futile in its effect. Phoebe could be strong at times, and a life's
+knowledge of her father helped her now. She told Chown to get the boxes
+and bade Billy help him; she then followed Mr. Lyddon, who was rambling
+away, according to his custom at moments of great sorrow, to pour his
+troubles into any ear that would listen. She put her arm through his,
+drew him to the riverside and spoke words that showed she had developed
+mentally of late. She was a woman with her father, cooed pleasantly to
+him, foretold good things, and implored him to have greater care of his
+health and her love than to court illness by this display of passion.
+Such treatment had sufficed to calm the miller in many of his moods, for
+she possessed great power to soothe him, and Mr. Lyddon now set
+increased store upon his daughter's judgment; but to-day, before this
+dreadful calamity, every word and affectionate device was fruitless and
+only made the matter worse. He stormed on, and Phoebe's superior manner
+vanished as he did so, for she could only play such a part if quite
+unopposed in it. Now her father silenced her, frightened her, and dared
+her to leave him; but his tragic temper changed when they returned to
+the farm and he found his daughter's goods were really gone. Then the
+old man grew very silent, for the inexorable certainty of the thing
+about to happen was brought home to him at last.
+
+Before a closed hackney carriage from the hotel arrived to carry Phoebe
+to Newtake, Miller Lyddon passed through a variety of moods, and another
+outburst succeeded his sentimental silence. When the vehicle was at the
+gate, however, his daughter found tears in his eyes upon entering the
+kitchen suddenly to wish him "good-by." But he brushed them away at
+sight of her, and spoke roughly and told her to be gone and find the
+difference between a good father and a bad husband.
+
+"Go to the misery of your awn choosin'; go to him an' the rubbish-heap
+he calls a farm! Thankless an' ontrue,--go,--an' look to me in the
+future to keep you out of the poorhouse and no more. An' that for your
+mother's sake--not yourn."
+
+"Oh, Faither!" she cried, "doan't let them be the last words I hear 'pon
+your lips. 'T is cruel, for sure I've been a gude darter to 'e, or tried
+to be--an'--an'--please, dear faither, just say you wish us well--me an'
+my husband. Please say that much. I doan't ax more."
+
+But he rose and left her without any answer. It was then Phoebe's turn
+to weep, and blinded with tears she slipped and hurt her knee getting
+into the coach. Billy thereupon offered his aid, helped her, handed her
+little white fox terrier m after her, and saw that the door was properly
+closed.
+
+"Be o' good cheer," he said, "though I caan't offer 'e much prospects of
+easy life in double harness wi' Will Blanchard. But, as I used to say in
+my church-gwaine days, 'God tempers the wind to the shorn lamb.' Be it
+as 'twill, I dare say theer 's many peaceful years o' calm,
+black-wearin' widowhood afore 'e yet, for chaps like him do shorten
+theer days a deal by such a tearin', high-coloured, passionate way of
+life."
+
+Mr. Blee opened the gate, the maids waved their handkerchiefs and wept,
+and not far distant, as he heard the vehicle containing his daughter
+depart, Mr. Lyddon would have given half that he had to recall the
+spoken word. Phoebe once gone, his anger vanished and his love for her
+won on him like sunshine after storm. Angry, indeed, he still was, but
+with himself.
+
+For Phoebe, curiosity and love dried her tears as she passed upward
+towards the Moor. Then, the wild land reached, she put her head out of
+the window and saw Newtake beech trees in the distance. Already the
+foliage of them seemed a little tattered and thin, and their meagreness
+of vesture and solitary appearance depressed the spectator again before
+she arrived at them.
+
+But the gate, thrown widely open, was reached at last, and there stood
+Will and Mrs. Blanchard, Chris, Ted Chown, and the great bobtailed
+sheep-dog, "Ship," to welcome her. With much emotion poor Phoebe
+alighted, tottered and fell into the bear-hug of her husband, while the
+women also kissed her and murmured over her in their sweet, broad Devon
+tongue. Then something made Will laugh, and his merriment struck the
+right note; but Ship fell foul of Phoebe's little terrier and there was
+a growl, then a yelp and a scuffling, dusty battle amid frightened
+fowls, whose protests added to the tumult. Upon this conflict descended
+Will's sapling with sounding thuds administered impartially, and from
+the skirmish the smaller beast emerged lame and crying, while the
+sheep-dog licked the blood off his nose and went to heel with a red
+light glimmering through his pale blue eyes.
+
+Happiness returned indoors and Phoebe, all blushes and praises,
+inspected her new home and the preparations made within it for her
+pleasure. Perhaps she simulated more joy than the moment brought, for
+such a day, dreamed of through years, was sure in its realisation to
+prove something of an anti-climax after the cruel nature of all such
+events. Despite Chris and her ceaseless efforts to keep joy at the
+flood, a listlessness stole over the little party as the day wore on.
+Phoebe found her voice not to be relied upon and felt herself drifting
+into that state between laughter and tears which craves solitude for its
+exhibition. The cows came home to be milked, and there seemed but few of
+them after the great procession at Monks Barton. Yet Will demanded her
+separate praises for each beast. In the little garden he had made,
+budding flowers, untimely transplanted, hung their heads. But she
+admired with extravagant adjectives, and picked a blossom and set it in
+her dress. Anon the sun set, with no soft lights and shadows amidst the
+valley trees she knew, when sunset and twilight played hide-and-seek
+beside the river, but slowly, solemnly, in hard, clean, illimitable
+glory upon horizons of granite and heather. The peat glowed as though it
+were red-hot, and night brooded on the eastern face of every hill. Only
+a jangling bell broke the startling stillness then, and, through long
+weeks afterwards the girl yearned for the song of the river, as one who
+has long slept by another's side sadly yearns for the sound of their
+breathing by night, when they are taken away. Phoebe had little
+imagination, but she guessed already that the life before her must
+differ widely from that spent under her father's roof. Despite the
+sunshine of the time and the real joy of being united to her husband at
+last, she saw on every side more evidences of practical life than she
+had before anticipated. But these braced her rather than not, and she
+told herself truly that the sadness at bottom of her heart just then was
+wholly begotten of the past and her departure from home. Deep unrest
+came upon her as she walked with her husband and listened to his glad
+voice. She longed greatly to be alone with him that her heart might be
+relieved. She wanted his arms round her; she wanted to cry and let him
+kiss the tears away.
+
+Damaris Blanchard very fully understood much that was passing through
+her daugher-in-law's mind, and she hastened her departure after an early
+cup of tea. She took a last look at all the good things she had provided
+for the wedding supper--a meal she declared must not be shared with Will
+and Phoebe--and so made ready to depart. It was then her turn, and her
+bosom throbbed with just one dumb, fleeting shadow of fear that found
+words before her second thought had time to suppress them.
+
+"You won't love me no less, eh, Will?" she whispered, holding his hand
+between hers; and he saw her grey eyes almost frightened in the
+gloaming.
+
+"My God, no! No, mother; a man must have a dirty li'l heart in un if it
+ban't big enough to hold mother an' wife."
+
+She gripped his hand tighter.
+
+"Ess fay, I knaw, I knaw; but doan't 'e put your mother first
+now,--ban't nature. God bless an' keep the both of 'e. 'Twill allus be
+my prayer."
+
+The cart rattled away, Chris driving, and such silence as Phoebe had
+never known held the darkening land. She noted a yellow star against the
+sombre ridge of the world, felt Will's arm round her and turned to him,
+seeking that comfort and support her nature cried out for.
+
+Infinitely tender and loving was her husband then, and jubilant, too, at
+first; but a little later, when Chown had been packed off to his own
+apartment, with not a few delicacies he had never bargained for, the
+conversation flagged and the banquet also.
+
+The table was laden with two capons, a ham, a great sugared cake, a
+whole Dutch cheese, an old-fashioned cut-glass decanter containing brown
+sherry, and two green wine-glasses for its reception; yet these luxuries
+tempted neither husband nor wife to much enjoyment of them. Indeed
+Phoebe's obvious lowness of spirits presently found its echo in Will.
+The silences grew longer and longer; then the husband set down his knife
+and fork, and leaving the head of the table went round to his wife's
+side and took her hand and squeezed it, but did not speak. She turned to
+him and he saw her shut her eyes and give a little shiver. Then a tear
+flashed upon her lashes and twinkled boldly down, followed by another.
+
+"Phoebe! My awn li'l wummon! This be a wisht home-comin'! What the
+plague's the matter wi' us?"
+
+"Doan't 'e mind, dear heart. I'm happy as a bird under these silly
+tears. But 'twas the leavin' o' faither, an' him so hard, an' me lovin'
+him so dear, an'--an'--"
+
+"Doan't 'e break your heart 'bout him. He'll come round right enough.
+'Twas awnly the pang o' your gwaine away, like the drawin' of a tooth."
+
+"Everybody else in the world knaws I ought to be here," sobbed Phoebe,
+"but faither, he won't see it. An' I caan't get un out of my mind
+to-night, sitting that mournfui an' desolate, wi' his ear deaf to
+Billy's noise an' his thoughts up here."
+
+"If he won't onderstand the ways of marriage, blessed if I see how we
+can make him. Surely to God, 'twas time I had my awn?"
+
+"Ess, dear Will, but coming to-day, 'pon top of my gert joy, faither's
+sorrow seemed so terrible-like."
+
+"He'll get awver it, an' so will you, bless you. Drink up some of this
+braave stuff mother left. Sherry 't is, real wine, as will comfort 'e,
+my li'l love. 'Tis I be gwaine to make your happiness henceforward,
+mind; an' as for Miller, he belongs to an auld-fashioned generation of
+mankind, and it's our place to make allowances. Auld folk doan't knaw
+an' won't larn. But he'll come to knaw wan solid thing, if no more; an'
+that is as his darter'll have so gude a husband as she've got faither,
+though I sez it."
+
+"'Tis just what he said I shouldn't, Will."
+
+"Nevermind, forgive un, an' drink up your wine; 'twill hearten 'e."
+
+A dog barked, a gate clinked, and there came the sound of a horse's
+hoofs, then of a man dismounting.
+
+Will told the rest of the story afterwards to Mrs. Blanchard.
+
+"''Tis faither,' cries Phoebe, an' turns so pale as a whitewashed wall
+in moonlight. 'Never!' I sez. But she knawed the step of un, an'
+twinkled up from off her chair, an' 'fore ever the auld man reached the
+door, 't was awpen. In he comed, like a lamb o' gentleness, an' said
+never a word for a bit, then fetched out a little purse wi' twenty gawld
+sovereigns in it. An' us all had some fine talk for more'n an hour, an'
+he was proper faither to me, if you'll credit it; an' he drinked a glass
+o' your wine, mother, an' said he never tasted none better and not much
+so gude. Then us seed un off, an' Phoebe cried again, poor twoad, but
+for sheer happiness this time. So now the future's clear as sunlight,
+an' we'm all friends--'cept here an' theer."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+THROUGH ONE GREAT DAY
+
+
+Just within the woods of Teign Valley, at a point not far distant from
+that where Will Blanchard met John Grimbal for the first time, and
+wrestled with him beside the river, there rises a tall bank, covered
+with fern, shadowed by oak trees. A mossy bridle-path winds below, while
+beyond it, seen through a screen of wych-elms and hazel, extend the
+outlying meadows of Monks Barton.
+
+Upon this bank, making "sunshine in a shady place," reclined Chris,
+beneath a harmony of many greens, where the single, double, and triple
+shadows of the manifold leaves above her created a complex play of light
+and shade all splashed and gemmed with little sun discs. Drowsy noon-day
+peace marked the hour; Chris had some work in her hand, but was not
+engaged upon it; and Clement, who lolled beside her, likewise did
+nothing. His eyes were upon a mare and foal in the meadow below. The
+matron proceeded slowly, grazing as she went, while her lanky youngster
+nibbled at this or that inviting tuft, then raced joyously in wide
+circles and, returning, sought his mother's milk with the selfish
+roughness of youth.
+
+"Happy as birds, they be," said Chris, referring to the young pair at
+Newtake. "It do make me long for us to be man an' wife, Clem, when I see
+'em."
+
+"We're that now, save for the hocus-pocus of the parsons you set such
+store by."
+
+"No, I'll never believe it makes no difference."
+
+"A cumbrous, stupid, human contrivance like marriage! Was ever man and
+woman happier for being bound that way? Can free things feel their
+hearts beat closer because they are chained to one another by an effete
+dogma?"
+
+"I doan't onderstand all that talk, sweetheart, an' you knaw I don't;
+but till some wise body invents a better-fashion way of joining man an'
+maid than marriage, us must taake it as 'tis."
+
+"There is a better way--Nature's."
+
+She shook her head.
+
+"If us could dwell in a hole at a tree-root, an' eat roots an' berries;
+but we'm thinking creatures in a Christian land."
+
+She stretched herself out comfortably and smiled up at him where he sat
+with his chin in his hands. Then, looking down, he saw the delicious
+outline of her and his eyes grew hot.
+
+"God's love! How long must it be?" he cried; then, before she could
+speak, he clipped her passionately to him and hugged her closely.
+
+"Dearie, you'm squeezin' my breath out o' me!" cried Chris, well used to
+these sudden storms and not averse to them. "We must bide patient an'
+hold in our hearts," she said, lying in his arms with her face close to
+his. "'Twill be all the more butivul when we'm mated. Ess fay! I love 'e
+allus, but I love 'e better in this fiery mood than on the ice-cold days
+when you won't so much as hold my hand."
+
+"The cold mood's the better notwithstanding, and colder yet would be
+better yet, and clay-cold best of all."
+
+But he held her still, and pressed his beard against her brown neck.
+Then the sound of a trotting horse reached his ears, he started up,
+looked below, and saw John Grimbal passing by. Their eyes met, for the
+horseman chanced to glance up as Clement thrust his head above the fern;
+but Chris was invisible and remained so.
+
+Grimbal stopped and greeted the bee-keeper.
+
+"Have you forgotten your undertaking to see my hives once a month?"
+
+"No, I meant coming next week."
+
+"Well, as it happens I want to speak with you, and the present time's as
+good as another. I suppose you were only lying there dreaming?"
+
+"That's all. I'll come and walk along beside your horse."
+
+He squeezed his sweetheart's hand, whispered a promise to return
+immediately, then rose and stumbled down the bank, leaving Chris throned
+aloft in the fern. For a considerable time John Grimbal said nothing,
+then he began suddenly,--
+
+"I suppose you know the Applebirds are leaving my farm?"
+
+"Yes, Mrs. Applebird told my mother. Going to Sticklepath."
+
+"Not easy to get a tenant to take their place."
+
+"Is it not? Such a farm as yours? I should have thought there need be no
+difficulty."
+
+"There are tenants and tenants. How would you like it--you and your
+mother? Then you could marry and be comfortable. No doubt Chris
+Blanchard would make a splendid farmer's wife."
+
+"It would be like walking into paradise for me; but--"
+
+"The rent needn't bother you. My first care is a good tenant. Besides,
+rent may take other shapes than pounds, shillings, and pence."
+
+Hicks started.
+
+"I see," he said; "you can't forget the chance word I spoke in anger so
+long ago."
+
+"I can't, because it happened to be just the word I wanted to hear. My
+quarrel with Will Blanchard's no business of yours. The man's your enemy
+too; and you're a fool to stand in your own light, You know something
+that I don't know, concerning those weeks during which he disappeared.
+Well, tell me. You can only live your life once. Why let it run to rot
+when the Red House Farm wants a tenant? A man you despise, too."
+
+"No. I promised. Besides, you wouldn't be contented with the knowledge;
+you'd act on it."
+
+Grimbal showed a lightning-quick perception of this admission; and
+Hicks, too late, saw that the other had realised its force. Then he made
+an effort to modify his assertion.
+
+"When I say 'you'd act on it,' I mean that you might try to, though I
+much doubt really if anything I could tell you would damage Blanchard."
+
+"If you think that, then there can be no conscientious objection to
+telling me. Besides, I don't say I should act on the knowledge. I don't
+say I shall or I shall not. All you ve got to do is to say whether
+you'll take the Red House Farm at a nominal rent from Michaelmas."
+
+"No, man, no. You've met me in a bad moment, too, if you only knew. But
+think of it--brother and sister; and I, in order to marry the woman,
+betray the man. That's what it comes to. Such things don't happen."
+
+"You re speaking plainly, at any rate. We ought to understand each other
+to-day, if ever. I'll make you the same offer for less return. Tell me
+where he was during those weeks--that's all. You needn't tell what he
+was doing."
+
+"If you knew one, you'd find out the other. Once and for all, I'll tell
+you nothing. By an accidental question you discovered that I knew
+something. That was not my fault. But more you never will know from
+me--farm or no farm."
+
+"You're a fool for your pains. And the end will be the same. The
+information must reach me. You're a coward at heart, for it's fear, not
+any tomfoolery of morals, that keeps your mouth shut. Don't deceive
+yourself. I've often talked with you before to-day, and I know you think
+as I do."
+
+"What's that to do with it?"
+
+"Everything. 'Good' and 'evil' are only two words, and what is man's
+good and what is man's evil takes something cleverer than man to know.
+It's no nonsense of 'right' and 'wrong' that's keeping you from a happy
+home and a wife. What is it then?"
+
+Hicks was silent a moment, then made answer.
+
+"I don't know. I don't know any more than you do. Something has come
+over me; I can't tell you what. I'm more surprised than you are at my
+silence; but there it is. Why the devil I don't speak I don't know. I
+only know I'm not going to. Our characters are beyond our own power to
+understand."
+
+"If you don't know, I'll tell you. You're frightened that he will find
+out. You're afraid of him."
+
+"It's vain trying to anger me into speaking," answered the other,
+showing not a little anger the while; "I'm dumb henceforward."
+
+"I hope you'll let your brain influence you towards reason. 'Tis a
+fool's trick to turn your back on the chance of a lifetime. Better think
+twice. And second thoughts are like to prove best worth following. You
+know where to find me at any rate. I'll give you six weeks to decide
+about it."
+
+John Grimbal waited, hoping that Hicks might yet change his mind before
+he took his leave; but the bee-keeper made no answer. His companion
+therefore broke into a sharp trot and left him. Whereupon Clement stood
+still a moment, then he turned back and, forgetting all about Chris,
+proceeded slowly homewards to Chagford, deep in thought and heartily
+astonished at himself. No one could have prompted his enemy to a more
+critical moment for this great attack; no demon could have sent the
+master of the Red House with a more tempting proposal; and yet Hicks
+found himself resisting the lure without any particular effort or
+struggle. On the one side this man had offered him all the things his
+blood and brain craved; on the other his life still stretched drearily
+forward, and nothing in it indicated he was nearer his ambition by a
+hair's-breadth than a year before. Yet he refused to pay the price. It
+amazed him to find his determination so fixed against betrayal of Will.
+He honestly wondered at himself. The decision was bred from a curious
+condition of mind quite beyond his power to comprehend. He certainly
+recoiled from exposure of Blanchard's secret, yet coldly asked himself
+what unsuspected strand of character held him back. It was not fear and
+it was not regard for his sweetheart's brother; he did not know what it
+was. He scoffed at the ideas of honour or conscience. These abstractions
+had possessed weight in earlier years, but not now. And yet, while he
+assured himself that no tie of temporal or eternal interest kept him
+silent, the temptation to tell seemed much less on this occasion than in
+the past when he took a swarm of John Grimbal's bees. Then, indeed, his
+mind was aflame with bitter provocation. He affected a cynical attitude
+to the position and laughed without mirth at a theory that suddenly
+appeared in his mind. Perchance this steadfastness of purpose resulted,
+after all, from that artificial thing, "conscience," which men catch at
+the impressionable age when they have infantile ailments and pray at a
+mother's knee. If so, surely reason must banish such folly before
+another dawn and send him hot-foot at daybreak to the Red House. He
+would wait and watch himself and see.
+
+His reflections were here cut short, for a shrill voice broke in upon
+them, and Clement, now within a hundred yards of his own cottage door,
+saw Mr. Lezzard before him.
+
+"At last I've found 'e! Been huntin' this longful time, tu. The Missis
+wants 'e--your aunt I should say."
+
+"Wants me?"
+
+"Ess. 'T is wan o' her bad days, wi' her liver an' lights a bitin' at
+her like savage creatures. She'm set on seein' you, an' if I go
+home-along without 'e, she'll awnly cuss."
+
+"What can she want me for?"
+
+"She 's sick 'n' taken a turn for the wuss, last few days. Doctor
+Parsons doan't reckon she can hold out much longer. 'Tis the
+drink--she'm soaked in it, like a sponge."
+
+"I'll come," said Hicks, and half an hour later he approached his aunt's
+dwelling and entered it.
+
+Mrs. Lezzard was now sunk into a condition of chronic crapulence which
+could only end in one way. Her husband had been ordered again and again
+to keep all liquor from her, but, truth to tell, he made no very
+sustained effort to do so. The old man was sufficiently oppressed by his
+own physical troubles, and as the only happiness earth now held for him
+must depend on the departure of his wife, he watched her drinking
+herself to death without concern and even smiled in secret at the
+possibility of some happy, quiet, and affluent years when she was gone.
+
+Mrs. Lezzard lay on the sofa in her parlour, and a great peony-coloured
+face with coal-black eyes in it greeted Clement. She gave him her hand
+and bid her husband be gone. Then, when Gaffer had vanished, his wife
+turned to her nephew.
+
+"I've sent for you, Clem Hicks, for more reasons than wan. I be gwaine
+down the hill fast, along o' marryin' this cursed mommet[12] of a man,
+Lezzard. He lied about his money--him a pauper all the time; and now he
+waits and watches me o' nights, when he thinks I'm drunk or dreamin' an'
+I ban't neither. He watches, wi' his auld, mangy poll shakin', an' the
+night-lamp flingin' the black shadow of un 'gainst the bed curtain an'
+shawin' wheer his wan front tooth sticks up like a yellow stone in a
+charred field. Blast un to hell! He'm waitin' for my money, an' I've
+told un he's to have it. But 'twas only to make the sting bite deeper
+when the time comes. Not a penny--not a farthing--him or any of 'em."
+
+
+[12] _Mommet_ = scarecrow.
+
+
+"Don't get angry with him. He's not worth it. Tell me if I can help you
+and how. You'll be up and about again soon, I hope."
+
+
+"Never. Not me. Doctor Parsons be to blame. I hate that man. He knawed
+it was weakness of heart that called for drink after Coonistock died;
+an' he let me go on an' on--just to gain his own dark ends. You'll see,
+you'll see. But that reminds me. Of all my relations you an' your
+mother's all I care for; because you'm of my awn blood an' you've let me
+bide, an' haven't been allus watchin' an' waitin' an' divin' me to the
+bottle. An' the man I was fule enough to take in his dotage be worst of
+all."
+
+"Forget about these things. Anger's bad for you."
+
+"Forget! Well, so I will forget, when I ve told 'e. I had the young man
+what does my business, since old Ford died, awver here last week, an'
+what there is will be yourn--every stiver yourn. Not the business, of
+course; that was sold when Coonistock died; but what I could leave I
+have. You expected nothin,' an' by God! you shall have all!"
+
+She saw his face and hastened to lessen the force of the announcement in
+some degree.
+
+"Ban't much, mind, far less than you might think for--far less. Theer's
+things I was driven to do--a lone woman wi'out a soul to care. An' wan
+was--but you'll hear in gude time, you'll hear. It concerns Doctor
+Parsons."
+
+"I can't believe my senses. If you only knew what happened to me this
+morning. And if you only knew what absolute paupers we are--mother and
+I. Not that I would confess it to any living soul but you. And how can I
+thank you? Words are such vain things."
+
+"Ban't no call to thank me. 'Tis more from hatred of t' others than love
+of you, when all's said. An' it ban't no gert gold mine. But I'd like to
+be laid along wi' Coomstock; an' doan't, for God's love, bury Lezzard
+wi' me; an' I want them words on auld George Mundy's graave set 'pon
+mine--not just writ, but cut in a slate or some such lasting thing. 'Tis
+a tidy tomb he've got, wi' a cherub angel, an' I'd like the same. You'll
+find a copy o' the words in the desk there. My maid took it down last
+Sunday. I minded the general meaning, but couldn't call home the rhymes.
+Read it out, will 'e?"
+
+Clement opened the desk, and found and read the paper. It contained a
+verse not uncommon upon the tombstones of the last rural generation in
+Devon:
+
+  "Ye standers-by, the thread is spun;
+   All pomp and pride I e'er did shun;
+   Rich and poor alike must die;
+   Peasants and kings in dust must lie;
+   The best physicians cannot save
+   Themselves or patients from the Grave."
+
+"Them's the words, an' I've chose 'em so as Doctor Parsons shall have a
+smack in the faace when I'm gone. Not that he's wan o' the 'best
+physicians' by a mighty long way; but he'll knaw I was thinking of him,
+an' gnash his teeth, I hope, every time he sees the stone. I owe him
+that--an' more 'n that, as you'll see when I'm gone."
+
+"You mustn't talk of going, aunt--not for many a day. You're a young
+woman for these parts. You must take care--that's all."
+
+But he saw death in her face while he spoke, and could scarcely hide the
+frantic jubilation her promise had awakened in him. The news swept him
+along on a flood of novel thoughts. Coming as it did immediately upon
+his refusal to betray Will Blanchard, the circumstance looked, even in
+the eyes of Hicks, like a reward, an interposition of Providence on his
+behalf. He doubted not but that the bulk of mankind would so regard it.
+There arose within him old-fashioned ideas concerning right and
+wrong--clear notions that brought a current of air through his mind and
+blew away much rotting foliage and evil fruit. This sun-dawn of
+prosperity transformed the man for a moment, even awoke some just
+ethical thoughts in him.
+
+His reverie was interrupted, for, on the way from Mrs. Lezzard's home,
+Clement met Doctor Parsons himself and asked concerning his aunt's true
+condition.
+
+"She gave you the facts as they are," declared the medical man. "Nothing
+can save her. She's had _delirium tremens_ Lord knows how often. A
+fortnight to a month--that's all. Nature loves these forlorn hopes and
+tinkers away at them in a manner that often causes me to rub my eyes.
+But you can't make bricks without straw. Nature will find the game 's up
+in a few days; then she'll waste no more time, and your aunt will be
+gone."
+
+Home went Clement Hicks, placed his mother in a whirl of mental
+rejoicing at this tremendous news, then set out for Chris. Their compact
+of the morning--that she should await his return in the woods--he quite
+forgot; but Mrs. Blanchard reminded him and added that Chris had
+returned in no very good humour, then trudged up to Newtake to see
+Phoebe. Cool and calm the widow stood before Clement's announcement,
+expressed her gratification, and gave him joy of the promised change in
+his life.
+
+"Glad enough am I to hear tell of this. But you'll act just--eh? You
+won't forget that poor auld blid, Lezzard? If she'm gwaine to leave un
+out the account altogether, he'll be worse off than the foxes. His son's
+gone to foreign paarts an' his darter's lyin'-in--not that her husband
+would spare a crust o' bread for auld Lezzard, best o' times."
+
+"Trust me to do what's right. Now I'll go and see after Chris."
+
+"An' make it up with Will while sun shines on 'e. It's so easy, come
+gude fortune, to feel your heart swellin' out to others."
+
+"We are good friends now."
+
+"Do'e think I doan't knaw better? Your quarrel's patched for the sake of
+us women. Have a real make-up, I mean."
+
+"I will, then. I'll be what I was to him, if he'll let me. I'll forgive
+everything that's past--everything and every body."
+
+"So do. An' doan't 'e tell no more of them hard sayings 'gainst powers
+an' principalities an' Providence. Us be all looked arter, 'cording to
+the unknawn planning of God. How's Mrs. Lezzard?"
+
+"She'll be dead in a fortnight--perhaps less. As likely as not I might
+marry Chris before the next new moon."
+
+"Doan't think 'pon that yet. Be cool, an' keep your heart in bounds. 'T
+is allus the way wi' such as you, who never hope nothing. Theer comes a
+matter as takes 'em out of themselves, then they get drunk with hope,
+all of a sudden, an' flies higher than the most sanguine folks, an'
+builds castles 'pon clouds. Theer's the diggin' of a graave between you
+and Chris yet. Doan't forget that."
+
+"You can't evade solid facts."
+
+"No, but solid facts, seen close, often put on a differ'nt faace to what
+they did far-ways off."
+
+"You won't dishearten me, mother; I'm a happy man for once."
+
+"Be you? God forbid I should cloud 'e then; awnly keep wise as well as
+happy, an' doan't fill Chris with tu gert a shaw of pomps an'
+splendours. Put it away till it comes. Our dreams 'bout the future 's
+allus a long sight better or worse than the future itself."
+
+"Don't forbid dreaming. That's the sole happiness I've ever had until
+now."
+
+"Happiness, you call it? 'T is awnly a painted tinsel o' the mind, and
+coming from it into reality is like waking arter tu much drink. So I've
+heard my husband say scores o' times--him bein' a man much given to
+overhopefulness in his younger days--same as Will is now."
+
+Clement departed, and presently found himself with the cooler breezes of
+the high lands upon his hot forehead. They put him in mind of Mrs.
+Blanchard again, and their tendency, as hers had been, was to moderate
+his ardour; but that seemed impossible just now. Magnificent sunshine
+spread over the great wastes of the Moor; and through it, long before he
+reached Newtake, Clement saw his sweetheart returning. For a little time
+he seemed intoxicated and no longer his own master. The fires of the
+morning woke in him again at sight of her. They met and kissed, and he
+promised her some terrific news, but did not tell it then. He lived in
+the butterfly fever of the moment, and presently imparted the fever to
+her. They left the road and got away into the lonely heather; then he
+told her that they would be man and wife within a fortnight.
+
+They sat close together, far from every eye, in the shade of a thorn
+bush that rose beside a lonely stone.
+
+"Within the very shadow of marriage, and you are frightened of me still!
+Frightened to let me pick an apple over the orchard wall when I am going
+through the gate for my own the next moment! Listen! I hear our wedding
+bells!"
+
+Only the little lizard and the hovering hawk with gold eyes saw them.
+
+"Our wedding bells!" said Chris.
+
+
+Towards set of sun Hicks saw his sweetheart to her mother's cottage. His
+ecstatic joys were sobered now, and his gratitude a little lessened.
+
+"To think what marvels o' happiness be in store for us, Clem, my awn!"
+
+"Yes--not more than we deserve, either. God knows, if there 's any
+justice, it was your turn and mine to come by a little of the happiness
+that falls to the lot of men and women."
+
+"I doan't see how highest heaven's gwaine to be better than our married
+life, so long as you love me."
+
+"Heaven! Don't compare them. What's eternity if you're half a ghost,
+half a bird? That's the bribe thrown out,--to be a cold-blooded, perfect
+thing, and passionless as a musical box. Give me hot blood that flows
+and throbs; give me love, and a woman's breast to lean on. One great day
+on earth, such as this has been, is better than a million ages of
+sexless perfection in heaven. A vain reward it was that Christ offered.
+It seemed highest perfection to Him, doubtless; but He judged the world
+by Himself. The Camel-driver was wiser. He promised actual, healthy
+flesh in paradise--flesh that should never know an ache or pain--eternal
+flesh, and the joys of it. We can understand that, but where's the joy
+of being a spirit? I cling to the flesh I have, for I know that Nature
+will very soon want back the dust she has lent me."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+THE WILL
+
+
+Agreeably to the prediction of Doctor Parsons, Mrs. Lezzard's journey
+was ended in less than three weeks of her conversation with Clement
+Hicks. Then came a night when she made an ugly end; and with morning a
+group of gossips stood about the drawn blinds, licked their lips over
+the details, and generally derived that satisfaction from death common
+to their class. Indeed, this ghoulish gusto is not restricted to humble
+folk alone. The instinct lies somewhere at the root of human nature,
+together with many another morbid vein and trait not readily to be
+analysed or understood. Only educated persons conceal it.
+
+"She had deliriums just at the end," said Martha, her maid. "She called
+out in a voice as I never heard afore, an' mistook her husband for the
+Dowl."
+
+"Poor sawl! Death's such a struggle at the finish for the full-blooded
+kind. Doctor tawld me that if she'd had the leastest bit o'liver left,
+he could 'a' saved her; but 'twas all soaked up by neat brandy, leaving
+nought but a vacuum or some such fatal thing."
+
+"Her hadn't the use of her innards for a full fortnight! Think o' that!
+Aw. dallybuttons! It do make me cream all awver to hear tell of!"
+
+So they piled horror upon horror; then came Clement Hicks, as one having
+authority, and bade them begone. The ill-omened fowls hopped off;
+relations began to collect; there was an atmosphere of suppressed
+electricity about the place, and certain women openly criticised the
+prominent attitude Hicks saw fit to assume. This, however, did not
+trouble him. He wrote to the lawyer at Newton, fixed a day for the
+funeral, and then turned his attention to Mr. Lezzard. The ancient
+resented Clement's interference not a little, but Hicks speedily
+convinced him that his animosity mattered nothing. The bee-keeper found
+this little taste of power not unpleasant. He knew that everything was
+his own property, and he enjoyed the hate and suspicion in the eyes of
+those about him. The hungry crowd haunted him, but he refused it any
+information. Mr. Lezzard picked a quarrel, but he speedily silenced the
+old man, and told him frankly that upon his good behaviour must depend
+his future position. Crushed and mystified, the widower whispered to
+those interested with himself in his wife's estate; and so, before the
+reading of the will, there slowly grew a very deep suspicion and hearty
+hatred of Clement Hicks. None had considered him in connection with Mrs.
+Lezzard's fortune, for he always kept aloof from her; but women cannot
+easily shut their lips over such tremendous matters of news, and so it
+came about that some whisper from Chris or dark utterance from old Mrs.
+Hicks got wind, and a rumour grew that the bee-keeper was the dead
+woman's heir.
+
+Facts contributed colour to the suspicion, for it was known that Clement
+had of late given Chris one or two pretty presents, and a ring that cost
+gold. His savings were suspected to justify 110 such luxuries; yet that
+a speedy change in his manner of life might be expected was also
+manifest from the fact that he had been looking into the question of a
+new stone cottage, on the edge of the Moor, where the heather in high
+summer would ripple to the very doors of his beehives.
+
+The distrust created by these facts was quickly set at rest, for Mrs.
+Lezzard sank under ground within four days of her dissolution; then,
+after the eating of funeral baked meats, those interested assembled in
+the parlour to hear the will. The crowd whispered and growled, and
+looked gloomily across at Hicks and the little figure of his mother who
+had come in rusty black to witness his triumph. Then a young lawyer from
+Newton adjusted his spectacles, rustled his papers, and poured himself
+out a glass of grocer's port before proceeding. But his task involved no
+strain upon him, and was indeed completed within five minutes. Black
+disappointment, dismay, and despair were the seeds sown by that
+unimpassioned voice; and at his conclusion a silence as blank as any
+that reigned in the ears of the dead fell upon those who listened--on
+those who had hoped so much and were confronted with so little.
+
+"The will is remarkably concise. Mrs. Lezzard makes sundry bitter
+statements which I think none will blame me for not repeating, though
+all may see them here who desire so to do; she then constitutes Mr.
+Clement Hicks, her nephew, sole residuary legatee. There is no
+condition, no codicil; but I have regretfully to add that Mr. Hicks wins
+little but this barren expression of good-will from the testatrix; for
+the sufficient reason that she had nothing to leave. She laboured under
+various delusions, among others that her financial position was very
+different from what is the case. Upon her first husband's death, Mrs.
+Coomstock, as she was then, made an arrangement with my late senior
+partner, Mr. Joel Ford, and purchased an annuity. This absorbed nearly
+all her capital; the rest she lost in an undesirable speculation of her
+own choosing. I am amazed at the present extent of her obligations. This
+dwelling-house, for instance, is mortgaged to her medical man, Doctor
+Parsons, of Chagford. There is barely money to meet the debts. Some
+fifty or sixty pounds in my hands will be absorbed by the calls of the
+estate. Mrs. Lezzard's tastes--I sorrow to say it--were expensive in
+some directions. There is an item of ten pounds twelve shillings
+for--for brandy, if I may be pardoned for speaking plainly. The funeral
+also appears to have been conducted on a scale more lavish than
+circumstances warranted. However, there should be sufficient to defray
+the cost, and I am sure nobody will blame Mr. Hicks for showing this
+last respect to an amiable if eccentric woman. There is nothing to add
+except that I shall be delighted to answer any questions--any questions
+at all."
+
+A few moments later, the lawyer mounted his dog-cart and rattled off to
+enjoy a pleasant drive homeward.
+
+Then the company spoke its mind, and Mary Lezzard's clay might well have
+turned under that bitter hornet-buzz of vituperation. Some said little,
+but had not strength or self-command to hide tears; some cursed and
+swore. Mr. Lezzard wept unheeded; Mrs. Hicks likewise wept. Clement sat
+staring into the flushed faces and angry eyes, neither seeing the rage
+manifested before him, nor hearing the coarse volleys of reproach. Then
+in his turn he attracted attention; and hard words, wasted on the dead,
+hurtled like hail round his ears, with acid laughter, and bitter sneers
+at his own tremendous awakening. Stung to the quick, the lame
+wheelwright, Charles Coomstock, gloated on the spectacle of Clement's
+dark hour, and heaped abuse upon his round-eyed, miserable mother. The
+raw of his own wound found a sort of salve in this attack; and all the
+other poor, coarse creatures similarly found comfort in their
+disappointment from a sight of more terrific mortification than their
+own. Venomous utterances fell about Clement Hicks, but he neither heard
+nor heeded: his mind was far away with Chris, and the small shot of the
+Coomstocks and the thunder of the Chowns alike flew harmlessly past him.
+He saw his sweetheart's sorrow, and her grief, as yet unborn, was the
+only fact that much hurt him now. The gall in his own soul only began to
+sicken him when his eye rested on his mother. Then he rose and departed
+to his home, while the little, snuffling woman ran at his heels, like a
+dog.
+
+Not until he had escaped the tempest of voices, and was hidden from the
+world, did the bee-keeper allow his own cruel disappointment to appear.
+Then, while his mother wept, he lifted up his voice and cursed God. As
+his relations had won comfort by swearing at him, so now he soothed his
+soul unconsciously in blasphemies. Then followed a silence, and his
+mother dared to blame him and remind him of an error.
+
+"You wouldn't turn the bee-butts when she died, though I begged and
+prayed of 'e. Oh, if you'd awnly done what an auld woman, an' she your
+mother, had told 'e! Not so much as a piece of crape would 'e suffer me
+to tie 'pon 'em. An' I knawed all the while the hidden power o' bees."
+
+Presently he left her, and went to tell Chris. She greeted him eagerly,
+then turned pale and even terrified as she saw the black news in his
+face.
+
+"Just a gull and laughing-stock for the gods again, that's all, Chris.
+How easily they fool us from their thrones, don't they? And our pitiful
+hopes and ambitions and poor pathetic little plans for happiness shrivel
+and die, and strew their stinking corpses along the road that was going
+to be so gorgeous. The time to spill the cup is when the lip begins to
+tremble and water for it--not sooner--the gods know! And now all's
+changed--excepting only the memory of things done that had better been
+left undone."
+
+"But--but we shall be married at once, Clem?"
+
+He shook his head.
+
+"How can you ask it? My poor little all--twenty pounds--is gone on
+twopenny-halfpenny presents during the past week or two. It seemed so
+little compared to the fortune that was coming. It's all over. The great
+day is further off by twenty pounds than it was before that poor drunken
+old fool lied to me. Yet she didn't lie either; she only forgot; you
+can't swim in brandy for nothing."
+
+Fear, not disappointment, dominated the woman before him as she heard.
+Sheer terror made her grip his arm and scream to him hysterically. Then
+she wept wild, savage tears and called to God to kill her quickly. For a
+time she parried every question, but an outburst so strangely unlike
+Chris Blanchard had its roots deeper than the crushing temporary
+disaster which he had brought with him. Clement, suspecting, importuned
+for the truth, gathered it from her, then passed away into the dusk,
+faced with the greatest problem that existence had as yet set him.
+Crushed, and crushed unutterably, he returned home oppressed with a
+biting sense of his own damnable fate. He moved as one distracted,
+incoherent, savage, alone. The glorious palace he had raised for his
+happiness crumbled into vast ruins; hope was dead and putrid; and only
+the results of wild actions, achieved on false assumptions, faced him.
+Now, rising out of his brief midsummer madness, the man saw a ghost; and
+he greeted it with groan as bitter as ever wrung human heart.
+
+Miller Lyddon sat that night alone until Mr. Blee returned to supper.
+
+"Gert news! Gert news!" he shouted, while yet in the passage; "sweatin'
+for joy an' haste, I be!"
+
+His eyes sparkled, his face shone, his words tripped each other up by
+the heels.
+
+"Be gormed if ban't a 'mazin' world! She've left nought--dammy--less
+than nought, for the house be mortgaged sea-deep to Doctor, an' theer's
+other debts. Not a penny for nobody--nothin' but empty bottles--an' to
+think as I thought so poor o' God as to say theer weern't none! What a
+ramshackle plaace the world is!"
+
+"No money at all? Mrs. Lezzard--it can't be!" declared Mr. Lyddon.
+
+"But it is, by gum! A braave tantara 'mongst the fam'ly, I tell 'e. Not a
+stiver--all ate up in a 'nuity, an' her--artful limb!--just died on the
+last penny o' the quarter's payment. An' Lezzard left at the work'us
+door--poor auld zawk! An' him fourscore an' never been eggicated an'
+never larned nothin'!"
+
+"To think it might have been your trouble, Blee!"
+
+"That's it, that's it! That's what I be full of! Awnly for the watchin'
+Lard, I'd been fixed in the hole myself. Just picture it! Me a-cussin'
+o' Christ to blazes an' lettin' on theer wasn't no such Pusson; an' Him,
+wide awake, a-keepin' me out o' harm's way, even arter the banns was
+called! Theer's a God for 'e! Watchin' day an' night to see as I comed
+by no harm! That's what 't is to have laid by a tidy mort o'
+righteousness 'gainst a evil hour!"
+
+"You 'm well out of it, sure enough."
+
+"Ess, 't is so. I misjudged the Lard shocking, an' I'm man enough to up
+and say it, thank God. He was right an' I was wrong; an' lookin' back, I
+sees it. So I'll come back to the fold, like the piece of silver what
+was lost; an' theer'll be joy in heaven, as well theer may be. Burnish
+it all! I'll go along to church 'fore all men's eyes next Lard's Day
+ever is."
+
+"A gude thought, tu. Religion's a sort of benefit society, if you look
+at it, an' the church be the bank wheer us pays in subscriptions
+Sundays."
+
+"An' blamed gude interest us gets for the money," declared Mr. Blee.
+"Not but what I've drawed a bit heavy on my draft of late, along o'
+pretendin' to heathen ways an' thoughts what I never really held with;
+but 't is all wan now an' I lay I'll soon set the account right, wi' a
+balance in my favour, tu. Seein' how shameful I was used, ban't likely
+no gert things will be laid against me."
+
+"And auld Lezzard will go to the Union?"
+
+"A very fittin' plaace for un, come to think on 't. Awver-balanced for
+sheer greed of gawld he was. My! what a wild-goose chase! An the things
+he've said to me! Not that I'd allow myself--awuly from common humanity
+I must see un an' let un knaw I bear no more malice than a bird on a
+bough."
+
+They drank, Billy deeper than usual. He was marvellously excited and
+cheerful. He greeted God like an old friend returned to him from a
+journey; and that night before retiring he stood stiffly beside his bed
+and covered his face in his hands and prayed a prayer familiar among his
+generation.
+
+  "Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John,
+   Bless the bed that I lie on,
+   Four cornders to my bed,
+   Four angels overspread
+   Two tu foot an' two tu head,
+   An' all to carry me when I'm dead.
+   An' when I'm dead an' in my graave,
+     An' all my bones be rotten.
+   The greedy worms my flaish shall ate,
+     An' I shall be forgotten;
+       For Christ's sake. Amen."
+
+Having sucked from repetition of this ancient twaddle exactly that sort
+of satisfaction the French or Roman peasant wins from a babble of a dead
+language over beads, Billy retired with many a grunt and sigh of
+satisfaction.
+
+"It do hearten the spirit to come direct to the Throne," he reflected;
+"an' the wonder is how ever I could fare for near two year wi'out my
+prayers. Yet, though I got my monkey up an' let Jehovah slide, He knawed
+of my past gudeness, all set down in the Book o' Life. An' now I've
+owned up as I was wrong; which is all even the saints can do; 'cause
+Judgment Day, for the very best of us, will awnly be a matter o' owning
+up."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+A HUNDRED POUNDS
+
+
+The maddening recollection of things done wrought upon Clement Hicks
+until it bred in him a distracted frenzy and blinded his judgment. He
+lost all sense of proportion in his endeavour to come at a right course
+of action, and a mind long inclined towards one road now readily drifted
+upon it. To recover the position had been quite possible, and there were
+not wanting those ready and eager to assist him; but at this crisis in
+his fortune the man lost all power of reflection or self-control. The
+necessity for instant action clamoured to him through daylight and
+darkness; delay drove him hourly into a hysterical condition approaching
+frenzy, and every road to escape save one appeared bolted and barred
+against him. But, try as he might, his miseries could not be hidden, and
+Will Blanchard, among others, sympathised very heartily with the great
+disappointment that had now fallen upon Chris and her sweetheart. His
+sister's attitude had astonished both him and his mother. They fancied
+that Blanchards were made of sterner stuff; but Chris went down before
+the blow in a manner very unexpected. She seemed dazed and unable to
+recover from it. Her old elastic spirit was crushed, and a great sorrow
+looked from her eyes.
+
+Neither Will nor her mother could rouse her, and so it came about that
+thinking how best he could play a brother's part, the master of Newtake
+decided on a notable deed and held that the hour for it must be delayed
+no longer. He debated the circumstance from every point of view,
+examined his accounts, inspected the exact figures represented by the
+remainder of his uncle's legacy and then broke the matter to Phoebe. To
+his mother he had already spoken concerning the intention, and she
+approved it, though without knowing particulars. Phoebe, however,
+happened to be quite as familiar with Will's affairs as Will himself,
+and while his determination to give Clement and Chris a hundred pounds
+was easily come at and most cheering to his heart, the necessity of
+breaking the news to his wife appeared not so easy or pleasant. Indeed,
+Will approached the task with some trepidation, for a recent event made
+it doubly difficult. They sat together one night, after six weeks of
+married life, and he plunged into the matter.
+
+"'Tis sad them two being kept apart like this," he said abruptly.
+
+"'Tis so. Nobody feels it more'n me. Matters was hard with us, and now
+they 'm all smooth and the future seems fairly bright, tu."
+
+"Very bright," he said stoutly. "The hay's best ever come off my ground,
+thanks to the manure from Monks Barton; and look at the wurzels! Miller
+hisself said he've never seed a more promising crop, high or low. An'
+the things be in prime kelter, tu; an' better than four hunderd pound of
+uncle's money still left."
+
+"Long may it be left, I'm sure. 'Tis terrible work dipping into it, an'
+I looks at both sides of a halfpenny 'fore I spend it. Wish you would.
+You'm tu generous, Will. But accounts are that difficult."
+
+This was not the spirit of the hour, however.
+
+"I was gwaine to say that out of all our happiness an' fortune we might
+let a little bubble awver for Chris--eh? She'm such a gude gal, an' you
+love her so dearly as what I do a'most."
+
+Phoebe read the project in a flash, but yet invited her husband to
+explain.
+
+"What d'you mean?" she asked distrustfully and coldly.
+
+"I can see in your face you knaw well enough. That four-hunderd-odd
+pound. I've sometimes thought I should have given Chris a bit of the
+windfall when first it comed. But now--well, theer's this cruel coil
+failed on 'em. You knaw the hardness of waiting. 'Twould be a butivul
+thing to let 'em marry an' feel't was thanks to us."
+
+"You want to go giving them money?"
+
+"Not 'give' 'zactly. Us'll call it a loan, till the time they see their
+way clearer."
+
+Phoebe sighed and was silent for a while.
+
+"Poor dears," she said at length. "I feel for 'em in my heart, same as
+you do; yet somehow it doan't look right."
+
+"Not right, Phoebe?"
+
+"Not wise, then. Remember what you say the winters be up here--such
+dreary months with no money coming in and all gwaine out to keep life in
+the things."
+
+"'Tis a black, bitin' business on the high farms--caan't deny that."
+
+"Money flies so."
+
+"Then let some fly to a gude end. You knaw I'm a hard, keen man where
+other people be concerned, most times."
+
+His wife laughed frankly, and he grew red.
+
+"Damn it, Phoebe, doan't you take me like that else you'll get the rough
+edge of my tongue. 'Tis for you to agree with what I'm pleased to say,
+not contradict it. I _be_ a hard, keen man, and knaws the value of money
+as well as another. But Chris is my awn sister, an' the long an' the
+short is, I'm gwaine to give Clem Hicks a hunderd pound."
+
+"Will! It's not reasonable, it's not fair--us working so hard
+an'--an'--"
+
+"They 'm to have it, anyway."
+
+Her breath caught in a little, helpless gasp. Without a word she picked
+up the material in her hands, huddled it up, and thrust it across the
+table towards him. Then the passion faded out of his face, his eyes
+softened and grew dreamy, he smiled, and rubbed his brown cheek with the
+flannel.
+
+"My awn, li'l clever woman, as have set about the fashioning of a bairn
+so soon! God bless 'e, an' bless 'e an' be gude to 'e, an' the wee thing
+coming!"
+
+He put his arm round her and patted her hair and purred softly to her;
+whereupon she relented and kissed him.
+
+"You knaw best, Will, dearie; you nearly allus knaw best; but your
+heart's bigger 'n your pocket--an' a li'l child do call so loud for the
+spendin' o' money."
+
+"Aye, I knaw, I knaw; 'tis a parent's plaace to stand up for his
+offspring through fire an' water; an' I reckon I won't be the worst
+faither as ever was, either. I can mind the time when I was young
+myself. Stern but kind's the right rule. Us'll bring un up in the proper
+way, an' teach un to use his onderstandin' an' allus knuckle down 'fore
+his elders. To tell 'e truth, Phoebe, I've a notion I might train up a
+cheel better'n some men."
+
+"Yes, Will, I think so, tu. But 'tis food an' clothes an' li'l boots an'
+such-like comes first. A hunderd pounds be such a mort o' money."
+
+"'Twill set 'em up in a fair way."
+
+"Fifty wouldn't hardly do, p'r'aps?"
+
+"Hardly. I like to carry a job through clean an' vitty while I'm on it."
+
+"You've got such a big spirit."
+
+"As to that, money so spent ban't lost--'tis all in the fam'ly."
+
+"Of course 'tis a gude advertisement for you. Folk'll think you'm
+prosperin' an' look up to you more."
+
+"Well, some might, though I doan't 'zactly mean it like that. Yet the
+putting out o' three figures o' money must make neighbours ope their
+eyes. Not that I want anybody to knaw either."
+
+So, against her judgment, Phoebe was won over, and presently she and her
+husband made merry at prospect of the great thing contemplated. Will
+imitated Clement's short, glum, and graceless manner before the gift;
+Phoebe began to spend the money and plan the bee-keeper's cottage when
+Chris should enter it as a bride; and thus, having enjoyed an hour of
+delight the most pure and perfect that can fall to human lot, the young
+couple retired.
+
+Elsewhere defeat and desolation marked the efforts of the luckless poet
+to improve his position. All thoughts drifted towards the Red House, and
+when, struggling from this dark temptation, he turned to Martin Grimbal
+rather than his brother, Fate crushed this hope also. The antiquary was
+not in Chagford, and Clement recollected that Martin had told him he
+designed some visits to the doom rings of Iceland, and other
+contemporary remains of primeval man in Brittany and in Ireland. To find
+him at present was impossible, for he had left no address, and his
+housekeeper only knew that he would be out of England until the autumn.
+
+Now the necessity for action gained gigantically upon Hicks, and spun a
+net of subtle sophistry that soon had the poor wretch enmeshed beyond
+possibility of escape. He assured himself that the problem was reduced
+to a mere question of justice to a woman. A sacrifice must be made
+between one whom he loved better than anything in the world, and one for
+whom he cared not at all. That these two persons chanced to be brother
+and sister was an unfortunate accident, but could not be held a
+circumstance strong enough to modify his determination. He had, indeed,
+solemnly sworn to Will to keep his secret, but what mattered that before
+this more crushing, urgent duty to Chris? His manhood cried out to him
+to protect her. Nothing else signified in the least; the future--the
+best that he could hope for--might be ashy and hopeless now; but it was
+with the immediate present and his duty that he found himself concerned.
+There remained but one grim way; and, through such overwhelming,
+shattering storm and stress as falls to the lot of few, he finally took
+it. To marry at any cost and starve afterwards if necessary, had been
+the more simple plan; and that course of action must first have occurred
+to any other man but this; to him, however, it did not occur. The
+crying, shrieking need for money was the thing that stunned him and
+petrified him. Shattered and tossed to the brink of aberration,
+stretched at frightful mental tension for a fortnight, he finally
+succumbed, and told himself that his defeat was victory.
+
+He wrote to John Grimbal, explained that he desired to see him on the
+morrow, and the master of the Red House, familiar with recent affairs,
+rightly guessed that Hicks had changed his mind. Excited beyond measure,
+the victor fixed a place for their conversation, and it was a strange
+one.
+
+"Meet me at Oke Tor," he wrote. "By an accident I shall be in the Taw
+Marshes to-morrow, and will ride to you some time in the
+afternoon.--J.G."
+
+Thus, upon a day when Will Blanchard called at Mrs. Hicks's cottage,
+Clement had already started for his remote destination on the Moor. With
+some unconscious patronage Will saluted Mrs. Hicks and called for
+Clement. Then he slapped down a flat envelope under the widow's eyes.
+
+"Us have thought a lot about this trouble, mother, an' Phoebe's hit on
+as braave a notion as need be. You see, Clem's my close friend again
+now, an' Chris be my sister; so what's more fittin' than that I should
+set up the young people? An' so I shall, an' here's a matter of Bank of
+England notes as will repay the countin'. Give 'em to Clem wi' my
+respects."
+
+Then Will suffered a surprise. The little woman before him swelled and
+expanded, her narrow bosom rose, her thin lips tightened, and into her
+dim eyes there came pride and brightness. It was her hour of triumph,
+and she felt a giantess as she stood regarding the envelope and Will.
+Him she had never liked since his difference with her son concerning
+Martin Grimbal, and now, richer for certain news of that morning, she
+gloried to throw the gift back.
+
+"Take your money again, bwoy. No Hicks ever wanted charity yet, least of
+all from a Blanchard. Pick it up; and it's lucky Clement ban't home, for
+he'd have said some harsh words, I'm thinking. Keep it 'gainst the rainy
+days up to Newtake. And it may surprise 'e to knaw that my son's worth
+be getting found out at last. It won't be so long 'fore he takes awver
+Squire Grimbal's farm to the Red House. What do 'e think o' that? He've
+gone to see un this very day 'bout it."
+
+"Well, well! This be news, and no mistake--gude news, tu, I s'pose. Jan
+Grimbal! An' what Clem doan't knaw 'bout farmin', I'll be mighty pleased
+to teach un, I'm sure."
+
+"No call to worry yourself; Clem doan't want no other right arm than his
+awn."
+
+"Chris shall have the money, then; an' gude luck to 'em both, say I."
+
+He departed, with great astonishment the main emotion of his mind.
+Nothing could well have happened to surprise him more, and now he felt
+that he should rejoice, but found it difficult to do so.
+
+"Braave news, no doubt," he reflected, "an' yet, come to think on it,
+I'd so soon the devil had given him a job as Grimbal. Besides, to choose
+him! What do Clement knaw 'bout farmin'? Just so much as I knaw 'bout
+verse-writin', an' no more."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+"THE ANGEL OF THE DARKER DRINK"
+
+
+Patches of mist all full of silver light moved like lonely living things
+on the face of the high Moor. Here they dispersed and scattered, here
+they approached and mingled together, here they stretched forth pearly
+fingers above the shining granite, and changed their shapes at the whim
+of every passing breeze; but the tendency of each shining, protean mass
+was to rise to the sun, and presently each valley and coomb lay clear,
+while the cool vapours wound in luminous and downy undulations along the
+highest points of the land before vanishing into air.
+
+A solitary figure passed over the great waste. He took his way northward
+and moved across Scorhill, leaving Wattern Tor to the left. Beneath its
+ragged ridges, in a vast granite amphitheatre, twinkled the cool
+birth-springs of the little Wallabrook, and the water here looked leaden
+under shade, here sparkled with silver at the margin of a cloud shadow,
+here shone golden bright amid the dancing heads of the cotton-grass
+under unclouded sunlight. The mist wreaths had wholly departed before
+noon, and only a few vast mountains of summer gold moved lazily along
+the upper chambers of the air. A huge and solitary shadow overtook the
+man and spread itself directly about him, then swept onwards; infinite
+silence encompassed him; once from a distant hillside a voice cried to
+him, where women and children moved like drab specks and gathered the
+ripe whortleberries that now wove purple patterns into the fabric of the
+Moor; but he heeded not the cry; and other sound there was none save the
+occasional and mournful note of some lonely yellowhammer perched upon a
+whin. Into the prevalent olive-brown of the heath there had now stolen
+an indication of a magic change at hand, for into the sober monotone
+crept a gauzy shadow, a tremor of wakening flower-life, half pearl, half
+palest pink, yet more than either. Upon the immediate foreground it
+rippled into defined points of blossom, which already twinkled through
+all the dull foliage; in the middle distance it faded; afar off it
+trembled as a palpable haze of light under the impalpable reeling of the
+summer air. A week or less would see the annual miracle peformed again
+and witness that spacious and solemn region in all the amethystine
+glories of the ling. Fiercely hot grew the day, and the distances, so
+distinct through mist rifts and wreaths in the clearness of early
+morning, now retreated--mountain upon mountain, wide waste on waste--as
+the sun climbed to the zenith. Detail vanished, the Moor stretched
+shimmering to the horizon; only now and again from some lofty point of
+his pilgrimage did the traveller discover chance cultivation through a
+dip in the untamed region he traversed. Then to the far east and north,
+the map of fertile Devon billowed and rolled in one enormous misty
+mosaic,--billowed and rolled all opalescent under the dancing atmosphere
+and July haze, rolled and swept to the sky-line, where, huddled by
+perspective into the appearance of density, hung long silver tangles of
+infinitely remote and dazzling cloud against the blue.
+
+From that distant sponge in the central waste, from Cranmere, mother of
+moorland rivers, the man presently noted wrinkles of pure gold trickling
+down a hillside two miles off. Here sunshine touched the river Taw,
+still an infant thing not far advanced on the journey from its fount;
+but the play of light upon the stream, invisible save for this finger of
+the sun, indicated to the solitary that he approached his destination.
+Presently he stood on the side of lofty Steeperton and surveyed that
+vast valley known as Taw Marsh, which lies between the western foothills
+of Cosdon Beacon and the Belstone Tors to the north. The ragged manes of
+the latter hills wind through the valley in one lengthy ridge, and
+extend to a tremendous castellated mass of stone, by name Oke Tor.
+
+This erection, with its battlements and embrasures, outlying scarps and
+counterscarps, remarkably suggests the deliberate and calculated
+creation of man. It stands upon a little solitary hill at the head of
+Taw Marsh, and wins its name from the East Okement River which runs
+through the valley on its western flank. Above wide fen and marsh it
+rises, yet seen from Steeperton's vaster altitude, Oke Tor looks no
+greater than some fantastic child-castle built by a Brobding-nagian baby
+with granite bricks. Below it on this July day the waste of bog-land was
+puckered with brown tracts of naked soil, and seamed and scarred with
+peat-cuttings. Here and there drying turfs were propped in pairs and
+dotted the hillsides; emerald patches of moss jewelled the prevailing
+sobriety of the valley, a single curlew, with rising and falling
+crescendos of sound, flew here and there under needless anxiety, and far
+away on White Hill and the enormous breast of Cosdon glimmered grey
+stone ghosts from the past,--track-lines and circles and pounds,--the
+work of those children of the mist who laboured here when the world was
+younger, whose duty now lay under the new-born light of the budding
+heath. White specks dotted the undulations where flocks roamed free; in
+the marsh, red cattle sought pasture, and now was heard the
+jingle-jangle of a sheep-bell, and now the cry of bellowing kine.
+
+Like a dark incarnation of suffering over this expansive scene passed
+Clement Hicks to the meeting with John Grimbal. His unrest was
+accentuated by the extreme sunlit peace of the Moor, and as he sat on
+Steeperton and gazed with dark eyes into the marshes below, there
+appeared in his face the battlefield of past struggles, the graves of
+past hopes. A dead apathy of mind and muscle succeeded his mental
+exertion and passion of thought. Increased age marked him, as though
+Time, thrusting all at once upon him bitter experiences usually spread
+over many years of a man's life, had weighed him down, humped his back,
+thinned his hair, and furrowed his forehead under the load. Within his
+eyes, behind the reflected blue of the sky, as he raised them to it, sat
+mad misery; and an almost tetanic movement of limb, which rendered it
+impossible for him to keep motionless even in his present recumbent
+position, denoted the unnatural excitation of his nerves. The throb and
+spasm of the past still beat against his heart. Like a circular storm in
+mid-ocean, he told himself that the tempest had not wholly ended, but
+might reawaken, overwhelm him, and sweep him back into the turmoil
+again. As he thought, and his eye roved for a rider on a brown horse,
+the poor wretch was fighting still. Yesterday fixed determination marked
+his movements, and his mind was made up; to-day, after a night not
+devoid of sleep, it seemed that everything that was best in him had
+awakened refreshed, and that each mile of the long tramp across Dartmoor
+had represented another battle fought with his fate. Justice, Justice
+for himself and the woman he loved, was the cry raised more than once
+aloud in sharp agony on that great silence. And only the drone of the
+shining-winged things and the dry rustle of the grasshoppers answered
+him.
+
+Like the rest of the sore-smitten and wounded world, he screamed to the
+sky for Justice, and, like the rest of the world, forgot or did not know
+that Justice is only a part of Truth, and therefore as far beyond man's
+reach as Truth itself. Justice can only be conceived by humanity, and
+that man should even imagine any abstraction so glorious is wonderful,
+and to his credit. But Justice lies not only beyond our power to mete to
+our fellows; it forms no part of the Creator's methods with us or this
+particular mote in the beam of the Universe. Man has never received
+Justice, as he understands it, and never will; and his own poor,
+flagrant, fallible travesty of it, erected to save him from himself, and
+called Law, more nearly approximates to Justice than the treatment which
+has ever been apportioned to humanity. Before this eternal spectacle of
+illogical austerity, therefore, man, in self-defence and to comfort his
+craving and his weakness, has clung to the cheerful conceit of
+immortality; has pathetically credited the First Cause with a grand
+ultimate intention concerning each suffering atom; has assured himself
+that eternity shall wipe away all tears and blood, shall reward the
+actors in this puppet-show with golden crowns and nobler parts in a
+nobler playhouse. Human dreams of justice are responsible for this
+yearning towards another life, not the dogmas of religion; and the
+conviction undoubtedly has to be thanked for much individual right
+conduct. But it happens that an increasing number of intellects can find
+solace in these theories no longer; it happens that the liberty of free
+thought (which is the only liberty man may claim) will not longer be
+bound with these puny chains. Many detect no just argument for a future
+life; they admit that adequate estimate of abstract Justice is beyond
+them; they suspect that Justice is a human conceit; and they see no
+cause why its attributes should be credited to the Creator in His
+dealings with the created, for the sufficient reason that Justice has
+never been consistently exhibited by Him. The natural conclusion of such
+thought need not be pursued here. Suffice it that, taking their stand on
+pure reason, such thinkers deny the least evidence of any life beyond
+the grave; to them, therefore, this ephemeral progression is the
+beginning and the end, and they live every precious moment with a
+yearning zest beyond the power of conventional intellects to conceive.
+
+Of such was Clement Hicks. And yet in this dark hour he cried for
+Justice, not knowing to whom or to what he cried. Right judgment was
+dead at last. He rose and shook his head in mute answer to the voices
+still clamouring to his consciousness. They moaned and reverberated and
+mingled with the distant music of the bellwether, but his mind was made
+up irrevocably now; he had determined to do the thing he had come to do.
+He told himself nothing much mattered any more; he laughed as he rose
+and wiped the sweat off his face, and passed down Steeperton through
+debris of granite. "Life's only a breath and then--Nothing," he thought;
+"but it will be interesting to see how much more bitterness and agony
+those that pull the strings can cram into my days. I shall watch from
+the outside now. A man is never happy so long as he takes a personal
+interest in life. Henceforth I'll stand outside and care no more, and
+laugh and laugh on through the years. We're greater than the Devil that
+made us; for we can laugh at all his cursed cruelty--we can laugh, and
+we can die laughing, and we can die when we please. Yes, that's one
+thing he can't do--torment us an hour more than we choose."
+
+Suicide was always a familiar thought with this man, but it had never
+been farther from his mind than of late. Cowardly in himself, his love
+for Chris Blanchard was too great to suffer even the shadow of
+self-slaughter to tempt him at the present moment. What might happen in
+the future, he could not tell; but while her happiness was threatened
+and her life's welfare hung in the balance, his place was by her side.
+Then he looked into Will Blanchard's future and asked himself what was
+the worst that could result from his pending treachery. He did not know
+and wished time had permitted him to make inquiries. But his soul was
+too weary to care. He only looked for the ordeal to be ended; his aching
+eyes, now bent on his temporal environment, ranged widely for the
+spectacle of a rider on a brown horse.
+
+A red flag flapped from a lofty pole at the foot of Steeperton, but
+Hicks, to whom the object and its significance were familiar, paid no
+heed and passed on towards Oke Tor. On one side the mass rose gradually
+up by steps and turrets; on the other, the granite beetled into a low
+cliff springing abruptly from the turf. Within its clefts and crannies
+there grew ferns, and to the north-east, sheltered under ledges from the
+hot sun, cattle and ponies usually stood or reclined upon such a summer
+day as this, and waited for the oncoming cool of evening before
+returning to pasture. On the present occasion, however, no stamp of
+hoof, snort of nostril, whisk of tail, and hum of flies denoted the
+presence of beasts. For some reason they had been driven elsewhere.
+Clement climbed the Tor, then stood upon its highest point, and turning
+his back to the sun, scanned the wide rolling distances over which he
+had tramped, and sought fruitlessly for an approaching horseman. But no
+particular hour had been specified, and he knew not and cared not how
+long he might have to wait.
+
+In a direction quite contrary to that on which the eyes of Hicks were
+set, sat John Grimbal upon his horse and talked with another man. They
+occupied a position at the lower-most end of Taw Marsh, beneath the
+Belstones; and they watched some seventy artillerymen busily preparing
+for certain operations of a nature to specially interest the master of
+the Red House. Indeed the pending proceedings had usually occupied his
+mind, to total exclusion of all other affairs; but to-day even more
+momentous events awaited him in the immediate future, and he looked from
+his companion along the great valley to where Oke Tor appeared, shrunk
+to a mere grey stone at the farther end. Of John Grimbal's life, it may
+now be said that it drifted into a confirmed and bitter misogyny. He saw
+no women, spoke of the sex with disrespect, and chose his few friends
+among men whose sporting and warlike instincts chimed with his own.
+Sport he pursued with dogged pertinacity, but the greater part of his
+leisure was devoted to the formation of a yeomanry corps at Chagford,
+and in this design he had made good progress. He still kept his wrongs
+sternly before his mind, and when the old bitterness began to grow
+blunted, deliberately sharpened it again, strangling alike the good work
+of time and all emotions of rising contentment and returning peace.
+Where was the wife whose musical voice and bright eyes should welcome
+his daily home-coming? Where were the laughing and pattering-footed
+little ones? Of these priceless treasures the man on the Moor had robbed
+him. His great house was empty and cheerless. Thus he could always blow
+the smouldering fires into active flame by a little musing on the past;
+but how long it might be possible to sustain his passion for revenge
+under this artificial stimulation of memory remained to be seen. As yet,
+at any rate, the contemplation of Will Blanchard's ruin was good to
+Grimbal, and the accident of his discovery that Clement Hicks knew some
+secret facts to his enemy's disadvantage served vastly to quicken the
+lust for a great revenge. From the first he had determined to drag
+Clement's secret out of him sooner or later, and had, until his recent
+offer of the Red House Farm, practised remarkable patience. Since then,
+however, a flicker of apparent prosperity which overtook the bee-keeper
+appeared to diminish Grimbal's chances perceptibly; but with the sudden
+downfall of Clement's hopes the other's ends grew nearer again, and at
+the last it had scarcely surprised him to receive the proposal of Hicks.
+So now he stood within an hour or two of the desired knowledge, and his
+mind was consequently a little abstracted from the matter in hand.
+
+The battery, consisting of four field-guns, was brought into action in
+the direction of the upper end of the valley, while Major Tremayne, its
+commanding officer and John Grimbal's acquaintance, explained to the
+amateur all that he did not know. During the previous week the master of
+the Red House and other officers of the local yeomanry interested in
+military matters had dined at the mess of those artillery officers then
+encamped at Okehampton for the annual practice on Dartmoor; and the
+outcome of that entertainment was an invitation to witness some shooting
+during the forthcoming week.
+
+The gunners in their dark blue uniforms swarmed busily round four
+shining sixteen-pounders, while Major Tremayne conversed with his
+friend. He was a handsome, large-limbed man, with kindly eyes.
+
+"Where's your target?" asked Grimbal, as he scanned the deep distance of
+the valley.
+
+"Away there under that grey mass of rock. We've got to guess at the
+range as you know; then find it. I should judge the distance at about
+two miles--an extreme limit. Take my glass and you'll note a line of
+earthworks thrown up on this side of the stone. That is intended to
+represent a redoubt and we're going to shell it and slay the dummy men
+posted inside."
+
+"I can see without the glass. The rock is called Oke Tor, and I'm going
+to meet a man there this afternoon."
+
+"Good; then you'll be able to observe the results at close quarters.
+They'll surprise you. Now we are going to begin. Is your horse all
+right? He looks shifty, and the guns make a devil of a row."
+
+"Steady as time. He's smelt powder before to-day."
+
+Major Tremayne now adjusted his field-glasses, and carefully inspected
+distant earthworks stretched below the northern buttresses of Oke Tor.
+He estimated the range, which he communicated to the battery; then after
+a slight delay came the roar and bellow of the guns as they were fired
+in slow succession.
+
+But the Major's estimate proved too liberal, for the ranging rounds fell
+far beyond the target, and dropped into the lofty side of Steeperton.
+
+The elevation of the guns was accordingly reduced, and Grimbal noted the
+profound silence in the battery as each busy soldier performed his
+appointed task.
+
+At the next round shells burst a little too short of the earthworks, and
+again a slight modification in the range was made. Now missiles began to
+descend in and around the distant redoubt, and each as it exploded dealt
+out shattering destruction to the dummy men which represented an enemy.
+One projectile smashed against the side of Oke Tor, and sent back the
+ringing sound of its tremendous impact.
+
+Subsequent practice, now that the range was found, produced results
+above the average in accuracy, and Major Tremayne's good-humour
+increased.
+
+"Five running plump into the redoubt! That's what we can do when we
+try," he said to Grimbal, while the amateur awarded his meed of praise
+and admiration.
+
+Anon the business was at an end; the battery limbered up; the guns, each
+drawn by six stout horses, disappeared with many a jolt over the uneven
+ground, as the soldiers clinked and clashed away to their camp on the
+high land above Okehamptou.
+
+Under the raw smell of burnt powder Major Tremayne took leave of Grimbal
+and the rest; each man went his way; and John, pursuing a bridle-path
+through the marshes of the Taw, proceeded slowly to his appointment.
+
+An unexpected spring retarded Grimbal's progress and made a considerable
+detour necessary. At length, however, he approached Oke Tor, marked the
+tremendous havoc of the firing, and noted a great grey splash upon the
+granite, where one shell had abraded its weathered face.
+
+John Grimbal dismounted, tied up his horse, then climbed to the top of
+the Tor, and searched for an approaching pedestrian. Nobody was visible
+save one man only; amounted soldier riding round to strike the red
+warning flags posted widely about the ranges. Grimbal descended and
+approached the southern side, there to sit on the fine intermingled turf
+and moss and smoke a cigar until his man should arrive. But rounding the
+point of the low cliff, he found that Hicks was already there.
+
+Clement, his hat off, reclined upon his back with his face lifted to the
+sky. Where his head rested, the wild thyme grew, and one great, black
+bumble-bee boomed at a deaf ear as it clumsily struggled in the purple
+blossoms. He lay almost naturally, but some distortion of his neck and a
+film upon his open eyes proclaimed that the man neither woke nor slept.
+
+His lonely death was on this wise. Standing at the edge of the highest
+point of Oke Tor, with his back to the distant guns, he had crowned the
+artillerymen's target, himself invisible. At that moment firing began,
+and the first shell, suddenly shrieking scarcely twenty yards above his
+head, had caused Hicks to start and turn abruptly. With this action he
+lost his balance; then a projection of the granite struck his back as he
+fell and brought him heavily to the earth upon his head.
+
+Now the sun, creeping westerly, already threw a ruddiness over the Moor,
+and this warm light touching the dead man's cheek brought thither a hue
+never visible in life, and imparted to the features a placidity very
+startling by contrast with the circumstances of his sudden and violent
+end.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+BEFORE THE DAWN
+
+
+It proclaims the attitude of John Grimbal to his enemy that thus
+suddenly confronted with the corpse of a man whom he believed in life,
+his first emotion should have betokened bitter disappointment and even
+anger. Will Blanchard's secret, great or small, was safe enough for the
+present; and the hand stretched eagerly for revenge clutched air.
+
+Convincing himself that Hicks was dead, Grimbal galloped off towards
+Belstone village, the nearest centre of civilisation. There he reported
+the facts, directed police and labourers where to find the body and
+where to carry it, and subsequently rode swiftly back to Chagford.
+Arrived at the market-place, he acquainted Abraham Chown, the
+representative of the Devon constabulary, with his news, and finally
+writing a brief statement at the police station before leaving it,
+Grimbal returned home.
+
+Not until after dark was the impatient mother made aware of her son's
+end, and she had scarcely received the intelligence before he came home
+to her--with no triumphant news of the Red House Farm, but dead, on a
+sheep-hurdle. Like summer lightning Clement's fate leapt through the
+length and breadth of Chagford. It penetrated to the vicarage; it
+reached outlying farms; it arrived at Monks Barton, was whispered near
+Mrs. Blanchard's cottage by the Teign, and, in the early morning of the
+following day, reached Newtake.
+
+Then Will, galloping to the village while dawn was yet grey, met Doctor
+Parsons, and heard the truth of these uncertain rumours which had
+reached him.
+
+"It seems clear enough when Grimbal's statement comes to be read,"
+explained the medical man. "He had arranged a meeting with poor Hicks on
+Oke Tor, and, when he went to keep his appointment, found the
+unfortunate man lying under the rocks quite dead. The spot, I must tell
+you, was near a target of the soldiers at Okehampton, and John Grimbal
+first suspected that Hicks, heedless of the red warning flags, had
+wandered into the line of fire and been actually slain by a projectile.
+But nothing of that sort happened. I have seen him. The unfortunate man
+evidently slipped and fell from some considerable height upon his head.
+His neck is dislocated and the base of the skull badly fractured."
+
+"Have you seen my poor sister?"
+
+"I was called last night while at Mrs. Hicks's cottage, and went almost
+at once. It's very terrible--very. She'll get brain fever if we're not
+careful. Such a shock! She was walking alone, down in the croft by the
+river--all in a tremendously heavy dew too. She was dry-eyed and raved,
+poor girl. I may say she was insane at that sad moment. 'Weep for
+yourself!' she said to me. 'Let this place weep for itself, for there's
+a great man has died. He was here and lived here and nobody knew--nobody
+but his mother and I knew what he was. He had to beg his bread almost,
+and God let him; but the sin of it is on those around him--you and the
+rest.' So she spoke, poor child. These are not exactly her words, but
+something like them. I got her indoors to her mother and sent her a
+draught. I've just come from confining Mrs. Woods, and I'll walk down
+and see your sister now before I go home if you like. I hope she may be
+sleeping."
+
+Will readily agreed to this suggestion; and together the two men
+proceeded to the valley.
+
+But many things had happened since the night. When Doctor Parsons left
+Mrs. Blanchard, she had prevailed upon Chris to go to bed, and then
+herself departed to the village and sat with Mrs. Hicks for an hour.
+Returning, she found her daughter apparently asleep, and, rather than
+wake her, left the doctor's draught unopened; yet Chris had only
+simulated slumber, and as soon as her mother retreated to her own bed,
+she rose, dressed, crept from the house, and hastened through the night
+to where her lover lay.
+
+The first awful stroke had fallen, but the elasticity of the human mind
+which at first throws off and off such terrible shocks, and only after
+the length of many hours finally accepts them as fact, saved Chris
+Blanchard from going mad. Happily she could not thus soon realise the
+truth. It recurred, like the blows of a sledge, upon her brain, but
+between these cruel reminders of the catastrophe, the knowledge of
+Clement's death escaped her memory entirely, and more than once, while
+roaming the dew alone, she asked herself suddenly what she was doing and
+why she was there. Then the mournful answer knelled to her heart, and
+the recurrent spasms of that first agony slowly, surely settled into one
+dead pain, as the truth was seared into her knowledge. A frenzied burst
+of anger succeeded, and under its influence she spoke to Doctor Parsons,
+who approached her beside the river and with tact and patience at length
+prevailed upon her to enter her home. She cursed the land that had borne
+him, the hamlet wherein he had dwelt; and her mother, not amazed at her
+fierce grief, found each convulsive ebullition of sorrow natural to the
+dark hour, and soothed her as best she could. Then the elder woman
+departed a while, not knowing the truth and feeling such a course
+embraced the deeper wisdom.
+
+Left alone, her future rose before Chris, as she sat upon her bed and
+saw the time to come glimmer out of the night in colours more ashy than
+the moonbeams on the cotton blind. Yet, as she looked her face burned,
+and one flame, vivid enough, flickered through all the future; the light
+on her own cheeks. Her position as it faced her from various points of
+view acted upon her physical being--suffocated her and brought a scream
+to her lips. There was nobody to hear it, nobody to see the girl tear
+her hair, rise from her couch, fall quivering, face downward, on the
+little strip of carpet beside her bed. Who could know even a little of
+what this meant to her? Women had often lost the men they loved, but
+never, never like this. So she assured herself. Past sorrows and fears
+dwindled to mere shadows now; for the awful future--the crushing months
+to come, rose grim and horrible on the horizon of Time, laden with
+greater terrors than she could face and live.
+
+Alone, Chris told herself she might have withstood the oncoming
+tribulation--struggled through the storms of suffering and kept her
+broken heart company as other women had done before and must again; but
+she would not be alone. A little hand was stretching out of the
+loneliness she yearned for; a little voice was crying out of the
+solitude she craved. The shadows that might have sheltered her were full
+of hard eyes; the secret places would only echo a world's cruel laughter
+now--that world which had let her loved one die uncared for, that world
+so pitiless to such as she. Her thoughts were alternately defiant and
+fearful; then, before the picture of her mother and Will, her emotions
+dwindled from the tragic and became of a sort that weeping could
+relieve. Tears, now mercifully released from their fountains, softened
+her bruised soul for a time and moderated the physical strain of her
+agony. She lay long, half-naked, sobbing her heart out. Then came the
+mad desire to be back with Clement at any cost, and profound pity for
+him overwhelmed her mind to the exclusion of further sorrow for herself.
+She forgot herself wholly in grief that he was gone. She would never
+hear him speak or laugh again; never again kiss the trouble from his
+eyes; never feel the warm breath of him, the hand-grip of him. He was
+dead; and she saw him lying straight and cold in a padded coffin, with
+his hands crossed and cerecloth stiffly tying up his jaws. He would sink
+into the silence that dwelt under the roots of the green grass; while
+she must go on and fight the world, and in fighting it, bring down upon
+his grave bitter words and sharp censures from the lips of those who did
+not understand.
+
+Before which reflection Death came closer and looked kind; and the
+thought of his hand was cool and comforting, as the hand of a grey moor
+mist sweeping over the heath after fiery days of cloudless sun. Death
+stood very near and beckoned at the dark portals of her thought. Behind
+him there shone a great light, and in the light stood Clem; but the
+Shadow filled all the foreground. To go to her loved one, to die quickly
+and take their mutual secret with her, seemed a right and a precious
+thought just then; to go, to die, while yet he lay above the earth, was
+a determination that had even a little power to solace her agony. She
+thought of meeting him standing alone, strange, friendless on the other
+side of the grave; she told herself that actual duty, if not the vast
+love she bore him, pointed along the unknown road he had so recently
+followed. It was but justice to him. Then she could laugh at Time and
+Fate and the juggling unseen Controller who had played with him and her,
+had wrecked their little lives, forced their little passions under a
+sham security, then snapped the thread on which she hung for everything,
+killed the better part of herself, and left her all alone without a hand
+to shield or a heart to pity. In the darkness, as the moon stole away
+and her chamber window blackened, she sounded all sorrow's wide and
+solemn diapason; and the living sank into shadows before her mind's
+accentuated and vivid picture of the dead. Future life loomed along one
+desolate pathway that led to pain and shame and griefs as yet untasted.
+The rocks beside the way hid shadowy shapes of the unfriendly; for no
+mother's kindly hand would support her, no brother's stout arm would be
+lifted for her when they knew. No pure, noble, fellow-creature might be
+asked for aid, not one might be expected to succour and cherish in the
+great strait sweeping towards her. Some indeed there were to look to for
+the moment, but their voices and their eyes would harden presently, when
+they knew.
+
+She told herself they must never know; and the solution to the problem
+of how to keep her secret appeared upon the threshold of the unknown
+road her lover had already travelled. Now, at the echo of the lowest
+notes, while she lay with uneven pulses and shaking limbs, it seemed
+that she was faced with the parting of the ways and must make instant
+choice. Time would not wait for her and cared nothing whether she chose
+life or death for her road. She struggled with red thoughts, and fever
+burnt her lips and stabbed her forehead. Clement was gone. In this
+supreme hour no fellow-creature could fortify her courage or direct her
+tottering judgment. Once she thought of prayer and turned from it
+shuddering with a passionate determination to pray no more. Then the
+vision of Death shadowed her and she felt his brief sting would be
+nothing beside the endless torment of living. Dangerous thoughts
+developed quickly in her and grew to giants. Something clamoured to her
+and cried that delay, even of hours, was impossible and must be fatal to
+secrecy. A feverish yearning to get it over, and that quickly, mastered
+her, and she began huddling on some clothes.
+
+Then it was that the sudden sound of the cottage door being shut and
+bolted reached her ear. Mrs. Blanchard had returned and knowing that she
+would approach in a moment, Chris flung herself on the bed and pretended
+to be sleeping soundly. It was not until her mother withdrew and herself
+slumbered half an hour later that the distracted woman arose, dressed
+herself, and silently left the house as we have said.
+
+She heard the river calling to her, and through its murmur sounded the
+voice of her loved one from afar. The moon shone clear and the valley
+was full of vapoury gauze. A wild longing to see him once more in the
+flesh before she followed him in the spirit gained upon Chris, and she
+moved slowly up the hill to the village. Then, as she went, born of the
+mists upon the meadows, and the great light and the moony gossamers
+diamonded with dew, there rose his dear shape and moved with her along
+the way. But his face was hidden, and he vanished at the first outposts
+of the hamlet as she passed into Chagford alone. The cottage shadows
+fell velvety black in a shining silence; their thatches were streaked,
+their slates meshed with silver; their whitewashed walls looked
+strangely awake and alert and surrounded the woman with a sort of blind,
+hushed stare. One solitary patch of light peered like a weary eye from
+that side of the street which lay in shadow, and Chris, passing through
+the unbolted cottage door, walked up the narrow passage within and
+softly entered.
+
+Condolence and tears and buzz of sorrowful friends had passed away with
+the stroke of midnight. Now Mrs. Hicks sat alone with her dead and gazed
+upon his calm features and vaguely wondered how, after a life of such
+disappointment and failure and bitter discontent, he could look so
+peaceful. She knew every line that thought and trouble had ruled upon
+his face; she remembered their coming; and now, between her fits of
+grief, she scanned him close and saw that Death had wiped away the
+furrows here and there, and smoothed his forehead and rolled back the
+years from off him until his face reminded her of the strange, wayward
+child who was wont to live a life apart from his fellows, like some wild
+wood creature, and who had passed almost friendless through his boyhood.
+Fully he had filled her widowed life, and been at least a loving child,
+a good son. On him her withered hopes had depended, and, even in their
+darkest hours, he had laughed at her dread of the workhouse, and assured
+her that while head and hands remained to him she need not fear, but
+should enjoy the independence of a home. Now this sole prop and stay was
+gone--gone, just as the black cloud had broken and Fate relented.
+
+The old woman sat beside him stricken, shrivelled, almost reptilian in
+her red-eyed, motionless misery. Only her eyes moved in her wrinkled,
+brown face, and reflected the candle standing on the mantelpiece above
+his head. She sat with her hands crooked over one another in her lap,
+like some image wrought of ebony and dark oak. Once a large house-spider
+suddenly and silently appeared upon the sheet that covered the breast of
+the dead. It flashed along for a foot or two, then sat motionless; and
+she, whose inclination was to loathe such things unutterably, put forth
+her hand and caught it without a tremor and crushed it while its hairy
+legs wriggled between her fingers.
+
+To the robbed mother came Chris, silent as a ghost. Only the old woman's
+eyes moved as the girl entered, fell down by the bier, and buried her
+face in the pillow that supported her lover's head. Thus, in profound
+silence, both remained awhile, until Chris lifted herself and looked in
+the dead face and almost started to see the strange content stamped on
+it.
+
+Then Mrs. Hicks began to speak in a high-pitched voice which broke now
+and again as her bosom heaved after past tears.
+
+"The awnly son of his mother, an' she a widow wummon; an' theer 's no
+Christ now to work for the love of the poor. I be shattered wi' many
+groans an' tears, Chris Blanchard, same as you be. You knawed him--awnly
+you an' me; but you 'm young yet, an' memory's so weak in young brains
+that you'll outlive it all an' forget."
+
+"Never, never, mother! Theer 's no more life for me--not here. He's
+callin' to me--callin' an' callin' from yonder."
+
+"You'll outlive an' forget," repeated the other. "I cannot, bein' as I
+am. An', mind this, when you pray to Heaven, ax for gold an' diamonds,
+ax for houses an' lands, ax for the fat of the airth; an' ax loud. No
+harm in axin'. Awnly doan't pitch your prayers tu dirt low, for ban't
+the hardness of a thing stops God. You 'm as likely or onlikely to get a
+big answer as a little. See the blessin' flowin' in streams for some
+folks! They do live braave an' happy, with gude health, an' gude wives,
+an' money, an' the fruits of the land; they do get butivul childer, as
+graws up like the corners of the temple; an' when they come to die, they
+shut their eyes 'pon kind faaces an' lie in lead an' oak under polished
+marble. All that be theers; an' what was his--my son's?"
+
+"God forgot him," sobbed Chris, "an' the world forgot him--all but you
+an' me."
+
+The old woman shifted her hands wearily.
+
+"Theer's a mort for God to bear in mind, but 't is hard, here an' there,
+wheer He slips awver some lowly party an' misses a humble whisper.
+Clamour if you want to be heard; doan't go with bated breath same as I
+done. 'T was awnly a li'l thing I axed, an' axed it twice a day on my
+knees, ever since my man died twenty-three year agone. An' often as not
+thrice Sundays, so you may count up the number of times I axed if you
+mind to. Awnly a li'l rubbishy thing you might have thought: just to
+bring his fair share o' prosperity to Clem an' keep my bones out the
+poorhouse at the end. But my bwoy 's brawk his neck by a cruel death,
+an' I must wear the blue cotton."
+
+"No, no, mother."
+
+"Ess. Not that it looks so hard as it did. This makes it easy--" and she
+put her hand on her son's forehead and left it there a moment.
+
+Presently she continued:
+
+"I axed Clem to turn the bee-butts at my sister's passing--Mrs.
+Lezzard. But he wouldn't; an' now they'll be turned for him. Wise though
+the man was, he set no store on the dark, hidden meaning of honey-bees
+at times of death. Now the creatures be masterless, same as you an' me;
+an' they'll knaw it; an' you'll see many an' many a-murmuring on his
+graave 'fore the grass graws green theer; for they see more 'n what we
+can."
+
+She relapsed into motionless silence and, herself now wholly tearless,
+watched the tears of Chris, who had sunk down on the floor between the
+mother and son.
+
+"Why for do _you_ cry an' wring your hands so hard?" she asked suddenly.
+"You'm awnly a girl yet--young an' soft-cheeked wi' braave bonny eyes.
+Theer'll be many a man's breast for you to comfort your head on. But me!
+Think o' what's tearin' my auld heart to tatters--me, so bleared an'
+ugly an' lonely. God knaws God's self couldn't bring no balm to
+me--none, till I huddle under the airth arter un; but you--your wound
+won't show by time the snaw comes again."
+
+"You forget when you loved a man first if you says such a thing as
+that."
+
+"Theer's no eternal, lasting fashion o' love but a mother's to her awn
+male childer," croaked the other. "Sweethearts' love is a thing o' the
+blood--a trick o' Nature to tickle us poor human things into breeding
+'gainst our better wisdom; but what a mother feels doan't hang on no
+such broken reed. It's deeper down; it's hell an' heaven both to wance;
+it's life; an' to lose it is death. See! Essterday I'd 'a' fought an'
+screamed an' took on like a gude un to be fetched away to the Union; but
+come they put him in the ground, I'll go so quiet as a lamb."
+
+Another silence followed; then the aged widow pursued her theme, at
+first in the same dreary, cracked monotone, then deepening to passion.
+
+"I tell you a gude wife will do 'most anything for a husband an' give
+her body an' soul to un; but she expects summat in return. She wants his
+love an' worship for hers; but a mother do give all--all--all--an' never
+axes nothin' for it. Just a kiss maybe, an' a brightening eye, or a kind
+word. That's her pay, an' better'n gawld, tu. She'm purty nigh satisfied
+wi' what would satisfy a dog, come to think on it. 'T is her joy to fret
+an' fume an' pine o' nights for un, an' tire the A'mighty's ear wi'
+plans an' suggestions for un; aye, think an' sweat an' starve for un all
+times. 'T is her joy, I tell 'e, to smooth his road, an' catch the
+brambles by his way an' let 'em bury their thorns in her flesh so he
+shaa'n't feel 'em; 't is her joy to hear him babble of all his hopes an'
+delights; an' when the time comes she'll taake the maid of his heart to
+her awn, though maybe 't is breakin' wi' fear that he'll forget her in
+the light of the young eyes. Ax your awn mother if what I sez ban't
+God's truth. We as got the bwoys be content wi' that little. We awnly
+want to help theer young shoulders wi' our auld wans, to fight for 'em
+to the last. We'll let theer wives have the love, we will, an' ax no
+questions an'--an' we'll break our hearts when the cheel 's took out o'
+his turn--break our hearts by inches--same as I be doin' now."
+
+"An' doan't I love, tu? Weern't he all the world to me, tu? Isn't my
+heart broken so well as yours?" sobbed Chris.
+
+"Hear this, you wummon as talks of a broken heart," answered the elder
+almost harshly. "Wait--wait till you 'm the mother of a li'l man-cheel,
+an' see the shining eyes of un a-lookin' into yourn while your nipple's
+bein' squeezed by his naked gums, an' you laugh at what you suffered for
+un, an' hug un to you. Wait till he'm grawed from baby to bwoy, from
+bwoy to man; wait till he'm all you've got left in the cold, starved
+winter of a sorrowful life; an' wait till he'm brought home to 'e like
+this here, while you've been sittin' laughin' to yourself an' countin'
+dream gawld. Then turn about to find the tears that'll comfort 'e, an'
+the prayers that'll soothe 'e, and the God that'll lift 'e up; but you
+won't find 'em, Chris Blanchard."
+
+The girl listened to this utterance, and it filled her with a sort of
+weird wonder as at a revelation of heredity. Mrs. Hicks had ever been
+taciturn before her, and now this rapid outpouring of thoughts and
+phrases echoed like the very speech of the dead. Thus had Clement
+talked, and the girl dimly marvelled without understanding. The
+impression passed, and there awoke in Chris a sudden determination to
+whisper to this bereaved woman what she could not even tell her own
+mother. A second thought had probably changed her intention, but she did
+not wait for any second thought. She acted on impulse, rose, put her
+arms round the widow, and murmured her secret. The other started
+violently and broke her motionless posture before this intelligence.
+
+"Christ! And he knawed--my son?"
+
+"He knawed."
+
+"Then you needn't whisper it. There's awnly us three here."
+
+"An' no others must knaw. You'll never tell--never? You swear that?"
+
+"Me tell! No, no. To think! Then theer's real sorrow for you, tu, poor
+soul--real, grawin' sorrow tu. Differ'nt from mine, but real enough.
+Yet--"
+
+She relapsed into a stone-like repose. No facial muscle moved, but the
+expression of her mind appeared in her eyes and there gradually grew a
+hungry look in them--as of a starving thing confronted with food. The
+realisation of these new facts took a long time. No action accompanied
+it; no wrinkle deepened; no line of the dejected figure lifted; but when
+she spoke again her voice had greatly changed and become softer and very
+tremulous.
+
+"O my dear God! 't will be a bit of Clement! Had 'e thought o' that?"
+
+Then she rose suddenly to her feet and expression came to her face--a
+very wonderful expression wherein were blended fear, awe, and something
+of vague but violent joy--as though one suddenly beheld a loved ghost
+from the dead.
+
+"'T is as if all of un weern't quite lost! A li'l left--a cheel of his!
+Wummon! You'm a holy thing to me--a holy thing evermore! You'm bearin'
+sunshine for your summertime and my winter--if God so wills!"
+
+Then she lifted up her voice and cried to Chris with a strange cry, and
+knelt down at her feet and kissed her hands and stroked them.
+
+"Go to un," she said, leaping up; "go to Clem, an' tell un, in his ear,
+that I knaw. It'll reach him if you whisper it. His soul ban't so very
+far aways yet. Tell un I knaw, tu--you an' me. He'd glory that I knawed.
+An' pray henceforrard, as I shall, for a bwoy. Ax God for a bwoy--ax
+wi'out ceasin' for a son full o' Clem. Our sorrows might win to the
+Everlasting Ear this wance. But, for Christ's sake, ax like wan who has
+a right to, not fawning an' humble."
+
+The woman was transfigured as the significance of this news filled her
+mind. She wept before a splendid possibility. It fired her eyes and
+straightened her shrivelled stature. For a while her frantic utterances
+almost inspired Chris with the shadow of similar emotions; but another
+side of the picture knew no dawn. This the widow ignored--indeed it had
+not entered her head since her first comment on the confession. Now,
+however, the girl reminded her,--
+
+"You forget a little what this must be to me, mother."
+
+"Light in darkness."
+
+"I hadn't thought that; an the gert world won't pity me, as you did
+when I first told you."
+
+"You ban't feared o' the world, be you? The world forgot un. 'T was your
+awn word. What's the world to you, knawin' what you knaw? Do 'e want to
+be treated soft by what was allus hell-hard to him? Four-and-thirty
+short years he lived, then the world beginned to ope its eyes to his
+paarts, an' awnly then--tu late, when the thread of his days was spun.
+What's the world to you and why should you care for its word, Chris
+Blanchard?"
+
+"Because I am Chris Blanchard," she said. "I was gwaine to kill myself,
+but thought to see his dear face wance more before I done it. Now--"
+
+"Kill yourself! God's mercy! 'T will be killing Clem again if you do!
+You caan't; you wouldn't dare; theer's black damnation in it an' flat
+murder now. Hear me, for Christ's sake, if that's the awful thought in
+you: you'm God's chosen tool in this--chosen to suffer an' bring a bwoy
+in the world--Clem's bwoy. Doan't you see how't is? 'Kill yourself'! How
+can 'e dream it? You've got to bring a bwoy, I tell 'e, to keep us from
+both gwaine stark mad. 'T was foreordained he should leave his holy
+likeness. God's truth! You should be proud 'stead o' fearful--such a man
+as he was. Hold your head high an' pray when none's lookin', pray
+through every wakin' hour an' watch yourself as you'd watch the case of
+a golden jewel. What wise brain will think hard of you for followin' the
+chosen path? What odds if a babe's got ringless under the stars or in a
+lawful four-post bed? Who married Adam an' Eve? You was the wife of un
+'cordin' to the first plan o' the livin' God; an' if He changed His
+lofty mind when't was tu late, blame doan't fall on you or the dead.
+Think of a baaby--his baaby--under your breast! Think of meetin' him in
+time to come, wi' another soul got in sheer love! Better to faace the
+people an' let the bairn come to fulness o' life than fly them an' cut
+your days short an' go into the next world empty-handed. Caan't you see
+it? What would Clem say? He'd judge you hard--such a lover o' li'l
+childer as him. 'T is the first framework of an immortal soul you've got
+unfoldin', like a rosebud hid in the green, an' ban't for you to nip
+that life for your awn whim an' let the angels in heaven be fewer by
+wan. You must live. An' the bwoy'll graw into a tower of strength for
+'e--a tower of strength an' a glass belike wheer you'll see Clem rose
+again."
+
+"The shame of it. My mother and Will--Will who's a hard judge, an' such
+a clean man."
+
+"'Clean'! Christ A'mighty! You'd madden a saint of heaven! Weern't Clem
+clean, tu? If God sends fire-fire breaks out--sweet, livin' fire. You
+must go through with it--aye, an' call the bwoy Clem, tu. Be you shamed
+of him as he lies here? Be you feared of anything the airth can do to
+you when you look at him? Do 'e think Heaven's allus hard? No, I tell
+'e, not to the young--not to the young. The wind's mostly tempered to
+the shorn lamb, though the auld ewe do oftentimes sting for it, an' get
+the seeds o' death arter shearing. Wait, and be strong, till you feel
+Clem's baaby in your arms. That'll be reward enough, an' you won't care
+no more for the world then. His son, mind; who be you to take life, an'
+break the buds of Clem's plantin'? Worse than to go in another's garden
+an' tear down green fruit."
+
+So she pleaded volubly, with an electric increase of vitality, and
+continued to pour out a torrent of words, until Chris solemnly promised,
+before God and the dead, that she would not take her life. Having done
+so, some new design informed her.
+
+"I must go," she said; "the moon has set and dawn is near. Dying be so
+easy; living so hard. But live I will; I swear it, though theer's awnly
+my poor mad brain to shaw how."
+
+"Clem's son, mind. An' let me be the first to see it, for I feel't will
+be the gude pleasure of God I should."
+
+"An' you promise to say no word, whatever betides, an' whatever you
+hear?"
+
+"Dumb I'll be, as him theer--dumb, countin' the weeks an' months."
+
+"Day's broke, an' I must go home-along," said Chris. She repeated the
+words mechanically, then moved away without any formal farewell. At the
+door she turned, hastened back, kissed the dead man's face again, and
+then departed, while the other woman looked at her but spoke no more.
+
+Alone, with the struggle over and her object won, the mother shrank and
+dwindled again and grew older momentarily. Then she relapsed into the
+same posture as before, and anon, tears bred of new thoughts began to
+trickle painfully from their parched fountains. She did not move, but
+let them roll unwiped away. Presently her head sank back, her cap fell
+off and white hair dropped about her face.
+
+Fingers of light seemed lifting the edges of the blind. They gained
+strength as the candle waned, and presently at cock-crow, when
+unnumbered clarions proclaimed morning, grey dawn with golden eyes
+brightened upon a dead man and an ancient woman fast asleep beside him.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+MISSING
+
+
+John Grimbal, actuated by some whim, or else conscious that under the
+circumstances decorum demanded his attendance, was present at the
+funeral of Clement Hicks. Some cynic interest he derived from the
+spectacle of young Blanchard among the bearers; and indeed, as may be
+supposed, few had felt this tragic termination of his friend's life more
+than Will. Very genuine remorse darkened his days, and he blamed himself
+bitterly enough for all past differences with the dead. It was in a mood
+at once contrite and sorrowful that he listened to the echo of falling
+clod, and during that solemn sound mentally traversed the whole course
+of his relations with his sister's lover. Of himself he thought not at
+all, and no shadowy suspicion of relief crossed his mind upon the
+reflection that the knowledge of those fateful weeks long past was now
+unshared. In all his quarrels with Clement, no possibility of the man
+breaking his oath once troubled Will's mind; and now profound sorrow at
+his friend's death and deep sympathy with Chris were the emotions that
+entirely filled the young farmer's heart.
+
+Grimbal watched his enemy as the service beside the grave proceeded.
+Once a malignant thought darkened his face, and he mused on what the
+result might be if he hinted to Blanchard the nature of his frustrated
+business with Hicks at Oke Tor. All Chagford had heard was that the
+master of the Red House intended to accept Clement Hicks as tenant of
+his home farm. The fact surprised many, but none looked behind it for
+any mystery, and Will least of all. Grimbal's thoughts developed upon
+his first idea; and he asked himself the consequence if, instead of
+telling Blanchard that he had gone to learn his secret, he should
+pretend that it was already in his possession. The notion shone for a
+moment only, then went out. First it showed itself absolutely futile,
+for he could do no more than threaten, and the other must speedily
+discover that in reality he knew nothing; and secondly, some shadow of
+feeling made Grimbal hesitate. His desire for revenge was now developing
+on new lines, and while his purpose remained unshaken, his last defeat
+had taught him patience. Partly from motives of policy, partly, strange
+as it may seem, from his instincts as a sportsman, he determined to let
+the matter of Hicks lie buried. For the dead man's good name he cared
+nothing, however, and victory over Will was only the more desired for
+this postponement. His black tenacity of purpose won strength from the
+repulse, but the problem for the time being was removed from its former
+sphere of active hatred towards his foe. How long this attitude would
+last, and what idiosyncrasy of character led to it, matters little. The
+fact remained that Grimbal's mental posture towards Blanchard now more
+nearly resembled that which he wore to his other interests in life. The
+circumstance still stood first, but partook of the nature of his
+emotions towards matters of sport. When a heavy trout had beaten him
+more than once, Grimbal would repair again and again to its particular
+haunt and leave no legitimate plan for its destruction untried. But any
+unsportsmanlike method of capturing or slaying bird, beast, or fish
+enraged him. So he left the churchyard with a sullen determination to
+pursue his sinister purpose straightforwardly.
+
+All interested in Clement Hicks attended the funeral, including his
+mother and Chris. The last had yielded to Mrs. Blanchard's desire and
+promised to stop at home; but she changed her mind and conducted herself
+at the ceremony with a stoic fortitude. This she achieved only by an
+effort of will which separated her consciousness entirely from her
+environment and alike blinded her eyes and deafened her ears to the
+mournful sights and sounds around her. With her own future every fibre
+of her mind was occupied; and as they lowered her lover's coffin into
+the earth a line of action leapt into her brain.
+
+Less than four-and-twenty hours later it seemed that the last act of the
+tragedy had begun. Then, hoarse as the raven that croaked Duncan's
+coming, Mr. Blee returned to Monks Barton from an early visit to the
+village. Phoebe was staying with her father for a fortnight, and it was
+she who met the old man as he paddled breathlessly home.
+
+"More gert news!" he gasped; "if it ban't too much for wan in your way
+o' health."
+
+"Nothing wrong at Newtake?" cried Phoebe, turning pale.
+
+"No, no; but family news for all that."
+
+The girl raised her hand to her heart, and Miller Lyddon, attracted by
+Billy's excited voice, hastened to his daughter and put his arm round
+her.
+
+"Out with it," he said. "I see news in 'e. What's the worst or best?"
+
+"Bad, bad as heart can wish. A peck o' trouble, by the looks of it.
+Chris Blanchard be gone--vanished like a dream! Mother Blanchard called
+her this marnin', an' found her bed not so much as creased. She've
+flown, an' there's a braave upstore 'bout it, for every Blanchard's
+wrong in the head more or less, beggin' your pardon, missis, as be awnly
+wan by marriage."
+
+"But no sign? No word or anything left?"
+
+"Nothing; an' theer's a purty strong faith she'm in the river, poor
+lamb. Theer's draggin' gwaine to be done in the ugly bits. I heard tell
+of it to the village, wheer I'd just stepped up to see auld Lezzard
+moved to the work'ouse. A wonnerful coorious, rackety world, sure
+'nough! Do make me giddy."
+
+"Does Will know?" asked Mr. Lyddon.
+
+"His mother's sent post-haste for un. I doubt he 'm to the cottage by
+now. Such a gude, purty gal as she was, tu! An' so mute as a twoad at
+the buryin', wi' never a tear to soften the graave dust. For why? She
+knawed she'd be alongside her man again 'fore the moon waned. An' I hope
+she may be. But 't was cross-roads an' a hawthorn stake in my young
+days. Them barbarous ancient fashions be awver, thank God, though
+whether us lives in more religious times is a question, when you see the
+things what happens every hour on the twenty-four."
+
+"I must go to them," cried Phoebe.
+
+"I'll go; you stop at home quietly, and don't fret your mind," answered
+her father.
+
+"Us must all do what us can--every manjack. I be gwaine corpse-searchin'
+down valley wi' Chapple, an' that 'mazin' water-dog of hisn; an' if 't
+is my hand brings her out the Teign, 't will be done in a kind,
+Christian manner, for she's in God's image yet, same as us; an' ugly
+though a drownin' be, it won't turn me from my duty."
+
+
+
+
+BOOK III
+
+HIS GRANITE CROSS
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+BABY
+
+
+Succeeding upon the tumultuous incidents of Clement's death and Chris
+Blanchard's disappearance, there followed a period of calm in the lives
+of those from whom this narrative is gleaned. Such transient peace
+proved the greater in so far as Damaris and her son were concerned, by
+reason of an incident which befell Will on the evening of his sister's
+departure. Dead she certainly was not, nor did she mean to die; for,
+upon returning to Newtake after hours of fruitless searching, Blanchard
+found a communication awaiting him there, though no shadow of evidence
+was forthcoming to show how it had reached the farm. Upon the ledge of
+the window he discovered it when he returned, and read the message at a
+glance:
+
+"Don't you nor mother fear nothing for me, nor seek me out, for it would
+be vain. I'm well, and I'm so happy as ever I shall be, and perhaps I'll
+come home-along some day.--CHRIS."
+
+On this challenge Will acted, ignored his sister's entreaty to attempt
+no such thing, and set out upon a resolute search of nearly two months'
+duration. He toiled amain into the late autumn, but no hint or shadow of
+her rewarded the quest, and sustained failure in an enterprise where his
+heart was set, for his mother's sake and his own, acted upon the man's
+character, and indeed wrought marked changes in him. Despite the letter
+of Chris, hope died in Will, and he openly held his sister dead; but
+Mrs. Blanchard, while sufficiently distressed before her daughter's
+flight, never feared for her life, and doubted not that she would return
+in such time as it pleased her to do so.
+
+"Her nature be same as yours an' your faither's afore you. When he'd got
+the black monkey on his shoulder he'd oftentimes leave the vans for a
+week and tramp the very heart o' the Moor alone. Fatigue of body often
+salves a sore mind. He loved thunder o' dark nights--my husband did--and
+was better for it seemin'ly. Chris be safe, I do think, though it's a
+heart-deep stroke this for me, 'cause I judge she caan't 'zactly love me
+as I thought, or else she'd never have left me. Still, the cold world,
+what she knaws so little 'bout, will drive her back to them as love her,
+come presently."
+
+So, with greater philosophy than her son could muster, Damaris practised
+patience; while Will, after a perambulation of the country from north to
+south, from west to east, after weeks on the lonely heaths and
+hiding-places of the ultimate Moor, after visits to remote hamlets and
+inquiries at a hundred separate farmhouses, returned to Newtake, worn,
+disappointed, and gloomy to a degree beyond the experience of those who
+knew him. Neither did the cloud speedily evaporate, as was most usual
+with his transient phases of depression. Circumstances combined to
+deepen it, and as the winter crowded down more quickly than usual, its
+leaden months of scanty daylight and cold rains left their mark on Will
+as time had never done before.
+
+During those few and sombre days which represented the epact of the
+dying year, Martin Grimbal returned to Chagford. He had extended his
+investigations beyond the time originally allotted to them, and now came
+back to his home with plenty of fresh material, and even one or two new
+theories for his book. He had received no communications during his
+absence, and the news of the bee-keeper's death and his sweetheart's
+disappearance, suddenly delivered by his housekeeper, went far to
+overwhelm him. It danced joy up again through the grey granite. For a
+brief hour splendid vistas of happiness reopened, and his laborious life
+swept suddenly into a bright region that he had gazed into longingly
+aforetime and lost for ever. He fought with himself to keep down this
+rosy-fledged hope; but it leapt in him, a young giant born at a word.
+The significance of the freedom of Chris staggered him. To find her was
+the cry of his heart, and, as Will had done before him, he straightway
+set out upon a systematic attempt to discover the missing girl. Of such
+uncertain temper was Blanchard's mind at this season, however, that he
+picked a quarrel out of Martin's design, and questioned the antiquary's
+right to busy himself upon an undertaking which the brother of Chris had
+already failed to accomplish.
+
+"She belonged to me, not to you," he said, "an' I done all a man could
+do to find her. See her again we sha'n't, that's my feelin', despite
+what she wrote to me and left so mysterious on the window. Madness comed
+awver her, I reckon, an' she've taken her life, an' theer ban't no call
+for you or any other man to rip up the matter again. Let it bide as 't
+is. Such black doin's be best set to rest."
+
+But, while Martin did not seek or desire Will's advice in the matter, he
+was surprised at the young farmer's attitude, and it extracted something
+in the nature of a confession from him, for there was little, he told
+himself, that need longer be hidden from the woman's brother.
+
+"I can speak now, at least to you, Will," he said. "I can tell you, at
+any rate. Chris was all the world to me--all the world, and accident
+kept me from knowing she belonged to another man until too late. Now
+that he has gone, poor fellow, she almost seems within reach again. You
+know what it is to love. I can't and won't believe she has taken her
+life. Something tells me she lives, and I am not going to take any man's
+word about it. I must satisfy myself."
+
+Thereupon Blanchard became more reasonable, withdrew his objections and
+expressed a very heartfelt hope that Martin might succeed where he had
+failed. The lover entered methodically upon his quest and conducted the
+inquiry with a rigorous closeness and scrupulous patience quite beyond
+Will's power despite his equally earnest intentions. For six months
+Martin pursued his hope, and few saw or heard anything of him during
+that period.
+
+Once, during the early summer, Will chanced upon John Grimbal at the
+first meeting of the otter hounds in Teign Vale; but though the younger
+purposely edged near his enemy where he stood, and hoped that some word
+might fall to indicate their ancient enmity dead, John said nothing, and
+his blue eyes were hard and as devoid of all emotion as turquoise beads
+when they met the farmer's face for one fraction of time.
+
+Before this incident, however, there had arisen upon Will's life the
+splendour of paternity. A time came when, through one endless night and
+silver April morning, he had tramped his kitchen floor as a tiger its
+cage, and left a scratched pathway on the stones. Then his mother hasted
+from aloft and reported the arrival of a rare baby boy.
+
+"Phoebe 's doin' braave, an' she prays of 'e to go downlong fust thing
+an' tell Miller all 's well. Doctor Parsons hisself says 't is a 'mazing
+fine cheel, so it ban't any mere word of mine as wouldn't weigh, me
+bein' the gran'mother."
+
+They talked a little while of the newcomer, then, thankful for an
+opportunity to be active after his long suspense, the father hurried
+away, mounted a horse, and soon rattled down the valleys into Chagford,
+at a pace which found his beast dead lame on the following day. Mighty
+was the exhilaration of that wild gallop as he sped past cot and farm
+under morning sunshine with his great news. Labouring men and chance
+wayfarers were overtaken from time to time. Some Will knew, some he had
+never seen, but to the ear of each and all without discrimination he
+shouted his intelligence. Not a few waved their hats and nodded and
+remembered the great day in their own lives; one laughed and cried
+"Bravo!" sundry, who knew him not, marvelled and took him for a lunatic.
+
+Arrived at Chagford, familiar forms greeted Will in the market-place,
+and again he bawled his information without dismounting.
+
+"A son 'tis, Chapple--comed an hour ago--a brave li'l bwoy, so they
+tell!"
+
+"Gude luck to it, then! An' now you'm a parent, you must--"
+
+But Will was out of earshot, and Mr. Chapple wasted no more breath.
+
+Into Monks Barton the farmer presently clattered, threw himself off his
+horse, tramped indoors, and shouted for his father-in-law in tones that
+made the oak beams ring. Then the miller, with Mr. Blee behind him,
+hastened to hear what Will had come to tell.
+
+"All right, all right with Phoebe?" were Mr. Lyddon's first words, and
+he was white and shaking as he put the question.
+
+"Right as ninepence, faither--gran'faither, I should say. A butivul li'l
+man she've got--out o' the common fine, Parsons says, as ought to
+knaw--fat as a slug wi' 'mazin' dark curls on his wee head, though my
+mother says 'tis awnly a sort o' catch-crop, an' not the lasting hair
+as'll come arter."
+
+"A bwoy! Glory be!" said Mr. Blee. "If theer's awnly a bit o' the
+gracious gudeness of his gran'faither in un, 'twill prove a prosperous
+infant."
+
+"Thank God for a happy end to all my prayers," said Mr. Lyddon. "Billy,
+get Will something to eat an' drink. I guess he's hungry an' starved."
+
+"Caan't eat, Miller; but I'll have a drop of the best, if it's all the
+same to you. Us must drink their healths, both of 'em. As for me 'tis a
+gert thing to be the faither of a cheel as'll graw into a man some day,
+an' may even be a historical character, awnly give un time."
+
+"So 'tis a gert thing. Sit down; doan't tramp about. I lay you've been
+on your feet enough these late hours."
+
+Will obeyed, but proceeded with his theme, and though his feet were
+still his hands were not.
+
+"Us be faced wi' the upbringing an' edication of un. I mean him to be
+brought up to a power o' knowledge, for theer's nothin' like it. Doan't
+you think I be gwaine to shirk doin' the right thing by un', Miller,
+'cause it aint so. If 'twas my last fi'-pun' note was called up for
+larnin' him, he'd have it."
+
+"Theer's no gert hurry yet," declared Billy. "Awnly you'm right to look
+in the future and weigh the debt every man owes to the cheel he gets.
+He'll never cost you less thought or halfpence than he do to-day, an',
+wi'out croakin' at such a gay time, I will say he'll graw into a greater
+care an' trouble, every breath he draws."
+
+"Not him! Not the way I'm gwaine to bring un up. Stern an' strict an' no
+nonsense, I promise 'e"
+
+"That's right. Tame un from the breast. I'd like for my paart to think
+as the very sapling be grawin' now as'll give his li'l behind its fust
+lesson in the ways o' duty," declared Mr. Blee. "Theer 's certain things
+you must be flint-hard about, an' fust comes lying. Doan't let un lie;
+flog it out of un; an' mind, 'tis better for your arm to ache than for
+his soul to burn."
+
+"You leave me to do right by un. You caan't teach me, Billy, not bein' a
+parent; though I allow what you say is true enough."
+
+"An' set un to work early; get un into ways o' work so soon as he's able
+to wear corduroys. An' doan't never let un be cruel to beastes; an'
+doan't let un--"
+
+"Theer, theer!" cried Mr. Lyddon. "Have done with 'e! You speak as fules
+both, settin' out rules o' life for an hour-old babe. You talk to his
+mother about taming of un an' grawing saplings for his better
+bringing-up. She'll tell 'e a thing or two. Just mind the slowness o'
+growth in the human young. 'T will be years before theer's enough of un
+to beat."
+
+"They do come very gradual to fulness o' body an' reason," admitted
+Billy; "and 't is gude it should be so; 't is well all men an' women 's
+got to be childer fust, for they brings brightness an' joy 'pon the
+earth as babies, though 't is mostly changed when they 'm grawed up. If
+us could awnly foretell the turnin' out o' childern, an' knaw which 't
+was best to drown an' which to save in tender youth, what a differ'nt
+world this would be!"
+
+"They 'm poor li'l twoads at fust, no doubt," said Will to his
+father-in-law.
+
+"Ess, indeed they be. 'T is a coorious circumstance, but generally
+allowed, that humans are the awnly creatures o' God wi' understandin',
+an' yet they comes into the world more helpless an' brainless, an' bides
+longer helpless an' brainless than any other beast knawn."
+
+"Shouldn't call 'em 'beastes' 'zactly, seem' they've got the Holy Ghost
+from the church font ever after," objected Billy. "'T is the differ'nce
+between a babe an' a pup or a kitten. The wan gets God into un at
+christenin', t' other wouldn't have no Holy Ghost in un if you baptised
+un over a hunderd times. For why? They 'm not built in the Image."
+
+"When all's said, you caan't look tu far ahead or be tu forehanded wi'
+bwoys," resumed Will. "Gallopin' down-long I said to myself, 'Theer's
+things he may do an' things he may not do. He shall choose his awn road
+in reason, but he must be guided by me in the choice.' I won't let un go
+for a sailor--never. I'll cut un off wi' a shillin' if he thinks of it."
+
+"Time enough when he can walk an' talk, I reckon," said Billy, who,
+seeing how his master viewed the matter, now caught Mr. Lyddon's manner.
+
+"Ess, that's very well," continued Will, "but time flies that fast wi'
+childer. Then I thought, 'He'll come to marry some day, sure's Fate.'
+Myself, I believe in tolerable early marryin's."
+
+"By God! I knaw it!" retorted Mr. Lyddon, with an expression wherein
+appeared mingled feelings not a few; "Ess, fay! You'm right theer. I
+should take Time by the forelock if I was you, an' see if you can find a
+maiden as'll suit un while you go back-along through the village."
+
+"Awnly, as 'tis better for the man to number more years than the
+wummon," added Billy, "it might be wise to bide a week or two, so's he
+shall have a bit start of his lady."
+
+"Now, you'm fulin me! An' I caan't stay no more whether or no, 'cause I
+was promised to see Phoebe an' my son in the arternoon. Us be gwaine to
+call un Vincent William Blanchard, arter you an' me, Miller; an' if it
+had been a gal, us meant to call un arter mother; an' I do thank God
+'bout the wee bwoy in all solemn soberness, 'cause 'tis the fust real
+gude thing as have falled to us since the gwaine of poor Chris. 'Twill
+be a joy to my mother an' a gude gran'son to you, I hope."
+
+"Go home, go home," said Mr. Lyddon. "Get along with 'e this minute, an'
+tell your wife I'm greatly pleased, an' shall come to see her mighty
+soon. Let us knaw every day how she fares--an'--an'--I'm glad as you
+called the laddie arter me. 'Twas a seemly thought."
+
+Will departed, and his mind roamed over various splendid futures for his
+baby. Already he saw it a tall, straight, splendid man, not a hair
+shorter than his own six feet two inches. He hoped that it would possess
+his natural wisdom, augmented by Phoebe's marvellous management of
+figures and accounts. He also desired for it a measure of his mother's
+calm and stately self-possession before the problems of life, and he had
+no objection that his son should reflect Miller Lyddon's many and
+amiable virtues.
+
+He returned home, and his mother presently bid him come to see Phoebe.
+Then a sudden nervousness overtook Will, tough though he was. The door
+shut, and husband and wife were alone together, for Damaris disappeared.
+But where were all those great and splendid pictures of the future?
+Vanished, vanished in a mist. Will's breast heaved; he saw Phoebe's
+star-bright eyes peeping at him, and he touched the treasure beside
+her--oh, so small it was!
+
+He bent his head low over them, kissed his wife shyly, and peeped with
+proper timidity under the flannel.
+
+"Look, look, Will, dearie! Did 'e ever see aught like un? An' come
+evenin', he 'm gwaine to have his fust li'l drink!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+THE KNIGHT OF FORLORN HOPES
+
+
+The child brought all a child should bring to Newtake, though it could
+not hide the fact that Will Blanchard drifted daily a little nearer to
+the end of his resources. But occasional success still flattered his
+ambition, and he worked hard and honestly. In this respect at least the
+man proved various fears unfounded, yet the result of his work rarely
+took shape of sovereigns. He marvelled at the extraordinary steadiness
+with which ill-fortune clung to Newtake and cursed when, on two
+quarter-days out of the annual four, another dip had to be made into the
+dwindling residue of his uncle's bequest. Some three hundred pounds yet
+remained when young Blanchard entered upon a further stage of his
+career,--that most fitly recorded as happening within the shadow of a
+granite cross.
+
+After long months of absence from home, Martin Grimbal returned, silent,
+unsuccessful, and sad. Upon the foundations of facts he had built many
+tentative dwelling-places for hope; but all had crumbled, failure
+crowned his labours, and as far from the reach of his discovery seemed
+the secret of Chris as the secrets of the sacred circles, stone avenues,
+and empty, hypaethral chambers of the Moor. Spiritless and bitterly
+discouraged, he returned after such labours as Will had dreamed not of;
+and his life, succeeding upon this deep disappointment, seemed far
+advanced towards its end in Martin's eyes--a journey whose brightest
+incidents, happiest places of rest, most precious companions were all
+left behind. This second death of hope aged the man in truth and sowed
+his hair with grey. Now only a melancholy memory of one very beautiful
+and very sad remained to him. Chris indeed promised to return, but he
+told himself that such a woman had never left an unhappy mother for such
+period of time if power to come home still belonged to her. Then,
+surveying the past, he taxed himself heavily with a deliberate and cruel
+share in it. Why had he taken the advice of Blanchard and delayed his
+offer of work to Hicks? He told himself that it was because he knew such
+a step would definitely deprive him of Chris for ever; and therein he
+charged himself with offences that his nature was above committing. Then
+he burst into bitter blame of Will, and at a weak moment--for nothing is
+weaker than the rare weakness of a strong man--he childishly upbraided
+the farmer with that fateful advice concerning Clement, and called down
+upon his head deep censure for the subsequent catastrophe. Will, as may
+be imagined, proved not slow to resent such an attack with heart and
+voice. A great heat of vain recrimination followed, and the men broke
+into open strife.
+
+Sick with himself at this pitiable lapse, shaken in his self-respect,
+desolate, unsettled, and uncertain of the very foundations on which he
+had hitherto planted his life, the elder man existed through a black
+month, then braced himself again, looked out into the world, set his
+dusty desk in order, and sought once more amidst the relics of the past
+for comfort and consolation. He threw himself upon his book and told
+himself that it must surely reward his pains; he toiled mightily at his
+lonely task, and added a little to man's knowledge.
+
+Once it happened that the Rev. Shorto-Champernowne met Martin. Riding
+over the Moor after a visit to his clerical colleague of Gidleigh, the
+clergyman trotted through Scorhill Circle, above northern Teign, and
+seeing a well-known parishioner, drew up a while.
+
+"How prosper your profound studies?" he inquired. "Do these evidences of
+aboriginal races lead you to any conclusions of note? For my part, I am
+not wholly devoid of suspicion that a man might better employ his time,
+though I should not presume to make any such suggestion to you."
+
+"You may be right; but one is generally unwise to stamp on his ruling
+passion if it takes him along an intellectual road. These cryptic stones
+are my life. I want to get the secret of them or find at least a little
+of it. What are these lonely rings? Where are we standing now? In a
+place of worship, where men prayed to the thunder and the sun and stars?
+Or a council chamber? Or a court of justice, that has seen many a doom
+pronounced, much red blood flow? Or is it a grave? 'T is the fashion to
+reject the notion that they represent any religious purpose; yet I
+cannot see any argument against the theory. I go on peeping and prying
+after a spark of truth. I probe here, and in the fallen circle yonder
+towards Cosdon; I follow the stone rows to Fernworthy; I trudge again
+and again to the Grey Wethers--that shattered double ring on Sittaford
+Tor. I eat them up with my eyes and repeople the heath with those who
+raised them. Some clay a gleam of light may come. And if it does, it
+will reach me through deep study on those stone men of old. It is along
+the human side of my investigations I shall learn, if I learn anything
+at all."
+
+"I hope you may achieve your purpose, though the memoranda and data are
+scanty. Your name is mentioned in the _Western Morning News_ as a
+painstaking inquirer."
+
+"Yet when theories demand proof--that's the rub!"
+
+"Yes, indeed. You are a knight of forlorn hopes, Grimbal," answered the
+Vicar, alluding to Martin's past search for Chris as much as to his
+present archaeologic ambitions. Then he trotted on over the river, and
+the pedestrian remained as before seated upon a recumbent stone in the
+midst of the circle of Scorhill. Silent he sat and gazed into the
+lichens of grey and gold that crowned each rude pillar of the lonely
+ring. These, as it seemed, were the very eyes of the granite, but to
+Martin they represented but the cloak of yesterday, beneath which
+centuries of secrets were hidden. Only the stones and the eternal west
+wind, that had seen them set up and still blew over them, could tell him
+anything he sought to know.
+
+"A Knight of Forlorn Hopes," mused the man. "So it is, so it is. The
+grasshopper, rattling his little kettledrum there, knows nearly as much
+of this hoary secret as I do; and the bird, that prunes his wing on the
+porphyry, and is gone again. Not till some Damnonian spirit rises from
+the barrow, not till some chieftain of these vanished hosts shall take
+shape out of the mists and speak, may we glean a grain of this buried
+knowledge. And who to-day would believe ten thousand Damnonian ghosts,
+if they stirred here once again and thronged the Moor and the moss and
+the ruined stone villages with their moonbeam shapes?
+
+"Gone for ever; and she--my Chris--my dear--is she to dwell in the
+darkness for all time, too? O God, I would rather hear one whisper of
+her voice, feel one touch of her brown hand, than learn the primal truth
+of every dumb stone wonder in the world!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+CONCERNING THE GATE-POST
+
+
+So that good store of roots and hay continue for the cattle during those
+months of early spring while yet the Moor is barren; so that the
+potato-patch prospers and the oats ripen well; so that neither pony nor
+bullock is lost in the shaking bogs, and late summer is dry enough to
+allow of ample peat-storing--when all these conditions prevail, your
+moorman counts his year a fat one. The upland farmers of Devon are in
+great measure armed against the bolts of chance by the nature of their
+lives, the grey character of even their most cheerful experiences and
+the poverty of their highest ambitions. Their aspirations, becoming
+speedily cowed by ill-requited toil and eternal hardship, quickly dwarf
+and shrink, until even the most sanguine seldom extend hope much beyond
+necessity.
+
+Will grumbled, growled, and fought on, while Phoebe, who knew how nobly
+the valleys repaid husbandry, mourned in secret that his energetic
+labours here could but produce such meagre results. Very gradually their
+environment stamped its frosty seal on man and woman; and by the time
+that little Will was two years old his parents viewed life, its good and
+its evil, much as other Moor folks contemplated it. Phoebe's heart was
+still sweet enough, but she grew more selfish for herself and her own,
+more self-centred in great Will and little Will. They filled her
+existence to the gradual exclusion of wider sympathies. Miller Lyddon
+had given his grandson a silver mug on the day he was baptised, though
+since that time the old man held more aloof from the life of Newtake
+than Phoebe understood. Sometimes she wondered that he had never offered
+to assist her husband practically, but Will much resented the suggestion
+when Phoebe submitted it to him. There was no need for any such thing,
+he declared. As for him, transitory ambitions and hopes gleamed up in
+his career as formerly, though less often. So man and wife found their
+larger natures somewhat crushed by the various immediate problems that
+each day brought along with it. Beyond the narrow horizon of their own
+concerns they rarely looked, and Chagford people, noting the change,
+declared that life at Newtake was tying their tongues and lining their
+foreheads. Will certainly grew more taciturn, less free of advice,
+perhaps less frank than formerly. A sort of strangeness shadowed him,
+and only his mother or his son could dispel it. The latter soon learnt
+to understand his father's many moods, and would laugh or cry, show joy
+or fear, according to the tune of the man's voice.
+
+There came an evening in mid-September when Will sat at the open hearth
+and smoked, with his eyes fixed on a fire of scads.[13] He remained very
+silent, and Phoebe, busy about a small coat of red cloth, to keep the
+cold from her little son's bones during the coming winter, knew that it
+was not one of her husband's happiest evenings. His eyes were looking
+through the fire and the wall behind it, through the wastes and
+wildernesses beyond, through the granite hills to the far-away edge of
+the world, where Fate sat spinning the threads of the lives of his loved
+ones. Threads they looked, in his gloomy survey of that night, much
+deformed with knot and tangle, for the Spinner cared nothing at all
+about them. She suffered each to wind heedlessly away; she minded not
+that they were ugly; she spared no strand of gold or silver from her
+skein of human happiness to brighten the grey fabric of them. So it
+seemed to Will, and his temper chimed with the rough night. The wind
+howled and growled down the chimney, uttered many a sudden yell and
+ghostly moan, struck with claws invisible at the glowing heart of the
+peat fire, and sent red sparks dancing from a corona of faint blue
+flame.
+
+
+[13] _Scad_ = the outer rind of the peat, with ling and grass
+still adhering to it.
+
+
+"Winter's comin' quick," said Phoebe, biting her thread.
+
+"Ess, winter's allus comin' up here. The fight begins again so soon as
+ever 't is awver--again and again and again, 'cordin' to the workin'
+years of a man's life. Then he turns on his back for gude an' all, an'
+takes his rest, wheer theer's no more seasons, nor frost, nor sunshine,
+in the world under."
+
+"You'm glumpy, dear heart. What's amiss? What's crossed 'e? Tell me, an'
+I lay I'll find a word to smooth it away. Nothin' contrary happened to
+market?"
+
+"No, no--awnly my nature. When the wind's spelling winter in the
+chimbley, an' the yether's dead again, 't is wisht lookin' forrard. The
+airth 's allus dyin', an' the life of her be that short, an' grubbing of
+bare food an' rent out of her is sour work after many years. Thank God
+I'm a hopeful, far-seem' chap, an' sound as a bell; but I doan't make
+money for all my sweat, that's the mystery."
+
+"You will some day. Luck be gwaine to turn 'fore long, I hope. An' us
+have got what's better 'n money, what caan't be bought."
+
+"The li'l bwoy?"
+
+"Aye; if us hadn't nothin' but him, theer's many would envy our lot."
+
+"Childer's no such gert blessin', neither."
+
+"Will! How can you say it?"
+
+"I do say it. We 'm awnly used to keep up the breed, then thrawed o' wan
+side. I'm sick o' men an' women folks. Theer's too many of 'em."
+
+"But childer--our li'l Will. The moosic of un be sweeter than song o'
+birds all times, an' you'd be fust to say so if you wasn't out of
+yourself."
+
+"He 'm a braave, small lad enough; but theer again! Why should he have
+been pitched into this here home? He might have been put in a palace
+just as easy, an' born of a royal queen mother, 'stead o' you; he might
+have opened his eyes 'pon marble walls an' jewels an' precious stones,
+'stead of whitewash an' a peat fire. Be that baaby gwaine to thank us
+for bringing him in the world, come he graw up? Not him! Why should he?"
+
+"But he will. We 'm his faither an' mother. Do 'e love your mother less
+for bearin' you in a gypsy van? Li'l Will's to pay us noble for all our
+toil some day, an' be a joy to our grey hairs an' a prop to our auld
+age, please God."
+
+"Ha, ha!--story-books! Gi' me a cup o' milk; then us'll go to bed."
+
+She obeyed; he piled turf upon the hearth, to keep the fire alight until
+morning, then took up the candle and followed Phoebe through another
+chamber, half-scullery, half-storehouse, into which descended the
+staircase from above. Here hung the pale carcase of a newly slain pig,
+suspended by its hind legs from a loop in the ceiling; and Phoebe, many
+of whose little delicacies of manner had vanished of late, patted the
+carcase lovingly, like the good farmer's wife she was.
+
+"Wish theer was more so big in the sties," she said.
+
+Arrived at her bedside, the woman prayed before sinking to rest within
+reach of her child's cot; while Will, troubling Heaven with no petition
+or thanksgiving, was in bed five minutes sooner than his wife.
+
+"Gude-night, lad," said Phoebe, as she put the candle out, but her
+husband only returned an inarticulate grunt for answer, being already
+within the portal of sleep.
+
+A fair morning followed on the tempestuous night, and Winter, who had
+surely whispered her coming under the darkness, vanished again at dawn.
+The Moor still provided forage, but all light was gone out of the
+heather, though the standing fern shone yellow under the sun, and the
+recumbent bracken shed a rich russet in broad patches over the dewy
+green where Will had chopped it down and left it to dry for winter
+fodder. He was very late this year in stacking the fern, and designed
+that labour for his morning's occupation.
+
+Ted Chown chanced to be away for a week's holiday, so Will entered his
+farmyard early. The variable weather of his mind rarely stood for long
+at storm, but, unlike the morning, he had awakened in no happy mood.
+
+A child's voice served for a time to smooth his brow, now clouded from
+survey of a broken spring in his market-cart; then came the lesser Will
+with a small china mug for his morning drink. Phoebe watched him
+sturdily tramp across the yard, and the greater Will laughed to see his
+son's alarm before the sudden stampede of a belated heifer, which now
+hastened through the open gate to join its companions on the hillside.
+
+"Cooshey, cooshey won't hurt 'e, my li'l bud!" cried Phoebe, as Ship
+jumped and barked at the lumbering beast. Then the child doubled round a
+dung-heap and fled to his father's arms. From the byre a cow with a full
+udder softly lowed, and now small Will had a cup of warm milk; then,
+with his red mouth like a rosebud in mist and his father's smile
+magically and laughably reproduced upon his little face, he trotted back
+to his mother.
+
+A moment later Will, still milking, heard himself loudly called from the
+gate. The voice he knew well enough, but it was pitched unusually high,
+and denoted a condition of excitement and impatience very seldom to be
+met with in its possessor. Martin Grimbal, for it was he, did not
+observe Blanchard, as the farmer emerged from the byre. His eye was bent
+in startled and critical scrutiny of a granite post, to which the front
+gate of Newtake latched, and he continued shouting aloud until Will
+stood beside him. Then he appeared on his hands and knees beside the
+gate-post. He had flung down his stick and satchel; his mouth was
+slightly open; his cap rested on the side of his head; his face seemed
+transfigured before some overwhelming discovery.
+
+Relations were still strained between these men; and Will did not forget
+the fact, though it had evidently escaped Martin in his present
+excitement.
+
+"What the deuce be doin' now?" asked Blanchard abruptly.
+
+"Man alive! A marvel! Look here--to think I have passed this stone a
+hundred times and never noticed!"
+
+He rose, brushed his muddy knees, still gazing at the gate-post, then
+took a trowel from his bag and began to cut away the turf about the base
+of it.
+
+"Let that bide!" called out the master sharply. "What be 'bout, delving
+theer?"
+
+"I forgot you didn't know. I was coming to see you on my way to the
+Moor. I wanted a drink and a handshake. We mustn't be enemies, and I'm
+heartily sorry for what I said--heartily. But here's a fitting object to
+build new friendship on. I just caught sight of the incisions through a
+fortunate gleam of early morning light. Come this side and see for
+yourself. To think you had what a moorman would reckon good fortune at
+your gate and never guessed it!"
+
+"Fortune at my gate? Wheer to? I aint heard nothin' of it."
+
+"Here, man, here! D' you see this post?"
+
+"Not bein' blind, I do."
+
+"Yet you were blind, and so was I. There 's excuse for you--none for me.
+It's a cross! Yes, a priceless old Christian cross, buried here head
+downward by some profane soul in the distant past, who found it of size
+and shape to make a gate-post. They are common enough in Cornwall, but
+very rare in Devon. It's a great--a remarkable discovery in fact, and
+I'm right glad I found it on your threshold; for we may be friends again
+beside this symbol fittingly enough--eh, Will?"
+
+"Bother your rot," answered the other coldly, and quite unimpassioned
+before Martin's eloquence. "You doubted my judgment not long since and
+said hard things and bad things; now I take leave to doubt yours. How do
+'e knaw this here 's a cross any more than t' other post the gate hangs
+on?"
+
+Martin, recalled to reality and the presence of a man till then
+unfriendly, blushed and shrank into himself a little. His voice showed
+that he suffered pain.
+
+"I read granite as you read sheep and soil and a crop ripening above
+ground or below--it's my business," he explained, not without
+constraint, while the enthusiasm died away out of his voice and the fire
+from his face. "See now, Will, try and follow me. Note these very faint
+lines, where the green moss takes the place of the lichen. These are
+fretted grooves--you can trace them to the earth, and on a 'rubbing,' as
+we call it, they would be plainer still. They indicate to me incisions
+down the sides of a cross-shaft. They are all that many years of
+weathering have left. Look at the shape too: the stone grows slightly
+thinner every way towards the ground. What is hidden we can't say yet,
+but I pray that the arms may be at least still indicated. You see it is
+the base sticking into the air, and more's the pity, a part has gone,
+for I can trace the incisions to the top. God knows the past history of
+it, but--"
+
+"Perhaps He do and perhaps He doan't," interrupted the farmer. "Perhaps
+it weer a cross an' perhaps it weern't; anyway it's my gate-post now,
+an' as to diggin' it up, you may be surprised to knaw it, Martin
+Grimbal, but I'll see you damned fust! I'm weary of all this bunkum
+'bout auld stones an' circles an' the rest; I'm sick an' tired o'
+leavin' my work a hunderd times in summer months to shaw gaping fules
+from Lunnon an' Lard knaws wheer, them roundy-poundies 'pon my land.
+'Tis all rot, as every moorman knaws; yet you an' such as you screams if
+us dares to put a finger to the stone nowadays. Ban't the granite ours
+under Venwell? You knaw it is; an' because dead-an'-gone folk,
+half-monkeys belike, fashioned their homes an' holes out of it, be that
+any cause why it shouldn't be handled to-day? They've had their use of
+it; now 'tis our turn; an 'tis awnly such as you be, as comes here in
+shining summer, when the land puts on a lying faace, as though it didn't
+knaw weather an' winter--'tis awnly such as you must cry out against us
+of the soil if we dares to set wan stone 'pon another to make a wall or
+to keep the blasted rabbits out the young wheat."
+
+"Your attitude is one-sided, Will," said Martin Grimbal gently;
+"besides, remember this is a cross. We're dealing with a relic of our
+faith, take my word for it."
+
+"Faith be damned! What's a cross to me? 'Tisdoin' more gude wheer't is
+than ever it done afore, I'll swear."
+
+"I hope you'll live to see you're wrong, Blanchard. I've met you in an
+evil hour it seems. You're not yourself. Think about it. There's no
+hurry. You pride yourself on your common sense as a rule. I'm sure it
+will come to your rescue. Granted this discovery is nothing to you, yet
+think what it means to me. If I'd found a diamond mine I couldn't be
+better pleased--not half so pleased as now."
+
+Will reflected a moment; but the other had not knowledge of character to
+observe or realise that he was slowly becoming reasonable.
+
+"So I do pride myself on my common sense, an' I've some right to. A
+cross is a cross--I allow that--and whatever I may think, I ban't so
+small-minded as to fall foul of them as think differ'nt. My awn mother
+be a church-goer for that matter, an' you'll look far ways for her
+equal. But of coourse I knaw what I knaw. Me an' Hicks talked out
+matters of religion so dry as chaff."
+
+"Yet a cross means much to many, and always will while the land
+continues to call itself Christian."
+
+"I knaw, I knaw. 'Twill call itself Christian long arter your time an'
+mine; as to bein' Christian--that's another story. Clem Hicks lightened
+such matters to me--fule though he was in the ordering of his awn life.
+But s'pose you digs the post up, for argeyment's sake. What about me, as
+have to go out 'pon the Moor an' blast another new wan out the virgin
+granite wi' gunpowder? Do'e think I've nothin' better to do with my time
+than that?"
+
+Here, in his supreme anxiety and eagerness, forgetting the manner of man
+he argued with, Martin made a fatal mistake.
+
+"That's reasonable and business-like," he said. "I wouldn't have you
+suffer for lost time, which is part of your living. I'll give you ten
+pounds for the stone, Will, and that should more than pay for your time
+and for the new post."
+
+He glanced into the other's face and instantly saw his error. The
+farmer's countenance clouded and his features darkened until he looked
+like an angry Redskin. His eyes glinted steel-bright under a ferocious
+frown; the squareness of his jaw became much marked.
+
+"You dare to say that, do'e? An' me as good a man, an' better, than you
+or your brother either! Money--you remind me I'm--Theer! You can go to
+blue, blazin' hell for your granite crosses--that's wheer you can
+go--you or any other poking, prying pelican! Offer money to me, would
+'e? Who be you, or any other man, to offer me money for wasted time? As
+if I was a road scavenger or another man's servant! God's truth! you
+forget who you'm talkin' to!"
+
+"This is to purposely misunderstand me, Blanchard. I never, never, meant
+any such thing. Am I one to gratuitously insult or offend another?
+Typical this! Your cursed temper it is that keeps you back in the world
+and makes a failure of you," answered the student of stones, his own
+temper nearly lost under exceptional provocation.
+
+"Who says I be a failure?" roared Will in return. "What do you know, you
+grey, dreamin' fule, as to whether I'm successful or not so? Get you
+gone off my land or--"
+
+"I'll go, and readily enough. I believe you're mad. That's the
+conclusion I'm reluctantly driven to--mad. But don't for an instant
+imagine your lunatic stupidity is going to stand between the world and
+this discovery, because it isn't."
+
+He strapped on his satchel, picked up his stick, put his hat on
+straight, and prepared to depart, breathing hard.
+
+"Go," snorted Will; "go to your auld stones--they 'm the awnly fit
+comp'ny for 'e. Bruise your silly shins against 'em, an' ax 'em if a
+moorman's in the right or wrong to paart wi' his gate-post to the fust
+fule as wants it!"
+
+Martin Grimbal strode off without replying, and Will, in a sort of grim
+good-humour at this victory, returned to milking his cows. The
+encounter, for some obscure reason, restored him to amiability. He
+reviewed his own dismal part in it with considerable satisfaction, and,
+after going indoors and eating a remarkably good breakfast, he lighted
+his pipe and, in the most benignant of moods, went out with a horse and
+cart to gather withered fern.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+MARTIN'S RAID
+
+
+Mrs. Blanchard now dwelt alone, and all her remaining interests in life
+were clustered about Will. She perceived that his enterprise by no means
+promised to fulfil the hopes of those who loved him, and realised too
+late that the qualities which enabled her father to wrest a living from
+the moorland farm were lacking in her son. He, of course, explained it
+otherwise, and pointed to the changes of the times and an universal fall
+in the price of agricultural produce. His mother cast about in secret
+how to help him, but no means appeared until, upon an evening some ten
+days after Blanchard's quarrel with Grimbal over the gate-post, she
+suddenly determined to visit Monks Barton and discuss the position with
+Miller Lyddon.
+
+"I want to have a bit of a tell with 'e," she said, "'pon a matter so
+near to your heart as mine. Awnly you've got power an' I haven't."
+
+"I knaw what you'm come about before you speak," answered the other."
+Sit you down an' us'll have a gude airing of ideas. But I'm sorry we
+won't get the value o' Billy Blee's thoughts 'pon the point, for he's
+away to-night."
+
+Damaris rather rejoiced than sorrowed in this circumstance, but she was
+too wise to say so.
+
+"A far-thinkin' man, no doubt," she admitted.
+
+"He is; an' 't is straange your comin' just this night, for Blee's away
+on a matter touching Will more or less, an' doan't reckon to be home
+'fore light."
+
+"What coorious-fashion job be that then?"
+
+"Caan't tell 'e the facts. I'm under a promise not to open my mouth, but
+theer's no gert harm. Martin Grimbal's foremost in the thing so you may
+judge it ban't no wrong act, and he axed Billy to help him at my advice.
+You see it's necessary to force your son's hand sometimes. He'm that
+stubborn when his mind's fixed."
+
+"A firm man, an' loves his mother out the common well. A gude son, a
+gude husband, a gude faither, a hard worker. How many men's all that to
+wance, Miller?"
+
+"He is so--all--an' yet--the man have got his faults, speaking
+generally."
+
+"That's awnly to say he be a man; an' if you caan't find words for the
+faults, 't is clear they ban't worth namin'."
+
+"I can find words easy enough, I assure 'e; but a man's a fule to waste
+breath criticising the ways of a son to his mother--if so be he's a gude
+son."
+
+"What fault theer is belongs to me. I was set on his gwaine to Newtake
+as master, like his gran'faither afore him. I urged the step hot, and I
+liked the thought of it."
+
+"So did he--else he wouldn't have gone."
+
+"You caan't say that. He might have done different but for love of me.
+'T is I as have stood in his way in this thing."
+
+"Doan't fret yourself with such a thought, Mrs. Blanchard; Will's the
+sort as steers his awn ship. Theer's no blame 'pon you. An' for that
+matter, if your faither saved gude money at Newtake, why caan't Will?"
+
+"Times be changed. You've got to make two blades o' grass graw wheer wan
+did use, if you wants to live nowadays."
+
+"Hard work won't hurt him."
+
+"But it will if he reckons't is all wasted work. What's more bitter than
+toiling to no account, an' _knawin_ all the while you be?"
+
+"Not all wasted work, surely?"
+
+"They wouldn't allow it for the world. He's that gay afore me, an'
+Phoebe keeps a stiff upper lip, tu; but I go up unexpected now an' again
+an' pop in unawares an' sees the truth. You with your letter or message
+aforehand, doan't find out nothing, an' won't."
+
+"He'm out o' luck, I allow. What's the exact reason?"
+
+"You'll find it in the Book, same as I done. I knaw you set gert store
+'pon the Word. Well, then, 'them the Lard loveth He chasteneth.' That's
+why Will's languishin' like. 'T won't last for ever."
+
+"Ah! But theer's other texts to other purpose. Not that I want 'e to
+dream my Phoebe's less to me than your son to you. I've got my eye on
+'em, an' that's the truth; an' on my li'l grandson, tu."
+
+"Theer's gert things buddin' in that bwoy."
+
+"I hope so. I set much store on him. Doan't you worrit, mother, for the
+party to Newtake be bound up very close wi' my happiness, an' if they
+was wisht, ban't me as would long be merry. I be gwaine to give Master
+Will rope enough to hang himself, having a grudge or two against him
+yet; then, when the job's done, an' he's learnt the hard lesson to the
+dregs, I'll cut un down in gude time an' preach a sarmon to him while
+he's in a mood to larn wisdom. He's picking up plenty of information,
+you be sure--things that will be useful bimebye: the value of money, the
+shortness o' the distance it travels, the hardness o' Moor ground, an'
+men's hearts, an' such-like branches of larning. Let him bide, an' trust
+me."
+
+The mother was rendered at once uneasy and elated by this speech. That,
+if only for his wife and son's sake, Will would never be allowed to fail
+entirely seemed good to know; but she feared, and, before the
+patronising manner of the old man, felt alarm for the future. She well
+knew how Will would receive any offer of assistance tendered in this
+spirit.
+
+"Like your gude self so to promise; but remember he 'm of a lofty mind
+and fiery."
+
+"Stiff-necked he be, for certain; but he may graw quiet 'fore you think
+it. Nothing tames a man so quick as to see his woman and childer folk
+hungry--eh? An' specially if 't is thanks to his awn mistakes."
+
+Mrs. Blanchard flushed and felt a wave of anger surging through her
+breast. But she choked it down.
+
+"You 'm hard in the grain, Lyddon--so them often be who've lived over
+long as widow men. Theer 's a power o' gude in my Will, an' your eyes
+will be opened to see it some day. He 'm young an' hopeful by nature;
+an' such as him, as allus looks up to gert things, feels a come down
+worse than others who be content to crawl. He 'm changing, an' I knaw
+it, an' I've shed more 'n wan tear awver it, bein' on the edge of age
+myself now, an' not so strong-minded as I was 'fore Chris went. He 'm
+changing, an' the gert Moor have made his blood beat slower, I reckon,
+an' froze his young hope a bit."
+
+"He 's grawiug aulder, that's all. 'T is right as he should chatter
+less an' think more."
+
+"I suppose so; yet a mother feels a cold cloud come awver her heart to
+watch a cheel fighting the battle an' not winning it. Specially when she
+can awnly look on an' do nothin'."
+
+"Doan't you fear. You 'm low in spirit, else you'd never have spoke so
+open; but I thank you for tellin' me that things be tighter to Newtake
+than I guessed. You leave the rest to me. I knaw how far to let 'em go;
+an' if we doan't agree 'pon that question, you must credit me with the
+best judgment, an' not think no worse of me for helpin' in my awn way
+an' awn time."
+
+With which promise Mrs. Blanchard was contented. Surveying the position
+in the solitude of her home, she felt there was much to be thankful for.
+Yet she puzzled her heart and head to find schemes by which the miller's
+charity might be escaped. She considered her own means, and pictured her
+few possessions sold at auction; she had already offered to go and dwell
+at Newtake and dispose of her cottage. But Will exploded so violently
+when the suggestion reached his ears that she never repeated it.
+
+While the widow thus bent her thoughts upon her son, and gradually sank
+to sleep with the problems of the moment unsolved, a remarkable series
+of incidents made the night strange at Newtake Farm.
+
+Roused suddenly a little after twelve o'clock by an unusual sound,
+Phoebe woke with a start and cried to her husband:
+
+"Will--Will, do hark to Ship! He 'm barkin' that savage!"
+
+Will turned and growled sleepily that it was nothing, but the bark
+continued, so he left his bed and looked out of the window. A waning
+moon had just thrust one glimmering point above the sombre flank of the
+hill. It ascended as he watched, dispensed a sinister illumination, and
+like some remote bale-fire hung above the bosom of the nocturnal Moor.
+His dog still barked, and in the silence Will could hear a clink and
+thud as it leapt to the limit of its chain. Then out of the night a
+lantern danced at Newtake gate, and Blanchard, his eyes now trained to
+the gloom, discovered several figures moving about it.
+
+"Baggered if it bau't that damned Grimbal come arter my gate-post," he
+gasped, launched instantly to high wakefulness by the suspicion. Then,
+dragging on his trousers, and thrusting the tail of his nightshirt
+inside them, he tumbled down-stairs, with passion truly formidable, and
+hastened naked footed through the farmyard.
+
+Four men blankly awaited him. Ignoring their leader--none other than
+Martin himself--he turned upon Mr. Blee, who chanced to be nearest, and
+struck from his hand a pick.
+
+"What be these blasted hookem-snivey dealings, then?" Will thundered
+out, "an' who be you, you auld twisted thorn, to come here stealin' my
+stone in the dead o' night?"
+
+Billy's little eyes danced in the lantern fire, and he answered hastily
+before Martin had time to speak.
+
+"Well, to be plain, the moon and the dog's played us false, an' you'd
+best to knaw the truth fust as last. Mr. Grimbal's writ you two
+straight, fair letters 'bout this job, so he've explained to me, an' you
+never so much as answered neither; so, seem' this here's a right
+Christian cross, ban't decent it should bide head down'ards for all
+time. An' Mr. Grimbal have brought up a flam-new granite post, hasp an'
+all complete--'t is in the cart theer--an' he called on me as a
+discreet, aged man to help un, an' so I did; an' Peter Bassett an' Sam
+Bonus here corned likewise, by my engagement, to do the heavy work an'
+aid in a gude deed."
+
+"Dig an inch, wan of 'e, and I'll shaw what's a gude deed! I doan't want
+no talk with you or them hulking gert fules. 'T is you I'd ax, Martin
+Grimbal, by what right you'm here."
+
+"You wouldn't answer my letters, and I couldn't find it in my heart to
+leave an important matter like this. I know I wasn't wise, but you don't
+understand what a priceless thing this is. I thought you'd find the new
+one in the morning and laugh at it. For God's sake be reasonable and
+sensible, Blanchard, and let me take it away. There's a new post I'll
+have set up. It's here waiting. I can't do more."
+
+"But you'll do a darned sight less. Right's right, an' stealin's
+stealin'. You wasn't wise, as you say--far from it. You'm in the wrong
+now, an' you knaw it, whatever you was before. A nice bobbery! Why
+doan't he take my plough or wan of the bullocks? Damned thieves, the lot
+of'e!"
+
+"Doan't cock your nose so high, Farmer," said Bonus, who had never
+spoken to Will since he left Newtake; "'t is very onhandsome of 'e to be
+tellin' like this to gentle-folks."
+
+"Gentlefolks! Gentlefolks would ax your help, wouldn't they? You, as be
+no better than a common poacher since I turned 'e off! You shut your
+mouth and go home-long, an' mind your awn business, an' keep out o' the
+game preserves. Law's law, as you'm like to find sooner'n most folks."
+
+This pointed allusion to certain rumours concerning the labourer's
+present way of life angered Bonus not a little, but it also silenced
+him.
+
+"Law's law, as you truly say, Will Blanchard," answered Mr. Blee, "an'
+theer it do lie in a nutshell. A man's gate-post is his awn as a common,
+natural gate-post; but bein' a sainted cross o' the Lard sticked in the
+airth upsy-down by some ancient devilry, 't is no gate-post, nor yet
+every-day moor-stone, but just the common property of all Christian
+souls."
+
+"You'm out o' bias to harden your heart, Mr. Blanchard, when this
+gentleman sez 't is what 't is," ventured the man Peter Bassett, slowly.
+
+"An' so you be, Blanchard, an' 't is a awful deed every ways, an' you'll
+larn it some day. You did ought to be merry an' glad to hear such a
+thing 's been found 'pon Newtake. Think o' the fortune a cross o' Christ
+brings to 'e!"
+
+"An' how much has it brought, you auld fule?"
+
+"Gude or bad, you'll be a sight wuss off it you leave it wheer 't is,
+now you knaw. Theer'll be hell to pay if it's let bide now, sure as eggs
+is eggs an' winter, winter. You'll rue it; you'll gnash awver it; 't
+will turn against 'e an' rot the root an' blight the ear an' starve the
+things an' break your heart. Mark me, you'm doin' a cutthroat deed an'
+killin' all your awn luck by leavin' it here an hour longer."
+
+But Will showed no alarm at Mr. Blee's predictions.
+
+"Be it as 't will, you doan't touch my stone--cross or no cross. Damn
+the cross! An' you tu, every wan of 'e, dirty night birds!"
+
+Then Martin, who had waited, half hoping that Billy's argument might
+carry weight, spoke and ended the scene.
+
+"We'll talk no more and we'll do no more," he said. "You're wrong in a
+hundred ways to leave this precious stone to shut a gate and keep in
+cows, Blanchard. But if you wouldn't heed my letters, I suppose you
+won't heed my voice."
+
+"Why the devil should I heed your letters? I told 'e wance for all,
+didn't I? Be I a man as changes my mind like a cheel?"
+
+"Crooked words won't help 'e, Farmer," said the stolid Bassett. "You 'm
+wrong, an' you knaw right well you 'm wrong, an' theer'll come a day of
+reckoning for 'e, sure 's we 'm in a Christian land."
+
+"Let it come, an' leave me to meet it. An' now, clear out o' this, every
+wan, or I'll loose the dog 'pon 'e!"
+
+He turned hurriedly as he spoke and fetched the bobtailed sheep-dog on
+its chain. This he fastened to the stone, then watched the defeated
+raiders depart. Grimbal had already walked away alone, after directing
+that a post which he had brought to supersede the cross, should be left
+at the side of the road. Now, having obeyed his command, Mr. Blee,
+Bonus, and Bassett climbed into the cart and slowly passed away
+homewards. The moon had risen clear of earth and threw light sufficient
+to show Bassett's white smock still gleaming through the night as Will
+beheld his enemies depart.
+
+Ten minutes later, while he washed his feet, the farmer told Phoebe of
+the whole matter, including his earlier meeting with Martin, and the
+antiquary's offer of money. Upon this subject his wife found herself in
+complete disagreement with Blanchard, and did not hesitate to say so.
+
+"Martin Grimbal 's so gude a friend as any man could have, an' you did
+n't ought to have bullyragged him that way," she declared.
+
+"You say that! Ban't a man to speak his mind to thieves an' robbers?"
+
+"No such thing. 'T is a sacred stone an' not your property at all. To
+refuse ten pound for it!"
+
+"Hold your noise, then, an' let me mind my business my awn way," he
+answered roughly, getting back to bed; but Phoebe was roused and had no
+intention of speaking less than her mind.
+
+"You 'm a knaw-nought gert fule," she said, "an' so full of silly pride
+as a turkey-cock. What 's the stone to you if Grimbal wants it? An' him
+taking such a mint of trouble to come by it. What right have you to
+fling away ten pounds like that, an' what 's the harm to earn gude money
+honest? Wonder you ban't shamed to sell anything. 'T is enough these
+times for a body to say wan thing for you to say t'other."
+
+This rebuke from a tongue that scarcely ever uttered a harsh word
+startled Will not a little. He was silent for half a minute, then made
+reply.
+
+"You can speak like that--you, my awn wife--you, as ought to be heart
+an' soul with me in everything I do? An' the husband I am to 'e. Then I
+should reckon I be fairly alone in the world, an' no mistake--'cept for
+mother."
+
+Phoebe did not answer him. Her spark of anger was gone and she was
+passing quickly from temper to tears.
+
+"'T is queer to me how short of friends I 'pear to be gettin',"
+confessed Will gloomily. "I must be differ'nt to what I fancied for I
+allus felt I could do with a waggon-load of friends. Yet they 'm
+droppin' off. Coourse I knaw why well enough, tu. They've had wind o'
+tight times to Newtake, though how they should I caan't say, for the
+farm 's got a prosperous look to my eye, an' them as drops in dinnertime
+most often finds meat on the table. Straange a man what takes such level
+views as me should fall out wi' his elders so much."
+
+"'T is theer fault as often as yours; an' you've got me as well as your
+mother, Will; an' you've got your son. Childern knaw the gude from the
+bad, same as dogs, in a way hid from grawn folks. Look how the li'l
+thing do run to 'e 'fore anybody in the world."
+
+"So he do; an' if you 'm wise enough to see that, you ought to be wise
+enough to see I'm right 'bout the gate-post. Who 's Martin Grimbal to
+offer me money? A self-made man, same as me. Yet he might have had it,
+an' welcome if he'd axed proper."
+
+"Of course, if you put it so, Will."
+
+"Theer 's no ways else to put it as I can see."
+
+"But for your awn peace of mind it might be wisest to dig the cross up.
+I listened by the window an' heard Billy Blee tellin' of awful cusses,
+an' he 's wise wi'out knawin' it sometimes."
+
+"That's all witchcraft an' stuff an' nonsense, an' you ought to knaw
+better, Phoebe. 'T is as bad as setting store on the flight o' magpies,
+or gettin' a dead tooth from the churchyard to cure toothache, an'
+such-like folly."
+
+"Ban't folly allus, Will; theer 's auld tried wisdom in some ancient
+sayings."
+
+"Well, you guide your road by my light if you want to be happy. 'T is
+for you I uses all my thinking brain day an' night--for your gude an'
+the li'l man's."
+
+"I knaw--I knaw right well 't is so, dear Will, an' I'm sorry I spoke so
+quick."
+
+"I'll forgive 'e before you axes me, sweetheart. Awnly you must larn to
+trust me, an' theer 's no call for you to fear. Us must speak out
+sometimes, an' I did just now, an' 't is odds but some of them chaps,
+Grimbal included, may have got a penn'orth o' wisdom from me."
+
+"So 't is, then," she said, cuddling to him; "an' you'll do well to
+sleep now; an'--an' never tell again, Will, you've got nobody but your
+mother while I'm above ground, 'cause it's against justice an' truth an'
+very terrible for me to hear."
+
+"'T was a thoughtless speech," admitted Will, "an' I'm sorry I spake it.
+'T was a hasty word an' not to be took serious."
+
+They slept, while the moon wove wan harmonies of ebony and silver into
+Newtake. A wind woke, proclaiming morning, as yet invisible; and when it
+rustled dead leaves or turned a chimney-cowl, the dog at the gate
+stirred and growled and grated his chain against the granite cross.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+WINTER
+
+
+As Christmas again approached, adverse conditions of weather brought
+like anxieties to a hundred moormen besides Will Blanchard, but the
+widespread nature of the trouble by no means diminished his individual
+concern. A summer of unusual splendour had passed unblessed away, for
+the sustained drought represented scanty hay and an aftermath of meagre
+description. Cereals were poor, with very little straw, and the heavy
+rains of November arrived too late to save acres of starved roots on
+high grounds. Thus the year became responsible for one prosperous
+product alone: rarely was it possible to dry so well those stores
+gathered from the peat beds. Huge fires, indeed, glowed upon many a
+hearth, but the glory of them served only to illumine anxious faces. A
+hard winter was threatened, and the succeeding spring already appeared
+as no vision to welcome, but a hungry spectre to dread.
+
+Then, with the last week of the old year, winter swept westerly on
+hyperborean winds, and when these were passed a tremendous frost won
+upon the world. Day followed day of weak, clear sunshine and low
+temperature. The sun, upon his shortest journeys, showed a fiery face as
+he sulked along the stony ridges of the Moor, and gazed over the
+ice-chained wilderness, the frozen waters, and the dark mosses that
+never froze, but lowered black, like wounds on a white skin. Dartmoor
+slept insensible under granite and ice; no sheep-bell made music; no
+flocks wandered at will; only the wind moaned in the dead bells of the
+heather; only the foxes slunk round cot and farm; only the shaggy ponies
+stamped and snorted under the lee of the tors and thrust their smoking
+muzzles into sheltered clefts and crannies for the withered green stuff
+that kept life in them. Snow presently softened the outlines of the
+hills, set silver caps on the granite, and brought the distant horizon
+nearer to the eye under crystal-clear atmosphere. Many a wanderer, thus
+deceived, plodded hopefully forward at sight of smoke above a roof-tree,
+only to find his bourne, that seemed so near, still weary miles away.
+The high Moors were a throne for death. Cold below freezing-point
+endured throughout the hours of light and grew into a giant when the sun
+and his winter glory had huddled below the hills.
+
+Newtake squatted like a toad upon this weary waste. Its crofts were bare
+and frozen two feet deep; its sycamores were naked save for snow in the
+larger forks, and one shivering concourse of dead leaves, where a bough
+had been broken untimely, and thus held the foliage. Suffering almost
+animate peered from its leaded windows; the building scowled; cattle
+lowed through the hours of day, and a steam arose from their red hides
+as they crowded together for warmth. Often it gleamed mistily in the
+light of Will's lantern when at the dead icy hour before dawn he went
+out to his beasts. Then he would rub their noses, and speak to them
+cheerfully, and note their congealed vapours where these had ascended
+and frozen in shining spidery hands of ice upon the walls and rafters of
+the byre. Fowls, silver-spangled and black, scratched at the earth from
+habit, fought for the daily grain with a ferocity the summer never saw,
+stalked spiritless in puffed plumage about the farmyard and collected
+with subdued clucking upon their roosts in a barn above the farmyard
+carts as soon as the sun had dipped behind the hills. Ducks complained
+vocally, and as they slipped on the glassy pond they quacked out a
+mournful protest against the times.
+
+The snow which fell did not melt, but shone under the red sunshine,
+powdered into dust beneath hoof and heel; every cart-rut was full of
+thin white ice, like ground window-glass, that cracked drily and split
+and tinkled to hobnails or iron-shod wheel. The snow from the house-top,
+thawed by the warmth within, ran dribbling from the eaves and froze into
+icicles as thick as a man's arm. These glittered almost to the ground
+and refracted the sunshine in their prisms.
+
+Warm-blooded life suffered for the most part silently, but the inanimate
+fabric of the farm complained with many a creak and crack and groan in
+the night watches, while Time's servant the frost gnawed busily at old
+timbers and thrust steel fingers into brick and mortar. Only the
+hut-circles, grey glimmering through the snow on Metherill, laughed at
+those cruel nights, as the Neolithic men who built them may have laughed
+at the desperate weather of their day; and the cross beside Blanchard's
+gate, though an infant in age beside them, being fashioned of like
+material, similarly endured. Of more lasting substance was this stone
+than an iron tongue stuck into it to latch the gate, for the metal
+fretted fast and shed rust in an orange streak upon the granite.
+
+Where first this relic had risen, when yet its craftsman's work was
+perfect and before the centuries had diminished its just proportions, no
+living man might say. Martin Grimbal suspected that it had marked a
+meeting-place, indicated some Cistercian way, commemorated a notable
+deed, or served to direct the moorland pilgrim upon his road to that
+trinity of great monasteries which flourished aforetime at Plympton, at
+Tavistock, and at Buckland of the Monks; but between its first uprising
+and its last, a duration of many years doubtless extended.
+
+The antiquary's purpose had been to rescue the relic, judge, by close
+study of the hidden part, to what date it might be assigned, then
+investigate the history of Newtake Farm, and endeavour to trace the
+cross if possible. After his second repulse, however, and following upon
+a conversation with Phoebe, whom he met at Chagford, Martin permitted
+the matter to remain in abeyance. Now he set about regaining Will's
+friendship'in a gradual and natural manner. That done, he trusted to
+disinter the coveted granite at some future date and set it up on
+sanctified ground in Chagford churchyard, if the true nature of the
+relic justified that course. For the present, however, he designed no
+step, for his purpose was to visit the Channel Islands early in the new
+year, that he might study their testimony to prehistoric times.
+
+A winter, to cite whose parallel men looked back full twenty years,
+still held the land, though February had nearly run. Blanchard daily
+debated the utmost possibility of his resources with Phoebe, and fought
+the inclement weather for his early lambs. Such light as came into life
+at Newtake was furnished by little Will, who danced merrily through ice
+and snow, like a scarlet flower in his brilliant coat. The cold pleased
+him; he trod the slippery duck pond in triumph, his bread-and-milk never
+failed. To Phoebe her maternal right in the infant seemed recompense
+sufficient for all those tribulations existence just now brought with
+it; from which conviction resulted her steady courage and cheerfulness.
+Her husband's nebulous rationalism clouded Phoebe's religious views not
+at all. She daily prayed to Christ for her child's welfare, and went to
+church whenever she could, at the express command of her father. A flash
+of folly from Will had combined with hard weather to keep the miller
+from any visit to Newtake. Mr. Lyddon, on the beginning of the great
+frost, had sent two pairs of thick blankets from the Monks Barton stores
+to Phoebe, and Will, opening the parcel during his wife's absence,
+resented the gift exceedingly, and returned it by the bearer with a curt
+message of thanks and the information that he did not need them. Much
+hurt, the donor turned his face from Newtake for six weeks after this
+incident, and Phoebe, who knew nothing of the matter, marvelled at her
+father's lengthy and unusual silence.
+
+As for Will, during these black days, the steadfast good temper of his
+wife almost irritated him; but he saw the prime source of her courage,
+and himself loved their small son dearly. Once a stray journal fell into
+his hands, and upon an article dealing with emigration he built secret
+castles in the air, and grew more happy for the space of a week. His
+mother ailed a little through the winter, and he often visited her. But
+in her presence he resolutely put off gloom, spoke with sanguine tongue
+of the prosperity he foresaw during the coming spring, and always
+foretold the frost must break within four-and-twenty-hours. Damaris
+Blanchard was therefore deceived in some measure, and when Will spent
+five shillings upon a photograph of his son, she felt that the Newtake
+prospects must at least be more favourable than she feared, and let the
+circumstance of the picture be generally known.
+
+Not until the middle of March came a thaw, and then unchained waters and
+melted snows roared and tumbled from the hills through every coomb and
+valley. Each gorge, each declivity contributed an unwonted torrent; the
+quaking bogs shivered as though beneath them monsters turned in sleep or
+writhed in agony; the hoarse cry of Teign betokened new tribulations to
+the ears of those who understood; and over the Moor there rolled and
+crowded down a sodden mantle of mist, within whose chilly heart every
+elevation of note vanished for days together. Wrapped in impenetrable
+folds were the high lands, and the gigantic vapour stretched a million
+dripping tentacles over forests and wastes into the valleys beneath. Now
+it crept even to the heart of the woods; now it stealthily dislimned in
+lonely places; now it redoubled its density and dominated all things.
+The soil steamed and exuded vapour as a soaked sponge, and upon its
+surcharged surface splashes and streaks and sheets of water shone pallid
+and ash-coloured, like blind eyes, under the eternal mists and rains.
+These accumulations threw back the last glimmer of twilight and caught
+the first grey signal of approaching dawn; while the land, contrariwise,
+had welcomed night while yet wan sunsets struggled with the rain, and
+continued to cherish darkness long after morning was in the sky. Every
+rut and hollow, every scooped cup on the tors was brimming now; springs
+unnumbered and unknown had burst their secret places; the water floods
+tumbled and thundered until their rough laughter rang like a knell in
+the ears of the husbandmen; and beneath crocketed pinnacles of half a
+hundred church towers rose the mournful murmur of prayer for fair
+weather.
+
+There came an afternoon in late March when Mr. Blee returned to Monks
+Barton from Chagford, stamped the mud off his boots and leggings, shook
+his brown umbrella, and entered the kitchen to find his master reading
+the Bible.
+
+"'Tis all set down, Blee," exclaimed Mr. Lyddon with the triumphant
+voice of a discoverer. "These latter rains be displayed in the Book,
+according to my theory that everything 's theer!"
+
+"Pity you didn't find 'em out afore they comed; then us might have
+bought the tarpaulins cheap in autumn, 'stead of payin' through the nose
+for 'em last month. Now 't is fancy figures for everything built to keep
+out rain. Rabbit that umberella! It's springed a leak, an' the water's
+got down my neck."
+
+"Have some hot spirits, then, an' listen to this--all set out in Isaiah
+forty-one--eighteen: 'I will open rivers in high places and fountains in
+the midst of the valleys; I will make the wilderness a pool of water and
+the dry land springs of water.' Theer! If that ban't a picter of the
+present plague o' rain, what should be?"
+
+"So 't is; an' the fountains in the midst of the valleys be the
+awfullest part. Burnish it all! The high land had the worst of the
+winter, but we in the low coombs be gwaine to get the worst o' the
+spring--safe as water allus runs down-long."
+
+"'T will find its awn level, which the prophet knawed."
+
+"I wish he knawed how soon."
+
+"'T is in the Word, I'll wager. I may come upon it yet."
+
+"The airth be damn near drowned, an' the air's thick like a washin'-day
+everywheers, an' a terrible braave sight o' rain unshed in the elements
+yet."
+
+"'T will pass, sure as Noah seed a rainbow."
+
+"Ess, 't will pass; but Monks Barton's like to be washed to Fingle
+Bridge fust. Oceans o' work waitin', but what can us be at? Theer ban't
+a bit o' land you couldn't most swim across."
+
+"Widespread trouble, sure 'nough--all awver the South Hams, high an'
+low."
+
+"By the same token, I met Will Blanchard an hour agone. Gwaine in the
+dispensary, he was. The li'l bwoy's queer--no gert ill, but a bit of a
+tisseck on the lungs. He got playin' 'bout, busy as a rook, in the dirt,
+and catched cold."
+
+Miller Lyddon was much concerned at this bad news.
+
+"Oh, my gude God!" he exclaimed, "that's worse hearin' than all or any
+you could have fetched down. What do Doctor say?"
+
+"Wasn't worth while to call un up, so Will thought. Ban't nothin' to
+kill a beetle, or I lay the mother of un would have Doctor mighty soon.
+Will reckoned to get un a dose of physic--an' a few sweeties. Nature's
+all for the young buds. He won't come to no hurt."
+
+"Fust thing morning send a lad riding to Newtake," ordered Mr. Lyddon.
+"Theer's no sleep for me to-night, no, nor any more at all till I hear
+tell the dear tibby-lamb's well again. 'Pon my soul, I wonder that
+headstrong man doan't doctor the cheel hisself."
+
+"Maybe he will. Ban't nothin 's beyond him."
+
+"I'll go silly now. If awnly Mrs. Blanchard was up theer wi' Phoebe."
+
+"Doan't you grizzle about it. The bwoy be gwaine to make auld bones
+yet--hard as a nut he be. Give un years an' he'll help carry you to the
+graave in the fulness of time, I promise 'e," said Billy, in his
+comforting way.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+THE CROSS UPREARED
+
+Mr. Blee had but reported Will correctly, and it was not until some
+hours later that the child at Newtake caused his parents any alarm. Then
+he awoke in evident suffering, and Will, at Phoebe's frantic entreaty,
+arose and was soon galloping down through the night for Doctor Parsons.
+
+His thundering knock fell upon the physician's door, and a moment later
+a window above him was opened.
+
+"Why can't you ring the bell instead of making that fiendish noise, and
+waking the whole house? Who is it?"
+
+"Blanchard, from Newtake."
+
+"What's wrong?"
+
+"'T is my bwoy. He've got something amiss with his breathing parts by
+the looks of it."
+
+"Ah."
+
+"Doan't delay. Gert fear comed to his mother under the darkness, 'cause
+he seemed nicely when he went to sleep, then woke up worse. So I felt us
+had better not wait till morning."
+
+"I'll be with you in five minutes."
+
+Soon the Doctor appeared down a lane from the rear of the house. He was
+leading his horse by the bridle.
+
+"I'm better mounted than you," he said, "so I'll push forward. Every
+minute saved is gained."
+
+Will thanked him, and Doctor Parsons disappeared. When the father
+reached home, it was to hear that his child was seriously ill, though
+nothing of a final nature could be done to combat the sickness until it
+assumed a more definite form.
+
+"It's a grave case," said the physician, drearily in the dawn, as he
+pulled on his gloves and discussed the matter with Will before
+departing. "I'll be up again to-night. We mustn't overlook the
+proverbial vitality of the young, but if you are wise you will school
+your mind and your wife's to be resigned. You understand."
+
+He stroked his peaked naval beard, shook his head, then mounted his
+horse and was gone.
+
+From that day forward life stood still at Newtake, in so far as it is
+possible for life to do so, and a long-drawn weariness of many words
+dragged dully of a hundred pages would be necessary to reflect that tale
+of noctural terrors and daylight respites, of intermittent fears, of
+nerve-shattering suspense, and of the ebb and flow of hope through a
+fortnight of time. Overtaxed and overwrought, Phoebe ceased to be of
+much service in the sick-room after a week without sleep; Will did all
+that he could, which was little enough; but his mother took her place in
+the house unquestioned at this juncture, and ruled under Doctor Parsons.
+The struggle seemed to make her younger again, to rub off the
+slow-gathering rust of age and charm up all her stores of sense and
+energy.
+
+So they battled for that young life. More than once a shriek from Phoebe
+would echo to the farm that little Will was gone; and yet he lived; many
+a time the child's father in his strength surveyed the perishing atom,
+and prayed to take the burden, all too heavy for a baby's shoulders. In
+one mood he supplicated, in another cursed Heaven for its cruelty.
+
+There came a morning in early April when their physician, visiting
+Newtake before noon, broke it to husband and wife that the child could
+scarcely survive another day. He promised to return in the evening, and
+left them to their despair. Mrs. Blanchard, however, refused to credit
+this assurance, and cried to them to be hopeful still.
+
+In the afternoon Mr. Blee rode up from Monks Barton. Daily a messenger
+visited Newtake for Mr. Lyddon's satisfaction, but it was not often that
+Billy came. Now he arrived, however, entered the kitchen, and set down a
+basket laden with good things. The apartment lacked its old polish and
+cleanliness. The whitewash was very dirty; the little eight-day clock on
+the mantelpiece had run down; the begonias in pots on the window-ledge
+were at death's door for water. Between two of them a lean cat stretched
+in the sun and licked its paws; beside the fire lay Ship with his nose
+on the ground; and Will sat close by, a fortnight's beard upon his chin.
+He looked listlessly up as Mr. Blee entered and nodded but did not
+speak.
+
+"Well, what 's the best news? I've brought 'e fair-fashioned weather at
+any rate. The air 's so soft as milk, even up here, an' you can see the
+green things grawin' to make up for lost time. Sun was proper hot on my
+face as I travelled along. How be the poor little lad?"
+
+"Alive, that's all. Doctor's thrawed un awver now."
+
+"Never! Yet I've knawed even Parsons to make mistakes. I've brought 'e a
+braave bunch o' berries, got by the gracious gudeness of Miller from
+Newton Abbot; also a jelly; also a bottle o' brandy--the auld stuff from
+down cellar--I brushed the Dartmoor dew, as 't is called, off the bottle
+myself; also a fowl for the missis."
+
+"No call to have come. 'T is all awver bar the end."
+
+"Never say it while the child's livin'! They 'm magical li'l twoads for
+givin' a doctor the lie. You 'm wisht an' weary along o' night
+watchings."
+
+"Us must faace it. Ban't no oncommon thing. Hope's dead in me these many
+days; an' dying now in Phoebe--dying cruel by inches. She caan't bring
+herself to say 'gude-by' to the li'l darling bwoy."
+
+"What mother could? What do Mrs. Blanchard the elder say?"
+
+"She plucks up 'bout it. She 'm awver hopeful."
+
+"Doan't say so! A very wise woman her."
+
+Phoebe entered at this moment, and Mr. Blee turned from where he was
+standing by his basket.
+
+"I be cheerin' your gude man up," he said.
+
+She sighed, and sat down wearily near Will.
+
+"I've brought 'e a chick for your awn eatin' an'--"
+
+Here a scuffle and snarling and spitting interrupted Billy. The hungry
+cat, finding a fowl almost under its nose, had leapt to the ground with
+it, and the dog observed the action. Might is right in hungry
+communities; Ship asserted himself, and almost before the visitor
+realised what had happened, poor Phoebe's chicken was gone.
+
+"Out on the blamed thieves!" cried Billy, astounded at such manners. He
+was going to strike the dog, but Will stopped him.
+
+"Let un bide," he said. "He didn't take it, an' since it weern't for
+Phoebe, better him had it than the cat. He works for his livin', she
+doan't."
+
+"Such gwaines-on 'mongst dumb beasts o' the field I never seen!"
+protested Billy; "an' chickens worth what they be this spring!"
+
+Presently conversation drifted into a channel that enabled the
+desperate, powerless man to use his brains and employ his muscles; while
+for the mother it furnished a fresh gleam of hope built upon faith.
+Billy it was who brought about this consummation. Led by Phoebe he
+ascended to the sick-room and bid Mrs. Blanchard "good-day." She sat
+with the insensible child on her lap by the fire, where a long-spouted
+kettle sent forth jets of steam.
+
+"This here jelly what I've brought would put life in a corpse I do
+b'lieve; an' them butivul grapes, tu,--they'll cool his fever to
+rights, I should judge."
+
+"He 'm past all that," said Phoebe.
+
+"Never!" cried the other woman. "He'm a bit easier to my thinkin'."
+
+"Let me take un then," said the mother. "You'm most blind for sleep."
+
+"Not a bit of it. I'll have forty winks later, after Doctor's been
+again."
+
+Will here entered, sat down by his mother, and stroked the child's
+little limp hand.
+
+"He ban't fightin' so hard, by the looks of it," he said.
+
+"No more he is. Come he sleep like this till dark, I lay he'll do
+braave."
+
+Nobody spoke for some minutes, then Billy, having pondered the point in
+silence, suddenly relieved his mind and attacked Will, to the
+astonishment of all present.
+
+"'Tis a black thought for you to knaw this trouble's of your awn wicked
+hatching, Farmer," he said abruptly; "though it ban't a very likely time
+to say so, perhaps. Yet theer's life still, so I speak."
+
+Will glared speechless; but Billy knew himself too puny and too
+venerable to fear rough handling. He regarded the angry man before him
+without fear, and explained his allusion.
+
+"You may glaze 'pon me, an' stick your savage eyes out your head; but
+that doan't alter truth. 'T 'as awnly a bit ago in the fall as I told un
+what would awvertake un," he continued, turning to the women. "He left
+the cross what Mr. Grimbal found upsy-down in the airth; he stood up
+afore the company an' damned the glory of all Christian men. Ess fay, he
+done that fearful thing, an' if 't weern't enough to turn the Lard's
+hand from un, what was? Snug an' vitty he weer afore that, so far as
+anybody knawed; an' since--why, troubles have tumbled 'pon each other's
+tails like apple-dranes out of a nest."
+
+The face of Phoebe was lighted with some eagerness, some deep anxiety,
+and not a little passion as she listened to this harangue.
+
+"You mean that gate-stone brought this upon us?" she asked.
+
+"No, no, never," declared Damaris; "'t is contrary to all reason."
+
+"'T is true, whether or no; an' any fule, let alone a man as knaws like
+I do, would tell 'e the same. 'T is common sense if you axes me. Your
+man was told 't was a blessed cross, an' he flouted the lot of us an'
+left it wheer 't was. 'T is a challenge, if you come to think of it, a
+scoffin' of the A'mighty to the very face of Un. I wouldn't stand it
+myself if I was Him."
+
+"Will, do 'e hear Mr. Blee?" asked Phoebe.
+
+"I hear un. 'T is tu late now, even if what he said was true, which it
+ban't."
+
+"Never tu late to do a gude deed," declared Billy; "an' you'll have to
+come to it, or you'll get the skin cussed off your back afore you 'm
+done with. Gormed if ever I seed sich a man as you! Theer be some gude
+points about 'e, as everything must have from God A'mighty's workshop,
+down to poisonous varmints. But certain sure am I that you don't ought
+to think twice 'pon this job."
+
+"Do 'e mean it might even make the differ'nee between life an' death to
+the bwoy?" asked Phoebe breathlessly.
+
+"I do. Just all that."
+
+"Will--for God's love, Will!"
+
+"What do 'e say, mother?"
+
+"It may be truth. Strange things fall out. Yet it never hurted my
+parents in the past."
+
+"For why?" asked Billy. "'Cause they didn't knaw 't was theer, so
+allowance was made by the Watching Eye. Now 't is differ'nt, an' His
+rage be waxing."
+
+"Your blessed God 's got no common sense, then--an' that's all I've got
+to say 'bout it. What would you have me do?"
+
+Will put the question to Mr. Blee, but his wife it was who answered,
+being now worked up to a pitch of frenzy at the delay.
+
+"Go! Dig--dig as you never digged afore! Dig the holy stone out the
+ground direckly minute! Now, now, Will, 'fore the life's out of his li'l
+flutterin' body. Lay bare the cross, an' drag un out for God in heaven
+to see! Doan't stand clackin' theer, when every moment's worth more'n
+gawld."
+
+"So like's not He'll forgive 'e if 'e do," argued Mr. Blee. "Allowed the
+Lard o' Hosts graws a bit short in His temper now an' again, as with
+them gormed Israelites, an' sich like, an' small blame to Him; but He's
+all for mercy at heart, 'cordin' to the opinion of these times, so you'd
+best to dig."
+
+"Why doan't he strike me down if I've angered Him--not this innocent
+cheel?"
+
+"The sins of the fathers be visited--" began Mr. Blee glibly, when Mrs.
+Blanchard interrupted.
+
+"Ban't the time to argue, Will. Do it, an' do it sharp, if't will add
+wan grain o' hope to the baaby's chance."
+
+The younger woman's sufferings rose to a frantic half-hushed scream at
+the protracted delay.
+
+"O Christ, why for do 'e hold back? Ban't anything worth tryin' for your
+awn son? I'd scratch the stone out wi' my raw, bleedin' finger-bones if
+I was a man. Do 'e want to send me mad? Do 'e want to make me hate the
+sight of 'e? Go--go for love of your mother, if not of me!"
+
+"An' I'll help," said Billy, "an' that chap messin' about in the yard
+can lend a hand likewise. I be a cracked vessel myself for strength, an'
+past heavy work, but my best is yours to call 'pon in this pass."
+
+Will turned and left the sick-room without more words, while Billy
+followed him.
+
+The farmer fetched two picks and a shovel, called Ted Chown and a minute
+later had struck the first blow towards restoration of his granite
+cross. All laboured with their utmost power, and Will, who had flung off
+his coat and waistcoat, bared his arms, tightened his belt, and did the
+work of two men. The manual labour sweetened his mind a little, and
+scoured it of some bitterness. While Mr. Blee, with many a grunt and
+groan, removed the soil as the others broke it away, Blanchard, during
+these moments of enforced idleness, looked hungrily at the little window
+of the upper chamber where all his hopes and interests were centred.
+Then he swung his pick again.
+
+Presently a ray of sunlight brightened Newtake, and contributed to
+soothe the toiling father. He read promise into it, and when three feet
+below the surface indications of cross-arms appeared upon the stone,
+Will felt still more heartened. Grimbal's prediction was now verified;
+and it remained only to prove Billy's prophecy also true. His tremendous
+physical exertions, the bright setting sunshine, and the discovery of
+the cross affected Will strangely. His mind swung round from frank
+irreligion, to a sort of superstitious credulity, awestricken yet
+joyful, that made him cling to the saving virtue of the stone. Because
+Martin had been right in his assertion concerning the gate-post,
+Blanchard felt a hazy conviction that Blee's estimate of the stone's
+virtue must also prove correct. He saw his wife at the window, and waved
+to her, and cried aloud that the cross was uncovered.
+
+"A poor thing in holy relics, sure 'nough," said Billy, wiping his
+forehead.
+
+"But a cross--a clear cross? Keep workin', Chown, will 'e? You still
+think 'twill serve, doan't 'e, Blee?"
+
+"No room for doubt, though woful out o' repair," answered Billy,
+occupied with the ancient monument. "Just the stumps o' the arms left,
+but more'n enough to swear by."
+
+All laboured on; then the stone suddenly subsided and fell in such a
+manner that with some sloping of one side of the excavated pit they were
+able to drag it out.
+
+"Something's talking to me as us have done the wan thing needful,"
+murmured Will, in a subdued voice, but with more light than the sunset
+on his face. "Something's hurting me bad that I said what I said in the
+chamber, an' thought what I thought. God's nigher than us might think,
+minding what small creatures we be. I hope He'll forgive them words."
+
+"He's a peacock for eyes, as be well knawn," declared Mr. Blee. "An'
+He've got His various manners an' customs o' handlin' the human race.
+Some He softens wi' gude things an' gude fortune till they be bound to
+turn to Him for sheer shame; others He breaks 'pon the rocks of His
+wrath till they falls on their knees an' squeals for forgiveness. I've
+seed it both ways scores o' times; an' if your little lad 's spared to
+'e, you'll be brought to the Lard by a easier way than you deserve,
+Blanchard."
+
+"I knaw, I knaw, Mr. Blee. He 'm surely gwaine to let us keep li'l
+Willy, an' win us to heaven for all time."
+
+The cross now lay at their feet, and Billy was about to return to the
+house and see how matters prospered, when Will bade him stay a little
+longer.
+
+"Not yet," he said.
+
+"What more's to do?"
+
+"I feel a kind o' message like to set it plumb-true under the sky. Us
+caan't lift it, but if I pull a plank or two out o' the pig's house an'
+put a harrow chain round 'em, we could get the cross on an' let a horse
+pull un up theer to the hill, and set un up. Then us would have done all
+man can."
+
+He pointed to the bosom of the adjacent hill, now glowing in great
+sunset light.
+
+"Starve me! but you 'm wise. Us'll set the thing up under the A'mighty's
+eye. 'Twill serve--mark my words. 'Twill turn the purpose of the Lard o'
+Hosts, or I'm no prophet."
+
+"'Tis in my head you 'm right. I be lifted up in a way I never was."
+
+"The Lard 's found 'e by the looks of it," said Billy critically,
+"either that, or you 'm light-headed for want of sleep. But truly I
+think He've called 'e. Now 't is for you to answer."
+
+They cleaned the cross with a bucket or two of water, then dragged it
+half-way up the hill, and, where a rabbit burrow lessened labour, raised
+their venerable monument under the afterglow.
+
+"It do look as if it had been part o' the view for all time," declared
+Ted Chown, as the party retreated a few paces; and, indeed, the stone
+rose harmoniously upon its new site, and might have stood an immemorial
+feature of the scene.
+
+Blanchard stayed not a moment when the work was done but strode to
+Newtake like a jubilant giant, while Mr. Blee and Chown, with the horse,
+tools, and rough sledge, followed more slowly.
+
+The father proceeded homewards at tremendous speed; a glorious hope
+filled his heart, sharing the same with sorrow and repentance. He
+mumbled shamefaced prayers as he went, speaking half to himself, half to
+Heaven. He rambled on from a petition for forgiveness into a broken
+thanksgiving for the mercy he already regarded as granted. His labours,
+the glamour of the present achievement, and the previous long strain
+upon his mind and body, united to smother reason for one feverish hour.
+Will walked blindly forward, now with his eyes upon the window under
+Newtake's dark roof below him, now turning to catch sight of the grey
+cross uplifted on the hill above. A great sweeping sea of change was
+tumbling through his intellect, and old convictions with scraps of
+assured wisdom suffered shipwreck in it. His mind was exalted before the
+certainty of unutterable blessing; his soul clung to the splendid
+assurance of a Personal God who had wrought actively upon his behalf,
+and received his belated atonement.
+
+Far behind, Mr. Blee was improving the occasion for benefit of young Ted
+Chown.
+
+"See how he do stride the hill wi' his head held high, same as Moses
+when he went down-long from the Mount. Look at un an' do likewise,
+Teddy; for theer goes a man as have grasped God! 'Tis a gert, gay day in
+human life when it comes."
+
+Will Blanchard hurried through the farm gate, where it swung idly with
+its sacred support gone forever; then he drew a great breath and glanced
+upwards before proceeding into the darkness of the unlighted house. As
+he did so wheels grated at the entrance, and he knew that Doctor Parsons
+must be just behind him. Above stairs the sick-room was still unlighted,
+the long-necked kettle still puffed steam, but the fire had shrunk, and
+Will's first word was a protest that it had been allowed to sink so low.
+Then he looked round, and the rainbow in his heart faded and died.
+Damaris sat like a stone woman by the window; Phoebe lay upon the bed
+and hugged a little body in a blanket. Her hair had fallen down; out of
+the great shadows he saw the white blur on her face, and heard her voice
+sound strange as she cried monotonously, in a tone from which the first
+passion had vanished through an hour of iteration.
+
+"O God, give un back to me; O God, spare un; O kind God, give my li'l
+bwoy back."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+GREY TWILIGHT
+
+
+In the soft earth they laid him, "the little child whose heart had
+fallen asleep," and from piling of a miniature mound, from a small brown
+tumulus, now quite hid under primroses, violets, and the white anemones
+of the woods, Will Blanchard and his mother slowly returned to Newtake.
+He wore his black coat; she was also dressed in black; the solitary
+mourning coach dragged slowly up the hill to the Moor, and elsewhere
+another like it conveyed Mr. Lyddon homeward.
+
+Neither mother nor son had any heart to speak. The man's soul was up in
+arms; he had rebelled against his life, and since the death of his boy,
+while Phoebe remained inert in her desolation and languished under a
+mental and bodily paralysis wherein she had starved to death but for
+those about her, he, on the contrary, found muscle and mind clamouring
+for heroic movement. He was feverishly busy upon the farm, and ranged in
+thought with a savage activity among the great concerns of men. His
+ill-regulated mind, smarting under the blows of Chance, whirled from
+that past transient wave of superstitious emotion into an opposite
+extreme. Now he was ashamed of his weakness, and suffered convictions
+proper to the narrowness of an immature intellect to overwhelm him. He
+assured himself that his tribulations were not compatible with the
+existence of a Supreme Being. Like poor humanity the wide world over,
+his judgment became vitiated, his views distorted under the stroke of
+personal sorrow, and, beneath the pressure of that gigantic egotism
+which ever palsies the mind of man at sudden loss of what he holds
+dearest upon earth, poor Blanchard cried in his heart there was no God.
+
+Here we are faced with a curious parallel, offered within the limits of
+this narrative. As the old labourer, Blee, had arrived at the same
+conclusion, then modified it and returned to a creed in the light of
+subsequent events, so now Will had found himself, on the evening of his
+child's funeral, with fresh interests aroused and recent convictions
+shaken. An incipient negation of Deity, built upon the trumpery basis of
+his personal misfortunes, was almost shattered within the week that saw
+its first existence. A mystery developed in his path, and startling
+incidents awoke a new train of credulity akin to that already manifested
+over the ancient cross. The man's uneven mind was tossed from one
+extreme of opinion to the other, and that element of superstition, from
+which no untutored intellect in the lap of Nature is free, now found
+fresh food and put forth a strong root within him.
+
+Returning home, Will approached Phoebe with a purpose to detail the sad,
+short scene in Chagford churchyard, but his voice rendered her
+hysterical, so he left her with his mother, put on his working clothes,
+and wandered out into the farmyard. Presently he found himself idly
+regarding a new gate-post: that which Martin Grimbal formerly brought
+and left hard by the farm. Ted Chown had occupied himself in erecting it
+during the morning.
+
+The spectacle reminded Will of another, and he lifted his eyes to the
+cross on the undulation spread before him. As he did so some object
+appeared to flutter out of sight not far above it, among the rocks and
+loose 'clatters' beneath the summit of the tor. This incident did not
+hold Will's mind, but, prompted to motion, restless, and in the power of
+dark thoughts, he wandered up the Moor, tramped through the heather, and
+unwittingly passed within a yard of the monument he had raised upon the
+hill. He stood a moment and looked at the cross, then cursed and spat
+upon it. The action spoke definitely of a mental chaos unexampled in one
+who, until that time, had never lacked abundant self-respect. His deed
+done, it struck Will Blanchard like a blow; he marvelled bitterly at
+himself, he knew such an act was pitiful, and remembered that the brain
+responsible for it was his own. Then he clenched his hands and turned
+away, and stood and stared out over the world.
+
+A wild, south-west wind blew, and fitful rain-storms sped separately
+across the waste. Over the horizon clouds massed darkly, and the
+wildernesses spread beneath them were of an inflamed purple. The seat of
+the sun was heavily obscured at this moment, and the highest
+illumination cast from sky to earth broke from the north. The effect
+thus imparted to the scene, though in reality no more than usual,
+affected the mind as unnatural, and even sinister in its operation of
+unwonted chiaro-oscuro. Presently the sullen clearness of the distance
+was swept and softened by a storm. Another, falling some miles nearer,
+became superimposed upon it. Immediately the darkness of the horizon
+lifted and light generally increased, though every outline of the hills
+themselves vanished under falling rain. The turmoil of the clouds
+proceeded, and after another squall had passed there followed an aerial
+battle amid towers and pinnacles and tottering precipices of sheer
+gloom. The centre of illumination wheeled swiftly round to the sun as
+the storm travelled north, then a few huge silver spokes of wan sunshine
+turned irregularly upon the stone-strewn desert.
+
+Will watched this elemental unrest, and it served to soothe that greater
+storm of sorrows and self-condemnation then raging within him. His
+nature found consolation here, the cool hand of the Mother touched his
+forehead as she passed in her robe of rain, and for the first time since
+childhood the man hid his face and wept.
+
+Presently he moved forward again, walked to the valleys and wandered
+towards southern Teign, unconsciously calmed by his own random movements
+and the river's song. Anon, he entered the lands of Metherill, and soon
+afterwards, without deliberate intention, moved through that Damnonian
+village which lies there. A moment later and he stood in the hut-circle
+where he himself had been born. Its double stone courses spread around
+him, hiding the burrows of the rabbits; and sprung from between two
+granite blocks, brave in spring verdure, with the rain twinkling in
+little nests of flower buds as yet invisible, there rose a hawthorn.
+Within the stones a ewe stood and suckled its young, but there was no
+other sign of life. Then Blanchard, sitting here to rest and turning his
+eyes whither he had come, again noticed some sudden movement, but,
+looking intently at the spot, he saw nothing and returned to his own
+thoughts. Sitting motionless Will retraced the brief course of his
+career through long hours of thought; and though his spirit bubbled to
+white heat more than once during the survey, yet subdued currents of
+sense wound amid his later reflections. Crushed for a moment under the
+heavy load of life and its lessons, he presented a picture familiar
+enough, desirable enough, necessary enough to all humanity, yet pathetic
+as exemplified in the young and unintelligent and hopeful. It was the
+picture of the dawn of patience--a patience sprung from no religious
+inspiration, but representing Will's tacit acknowledgment of defeat in
+his earlier battles with the world. The emotion did not banish his
+present rebellion against Fate and evil fortune undeserved; but it
+caused him to look upon life from a man's standpoint rather than a
+child's, and did him a priceless service by shaking to their foundations
+his self-confidence and self-esteem. Selfish at least he was not from a
+masculine standard, and now his thoughts returned to Phoebe in her
+misery, and he rose and retraced his steps with a purpose to comfort her
+if he could.
+
+The day began to draw in. Unshed rains massed on the high tors, but
+towards the west one great band of primrose sky rolled out above the
+vanished sun and lighted a million little amber lamps in the hanging
+crystals of the rain. They twinkled on thorns and briars, on the grass,
+the silver crosiers of uncurling ferns, and all the rusty-red young
+heather.
+
+Then it was that rising from his meditations and turning homeward, the
+man distinctly heard himself called from some distance. A voice repeated
+his name twice--in clear tones that might have belonged to a boy or a
+woman.
+
+"Will! Will!"
+
+Turning sharply upon a challenge thus ringing through absolute
+loneliness and silence, Blanchard endeavoured, without success, to
+ascertain from whence the summons came. He thought of his mother, then
+of his wife, yet neither was visible, and nobody appeared. Only the old
+time village spread about him with its hoary granite peering from under
+caps of heather and furze, ivy and upspringing thorn. And each stock and
+stone seemed listening with him for the repetition of a voice. The sheep
+had moved elsewhere, and he stood companionless in that theatre of
+vanished life. Trackways and circles wound grey around him, and the
+spring vegetation above which they rose all swam into one dim shade, yet
+moved with shadows under oncoming darkness. Attributing the voice to his
+own unsettled spirit, Blanchard proceeded upon his road to where the
+skeleton of a dead horse stared through the gloaming beside a quaking
+bog. Its bones were scattered by ravens, and Will used the bleached
+skull as a stepping stone. Presently he thought of the flame-tongues
+that here were wont to dance through warm summer nights. This memory
+recalled his own nickname in Chagford--"Jack-o'-Lantern"--and, for the
+first time in his life, he began to appreciate its significance. Then,
+being a hundred yards from his starting-place in the hut-circle, he
+heard the hidden voice again. Clear and low, it stole over the
+intervening wilderness, and between two utterances was an interval of
+some seconds.
+
+"Will! Will!"
+
+For one instant the crepitation of fear passed over Blanchard's scalp
+and skin. He made an involuntary stride away from the voice; then he
+shook himself free of all alarm, and, not desirous to lose more
+self-respect that day, turned resolutely and shouted back,--
+
+"I hear 'e. What's the business? I be comin' to 'e if you'll bide wheer
+you be."
+
+That some eyes were watching him out of the gathering darkness he did
+not doubt, and soon pushing back, he stood once more in the ruined
+citadel of old stones, mounted one, steadied himself by a young ash that
+rose beside it, and raised his voice again,--
+
+"Now, then! I be here. What's to do? Who's callin' me?"
+
+An answer came, but of a sort widely different from what he expected.
+There arose, within twenty yards of him, a sound that might have been
+the cry of a child or the scream of a trapped animal. Assuming it to be
+the latter, Will again hesitated. Often enough he had laughed at the
+folk-tales of witch hares as among the most fantastic fables of the old;
+yet at this present moment mystic legends won point from the
+circumstances in which he found himself. He hurried forward to the edge
+of a circle from which the sound proceeded. Then, looking before him, he
+started violently, sank to his knees behind a rock, and so remained,
+glaring into the ring of stones.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+In less than half an hour Blanchard, with his coat wrapped round some
+object that he carried, returned to Newtake and summoned assistance with
+a loud voice.
+
+Presently his wife and mother entered the kitchen, whereupon Will
+discovered his burden and revealed a young child. Phoebe fainted dead
+away at sight of it, and while her husband looked to her Mrs. Blanchard
+tended the baby, which was hungry but by no means alarmed. As for Will,
+his altered voice and most unusual excitement of manner indicated
+something of the shock he had received. Having described the voice which
+called him, he proceeded after this fashion to detail what followed:
+
+"I looked in the very hut-circle I was born, an' I shivered all over,
+for I thought 'twas the li'l ghost of our wee bwoy--by God, I did! It
+sat theer all alone, an' I stared an' froze while I stared. Then it
+hollered like a gude un, an' stretched out its arms, an' I seed 'twas
+livin' an' never thought how it comed theer. He 'in somethin' smaller
+than our purty darling, yet like him in a way, onless I'm forgetting."
+
+"'Tis like," said Damaris, dandling the child and making it happy. "'Tis
+a li'l bwoy, two year old or more, I should guess. It keeps crying 'Mam,
+mam,' for its mother. God forgive the woman."
+
+"A gypsy's baby, I reckon," said Phoebe languidly.
+
+"I doan't think it," answered her husband; "I'm most feared to guess
+what 'tis. Wan thing's sure; I was called loud an' clear or I'd never
+have turned back; an' yet, second time I was called, my flesh crept."
+
+"The little flannels an' frock be thick an' gude, but they doan't shaw
+nought."
+
+"The thing's most as easy to think a miracle as not. He looked up in my
+eyes as I brought un away, an' after he'd got used to me he was quiet as
+a mouse an' snuggled to me."
+
+"They'd have said 'twas a fairy changeling in my young days," mused Mrs.
+Blanchard, "but us knaws better now. 'Tis a li'l gypsy, I'll warn 'e,
+an' some wicked mother's dropped un under your nose to ease her
+conscience."
+
+"What will you do? Take un to the poorhouse?" asked Phoebe.
+
+"'Poorhouse'! Never! This be mine, tu. Mine! I was called to it, weern't
+I? By a human voice or another, God knaws. Theer's more to this than us
+can see."
+
+His women regarded him with blank amazement, and he showed considerable
+impatience tinder their eyes. It was clear he desired that they should
+dwell on no purely materialistic or natural explanation of the incident.
+
+"Baan't a gypsy baaby," he said; "'tis awnly the legs an' arms of un as
+be brown. His body's as white as curds, an' his hair's no darker than
+our awn Willy's was."
+
+"If it ban't a gypsy's, whose be it?" said Phoebe, turning to the infant
+for the first time.
+
+"Mine now," answered Will stoutly. "'Twas sent an' give into my awn hand
+by one what knawed who 'twas they called. My heart warmed to un as he
+lay in my arms, an' he'm mine hencefarrard."
+
+"What do 'e say, Phoebe?" asked Mrs. Blanchard, somewhat apprehensively.
+She knew full well how any such project must have struck her if placed
+in the bereaved mother's position. Phoebe, however, made no immediate
+answer. Her sorrowful eyes were fixed on the child, now sitting happily
+on the elder woman's lap.
+
+"A nice li'l thing, wi' a wunnerful curly head--eh, Phoebe? Seems more
+'n chance to me, comin' as it have on this night-black day. An' like our
+li'l angel, tu, in a way?" asked Will.
+
+"Like him--in a way, but more like you," she answered; "more like you
+than your awn was--terrible straange that--the living daps o' Will!
+Ban't it?"
+
+Damaris regarded her son and then the child.
+
+"He be like--very," she admitted. "I see him strong. An' to think he
+found the bwoy 'pon that identical spot wheer he fust drawed breath
+himself!"
+
+"'Tis a thing of hidden meaning," declared Will. "An' he looked at me
+kindly fust he seed me; 'twas awnly hunger made un shout--not no fear o'
+me. My heart warmed to un as I told 'e. An' to come this day!"
+
+Phoebe had taken the child, and was looking over its body in a
+half-dazed fashion for the baby marks she knew. Silently she completed
+the survey, but there was neither caress in her fingers nor softness in
+her eyes. Presently she put the child back on Mrs. Blanchard's lap and
+spoke, still regarding it with a sort of dull, almost vindictive
+astonishment.
+
+"Terrible coorious! Ban't no child as ever I seed or heard tell of; an'
+nothin' of my dead lamb 'bout it, now I scans closer. But so like to
+Will! God! I can see un lookin' out o' its baaby eyes!"
+
+
+
+
+BOOK IV
+
+HIS SECRET
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+A WANDERER RETURNS
+
+
+Ripe hay swelled in many a silver-russet billow, all brightened by the
+warm red of sorrel under sunshine. When the wind blew, ripples raced
+over the bending grasses, and from their midst shone out mauve scabious
+and flashed occasional poppies. The hot July air trembled agleam with
+shining insects, and drowsily over the hayfield, punctuated by
+stridulation of innumerable grasshoppers, there throbbed one sustained
+murmur, like the remote and mellow music of wood and strings. A lark
+still sang, and the swallows, whose full-fledged young thrust open beaks
+from the nests under Newtake eaves, skimmed and twittered above the
+grass lands, or sometimes dipped a purple wing in the still water where
+the irises grew.
+
+Blanchard and young Ted Chown had set about their annual labour of
+saving the hay, and now a rhythmic breathing of two scythes and merry
+clink of whetstones against steel sounded afar on the sleepy summer air.
+The familiar music came to Phoebe's ear where she sat at an open kitchen
+window of Newtake. Her custom was at times of hay harvest to assist in
+the drying of the grass, and few women handled a fork better; but there
+had recently reached the farm an infant girl, and the mother had plenty
+to do without seeking beyond her cradle.
+
+Phoebe made no demur about receiving Will's little foundling of the
+hut-circle. His heart's desire was usually her amibition also, and
+though Timothy, as the child had been called, could boast no mother's
+love, yet Phoebe proved a kind nurse, and only abated her attention upon
+the arrival of her own daughter. Then, as time softened the little mound
+in Chagford churchyard with young green, so before another baby did the
+mother's bereavement soften, sink deeper into memory, revive at longer
+intervals to conjure tears. Her character, as has been indicated,
+admitted of no supreme sustained sorrow. Suffer she did, and fiery was
+her agony; but another child brought occupation and new love; while her
+husband, after the first sentimental outburst of affection over the
+infant he had found at Metherill, settled into an enduring regard for
+him, associated him, by some mental process impossible of explanation,
+with his own lost one, and took an interest, blended of many curious
+emotions, in the child.
+
+Drying hay soon filled the air with a pleasant savour, and stretched out
+grey-green ribbons along the emerald of the shorn meadows. Chown
+snuffled and sweated and sneezed, for the pollen always gave him hay
+fever; his master daily worked like a giant from dawn till the
+owl-light, drank gallons of cider, and performed wonders with the
+scythe. A great hay crop gladdened the moormen, and Will, always
+intoxicated by a little fair fortune, talked much of his husbandry,
+already calculated the value of the aftermath, and reckoned what number
+of beasts he might feed next winter.
+
+"'Most looks as if I'd got a special gift wi' hay," he said to his
+mother on one occasion. She had let her cottage to holiday folk, and was
+spending a month on the Moor.
+
+Mrs. Blanchard surveyed the scene from under her sunbonnet and nodded.
+
+"Spare no trouble, no trouble, an' have it stacked come Saturday.
+Theer'll be thunder an' gert rains after this heat. Be the rushes ready
+for thatchin' of it?"
+
+"Not yet; but that's not to say I've forgot."
+
+"I'll cut some for 'e myself come the cool of the evenin'. An' you can
+send Ted with the cart to gather 'em up."
+
+"No, no, mother. I'll make time to-morrow."
+
+"'Twill be gude to me, an' like auld days, when I was a li'l maid. You
+sharp the sickle an' fetch the skeiner out, tu, for I was a quick hand
+at bindin' ropes o' rushes, an' have made many a yard of 'em in my
+time."
+
+Then she withdrew from the tremendous sunshine, and Will, now handling a
+rake, proceeded with his task.
+
+Two days later a rick began to rise majestically at the corner of
+Blanchard's largest field, while round about it was gathered the human
+life of the farm. Phoebe, with her baby, sat on an old sheepskin rug in
+the shadow of the growing pile; little Tim rollicked unheeded with Ship
+in the sweet grass, and clamoured from time to time for milk from a
+glass bottle; Will stood up aloft and received the hay from Chown's
+fork, while Mrs. Blanchard, busy with the "skeiner" stuck into the side
+of the rick, wound stout ropes of rushes for the thatching.
+
+Then it was that Will, glancing out upon the Moor, observed a string of
+gypsy folk making slow progress towards Chagford. Among the various
+Romany cavalcades which thus passed Newtake in summer time this appeared
+not the least strange. Two ordinary caravans headed the procession. A
+man conducted each, a naked-footed child or two trotted beside them, and
+an elder boy led along three goats. The travelling homes were encumbered
+with osier-and cane-work, and following them came a little broken-down,
+open vehicle. This was drawn by two donkeys, harnessed tandem-fashion,
+and the chariot had been painted bright blue. A woman drove the concern,
+and in it appeared a knife-grinding machine and a basket of cackling
+poultry, while some tent-poles stuck out behind. Will laughed at this
+spectacle, and called his wife's attention to it, whereon Phoebe and
+Damaris went as far as the gate of the hayfield to win a nearer view.
+The gypsies, however, had already passed, but Mrs. Blanchard found time
+to observe the sky-blue carriage and shake her head at it.
+
+"What gwaines-on! Theer's no master minds 'mongst them people nowadays,"
+she said. "Your faither wouldn't have let his folk make a show of
+themselves like that."
+
+"They 'm mostly chicken stealers nowadays," declared Will; "an' so surly
+as dogs if you tell 'em to go 'bout theer business."
+
+"Not to none o' your name--never," declared his mother. "No gypsy's
+gwaine to forget my husband in his son's time. Many gude qualities have
+they got, chiefly along o' living so much in the awpen air."
+
+"An' gude appetites for the same cause! Go after Tim, wan of 'e. He've
+trotted down the road half a mile, an' be runnin' arter that blue
+concern as if't was a circus. Theer! Blamed if that damned gal in the
+thing ban't stoppin' to let un catch up! Now he'm feared, an' have
+turned tail an' be coming back. 'Tis all right; Ship be wi' un."
+
+Presently the greater of Will's two ricks approached completion, and all
+the business of thatch and spar gads and rush ropes began. At his
+mother's desire he wasted no time, and toiled on, long after his party
+had returned to Newtake; but with the dusk he made an end for that day,
+stood up, rested his back, and scanned the darkening scene before
+descending.
+
+At eveningtide there had spread over the jagged western outlines of the
+Moor an orange-tawny sunset, whereon the solid masses of the hills burnt
+into hazy gold, all fairy-bright, unreal, unsubstantial as a
+cloud-island above them, whose solitary and striated shore shone purple
+through molten fire.
+
+Detail vanished from the Moor; dim and dimensionless it spread to the
+transparent splendour of the horizon, and its eternal attributes of
+great vastness, great loneliness, great silence reigned together
+unfretted by particulars. Gathering gloom diminished the wide glory of
+the sky, and slowly robbed the pageant of its colour. Then rose each
+hill and undulation in a different shade of night, and every altitude
+mingled into the outlines of its neighbour. Nocturnal mists, taking grey
+substance against the darkness of the lower lands, wound along the
+rivers, and defined the depths and ridges of the valleys. Moving waters,
+laden with a last waning gleam, glided from beneath these vapoury
+exhalations, and even trifling rivulets, now invisible save for chance
+splashes of light, lacked not mystery as they moved from darkness into
+darkness with a song. Stars twinkled above the dewy sleep of the earth,
+and there brooded over all things a prodigious peace, broken only by
+batrachian croakings from afar.
+
+These phenomena Will Blanchard observed; then yellow candle fires
+twinkled from the dark mass of the farmhouse, and he descended in
+splendid weariness and strode to supper and to bed.
+
+Yet not much sleep awaited the farmer, for soon after midnight a gentle
+patter of small stones at his window awakened him. Leaping from his bed
+and looking into the darkness he saw a vague figure that raised its hand
+and beckoned without words. Fear for the hay was Will's first emotion,
+but no indication of trouble appeared. Once he spoke, and as he did so
+the figure beckoned again, then approached the door. Blanchard went down
+to find a woman waiting for him, and her first whispered word made him
+start violently and drop the candle and matches that he carried. His
+ears were opened and he knew Chris without seeing her face.
+
+"I be come back--back home-along, brother Will," she said, very quietly.
+"I looked for mother to home, but found she weern't theer. An' I be
+sorry to the heart for all the sorrow I've brought 'e both. But it had
+to be. Strange thoughts an' voices was in me when Clem went, an' I had
+to hide myself or drown myself--so I went."
+
+"God's gudeness! Lucky I be made o' strong stuff, else I might have
+thought 'e a ghost an' no less. Come in out the night, an' I'll light a
+candle. But speak soft. Us must break this very gentle to mother."
+
+"Say you'll forgive me, will 'e? Can 'e do it? If you knawed half you'd
+say 'yes.' I'm grawed a auld, cold-hearted woman, wi' a grey hair here
+an' theer a'ready."
+
+"So've I got wan an' another, tu, along o' worse sorrow than yours.
+Leastways as bad as yourn. Forgive 'e? A thousand times, an' thank
+Heaven you'm livin'! Wheer ever have 'e bided? An' me an' Grimbal
+searched the South Hams, an' North, tu, inside out for 'e, an' he put
+notices in the papers--dozens of 'em."
+
+"Along with the gypsy folk for more 'n three year now. 'Twas the movin'
+an' rovin', and the opening my eyes on new things that saved me from
+gwaine daft. Sometimes us coined through Chagford, an' then I'd shut my
+eyes tight an' lie in the van, so's not to see the things his eyes had
+seen--so's not to knaw when us passed the cottage he lived in. But now
+I've got to feel I could come back again."
+
+"You might have writ to say how you was faring."
+
+"I didn't dare. You'd bin sure to find me, an' I didn't want 'e to then.
+'Tis awver an' done, an' 'twas for the best."
+
+"You'm a woman, an' can say them silly words, an' think 'em true in your
+heart, I s'pose. 'For the best!' I caan't see much that happens for the
+best under my eyes. Will 'e have bite or sup?"
+
+"No, nothin'. You get back to your bed. Us'll talk in the marnin'. I'll
+bide here. You an' Phoebe be well, an'--an' dear mother?"
+
+"We'm well. You doan't ax me after the fust cheel Phoebe had."
+
+"I knaw. I put some violets theer that very night. We were camped just
+above Chagford, not far from here."
+
+"Theer's a li'l gal now, an' a bwoy as I'll tell'e about bimebye. A
+sheer miracle't was that falled out the identical day I buried my Willy.
+No natural fashion of words can explain it. But that'll keep. Now let me
+look at'e. Fuller in the body seemin'ly, an' gypsy-brown, by God! So
+brown as me, every bit. Well, well, I caan't say nothin'. I'm carried
+off my legs wi' wonder, an' joy, tu, for that matter. Next to Phoebe an'
+mother I allus loved 'e best. Gimme a kiss. What a woman, to be sure!
+Like a thief in the night you went; same way you've comed back. Why
+couldn't 'e wait till marnin'?"
+
+"The childer--they grawed to love me that dear--also the men an' women.
+They've been gude to me beyond power o' words for faither's sake. They
+knawed I was gwaine, an' I left 'em asleep. 'T was how they found me
+when I runned away. I falled asleep from weariness on the Moor, an' they
+woke me, an' I thrawed in my lot with them from the day I left that
+pencil-written word for 'e on the window-ledge."
+
+"Me bein' in the valley lookin' for your drowned body the while! Women
+'mazes me more the wiser I graw. Come this way, to the linhay. There's a
+sweet bed o' dry fern in the loft, and you must keep out o' sight till
+mother's told cunning. I'll hit upon a way to break it to her so soon as
+she's rose. An' if I caan't, Phoebe will. Come along quiet. An' I be
+gwaine to lock 'e in, Chris, if't is all the same to you. For why?
+Because you might fancy the van folks was callin' to 'e, an' grow hungry
+for the rovin' life again."
+
+She made no objection, and asked one more question as they went to the
+building.
+
+"How be Mrs. Hicks, my Clem's mother?"
+
+"Alive; that's all. A poor auld bed-lier now; just fading away quiet.
+But weak in the head as a baaby. Mother sees her now an' again. She
+never talks of nothin' but snuff. 'T is the awnly brightness in her
+life. She's forgot everythin' 'bout the past, an' if you went to see
+her, she'd hold out her hand an' say, 'Got a little bit o' snuff for a
+auld body, dearie? 'an' that's all."
+
+They talked a little longer, while Will shook down a cool bed of dry
+fern--not ill-suited to the sultry night; then Chris kissed him again,
+and he locked her in and returned to Phoebe.
+
+Though the wanderer presently slept peacefully enough, there was little
+more repose that night for her brother or his wife. Phoebe herself
+became much affected by the tremendous news. Then they talked into the
+early dawn before any promising mode of presenting Chris to her mother
+occurred to them. At breakfast Will followed a suggestion of Phoebe's,
+and sensibly lessened the shock of his announcement.
+
+"A 'mazin' wonnerful dream I had last night," he began abruptly. "I
+thought I was roused long arter midnight by a gert knocking, an' I went
+down house an' found a woman at the door. 'Who be you?' I sez. 'Why, I
+be Chris, brother Will,' she speaks back, 'Chris, come home-along to
+mother an' you.' Then I seed it was her sure enough, an' she telled me
+all about herself, an' how she'd dwelt wi' gypsy people. Natural as life
+it weer, I assure 'e."
+
+This parable moved Mrs. Blanchard more strongly than Will expected. She
+dropped her piece of bread and dripping, grew pale, and regarded her son
+with frightened eyes. Then she spoke.
+
+"Tell me true, Will; don't 'e play with a mother 'bout a life-an'-death
+thing like her cheel. I heard voices in the night, an' thought 't was a
+dream--but--oh, bwoy, not Chris, not our awn Chris!--'t would 'most kill
+me for pure joy, I reckon."
+
+"Listen to me, mother, an' eat your food. Us won't have no waste here,
+as you knaw very well. I haven't tawld 'e the end of the story. Chris,
+'pearin' to be back again, I thinks, 'this will give mother
+palpitations, though 't is quite a usual thing for a darter to come back
+to her mother,' so I takes her away to the linhay for the night an'
+locks her in; an' if 't was true, she might be theer now, an' if it weer
+n't--"
+
+Damaris rose, and held the table as she did so, for her knees were weak
+under her.
+
+"I be strong--strong to meet my awn darter. Gimme the key, quick--the
+key, Will--do 'e hear me, child?"
+
+"I'll come along with 'e."
+
+"No, I say. What! Ban't I a young woman still? 'T was awnly essterday
+Chris corned in the world. You just bide with Phoebe, an' do what I tell
+'e."
+
+Will handed over the key at this order, and Mrs. Blanchard, grasping it
+without a word, passed unsteadily across the farmyard. She fumbled at
+the lock, and dropped the key once, but picked it up quickly before Will
+could reach her, then she unfastened the door and entered.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+HOPE RENEWED
+
+
+Jon Grimbal's desires toward Blanchard lay dormant, and the usual
+interests of life filled his mind. The attitude he now assumed was one
+of sustained patience and observation; and it may best be described in
+words of his own employment.
+
+Visiting Drewsteignton, about a month after the return of Chris
+Blanchard to her own, the man determined to extend his ride and return
+by devious ways. He passed, therefore, where the unique Devonian
+cromlech stands hard by Bradmere pool. A lane separates this granite
+antiquity from the lake below, and as John Grimbal rode between them,
+his head high enough to look over the hedge, he observed a ladder raised
+against the Spinsters' Rock, as the cromlech is called, and a man with a
+tape-measure sitting on the cover stone.
+
+It was the industrious Martin, home once again. After his difference
+with Blanchard, the antiquary left Devon for another tour in connection
+with his work, and had devoted the past six months to study of
+prehistoric remains in Guernsey, Herm, and other of the Channel Islands.
+
+Before departing, he had finally regained his brother's friendship,
+though the close fraternal amity of the past appeared unlikely to return
+between them. Now John recognised Martin, and his first impulse produced
+pleasure, while his second was one of irritation. He felt glad to see
+his brother; he experienced annoyance that Martin should thus return to
+Chagford and not call immediately at the Red House.
+
+"Hullo! Home again! I suppose you forgot you had a brother?"
+
+"John, by all that's surprising! Forget? Was it probable? Have I so many
+flesh-and-blood friends to remember? I arrived yesterday and called on
+you this morning, only to find you were at Drewsteignton; so I came to
+verify some figures at the cromlech, hoping we might meet the sooner."
+
+He was beside his brother by this time, and they shook hands over the
+hedge.
+
+"I'll leave the ladder and walk by you and have a chat."
+
+"It's too hot to ride at a walk. Come you here to Bradmere Pool. We can
+lie down in the shade by the water, and I'll tether my horse for half an
+hour."
+
+Five minutes later the brothers sat under the shadow of oaks and beeches
+at the edge of a little tarn set in fine foliage.
+
+"Pleasant to see you," said Martin. "And looking younger I do think.
+It's the open air. I'll wager you don't get slimmer in the waist-belt
+though."
+
+"Yes, I'm all right."
+
+"What's the main interest of life for you now?"
+
+John reflected before answering.
+
+"Not quite sure. Depends on my mood. Just been buying a greyhound bitch
+at Drewsteignton. I'm going coursing presently. A kennel will amuse me.
+I spend most of my time with dogs. They never change. I turn to them
+naturally. But they overrate humanity."
+
+"Our interests are so different. Yet both belong to the fresh air and
+the wild places remote from towns. My book is nearly finished. I shall
+publish it in a year's time, or even less."
+
+"Have you come back to stop?"
+
+"Yes, for good and all now."
+
+"You have found no wife in your wanderings?"
+
+"No, John. I shall never marry. That was a dark spot in my life, as it
+was in yours. We both broke our shins over that."
+
+"I broke nothing--but another man's bones."
+
+He was silent for a moment, then proceeded abruptly on this theme.
+
+"The old feeling is pretty well dead though. I look on and watch the man
+ruining himself; I see his wife getting hard-faced and thin, and I
+wonder what magic was in her, and am quite content. I wouldn't kick him
+a yard quicker to the devil if I could. I watch him drift there."
+
+"Don't talk like that, dear old chap. You're not the man you pretend to
+be, and pretend to think yourself. Don't sour your nature so. Let the
+past lie and go into the world and end this lonely existence."
+
+"Why don't you?"
+
+"The circumstances are different. I am not a man for a wife. You are, if
+ever there was one."
+
+"I had him within a hair's-breadth once," resumed the other
+inconsequently. "Blanchard, I mean. There 's a secret against him. You
+didn't know that, but there is. Some black devilry for all I can tell.
+But I missed it. Perhaps if I knew it would quicken up my spirit and
+remind me of all the brute made me endure."
+
+"Yet you say the old feeling is dead!"
+
+"So it is--starved. Hicks knew. He broke his neck an hour too soon. It
+was like a dream of a magnificent banquet I had some time ago. I woke
+with my mouth watering, just as the food was uncovered, and I felt so
+damned savage at being done out of the grub that I got up and went
+down-stairs and had half a pint of champagne and half a cold roast
+partridge! I watch Blanchard go down the hill--that's all. If this
+knowledge had come to me when I was boiling, I should have used it to
+his utmost harm, of course. Now I sometimes doubt, even if I could hang
+the man, whether I should take the trouble to do it."
+
+"Get away from him and all thought of him."
+
+"I do. He never crosses my mind unless he crosses my eyes. I ride past
+Newtake occasionally, and see him sweating and slaving and fighting the
+Moor. Then I laugh, as you laugh at a child building sand castles
+against an oncoming tide. Poor fool!"
+
+"If you pity, you might find it in your heart to forgive."
+
+"My attitude is assured. We will call it one of mere indifference. You
+made up that row over the gate-post when his first child died, didn't
+you?"
+
+"Yes, yes. We shall be friendly--we must be, if only for the sake of the
+memory of Chris. You and I are frank to-day. But you saw long ago what I
+tried to hide, so it is no news to you. You will understand. When Hicks
+died I thought perhaps after years--but that's over now. She 's gone."
+
+"Didn't you know? She 's back again."
+
+"Back! Good God!"
+
+John laughed at his brother's profound agitation.
+
+"Like as not you'd see her if you went over Rushford Bridge. She 's back
+with her mother. Queer devils, all of them; but I suppose you can have
+her for the asking now if you couldn't before. Damnably like her
+brother she is. She passed me two days ago, and looked at me as if I was
+transparent, or a mere shadow hiding something else."
+
+A rush of feeling overwhelmed Martin before this tremendous news. He
+could not trust himself to speak. Then a great hope wrestled with him
+and conquered. In his own exaltation he desired to see all whom he loved
+equally lifted up towards happiness.
+
+"I wish to Heaven you would open your eyes and raise them from your dogs
+and find a wife, John."
+
+"Ah! We all want the world to be a pretty fairy tale for our friends.
+You scent your own luck ahead, and wish me to be lucky too. I ought to
+thank you for that; but, instead, I'll give you some advice. Don't
+bother yourself with the welfare of others; to do that is to ruin your
+own peace of mind and court more trouble than your share. Every
+big-hearted man is infernally miserable--he can't help it. The only
+philosopher's stone is a stone heart; that is what the world 's taught
+me."
+
+"Never! You're echoing somebody else, not yourself, I'll swear. I know
+you better. We must see much of each other in the future. I shall buy a
+little trap that I may drive often to the Red House. And I should like
+to dedicate my book to you, if you would take it as a compliment."
+
+"No, no; give it to somebody who may be able to serve you. I'm a fool in
+such things and know no more about the old stones than the foxes and
+rabbits that burrow among them. Come, I must get home. I'm glad you have
+returned, though I hated you when you supported them against me; but
+then love of family 's a mere ghost against love of women. Besides, how
+seldom it is that a man's best friend is one of his own blood."
+
+They rose and departed. John trotted away through Sandypark, having
+first made Martin promise to sup with him that night, and the pedestrian
+proceeded by the nearest road to Rushford Bridge.
+
+Chris he did not see, but it happened that Mr. Lyddon met him just
+outside Monks Barton, and though Martin desired no such thing at the
+time, nothing would please the miller but that his friend should return
+to the farm for some conversation.
+
+"Home again, an' come to glasses, tu! Well, they clear the sight, an' we
+must all wear 'em sooner or late. 'T is a longful time since I seed 'e,
+to be sure."
+
+"All well, I hope?"
+
+"Nothing to grumble at. Billy an' me go down the hill as gradual an'
+easy as any man 's a right to expect. But he's gettin' so bald as a
+coot; an' now the shape of his head comes to be knawed, theer 's
+wonnerful bumps 'pon it. Then your brother's all for sport an' war. A
+Justice of the Peace they've made un, tu. He's got his volunteer chaps
+to a smart pitch, theer's no gainsaying. A gert man for wild diversions
+he is. Gwaine coursin' wi' long-dogs come winter, they tell me."
+
+"And how are Phoebe and her husband?"
+
+"A little under the weather just now; but I'm watchin' 'em unbeknawnst.
+Theer's a glimmer of hope in the dark if you'll believe it, for Will
+ackshally comed to me esster-night to ax my advice--_my_ advice--on a
+matter of stock! What do 'e think of that?"
+
+"He was fighting a losing battle in a manly sort of way it seemed to me
+when last I saw him."
+
+"So he was, and is. I give him eighteen month or thereabout--then'll
+come the end of it."
+
+"The 'end'! What end? You won't let them starve? Your daughter and the
+little children?"
+
+"You mind your awn business, Martin," said Mr. Lyddon, with nods and
+winks. "No, they ban't gwaine to starve, but my readin' of Will's
+carater has got to be worked out. Tribulation's what he needs to sweeten
+him, same as winter sweetens sloes; an' 't is tribulation I mean him to
+have. If Phoebe's self caan't change me or hurry me 't is odds you
+won't. Theer's a darter for 'e! My Phoebe. She'll often put in a whole
+week along o' me still. You mind this: if it's grawn true an' thrawn
+true from the plantin', a darter's love for a faither lasts longer 'n
+any mortal love at all as I can hear tell of. It don't wear out wi'
+marriage, neither, as I've found, thank God. Phoebe rises above auld age
+and the ugliness an' weakness an' bad temper of auld age. Even a poor,
+doddering ancient such as I shall be in a few years won't weary her;
+she'll look back'ards with butivul clear eyes, an' won't forget. She'll
+see--not awnly a cracked, shrivelled auld man grizzling an' grumbling in
+the chimbley corner, but what the man was wance--a faither, strong an'
+lusty, as dandled her, an' worked for, an' loved her with all his heart
+in the days of his bygone manhood. Ess, my Phoebe's all that; an' she
+comes here wi' the child; an' it pleases me, for rightly onderstood,
+childern be a gert keeper-off of age."
+
+"I'm sure she's a good daughter to you, Miller. And Will?"
+
+"Doan't you fret. We've worked it out in our minds--me an' Billy; an' if
+two auld blids like us can't hatch a bit o' wisdom, what brains is worth
+anything? We'm gwaine to purify the awdacious young chap 'so as by
+fire,' in holy phrase."
+
+"You're dealing with a curious temperament."
+
+"I'm dealing with a damned fule," said Mr. Lyddon frankly; "but theer's
+fules an' fules, an' this partickler wan's grawed dear to me in some
+ways despite myself. 'T is Phoebe's done it at bottom I s'pose. The
+man's so full o' life an' hope. Enough energy in un for ten men; an'
+enough folly for twenty. Yet he've a gude heart an' never lied in's life
+to my knawledge."
+
+"That's to give him praise, and high praise. How's his sister? I hear
+she's returned after all."
+
+"Ess--naughty twoad of a gal--runned arter the gypsies! But she'm
+sobered now. Funny to think her mother, as seemed like a woman robbed of
+her right hand when Chris went, an' beginned to graw into the sere
+onusual quick for a widow, took new life as soon as her gal comed back.
+Just shaws what strength lies in a darter, as I tell 'e."
+
+The old man's garrulity gained upon him, and though Martin much desired
+to be gone, he had not the heart to hasten.
+
+"A darter's the thing an'--but't is a secret yet--awnly you'll see what
+you'll see. Coourse Billy's very well for gathered wisdom and high
+conversation 'bout the world to come; but he ban't like a woman round
+the house, an' for all his ripe larnin' he'll strike fire
+sometimes--mostly when I gives him a bad beating at 'Oaks' of a evenin'.
+Then he'm so acid as auld rhubarb, an' dots off to his bed wi'out a
+'gude-night.'"
+
+For another ten minutes Mr. Lyddon chattered, but at the end of that
+time Martin escaped and proceeded homewards. His head throbbed and his
+mind was much excited by the intelligence of the day. The yellow
+stubbles, the green meadows, the ploughed lands similarly spun before
+him and whirled up to meet the sky. As he re-entered the village a
+butcher's cart nearly knocked him down. Hope rose in a glorious new
+sunrise--the hope that he had believed was set for ever. Then, passing
+that former home of Clement Hicks and his mother, did Grimbal feel great
+fear and misgiving. The recollection of Chris and her love for the dead
+man chilled him. He remembered his own love for Chris when he thought
+she must be dead. He told himself that he must hope nothing; he repeated
+to himself how fulfilment of his desire, now revived after long sleep,
+might still be as remote as when Chris Blanchard said him nay in the
+spring wastes under Newtake five years and more ago. His head dinned
+this upon his heart; but his heart would not believe and responded with
+a sanguine song of great promise.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+ANSWERED
+
+
+At a spot in the woods some distance below Newtake, Martin Grimbal sat
+and waited, knowing she whom he sought must pass that way. He had called
+at the farm and been welcomed by Phoebe. Will was on the peat beds, and,
+asking after Chris, he learnt that she had gone into the valley to pick
+blackberries and dewberries, where they already began to ripen in the
+coombs.
+
+Under aisles of woodland shadows he sat, where the river murmured down
+mossy stairs of granite in a deep dingle. Above him, the varying foliage
+of oak and ash and silver birch was already touched with autumn, and
+trembled into golden points where bosses of pristine granite, crowned
+with the rowan's scarlet harvest, arose above their luxuriance. The
+mellow splendour of these forests extended to the river's brink, along
+which towered noble masses of giant osmunda, capped by seed spears of
+tawny red. Here and there gilded lances splashed into the stream or
+dotted its still pools with scattered sequins of sunshine, where light
+winnowed through the dome of the leaves; and at one spot, on a wrinkled
+root that wound crookedly from the alder into the river, there glimmered
+a halcyon, like an opal on a miser's bony finger. From above the
+tree-tops there sounded cynic bird-laughter, and gazing upwards Martin
+saw a magpie flaunt his black and white plumage across the valley; while
+at hand the more musical merriment of a woodpecker answered him.
+
+Then a little child's laugh came to his ear, rippling along with the
+note of the babbling water, and one moment later a small, sturdy boy
+appeared. A woman accompanied him. She had slipped a foot into the
+river, and thus awakened the amusement of her companion.
+
+Chris steadied herself after the mishap, balanced her basket more
+carefully, then stooped down to pick some of the berries that had
+scattered from it on the bank. When she rose a man with a brown face and
+soft grey eyes gleaming through gold-rimmed spectacles appeared
+immediately before.
+
+"Thank God I see you alive again. Thank God!" he said with intense
+feeling, as he took her hand and shook it warmly. "The best news that
+ever made my heart glad, Chris."
+
+She welcomed him, and he, looking into her eyes, saw new knowledge
+there, a shadow of sobriety, less of the old dance and sparkle. But he
+remembered the little tremulous updrawing of her lip when a smile was
+born, and her voice rang fuller and sweeter than any music he had ever
+heard since last she spoke to him. A smile of welcome she gave him,
+indeed, and a pressure of his hand that sent magic messages with it to
+the very core of him. He felt his blood leap and over his glasses came a
+dimness.
+
+"I was gwaine to write first moment I heard 'e was home. An' I wish I
+had, for I caan't tell 'e what I feel. To think of 'e searchin' the wide
+world for such a good-for-nought! I thank you for your generous
+gudeness, Martin. I'll never forget it--never. But I wasn't worth no
+such care."
+
+"Not worth it! It proved the greatest, bitterest grief of all my
+life--but one--that I couldn't find you. We grew by cruel stages to
+think--to think you were dead. The agony of that for us! But, thank God,
+it was not so. All at least is well with you now?"
+
+"All ban't never well with men an' women. But I'm more fortunate than I
+deserve to be, and can make myself of use. I've lived a score of years
+since we met. An I've comed back to find't is a difficult world for
+those I love best, unfortunately."
+
+Thus, in somewhat disjointed fashion, Chris made answer.
+
+"Sit a while and speak to me," replied Martin. "The laddie can play
+about. Look at him marching along with that great branch of king fern
+over his shoulder!"
+
+"'T is an elfin cheel some ways. Wonnerful eyes he've got. They burn me
+if I look at'em close," said Chris. She regarded Timothy without
+sentiment and her eyes were bright and hard.
+
+"I hope he will turn out well. Will spoke of him the other day. He is
+very fond of the child. It is singularly like him, too--a sort of little
+pocket edition of him."
+
+"So I've heard others say. Caan't see it at all myself. Look at the eyes
+of un."
+
+"Will believes the boy has got very unusual intelligence and may go
+far."
+
+"May go so far as the workhouse," she answered, with a laugh. Then,
+observing that her reply pained Martin, Chris snatched up small Tim as
+he passed by and pressed him to her breast and kissed him.
+
+"You like him better than you think, Chris--poor little motherless
+thing."
+
+"Perhaps I do. I wonder if his mother ever looks hungry towards Newtake
+when she passes by?"
+
+"Perhaps others took him and told the mother that he was dead."
+
+"She's dead herself more like. Else the thing wouldn't have falled out."
+
+There was a pause, then Martin talked of various matters. But he could
+not fight for long against the desire of his heart and presently
+plunged, as he had done five years before, into a proposal.
+
+"He being gone--poor Clem--do you think--? Have you thought, I mean? Has
+it made a difference, Chris? 'T is so hard to put it into words without
+sounding brutal and callous. Only men are selfish when they love."
+
+"What do you mean?" she asked.
+
+A sudden inspiration prompted his reply. He said nothing for a moment,
+but with a hand that shook somewhat, drew forth his pocketbook, opened
+it, fumbled within, and then handed over to Chris the brown ruins of
+flowers long dead.
+
+"You picked them," he said slowly; "you picked them long ago and flung
+them away from you when you said 'No' to me--said it so kindly in the
+past. Take them in your hand again."
+
+"Dead bluebells," she answered. "Ess, I can call home the time. To think
+you gathered them up!" She looked at him with something not unlike love
+in her eyes and fingered the flowers gently. "You'm a gude man, Martin
+--the husband for a gude lass. Best to find one if you can. Wish I could
+help'e."
+
+"Oh, Chris, there's only one woman in the world for me. Could you--even
+now? Could you let me stand between you and the world? Could you, Chris?
+If you only knew what I cannot put into words. I'd try so hard to make
+you happy."
+
+"I knaw, I knaw. But theer's no human life so long as the road to
+happiness, Martin. And yet--"
+
+He took her hand and for a moment she did not resist him. Then little
+Tim's voice chimed out merrily at the stream margin, and the music had
+instant effect upon Chris Blanchard.
+
+She drew her hand from Martin and the next moment he saw his dead
+bluebells hurrying away and parting company for ever on the dancing
+water. Chris watched them until they vanished; then she turned and
+looked at him, to find that he grew very pale and agitated. Even his
+humility had hardly foreseen this decisive answer after the yielding
+attitude Chris first assumed when she suffered him to hold her hand. He
+looked into her face inquiring and frightened. The silence that followed
+was broken by continued laughter and shouting from Timothy. Then Martin
+tried to connect the child's first merriment with the simultaneous
+change in the mood of the woman he worshipped, but failed to do so.
+
+At that moment Chris spoke. She made utterance under the weight of great
+emotion and with evident desire to escape the necessity of a direct
+negative, while yet leaving her refusal of Martin's offer implicit and
+distinct.
+
+"I mind when a scatter of paper twinkled down this river just like them
+dead blossoms. Clem thrawed them, an' they floated away to the sea, past
+daffadowndillies an' budding lady-ferns an' such-like. 'T was a li'l bit
+of poetry he'd made up to please me--and I, fule as I was, didn't say
+the right thing when he axed me what I thought; so Clem tore the rhymes
+in pieces an' sent them away. He said the river would onderstand. An'
+the river onderstands why I dropped them dead blossoms in, tu. A wise,
+ancient stream, I doubt. An' you 'm wise, tu; an' can take my answer
+wi'out any more words, as will awnly make both our hearts ache."
+
+"Not even if I wait patiently? You couldn't marry me, dear Chris? You
+couldn't get to love me?"
+
+"I couldn't marry you. I'm a widow in heart for all time. But I thank
+God for the gude-will of such a man as you. I cherish it and 't will be
+dear to me all my life. But I caan't come to 'e, so doan't ax it."
+
+"Yet you're young to live for a memory, Chris."
+
+"Better 'n nothing. And listen; I'll tell you this, if 't will make my
+'No' sound less hard to your ear. I loves you--I loves you better 'n any
+living man 'cept Will, an' not less than I love even him. I wish I could
+bring 'e a spark of joy by marryin' you, for you was allus very gude,
+an' thought kindly of Clem when but few did. I'd marry you if 't was
+awnly for that; yet it caan't never be, along o' many reasons. You must
+take that cold comfort, Martin."
+
+He sighed, then spoke.
+
+"So be it, dear one. I shall never ask again. God knows what holds you
+back if you can even love me a little."
+
+"Ess, God knaws--everything."
+
+"I must not cry out against that. Yet it makes it all the harder. To
+think that you will dedicate all your beautiful life to a memory! it
+only makes my loss the greater, and shows the depths of you to me."
+
+She uttered a little scream and her cheek paled, and she put up her
+hands with the palms outward as though warding away his words.
+
+"Doan't 'e say things like that or give me any praise, for God's sake. I
+caan't bear it. I be weak, weak flesh an' blood, weaker 'n water. If you
+could only see down in my heart, you'd be cured of your silly love for
+all time."
+
+He did not answer, but picked up her basket and proceeded with her out
+of the valley. Chris gave a hand to the child, and save for Tim's
+prattle there was no speaking.
+
+At length they reached Newtake, when Martin yielded up the basket and
+bade Chris "good-night." He had already turned, when she called him back
+in a strange voice.
+
+"Kiss the li'l bwoy, will 'e? I want 'e to. I'm that fond of un. An' he
+'peared to take to 'e; an' he said 'By-by' twice to 'e, but you didn't
+hear un."
+
+Then the man kissed Tim on a small, purple-stained mouth, and saw his
+eyes very lustrous with sleep, for the day was done.
+
+Woman and child disappeared; the sacking nailed along the bottom of
+Newtake Gate to keep the young chicks in the farmyard rustled over the
+ground, and Martin, turning his face away, moved homewards.
+
+But the veil was not lifted for him; he did not understand. A secret,
+transparent enough to any who regarded Chris Blanchard and her
+circumstances from a point without the theatre of action, still remained
+concealed from all who loved her.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+THE END OF THE FIGHT
+
+
+Will Blanchard was of the sort who fight a losing battle,
+
+  "Still puffing in the dark at one poor coal,
+   Held on by hope till the last spark is out."
+
+But the extinction of his ambitions, the final failure of his enterprise
+happened somewhat sooner than Miller Lyddon had predicted. There dawned
+a year when, just as the worst of the winter was past and hope began to
+revive for another season, a crushing catastrophe terminated the
+struggle.
+
+Mr. Blee it was who brought the ill news to Monks Barton, having first
+dropped it at Mrs. Blanchard's cottage and announced it promiscuously
+about the village. Like a dog with a bone he licked the intelligence
+over and, by his delay in imparting the same, reduced his master to a
+very fever of irritation.
+
+"Such a gashly thing! Of all fules! The last straw I do think. He's got
+something to grumble at now, poor twoad. Your son-in-law; but
+now--theer--gormed if I knaw how to tell 'e!"
+
+Alarmed at this prelude, with its dark hints of unutterable woe, Mr.
+Lyddon took off his spectacles in some agitation, and prayed to know the
+worst without any long-drawn introduction.
+
+"I'll come to it fast enough, I warn 'e. To think after years an' years
+he didn't knaw the duffer'nce 'twixt a bullock an' a sheep! Well--well!
+Of coourse us knawed times was tight, but Jack-o'-Lantern be to the end
+of his dance now. 'T is all awver."
+
+"What's the matter? Come to it, caan't 'e?"
+
+"No ill of the body--not to him or the fam'ly. An' you must let me tell
+it out my awn way. Well, things bein' same as they are, the bwoy caan't
+hide it. Dammy! Theer's patches in the coat of un now--neat sewed, I'll
+grant 'e, but a patch is a patch; an' when half a horse's harness is
+odds an' ends o' rope, then you knaw wi'out tellin' wheer a man be
+driving to. 'T is 'cordin' to the poetry!--
+
+  "'Out to elbows,
+     Out to toes,
+    Out o' money,
+     Out o' clothes.'
+
+But--"
+
+"Caan't 'e say what's happened, you chitterin' auld magpie? I'll go up
+village for the news in a minute. I lay 'tis knawn theer."
+
+"Ban't I tellin' of 'e? 'Tis like this. Will Blanchard's been mixin' a
+bit of chopped fuzz with the sheep's meal these hard times, like his
+betters. But now I've seed hisself today, lookin' so auld as Cosdon
+'bout it. He was gwaine to the horse doctor to Moreton. An' he tawld me
+to keep my mouth shut, which I've done for the most paart."
+
+"A little fuzz chopped fine doan't hurt sheep."
+
+"Just so. 'Cause why? They aint got no 'bibles' in their innards; but
+he've gone an' given it same way to the bullocks."
+
+"Gude God!"
+
+"'Tis death to beasts wi' 'bibles.' An' death it is. The things caan't
+eat such stuff' cause it sticketh an' brings inflammation. I seed same
+fule's trick done wance thirty year ago; an' when the animals weer cut
+awpen, theer 'bibles' was hell-hot wi' the awfulest inflammation ever
+you heard tell of."
+
+"How many's down? 'Twas all he had to count upon."
+
+"Awnly eight standin' when he left. I could have cried 'bout it when he
+tawld me. He 'm clay in the Potter's hand for sartain. Theer's nought
+squenches a chap like havin' the bailiffs in."
+
+"Cruel luck! I'd meant to let him be sold out for his gude--but now."
+
+"Do what you meant to. Doan't go back on it. 'Tis for his gude. 'Twas
+his awn mistake. He tawld me the blame was his. Let un get on the bed
+rock. Then he'll be meek as a worm."
+
+"I doubt it. A sale of his goods will break his heart."
+
+"Not it! He haven't got much as'll be hard to paart from. Stern
+measures--stern measures for his everlastin' welfare. Think of the
+wild-fire sawl of un! Never yet did a sawl want steadin' worse'n his.
+Keep you to the fust plan, and he'll thank'e yet."
+
+Elsewhere two women--his wife and sister--failed utterly in well-meaning
+efforts to comfort the stricken farmer. Presently, before nightfall,
+Mrs. Blanchard also arrived at Newtake, and Will listened dully with
+smouldering eyes as his mother talked. The veterinary surgeon from
+Moreton had come, but his efforts were vain. Only two beasts out of
+five-and-twenty still lived.
+
+"Send for butcher," he said. "He'll be more use than I can be. The thing
+is done and can't be undone."
+
+Chris entered most closely into her brother's feelings and spared him
+the expressions of sorrow and sympathy which stung him, even from his
+mother's lips, uttered at this crisis. She set about preparing supper,
+which weeping Phoebe had forgotten.
+
+"You'll weather it yet, bwoy," Mrs. Blanchard said.
+
+"Theer's a little bit as I've got stowed away for'e; an' come the hay--"
+
+"Doan't talk that way. 'Tis done with now. I'm quite cool'pon it. We
+must go as we'm driven. No more gropin' an' fightin' on this blasted
+wilderness for me, that's all. I be gwaine to turn my back 'pon it--fog
+an' filthy weather an' ice an' snow. You wants angels from heaven to
+help 'e, if you're to do any gude here; an' heaven's long tired o' me
+an' mine. So I'll make shift to do wi'out. An' never tell me no more
+lies 'bout God helpin' them as helps themselves, 'cause I've proved it
+ban't so. I be gwaine to furrin' lands to dig for gawld or di'monds. The
+right build o' man for gawld-seekin', me; 'cause I've larned patience
+an' caan't be choked off a job tu easy."
+
+"Think twice. Bad luck doan't dog a man for ever. An' Phoebe an' the
+childer."
+
+"My mind's made up. I figured it out comin' home from Moreton. I'm away
+in six weeks or less. A chap what's got to dig for a livin' may just as
+well handle his tools where theer's summat worth findin' hid in the
+land, as here, on this black, damned airth, wheer your pick strikes fire
+out o' stone twenty times a day. The Moor's the Moor. Everybody knaws
+the way of it. Scratch its faace an' it picks your pocket an' breaks
+your heart--not as I've got a heart can be broken."
+
+"If 'e could awnly put more trust in the God of your faithers, my son.
+He done for them, why shouldn't He do for you?"
+
+"Better ax Him. Tired of the fam'ly, I reckon."
+
+"You hurt your mother, Will, tellin' so wicked as that."
+
+"An' faither so cruel," sobbed Phoebe. "I doan't knaw what ever us have
+done to set him an' God against us so. I've tried that hard; an' you've
+toiled till the muscles shawed through your skin; an' the li'l bwoy took
+just as he beginned to string words that butivul; an' no sign of another
+though't is my endless prayer."
+
+"The ways of Providence--" began Mrs. Blanchard drearily; but Will
+stopped her, as she knew he would.
+
+"Doan't mother--I caan't stand no more on that head today. I'll dare
+anybody to name Providence more in my house, so long as 'tis mine.
+Theer's the facts to shout out 'gainst that rot. A honest, just,
+plain-dealin' man--an' look at me."
+
+"Meantime we're ruined an' faither doan't hold out a finger."
+
+"Take it stern an' hard like me. 'Tis all chance drawin' of prize or
+blank in gawld diggin'. The 'new chums,' as they call 'em, often finds
+the best gawld, 'cause they doan't knaw wheer to look for it, an' goes
+pokin' about wheer a skilled man wouldn't. That's the crooked way things
+happen in this poor world."
+
+"You wouldn't go--not while I lived, sure? I couldn't draw breath
+comfortable wi'out knawin' you was breathin' the same air, my son."
+
+"You'll live to knaw I was in the right. If fortune doan't come to you,
+you must go to it, I reckon. Anyways, I ban't gwaine to bide here a
+laughing-stock to Chagford; an' you'm the last to ax me to."
+
+"Miller would never let Phoebe go."
+
+"I shouldn't say 'by your leave' to him, I promise'e. He can look on an'
+see the coat rottin' off my back in this desert an' watch his darter
+gwaine thin as a lath along o' taking so much thought. He can look on at
+us, hisself so comfortable as a maggot in a pear, an' see. Not that I'd
+take help--not a penny from any man. I'm not gwaine to fail. I'll be a
+snug chap yet."
+
+The stolid Chown entered at this moment.
+
+"Butcher'll be up bimebye. An' the last of em's failed down," he said.
+
+"So be it. Now us'll taake our supper," answered his master.
+
+The meal was ready and presently Blanchard, whose present bitter humour
+prompted him to simulate a large indifference, made show of enjoying his
+food. He brought out the brandy for his mother, who drank a little with
+her supper, and helped himself liberally twice or thrice until the
+bottle was half emptied. The glamour of the spirit made him optimistic,
+and he spoke with the pseudo-philosophy that alcohol begets.
+
+"Might have been worse, come to think of it. If the things weren't
+choked, I doubt they'd been near starved. 'Most all the hay's done, an'
+half what's left--a load or so--I'd promised to a chap out Manaton way.
+But theer't is--my hand be forced, that's all. So time's saved, if you
+look at it from a right point."
+
+"You'm hard an' braave, an' you've got a way with you 'mong men. Faace
+life, same as faither did, an' us'll look arter Phoebe an' the childer,"
+said Chris.
+
+"I couldn't leave un," declared Will's wife. "'T is my duty to keep
+along wi'un for better or worse."
+
+"Us'll talk 'bout all that later. I be gwaine to act prompt an' sell
+every stick, an' then away, a free man."
+
+"All our furniture an' property!" moaned Phoebe, looking round her in
+dismay.
+
+"All--to the leastest bit o' cracked cloam."
+
+"A forced sale brings nought," sighed Damaris.
+
+"Theer's hunderds o' pounds o' gude chattels here, an' they doan't go
+for a penny less than they 'm worth. Because I'm down, ban't no reason
+for others to try to rob me. If I doan't get fair money I'll make a fire
+wi' the stuff an' burn every stick of it."
+
+"The valuer man, Mr. Bambridge, must be seen, an' bills printed out an'
+sticked 'pon barn doors an' such-like, same as when Mrs. Lezzard died,"
+said Phoebe. "What'll faither think then?"
+
+Will laughed bitterly.
+
+"I'll see a few's dabbed up on his awn damned outer walls, if I've got
+to put 'em theer myself. An' as to the lists, I'll make 'em this very
+night. Ban't my way to let the dust fall upon a job marked for doin'.
+To-night I'll draw the items."
+
+"Us was gwaine to stay along with 'e, Will," said his mother.
+
+"Very gude--as you please. Make shake-downs in the parlour, an' I'll
+write in the kitchen when you'm gone to bed. Set the ink an' pen an'
+paper out arter you've cleared away. I'm allowed to be peart enough in
+matters o' business anyway, though no farmer o' course, arter this."
+
+"None will dare to say any such thing," declared Phoebe. "You can't do
+miracles more than others."
+
+"I mind when Ellis, to Two Streams Farm, lost a mort o' bullocks very
+same way," said Mrs. Blanchard.
+
+"'Tis that as they'll bring against me an' say, wi' such a tale in my
+knawledge, I ought to been wiser. But I never heard tell of it before,
+though God knows I've heard the story often enough to-day."
+
+It was now dark, and Will, lighting a lantern, rose and went out into
+the yard. From the kitchen window his women watched him moving here and
+there; while, as he passed, the light revealed great motionless, rufous
+shapes on every hand. The corpses of the beasts hove up into the
+illumination and then vanished again as the narrow circle of lantern
+light bobbed on, jerking to the beat of Will's footsteps. From the
+window Damaris observed her son make a complete perambulation of his
+trouble without comment. Then a little emotion trembled on her tongue.
+
+"God's hand be lifted 'gainst the bwoy, same as 't was 'gainst the
+patriarch Job seemin'ly. Awnly he bent to the rod and Will--"
+
+"He'm noble an' grand under his sorrows. Who should knaw but me?" cried
+Phoebe. "A man in ten thousand, he is, an' never yields to no rod. He'll
+win his way yet; an' I be gwaine to cleave to un if he travels to the
+other end o' the airth."
+
+"I doan't judge un, gal. God knaws he's been the world to me since his
+faither died. He'm my dear son. But if he'd awnly bend afore the
+A'mighty breaks him."
+
+"He's got me."
+
+"Ess, an' he'm mouldin' you to his awn vain pride an' wrong ways o'
+thinking. If you could lead un right, 't would be a better wife's
+paart."
+
+"He'm wiser'n me, an' stronger. Ban't my place to think against him.
+Us'll go our ways, childern tu, an' turn our backs 'pon this desert. I
+hate the plaace now, same as Will."
+
+Chris here interrupted Phoebe and called her from the other room.
+
+"Wheer's the paper an' ink to? I be setting out the things against Will
+comes in. He axed for 'em to be ready, 'cause theer's a deal o'
+penmanship afore him to-night. An' wheer's that li'l dictionary what I
+gived un years ago? I lay he'll want it."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+TWO MIGHTY SURPRISES
+
+
+Will returned from survey of his tribulation. Hope was dead for the
+moment, and death of hope in a man of Blanchard's character proved
+painful. The writing materials distracted his mind. Beginning without
+interest, his composition speedily absorbed him; and before the task was
+half completed, he already pictured it set out in great black or red
+print upon conspicuous places.
+
+"I reckon it'll make some of 'em stare to see the scholar I am,
+anyways," he reflected.
+
+Through the hours of night he wrote and re-wrote. His pen scratched
+along, echoed by an exactly similar sound from the wainscots, where mice
+nibbled in the silence. Anon, from the debris of his composition, a
+complete work took shape; and when Phoebe awoke at three o'clock,
+discovered her husband was still absent, and sought him hurriedly, she
+found the inventory completed and Will just fastening its pages together
+with a piece of string. He was wide awake and in a particularly happy
+humour.
+
+"Ban't you never comin' to bed? 'T is most marnin'," she said.
+
+"Just comin'. What a job! Look here--twelve pages. I be surprised myself
+to think how blamed well I've got through wi' it. You doan't knaw what
+you can do till you try. I used to wonder at Clem's cleverness wi' a
+pen; but I be purty near so handy myself an' never guessed it!"
+
+"I'm sure you've made a braave job of it. I'll read it fust thing
+to-morrow."
+
+"You shall hear it now."
+
+"Not now, Will; 't is so late an' I'm three paarts asleep. Come to bed,
+dearie."
+
+"Oh--if you doan't care--if it's nought to you that I've sit up all
+night slavin' for our gude--"
+
+"Then I'll hear it now. Coourse I knaw 't is fine readin'. Awnly I
+thought you'd be weary."
+
+"Sit here an' put your toes to the heat."
+
+He set Phoebe in the chimney corner, wrapped his coat round her, and
+threw more turf on the fire.
+
+"Now you'm vitty; an' if theer's anything left out, tell me."
+
+"I lay, wi' your memory, you've forgot little enough."
+
+"I lay I haven't. All's here; an' 't is a gert wonder what a lot o' gude
+things us have got. They did ought to fetch a couple o' hunderd pound at
+least, if the sale's carried out proper."
+
+"They didn't cost so much as that."
+
+"By Gor! Didn't they? Well, set out in full, like this here, they do
+sound as if they ought to be worth it. Now, I'll read 'em to see how it
+all sounds in spoken words."
+
+He cleared his throat and began:
+
+"'Sale this day to Newtake Farm, near Chagford, Dartmoor, Devonshire.
+Mr. William Blanchard, being about to leave England for foreign parts,
+desires to sell at auction his farm property, household goods, cloam,
+and effects, etc., etc., as per items below, to the best bidder. Many
+things so good as new.' How do 'e like that, Phoebe?"
+
+"Butivul; but do 'e mean in all solemn seriousness to go out England? 'T
+is a awful thought, come you look at it close."
+
+"Ess, 't is a gert, bold thing to do; but I doan't fear it. I be gettin'
+into a business-like way o' lookin' 'pon life of late; an' I counts the
+cost an' moves arter, as is the right order. Listen to these items set
+out here. If they 'm printed big, wan under t'other, same as I've wrote
+'em, they'll fill a barn door purty nigh!"
+
+Then he turned to his papers.
+
+"'The said goods and chattels are as follows, namely,'--reg'lar lawyer's
+English, you see, though how I comed to get it so pat I caan't tell. Yet
+theer 'tis--'namely, 2 washing trays; 3 zinc buckets; 1 meat preserve; 1
+lantern; 2 bird-cages; carving knife and steel (Sheffield make)--'"
+
+"Do'e judge that's the best order, Will?"
+
+"Coourse 't is! I thought that out specially. Doan't go thrawin' me from
+my stride in the middle. Arter 'Sheffield make,' 'half-dozen knives and
+forks; sundry ditto, not so good; hand saw; 2 hammers; 1 cleaver;
+salting trendle; 3 wheelbarrows--'"
+
+"Doan't forget you lent wan of 'em to Farmer Thackwell."
+
+"No, I gived it to un, him bein' pushed for need of wan. It slipped my
+memory. '2 wheelbarrows.' Then I goes on, 'pig stock; pig trough; 2
+young breeding sows; 4 garden tools; 2 peat cutters; 2 carts; 1 market
+trap; 1 empty cask; 1 Dutch oven; 1 funnel; 2 firkins and a cider jib;
+small sieve; 3 pairs new Bedford harrows; 1 chain harrow (out of
+repair).' You see all's straight enough, which it ban't in some sales.
+No man shall say he's got less than full value."
+
+"You'm the last to think of such a thing."
+
+"I am. It goes on like this: '5 mattocks; 4 digging picks; 4 head
+chains; 1 axe; sledge and wedges; also hooks, eyes, and hasps for hard
+wood.' Never used 'em all the time us been here. '2 sets of trap
+harness, much worn.' I ban't gwaine to sell the dogs--eh? Us won't sell
+Ship or your li'l terrier. What do 'e say?"
+
+"No. Nobody would buy two auld dogs, for that matter."
+
+"Though how a upland dog like Ship be gwaine to faace the fiery sunshine
+on furrin gawld diggings, I caan't answer. Here goes again: '1 sofa; 1
+armchair; 4 fine chairs with green cloth seats; 1 bedstead; 2 cots; 1
+cradle; feather beds and palliasses and bolster pillows to match;
+wash-stands and sets of crockery, mostly complete; 2 swing glasses; 3
+bedroom chairs; 1 set of breeching harness--'"
+
+"Hadn't 'e better put that away from the furniture?"
+
+"No gert odds. 'Also 1 set leading harness; 2 tressels and ironing
+board; 2 fenders; fire-irons and fire-dogs; 1 old oak chest; 1 wardrobe;
+1 Brussels carpet (worn in 1 spot only)--'"
+
+"Ban't worn worth namin'."
+
+"Ess fay, 'tis wheer I sit Sundays--'9 feet by 11; 3 four-prong dung
+forks.' I'll move them. They doan't come in none tu well theer, I allow.
+'5 cane-seated chairs, 1 specimen of wax fruit under glass.'"
+
+"I caan't paart wi' that, lovey. Faither gived it to me; an' 'twas
+mother's wance on a time."
+
+"Well, bein' a forced sale it ought to go. An' seein' how Miller's left
+us to sail our awn boat to hell--but still, if you'm set on it."
+
+He crossed it out, then suddenly laughed until the walls rang.
+
+"Hush! You'll wake everybody. What do 'e find to be happy about?"
+
+"I was thinkin' that down in them furrin, fiery paarts we'm gwaine to,
+as your wax plums an' pears'll damned soon run away. They'll melt for
+sartin!"
+
+"Caan't be so hot as that! The li'l gal will never stand it. Read on
+now. Theer ban't much left, surely?"
+
+"Scores o' things! '1 stuffed kingfisher in good case with painted
+picture at back; 1 fox mask; 1 mahogany 2-lap table; 1 warming-pan;
+Britannia metal teapot and 6 spoons ditto metal; 5 spoons--smaller--ditto
+metal.'"
+
+"I found the one us lost."
+
+"Then 'tis '6 spoons--smaller--ditto metal.' Then, 'ironing stove; 5
+irons; washing boiler; 4 fry pans; 2 chimney crooks; 6 saucepans; pestle
+and mortar; chimney ornaments; 4 coloured almanacs--one with picture of
+the Queen--'"
+
+"They won't fetch nothin'."
+
+"They might. 'Knife sharper; screen; pot plants; 1 towel-rail; 1 runner;
+2 forms; kitchen table; scales and weights and beam; 1 set of casters; 4
+farm horses, aged; 3 ploughs; 1 hay wain; 1 stack of dry fern; 1-1/2
+tons good manure; old iron and other sundries, including poultry, ducks,
+geese, and fowls.' That's all."
+
+"Not quite; but I caan't call to mind much you've left out 'cept all the
+china an' linen."
+
+"Ah! that's your job. An' I just sit here an' brought the things to my
+memory, wan by wan! An' that bit at the top came easy as cutting a
+stick!"
+
+"'Tis a wonnerful piece o' work! An' the piano, Will?"
+
+"I hadn't forgot that. Must take it along wi' us, or else send it down
+to mother. Couldn't look her in the faace if I sold that."
+
+"Ban't worth much."
+
+"Caan't say. Cost faither five pound, though that was long ago. Anyway I
+be gwaine to buy it in."
+
+Silence then fell upon them. Phoebe sighed and shivered. A cock crew and
+his note came muffled from the hen-roost. A dim grey dawn just served to
+indicate the recumbent carcasses without.
+
+"Come to bed now an' take a little rest 'fore marnin', dearie. You've
+worked hard an' done wonders."
+
+"Ban't you surprised I could turn it out?"
+
+"That I be. I'd never have thought 'twas in 'e. So forehanded, tu!
+A'most afore them poor things be cold."
+
+"'Tis the forehandedness I prides myself 'pon. Some of us doan't know
+all that's in me yet. But they'll live to see it."
+
+"I knaw right well they will."
+
+"This'll 'maze mother to-morrow."
+
+"'Twill, sure 'nough."
+
+"Would 'e like me to read it just wance more wi'out stoppin', Phoebe?"
+
+"No, dear love, not now. Give it to us all arter breakfast in the
+marnin'."
+
+"So I will then; an' take it right away to the auctioneer the minute
+after."
+
+He put his papers away in the drawer of the kitchen table and retired.
+Uneasy sleep presently overtook him and long he tossed and turned,
+murmuring of his astonishment at his own powers with a pen.
+
+His impetuosity carried the ruined man forward with sufficient speed
+over the dark bitterness of failure confessed, failure advertised,
+failure proclaimed in print throughout the confines of his little world.
+He suffered much, and the wide-spread sympathy of friends and
+acquaintance proved no anodyne but rather the reverse. He hated to see
+eyes grow grave and mouths serious upon his entry; he yearned to turn
+his back against Chagford and resume the process of living in a new
+environment. Temporary troubles vexed him more than the supreme disaster
+of his failure. Mr. Bambridge made considerable alterations in his
+cherished lucubration; and when the advertisement appeared in print, it
+looked mean and filled but a paltry space. People came up before the
+sale to examine the goods, and Phoebe, after two days of whispered
+colloquies upon her cherished property, could bear it no longer, and
+left Newtake with her own little daughter and little Timothy. The Rev.
+Shorto-Champernowne himself called, stung Will into sheer madness, which
+he happily restrained, then purchased an old oak coffer for two pounds
+and ten shillings.
+
+Miller Lyddon made no sign, and hard things were muttered against him
+and Billy Blee in the village. Virtuous indignation got hold upon the
+Chagford quidnuncs and with one consent they declared Mr. Lyddon to
+blame. Where was his Christian charity--that charity which should begin
+at home and so seldom does? This interest in others' affairs took shape
+on the night before the Newtake sale. Then certain of the baser sort
+displayed their anger in a practical form, and Mr. Blee was hustled one
+dark evening, had his hat knocked off, and suffered from a dead cat
+thrown by unseen hands. The reason for this outrage also reached him.
+Then, chattering with indignation and alarm, he hurried home and
+acquainted Mr. Lyddon with the wild spirit abroad.
+
+As for Blanchard, he roamed moodily about the scene of his lost battle.
+In his pockets were journals setting forth the innumerable advantages of
+certain foreign regions that other men desired to people for their
+private ends. But Will was undecided, because all the prospects
+presented appeared to lead directly to fortune.
+
+The day of the sale dawned fine and at the appointed hour a thin stream
+of market carts and foot passengers wound towards Newtake from the
+village beneath and from a few outlying farms. Blanchard had gone up the
+adjacent hill; and lying there, not far distant from the granite cross,
+he reclined with his dog and watched the people. Him they did not see;
+but them he counted and found some sixty souls had been attracted by his
+advertisement. Men laughed and joked, and smoked; women shrugged their
+shoulders, peeped about and disparaged the goods. Here and there a
+purchaser took up his station beside a coveted lot. Some noticed that
+none of those most involved were present; others spread a rumour that
+Miller Lyddon designed to stop the sale at the last moment and buy in
+everything. But no such incident broke the course of proceedings.
+
+Will, from his hiding-place in the heather, saw Mr. Bambridge drive up,
+noted the crowd follow him about the farm, like black flies, and felt
+himself a man at his own funeral. The hour was dark enough. In the ear
+of his mind he listened to the auctioneer's hammer, like a death-bell,
+beating away all that he possessed. He had worked and slaved through
+long years for this,--for the sympathy of Chagford, for the privilege of
+spending a thousand pounds, for barely enough money to carry himself
+abroad. A few more figures dotted the white road and turned into the
+open gate at Newtake. One shape, though too remote to recognise with
+certainty, put him in mind of Martin Grimbal, another might have been
+Sam Bonus. He mused upon the two men, so dissimilar, and his mind dwelt
+chiefly with the former. He found himself thinking how good it would be
+if Martin proposed to Chris again; that the antiquary had done so was
+the last idea in his thoughts.
+
+Presently a brown figure crept through Newtake gate, hesitated a while,
+then began to climb the hill and approach Blanchard. Ship recognised it
+before Will's eyes enabled him to do so, and the dog rose from a long
+rest, stretched, sniffed the air, then trotted off to the approaching
+newcomer.
+
+It was Ted Chown; and in five minutes he reached his master with a
+letter. "'Tis from Miller Lyddon," he said. "It comed by the auctioneer.
+I thought you was up here."
+
+Blanchard took it without thanks, waited until the labourer had
+departed, then opened the letter with some slight curiosity.
+
+He read a page of scriptural quotations and admonitions, then tore the
+communication in half with a curse and flung it from him. But presently
+his anger waned; he rose, picked up his father-in-law's note, and
+plodded through it to the end.
+
+His first emotion was one of profound thanksgiving that he had done so.
+Here, at the very end of the letter, was the practical significance of
+it.
+
+"Powder fust, jam arter, by God!" cried Will aloud. Then a burst of
+riotous delight overwhelmed him. Once again in his darkest hour had
+Fortune turned the wheel. He shouted, put the letter into his breast
+pocket, rose up and strode off to Chagford as fast as his legs would
+carry him. He thought what his mother and wife would feel upon such
+news. Then he swore heartily--swore down blessings innumerable on Miller
+Lyddon, whistled to his dog, and so journeyed on.
+
+The master of Monks Barton had reproved Will through long pages, cited
+Scripture at him, displayed his errors in a grim procession, then
+praised him for his prompt and manly conduct under the present
+catastrophe, declared that his character had much developed of recent
+years, and concluded by offering him five-and-thirty shillings a week at
+Monks Barton, with the only stipulation that himself, his wife, and the
+children should dwell at the farm.
+
+Praise, of which he had received little enough for many years, was pure
+honey to Will. From the extremity of gloom and from a dark and settled
+enmity towards Mr. Lyddon, he passed quicker than thought to an opposite
+condition of mind.
+
+"'Tis a fairy story--awnly true!" he said to himself as he swept along.
+
+Will came near choking when he thought of the miller. Here was a man
+that believed in him! Newtake tumbled clean out of his mind before this
+revelation of Mr. Lyddon's trust and confidence. He was full to the
+brainpan with Monks Barton. The name rang in his ears. Before he reached
+Chagford he had planned innumerable schemes for developing the valley
+farm, for improving, saving, increasing possibilities in a hundred
+directions. He pictured himself putting money into the miller's pocket.
+He determined to bring that about if he had to work four-and-twenty
+hours a day to do it. He almost wished some profound peril would
+threaten his father-in-law, that he, at the cost of half his life, if
+need be, might rescue him and so pay a little of this great debt. Ship,
+taking the cue from his master, as a dog will, leapt and barked before
+him. In the valley below, Phoebe wept on Mrs. Blanchard's bosom, and
+Chris said hard things of those in authority at Monks Barton; up aloft
+at Newtake, shillings rather than pounds changed hands and many a poor
+lot found no purchaser.
+
+Passing by a gate beneath the great hill of Middledown, Will saw two
+sportsmen with a keeper and a brace of terriers, emerge from the wild
+land above. They were come from rabbit shooting, as the attendant's
+heavy bag testified. They faced him as he passed, and, recognising John
+Grimbal, Will did not look at his companion. At rest with the world just
+then, happy and contented to a degree he had not reached for years, the
+young farmer was in such amiable mood that he had given the devil "good
+day" on slightest provocation. Now he was carried out of himself, and
+spoke upon a joyous inclination of the moment.
+
+"Marnin' to 'e, Jan Grimbal! Glad to hear tell as your greyhound winned
+the cup down to Newton coursing."
+
+The other was surprised into a sort of grunt; then, as Will moved
+rapidly out of earshot, Grimbal's companion addressed him. It was Major
+Tremayne; and now the soldier regarded Blanchard's vanishing figure with
+evident amazement, then spoke.
+
+"By Jove! Tom Newcombe, by all that's wonderful," he said.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+THE SECRET OUT
+
+
+NOW many different persons in various places were simultaneously
+concerned with Will Blanchard and his affairs.
+
+At Newtake, Martin Grimbal was quietly buying a few lots--and those
+worth the most money. He designed these as a gift for Phoebe; and his
+object was not wholly disinterested. The antiquary could by no means
+bring himself to accept his last dismissal from Chris. Seeing the vague
+nature of those terms in which she had couched her refusal, and
+remembering her frank admission that she could love him, he still hoped.
+All his soul was wrapped up in the winning of Chris, and her face came
+between him and the proof-sheets of his book; the first thoughts of his
+wakening mind turned to the same problem; the last reflections of a
+brain sinking to rest were likewise occupied with it. How could he win
+her? Sometimes his yearning desires clamoured for any possible road to
+the precious goal, and he remembered his brother's hint that a secret
+existed in Will's life. At such times he wished that he knew it, and
+wondered vaguely if the knowledge were of a nature to further his own
+ambition. Then he blushed and thought ill of himself But this personal
+accusation was unjust, for it is the property of a strong intellect
+engaged about affairs of supreme importance, to suggest every possible
+action and present every possible point of view by the mere mechanical
+processes of thinking. The larger a brain, the more alternative courses
+are offered, the more facets gleam with thought, the more numerous the
+roads submitted to judgment. It is a question of intellect, not ethics.
+Right actions and crooked are alike remorselessly presented, and the
+Council of Perfection, which holds that to think amiss is sin, must
+convict every saint of unnumbered offences. As reasonably might we blame
+him who dreams murder. Departure from rectitude can only begin where
+evil thought is converted into evil action, for thought alone of all
+man's possessions and antecedents is free, and a lifetime of
+self-control and high thinking will not shut the door against ideas.
+That Martin--a man of luminous if limited intellect--should have
+considered every possible line of action which might assist him to come
+at the highest good life could offer was inevitable; but he missed the
+reason of certain sinister notions and accused himself of baseness in
+giving birth to them. Nevertheless, the idea recurred and took shape. He
+associated John's assertion of a secret with another rumour that had
+spread much farther afield. This concerned the parentage of little
+Timothy the foundling, for it was whispered widely of late that the
+child belonged to Blanchard. Of course many people knew all the facts,
+were delighted to retail them, and could give the mother's name. Only
+those most vitally concerned had heard nothing as yet.
+
+These various matters were weighing not lightly on Martin's mind during
+the hours of the Newtake sale; and meantime Will thundered into his
+mother's cottage and roared the news. He would hear of no objection to
+his wish, that one and all should straightway proceed to Monks Barton,
+and he poured forth the miller's praises, while Phoebe was reduced to
+tears by perusal of her father's letter to Will.
+
+"Thank Heaven the mystery's read now, an' us can see how Miller had his
+eyes 'pon 'e both all along an' just waited for the critical stroke,"
+said Mrs. Blanchard. "Sure I've knawed him these many years an' never
+could onderstand his hard way in this; but now all's clear."
+
+"He might have saved us a world of trouble and a sea o' tears if he'd
+awnly spoken sooner, whether or no," murmured Chris, but Will would
+tolerate no unfriendly criticism.
+
+"He'm a gert man, wi' his awn way o' doin' things, like all gert men,"
+he burst out; "an' ban't for any man to call un in question. He knawed
+the hard stuff I was made of and let me bide accordin'. An' now get your
+bonnets on, the lot of 'e, for I'm gwaine this instant moment to Monks
+Barton."
+
+They followed him in a breathless procession, as he hurried across the
+farmyard.
+
+"Rap to the door quick, dear heart," said Phoebe, "or I'll be cryin'
+again."
+
+"No more rappin' after thicky butivul letter," answered Will. "Us'll gaw
+straight in."
+
+"You walk fust, Phoebe--'tis right you should," declared Mrs. Blanchard.
+"Then Will can follow 'e; an' me an' Chris--us'll walk 'bout for a bit,
+till you beckons from window."
+
+"Cheer up, Phoebe," cried Will. "Trouble's blawed awver for gude an' all
+now by the look of it. 'Tis plain sailing hencefarrard, thank God, that
+is, if a pair o' strong arms, working morning an' night for Miller, can
+bring it about."
+
+So they went together, where Mr. Lyddon waited nervously within; and
+Damaris and Chris walked beside the river.
+
+Upon his island sat the anchorite Muscovy duck as of yore. He was
+getting old. He still lived apart and thought deeply about affairs; but
+his conclusions he never divulged.
+
+Yet another had been surprised into unutterable excitement during that
+afternoon. John Grimbal found the fruit of long desire tumble into his
+hand at last, as Major Tremayne made his announcement. The officer was
+spending a fortnight at the Red House, for his previous friendship with
+John Grimbal had ripened.
+
+"By Jove! Tom Newcombe, by all that's wonderful!" he exclaimed, as Will
+swung past him down the hill to happiness.
+
+"That's not his name. It's Blanchard. He's a young fool of a farmer, and
+Lord knows what he's got to be so cock-a-hoop about. Up the hill they're
+selling every stick he's got at auction. He's ruined."
+
+"He might be ruined, indeed, if I liked. 'Tom Newcombe' he called
+himself when he was with us."
+
+"A soldier!"
+
+"He certainly was, and my servant; about the most decent,
+straightforward, childlike chap that ever I saw."
+
+"God!"
+
+"You're surprised. But it's a fact. That's Newcombe all right. You
+couldn't forget a face and a laugh like his. The handsomest man I've
+ever seen, bar none. He borrowed a suit of my clothes, the beggar, when
+he vanished. But a week later I had the things back with a letter. He
+trusted me that far. I tried to trace him, of course, but was not sorry
+I failed."
+
+"A letter!"
+
+"Yes, giving a reason for his desertion. Some chap was running after his
+girl and had got her in a corner and bullied her into saying 'Yes,'
+though she hated the sight of him. I'd have done anything for Tom. But
+he took the law into his own hands. He disappeared--we were at
+Shorncliffe then if I remember rightly. The chap had joined to get
+abroad, and he told me all his harum-scarum ambitions once. I hope the
+poor devil was in time to rescue his sweetheart, anyway."
+
+"Yes, he was in time for that."
+
+"I'm glad."
+
+"Should you see him again, Tremayne, I would advise your pretending not
+to know him. Unless, of course, you consider it your duty to proclaim
+him."
+
+"Bless your life, I don't know him from Adam," declared the Major. "I'm
+not going to move after all these years. I wish he'd come back to me
+again, all the same. A good servant."
+
+"Poor brute! What's the procedure with a deserter? Do you send soldiers
+for him or the police?"
+
+"A pair of handcuffs and the local bobby, that's all. Then the man's
+handed over to the military authorities and court-martialled."
+
+"What would he get?"
+
+"Depends on circumstances and character. Tom might probably have six
+months, as he didn't give himself up. I should have thought, knowing the
+manner of man, that he would have done his business, married the girl,
+then come back and surrendered. In that case, being peace time, he would
+only have forfeited his service, which didn't amount to much."
+
+So John Grimbal learned the secret of his enemy at last; but, to pursue
+a former simile, the fruit had remained so long out of reach that now it
+was not only overripe, but rotten. There began a painful resuscitation
+of desires towards revenge--desires long moribund. To flog into life a
+passion near dead of inanition was Grimbal's disgusting task. For days
+and nights the thing was as Frankenstein's creation of grisly shreds and
+patches; then it moved spasmodically,--or he fancied that it moved.
+
+He fooled himself with reiterated assurances that he was glorying in the
+discovery; he told himself that he was not made of the human stuff that
+can forgive bitter wrongs or forget them until cancelled. He painted in
+lurid colours his past griefs; through a ghastly morass of revenge grown
+stale, of memories deadened by time, he tried to struggle back to his
+original starting-point in vanished years, and feel as he felt when he
+flung Will Blanchard over Rushford Bridge.
+
+Once he wished to God the truth had never reached him; then he urged
+himself to use it instantly and plague his mind no more. A mental
+exhaustion and nausea overtook him. Upon the night of his discovery he
+retired to sleep wishing that Blanchard would be as good as his rumoured
+word and get out of England. But this thought took a shape of reality in
+the tattered medley of dreams, and Grimbal, waking, leapt on to the
+floor in frantic fear that his enemy had escaped him.
+
+As yet he knew nothing of Will's good fortune, and when it came to his
+ears it unexpectedly failed to reawaken resentment or strengthen his
+animosity. For, as he retraced the story of the past years, it was with
+him as with a man reading the narrative of another's wrongs. He could
+not yet absorb himself anew in the strife; he could not revive the
+personal element.
+
+Sometimes he looked at himself in the glass as he shaved; and the sight
+of the grey hair thickening on the sides of his head, the spectacle of
+the deep lines upon his forehead and the stamp of many a shadowy
+crow's-foot about his blue eyes--these indications served more than all
+his thoughts to sting him into deeds and to rekindle an active
+malignancy.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+SMALL TIMOTHY
+
+
+A year and more than a year passed by, during which time some pure
+sunshine brightened the life of Blanchard. Chagford laughed at his
+sustained good fortune, declared him to have as many lives as a cat, and
+secretly regretted its outspoken criticism of Miller Lyddon before the
+event of his generosity. Life at Monks Barton was at least wholly happy
+for Will himself. No whisper or rumour of renewed tribulation reached
+his ear; early and late he worked, with whole-hearted energy; he
+differed from Mr. Blee as seldom as possible; he wearied the miller with
+new designs, tremendous enterprises, particulars concerning novel
+machinery, and much information relating to nitrates. Newtake had
+vanished out of his life, like an old coat put off for the last time. He
+never mentioned the place and there was now but one farm in all Devon
+for him.
+
+Meantime a strange cloud increased above him, though as yet he had not
+discerned so much as the shadow of it. This circumstance possessed no
+connection with John Grimbal. Time passed and still he did not take
+action, though he continued to nurse his wrongs through winter, spring,
+and summer, as a child nurses a sick animal. The matter tainted his life
+but did not dominate it. His existence continued to be soured and
+discoloured, yet not entirely spoiled. Now a new stone of stumbling lay
+ahead and Grimbal's interest had shifted a little.
+
+Like the rest of Chagford he heard the rumour of little Timothy's
+parentage--a rumour that grew as the resemblance ripened between
+Blanchard and the child. Interested by this thought and its
+significance, he devoted some time to it; and then, upon an early
+October morning, chance hurried the man into action. On the spur of an
+opportunity he played the coward, as many another man has done, only to
+mourn his weakness too late.
+
+There came a misty autumn sunrise beside the river and Grimbal,
+hastening through the valley of Teign, suddenly found himself face to
+face with Phoebe. She had been upon the meadows since grey dawn, where
+many mushrooms set in silvery dew glimmered like pearls through the
+mist; and now, with a full basket, she was returning to Monks Barton for
+breakfast. As she rested for a moment at a stile between two fields,
+Grimbal loomed large from the foggy atmosphere and stood beside her. She
+moved her basket for him to pass and her pulses quickened but slightly,
+for she had met him on numerous occasions during past years and they
+were now as strangers. To Phoebe he had long been nothing, and any
+slight emotion he might awaken was in the nature of resentment that the
+man could still harden his heart against her husband and remain thus
+stubborn and obdurate after such lapse of time. When, therefore, John
+Grimbal, moved thereto by some sudden prompting, addressed Will's wife,
+she started in astonishment and a blush of warm blood leapt to her face.
+He himself was surprised at his own voice; for it sounded unfamiliar, as
+though some intelligent thing had suddenly possessed him and was using
+his vocal organs for its own ends.
+
+"Don't move. Why, 't is a year since we met alone, I think. So you are
+back at Monks Barton. Does it bring thoughts? Is it all sweet? By your
+face I should judge not."
+
+She stared and her mouth trembled, but she did not answer.
+
+"You needn't tell me you're happy," he continued, with hurried words.
+"Nobody is, for that matter. But you might have been. Looking at your
+ruined life and my own, I can find it in my heart to be sorry for us
+both."
+
+"Who dares to say my life is ruined?" she flashed out. "D' you think I
+would change Will for the noblest in the land? He _is_ the noblest. I
+want no pity--least of all yourn. I've been a very lucky
+woman--and--everybody knaws it whatever they may say here an' theer."
+
+She was strong before him now; her temper appeared in her voice and she
+took her basket and rose to leave him.
+
+"Wait one moment. Chance threw us here, and I'll never speak to you
+again if you resent it. But, meeting you like this, something seemed to
+tell me to say a word and let you know. I'm sorry you are so
+wretched--honestly."
+
+"I ban't wretched! Never was a happier wife."
+
+"Never was a better one, I know; but happy? Think. I was fond of you
+once and I can read between the lines--the little thin lines on your
+forehead. They are newcomers. I'm not deceived. Nor is it hidden. That
+the man has proved faithless is common knowledge now. Facts are hard
+things and you've got the fact under your eyes. The child's his living
+image."
+
+"Who told you, and how dare you foul my ears and thoughts with such
+lies?" she asked, her bosom heaving. "You'm a coward, as you always was,
+but never more a coward than this minute."
+
+"D' you pretend that nobody has told you this? Aren't your own eyes
+bright enough to see it?"
+
+The man was in a pitiful mood, and now he grew hot and forgot himself
+wholly before her stinging contempt. She did not reply to his question
+and he continued,--
+
+"Your silence is an answer. You know well enough. Who's the mother?
+Perhaps you know that, too. Is she more to him than you are?"
+
+Phoebe made a great effort to keep herself from screaming. Then she
+moved hastily away, but Grimbal stopped her and dared her to proceed.
+
+"Wait. I'll have this out. Why don't you face him with it and make him
+tell you the truth? Any plucky woman would. The scandal grows into a
+disgrace and your father's a fool to stand it. You can tell him so from
+me."
+
+"Mind your awn business an' let me pass, you hulking, gert, venomous
+wretch!" she cried. Then a blackguard inspiration came to the man, and,
+suffering under a growing irritation with himself as much as with
+Phoebe, he conceived an idea by which his secret might after all be made
+a bitter weapon. He assured himself, even while he hated the sight of
+her, that justice to Phoebe must be done. She had dwelt in ignorance
+long enough. He determined to tell her that she was the wife of a
+deserter. The end gained was the real idea in his mind, though he tried
+to delude himself. The sudden idea that he might inform Blanchard
+through Phoebe of his knowledge really actuated him.
+
+"You may turn your head away as if I was dirt, you little fool, and you
+may call me what names you please; but I'm raising this question for
+your good, not my own. What do I care? Only it's a man's part to step in
+when he sees a woman being trampled on."
+
+"A man!" she said. "You'm not in our lives any more, an' we doan't want
+'e in 'em. More like to a meddlin' auld woman than a man, if you ax me."
+
+"You can say that? Then we'll put you out of the question. I, at least,
+shall do my duty."
+
+"Is it part of your duty to bully me here alone? Why doan't 'e faace the
+man, like a man, 'stead of blusterin' to me 'bout it? Out on you! Let me
+pass, I tell 'e."
+
+"Doan't make that noise. Just listen and stand still. I'm in earnest. It
+pleases me to know the true history of this child, and I mean to. As a
+Justice of the Peace I mean to."
+
+"Ax Will Blanchard then an' let him answer. Maybe you'll be sorry you
+spoke arter."
+
+"You can tell him I want to see him; you can say I order him to come to
+the Red House between eight and nine next Monday."
+
+"Be you a fule? Who's he, to come at your bidding?"
+
+"He's a--well, no matter. You've got enough to trouble you. But I think
+he will come. Tell him that I know where he was during the autumn and
+winter of the year that I returned home from Africa. Tell him I know
+where he came from to marry you. Tell him the grey suit of clothes
+reached the owner safely--remember, the grey suit of clothes. That will
+refresh his memory. Then I think he will come fast enough and let me
+have the truth concerning this brat. If he refuses, I shall take steps
+to see justice done."
+
+"I lay he's never put himself in the power of a black-hearted, cruel
+beast like you," blazed out the woman, furious and frightened at once.
+
+"Has he not? Ask him. You don't know where he was during those months? I
+thought you didn't. I do. Perhaps this child--perhaps the other woman's
+the married one--"
+
+Phoebe dropped her basket and her face grew very pale before the horrors
+thus coarsely spread before her. She staggered and felt sick at the
+man's last speech. Then, with one great sob of breath, she turned her
+back on him, nerved herself to use her shaking legs, and set off at her
+best speed, as one running from some dangerous beast of the field.
+
+Grimbal made no attempt to follow, but watched her fade into the mist,
+then turned and pursued his way through the dripping woodlands. Sunrise
+fires gleamed along the upper layers of the fading vapours and gilded
+autumn's handiwork. Ripe seeds fell tapping through the gold of the
+horse-chestnuts, and many acorns also pattered down upon a growing
+carpet of leaves. Webs and gossamers twinkled in the sunlight, and the
+flaming foliage made a pageant of colour through waning mists where red
+leaves and yellow fell at every breath along the thinning woods. Beneath
+trees and hedgerows the ripe mosses gleamed, and coral and amber fungi,
+with amanita and other hooded folk. In companies and clusters they
+sprang or arose misshapen, sinister, and alone. Some were orange and
+orange-tawny; others white and purple; not a few peered forth livid,
+blotched, and speckled, as with venom spattered from some reptile's
+jaws. On the wreck of the year they flourished, sucked strange life from
+rotten stick and hollow tree, opened gills on lofty branch and bough,
+shone in the green grass rings of the meadows, thrust cup and cowl from
+the concourse of the dead leaves in ditches, clustered like the uprising
+roof-trees of a fairy village in dingle and in dene.
+
+At the edge of the woods John Grimbal stood, and the hour was very dark
+for him and he cursed at the loss of his manhood. His heart turned to
+gall before the thought of the thing he had done, as he blankly
+marvelled what unsuspected base instinct had thus disgraced him. He had
+plumbed a possibility unknown within his own character, and before his
+shattered self-respect he stood half passionate, half amazed. Chance had
+thus wrecked him; an impulse had altered the whole face of the problem;
+and he gritted his teeth as he thought of Blanchard's feelings when
+Phoebe should tell her story. As for her, she at least had respected him
+during the past years; but what must henceforth be her estimate of him?
+He heaped bitter contempt upon himself for this brutality to a woman; he
+raged, as he pursued long chains of consequences begot of this single
+lapse of self-control. His eye was cleared from passion; he saw the base
+nature of his action and judged himself as others would judge him. This
+spectacle produced a definite mental issue and aroused long-stagnant
+emotions from their troubled slumbers. He discovered that a frank hatred
+of Will Blanchard awoke and lived. He told himself this man was to blame
+for all, and not content with poisoning his life, now ravaged his soul
+also and blighted every outlook of his being. Like a speck upon an
+eyeball, which blots the survey of the whole eye, so this wretch had
+fastened upon him, ruined his ambitions, wrecked his life, and now
+dragged his honour and his very manhood into the dust. John Grimbal
+found himself near choked by a raging fit of passion at last. He burnt
+into sheer frenzy against Blanchard; and the fuel of the fire was the
+consciousness of his own craven performance of that morning. Flying from
+self-contemplation, he sought distraction and even oblivion at any
+source where his mind could win it; and now he laid all blame on his
+enemy and suffered the passion of his own shame and remorse to rise, as
+it had been a red mist, against this man who was playing havoc with his
+body and soul. He trembled under the loneliness of the woods in a
+debauch of mere brute rage that exhausted him and left a mark on the
+rest of his life. Even his present powers appeared trifling and their
+exercise a deed unsatisfying before this frenzy. What happiness could be
+achieved by flinging Blanchard into prison for a few months at most?
+What salve could be won from thought of this man's disgrace and social
+ruin? The spectacle sank into pettiness now. His blood was surging
+through his veins and crying for action. Primitive passion gripped him
+and craved primitive outlet. At that hour, in his own deepest
+degradation, the man came near madness, and every savage voice in him
+shouted for blood and blows and batterings in the flesh.
+
+Phoebe Blauchard hastened home, meanwhile, and kept her own counsel upon
+the subject of the dawn's sensational incidents. Her first instinct was
+to tell her husband everything at the earliest opportunity, but Will had
+departed to his work before she reached the farm, and on second thoughts
+she hesitated to speak or give John Grimbal's message. She feared to
+precipitate the inevitable. In her own heart what mystery revolved about
+Will's past performances undoubtedly embraced the child fashioned in his
+likeness; and though she had long fought against the rumour and deceived
+herself by pretending to believe Chris, whose opinion differed from that
+of most people, yet at her heart she felt truth must lie hidden
+somewhere in the tangle. Will and Mr. Lyddon alone knew nothing of the
+report, and Phoebe hesitated to break it to her husband. He was
+happy--perhaps in the consciousness that nobody realised the truth; and
+yet at his very gates a bitter foe guessed at part of his secret and
+knew the rest. Still Phoebe could not bring herself to speak
+immediately. A day of mental stress and strain ended, and she retired
+and lay beside Will very sad. Under darkness of night the threats of the
+enemy grew into an imminent disaster of terrific dimensions, and with
+haunting fear she finally slept, to waken in a nightmare.
+
+Will, wholly ignorant of the facts, soothed Phoebe's alarm and calmed
+her as she clung to him in hysterical tears.
+
+"No ill shall come to 'e while I live," she sobbed: "not if all the
+airth speaks evil of 'e. I'll cleave to 'e, and fight for 'e, an' be a
+gude wife, tu,--a better wife than you've been husband."
+
+"Bide easy, an' doan't cry no more. My arm's round 'e, dearie. Theer,
+give awver, do! You've been dreamin' ugly along o' the poor supper you
+made, I reckon. Doan't 'e think nobody's hand against me now, for ban't
+so. Folks begin to see the manner of man I am; an' Miller knaws, which
+is all I care about. He've got a strong right arm workin' for him an' a
+tidy set o' brains, though I sez it; an' you might have a worse husband,
+tu, Phoebe; but theer--shut your purty eyes--I knaw they 'm awpen still,
+for I can hear your lashes against the sheet. An' doan't 'e go out in
+the early dews mushrooming no more, for 't is cold work, an' you've got
+to be strong these next months."
+
+She thought for a moment of telling him boldly concerning the legend
+spreading on every side; but, like others less near and dear to him, she
+feared to do so.
+
+Knowing Will Blanchard, not a man among the backbiters had cared to risk
+a broken head by hinting openly at the startling likeness between the
+child and himself; and Phoebe felt her own courage unequal to the task
+just then. She racked her brains with his dangers long after he was
+himself asleep, and finally she determined to seek Chris next morning
+and hear her opinion before taking any definite step.
+
+On the same night another pair of eyes were open, and trouble of a sort
+only less deep than that of the wife kept her father awake. Billy had
+taken an opportunity to tell his master of the general report and spread
+before him the facts as he knew them.
+
+The younger members of the household had retired early, and when Miller
+Lyddon took the cards from the mantelpiece and made ready for their
+customary game, Mr. Blee shook his head and refused to play.
+
+"Got no heart for cards to-night," he said.
+
+"What's amiss, then? Thank God I've heard little to call ill news for a
+month or two. Not but what I've fancied a shadow on my gal's face more'n
+wance."
+
+"If not on hers, wheer should 'e see it?" asked Mr. Blee eagerly."
+I've seed it, tu, an' for that matter theer's sour looks an' sighs
+elsewheer. People ban't blind, worse luck. 'Tis grawed to be common
+talk, an' I've fired myself to tell you, 'cause 'tis fitting an' right,
+an' it might come more grievous from less careful lips."
+
+"Go on then; an' doan't rack me longer'n you can help. Use few words."
+
+"Many words must go to it, I reckon. 'Tis well knawn I unfolds a bit o'
+news like the flower of the field--gradual and sure. You might have
+noticed that love-cheel by the name of Timothy 'bout the plaace? Him as
+be just of age to harry the ducks an' such-like."
+
+"A nice li'l bwoy, tu, an' fond of me; an' you caan't say he'm a
+love-cheel, knawin' nothin' 'bout him."
+
+"Love-cheel or changeling, 'tis all wan. Have'e ever thought 'twas
+coorious the way Blanchard comed by un?"
+
+"Certainly 'twas--terrible coorious."
+
+"You never doubted it?"
+
+"Why for should I? Will's truthful as light, whatever else he may be."
+
+"You believe as he went 'pon the Moor an' found that bwoy in a
+roundy-poundy under the gloamin'?"
+
+"Ess, I do."
+
+"Have'e ever looked at the laddie close?"
+
+"Oftentimes--so like Will as two peas."
+
+"Theer 'tis! The picter of Will! How do'e read that?"
+
+"Never tried to. An accident, no more."
+
+"A damn queer accident, if you ax me. Burnish it all! You doan't see
+yet, such a genius of a man as you tu! Why, Will Blanchard's the faither
+of the li'l twoad! You've awnly got to know the laws of nature an'
+such-like to swear to it. The way he walks an' holds his head, his
+curls, his fashion of lording it awver the birds an' beasts, the sudden
+laugh of un--he's Will's son, for a thousand pound, an' his mother's
+alive, like as not."
+
+"No mother would have gived up a child that way."
+
+"'Zactly so! Onless she gived it to the faither!" said Billy
+triumphantly.
+
+Mr. Lyddon reflected and showed an evident disposition to scoff at the
+whole story.
+
+"'Tis stuff an' rubbish!" he said. "You might as well find a mare's nest
+t'other side an' say 'twas Will's sister's child. 'Tis almost so like
+her as him, an' got her brown eyes in the bargain."
+
+"God forbid!" answered Billy, in horror. "That's flat libel, an' I'd be
+the last to voice any such thing for money. If a man gets a cheel wrong
+side the blanket 'tis just a passing sarcumstance, an' not to be took
+too serious. Half-a-crown a week is its awn punishment like. But if a
+gal do, 'tis destruction to the end of the chapter, an' shame
+everlasting in the world to come, by all accounts. You didn't ought to
+think o' such things, Miller,--takin' a pure, gude maiden's carater like
+that. Surprised at 'e!"
+
+"'Tis just as mad a thought wan way as t'other, and if you'm surprised
+so be I. To be a tale-bearer at your time o' life!"
+
+"That gormed Blanchard's bewitched 'e from fust to last!" burst out
+Billy. "If a angel from heaven comed down-long and tawld 'e the truth
+'bout un, you wouldn't b'lieve. God stiffen it! You make me mad! You'd
+stand 'pon your head an' waggle your auld legs in the air for un if he
+axed 'e."
+
+"I'll speak to him straight an' take his word for it. If it's true, he
+'m wickedly to blame, I knaw that."
+
+"I was thinkin' of your darter. 'Tis black thoughts have kept her waking
+since this reached her ears."
+
+"Did you tell her what people were sayin'? I warrant you did!"
+
+"You'm wrong then. No such thing. I may have just heaved a sigh when I
+seed the bwoy playin' in front of her, an' looked at Blanchard, an'
+shook my head, or some such gentle hint as that. But no more."
+
+"Well, I doan't believe a word of it; an' I'll tell you this for your
+bettering,--'tis poor religion in you, Blee, to root into other people's
+troubles, like a pig in a trough; an' auld though you be, you 'm not tu
+auld to mind what it felt like when the blood was hot an' quick to race
+at the sight of a maid."
+
+"I practice same as I preach, whether or no," said Billy stoutly, "an' I
+can't lay claim to creating nothing lawful or unlawful in my Maker's
+image. 'Tis something to say that, in these godless days. I've allus
+kept my foot on the world, the flesh, an' the Devil so tight as the best
+Christian in company; an' if that ban't a record for a stone, p'raps
+you'll tell me a better. Your two-edged tongue do make me feel sometimes
+as though I did ought to go right away from 'e, though God knaws--God,
+He knaws--"
+
+Billy hid his face and began to weep, while Mr. Lyddon watched the
+candle-light converge to a shining point upon his bald skull.
+
+"Doan't go against a word in season, my dear sawl. 'Tis our duty to set
+each other right. That's what we'm put here for, I doubt. Many's the
+time you've given me gude advice, an' I've thanked 'e an' took it."
+
+Then he went for the spirits and mixed Mr. Blee a dose of more than
+usual strength.
+
+"You'm the most biting user of language in Chagford, when you mind to
+speak sour," declared Billy. "If I thought you meant all you said, I'd
+go an' hang myself in the barn this instant moment. But you doan't."
+
+He snuffled and dried his scanty tears on a red handkerchief, then
+cheered up and drank his liquor.
+
+"It do take all sorts to make a world, an' a man must act accordin' as
+he'm built," continued Mr. Lyddon. "Ban't no more use bein' angered wi'
+a chap given to women than 'tis bein' angered wi' a fule, because he's a
+fule. What do 'e expect from a fule but folly, or a crab tree but
+useless fruit, or hot blood but the ways of it? This ban't to speak of
+Will Blanchard, though. 'Pon him we'll say no more till he've heard
+what's on folks' tongues. A maddening bwoy--I'll allow you that--an'
+he've took a year or two off my life wan time an' another. 'Pears I
+ban't never to graw to love un as I would; an' yet I caan't quite help
+it when I sees his whole-hearted ferment to put money into my pocket; or
+when I hears him talk of nitrates an' the ways o' the world; or watches
+un playin' make-believe wi' the childer--himself the biggest cheel as
+ever laughed at fulishness or wanted spankin' an' putting in the
+corner."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+FLIGHT
+
+
+On the following morning Miller Lyddon arose late, looked from his
+window and immediately observed the twain with whom his night thoughts
+had been concerned. Will stood at the gate smoking; small Timothy, and
+another lad, of slightly riper years, appeared close by. The children
+were fighting tooth and nail upon the ownership of a frog, and this
+reptile itself, fastened by the leg to a stick, listlessly watched the
+progress of the battle. Will likewise surveyed the scene with genial
+attention, and encouraged the particular little angry animal who had
+most claim upon his interest. Timothy kicked and struck out pretty
+straight, but fought in silence; the bigger boy screamed and howled and
+scratched.
+
+"Vang into un, man, an' knock his ugly head off!" said Will
+encouragingly, and the babe to whom he spoke made renewed efforts as
+both combatants tumbled into the road, the devil in their little bright
+eyes, each puny muscle straining. Tim had his foe by the hair, and the
+elder was trying to bite his enemy's leg, when Martin Grimbal and Chris
+Blanchard approached from Rushford Bridge. They had met by chance, and
+Chris was coming to the farm while the antiquary had business elsewhere.
+Now a scuffle in a cloud of dust arrested them and the woman,
+uninfluenced by considerations of sportsmanship, pounced upon Timothy,
+dragged him from his operations, and, turning to Will, spoke as Martin
+Grimbal had never heard her speak before.
+
+"You, a grawed man, to stand theer an' see that gert wild beast of a
+bwoy tear this li'l wan like a savage tiger! Look at his sclowed faace
+all streaming wi' blood! 'S truth! I'd like to sarve you the same, an' I
+would for two pins! I'm ashamed of 'e!"
+
+"He hit wi' his fistes like a gude un," said Will, grinning; "an' he'm
+made o' the right stuff, I'll swear. Couldn't have done better if he was
+my awn son. I be gwaine to give un a braave toy bimebye. You see t'other
+kid's faace come to-morrow!"
+
+Martin Grimbal watched Chris fondle the gasping Timothy, clean his
+wounds, calm his panting heart; then, as though a superhuman voice
+whispered in his ear, her secret stood solved, and the truth of
+Timothy's parentage confronted him in a lightning flash of the soul. He
+looked at Chris as a man might gaze upon a spectre; he stared at her and
+through her into her past; he pieced each part of the puzzle to its
+kindred parts until all stood complete; he read "mother" in her voice,
+in her caressing hands and gleaming eyes as surely as man reads morning
+in the first light of dawn; and he marvelled that a thing so clear and
+naked had been left to his discovery. The revelation shook him not a
+little, for he was familiar with the rumours concerning Tim's paternity,
+and had been disposed to believe them; but from the moment of the new
+thought's inception it gripped him, for he felt that the thing was true.
+As lamps, so ordered that the light of each may fall on the fringe of
+darkness where its fellow fades, and thus complete a chain of
+illumination, so the present discovery, duly considered, was but one
+point of truth revealing others. It made clear much that had not been
+easy to understand, and the tremendous fact rose in his mind as a link
+in such a perfect sequence of evidence that doubt actually vanished
+before he had lost sight of Chris and passed dumfounded upon his way.
+Her lover's sudden death, her own disappearance, the child's advent at
+Newtake, and the woman's subsequent return--these main incidents
+connected a thousand others and explained what little mystery still
+obscured the position. He pursued his road and marvelled as he went how
+a tragedy so thinly veiled had thus escaped every eye. Within the story
+that Chris had told, this other story might be intercalated without
+convicting her of any spoken falsehood. Now he guessed at the reason why
+Timothy's mother had refused to marry him on his last proposal; then,
+thinking of the child, he knew Tim's father.
+
+So he stood before the truth; and it filled his heart with some agony
+and some light. Examining his love in this revelation, he discovered
+strange things; and first, that it was love only that had opened his
+eyes and enabled him to solve the secret at all. Nobody had made the
+discovery but himself, and he, of all men the least likely to come at
+any concern others desired to hide from him, had fathomed this great
+fact, had won it from the heart of unconscious Chris. His love widened
+and deepened into profound pity as he thought of all that her secret and
+the preservation of it must have meant; and tears dimmed his eyes as he
+pictured her life since her lover's passing.
+
+To him the discovery hurt Chris so little that for a time he underrated
+the effect of it upon other people. His affection rose clean above the
+unhappy fact, and it was some time before he began to appreciate the
+spectacle of Chris under the world's eye with the truth no longer
+hidden. Then a sense of his own helplessness overmastered him; he walked
+slowly, drew up at a gate and stood motionless, leaning over it. So
+silent did he stand, and so long, that a stoat hopped across the road
+within two yards of him.
+
+He realised to the full that he was absolutely powerless. Chris alone
+must disperse the rumours fastening on her brother if they were to be
+dispersed. He knew that she would not suffer any great cloud of unjust
+censure to rest upon Will, and he saw what a bitter problem must be
+overwhelming her. Nobody could help her and he, who knew, was as
+powerless as the rest. Then he asked himself if that last conviction was
+true. He probed the secret places of his mind to find an idea; he prayed
+for some chance spark or flash of genius to aid him before this trial;
+he mourned his own simple brains, so weak to aid him in this vital pass.
+But of all living men the accidental discovery was most safe with him.
+His heart went out to the secret mother, and he told himself that he
+would guard her mystery like gold.
+
+It was strange in a nature so timorous that not once did a suspicion he
+had erred overtake him, and presently he wondered to observe how ancient
+this discovery of the motherhood of Chris had grown within his mind. It
+appeared as venerable as his own love for her. He yearned for power to
+aid; without conscious direction of his course he proceeded and strode
+along for hours. Then he ate a meal of bread and cheese at an inn and
+tramped forward once more upon a winding road towards the village of
+Zeal.
+
+Through his uncertainty, athwart the deep perplexity of his mind, moved
+hope and a shadowed joy. Within him arose again the vision of happiness
+once pictured and prayed for, once revived, never quite banished to the
+grey limbo of ambitions beyond fulfilment. Now realities saddened the
+thought of it and brought ambition within a new environment less
+splendid than the old. But, despite clouds, hope shone fairly forth at
+last. So a planet, that the eye has followed at twilight and then lost a
+while, beams anew at dawn after lapse of days, and wheels in wide mazes
+upon some new background of the unchanging stars.
+
+Elsewhere Mr. Lyddon braced himself to a painful duty, and had private
+speech with his son-in-law. Like a thunderbolt the circling suspicions
+fell on Will, and for a moment smothered his customary characteristics
+under sheer surprise.
+
+The miller spoke nervously, and walked up and down with his eyes
+averted.
+
+"Ban't no gert matter, I hope, an' I won't keep 'e from your work five
+minutes. You've awnly got to say 'No,' an' theer's an end of it so far
+as I'm concerned. 'Tis this: have 'e noticed heads close together now
+an' again when you passed by of late?"
+
+"Not me. Tu much business on my hands, I assure 'e. Coourse theer's
+envious whisperings; allus is when a man gets a high place, same as what
+I have, thanks to his awn gude sense an' the wisdom of others as knaws
+what he's made of. But you trusted me wi' all your heart, an' you'll
+never live to mourn it."
+
+"I never want to. You'm grawing to be much to me by slow stages. Yet
+these here tales. This child Timothy. Who's his faither, Will, an' who's
+his mother?"
+
+"How the flaming hell should I knaw? I found him same as you finds a
+berry on a briar. That's auld history, surely?"
+
+"The child graws so 'mazing like you, that even dim eyes such as mine
+can see it."
+
+A sudden flash of light came into Blanchard's face. Then the fire died
+as quickly as it had been kindled, and he grew calm.
+
+"God A'mighty!" he said, in a voice hushed and awed. "They think that! I
+lay that's why your darter's cried o' nights, then, an' Chris have
+grawed sad an' wisht in her ways, an' mother have pet the bwoy wan
+moment an' been short wi' un the next."
+
+He remained marvellously quiet under this attack, but amazement chiefly
+marked his attitude. Miller Lyddon, encouraged by this unexpected
+reasonableness, spoke again more sternly.
+
+"The thing looks bad to a wife an' mother, an' 'tis my duty to ax 'e for
+a plain, straightforward answer 'pon it. Human nature's got a ugly trick
+of repeatin' itself in this matter, as we all knaws. But I'll say nought
+an' think nought till you answers me. Be the bwoy yourn or not? Tell me
+true, with your hand on this."
+
+He took his Bible from the mantelpiece, while Will, apparently cowed by
+the gravity of the situation, placed both palms upon it, then fixed his
+eyes solemnly upon Mr. Lyddon.
+
+"As God in heaven's my judge, he ban't no cheel of mine, and I knaw
+nothing about him--no, nor yet his faither nor mother nor plaace of
+birth. I found un wheer I said, and if I've lied by a fraction, may God
+choke me as I stand here afore you."
+
+"An' I believe you to the bottom!" declared his father-in-law. "I
+believe you as I hopes to be believed myself, when I stands afore the
+Open Books an' says I've tried to do my duty. You've got me on your
+side, an' that's to say you'll have Phoebe an' your mother, tu, for
+certain."
+
+Then Blanchard's mood changed, and there came a tremendous rebound from
+the tension of the last few minutes. In the anti-climax following upon
+his oath, passion, chained a while by astonishment, broke loose in a
+whirlwind.
+
+"Let 'em believe or disbelieve, who cares?" he thundered out. "Not
+me--not a curse for you or anybody, my awn blood or not my awn blood. To
+harbour lies against me! But women loves to believe bad most times."
+
+"Who said they believed it, Will? Doan't go mad, now 'tis awver and
+done."
+
+"They _did_ believe it; I knaw, I seed it in theer faaces, come to think
+of it. 'Tis the auld song. I caan't do no right. Course I've got childer
+an' ruined maids in every parish of the Moor! God damn theer lying,
+poisonous tongues, the lot of 'em! I'm sick of this rotten, lie-breeding
+hole, an' of purty near every sawl in it but mother. She never would
+think against me. An' me, so true to Phoebe as the honey-bee to his awn
+butt! I'll go--I'll get out of it--so help me, I will--to a clean land,
+'mongst clean-thinking folk, wheer men deal fair and judge a chap by his
+works. For a thought I'd wring the neck of the blasted child, by God I
+would!"
+
+"He've done no wrong."
+
+"Nor me neither. I had no more hand in his getting than he had himself.
+Poor li'l brat; I'm sorry I spoke harsh of him. He was give me--he was
+give me--an' I wish to God he _was_ mine. Anyways he shaa'n't come to no
+harm. I'll fight the lot of 'e for un, till he 's auld enough to fight
+for hisself."
+
+Then Will burst out of Monks Barton and vanished. He passed far from the
+confines of the farm, roamed on to the high Moor, and nothing further
+was seen of him until the following day.
+
+Those most concerned assembled after his departure and heard the result
+of the interview.
+
+"Solemn as a minister he swore," explained Mr. Lyddon; "an' then, a'most
+before his hands was off the Book, he burst out like a screeching,
+ravin' hurricane. I half felt the oath was vain then, an' 't was his
+real nature bubblin' up like."
+
+They discussed the matter, all save Chris, who sat apart, silent and
+abstracted. Presently she rose and left them, and faced her own trouble
+single-handed, as she had similarly confronted greater sorrows in the
+past.
+
+She was fully determined to conceal her cherished secret still; yet not
+for the superficial reason that had occurred to any mind. Vast mental
+alterations had transformed Chris Blanchard since the death of Clement.
+Her family she scarcely considered now; no power of logic would have
+convinced her that she had wronged them or darkened their fame. In the
+past, indeed, not the least motive of her flight had centred in the fear
+of Will; but now she feared nobody, and her own misfortune held no
+shadow of sin or shame for her, looking back upon it. Those who would
+have denied themselves her society or friendship upon this knowledge it
+would have given her no pang to lose. She could feel fiercely still, as
+she looked back to the birth of her son and traced the long course of
+her sufferings; and she yet experienced occasional thrills of
+satisfaction in her weaker moments, when she lowered the mask and
+reflected, not without pride, on the strength and determination that had
+enabled her to keep her secret. But to reveal the truth now was a
+prospect altogether hateful in the eyes of Chris, and she knew the
+reason. More than once had she been upon the brink of disclosure, since
+recent unhappy suspicions had darkened Phoebe's life; but she had
+postponed the necessary step again and again, at one thought. Her
+fortitude, her apathy, her stoic indifference, broke down and left her
+all woman before one necessity of confession; her heart stood still when
+she remembered that Martin Grimbal must know and judge. His verdict she
+did, indeed, dread with all her soul, and his only; for him she had
+grown to love, and the thought of his respect and regard was precious to
+her. Everybody must know, everybody or nobody. For long she could
+conceive of no action clearing Will in the eyes of the wider circle who
+would not be content to take his word, and yet leaving herself
+uninvolved. Then the solution came. She would depart once more with the
+child. Such a flight was implicit confession, and could not be
+misunderstood. Martin must, indeed, know, but she would never see him
+after he knew. To face him after the truth had reached his ear seemed to
+Chris a circumstance too terrible to dwell upon. Her action, of course,
+would proclaim the parentage of Timothy, and free Will from further
+slanderings; while for herself, through tears she saw the kind faces of
+the gypsy people and her life henceforth devoted to her little one.
+
+To accentuate the significance of the act she determined to carry out
+her intention that same day, and during the afternoon opportunity
+offered. Her son, playing alone in the farmyard, came readily enough for
+a walk, and before three o'clock they had set out. The boy's face was
+badly scratched from his morning battle, but pain had ceased, and his
+injuries only served as an object of great interest to Timothy. Where
+water in ditch or puddle made a looking-glass he would stop to survey
+himself.
+
+A spectator, aware of certain facts, had viewed the progress of Chris
+with some slight interest. Three ways were open to her, three main
+thoroughfares leading out of Chagford to places of parallel or greater
+importance. Upon the Moor road Will wandered in deep perturbation; on
+that to Okehampton walked another man, concerned with the same problem
+from a different aspect; the third highway led to Moreton; and thither
+Chris might have proceeded unchallenged. But a little public vehicle
+would be returning just then from the railway station. That the runaway
+knew, and therefore selected another path.
+
+In her pocket was all the money that she had; in her heart was a sort of
+alloyed sorrow. Two thoughts shared her mind after she had decided upon
+a course of action. She wondered how quickly Tim would learn to call her
+"mother," for that was the only sweet word life still held; yet of the
+child's father she did not think, for her mind, without special act of
+volition, turned and turned again to him upon whom the Indian summer of
+her love had descended.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+UNDER COSDON BEACON
+
+
+Beneath a region where the "newtakes" straggle up Cosdon's eastern flank
+and mark a struggle between man and the giant beacon, Chris Blanchard
+rested a while upon the grass by the highway. Tim, wrapped in a shawl,
+slept soundly beside his mother, and she sat with her elbows on her
+knees and one hand under her chin. It was already dusk; dark mist
+wreaths moved upon the Moor, and oncoming night winds sighed of rain.
+Then a moment before her intended departure from this most solitary spot
+she heard footsteps upon the road. Not interested to learn anything of
+the passer-by, Chris remained with her eyes upon the ground, but the
+footsteps stopped suddenly before her, whereupon she looked up and saw
+Martin Grimbal.
+
+After a perambulation of twenty miles he had now set his face homewards,
+and thus the meeting was accomplished. Utmost constraint at first marked
+the expression of both man and woman, and it was left for Martin to
+break the silence, for Chris only started at seeing him, but said
+nothing. Her mind, however, ranged actively upon the reason of Grimbal's
+sudden appearance, and she did not at first believe it accidental.
+
+"Why, my dear, what is this? You have wandered far afield!"
+
+He addressed her in unnatural tones, for surprise and emotion sent his
+voice up into his head, and it came thin and tremulous as a woman's.
+Even as he spoke Martin feared. From the knowledge gleaned by him that
+morning he suspected the meaning of this action, and thought that Chris
+was running away.
+
+And she, at the same moment, divined that he guessed the truth in so far
+as the present position was concerned. Still she did not speak, and he
+grew calmer and took her silence as an admission.
+
+"You're going away from Chagford? Is it wise?"
+
+"Ess, Martin, 'tis best so. You see this poor child be breedin' trouble,
+an' bringing bad talk against Will. He ban't wanted--little Timothy--an'
+I ban't wanted overmuch, so it comed to me I'd--I'd just slip away out
+of the turmoil an' taake Tim. Then--"
+
+She stopped, for her heart was beating so fast that she could speak no
+more. She remembered her own arguments in the recent past,--that this
+flight must tell all who cared to reflect that the child was her own.
+Now she looked up at Martin to see if he had guessed it. But he
+exhibited extreme self-control and she was reassured.
+
+"Just like your thoughtful self to try and save others from sorrow.
+Where are you going to, Chris? Don't tell me more than you please; but I
+may be useful to you on this, the first stage of the journey."
+
+"To Okehampton to-night. To-morrow--but I'd rather not say any more. I
+don't care so long as you think I'm right."
+
+"I haven't said that yet. But I'll go as far as Zeal with you. Then
+we'll get a covered cab or something. We may reach the village before
+rain."
+
+"No call for your coming. 'Tis awnly a short mile."
+
+"But I must. I'll carry the laddie. Poor little man! Hard to be the
+cause of such a bother."
+
+He picked Timothy up so gently that the child did not wake.
+
+"Now," he said, "come along. You must be tired already."
+
+"How gude you be!" she said wearily. "I'm glad you doan't scold or fall
+into a rage wi' me, for I knaw I'm right. The bwoy's better away, and
+I'm small use to any now. But I can be busy with this little wan. I
+might do worse than give up my life to un--eh, Martin?"
+
+Then some power put words in his mouth. He trembled when he had spoken
+them, but he would not have recalled them.
+
+"You couldn't do better. It's a duty staring you in the face."
+
+She started violently, and her dark skin flamed under the night.
+
+"Why d'you say that?" she asked, with loud, harsh voice, and stopping
+still as she did so. "Why d'you say 'duty'?"
+
+He, too, stood and looked at her.
+
+"My dear," he answered, "love's a quick, subtle thing. It can make even
+such a man as I am less stupid than Nature built him. It fires dull
+brains; it adds sight to dim eyes; it shows the bookworm how to find out
+secrets hidden from keener spirits; it lifts a veil from the loved one
+and lets the lover see more than anybody else can. Be patient with me. I
+spoke because I love you still with all my heart and soul, Chris; I
+spoke, because what I feel for you is lifelong, and cannot change. Had I
+not still worshipped the earth under your feet I would have died rather
+than tell you. But love makes me bold. I have watched you so long and
+prayed for you so often. I have seen little differences in you that
+nobody else saw. And to-day I know. I knew when you picked up Timothy
+and flew at Will. Since then I've wandered Heaven can tell where, just
+thinking and thinking and wondering and seeing no way. And all the time
+God meant me to come and find you and tell you."
+
+She understood; she gave one bitter cry that started an echo from ruined
+mine-workings hard at hand; then she turned from him, and, in a moment
+of sheer hopeless misery, flung herself and her wrecked ambitions upon
+the ground by the wayside.
+
+For a moment the man stood scared by this desperate answer to his words.
+Then he put his burden down, approached Chris, knelt beside her, and
+tried to raise her. She sat up at last with panting breast and eyes in
+which some terror sat.
+
+"You!" she said. "You to knaw! Wasn't my cup full enough before but
+that my wan hope should be cut away, tu? My God, I 'mauld in sorrow
+now--very auld. But 't is awver at last. You knaw, an' I had to hear it
+from your awn lips! Theer 's nought worse in the world for me now."
+
+Her hands were pressed against her bosom, and as he unconsciously moved
+a little towards her she shrank backwards, then rose to her feet.
+Timothy woke and cried, upon which she turned to him and picked him up.
+
+"Go!" she cried suddenly. "If ever you loved me, get out of my sight
+now, or you'll make me want to kill myself again."
+
+He saw the time was come for strong self-assertion, and spoke.
+
+"Listen!" he said. "You don't understand, but you must. I'm the only man
+in the world who knows--the only one, and I've told you because it was
+stamped into my brain to tell you, and because I love you perhaps better
+than one creature has any right to love another."
+
+"You knaw. Isn't it enough? Who else did I care for? Who else mattered
+to me? Mother or brother or other folk? I pray you to go an' leave me.
+God knaws how hard it was to hide it, but I hugged it an' suffered more
+'n any but a mother could fathom 'cause things weer as they weer. Then
+came this trouble, an' still none seed. But 't was meant you should, an'
+the rest doan't matter. I'd so soon go back now as not."
+
+"So you shall," he answered calmly; "only hear this first. Last time I
+spoke about what was in my heart, Chris, you told me you could love me,
+but that you would not marry me, and I said I would never ask you again.
+I shall keep my word, sweetheart. I shall not ask; I shall take without
+asking. You love me; that is all I care for. The little boy came between
+last time; now nothing does."
+
+He took the woman in his arms and kissed her, but the next moment he was
+flying to where water lay in a ditch, for his unexpected attitude had
+overpowered Chris. She raised her hands to his shoulders, uttered a
+faint cry, then slipped heavily out of his arms in a faint. The man
+rushed this way and that, the child sat and howled noisily, the woman
+remained long unconscious, and heavy rain began to fall out of the
+darkness; yet, to his dying day that desolate spot of earth brought
+light to Martin's eyes as often as he passed it.
+
+Chris presently recovered her senses, and spoke words that made her
+lover's heart leap. She uttered them in a sad, low voice, but her hand
+was in his, pressing it close the while.
+
+"Awften an' awften I've axed the A'mighty to give me wan little glint o'
+knawledge as how 'twould all end. If I'd knawed! But I never guessed how
+big your sawl was, Martin. I never thought you was the manner of man to
+love a woman arter that."
+
+"God knows what's in my heart, Chris."
+
+"I'll tell 'e everything some day. Lookin' back it doan't 'pear no ways
+wicked, though it may seem so in cold daylight to cold hearts."
+
+"Come, come with me, for the rain grows harder. I know where I can hire
+a covered carriage at an inn. 'Tis only five minutes farther on, and
+poor Tim's unhappy."
+
+"He'm hungry. You won't be hard 'pon my li'l bwoy if I come to 'e,
+Martin?"
+
+"You know as well as I can tell you. There's one other thing. About
+Chagford, Chris? Are you afraid of it? I'll turn my back on it if you
+like. I'll take you to Okehampton now if you would rather go there."
+
+"Never! 'Tis for you to care, not me. So you knaw an' forgive--what's
+the rest? Shadows. But let me hold your hand an' keep my tongue still.
+I'm sick an' fainty wi' this gert turn o' the wheel. 'T is tu deep for
+any words."
+
+He felt not less uplifted, but his joy was a man's. It rolled and
+tumbled over his being like the riotous west wind. Under such stress his
+mind could find no worthy thing to say, and yet he was intoxicated and
+had to speak. He was very unlike himself. He uttered platitudes; then
+the weight of Timothy upon his arm reminded him that the child existed.
+
+"He shall go to a good school, Chris."
+
+She sighed.
+
+"I wish I could die quick here by the roadside, dear Martin, for living
+along with you won't be no happier than I am this moment. My thoughts do
+all run back, not forward. I've lived long enough, I reckon. If I'd told
+'e! But I'd rather been skinned alive than do it. I'd have let the rest
+knaw years agone but for you."
+
+Driving homewards half an hour later, Chris Blanchard told Martin that
+part of her story which concerned her life after the birth of Timothy.
+
+"The travellin' people was pure gawld to me," she said. "And theer's
+much to say of theer gert gudeness. But I can tell 'e that another time.
+It chanced the very day Will's li'l wan was buried we was to Chagford,
+an' the sad falling-out quickened my awn mind as to a thought 'bout my
+cheel. It comed awver me to leave un at Newtake. I left the vans wheer
+they was camped that afternoon, an' hid 'pon the hill wi' the baaby.
+Then Will comed out hisself, an' I chaanged my thought an' followed un
+wheer he roamed, knawin' the colour of his mind through them black hours
+as if 'twas my awn. 'Twas arter he'd left the roundy-poundy wheer he was
+born that I put my child in it, then called tu un loud an' clear. He
+never knawed the voice, which was the awnly thing I feared. But a voice
+long silent be soon forgot. I bided at hand till I saw the bwoy in
+brother Will's arms. An' then I knawed 'twas well an' that mother would
+come to see it. Arterwards I suffered very terrible wi'out un. But I
+fought wi' myself an' kept away up to the time I'd fixed in my mind.
+That was so as nobody should link me with the li'l wan in theer
+thoughts. Waitin' was the hard deed, and seein' my bwoy for the first
+time when I went to Newtake was hard tu. But 'tis all wan now."
+
+She remained silent until the lengthy ride was ended and her mother's
+cottage reached. Then, as that home she had thought to enter no more
+appeared again, the nature of the woman awoke for one second, and she
+flung herself on Martin's heart.
+
+"May God make me half you think me, for I love you true, an' you'm the
+best man He ever fashioned," she said. "An' to-morrow's Sunday," she
+added inconsequently, "an' I'll kneel in church an' call down lifelong
+blessings on 'e."
+
+"Don't go to-morrow, my darling. And yet--but no, we'll not go, either
+of us. I couldn't hear my own banns read out for the world, and I don't
+think you could; yet read they'll be as sure as the service is held."
+
+She said nothing, but he knew that she felt; then mother and child were
+gone, and Martin, dismissing his vehicle, proceeded to Monks Barton with
+the news that all was well.
+
+Mrs. Blanchard heard her daughter's story and its sequel. She exhibited
+some emotion, but no grief. The sorrow she may have suffered was never
+revealed to any eye by word or tear.
+
+"I reckoned of late days theer was Blanchard blood to the child," she
+said, "an' I won't hide from you I thought more'n wance you was so like
+to be the mother as Will the faither of un. Go to bed now, if you caan't
+eat, an' taake the bwoy, an' thank God for lining your dark cloud with
+this silver. If He forgives 'e, an' this here gude grey Martin forgives
+'e, who be I to fret? Worse'n you've been forgived at fust hand by the
+Lard when He travelled on flesh-an'-blood feet 'mong men; an' folks have
+short memories for dates, an' them as sniggers now will be dust or
+dotards 'fore Tim's grawed. When you've been a lawful wife ten year an'
+more, who's gwaine to mind this? Not little Tim's fellow bwoys an' gals,
+anyway. His awn generation won't trouble him, an' he'll find a wise
+guardian in Martin, an' a lovin' gran'mother in me. Dry your eyes an' be
+a Blanchard. God A'mighty sends sawls in the world His awn way, an'
+chooses the faithers an' mothers for 'em; an' He's never taught Nature
+to go second to parson yet, worse luck. 'Tis done, an' to grumble at a
+dead man's doin's--specially if you caan't mend 'em--be vain."
+
+"My share was half, an' not less," said Chris.
+
+"Aye, you say so, but 'tis a deed wheer the blame ban't awften divided
+equal," answered Mrs. Blanchard. "Wheer's the maiden as caan't wait for
+her weddin' bells?"
+
+The use of the last two words magically swept Chris back into the past.
+The coincidence was curious, and she remembered when a man, destined
+never to listen to such melody, declared impatiently that he heard it in
+the hidden heart of a summer day long past. She did not reply to her
+mother, but arose and took her child and went to rest.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+BAD NEWS FOR BLANCHARD
+
+
+On the morning that saw the wedding of Chris and Martin, Phoebe
+Blanchard found heart and tongue to speak to her husband of the thing
+she still kept locked within her mind. Since the meeting with John
+Grimbal she had suffered much in secret, but still kept silence; and
+now, after a quiet service before breakfast on a morning in
+mid-December, most of those who had been present as spectators returned
+to the valley, and Phoebe spoke to Will as they walked apart from the
+rest. A sight of the enemy it was that loosed her lips, for, much to the
+surprise of all present, John Grimbal had attended his brother's
+wedding. As the little gathering streamed away after the ceremony, he
+had galloped off again with a groom behind him, and the incident now led
+to greater things.
+
+"Chill-fashion weddin'," said Will, as he walked homewards, "but it
+'pears to me all Blanchards be fated to wed coorious. Well, 't is a gude
+matter out o' hand. I knaw I raged somethin' terrible come I fust heard
+it, but I think differ'nt now, specially when I mind what Chris must
+have felt those times she seed me welting her child an' heard un yell,
+yet set her teeth an' never shawed a sign."
+
+"Did 'e note Jan Grimbal theer?"
+
+"I seed un, an' I catched un wi' his eye on you more 'n wance. He 's
+grawed to look nowadays as if his mouth allus had a sour plum in it."
+
+"His brain's got sour stuff hid in it if his mouth haven't. Be you ever
+feared of un?"
+
+"Not me. Why for should I be? He'll be wan of the fam'ly like, now. He
+caan't keep his passion alive for ever. We 'm likely to meet when Martin
+do come home again from honeymooning."
+
+"Will, I must tell you something--something gert an' terrible. I should
+have told 'e 'fore now but I was frightened."
+
+"Not feared to speak to me?"
+
+"Ess, seeing the thing I had to say. I've waited weeks in fear an'
+tremblin', expecting something to happen, an' all weighed down with
+fright an' dread. Now, what wi' the cheel that's comin', I caan't carry
+this any more."
+
+Being already lachrymose, after the manner of women at a wedding, Phoebe
+now shed a tear or two. Will thereupon spoke words of comfort, and
+blamed her for hiding any matter from him.
+
+"More trouble?" he said. "Yet I doan't think it,--not now,--just as I be
+right every way. I guess 't is your state makes you queer an' glumpy."
+
+"I hope 't was vain talk an' not true anyway."
+
+"More talk 'bout me? You'd think Chagford was most tired o' my name,
+wouldn't 'e? Who was it now?"
+
+"Him--Jan Grimbal. I met him 'mong the mushrooms. He burst out an' said
+wicked, awful things, but his talk touched the li'l bwoy. He thought Tim
+was yourn an' he was gwaine to do mischief against you."
+
+"Damn his black mind! I wonder he haven't rotted away wi' his awn bile
+'fore now."
+
+"But that weern't all. He talked an' talked, an' threatened if you
+didn't go an' see him, as he'd tell 'bout you in the past, when you was
+away that autumn-time 'fore us was married."
+
+"Did he, by God! Doan't he wish he knawed!"
+
+"He does knaw, Will--least he said he did."
+
+"Never dream it, Phoebe. 'T is a lie. For why? 'Cause if he did knaw I
+shouldn't--but theer, I've never tawld 'e, an' I ban't gwaine to now.
+Awnly I'll say this,--if Grimbal really knawed he'd have--but he can't
+knaw, and theer 's an end of it."
+
+"To think I should have been frighted by such a story all these weeks!
+An' not true. Oh! I wish I'd told 'e when he sent the message. 'T would
+have saved me so much."
+
+"Ess, never keep nothin' from me, Phoebe. Theer 's troubles that might
+crush wan heart as comes a light load divided between two. What
+message?"
+
+"Some silly auld story 'bout a suit of grey clothes. He said I was to
+tell 'e the things was received by the awner."
+
+Will Blanchard stood still so suddenly that it seemed as though magic
+had turned him into stone. He stood, and his hands unclasped, and
+Phoebe's church service which he carried fell with a thud into the road.
+His wife watched him change colour, and noted in his face an expression
+she had never before seen there.
+
+"Christ A'mighty!" he whispered, with his eyes reflecting a world of
+sheer amazement and even terror; "he _does_ knaw!"
+
+"What? Knaw what, Will? For the Lard's sake doan't 'e look at me like
+that; you'll frighten my heart into my mouth."
+
+"To think he knawed an' watched an' waited all these years! The spider
+patience o' that man! I see how 't was. He let the world have its way
+an' thought to see me broken wi'out any trouble from him. Then, when I
+conquered, an' got to Miller's right hand, an' beat the world at its awn
+game, he--an' been nursing this against me! The heart of un!"
+
+He spoke to himself aloud, gazing straight before him at nothing.
+
+"Will, tell me what 't is. Caan't your awn true wife help 'e now or
+never?"
+
+Recalled by her words he came to himself, picked up her book, and walked
+on. She spoke again and then he answered,--
+
+"No, 't is a coil wheer you caan't do nought--nor nobody. The black
+power o' waitin'--'t is that I never heard tell of. I thought I knawed
+what was in men to the core--me, thirty years of age, an' a ripe man if
+ever theer was wan. But this malice! 'T is enough to make 'e believe in
+the devil."
+
+"What have you done?" she cried aloud. "Tell me the worst of it, an' how
+gert a thing he've got against you."
+
+"Bide quiet," he answered. "I'll tell 'e, but not on the public road.
+Not but he'll take gude care every ear has it presently. Shut your mouth
+now an' come up to our chamber arter breakfast an' I'll tell 'e the
+rights of it. An' that dog knawed an' could keep it close all these
+years!"
+
+"He's dangerous, an' terrible, an' strong. I see it in your faace,
+Will."
+
+"So he is, then; ban't no foxin' you 'bout it now. 'T is an awful power
+of waitin' he've got; an' he haven't bided his time these years an'
+years for nothin'. A feast to him, I lay. He've licked his damned lips
+many a score o' times to think of the food he'd fat his vengeance with
+bimebye."
+
+"Can he taake you from me? If not I'll bear it."
+
+"Ess fay, I'm done for; credit, fortune, all gone. It might have been
+death if us had been to war at the time."
+
+She clung to him and her head swam.
+
+"Death! God's mercy! you've never killed nobody, Will?"
+
+"Not as I knaws on, but p'r'aps ban't tu late to mend it. It freezes
+me--it freezes my blood to think what his thoughts have been. No, no,
+ban't death or anything like that. But 't is prison for sure if--"
+
+He broke off and his face was very dark.
+
+"What, Will? If what? Oh, comfort me, comfort me, Will, for God's sake!
+An' another li'l wan comin'!"
+
+"Doan't take on," he said. "Ban't my way to squeal till I'm hurt. Let it
+bide, an' be bright an' cheery come eating, for mother 's down in the
+mouth at losin' Chris, though she doan't shaw it."
+
+Mrs. Blanchard, with little Timothy, joined the breakfast party at Monks
+Barton, and a certain gloom hanging over the party, Mr. Blee commented
+upon it in his usual critical spirit.
+
+"This here givin' in marriage do allus make a looker-on down in the
+mouth if he 's a sober-minded sort o' man. 'T is the contrast between
+the courageousness of the two poor sawls jumpin' into the state, an' the
+solid fact of bein' a man's wife or a woman's husband for all time. The
+vows they swear! An' that Martin's voice so strong an' cheerful! A
+teeming cause o' broken oaths the marriage sarvice; yet each new pair
+comes along like sheep to the slaughter."
+
+"You talk like a bachelor man," said Damaris.
+
+"Not so, Mrs. Blanchard, I assure 'e! Lookers-on see most of the game.
+Ban't the mite as lives in a cheese what can tell e' 'bout the flavour
+of un. Look at a married man at a weddin'--all broadcloth an'
+cheerfulness, like the fox as have lost his tail an' girns to see
+another chap in the same pickle."
+
+"Yet you tried blamed hard to lose your tail an' get a wife, for all
+your talk," said Will, who, although his mind was full enough, yet could
+generally find a sharp word for Mr. Blee.
+
+"Bah to you!" answered the old man angrily. "_That_ for you! 'T is allus
+your way to bring personal talk into high conversation. I was improvin'
+the hour with general thoughts; but the vulgar tone you give to a
+discourse would muzzle the wisdom o' Solomon."
+
+Miller Lyddon here made an effort to re-establish peace and soon
+afterwards the meal came to an end.
+
+Half an hour later Phoebe heard from her husband the story of his brief
+military career: of how he had enlisted as a preliminary to going abroad
+and making his fortune, how he had become servant to one Captain
+Tremayne, how upon the news of Phoebe's engagement he had deserted, and
+how his intention to return and make a clean breast of it had been twice
+changed by the circumstances that followed his marriage. Long he took in
+detailing every incident and circumstance.
+
+"Coming to think," he said, "of coourse 't is clear as Grimbal must knaw
+my auld master. I seed his name raised to a Major in the _Western
+Morning News_ a few year agone, an' he was to Okehampton with a
+battalion when Hicks come by his death. So that's how't is; an' I ban't
+gwaine to bide Grimbal's time to be ruined, you may be very sure of
+that. Now I knaw, I act."
+
+"He may be quite content you should knaw. That's meat an' drink enough
+for him, to think of you gwaine in fear day an' night."
+
+"Ess, but that's not my way. I ban't wan to wait an enemy's pleasure."
+
+"You won't go to him, Will?"
+
+"Go to un? Ess fay--'fore the day's done, tu."
+
+"That's awnly to hasten the end."
+
+"The sooner the better."
+
+He tramped up and down the bedroom with his eyes on the ground, his
+hands in his pockets.
+
+"A tremendous thing to tumble up on the surface arter all these years;
+an' a tremendous time for it to come. 'T was a crime 'gainst the Queen
+for my awn gude ends. I had to choose 'tween her an' you; I'd do the
+same to-morrow. The fault weern't theer. It lay in not gwaine back."
+
+"You couldn't; your arm was broke."
+
+"I ought to have gone back arter 't was well. Then time had passed, an'
+uncle's money corned, an' they never found me. But theer it lies ahead
+now, sure enough."
+
+"Perhaps for sheer shame he'll bide quiet 'bout it. A man caan't hate
+another man for ever."
+
+"I thought not, same as you, but Grimbal shaws we 'm wrong."
+
+"Let us go, then; let us do what you thought to do 'fore faither comed
+forward so kind. Let us go away to furrin paarts, even now."
+
+"I doubt if he'd let me go. 'T is mouse an' cat for the minute.
+Leastways so he's thought since he talked to 'e. But he'll knaw
+differ'nt 'fore he lies in his bed to-night. Must be cut an' dried an'
+settled."
+
+"Be slow to act, Will, an'--"
+
+"Theer! theer!" he said, "doan't 'e offer me no advice, theer's a gude
+gal, 'cause I couldn't stand it even from you, just this minute. God
+knaws I'm not above takin' it in a general way, for the best tried man
+can larn from babes an' sucklings sometimes; but this is a thing calling
+for nothin' but shut lips. 'T is my job an' I've got to see it through
+my own way."
+
+"You'll be patient, Will? 'T isn't like other times when you was right
+an' him wrong. He's got the whip-hand of 'e, so you mustn't dictate."
+
+"Not me. I can be reasonable an' just as any man. I never hid from
+myself I was doin' wrong at the time. But, when all's said, this auld
+history's got two sides to it--'specially if you remember that 't was
+through John Grimbal's awn act I had to do wan wrong thing to save you
+doin' a worse wan. He'll have to be reasonable likewise. 'T is man to
+man."
+
+Will's conversation lasted another hour, but Phoebe could not shake his
+determination, and after dinner Blanchard departed to the Red House, his
+destination being known to his wife only.
+
+But while Will marched upon this errand, the man he desired to see had
+just left his own front door, struck through leafless coppices of larch
+and silver beech that approached the house, and then proceeded to where
+bigger timber stood about a little plateau of marshy land, surrounded by
+tall flags. The woodlands had paid their debt to Nature in good gold,
+and all the trees were naked. An east wind lent a hard, clean clearness
+to the country. In the foreground two little lakes spread their waters
+steel-grey in a cup of lead; the distance was clear and cold and compact
+of all sober colours save only where, through a grey and interlacing
+nakedness of many boughs, the roof of the Red House rose.
+
+John Grimbal sat upon a felled tree beside the pools, and while he
+remained motionless, his pipe unlighted, his gun beside him, a spaniel
+worked below in the sere sedges at the water's margin. Presently the dog
+barked, a moor-hen splashed, half flying, half swimming, across the
+larger lake, and a snipe got up and jerked crookedly away on the wind.
+The dog stood with one fore-paw lifted and the water dripping along his
+belly. He waited for a crack and puff of smoke and the thud of a bird
+falling into the water or the underwood. But his master did not fire; he
+did not even see the flushing of the snipe; so the dog came up and
+remonstrated with his eyes. Grimbal patted the beast's head, then rose
+from his seat on the felled tree, stretched his arms, sat down again and
+lighted his pipe.
+
+The event of the morning had turned his thoughts in the old direction,
+and now they were wholly occupied with Will Blanchard. Since his fit of
+futile spleen and fury after the meeting with Phoebe, John had slowly
+sunk back into the former nerveless attitude. From this an occasional
+wonder roused him--a wonder as to whether the woman had ever given her
+husband his message at all. His recent active hatred seemed a little
+softened, though why it should be so he could not have explained. Now he
+sometimes assured himself that he should not proceed to extremities, but
+hang his sword over Will's head a while and possibly end by pardoning
+him altogether.
+
+Thus he paltered with his better part and presented a spectacle of one
+mentally sick unto death by reason of shattered purpose. His unity of
+design was gone. He had believed the last conversation with Phoebe in
+itself sufficient to waken his pristine passion, but anger against
+himself had been a great factor of that storm, apart from which
+circumstance he made the mistake of supposing that his passion slept,
+whereas in reality it was dead. Now, if Grimbal was to be stung into
+activity, it must be along another line and upon a fresh count.
+
+Then, as he reflected by the little tarns, there approached Will
+Blanchard himself; and Grimbal, looking up, saw him standing among white
+tussocks of dead grass by the water-side and rubbing the mud off his
+boots upon them. For a moment his breath quickened, but he was not
+surprised; and yet, before Will reached him, he had time to wonder at
+himself that he was not.
+
+Blanchard, calling at the Red House ten minutes after the master's
+departure, had been informed by old Lawrence Vallack, John's factotum,
+that he had come too late. It transpired, however, that Grimbal had
+taken his gun and a dog, so Will, knowing the estate, made a guess at
+the sportsman's destination, and was helped on his way when he came
+within earshot of the barking spaniel.
+
+Now that animal resented his intrusion, and for a moment it appeared
+that the brute's master did also. Will had already seen Grimbal where he
+sat, and came swiftly towards him.
+
+"What are you doing here, William Blanchard? You're trespassing and you
+know it," said the landowner loudly. "You can have no business here."
+
+"Haven't I? Then why for do'e send me messages?"
+
+Will stood straight and stern in front of his foe. His face was more
+gloomy than the sombre afternoon; his jaw stood out very square; his
+grey eyes were hard as the glint of the east wind. He might have been
+accuser, and John Grimbal accused. The sportsman did not move from his
+seat upon the log. But he felt a flush of blood pulse through him at the
+other's voice, as though his heart, long stagnant, was being sluiced.
+
+"That? I'd forgotten all about it. You've taken your time in obeying
+me."
+
+"This marnin', an' not sooner, I heard what you telled her when you
+catched Phoebe alone."
+
+"Ah! now I understand the delay. Say what you've got to say, please, and
+then get out of my sight."
+
+"'T is for you to speak, not me. What be you gwaine to do, an' when be
+you gwaine to do it? I allow you've bested me, God knaws how; but
+you've got me down. So the sooner you say what your next step is, the
+better."
+
+The older man laughed.
+
+"'T isn't the beaten party makes the terms as a rule."
+
+"I want no terms; I wouldn't make terms with you for a sure plaace in
+heaven. Tell me what you be gwaine to do against me. I've a right to
+knaw."
+
+"I can't tell you."
+
+"You mean as you won't tell me?"
+
+"I mean I can't--not yet. After speaking to your wife I forgot all about
+it. It doesn't interest me."
+
+"Be you gwaine to give me up?"
+
+"Probably I shall--as a matter of duty. I'm a bit of a soldier myself.
+It's such a dirty coward's trick to desert. Yes, I think I shall make an
+example of you."
+
+Will looked at him steadily.
+
+"You want to wake the devil in me--I see that. But you won't. I'm aulder
+an' wiser now. So you 'm to give me up? I knawed it wi'out axin'."
+
+"And that doesn't wake you?"
+
+"No. Seein' why I deserted an' mindin' your share in drivin' me."
+
+Grimbal did not answer, and Will asked him to name a date.
+
+"I tell you I shall suit myself, not you. When you will like it least,
+be sure of that. I needn't pretend what I don't feel. I hate the sight
+of you still, and the closer you come the more I hate you. It rolls
+years off me to see your damned brown face so near and hear your voice
+in my ear,--years and years; and I'm glad it does. You've ruined my
+life, and I'll ruin yours yet."
+
+There was a pause; Blanchard stared cold and hard into Grimbal's eyes;
+then John continued, and his flicker of passion cooled a little as he
+did so,--
+
+"At least that's what I said to myself when first I heard this little
+bit of news--that I'd ruin you; now I'm not sure."
+
+"At least I'll thank you to make up your mind. 'T is turn an' turn
+about. You be uppermost just this minute. As to ruining me, that's as
+may be."
+
+"Well, I shall decide presently. I suppose you won't run away. And it 's
+no great matter if you do, for a fool can't hide himself under his
+folly."
+
+"I sha'n't run. I want to get through with this and have it behind me."
+
+"You're in a hurry now."
+
+"It 's just an' right. I knaw that. An' ban't no gert odds who 's
+informer. But I want to have it behind me--an' you in front. Do 'e see?
+This out o' hand, then it 's my turn again. Keepin' me waitin' 'pon such
+a point be tu small an' womanish for a fight between men. 'T is your
+turn to hit, Jan Grimbal, an' theer 's no guard 'gainst the stroke, so
+if you're a man, hit an' have done with it."
+
+"Ah! you don't like the thought of waiting!"
+
+"No, I do not. I haven't got your snake's patience. Let me have what
+I've got to have, an' suffer it, an' make an' end of it."
+
+"You're in a hurry for a dish that won't be pleasant eating, I assure
+you."
+
+"It's just an' right I tell 'e; an' I knaw it is, though all these years
+cover it. Your paart 's differ'nt. I lay you 'm in a worse hell than me,
+even now."
+
+"A moralist! How d' you like the thought of a damned good
+flogging--fifty lashes laid on hot and strong?"
+
+"Doan't you wish you had the job? Thrashing of a man wi' his legs an'
+hands tied would just suit your sort of courage."
+
+"As to that, they won't flog you really; and I fancy I could thrash you
+still without any help. Your memory 's short. Never mind. Get you gone
+now; and never speak to me again as long as you live, or I shall
+probably hit you across the mouth with my riding-whip. As to giving you
+up, you're in my hands and must wait my time for that."
+
+"Must I, by God? Hark to a fule talkin'! Why should I wait your
+pleasure, an' me wi' a tongue in my head? You've jawed long enough. Now
+you can listen. I'll give _myself_ up, so theer! I'll tell the truth,
+an' what drove me to desert, an' what you be anyway--as goes ridin' out
+wi' the yeomanry so braave in black an' silver with your sword drawed!
+That'll spoil your market for pluck an' valour, anyways. An' when I've
+done all court-martial gives me, I'll come back!"
+
+He swung away as he spoke; and the other sat on motionless for an hour
+after Will had departed.
+
+John Grimbal's pipe went out; his dog, weary of waiting, crept to his
+feet and fell asleep there; live fur and feathers peeped about and
+scanned his bent figure, immobile as a tree-trunk that supported it; and
+the gun, lying at hand, drew down a white light from a gathering
+gloaming.
+
+One great desire was in the sportsman's mind,--he already found himself
+hungry for another meeting with Blanchard.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+PHOEBE TAKES THOUGHT
+
+
+That night Will sat and smoked in his bedroom and talked to Phoebe, who
+had already gone to rest. She looked over her knees at him with round,
+sad eyes; while beside her in a cot slept her small daughter. A candle
+burned on the mantelpiece and served to illuminate one or two faded
+pictures; a daguerreotype of Phoebe as a child sitting on a donkey, and
+an ancient silhouette of Miller Lyddon, cut for him on his visit to the
+Great Exhibition. In a frame beneath these appeared the photograph of
+little Will who had died at Newtake.
+
+"He thinks he be gwaine to bide his time an' let me stew an' sweat for
+it," said the man moodily.
+
+"Awnly a born devil could tell such wickedness. Ban't theer no ways o'
+meetin' him, now you knaw? If you'd speak to faither--"
+
+"What 's the use bringing sorrow on his grey hairs?"
+
+"Well, it's got to come; you knaw that. Grimbal isn't the man to
+forgive."
+
+"Forgive! That would be worst of all. If he forgived me now I'd go mad.
+Wait till I've had soldier law, then us'll talk 'bout forgiving arter."
+
+Phoebe shivered and began to cry helplessly, drying her eyes upon the
+sheet.
+
+"Theer--theer," he said; "doan't be a cheel. We 'm made o' stern stuff,
+you an' me. 'T is awnly a matter of years, I s'pose, an' the reason I
+went may lessen the sentence a bit. Mother won't never turn against me,
+an' so long as your faither can forgive, the rest of the world's welcome
+to look so black as it pleases."
+
+"Faither'll forgive 'e."
+
+"He might--just wance more. He've got to onderstand my points better
+late days."
+
+"Come an' sleep then, an' fret no more till marnin' light anyway."
+
+"'Tis the thing hidden, hanging over my head, biding behind every
+corner. I caan't stand it; I caan't wait for it. I'll grow sheer devil
+if I've got to wait; an', so like as not, I'll meet un faace to faace
+some day an' send un wheer neither his bark nor bite will harm me. Ess
+fay--solemn truth. I won't answer for it. I can put so tight a hand 'pon
+myself as any man since Job, but to sit down under this--"
+
+"Theer's nought else you can do," said Phoebe. She yawned as she spoke,
+but Will's reply strangled the yawn and effectually woke her up.
+
+"So Jan Grimbal said, an' I blamed soon shawed un he was out. Theer's a
+thing I can do an' shall do. 'T will sweep the ground from under un; 't
+will blaw off his vengeance harmless as a gun fired in the air; 't will
+turn his malice so sour as beer after thunder. I be gwaine to give
+myself up--then us'll see who's the fule!"
+
+Phoebe was out of bed with her arms round her husband in a moment.
+
+"No, no--never. You couldn't, Will; you daren't--'tis against nature.
+You ban't free to do no such wild thing. You forget me, an' the li'l
+maid, an' t' other comin'!"
+
+"Doan't 'e choke me," he said; "an' doan't 'e look so terrified. Your
+small hands caan't keep off what's ahead o' me; an' I wouldn't let 'em
+if they could. 'T is in this world that a chap's got to pay for his sins
+most times, an' damn short credit, tu, so far as I can see. So what they
+want to bleat 'bout hell-fire for I've never onderstood, seeing you get
+your change here. Anyway, so sure as I do a trick that ban't 'zactly
+wise, the whip 's allus behind it--the whip--"
+
+He repeated the word in a changed voice, for it reminded him of what
+Grimbal had threatened. He did not know whether there might be truth in
+it. His pride winced and gasped. He thought of Phoebe seeing his bare
+back perhaps years afterwards. A tempest of rage blackened his face and
+he spoke in a voice hoarse and harsh.
+
+"Get up an' go to bed. Doan't whine, for God's sake, or you'll drive me
+daft. I've paid afore, an' I'll pay again; an' may the Lard help him who
+ever owes me ought. No mercy have I ever had from living man,--'cept
+Miller,--none will I ever shaw."
+
+"Not to-morrow, Will--not this week. Promise that, an' I'll get into bed
+an' bide quiet. For your love o' me, just leave it till arter Christmas
+time. Promise that, else you'll kill me. No, no, no--you shaa'n't shout
+me down 'pon this. I'll cry to 'e while I've got life left. Promise not
+till Christmas be past."
+
+"I'll promise nothing. I must think in the peace o' night. Go to sleep
+an 'bide quiet, else you'll wake the li'l gal."
+
+"I won't--I won't--I'll never sleep again. Caan' t'e think o' me so well
+as yourself--you as be allus thinking o' me? Ban't I to count in an
+awful pass like this? I'm no fair-weather wife, as you knaws by now. If
+you gives yourself up, I'll kill myself. You think I couldn't, but I
+could. What's my days away from you?"
+
+"Hush, hush!" he said. "Be you mad? 'T is a matter tu small for such
+talk as that."
+
+"Promise, then, promise you'll be dumb till arter Christmas."
+
+"So I will, if you 'm that set on it; but if you knawed what waitin'
+meant to the likes o' me, you wouldn't ax. You've got my word, now
+keep quiet, theer 's a dear love, an' dry your eyes."
+
+He put her into bed, and soon stretched himself beside her. Then she
+clung to him as though powers were already dragging him away for ever.
+Will, bored and weary, was sorry for his wife with all his soul, and
+kept grunting words of good cheer and comfort as he sank to sleep. She
+still begged and prayed for delay, and by her importunity made him
+promise at last that he would take no step until after New Year's Day.
+Then, finding she could win no more in that direction, Phoebe turned to
+another aspect of the problem, and began to argue with unexpected if
+sophistic skill. Her tears were now dry, her eyes very bright beneath
+the darkness; she talked and talked with feverish volubility, and her
+voice faded into a long-drawn murmur as Will's hearing weakened on the
+verge of unconsciousness.
+
+"Why for d' you say you was wrong in what you done? Why d' you harp an'
+harp 'pon that, knawin' right well you'd do the same again to-morrow?
+You wasn't wrong, an' the Queen's self would say the same if she
+knawed. 'T was to save a helpless woman you runned; an' her--Queen
+Victoria--wi' her big heart as can sigh for the sorrow of even such
+small folks as us--she'd be the last to blame 'e."
+
+"She'll never knaw nothin' 'bout it, gude or bad. They doan't vex her
+ears wi' trifles. I deserted, an' that's a crime."
+
+"I say 't weern't no such thing. You had to choose between that an'
+letting me die. You saved my life; an' the facts would be judged the
+same by any as was wife an' mother, high or low. God A'mighty 's best
+an' awnly judge how much you was wrong; an' you knaw He doan't blame 'e,
+else your heart would have been sore for it these years an' years. You
+never blamed yourself till now."
+
+"Ess, awften an' awften I did. It comed an' went, an' comed an' went
+again, like winter frosts. True as I'm living it comed an' went like
+that."
+
+Thus he spoke, half incoherently, his voice all blurred and vague with
+sleep.
+
+"You awnly think 't was so. You'd never have sat down under it else. It
+ban't meant you should give yourself up now, anyways. God would have
+sent the sojers to find 'e when you runned away if He'd wanted 'em to
+find 'e. You didn't hide. You looked the world in the faace bold as a
+lion, didn't 'e? Coourse you did; an' 't is gwaine against God's will
+an' wish for you to give yourself up now. So you mustn't speak an' you
+must tell no one--not even faither. I was wrong to ax 'e to tell him.
+Nobody at all must knaw. Be dumb, an' trust me to be dumb. 'T is buried
+an' forgot. I'll fight for 'e, my dearie, same as you've fought for me
+many a time; an' 't will all fall out right for 'e, for men 's come
+through worse passes than this wi' fewer friends than what you've got."
+
+She stopped to win breath and, in the silence, heard Will's regular
+respiration and knew that he slept. How much he had heard of her speech
+Phoebe could not say, but she felt glad to think that some hours at
+least of rest and peace now awaited him. For herself she had never been
+more widely awake, and her brains were very busy through the hours of
+darkness. A hundred thoughts and schemes presented themselves. She
+gradually eliminated everybody from the main issue but Will, John
+Grimbal, and herself; and, pursuing the argument, began to suspect that
+she alone had power to right the wrong. In one direction only could such
+an opinion lead--a direction tremendous to her. Yet she did not shrink
+from the necessity ahead; she strung herself up to face it; she longed
+for an opportunity and resolved to make one at the earliest moment.
+
+Now that night was the longest in the whole year; and yet to Phoebe it
+passed with magic celerity.
+
+Will awakened about half-past five, rose immediately according to his
+custom, lighted a candle, and started to dress himself. He began the day
+in splendid spirits, begotten of good sleep and good health; but his
+wife saw the lightness of heart, the bustling activity of body, sink
+into apathy and inertia as remembrance overtook his wakening hour. It
+was like a brief and splendid dawn crushed by storm-clouds at the very
+rise of the sun.
+
+Phoebe presently dressed her little daughter and, as soon as the child
+had gone down-stairs, Will resumed the problems of his position.
+
+"I be in two minds this marnin'," he said. "I've a thought to tell
+mother of this matter. She 'm that wise, I've knawed her put me on the
+right track 'fore now, an' never guess she'd done it. Not but what I
+allus awn up to taking advice, if I follow it, an' no man 's readier to
+profit by the wisdom of his betters than me. That's how I've done all I
+have done in my time. T' other thought was to take your counsel an' see
+Miller 'pon it."
+
+"I was wrong, Will--quite wrong. I've been thinking, tu. He mustn't
+knaw, nor yet mother, nor nobody. Quite enough knaws as 't is."
+
+"What's the wisdom o' talkin' like that? Who 's gwaine to hide the
+thing, even if they wanted to? God knaws I ban't. I'd like, so well as
+not, to go up Chagford next market-day an' shout out the business afore
+the world."
+
+"You can't now. You must wait. You promised. I thought about it with
+every inch of my brain last night, an' I got a sort of feeling--I caan't
+explain, but wait. I've trusted you all my life long an' allus shall;
+now 't is your turn to trust me, just this wance. I've got great
+thoughts. I see the way; I may do much myself. You see, Jan Grimbal--"
+
+Will stood still with his chin half shorn.
+
+"You dare to do that," he said, "an' I'll raise Cain in this plaace;
+I'll--"
+
+He broke off and laughed at himself.
+
+"Here be I blusterin' like a gert bully now! Doan't be feared, Phoebe.
+Forgive my noise. You mean so well, but you caan't hide your secrets,
+fortunately. Bless your purty eyes--tu gude for me, an' allus was,
+braave li'l woman!
+
+"But no more of that--no seekin' him, an' no speech with him, if that's
+the way your poor, silly thought was. My bones smart to think of you
+bearin' any of it. But doan't you put no oar into this troubled water,
+else the bwoat'll capsize, sure as death. I've promised 'e not to say a
+word till arter New Year; now you must promise me never, so help you, to
+speak to that man, or look at un, or listen to a word from un. Fly him
+like you would the devil; an' a gude second to the devil he is--if 't is
+awnly in the matter o' patience. Promise now."
+
+"You 'm so hasty, Will. You doan't onderstand a woman's cleverness in
+such matters. 'T is just the fashion thing as shaws what we 'm made of."
+
+"Promise!" he thundered angrily. "Now, this instant moment, in wan
+word."
+
+She gave him a single defiant glance. Then the boldness of her eyes
+faded and her lips drooped at the corners.
+
+"I promise, then."
+
+"I should think you did."
+
+A few minutes later Will was gone, and Phoebe dabbed her moist eyes and
+blamed herself for so clumsily revealing her great intention,--to see
+John Grimbal and plead with him. This secret ambition was now swept
+away, and she knew not where to turn or how to act for her husband.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+NEW YEAR'S EVE AND NEW YEAR'S DAY
+
+
+From this point in his career Will Blanchard, who lacked all power of
+hiding his inner heart, soon made it superficially apparent that new
+troubles had overtaken him. No word concerning his intolerable anxieties
+escaped him, but a great cloud of tribulation encompassed every hour,
+and was revealed to others by increased petulance and shortness of
+temper. This mental friction quickly appeared on the young man's face,
+and his habitual expression of sulkiness which formerly belied him, now
+increased and more nearly reflected the reigning temperament of
+Blanchard's mind. His nerves were on the rack and he grew sullen and
+fretful. A dreary expression gained upon his features, an expression sad
+as a winter twilight brushed with rain. To Phoebe he seldom spoke of the
+matter, and she soon abandoned further attempts to intrude upon his
+heart though her own was breaking for him. Billy Blee and the farm hands
+were Will's safety-valve. One moment he showered hard and bitter words;
+the next, at sight of some ploughboy's tears or older man's reasonable
+anger, Will instantly relented and expressed his sorrow. The dullest
+among them grew in time to discern matters were amiss with him, for his
+tormented mind began to affect his actions and disorder the progress of
+his life. At times he worked laboriously and did much with his own hands
+that might have been left to others; but his energy was displayed in a
+manner fitful and spasmodic; occasionally he would vanish altogether for
+four-and-twenty hours or more; and none knew when he might appear or
+disappear.
+
+It happened on New Year's Eve that a varied company assembled at the
+"Green Man" according to ancient custom. Here were Inspector Chown, Mr.
+Chapple, Mr. Blee, Charles Coomstock, with many others; and the assembly
+was further enriched by the presence of the bell-ringers. Their services
+would be demanded presently to toll out the old year, to welcome with
+joyful peal the new; and they assembled here until closing time that
+they might enjoy a pint of the extra strong liquor a prosperous publican
+provided for his customers at this season.
+
+The talk was of Blanchard, and Mr. Blee, provided with a theme which
+always challenged his most forcible diction, discussed Will freely and
+without prejudice.
+
+"I 'most goes in fear of my life, I tell 'e; but thank God 't is the
+beginning of the end. He'll spread his wings afore spring and be off
+again, or I doan't knaw un. Ess fay, he'll depart wi' his fiery nature
+an' horrible ideas 'pon manuring of land; an' a gude riddance for Monks
+Barton, I say."
+
+"'Mazing 't is," declared Mr. Coomstock, "that he should look so black
+all times, seeing the gude fortune as turns up for un when most he wants
+it."
+
+"So 't is," admitted Billy. "The faace of un weer allus sulky, like to
+the faace of a auld ram cat, as may have a gude heart in un for all his
+glowerin' eyes. But him! Theer ban't no pleasin' un. What do he want?
+Surely never no man 's failed on his feet awftener."
+
+"'T is that what 's spoilin' un, I reckon," said Mr. Chappie. "A li'l
+ill-fortune he wants now, same as a salad o' green stuff wants some bite
+to it. He'd grumble in heaven, by the looks of un. An' yet it do shaw
+the patience of God wi' human sawls."
+
+"Ess, it do," answered Mr. Blee; "but patience ban't a virtue, pushed tu
+far. Justice is justice, as I've said more 'n wance to Miller an'
+Blanchard, tu, an' a man of my years can see wheer justice lies so clear
+as God can. For why? Because theer ban't room for two opinions. I've
+give my Maker best scores an' scores o' times, as we all must; but truth
+caan't alter, an' having put thinking paarts into our heads, 't is more
+'n God A'mighty's Self can do to keep us from usin' of'em."
+
+"A tremenjous thought," said Mr. Chapple.
+
+"So 't is. An' what I want to knaw is, why should Blanchard have his
+fling, an' treat me like dirt, an' ride rough-shod awver his betters,
+an' scowl at the sky all times, an' nothin' said?"
+
+"Providence doan't answer a question just 'cause we 'm pleased to ax
+wan," said Abraham Chown. "What happens happens, because 't is
+foreordained, an' you caan't judge the right an' wrong of a man's life
+from wan year or two or ten, more 'n you can judge a glass o' ale by a
+tea-spoon of it. Many has a long rope awnly to hang themselves in the
+end, by the wonnerful foresight of God."
+
+"All the same, theer'd be hell an' Tommy to pay mighty quick, if you an'
+me did the things that bwoy does, an' carried on that onreligious,"
+replied Mr. Blee, with gloomy conviction. "Ban't fair to other people,
+an' if 't was Doomsday I'd up an' say so. What gude deeds have he done
+to have life smoothed out, an' the hills levelled an' the valleys filled
+up? An' nought but sour looks for it."
+
+"But be you sure he 'm happy?" inquired Mr. Chapple. "He 'm not the man
+to walk 'bout wi' a fiddle-faace if 't was fair weather wi' un. He've
+got his troubles same as us, depend upon it."
+
+Blanchard himself entered at this moment. It wanted but half an hour to
+closing time when he did so, and he glanced round the bar, snorted at
+the thick atmosphere of alcohol and smoke, then pulled out his pipe and
+took a vacant chair.
+
+"Gude evenin', Will," said Mr. Chapple.
+
+"A happy New Year, Blanchard," added the landlord.
+
+"Evening, sawls all," answered Will, nodding round him. "Auld year's
+like to die o' frost by the looks of it--a stinger, I tell 'e. Anybody
+seen Farmer Endicott? I've been looking for un since noon wi' a message
+from my faither-in-law."
+
+"I gived thicky message this marnin'," cried Billy.
+
+"Ess, I knaw you did; that's my trouble. You gived it wrong. I'll just
+have a pint of the treble X then. 'T is the night for 't."
+
+Will's demeanour belied the recent conversation respecting him. He
+appeared to be in great spirits, joked with the men, exchanged shafts
+with Billy, and was the first to roar with laughter when Mr. Blee got
+the better of him in a brisk battle of repartee. Truth to tell, the
+young man's heart felt somewhat lighter, and with reason. To-morrow his
+promise to Phoebe held him no longer, and his carking, maddening trial
+of patience was to end. The load would drop from his shoulders at
+daylight. His letter to Mr. Lyddon had been written; in the morning the
+miller must read it before breakfast, and learn that his son-in-law had
+started for Plymouth to give himself up for the crime of the past. John
+Grimbal had made no sign, and the act of surrender would now be
+voluntary--a thought which lightened Blanchard's heart and induced a
+turn of temper almost jovial. He joined a chorus, laughed with the
+loudest, and contrived before closing time to drink a pint and a half of
+the famous special brew. Then the bell-ringers departed to their duties,
+and Mr. Chapple with Mr. Blee, Will, and one or two other favoured
+spirits spent a further half-hour in their host's private parlour, and
+there consumed a little sloe gin, to steady the humming ale.
+
+"You an' me must see wan another home," said Will when he and Mr. Blee
+departed into the frosty night.
+
+"Fust time as ever you give me an arm," murmured Billy.
+
+"Won't be the last, I'm sure," declared Will.
+
+"I've allus had a gude word for 'e ever since I knawed 'e," answered
+Billy.
+
+"An' why for shouldn't 'e?" asked Will.
+
+"Beginning of New Year 's a solemn sarcumstance," proceeded Billy, as a
+solitary bell began to toll. "Theer 's the death-rattle of eighteen
+hunderd an' eighty-six! Well, well, we must all die--men an' mice."
+
+"An' the devil take the hindmost."
+
+Mr. Blee chuckled.
+
+"Let 's go round this way," he said.
+
+"Why? Ban't your auld bones ready for bed yet? Theer 's nought theer but
+starlight an' frost."
+
+"Be gormed to the frost! I laugh at it. Ban't that. 'T is the Union
+workhouse, wheer auld Lezzard lies. I likes to pass, an' nod to un as he
+sits on the lew side o' the wall in his white coat, chumping his
+thoughts between his gums."
+
+"He 'm happier 'n me or you, I lay."
+
+"Not him! You should see un glower 'pon me when I gives un 'gude day.'
+I tawld un wance as the Poor Rates was up somethin' cruel since he'd
+gone in the House, an' he looked as though he'd 'a' liked to do me
+violence. No, he ban't happy, I warn 'e."
+
+"Well, you won't see un sitting under the stars in his white coat, poor
+auld blid. He 'm asleep under the blankets, I lay."
+
+"Thin wans! Thin blankets an' not many of 'em. An' all his awn doin'.
+Patent justice, if ever I seed it."
+
+"Tramp along! You can travel faster 'n that. Ess fay! Justice is the
+battle-cry o' God against men most times. Maybe they 'm strong on it in
+heaven, but theer 's damned little filters down here. Theer go the
+bells! Another New Year come. Years o' the Lard they call 'em! Years o'
+the devil most times, if you ax me. What do 'e want the New Year to
+bring to you, Billy?"
+
+"A contented 'eart," said Mr. Blee, "an' perhaps just half-a-crown more
+a week, if 't was seemly. Brains be paid higher 'n sweat in this world,
+an' I'm mostly brain now in my dealin's wi' Miller. A brain be like a
+nut, as ripens all the year through an' awnly comes to be gude for
+gathering when the tree 's in the sere. 'T is in the autumn of life a
+man's brain be worth plucking like--eh?"
+
+"Doan't knaw. They 'm maggoty mostly at your age!"
+
+"An' they 'm milky mostly at yourn!"
+
+"Listen to the bells an' give awver chattering," said Will.
+
+"After gude store o' drinks, a sad thing like holy bells ringing in the
+dark afar off do sting my nose an' bring a drop to my eye," confessed
+Mr. Blee. "An' you--why, theer 's a baaby hid away in the New Year for
+you--a human creature as may do gert wonders in the land an' turn out
+into Antichrist, for all you can say positive. Theer 's a braave thought
+for 'e!"
+
+This remark sobered Blanchard and his mind travelled into the future, to
+Phoebe, to the child coming in June.
+
+Billy babbled on, and presently they reached Mrs. Blanchard's cottage.
+Damaris herself, with a shawl over her head, stood and listened to the
+bells, and Will, taking leave of Mr. Blee, hastened to wish his mother
+all happiness in the year now newly dawned. He walked once or twice up
+and down the little garden beside her, and with a tongue loosened by
+liquor came near to telling her of his approaching action, but did not
+do so. Meantime Mr. Blee steered himself with all caution over Rushford
+Bridge to Monks Barton.
+
+Presently the veteran appeared before his master and Phoebe, who had
+waited for the advent of the New Year before retiring. Miller Lyddon was
+about to suggest a night-cap for Billy, but changed his mind.
+
+"Enough 's as gude as a feast," he said. "Canst get up-stairs wi'out
+help?"
+
+"Coourse I can! But the chap to the 'Green Man's' that perfuse wi' his
+liquor at seasons of rejoicing. More went down than was chalked up; I
+allow that. If you'll light my chamber cannel, I'll thank 'e, missis;
+an' a Happy New Year to all."
+
+Phoebe obeyed, launched Mr. Blee in the direction of his chamber, then
+turned to receive Will's caress as he came home and locked the door
+behind him.
+
+The night air still carried the music of the bells. For an hour they
+pealed on; then the chime died slowly, a bell at a time, until two
+clanged each against the other. Presently one stopped and the last,
+weakening softly, beat a few strokes more, then ceased to fret the
+frosty birth-hour of another year.
+
+The darkness slipped away, and Blanchard who had long learned to rise
+without awakening his wife, was up and dressed again soon after five
+o'clock. He descended silently, placed a letter on the mantelpiece in
+the kitchen, abstracted a leg of goose and a hunch of bread from the
+larder, then set out upon a chilly walk of five miles to Moreton
+Hampstead. From there he designed to take train and proceed to Plymouth
+as directly and speedily as possible.
+
+Some two hours later Will's letter found itself in Mr. Lyddon's hand,
+and his father-in-law learnt the secret. Phoebe was almost as amazed as
+the miller himself when this knowledge came to her ear; for Will had not
+breathed his intention to her, and no suspicion had crossed his wife's
+mind that he intended to act with such instant promptitude on the
+expiration of their contract.
+
+"I doubted I knawed him through an' through at last, but 't is awnly
+to-day, an' after this, that I can say as I do," mused Mr. Lyddon over
+an untasted breakfast. "To think he runned them awful risks to make you
+fast to him! To think he corned all across England in the past to make
+you his wife against the danger on wan side, an' the power o' Jan
+Grimbal an' me drawed up 'pon the other!"
+
+Pursuing this strain to Phoebe's heartfelt relief, the miller neither
+assumed an attitude of great indignation at Will's action nor affected
+despair of his future. He was much bewildered, however.
+
+"He'll keep me 'mazed so long as I live, 'pears to me. But he 'm gone
+for the present, an' I doan't say I'm sorry, knawin' what was behind. No
+call for you to sob yourself into a fever. Please God, he'll be back
+long 'fore you want him. Us'll make the least we can of it, an' bide
+patient until we hear tell of him. He've gone to Plymouth--that's all
+Chagford needs to knaw at present."
+
+"Theer 's newspapers an' Jan Grimbal," sobbed Phoebe.
+
+"A dark man wi' fixed purposes, sure enough," admitted her father, for
+Will's long letter had placed all the facts before him. "What he'll do
+us caan't say, though, seein' Will's act, theer 's nothin' more left for
+un. Why has the man been silent so long if he meant to strike in the
+end? Now I must go an' tell Mrs. Blanchard. Will begs an' prays of me to
+do that so soon as he shall be gone; an' he 'm right. She ought to knaw;
+but 't is a job calling for careful choice of words an' a light hand.
+Wonder is to me he didn't tell her hisself. But he never does what
+you'd count 'pon his doing."
+
+"You won't tell Billy, faither, will 'e? Ban't no call for that."
+
+"I won't tell him, certainly not; but Blee 's a ferret when a thing 's
+hid. A detective mind theer is to Billy. How would it do to tell un
+right away an' put un 'pon his honour to say nothing?"
+
+"He mustn't knaw; he mustn't knaw. He couldn't keep a secret like
+that if you gived un fifty pounds to keep it. So soon tell a town-crier
+as him."
+
+"Then us won't," promised Mr. Lyddon, and ten minutes after he proceeded
+to Mrs. Blanchard's cottage with the news. His first hasty survey of the
+position had not been wholly unfavourable to Will, but he was a man of
+unstable mind in his estimates of human character, and now he chiefly
+occupied his thoughts with the offence of desertion from the army. The
+disgrace of such an action magnified itself as he reflected upon Will's
+unhappy deed.
+
+Phoebe, meantime, succumbed and found herself a helpless prey of terrors
+vague and innumerable. Will's fate she could not guess at; but she felt
+it must be severe; she doubted not that his sentence would extend over
+long years. In her dejection and misery she mourned for herself and
+wondered what manner of babe would this be that now took substance
+through a season of such gloom and accumulated sorrows. The thought
+begat pity for the coming little one,--utmost commiseration that set
+Phoebe's tears flowing anew,--and when the miller returned he found his
+daughter stricken beyond measure and incoherent under her grief. But Mr.
+Lyddon came back with a companion, and it was her husband, not her
+father, who dried Phoebe's eyes and cheered her lonely heart. Will,
+indeed, appeared and stood by her suddenly; and she heard his voice and
+cried a loud thanksgiving and clasped him close.
+
+Yet no occasion for rejoicing had brought about this unexpected
+reappearance. Indeed, more ill-fortune was responsible for it. When Mr.
+Lyddon arrived at Mrs. Blanchard's gate, he found both Will and Doctor
+Parsons standing there, then learnt the incident that had prevented his
+son-in-law's proposed action.
+
+Passing that way himself some hours earlier, Will had been suddenly
+surprised to see blue smoke rising from a chimney of the house. It was a
+very considerable time before such event might reasonably be expected
+and a second look alarmed Blanchard's heart, for on the little
+chimney-stack he knew each pot, and it was not the kitchen chimney but
+that of his mother's bedroom which now sent evidence of a newly lighted
+fire into the morning.
+
+In a second Will's plans and purposes were swept away before this
+spectacle. A fire in a bedroom represented a circumstance almost outside
+his experience. At least it indicated sickness unto death. He was in the
+house a moment later, for the latch lifted at his touch; and when he
+knocked at his mother's door and cried his name, she bade him come in.
+
+"What's this? What's amiss with 'e, mother? Doan't say 't is anything
+very bad. I seed the smoke an' my heart stood still."
+
+She smiled and assured him her illness was of no account.
+
+"Ban't nothing. Just a shivering an' stabbing in the chest. My awn
+fulishness to be out listening to they bells in the frost. But no call
+to fear. I awnly axed my li'l servant to get me a cup o' tea, an' she
+comed an' would light the fire, an' would go for doctor, though theer
+ban't no 'casion at all."
+
+"Every occasion, an' the gal was right, an' it shawed gude sense in such
+a dinky maid as her. Nothin' like taaking a cold in gude time. Do 'e
+catch heat from the fire?"
+
+Mrs. Blanchard's eyes were dull, and her breathing a little disordered.
+Will instantly began to bustle about. He added fuel to the flame, set on
+a kettle, dragged blankets out of cupboards and piled them upon his
+mother. Then he found a pillow-case, aired it until the thing scorched,
+inserted a pillow, and placed it beneath the patient's head. His
+subsequent step was to rummage dried marshmallows out of a drawer,
+concoct a sort of dismal brew, and inflict a cup upon the sick woman.
+Doctor Parsons still tarrying, Will went out of doors, knocked a brick
+from the fowl-house wall, brought it in, made it nearly red hot, then
+wrapped it up in an old rug and applied it to his parent's feet,--all of
+which things the sick woman patiently endured.
+
+"You 'm doin' me a power o' gude, dearie," she said, as her discomfort
+and suffering increased.
+
+Presently Doctor Parsons arrived, checked Will in fantastic experiments
+with a poultice, and gave him occupation in a commission to the
+physician's surgery. When he returned, he heard that his mother was
+suffering from a severe chill, but that any definite declaration upon
+the case was as yet impossible.
+
+"No cause to be 'feared?" he asked.
+
+"'T is idle to be too sanguine. You know my philosophy. I've seen a
+scratched finger kill a man; I've known puny babes wriggle out of
+Death's hand when I could have sworn it had closed upon them for good
+and all. Where there 's life there 's hope."
+
+"Ess, I knaw you," answered Will gloomily; "an' I knaw when you say that
+you allus mean there ban't no hope at all."
+
+"No, no. A strong, hale woman like your mother need not give us any fear
+at present. Sleep and rest, cheerful faces round her, and no amateur
+physic. I'll see her to-night and send in a nurse from the Cottage
+Hospital at once."
+
+Then it was that Miller Lyddon arrived, and presently Will returned
+home. He wholly mistook Phoebe's frantic reception, and assumed that her
+tears must be flowing for Mrs. Blanchard.
+
+"She'll weather it," he said. "Keep a gude heart. The gal from the
+hospital ban't coming 'cause theer 's danger, but 'cause she 'm smart
+an' vitty 'bout a sick room, an' cheerful as a canary an' knaws her
+business. Quick of hand an' light of foot for sartin. Mother'll be all
+right; I feel it deep in me she will."
+
+Presently conversation passed to Will himself, and Phoebe expressed a
+hope this sad event would turn him from his determination for some time
+at least.
+
+"What determination?" he asked. "What be talkin' about?"
+
+"The letter you left for faither, and the thing you started to do," she
+answered.
+
+"'S truth! So I did; an' if the sight o' the smoke an' then hearin' o'
+mother's trouble didn't blaw the whole business out of my brain!"
+
+He stood amazed at his own complete forgetfulness.
+
+"Queer, to be sure! But coourse theer weern't room in my mind for
+anything but mother arter I seed her stricken down."
+
+During the evening, after final reports from Mrs. Blanchard's sick-room
+spoke of soothing sleep, Miller Lyddon sent Billy upon an errand, and
+discussed Will's position.
+
+"Jan Grimbal 's waited so long," he said, "that maybe he'll wait longer
+still an' end by doin' nothin' at all."
+
+"Not him! You judge the man by yourself," declared Will. "But he 's made
+of very different metal. I lay he's bidin' till the edge of this be
+sharp and sure to cut deepest. So like 's not, when he hears tell mother
+'s took bad he'll choose that instant moment to have me marched away."
+
+There was a moment's silence, then Blanchard burst out into a fury bred
+of sudden thought, and struck the table heavily with his fist.
+
+"God blast it! I be allus waitin' now for some wan's vengeance! I caan't
+stand this life no more. I caan't an' I won't--'t is enough to soften
+any man's wits."
+
+"Quiet! quiet, caan't 'e?" said the miller, as though he told a dog to
+lie down. "Theer now! You've been an' gived me palpitations with your
+noise. Banging tables won't mend it, nor bad words neither. This thing
+hasn't come by chance. You 'm ripening in mind an' larnin' every day.
+You mark my word; theer 's a mort o' matters to pick out of this new
+trouble. An' fust, patience."
+
+"Patience! If a patient, long-suffering man walks this airth, I be him,
+I should reckon. I caan't wait the gude pleasure of that dog, not even
+for you, Miller."
+
+"'T is discipline, an' sent for the strengthening of your fibre.
+Providence barred the road to-day, else you'd be in prison now. Ban't
+meant you should give yourself up--that's how I read it."
+
+"'T is cowardly, waitin' an' playin' into his hands; an' if you awnly
+knawed how this has fouled my mind wi' evil, an' soured the very taste
+of what I eat, an' dulled the faace of life, an' blunted the right
+feeling in me even for them I love best, you'd never bid me bide on
+under it. 'T is rotting me--body an' sawl--that's what 't is doin'. An'
+now I be come to such a pass that if I met un to-morrow an' he swore on
+his dying oath he'd never tell, I shouldn't be contented even wi'
+that."
+
+"No such gude fortune," sighed Phoebe.
+
+"'T wouldn't be gude fortune," answered her husband. "I'm like a dirty
+chamber coated wi' cobwebs an' them ghostly auld spiders as hangs dead
+in unsecured corners. Plaaces so left gets worse. My mind 's all in a
+ferment, an' 't wouldn't be none the better now if Jan Grimbal broke
+his damned neck to-morrow an' took my secret with him. I caan't breathe
+for it; it 's suffocating me."
+
+Phoebe used subtlety in her answer, and invited him to view the position
+from her standpoint rather than his own.
+
+"Think o' me, then, an' t' others. 'T is plain selfishness, this talk,
+if you looks to the bottom of it."
+
+"As to that, I doan't say so," began Mr. Lyddon, slowly stuffing his
+pipe. "No. When a man goes so deep into his heart as what Will have
+before me this minute, doan't become no man to judge un, or tell 'bout
+selfishness. Us have got to save our awn sawls, an' us must even leave
+wife, an' mother, and childer if theer 's no other way to do it. Ban't
+no right living--ban't no fair travelling in double harness wi'
+conscience, onless you've got a clean mind. An' yet waitin' 'pears the
+only way o' wisdom just here. You've never got room in that head o'
+yourn for more 'n wan thought to a time; an' I doan't blame 'e theer
+neither, for a chap wi' wan idea, if he sticks to it, goes further 'n
+him as drives a team of thoughts half broken in. I mean you 'm
+forgettin' your mother for the moment. I should say, wait for her
+mendin' 'fore you do anything."
+
+Back came Blanchard's mind to his mother with a whole-hearted swing.
+
+"Ess," he said, "you 'm right theer. My plaace is handy to her till she
+'m movin'; an' if he tries to take me before she 'm down-house again, by
+God! I'll--"
+
+"Let it bide that way then. Put t' other matter out o' your mind so far
+as you can. Fill your pipe an' suck deep at it. I haven't seen 'e smoke
+this longful time; an' in my view theer 's no better servant than
+tobacco to a mind puzzled at wan o' life's cross-roads."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+MR. LYDDON'S TACTICS
+
+
+In the morning Mrs. Blanchard was worse, and some few days later lay in
+danger of her life. Her son spent half his time in the sick-room, walked
+about bootless to make no sound, and fretted with impatience at thought
+of the length of days which must elapse before Chris could return to
+Chagford. Telegrams had been sent to Martin Grimbal, who was spending
+his honeymoon out of England; but on the most sanguine computation he
+and his wife would scarcely be home again in less than ten days or a
+fortnight.
+
+Hope and gloom succeeded each other swiftly within Will Blanchard's
+mind, and at first he discounted the consistent pessimism of Doctor
+Parsons somewhat more liberally than the issue justified. When,
+therefore, he was informed of the truth and stood face to face with his
+mother's danger, hope sank, and his unstable spirit was swept from an
+altitude of secret confidence to the opposite depth of despair.
+
+Through long silences, while she slept or seemed to do so, the young man
+traced back his life and hers; and he began to see what a good mother
+means. Then he accused himself of many faults and made impetuous
+confession to his wife and her father. On these occasions Phoebe
+softened his self-blame, but Mr. Lyddon let Will talk, and told him for
+his consolation that every mother's son must be accused of like
+offences.
+
+"Best of childer falls far short," he assured Will; "best brings tu many
+tears, if 't is awnly for wantonness; an' him as thinks he've been all
+he should be to his mother lies to himself; an' him as says he has, lies
+to other people."
+
+Will's wild-hawk nature was subdued before this grave crisis in his
+parent's life; he sat through long nights and tended the fire with quiet
+fingers; he learnt from the nurse how to move a pillow tenderly, how to
+shut a door without any sound. He wearied Doctor Parsons with futile
+propositions, but the physician's simulated cynicism often broke down in
+secret before this spectacle of the son's dog-like pertinacity.
+Blanchard much desired to have a vein opened for his mother, nor was all
+the practitioner's eloquence equal to convincing him such a course could
+not be pursued.
+
+"She 'm gone that gashly white along o' want o' blood," declared Will;
+"an' I be busting wi' gude red blood, an' why for shouldn't you put in
+a pipe an' draw off a quart or so for her betterment? I'll swear 't
+would strengthen the heart of her."
+
+Time passed, and it happened on one occasion, while walking abroad
+between his vigils, that Blanchard met John Grimbal. Will had reflected
+curiously of late days into what ghostly proportions his affair with the
+master of the Red House now dwindled before this greater calamity of his
+mother's sickness; but sudden sight of the enemy roused passion and
+threw back the man's mind to that occasion of their last conversation in
+the woods.
+
+Yet the first words that now passed were to John Grimbal's credit. He
+made an astonishing and unexpected utterance. Indeed, the spoken word
+surprised him as much as his listener, and he swore at himself for a
+fool when Will's retort reached his ear.
+
+They were passing at close quarters,--Blanchard on foot, John upon
+horseback,--when the latter said,--
+
+"How 's Mrs. Blanchard to-day?"
+
+"Mind your awn business an' keep our name off your lips!" answered the
+pedestrian, who misunderstood the question, as he did most questions
+where possible, and now supposed that Grimbal meant Phoebe.
+
+His harsh words woke instant wrath.
+
+"What a snarling, cross-bred cur you are! I should judge your own family
+will be the first to thank me for putting you under lock and key. Hell
+to live with, you must be."
+
+"God rot your dirty heart! Do it--do it; doan't jaw--do it! But if you
+lay a finger 'pon me while my mother 's bad or have me took before she
+'m stirring again, I'll kill you when I come out. God 's my judge if I
+doan't!"
+
+Then, forgetting what had taken him out of doors, and upon what matter
+he was engaged, Will turned back in a tempest, and hastened to his
+mother's cottage.
+
+At Monks Barton Mr. Lyddon and his daughter had many and long
+conversations upon the subject of Blanchard's difficulties. Both
+trembled to think what might be the issue if his mother died; both began
+to realise that there could be no more happiness for Will until a
+definite extrication from his present position was forthcoming. At his
+daughter's entreaty the miller finally determined on a strong step. He
+made up his mind to visit Grimbal at the Red House, and win from him, if
+possible, some undertaking which would enable him to relieve his
+son-in-law of the present uncertainty.
+
+Phoebe pleaded for silence, and prayed her father to get a promise at
+any cost in that direction.
+
+"Let him awnly promise 'e never to tell of his free will, an' the door
+against danger 's shut," she said. "When Will knaws Grimbal 's gwaine to
+be dumb, he'll rage a while, then calm down an' be hisself again. 'T is
+the doubt that drove him frantic."
+
+"I'll see the man, then; but not a word to Will's ear. All the fat would
+be in the fire if he so much as dreamed I was about any such business.
+As to a promise, if I can get it I will. An' 'twixt me an' you, Phoebe,
+I'm hopeful of it. He 's kept quiet so long that theer caan't be any
+fiery hunger 'gainst Will in un just now. I'll soothe un down an' get
+his word of honour if it 's to be got. Then your husband can do as he
+pleases."
+
+"Leave the rest to me, Faither."
+
+A fortnight later the cautious miller, after great and exhaustive
+reflection, set out to carry into practice his intention. An appointment
+was made on the day that Will drove to Moreton to meet his sister and
+Martin Grimbal. This removed him out of the way, while Billy had been
+despatched to Okehampton for some harness, and Mr. Lyddon's daughter,
+alone in the secret, was spending the afternoon with her mother-in-law.
+
+So Miller walked over to the Red House and soon found himself waiting
+for John Grimbal in a cheerless but handsome dining-room. The apartment
+suggested little occupation. A desk stood in the window, and upon it
+were half a dozen documents under a paper-weight made from a horse's
+hoof. A fire burned in the broad grate; a row of chairs, upholstered in
+dark red leather, stood stiffly round; a dozen indifferent oil-paintings
+of dogs and horses filled large gold frames upon the walls; and upon a
+massive sideboard of black oak a few silver cups, won by Grimbal's dogs
+at various shows and coursing meetings, were displayed.
+
+Mr. Lyddon found himself kept waiting about ten minutes; then John
+entered, bade him a cold "good afternoon" without shaking hands, and
+placed an easy-chair for him beside the fire.
+
+"Would you object to me lighting my pipe, Jan Grimbal?" asked the miller
+humbly; and by way of answer the other took a box of matches from his
+pocket and handed it to the visitor.
+
+"Thank you, thank you; I'm obliged to you. Let me get a light, then I'll
+talk to 'e."
+
+He puffed for a minute or two, while Grimbal waited in silence for his
+guest to begin.
+
+"Now, wi'out any beatin' of the bush or waste of time, I'll speak. I be
+come 'bout Blanchard, as I dare say you guessed. The news of what he
+done nine or ten years ago comed to me just a month since. A month 't
+was, or might be three weeks. Like a bolt from the blue it falled 'pon
+me an' that's a fact. An' I heard how you knawed the thing--you as had
+such gude cause to hate un wance."
+
+"'Once?'"
+
+"Well, no man's hate can outlive his reason, surely? I was with 'e, tu,
+then; but a man what lets himself suffer lifelong trouble from a fule be
+a fule himself. Not that Blanchard 's all fule--far from it. He've
+ripened a little of late years--though slowly as fruit in a wet summer.
+Granted he bested you in the past an' your natural hope an' prayer was
+to be upsides wi' un some day. Well, that's all dead an' buried, ban't
+it? I hated the shadow of un in them days so bad as ever you did; but
+you gets to see more of the world, an' the men that walks in it when you
+'m moved away from things by the distance of a few years. Then you find
+how wan deed bears upon t' other. Will done no more than you'd 'a' done
+if the cases was altered. In fact, you 'm alike at some points, come to
+think of it."
+
+"Is that what you've walked over here to tell me?"
+
+"No; I'm here to ax 'e frank an' plain, as a sportsman an' a straight
+man wi' a gude heart most times, to tell me what you 'm gwaine to do
+'bout this job. I'm auld, an' I assure 'e you'll hate yourself if you
+give un up. 'T would be outside your carater to do it."
+
+"You say that! Would you harbour a convict from Princetown if you found
+him hiding on your farm?"
+
+"Ban't a like case. Theer 's the personal point of view, if you
+onderstand me. A man deserts from the army ten years ago, an' you, a
+sort o' amateur soldier, feels 't is your duty to give un to justice."
+
+"Well, isn't that what has happened?"
+
+"No fay! Nothing of the sort. If 't was your duty, why didn't you do it
+fust minute you found it out? If you'd writ to the authorities an' gived
+the man up fust moment, I might have said 't was a hard deed, but I'd
+never have dared to say 't weern't just. Awnly you done no such thing.
+You nursed the power an' sucked the thought, same as furriners suck at
+poppy poison. You played with the picture of revenge against a man you
+hated, an' let the idea of what you'd do fill your brain; an' then, when
+you wanted bigger doses, you told Phoebe what you knawed--reckoning as
+she'd tell Will bimebye. That's bad, Jan Grimbal--worse than poisoning
+foxes, by God! An' you knaw it."
+
+"Who are you, to judge me and my motives?"
+
+"An auld man, an' wan as be deeply interested in this business. Time was
+when we thought alike touching the bwoy; now we doan't; 'cause your
+knowledge of un hasn't grawed past the point wheer he downed us, an'
+mine has."
+
+"You're a fool to say so. D' you think I haven't watched the young
+brute these many years? Self-sufficient, ignorant, hot-headed, always in
+the wrong. What d' you find to praise in the clown? Look at his life.
+Failure! failure! failure! and making of enemies at every turn. Where
+would he be to-day but for you?"
+
+"Theer 's a rare gert singleness of purpose 'bout un."
+
+"A grand success he is, no doubt. I suppose you couldn't get on without
+him now. Yet you cursed the cub freely enough once."
+
+"Bitter speeches won't serve 'e, Grimbal; but they show me mighty clear
+what's hid in you. Your sawl 's torn every way by this thing, an' you
+turn an' turn again to it, like a dog to his vomit, yet the gude in 'e
+drags 'e away."
+
+"Better cut all that. You won't tell me what you've come for, so I'll
+tell you. You want me to promise not to move in this matter,--is that
+so?"
+
+"Why, not ezackly. I want more 'n that. I never thought for a minute you
+would do it, now you've let the time pass so far. I knaw you'll never
+act so ugly a paart now; but Will doan 't, an' he'll never b'lieve me
+if I told un."
+
+The other made a sound, half growl, half mirthless laugh.
+
+"You've taken it all for granted, then--you, who know more about what
+'s in my mind than I do myself? You're a fond old man; and if you'd
+wanted to screw me up to the pitch of taking the necessary trouble, you
+couldn't have gone a better way. I've been too busy to bother about the
+young rascal of late or he'd lie in gaol now."
+
+"Doan't say no such vain things! D' you think I caan't read what your
+face speaks so plain? A man's eyes tell the truth awftener than what his
+tongue does, for they 'm harder to break into lying. 'Tu busy'! You be
+foul to the very brainpan wi' this job an' you knaw it."
+
+"Is the hatred all on my side, d' you suppose? Curse the brute to hell!
+And you'd have me eat humble-pie to the man who 's wrecked my life?"
+
+"No such thing at all. All the hatred be on your side. He'd forgived 'e
+clean. Even now, though you 'm fretting his guts to fiddlestrings
+because of waiting for 'e, he feels no malice--no more than the caged
+rat feels 'gainst the man as be carrying him, anyway."
+
+"You're wrong there. He'd kill me to-morrow. He let me know it. In a
+weak moment I asked him the other day how his mother was; and he turned
+upon me like a mad dog, and told me to keep his name off my lips, and
+said he'd have my life if I gave him up."
+
+"That's coorious then, for he 's hungry to give himself up, so soon as
+the auld woman 's well again."
+
+"Talk! I suppose he sent you to whine for him?"
+
+"Not so. He'd have blocked my road if he'd guessed."
+
+"Well, I'm honest when I say I don't care a curse what he does or does
+not. Let him go his way. And as to proclaiming him, I shall do so when
+it pleases me. An odious crime that,--a traitor to his country."
+
+"Doan't become you nor me to dwell 'pon that, seeing how things was."
+
+Grimbal rose.
+
+"You think he 's a noble fellow, and that your daughter had a merciful
+escape. It isn't for me to suggest you are mistaken. Now I've no more
+time to spare, I'm afraid."
+
+The miller also rose, and as he prepared to depart he spoke a final
+word.
+
+"You 'm terrible pushed for time, by the looks of it. I knaw 't is hard
+in this life to find time to do right, though every man can make a
+'mazing mort o' leisure for t' other thing. But hear me: you 'm ruinin'
+yourself, body an' sawl, along o' this job--body an' sawl, like apples
+in a barrel rots each other. You 'm in a bad way, Jan Grimbal, an' I'm
+sorry for 'e--brick house an' horses an' dogs notwithstanding. Have a
+spring cleaning in that sulky brain o' yourn, my son, an' be a man wi'
+yourself, same as you be a man wi' the world."
+
+The other sneered.
+
+"Don't get hot. The air is cold. And as you've given so much good
+advice, take some, too. Mind your own business, and let your son-in-law
+mind his."
+
+Mr. Lyddon shook his head.
+
+"Such words do only prove me right. Look in your heart an' see how 't is
+with you that you can speak to an auld man so. 'T is common metal
+shawing up in 'e, an' I'm sorry to find it."
+
+He set off home without more words and, as chance ordered the incident,
+emerged from the avenue gates of the Red House while a covered vehicle
+passed by on the way from Moreton Hampstead. Its roof was piled with
+luggage, and inside sat Chris, her husband, and Will. They spied Mr.
+Lyddon and made room for him; but later on in the evening Will taxed the
+miller with his action.
+
+"I knawed right well wheer you'd come from," he said gloomily, "an' I'd
+'a' cut my right hand off rather than you should have done it. You did
+n't ought, Faither; for I'll have no living man come between me an'
+him."
+
+"I made it clear I was on my awn paart," explained Mr. Lyddon; but that
+night Will wrote a letter to his enemy and despatched it by a lad before
+breakfast on the following morning.
+
+     "Sir," he said, "this comes to say that Miller seen you yesterday
+     out of his own head, and if I had knowed he was coming I would have
+     took good care to prevent it.
+
+     "W. BLANCHARD."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+ACTION
+
+
+Time passed, and Mrs. Blanchard made a slow return to health. Her
+daughter assumed control of the sick-room, and Martin Grimbal was denied
+the satisfaction of seeing Chris settled in her future home for a period
+of nearly two months. Then, when the invalid became sufficiently
+restored to leave Chagford for change of air, both Martin and Chris
+accompanied her and spent a few weeks by the sea.
+
+Will, meantime, revolved upon his own affairs and suffered torments long
+drawn out. For these protracted troubles those of his own house were
+responsible, and both Phoebe and the miller greatly erred in their
+treatment of him at this season. For the woman there were indeed
+excuses, but Mr. Lyddon might have been expected to show more wisdom and
+better knowledge of a character at all times transparent enough. Phoebe,
+nearing maternal tribulation, threw a new obstacle in her husband's way,
+and implored him by all holy things, now that he had desisted from
+confession thus far, to keep his secret yet a little longer and wait for
+the birth of the child. She used every possible expedient to win this
+new undertaking from Will, and her father added his voice to hers. The
+miller's expressed wish, strongly urged, frequently repeated, at last
+triumphed, and against his own desire and mental promptings, Blanchard,
+at terrible cost to himself, had promised patience until June.
+
+Life, thus clouded and choked, wrought havoc with the man. His natural
+safety-valves were blocked, his nerves shattered, his temper poisoned.
+Primitive characteristics appeared as a result of this position, and he
+exhibited the ferocity of an over-driven tame beast, or a hunted wild
+one. In days long removed from this crisis he looked back with chill of
+body and shudder of mind to that nightmare springtime; and he never
+willingly permitted even those dearest to him to retrace the period.
+
+The struggle lasted long, but his nature beat Blanchard before the end,
+burst its bonds, shattered promises and undertakings, weakened marital
+love for a while, and set him free by one tremendous explosion and
+victory of natural force. There had come into his head of late a new
+sensation, as of busy fingers weaving threads within his skull and iron
+hands moulding the matter of his brain into new patterns. The demon
+things responsible for his torment only slept when he slept, or when, as
+had happened once or twice, he drank himself indifferent to all mundane
+matters. Yet he could not still them for long, and even Phoebe had heard
+mutterings and threats of the thread-spinners who were driving her
+husband mad.
+
+On an evening in late May she became seriously alarmed for his reason.
+Circumstances suddenly combined to strangle the last flickering breath
+of patience in Will, and the slender barriers were swept away in such a
+storm as even Phoebe's wide experience of him had never parallelled.
+Miller Lyddon was out, at a meeting in the village convened to determine
+after what fashion Chagford should celebrate the Sovereign's Jubilee;
+Billy also departed about private concerns, and Will and his wife had
+Monks Barton much to themselves. Even she irritated the suffering man at
+this season, and her sunken face and chatter about her own condition and
+future hopes of a son often worried him into sheer frenzy. His promise
+once exacted she rarely touched upon that matter, believing the less
+said the better, but he misunderstood her reticence and held it selfish.
+Indeed, Blanchard fretted and chafed alone now; for John Grimbal's
+sustained silence had long ago convinced Mr. Lyddon that the master of
+the Red House meant no active harm, and Phoebe readily grasped at the
+same conclusion.
+
+This night, however, the flood-gates crumbled, and Will, before a futile
+assertion from Phoebe touching the happy promise of the time to come and
+the cheerful spring weather, dashed down his pipe with an oath, clenched
+his hands, then leapt to his feet, shook his head, and strode about like
+a maniac.
+
+"Will! You've brawk un to shivers--the butivul wood pipe wi' amber that
+I gived 'e last birthday!"
+
+"Damn my birthday--a wisht day for me 't was! I've lived tu long--tu
+long by all my years, an' nobody cares wan salt tear that I be roastin'
+in hell-fire afore my time. I caan't stand it no more--no more at
+all--not for you or your faither or angels in heaven or ten million
+babies to be born into this blasted world--not if I was faither to 'em
+all. I must live my life free, or else I'll go in a madhouse. Free--do
+'e hear me? I've suffered enough and waited more 'n enough. Ban't months
+nor weeks neither--'t is a long, long lifetime. You talk o' time
+dragging! If you knawed--if you knawed! An' these devil-spinners allus
+knotting an' twisting. I could do things--I could--things man never
+dreamed. An' I will--for they 'm grawing and grawing, an' they'll burst
+my skull if I let 'em bide in it. Months ago I've sat on a fence
+unbeknawnst wheer men was shooting, an' whistled for death. So help me,
+'t is true. Me to do that! Theer 's a cur for 'e; an' yet ban't me
+neither, but the spinners in my head. Death 's a party easily called,
+mind you. A knife, or a pinch o' powder, or a drop o' deep water--they
+'ll bring un to your elbow in a moment. Awnly, if I done that, I'd go in
+company. Nobody should bide to laugh. Them as would cry might cry, but
+him as would laugh should come along o' me--he should, by God!"
+
+"Will, Will! It isn't my Will talking so?"
+
+"It be me, an' it ban't me. But I'm in earnest at last, an' speakin'
+truth. The spinners knaw, an' they 'm right. I'm sick to sheer hate o'
+my life; and you've helped to make me so--you and your faither likewise.
+This thing doan't tear your heart out of you an' grind your nerves to
+pulp as it should do if you was a true wife."
+
+"Oh, my dear, my lovey, how can 'e say or think it? You knaw what it has
+been to me."
+
+"I knaw you've thought all wrong 'pon it when you've thought at all. An'
+Miller, tu. You've prevailed wi' me to go on livin' a coward's life for
+countless ages o' time--me--me--creepin' on the earth wi' my tail
+between my legs an' knawin' I never set eyes on a man as ban't braver
+than myself. An' him--Grimbal--laughing, like the devil he is, to think
+on what my life must be!"
+
+"I caan't be no quicker. The cheel's movin' an' bracin' itself up an'
+makin' ready to come in the world, ban't it? I've told 'e so fifty
+times. It's little longer to wait."
+
+"It's no longer. It's nearer than sleep or food or drink. It's comin'
+'fore the moon sets. 'T is that or the madhouse--nothin' else. If you'd
+felt the fire as have been eatin' my thinking paarts o' late days you'd
+knaw. Ban't no use your cryin', for 't isn't love of me makes you.
+Rivers o' tears doan't turn me no more. I'm steel now--fust time for a
+month--an' while I'm steel I'll act like steel an' strike like steel.
+I've had shaky nights an' silly nights an' haunted nights, but my head
+'s clear for wance, an' I'll use it while 'tis."
+
+"Not to do no rash thing, Will? For Christ's sake, you won't hurt
+yourself or any other?"
+
+"I must meet him wance for all."
+
+"He 'm at the council 'bout Jubilee wi' faither an' parson an' the
+rest."
+
+"But he'll go home arter. An' I'll have 'Yes' or 'No' to-night--I will,
+if I've got to shake the word out of his sawl. I ban't gwaine to be
+driven lunatic for him or you or any. Death's a sight better than a soft
+head an' a lifetime o' dirt an' drivelling an' babbling, like the
+brainless beasts they feed an' fatten in asylums. That's worse cruelty
+than any I be gwaine to suffer at human hands--to be mewed in wan of
+them gashly mad-holes wi' the rack an' ruins o' empty flesh grinning an'
+gibbering 'pon me from all the corners o' the airth. I be sane now--sane
+enough to knaw I'm gwaine mad fast--an' I won't suffer it another hour.
+It's come crying and howling upon my mind like a storm this night, an'
+this night I'll end it."
+
+"Wait at least until the morning. See him then."
+
+"Go to bed, an' doan't goad me to more waiting, if you ever loved me.
+Get to bed--out of my sight! I've had enough of 'e and of all human
+things this many days. An' that's as near madness as I'm gwaine. What I
+do, I do to-night."
+
+She rose from her chair in sudden anger at his strange harshness, for
+the wife who has never heard an unkind word resents with passionate
+protest the sting of the first when it falls. Now genuine indignation
+inflamed Phoebe, and she spoke bitterly.
+
+"'Enough of me'! Ess fay! Like enough you have--a poor, patient creature
+sweatin' for 'e, an' thinkin' for 'e, an' blotting her eyes with tears
+for 'e, an' bearin' your childer an' your troubles, tu! 'Enough of me.'
+Ess, I'll get gone to my bed an' stiffen my joints wi' kneelin' in
+prayer for 'e, an' weary God's ear for a fule!"
+
+His answer was an action, and before she had done speaking he stretched
+above him and took his gun from its place on an old beam that extended
+across the ceiling.
+
+"What in God's name be that for? You wouldn't--?"
+
+"Shoot a fox? Why not? I'm a farmer now, and I'd kill best auld red Moor
+fox as ever gave a field forty minutes an' beat it. You was whinin'
+'bout the chicks awnly this marnin'. I'll sit under the woodstack a bit
+an' think 'fore I starts. Ban't no gude gwaine yet."
+
+Will's explanation of his deed was the true one, but Phoebe realised in
+some dim fashion that she stood within the shadow of a critical night
+and that action was called upon from her. Her anger waned a little, and
+her heart began to beat fast, but she acted with courage and
+promptitude.
+
+"Let un be to-night--auld fox, I mean. Theer 'm more chicks than young
+foxes, come to think of it; an' he 'm awnly doin' what you forget to
+do--fighting for his vixen an' cubs."
+
+She looked straight into Will's eyes, took the gun out of his hands,
+climbed on to a chair, and hung the weapon up again in its place.
+
+He laughed curiously, and helped his wife to the ground again.
+
+"Thank you," she said. "Now go an' do what you want to do, an' doan't
+forget the future happiness of women an' childer lies upon it." Her
+anger was nearly gone, as he spoke again.
+
+"How little you onderstand me arter all these years--an' never
+will--nobody never will but mother. What did 'e fear? That I'd draw
+trigger on the man from behind a tree, p'r'aps?"
+
+"No--not that, but that you might be driven to kill yourself along o'
+having such a bad wife."
+
+"Now we 'm both on the mad road," he said bitterly. Then he picked up
+his stick and, a moment later, went out into the night.
+
+Phoebe watched his tall figure pass over the river, and saw him
+silhouetted against dead silver of moonlit waters as he crossed the
+stepping-stones. Then she climbed for the gun again, hid it, and
+presently prepared for her father's return.
+
+"What butivul peace an quiet theer be in ministerin' to a gude faither,"
+she thought, "as compared wi' servin' a stormy husband!" Then sorrow
+changed to active fear, and that, in its turn, sank into a desolate
+weariness and indifference. She detected no semblance of justice in her
+husband's outburst; she failed to see how circumstances must sooner or
+late have precipitated his revolt; and she felt herself very cruelly
+misjudged, very gravely wronged.
+
+Meantime Blanchard passed through a hurricane of rage against his enemy
+much akin to that formerly recorded of John Grimbal himself, when the
+brute won to the top of him and he yearned for physical conflict. That
+night Will was resolved to get a definite response or come to some
+conclusion by force of arms. His thoughts carried him far, and before he
+took up his station within the grounds of the Red House, at a point from
+which the avenue approach might be controlled, he had already fallen
+into a frantic hunger for fight and a hope that his enemy would prove of
+like mind. He itched for assault and battery, and his heart clamoured to
+be clean in his breast again.
+
+Whatever might happen, he was determined to give himself up on the
+following day. He had done all he could for those he loved, but he was
+powerless to suffer more. He longed now to trample his foe into the
+dust, and, that accomplished, he would depart, well satisfied, and
+receive what punishment was due. His accumulated wrongs must be paid at
+last, and he fully determined, an hour before John Grimbal came
+homewards, that the payment should be such as he himself had received
+long years before on Rushford Bridge. His muscles throbbed for action as
+he sat and waited at the top of a sloping bank dotted with hawthorns
+that extended upwards from the edge of the avenue and terminated on the
+fringe of young coverts.
+
+And now, by a chance not uncommon, two separate series of circumstances
+were about to clash, while the shock engendered was destined to
+precipitate the climax of Will Blanchard's fortunes, in so far as this
+record is concerned. On the night that he thus raged and suffered the
+gall bred of long inaction to overflow, John Grimbal likewise came to a
+sudden conclusion with himself, and committed a deed of nature definite
+so far as it went.
+
+In connection with the approaching Jubilee rejoicings a spirit in some
+sense martial filled the air, and Grimbal with his yeomanry was destined
+to play a part. A transient comet-blaze of militarism often sparkles
+over fighting nations at any season of universal joy, and that more
+especially if the keystone of the land's constitution be a crown. This
+fire found material inflammable enough in the hearts of many Devonshire
+men, and before its warm impulse John Grimbal, inspired by a particular
+occasion, compounded with his soul at last. Rumoured on long tongues
+from the village ale-house, there had come to his ears the report of
+certain ill-considered utterances made by his enemy upon the events of
+the hour. They were only a hot-headed and very miserable man's foolish
+comments upon things in general and the approaching festival in
+particular, and they served but to illustrate the fact that no
+ill-educated and passionate soul can tolerate universal rejoicings,
+itself wretched; but Grimbal clutched at this proven disloyalty of an
+old deserter, and told himself that personal questions must weigh with
+him no more.
+
+"The sort of discontented brute that drifts into Socialism and all
+manner of wickedness," he thought. "The rascal must be muzzled once for
+all, and as a friend to the community I shall act, not as an enemy to
+him."
+
+This conclusion he came to on the evening of the day which saw
+Blanchard's final eruption, and he was amazed to find how
+straightforward and simple his course appeared when viewed from the
+impersonal standpoint of duty. His brother was due to dine with John
+Grimbal in half an hour, for both men were serving on a committee to
+meet that night upon the question of the local celebrations at Chagford,
+and they were going together. Time, however, remained for John to put
+his decision into action. He turned to his desk, therefore, and wrote.
+The words to be employed he knew by heart, for he had composed his
+letter many months before, and it was with him always; yet now, seen
+thus set out upon paper for the first time, it looked strange.
+
+     "RED HOUSE, CHAGFORD, DEVON.
+
+     "_To the Commandant, Royal Artillery, Plymouth._
+
+     "SIR,--It has come to my knowledge that the man, William Blanchard,
+     who enlisted in the Royal Artillery under the name of Tom Newcombe
+     and deserted from his battery when it was stationed at Shorncliffe
+     some ten years ago, now resides at this place on the farm of Monks
+     Barton, Chagford. My duty demands that I should lodge this
+     information, and I can, of course, substantiate it, though I have
+     reason to believe the deserter will not attempt to evade his just
+     punishment if apprehended. I have the honour to be,
+
+     "Your obedient servant,
+
+     "JOHN GRIMBAL,
+
+     "Capt. Dev. Yeomanry."
+
+He had just completed this communication when Martin arrived, and as his
+brother entered he instinctively pushed the letter out of sight. But a
+moment later he rebelled against himself for the act, knowing the ugly
+tacit admission represented by it. He dragged forth the letter,
+therefore, and greeted his brother by thrusting the note before him.
+
+"Read that," he said darkly; "it will surprise you, I think. I want to
+do nothing underhand, and as you're linked to these people for life
+now, it is just that you should hear what is going to happen. There's
+the knowledge I once hinted to you that I possessed concerning William
+Blanchard. I have waited and given him rope enough. Now he's hanged
+himself, as I knew he would, and I must act. A few days ago he spoke
+disrespectfully of the Queen before a dozen other loafers in a
+public-house. That's a sin I hold far greater than his sin against me.
+Read what I have just written."
+
+Martin gazed with mildness upon John's savage and defiant face. His
+brother's expression and demeanour by no means chimed with the judicial
+moderation of his speech. Then the antiquary perused the letter, and
+there fell no sound upon the silence, except that of a spluttering pen
+as John Grimbal addressed an envelope.
+
+Presently Martin dropped the letter on the desk before him, and his face
+was very white, his voice tremulous as he spoke.
+
+"This thing happened more than ten years ago."
+
+"It did; but don't imagine I have known it ten years."
+
+"God forbid! I think better of you. Yet, if only for my sake, reflect
+before you send this letter. Once done, you have ruined a life. I have
+seen Will several times since I came home, and now I understand the
+terrific change in him. He must have known that you know this. It was
+the last straw. He seems quite broken on the wheel of the world, and no
+wonder. To one of his nature, the past, since you discovered this
+terrible secret, must have been sheer torment."
+
+John Grimbal doubled up the letter and thrust it into the envelope,
+while Martin continued:
+
+"What do you reap? You're not a man to do an action of this sort and
+live afterwards as though you had not done it. I warn you, you intend a
+terribly dangerous thing. This may be the wreck of another soul besides
+Blanchard's. I know your real nature, though you've hidden it so close
+of late years. Post that letter, and your life's bitter for all time.
+Look into your heart, and don't pretend to deceive yourself."
+
+His brother lighted a match, burnt red wax, and sealed the letter with a
+signet ring.
+
+"Duty is duty," he said.
+
+"Yes, yes; right shall be done and this extraordinary thing made known
+in the right quarter. But don't let it come out through you; don't
+darken your future by such an act. Your personal relations with the man,
+John,--it's impossible you should do this after all these years."
+
+The other affixed a stamp to his letter.
+
+"Don't imagine personal considerations influence me. I'm a soldier, and
+I know what becomes a soldier. If I find a traitor to his Queen and
+country am I to pass upon the other side of the road and not do my duty
+because the individual happens to be a private enemy? You rate me low
+and misjudge me rather cruelly if you imagine that I am so weak."
+
+Martin gasped at this view of the position, instantly believed himself
+mistaken, and took John at his word. Thereon he came near blushing to
+think that he should have read such baseness into a brother's character.
+
+"I beg your pardon," he said. "I ought to be ashamed to have
+misunderstood you so. I could not escape the personal factor in this
+terrible business, but you, I see, have duly weighed it. I wronged you.
+Yes, I wronged you, as you say. The writing of that letter was a very
+courageous action, under the circumstances--as plucky a thing as ever
+man did, perhaps. Forgive me for taking so mean a view of it, and
+forgive me for even doubting your motives."
+
+"I want justice, and if I am misunderstood for doing my duty--why, that
+is no new thing. I can face that, as better men have done before me."
+
+There was a moment or two of silence; then Martin spoke, almost
+joyfully.
+
+"Thank God, I see a way out! It seldom happens that I am quick in any
+question of human actions, but for once, I detect a road by which right
+may be done and you still spared this terrible task. I do, indeed,
+because I know Blanchard better than you do. I can guess what he has
+been enduring of late, and I will show him how he may end the torture
+himself by doing the right thing even now."
+
+"It's fear of me scorching the man, not shame of his own crime."
+
+"Then, as the stronger, as a soldier, put him out of his misery and set
+your mind at ease. Believe me, you may do it without any reflection on
+yourself. Tell him you have decided to take no step in the affair, and
+leave the rest to me. I will wager I can prevail upon him to give
+himself up. I am singularly confident that I can bring it about. Then,
+if I fail, do what you consider to be right; but first give me leave to
+try and save you from this painful necessity."
+
+There followed a long silence. John Grimbal saw how much easier it was
+to deceive another than himself, and, before the spectacle of his
+deluded brother, felt that he appreciated his own real motives and
+incentives at their true worth. The more completely was Martin
+hoodwinked, the more apparent did the truth grow within John's mind.
+What was in reality responsible for his intended action never looked
+clearer than then, and as Martin spoke in all innocence of the courage
+that must be necessary to perform such a deed, Grimbal passed through
+the flash of a white light and caught a glimpse of his recent mental
+processes magnified by many degrees in the blinding ray. The spectacle
+sickened him a little, weakened him, touched the depths of him, stirred
+his nature. He answered presently in a voice harsh, abrupt, and deep.
+
+"I've lied often enough in my life," he said, "and may again, but I
+think never to you till to-day. You're such a clean-minded, big-hearted
+man that you don't understand a mind of my build--a mind that can't
+forgive, that can't forget, that's fed full for years on the thought of
+revenging that frightful blow in the past. What you feared and hinted
+just now was partly the truth, and I know it well enough. But that is
+only to say my motives in this matter mixed."
+
+"None but a brave man would admit so mucn, but now you wrong yourself,
+as I wronged you. We are alike. I, too, have sometimes in dark moments
+blamed myself for evil thoughts and evil deeds beyond my real deserts.
+So you. I know nothing but your sense of duty would make you post that
+letter."
+
+"We've wrecked each other's lives, he and I; only he's a boy, and his
+life's before him; I'm a man, and my life is lived, for I'm the sort
+that grows old early, and he's helped Time more than anybody knows but
+myself."
+
+"Don't say that. Happiness never comes when you are hungering most for
+it; sorrow never when you believe yourself best tuned to bear it. Once I
+thought as you do now. I waited long for my good fortune, and said
+'good-by' to all my hope of earthly delight."
+
+"You were easier to satisfy than I should have been. Yet you were
+constant, too,--constant as I was. We're built that way. More's the
+pity."
+
+"I have absolutely priceless blessings; my cup of happiness is full.
+Sometimes I ask myself how it comes about that one so little deserving
+has received so much; sometimes I waken in the very extremity of fear,
+for joy like mine seems greater than any living thing has a right to."
+
+"I'm glad one of us is happy."
+
+"I shall live to see you equally blessed."
+
+"It is impossible."
+
+There was a pause, then a gong rumbled in the hall, and the brothers
+went to dinner. Their conversation now ranged upon varied local topics,
+and it was not until the cloth had been removed according to
+old-fashioned custom, and fruit and wine set upon a shining table, that
+John returned to the crucial subject of the moment.
+
+He poured out a glass of port for Martin, and pushed the cigars towards
+him, then spoke,--
+
+"Drink. It's very good. And try one of those. I shall not post that
+letter."
+
+"Man, I knew it! I knew it well, without hearing so from you. Destroy
+the thing, dear fellow, and so take the first step to a peace I fear you
+have not known for many days. All this suffering will vanish quicker
+than a dream then. Justice is great, but mercy is greater. Yours is the
+privilege of mercy, and yet justice shall not suffer either--not if I
+know Will Blanchard."
+
+They talked long and drank more than usual, while the elder man's grim
+and moody spirit lightened a little before his determination and his
+wine. The reek of past passions, the wreckage of dead things, seemed to
+be sweeping out of his mind. He forgot the hour and their engagement
+until the time fixed for that conference was past. Then he looked at his
+watch, rose from the table, and hurried to the hall.
+
+"Let us not go," urged Martin. "They will do very well without us, I am
+sure."
+
+But John's only answer was to pull on his driving gloves. He anticipated
+some satisfaction from the committee meeting; he suspected, indeed, that
+he would be asked to take the chair at it, and, like most men, he was
+not averse to the exercise of a little power in a small corner.
+
+"We must go," he said. "I have important suggestions to make, especially
+concerning the volunteers. A sham fight on Scorhill would be a happy
+thought. We'll drive fast, and only be twenty minutes late."
+
+A dog-cart had been waiting half an hour, and soon the brothers quickly
+whirled down Red House avenue. A groom dropped from behind and opened
+the gate; then it was all his agility could accomplish to scramble into
+his seat again as a fine horse, swinging along at twenty miles an hour,
+trotted towards Chagford.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+A BATTLE
+
+
+Silent and motionless sat Blanchard, on the fringe of a bank at the
+coppice edge. He watched the stars move onward and the shadows cast by
+moonlight creep from west to north, from north to east. Hawthorn scented
+the night and stood like masses of virgin silver under the moon; from
+the Red House 'owl tree'--a pollarded elm, sacred to the wise bird--came
+mewing of brown owls; and once a white one struck, swift as a streak of
+feathered moonlight, on the copse edge, and passed so near to Blanchard
+that he saw the wretched shrew-mouse in its talons. "'Tis for the young
+birds somewheers," he thought; "an' so they'll thrive an' turn out
+braave owlets come bimebye; but the li'l, squeakin', blind shrews,
+what'll they do when no mother comes home-along to 'em?"
+
+He mused drearily upon this theme, but suddenly started, for there came
+the echo of slow steps in the underwood behind him. They sank into
+silence and set Will wondering as to what they might mean. Then another
+sound, that of a galloping horse and the crisp ring of wheels, reached
+him, and, believing that John Grimbal was come, he strung himself to the
+matter in hand. But the vehicle did not stop. A flash of yellow light
+leapt through the distance as a mail-cart rattled past upon its way to
+Moreton. This circumstance told Will the hour and he knew that his vigil
+could not be much longer protracted.
+
+Then death stalked abroad again, but this time in a form that awoke the
+watcher's deep-rooted instincts, took him clean out of himself, and
+angered him to passion, not in his own cause but another's. There came
+the sudden scream of a trapped hare,--that sound where terror and agony
+mingle in a cry half human,--and so still was the hour that Blanchard
+heard the beast's struggles though it was fifty yards distant. A hare in
+a trap at any season meant a poacher--a hated enemy of society in
+Blanchard's mind; and his instant thought was to bring the rascal to
+justice if he could. Now the recent footfall was explained and Will
+doubted not that the cruel cry which had scattered his reveries would
+quickly attract some hidden man responsible for it. The hare was caught
+by a wire set in a run at the edge of the wood, and now Blanchard
+crawled along on his stomach to within ten yards of the tragedy, and
+there waited under the shadow of a white-thorn at the edge of the woods.
+Within two minutes the bushes parted and, where the foliage of a young
+silver birch showered above lesser brushwood, a man with a small head
+and huge shoulders appeared. Seeing no danger he crept into the open,
+lifted his head to the moon, and revealed the person and features of Sam
+Bonus, the labourer with whom Will had quarrelled in times long past.
+Here, then, right ahead of him, appeared such a battle as Blanchard had
+desired, but with another foe than he anticipated. That accident
+mattered nothing, however. Will only saw a poacher, and to settle the
+business of such an one out of hand if possible was, in his judgment, a
+definite duty to be undertaken by every true man at any moment when
+opportunity offered.
+
+He walked suddenly from shadow and stood within three yards of the
+robber as Bonus raised the butt of his gun to kill the shrieking beast
+at his feet.
+
+"You! An' red-handed, by God! I knawed 't was no lies they told of 'e."
+
+The other started and turned and saw who stood against him.
+
+"Blanchard, is it? An' what be you doin' here? Come for same reason,
+p'r'aps?"
+
+"I'd make you pay, if 't was awnly for sayin' that! I'm a man to steal
+others' fur out of season, ban't I? But I doan't have no words wi' the
+likes o' you. I've took you fair an' square, anyways, an' will just ax
+if you be comin' wi'out a fuss, or am I to make 'e?"
+
+The other snarled.
+
+"You--you come a yard nearer an' I'll blaw your damned head--"
+
+But the threat was left unfinished, and its execution failed, for Will
+had been taught to take an armed man in his early days on the river, and
+had seen an old hand capture more than one desperate character. He knew
+that instantaneous action might get him within the muzzle of the gun and
+out of danger, and while Bonus spoke, he flew straight upon him with
+such unexpected celerity that Sam had no time to accomplish his purpose.
+He came down heavily with Blanchard on top of him, and his weapon fell
+from his hand. But the poacher was not done with. As they lay
+struggling, he found his foot clear and managed to kick Will twice on
+the leg above the knee. Then Blanchard, hanging like a dog to his foe,
+freed an arm, and hit hard more than once into Sam's face. A blow on the
+nose brought red blood that spurted over both men black as ink under the
+moonlight.
+
+It was not long before they broke away and rose from their first
+struggle on the ground, but Bonus finally got to his knees, then to his
+feet, and Will, as he did the same, knew by a sudden twinge in his leg
+that if the poacher made off it must now be beyond his power to follow.
+
+"No odds," he gasped, answering his thought aloud, while they wrestled.
+"If you've brawk me somewheers 't is no matter, for you 'm marked all
+right, an' them squinting eyes of yourn'll be blacker 'n sloes come
+marnin'."
+
+This obvious truth infuriated Bonus. He did not attempt to depart, but,
+catching sight of his gun, made a tremendous effort to reach it. The
+other saw this aim and exerted his strength in an opposite direction.
+They fought in silence awhile--growled and cursed, sweated and swayed,
+stamped and slipped and dripped blood under the dewy and
+hawthorn-scented night. Bonus used all his strength to reach the gun;
+Will sacrificed everything to his hold. He suffered the greater
+punishment for a while, because Sam fought with all his limbs, like a
+beast; but presently Blanchard threw the poacher heavily, and again they
+came down together, this time almost on the wretched beast that still
+struggled, held by the wire at hand. It had dragged the fur off its leg,
+and white nerve fibres, torn bare, glimmered in the red flesh under the
+moon.
+
+Both fighters were now growing weaker, and each knew that a few minutes
+more must decide the fortune of the battle. Bonus still fought for the
+gun, and now his weight began to tell. Then, as he got within reach, and
+stretched hand to grasp it, Blanchard, instead of dragging against him,
+threw all his force in the same direction, and Sam was shot clean over
+the gun. This time they twisted and Will fell underneath. Both
+simultaneously thrust a hand for the weapon; both gripped it, and then
+exerted their strength for possession. Will meant using it as a club if
+fate was kind; the other man, rating his own life at nothing, and,
+believing that he bore Blanchard the grudge of his own ruin, intended,
+at that red-hot moment, to keep his word and blow the other's brains out
+if he got a chance to do so.
+
+Then, unheard by the combatants, a distant gate was thrown open, two
+brilliant yellow discs of fire shone along the avenue below, and John
+Grimbal returned to his home. Suddenly, seeing figures fighting
+furiously on the edge of the hill not fifty yards away, he pulled up,
+and a din of conflict sounded in his ears as the rattle of hoof and
+wheel and harness ceased. Leaping down he ran to the scene of the
+conflict as fast as possible, but it was ended before he arrived. A gun
+suddenly exploded and flashed a red-hot tongue of flame across the
+night. A hundred echoes caught the detonation and as the discharge
+reverberated along the stony hills to Fingle Gorge, Will Blanchard
+staggered backwards and fell in a heap, while the poacher reeled, then
+steadied himself, and vanished under the woods.
+
+"Bring a lamp," shouted Grimbal, and a moment later his groom obeyed;
+but the fallen man was sitting up by the time John reached him, and the
+gun that had exploded was at his feet.
+
+"You 'm tu late by half a second," he gasped. "I fired myself when I
+seed the muzzle clear. Poachin' he was, but the man 's marked all right.
+Send p'liceman for Sam Bonus to-morrer, an' I lay you'll find a
+picter."
+
+"Blanchard!"
+
+"Ess fay, an' no harm done 'cept a stiff leg. Best to knock thicky poor
+twoad on the head. I heard the scream of un and comed along an' waited
+an' catched my gen'leman in the act."
+
+The groom held a light to the mangled hare.
+
+"Scat it on the head," said Will, "then give me a hand."
+
+He was helped to his feet; the servant went on before with the lamp, and
+Blanchard, finding himself able to walk without difficulty, proceeded,
+slowly supporting himself by the poacher's gun.
+
+Grimbal waited for him to speak and presently he did so.
+
+"Things falls out so different in this maze of a world from what man may
+count on."
+
+"How came it that you were here?"
+
+"Blamed if I can tell 'e till I gather my wits together. 'Pears half a
+century or so since I comed; yet ban't above two hour agone."
+
+"You didn't come to see Sam Bonus, I suppose?"
+
+"No fay! Never a man farther from my thought than him when I seed un
+poke up his carrot head under the moon. I was 'pon my awn affairs an'
+comed to see you. I wanted straight speech an' straight hitting; an' I
+got 'em, for that matter. An' fightin' 's gude for the blood, I
+reckon--anyway for my fashion blood."
+
+"You came to fight me, then?"
+
+"I did--if I could make 'e fight."
+
+"With that gun?"
+
+"With nought but a savage heart an' my two fistes. The gun belongs to
+Sam Bonus. Leastways it did, but 't is mine now--or yours, as the party
+most wronged."
+
+"Come this way and drink a drop of brandy before you go home. Glad you
+had some fighting as you wanted it so bad. I know what it feels like to
+be that way, too. But there wouldn't have been blows between us. My mind
+was made up. I wrote to Plymouth this afternoon. I wrote, and an hour
+later decided not to post the letter. I've changed my intentions
+altogether, because the point begins to appear in a new light. I'm sorry
+for a good few things that have happened of late years."
+
+Will breathed hard a moment; then he spoke slowly and not without more
+emotion than his words indicated.
+
+"That's straight speech--if you mean it. I never knawed how 't was that
+a sportsman, same as you be, could keep rakin' awver a job an' drive a
+plain chap o' the soil like me into hell for what I done ten year
+agone."
+
+"Let the past go. Forget it; banish it for all time as far as you have
+the power. Blame must be buried both sides. Here's the letter upon my
+desk. I'll burn it, and I'll try to burn the memory often years with it.
+Your road's clear for me."
+
+"Thank you," said Blanchard, very slowly. "I lay I'll never hear no
+better news than that on this airth. Now I'm free--free to do how I
+please, free to do it undriven."
+
+There was a long silence. Grimbal poured out half a tumbler of brandy,
+added soda water, then handed the stimulant to Will; and Blauchard,
+after drinking, sat in comfort a while, rubbed his swollen jaw, and
+scraped the dried blood of Bonus off his hands.
+
+"Why for did you chaange so sudden?" he asked, as Grimbal turned to his
+desk.
+
+"I could tell you, but it doesn't matter. A letter in the mind looks
+different to one on paper; and duty often changes its appearance, too,
+when a man is honest with himself. To be honest with yourself is the
+hardest sort of honesty. I've had speech with others about this--my
+brother more particularly."
+
+"I wish to God us could have settled it without no help from outside."
+
+Grimbal rang the bell, then answered.
+
+"As to settling it, I know nothing about that. I've settled with my own
+conscience--such as it is."
+
+"I'd come for 'Yes' or 'No.'"
+
+"Now you have a definite answer."
+
+"An' thank you. Then what 's it to be between us, when I come back? May
+I ax that? Them as ban't enemies no more might grow to be friends--eh?"
+
+What response Grimbal would have made is doubtful. He did not reply, for
+his servant, Lawrence Vallack, entered at the moment, and he turned
+abruptly upon the old man.
+
+"Where 's the letter I left upon my desk? It was directed to Plymouth."
+
+"All right, sir, all right; don't worrit. I've eyes in my head for my
+betters still, thank God. I seed un when I come to shut the shutters an'
+sent Joe post-haste to the box. 'T was in plenty of time for the mail."
+
+John emptied his lungs in a great respiration, half-sigh, half-groan. He
+could not speak. Only his fingers closed and he half lifted his hand as
+though to crush the smirking ancient. Then he dropped his arm and looked
+at Blanchard, asking the question with his eyes that he could find no
+words for.
+
+"I heard the mail go just 'fore the hare squealed," said Will stolidly,
+"an' the letter with it for certain."
+
+Grimbal started up and rushed to the hall while the other limped after
+him.
+
+"Doan't 'e do nothin' fulish. I believe you never meant to post un. Ess,
+I'll take your solemn word for that. An' if you didn't mean to send
+letter, 't is as if you hadn't sent un. For my mind weer fixed, whatever
+you might do."
+
+"Don't jaw, now! There 's time to stop the mail yet. I can get to
+Moreton as soon or sooner than that crawling cart if I ride. I won't be
+fooled like this!"
+
+He ran to the stables, called to the groom, clapped a saddle on the
+horse that had just brought him home, and in about three minutes was
+riding down the avenue, while his lad reached the gate and swung it open
+just in time. Then Grimbal galloped into the night, with heart and soul
+fixed upon his letter. He meant to recover it at any reasonable cost.
+The white road streaked away beneath him, and a breeze created by his
+own rapid progress steadied him as he hastened on. Presently at a
+hill-foot, he saw how to save a mile or more by short cuts over
+meadow-land, so left the highway, rode through a hayfield, and dashed
+from it by a gap into a second. Then he grunted and the sound was one of
+satisfaction, for his tremendous rate of progress had served its object
+and already, creeping on the main road far ahead, he saw the vehicle
+which held the mail.
+
+Meanwhile Blanchard and the man-servant stood and watched John Grimbal's
+furious departure.
+
+"Pity," said Will. "No call to do it. I've took his word, an' the end 's
+the same, letter or no letter. Now let me finish that theer brandy, then
+I'll go home."
+
+But Mr. Vallack heard nothing. He was gazing out into the night and
+shaking with fear.
+
+"High treason 'gainst the law of the land to lay a finger on the mail. A
+letter posted be like a stone flinged or a word spoken--out of our
+keeping for all time. An' me to blame for it. I'm a ruined man along o'
+taking tu much 'pon myself an' being tu eager for others. He'll fling me
+out, sure 's death. 'T is all up wi' me."
+
+"As to that, I reckon many a dog gets a kick wheer he thinks he 's
+earned a pat," said Will; "that's life, that is. An' maybe theer's sore
+hearts in dumb beasts, tu, sometimes, for a dog loves praise like a
+woman. He won't sack 'e. You done what 'peared your duty."
+
+Blanchard then left the house, slowly proceeded along the avenue and
+presently passed out on to the highroad. As he walked the pain of his
+leg diminished, but he put no strain upon it and proceeded very
+leisurely towards home. Great happiness broke into his mind, undimmed by
+aching bones and bruises. The reflection that he was reconciled to John
+Grimbal crowded out lesser thoughts. He knew the other had spoken truth,
+and accepted his headlong flight to arrest the mail as sufficient proof
+of it. Then he thought of the possibility of giving himself up before
+Grimbal's letter should come to be read.
+
+At home Phoebe was lying awake in misery waiting for him. She had
+brought up to their bedroom a great plate of cold bacon with vegetables
+and a pint of beer; and as Will slowly appeared she uttered a cry and
+embraced him with thanksgivings. Upon Blanchard's mind the return to his
+wife impressed various strange thoughts. He soothed her, comforted her,
+and assured her of his safety. But to him it seemed that he spoke with a
+stranger, for half a century of experience appeared to stretch between
+the present and his departure from Monks Barton about three hours
+before. His wife experienced similar sensations. That this cheerful,
+battered, hungry man could be the same who had stormed from her into the
+night a few short hours before, appeared impossible.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+A PAIR OF HANDCUFFS
+
+
+Mr. Blee, to do him justice, was usually the first afoot at Monks
+Barton, both winter and summer. The maids who slept near him needed no
+alarum, for his step on the stair and his high-pitched summons, "Now
+then, you lazy gals, what be snorin' theer for, an' the day broke?" was
+always sufficient to ensure their wakening.
+
+At an early hour of the morning that dawned upon Will's nocturnal
+adventures, Billy stood in the farmyard and surveyed the shining river
+to an accompaniment of many musical sounds. On Monks Barton thatches the
+pigeons cooed and bowed and gurgled to their ladies, cows lowed from the
+byres, cocks crew, and the mill-wheel, already launched upon the
+business of the day, panted from its dark habitation of dripping moss
+and fern.
+
+Billy sniffed the morning, then proceeded to a pig's sty, opened a door
+within it, and chuckled at the spectacle that greeted him.
+
+"Burnish it all! auld sow 's farrowed at last, then. Busy night for her,
+sure 'nough! An' so fine a litter as ever I seed, by the looks of it."
+
+He bustled off to get refreshment for the gaunt, new-made mother, and as
+he did so met Ted Chown, who now worked at Mr. Lyddon's, and had just
+arrived from his home in Chagford.
+
+"Marnin', sir; have 'e heard the news? Gert tidings up-long I 'sure 'e."
+
+"Not so gert as what I've got, I'll lay. Butivul litter 't is. Come an'
+give me a hand."
+
+"Bonus was catched poachin' last night to the Red House. An' he've had
+his faace smashed in, nose broke, an' all. He escaped arter; but he went
+to Doctor fust thing to-day an' got hisself plastered; an' then, knawin'
+'t weern't no use to hide, comed right along an' gived hisself up to
+faither."
+
+"My stars! An' no more'n what he desarved, that's certain."
+
+"But that ban't all, even. Maister Jan Grimbal's missing! He rode off
+last night, Laard knaws wheer, an' never a sign of un seed since.
+They've sent to the station 'bout it a'ready; an' they 'm scourin' the
+airth for un. An' 't was Maister Blanchard as fought wi' Bonus, for Sam
+said so."
+
+"Guy Fawkes an' angels! Here, you mix this. I must tell Miller an' run
+about a bit. Gwaine to be a gert day, by the looks of it!"
+
+He hurried into the house, met his master and began with breathless
+haste,--
+
+"Awful doin's! Awful doin's, Miller. Such a sweet-smellin' marnin', tu!
+Bear yourself stiff against it, for us caan't say what remains to be
+told."
+
+"What's wrong now? Doan't choke yourself. You 'm grawin' tu auld for all
+the excitements of modern life, Billy. Wheer's Will?"
+
+"You may well ax. Sleepin' still, I reckon, for he comed in long arter
+midnight. I was stirrin' at the time an' heard un. Sleepin' arter black
+deeds, if all they tell be true."
+
+"Black deeds!"
+
+"The bwoy Ted's just comed wi' it. 'T is this way: Bonus be at death's
+door wi' a smashed nose, an' Blanchard done it; an' Jan Grimbal's
+vanished off the faace o' the airth. Not a sign of un seed arter he
+drove away last night from the Jubilee gathering. An' if 't is murder,
+you'll be in the witness-box, knawin' the parties same as you do; an'
+the sow 's got a braave litter, though what's that arter such news?"
+
+"Guess you 'm dreamin', Blee," said Mr. Lyddon, as he took his hat and
+walked into the farmyard.
+
+Billy was hurt.
+
+"Dreamin', be I? I'm a man as dreams blue murders, of coourse! Tu auld
+to be relied on now, I s'pose. Theer! Theer!" he changed his voice and
+it ran into a cracked scream of excitement. "Theer! P'r'aps I'm
+dreamin', as Inspector Chown an' Constable Lamacraft be walkin' in the
+gate this instant moment!"
+
+But there was no mistaking this fact. Abraham Chown entered, marched
+solemnly to the party at the door, cried "Halt!" to his subordinate,
+then turned to Mr. Lyddon.
+
+"Good-day to you, Miller," he said, "though 't is a bad day, I'm
+fearin'. I be here for Will Blanchard, _alias_ Tom Newcombe."
+
+"If you mean my son-in-law, he 's not out of bed to my knawledge."
+
+"Dear sawls! Doan't 'e say 't is blue murder--doan't 'e say that!"
+implored Mr. Blee. His head shook and his tongue revolved round his
+lips.
+
+"Not as I knaws. We 'm actin' on instructions from the military to
+Plymouth."
+
+"Theer 's allus wickedness hid under a alias notwithstanding," declared
+Billy, rather disappointed; "have 'e found Jan Grimbal?"
+
+"They be searchin' for un. Jim Luke, Inspector to Moreton, an' his men
+be out beatin' the country. But I'm here, wi' my staff, for William
+Blanchard. March!"
+
+Lamacraft, thus addressed, proceeded a pace or two until stopped by Mr.
+Lyddon.
+
+"No call to go in. He'll come down. But I'm sore puzzled to knaw what
+this means, for awnly last night I heard tell from Jan Grimbal's awn
+lips that he'd chaanged his mind about a private matter bearin' on
+this."
+
+"I want the man, anyways, an' I be gwaine to have un," declared
+Inspector Chown. He brought a pair of handcuffs from his pocket and gave
+them to the constable.
+
+"Put up them gashly things, Abraham Chown," said the miller sternly.
+"Doan't 'e knaw Blanchard better 'n that?"
+
+"Handcuffed he'll be, whether he likes it or not," answered the other;
+"an' if theer's trouble, I bid all present an' any able-bodied men 'pon
+the premises to help me take him in the Queen's name."
+
+Billy hobbled round the corner, thrust two fingers into his mouth, and
+blew a quavering whistle; whereupon two labourers, working a few hundred
+yards off, immediately dropped their tools and joined him.
+
+"Run you here," he cried. "P'lice be corned to taake Will Blanchard, an'
+us must all give the Law a hand, for theer'll be blows struck if I knaw
+un."
+
+"Will Blanchard! What have he done?"
+
+"Been under a alias--that's the least of it, but--God, He knaws--it may
+rise to murder. 'T is our bounden duty to help Chown against un."
+
+"Be danged if I do!" said one of the men.
+
+"Nor me," declared the other. "Let Chown do his job hisself--an' get his
+jaw broke for his trouble."
+
+But they followed Mr. Blee to where the miller still argued against
+Lamacraft's entrance.
+
+"Why didn't they send soldiers for un? That's what he reckoned on,"
+said Mr. Lyddon.
+
+"'T is my job fust."
+
+"I'm sorry you've come in this high spirit. You knaw the man and ought
+to taake his word he'd go quiet and my guarantee for it."
+
+"I knaw my duty, an' doan't want no teachin' from you."
+
+"You're a fule!" said Miller, in some anger. "An' 't will take more 'n
+you an' that moon-faced lout to put them things on the man, or I'm much
+mistaken."
+
+He went indoors while the labourers laughed, and the younger constable
+blushed at the insult.
+
+"How do 'e like that, Peter Lamacraft?" asked a labourer.
+
+"No odds to me," answered the policeman, licking his hands nervously and
+looking at the door. "I ban't feared of nought said or done if I've got
+the Law behind me. An' you'm liable yourself if you doan't help."
+
+"Caan't wait no more," declared Mr. Chown. "If he's in bed, us'll take
+un in bed. Come on, you!"
+
+Thus ordered to proceed, Lamacraft set his face resolutely forward and
+was just entering the farm when Phoebe appeared. Her tears were dry,
+though her voice was unsteady and her eyelids red.
+
+"Gude mornin', Mr. Chown," she said.
+
+"Marnin', ma'am. Let us pass, if you please."
+
+"Are you coming in? Why?"
+
+"Us caan't bide no more, an' us caan't give no more reasons. The Law
+ban't 'spected to give reasons for its deeds, an' us won't be bamboozled
+an' put off a minute longer," answered Chown grimly. "March, I tell 'e,
+Peter Lamacraft."
+
+"You caan't see my husband."
+
+"But we'm gwaine to see un. He've got to see me, an' come along wi' me,
+tu. An' if he's wise, he'll come quiet an' keep his mouth shut. That
+much I'll tell un for his gude."
+
+"If you'll listen, I might make you onderstand how 'tis you caan't see
+Will," said Phoebe quietly. "You must knaw he runned away an' went
+soldiering before he married me. Then he comed back for love of me
+wi'out axin' any man's leave."
+
+"So much the worse, ma'am; he'm a desarter!"
+
+"The dark wickedness!" gasped Mr. Blee; "an' him dumb as a newt 'bout it
+all these years an' years! The conscience of un!"
+
+"Well, you needn't trouble any more," continued Phoebe to the policemen.
+"My husband be gwaine to take this matter into his awn hands now."
+
+Inspector Chown laughed.
+
+"That's gude, that is!--now he 'm blawn upon!"
+
+"He 's gwaine to give himself up--he caan't do more," said Phoebe,
+turning to her father who now reappeared.
+
+"Coourse he caan't do more. What more do 'e want?" the miller inquired.
+
+"Him," answered Mr. Chown. "No more an' no less; an' everything said
+will be used against him."
+
+"You glumpy auld Dowl!" growled a labouring man.
+
+"All right, all right. You just wait, all of 'e! Wheer's the man? How
+much longer be I to bide his pleasure? March! Damn it all! be the Law a
+laughing-stock?" The Inspector was growing very hot and excited.
+
+"He's gone," said Phoebe, as Mr. Lamacraft entered the farm, put one
+foot on the bottom step of the stairs, then turned for further orders.
+"He's gone, before light. He rested two hours or so, then us harnessed
+the trap an' he drove away to Moreton to take fust train to Plymouth by
+way o' Newton Abbot. An' he said as Ted Chown was to go in arter
+breakfast an' drive the trap home."
+
+"Couldn't tell me nothin' as had pleased me better," said the miller.
+"'T is a weight off me--an' off him I reckon. Now you 'm answered, my
+son; you can telegraph back as you corned wi' your auld handcuffs tu
+late by hours, an' that the man's on his way to give hisself up."
+
+"I've only got your word for it."
+
+"An' what better word should 'e have?" piped Billy, who in the space of
+half a minute had ranged himself alongside his master. "You to question
+the word o' Miller Lyddon, you crooked-hearted raven! Who was it spoke
+for 'e fifteen year ago an' got 'em to make 'e p'liceman 'cause you was
+tu big a fule to larn any other trade? Gert, thankless twoad! An' who
+was it let 'em keep the 'Green Man' awpen two nights in wan week arter
+closin' time, 'cause he wanted another drop hisself?"
+
+"Come you away," said the Inspector to his constable. "Ban't for the
+likes of we to have any talk wi' the likes o' they. But they'll hear
+more of this; an' if theer's been any hookem-snivey dealin's with the
+Law, they'll live to be sorry. An' you follow me likewise," he added to
+his son, who stood hard by. "You come wi' me, Ted, for you doan't do no
+more work for runaway soldiers, nor yet bald-headed auld antics like
+this here!"
+
+He pointed to Mr. Blee, then turned to depart.
+
+"Get off honest man's land, you black-bearded beast!" screamed Billy.
+"You 'm most like of any wan ever I heard tell of to do murder yourself;
+an' auld as I be, I'd crawl on my hands an' knees to see you scragged
+for 't, if 't was so far as the sun in heaven!"
+
+"That's libel," answered Mr. Chown, with cold and haughty authority;
+"an' you've put yourself in the grip of the Law by sayin' it, as you'll
+knaw before you 'm much aulder."
+
+Then, with this trifling advantage, he retreated, while Lamacraft and
+Ted brought up the rear.
+
+"So theer's an end of that. Now us'll fall to wi' no worse appetites,"
+declared Miller. "An' as to Will," he added, "'fore you chaps go, just
+mind an' judge no man till you knaw what's proved against him. Onless
+theer's worse behind than I've larned so far, I'm gwaine to stand by
+un."
+
+"An' me, tu!" said Mr. Blee, with a fine disregard for his recent
+utterances. "I've teached the chap purty nigh all he knaws an' I ban't
+gwaine to turn on un now, onless 't is proved blue murder. An' that
+Chown 's a disgrace to his cloth; an' I'd pull his ugly bat's ears on my
+awn behalf if I was a younger an' spryer man."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+SUSPENSE
+
+
+The fate of John Grimbal was learned within an hour or two of Inspector
+Chown's departure from Monks Barton; and by the time that Martin Grimbal
+had been apprised of the matter his brother already lay at the Red
+House.
+
+John had been found at daybreak upon the grass-land where he rode
+overnight on his journey to intercept the mail. A moment after he
+descried the distant cart, his horse had set foot in a hole; and upon
+the accident being discovered, the beast was found lying with a broken
+leg within twenty yards of its insensible master. His horse was shot,
+John Grimbal carried home with all despatch, and Doctor Parsons arrived
+as quickly as possible, to do all that might be done for the sufferer
+until an abler physician than himself reached the scene.
+
+Three dreary days saw Grimbal at the door of death, then a brief
+interval of consciousness rewarded unceasing care, and a rumour spread
+that he might yet survive. Martin, when immediate fear for his brother's
+life was relieved, busied himself about Blanchard, and went to Plymouth.
+There he saw Will, learned all facts concerning the letter, and did his
+best to win information of the prisoner's probable punishment. Fears,
+magnified rumours, expressed opinions, mostly erroneous, buzzed in the
+ears of the anxious party at Monks Barton. Then Martin Grimbal returned
+to Chagford and there came an evening when those most interested met
+after supper at the farm to hear all he could tell them.
+
+Long faces grouped round Martin as he made his statement in a grey June
+twilight. Mr. Blee and the miller smoked, Mrs. Blanchard sat with her
+hand in her daughter's, and Phoebe occupied a comfortable arm-chair by
+the wood fire. Between intervals of long silence came loud, juicy,
+sounds from Billy's pipe, and when light waned they still talked on
+until Chris stirred herself and sought the lamp.
+
+"They tell me," began Martin, "that a deserting soldier is punished
+according to his character and with regard to the fact whether he
+surrenders himself or is apprehended. Of course we know Will gave
+himself up, but then they will find out that he knew poor John's
+unfortunate letter had reached its destination--or at any rate started
+for it; and they may argue, not knowing the truth, that it was the fact
+of the information being finally despatched made Will surrender. They
+will say, I am afraid, as they said to me: 'Why did he wait until now if
+he meant to do the right thing? Why did he not give himself up long
+ago?'"
+
+"That's easy answered: to please others," explained Mr. Lyddon. "Fust
+theer was his promise to Phoebe, then his mother's illness, then his
+other promise, to bide till his wife was brought to bed. Looking back I
+see we was wrong to use our power against his awn wish; but so it
+stands."
+
+"I ought to go; I ought to be alongside un," moaned Phoebe; "I was at
+the bottom of everything from fust to last. For me he run away; for me
+he stopped away. Mine's the blame, an' them as judge him should knaw it
+an' hear me say so."
+
+"Caan't do no such vain thing as that," declared Mr. Blee. "'T was never
+allowed as a wife should be heard 'pon the doin's of her awn husband.
+'Cause why? She'd be one-sided--either plump for un through thick an'
+thin, or else all against un, as the case might stand."
+
+"As to the sentence," continued Martin, "if a man with a good character
+deserts and thinks better of it and goes back to his regiment, he is not
+as a rule tried by court-martial at all. Instead, he loses all his
+former service and has to begin to reckon his period of engagement--six
+or seven years perhaps--all over again. But a notoriously bad character
+is tried by court-martial in any case, whether he gives himself up or
+not; and he gets a punishment according to the badness of his past
+record. Such a man would have from eighty-four days' imprisonment, with
+hard labour, up to six months, or even a year, if he had deserted more
+than once. Then the out-and-out rascals are sentenced to be 'dismissed
+her Majesty's service.'"
+
+"But the real gude men," pleaded Phoebe--"them as had no whisper 'gainst
+'em, same as Will? They couldn't be hard 'pon them, 'specially if they
+knawed all?"
+
+"I should hope not; I'm sure not. You see the case is so unusual, as an
+officer explained to me, and such a great length of time has elapsed
+between the action and the judgment upon it. That is in Will's favour. A
+good soldier with a clean record who deserts and is apprehended does not
+get more than three months with hard labour and sometimes less. That's
+the worst that can happen, I hope."
+
+"What's hard labour to him?" murmured Billy, whose tact on occasions of
+universal sorrow was sometimes faulty. "'Tis the rankle of bein' in
+every blackguard's mouth that'll cut Will to the quick."
+
+"What blackguards say and think ban't no odds," declared Mrs. Blanchard.
+"'Tis better--far better he should do what he must do. The disgrace is
+in the minds of them that lick theer lips upon his sorrow. Let him pay
+for a wrong deed done, for the evil he did that gude might come of it. I
+see the right hand o' God holding' the li'l strings of my son's life,
+an' I knaw better'n any of 'e what'll be in the bwoy's heart now."
+
+"Yet, when all's said, 'tis a mournful sarcumstance an' sent for our
+chastening," contended Mr. Blee stoutly. "Us mustn't argue away the
+torment of it an' pretend 'tis nought. Ban't a pleasing thing,
+'specially at such a time when all the airth s gwaine daft wi' joy for
+the gracious gudeness o' God to the Queen o' England. In plain speech,
+'t is a damn dismal come-along-of-it, an' I've cried by night, auld
+though I am, to think o' the man's babes grawin' up wi' this round theer
+necks. An' wan to be born while he 'm put away! Theer 's a black
+picksher for 'e! Him doin' hard labour as the Law directs, an' his wife
+doin' hard labour, tu--in her lonely bed! Why, gormed if I--"
+
+"For God's sake shut your mouth, you horrible old man!" burst out
+Martin, as Phoebe hurried away in tears and Chris followed her. "You're
+a disgrace to humanity and I don't hesitate--I don't hesitate at all to
+say you have no proper feeling in you!"
+
+"Martin's right, Billy," declared Mr. Lyddon without emotion. "You 'm a
+thought tu quick to meet other people's troubles half way, as I've told
+'e before to-night. Ban't a comely trait in 'e. You've made her run off
+sobbing her poor, bruised heart out. As if she hadn't wept enough o'
+late. Do 'e think us caan't see what it all means an' the wisht cloud
+that's awver all our heads, lookin' darker by contrast wi' the happiness
+of the land, owing to the Jubilee of a gert Queen? Coourse we knaw.
+But't is poor wisdom to talk 'bout the blackness of a cloud to them as
+be tryin' to find its silver lining. If you caan't lighten trouble, best
+to hold your peace."
+
+"What's the use of cryin' 'peace' when us knaws in our hearts 'tis war?
+Us must look inside an' outside, an' count the cost same as I be doin'
+now," declared Mr. Blee. "Then to be catched up so harsh 'mong friends!
+Well, well, gude-night, all; I'll go to my rest. Hard words doan't
+break, though they may bruise. But I'll do my duty, whether or no."
+
+He rose and shuffled to the door, then looked round and opened his mouth
+to speak again. But he changed his mind, shook his head, snorted
+expressively, and disappeared.
+
+"A straange-fashioned chap," commented Mrs. Blanchard, "wi' sometimes a
+wise word stuck in his sour speech, like a gude currant in a bad
+dumpling."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+THE NIGHT OF JUBILEE
+
+
+Unnumbered joy fires were writing the nation's thanksgiving across the
+starry darkness of a night in June. Throughout the confines of
+Britain--on knolls arising beside populous towns, above the wild cliffs
+of our coasts, in low-lying lands, upon the banks of rivers, at the
+fringes of forests and over a thousand barren heaths, lonely wastes, and
+stony pinnacles of untamed hills, like some mundane galaxy of stars or
+many-tongued outbreak of conflagration, the bonfires glimmered. And
+their golden seed was sown so thickly, that from no pile of those
+hundreds then brightening the hours of darkness had it been possible to
+gaze into the night and see no other.
+
+Upon the shaggy fastnesses of Devon's central waste, within the bounds,
+metes, and precincts of Dartmoor Forest, there shone a whole
+constellation of little suns, and a wanderer in air might have counted a
+hundred without difficulty, whilst, for the beholders perched upon Yes
+Tor, High Wilhays, or the bosom of Cosdon during the fairness and
+clearness of that memorable night, fully threescore beacons flamed. All
+those granite giants within the field of man's activities, all the
+monsters whose enormous shades fell at dawn or evening time upon the
+hamlets and villages of the Moor, now carried on their lofty crowns the
+flames of rejoicing. Bonfires of varying size, according to the energy
+and importance of the communities responsible for them, dotted the
+circumference of the lonely region in a vast, irregular figure, but
+thinned and ceased towards the unpeopled heart of the waste. On Wattern,
+at Cranmere, upon Fur Tor, and under the hoary, haunted woods of
+Wistman, no glad beacons blazed or voices rang. There Nature, ignorant
+of epochs and heeding neither olympiad nor lustrum, cycle nor century,
+ruled alone; there, all self-centred, self-contained, unwitting of
+conscious existence and its little joys, her perfection above praise and
+more enduring than any chronicle of it, asking for no earthborn
+acclamations of her eternal reign, demanding only obedience from all on
+penalty of death, the Mother swayed her sceptre unseen. Seed and stone,
+blade and berry, hot blood and cold, did her bidding and slept or
+stirred at her ordinance. A nightjar harshly whirred beneath her
+footstool; wan tongues of flame rose and fell upon her quaking altars; a
+mountain fox, pattering quick-footed to the rabbit warren, caught light
+from those exhalations in his round, green eyes and barked.
+
+Humanity thronged and made merry around numberless crackling piles of
+fire. Men and women, boys and girls, most noisily rejoiced, and from
+each flaming centre of festivity a thin sound of human shouting and
+laughter streamed starward with the smoke.
+
+Removed by brief distance in space, the onlooker, without overmuch
+strain or imagination, might stride a pace or two backward in time and
+conceive himself for a moment as in the presence of those who similarly
+tended beacons on these granite heights of old. Then, truly, the object
+and occasion were widely different; then, perchance, in answer to evil
+rumour moving zigzag on black bat-wings through nights of fear, many a
+bale-fire had shot upwards, upon the keystone of Cosdon's solemn arch,
+beckoned like a bloody hand towards north and south, and cried danger to
+a thousand British warriors lurking in moor, and fen, and forest.
+Answering flames had leapt from Hay Tor, from Buckland Beacon, from
+Great Mis Tor in the west; and their warning, caught up elsewhere, would
+quickly penetrate to the heart of the South Hams, to the outlying
+ramparts of the Cornish wastes, to Exmoor and the coast-line of the
+north. But no laughter echoed about those old-time fires. Their lurid
+light smeared wolfskins, splashed on metal and untanned hide, illumined
+barbaric adornments, fierce faces, wild locks, and savage eyes. Anxious
+Celtic mothers and maidens stood beside their men, while fear and rage
+leapt along from woman's face to woman's face, as some gasping wretch,
+with twoscore miles of wilderness behind him, told of high-beaked
+monsters moving under banks of oars, of dire peril, of death and ruin,
+suddenly sprung in a night from behind the rim of the sea.
+
+Since then the peaks of the Moor have smiled or scowled under countless
+human fires, have flashed glad tidings or flamed ill news to many
+generations. And now, perched upon one enormous mass of stone, there
+towered upward a beacon of blazing furze and pine. In its heart were tar
+barrels and the monster bred heat enough to remind the granite beneath
+it of those fires that first moulded its elvan ingredients to a concrete
+whole and hurled them hither.
+
+About this eye of flame crowded those who had built it, and the roaring
+mass of red-hot timber and seething pitch represented the consummation
+of Chagford's festivities on the night of Jubilee. The flames, obedient
+to such light airs as were blowing, bent in unison with the black
+billows of smoke that wound above them. Great, trembling tongues
+separated from the mass and soared upward, gleaming as they vanished;
+sparks and jets, streams and stars of light, shot from the pile to
+illuminate the rolling depths of the smoke cloud, to fret its curtain
+with spangles and jewels of gold atid ruby, to weave strange, lurid
+lights into the very fabric of its volume. Far away, as the breezes drew
+them, fell a red glimmer of fire, where those charred fragments caught
+in the rush and hurled aloft, returned again to earth; and the whole
+incandescent structure, perched as it was upon the apex of Yes Tor,
+suggested at a brief distance a fiery top-knot of streaming flame on
+some vast and demoniac head thrust upward from the nether world.
+
+Great splendour of light gleamed upon a ring of human beings.
+Adventurous spirits leapt forth, fed the flames with faggots and furze
+and risked their hairy faces within the range of the bonfire's scorching
+breath. Alternate gleam and glow played fantastically upon the
+spectators, and, though for the most part they moved but little while
+their joy fire was at its height, the conflagration caused a sheer
+devil's dance of impish light and shadow to race over every face and
+form in the assemblage. The fantastic magician of the fire threw humps
+on to straight backs, flattened good round breasts, wrote wrinkles on
+smooth faces, turned eyes and lips into shining gems, made white teeth
+yellow, cast a grotesque spell of the unreal on young shapes, of the
+horrible upon old ones. A sort of monkey coarseness crept into the red,
+upturned faces; their proportions were distorted, their delicacy
+destroyed. Essential lines of figures were concealed by the inky
+shadows; unimportant features were thrown into a violent prominence; the
+clean fire impinged abruptly on a night of black shade, as sunrise on
+the moon. There was no atmosphere. Human noses poked weirdly out of
+nothing, human hands waved without arms, human heads moved without
+bodies, bodies bobbed along without legs. The heart-beat and furnace
+roar of the fire was tremendous, but the shouts of men, the shriller
+laughter of women, and the screams and yells of children could be heard
+through it, together with the pistol-like explosion of sap turned to
+steam, and rending its way from green wood. Other sounds also fretted
+the air, for a hundred yards distant--in a hut-circle--the Chagford
+drum-and-fife band lent its throb and squeak to the hour, and struggled
+amain to increase universal joy. So the fire flourished, and the
+plutonian rock-mass of the tor arose, the centre of a scene itself
+plutonian.
+
+Removed by many yards from the ring of human spectators, and scattered
+in wide order upon the flanks of the hill, stood tame beasts. Sheep
+huddled there and bleated amazement, their fleeces touched by the
+flicker of the distant fire; red heifers and steers also faced the flame
+and chewed the cud upon a spectacle outside all former experience; while
+inquisitive ponies drew up in a wide radius, snorted and sniffed with
+delicate, dilated nostrils at the unfamiliar smell of the breeze, threw
+up their little heads, fetched a compass at top speed and so returned;
+then crowded flank to flank, shoulder to shoulder, and again blankly
+gazed at the fire which reflected itself in the whites of their shifty
+eyes.
+
+Fitting the freakish antics of the red light, a carnival spirit, hard to
+rouse in northern hearts, awakened within this crowd of Devon men and
+women, old men and children. There was in their exhilaration some
+inspiration from the joyous circumstance they celebrated; and something,
+too, from the barrel. Dancing began and games, feeble by day but not
+lacking devil when pursued under cover of darkness. There were hugging
+and kissing, and yells of laughter when amorous couples who believed
+themselves safe were suddenly revealed lip to lip and heart to heart by
+an unkind flash of fire. Some, as their nature was, danced and screamed
+that flaming hour away; some sat blankly and smoked and gazed with less
+interest than the outer audience of dumb animals; some laboured amain to
+keep the bonfire at blaze. These last worked from habit and forgot their
+broadcloth. None bade them, but it was their life to be toiling; it came
+naturally to mind and muscle, and they laughed while they laboured and
+sweated. A dozen staid groups witnessed the scene from surrounding
+eminences, but did not join the merrymakers. Mr. Shorto-Champernowne,
+Doctor Parsons, and the ladies of their houses stood with their feet on
+a tumulus apart; and elsewhere Mr. Chapple, Charles Coomstock, Mr. Blee,
+and others, mostly ancient, sat on the granite, inspected the
+pandemonium spread before them, and criticised as experts who had seen
+bonfires lighted before the greater part of the present gathering was
+out of its cradle. But no cynic praising of past time to the
+disparagement of the present marked their opinions. Mr. Chapple indeed
+pronounced the fire brilliantly successful, and did not hesitate to
+declare that it capped all his experience in this direction.
+
+"A braave blaze," he said, "a blaze as gives the thoughtful eye an' nose
+a tidy guess at what the Pit's like to be. Ess, indeed, a religious
+fire, so to say; an' I warrant the prophet sat along just such another
+when he said man was born to trouble sure as the sparks fly up'ard."
+
+Somewhat earlier on the same night, under the northern ramparts of
+Dartmoor, and upon the long, creeping hill that rises aloft from
+Okehampton, then dips again, passes beneath the Belstones, and winds by
+Sticklepath and Zeal under Cosdon, there rattled a trap holding two men.
+From their conversation it appeared that one was a traveller who now
+returned southward from a journey.
+
+"Gert, gay, fanciful doin's to-night," said the driver, looking aloft
+where Cosdon Beacon swelled. "You can see the light from the blaze
+up-long, an' now an' again you can note a sign in the night like a
+red-hot wire drawed up out the airth. They 'm sky-rockets, I judge."
+
+"'T is a joyful night, sure 'nough."
+
+The driver illustrated a political ignorance quite common in rural
+districts ten years ago and not conspicuously rare to-day. He laboured
+under uneasy suspicions that the support of monarchy was a direct and
+dismal tax upon the pockets of the poor.
+
+"Pity all the fuss ban't about a better job," he said. "Wan auld,
+elderly lady 's so gude as another, come to think of it. Why shouldn't
+my mother have a jubilee?"
+
+"What for? 'Cause she've borne a damned fule?" asked the other man
+angrily. "If that's your way o' thought, best keep it in your thoughts.
+Anyhow, I'll knock your silly head off if I hears another word to that
+tune, so now you knaw."
+
+The speaker was above medium height and breadth, the man who drove him
+happened to be unusually small.
+
+"Well, well, no offence," said the latter.
+
+"There is offence; an' it I heard a lord o' the land talk that way
+to-night, I'd make un swallow every dirty word of it. To hell wi' your
+treason!"
+
+The driver changed the subject.
+
+"Now you can see a gude few new fires," he said. "That's the Throwleigh
+blaze; an' that, long ways off, be--"
+
+"Yes Tor by the look of it. All Chagford's traapsed up-long, I warn 'e,
+to-night."
+
+They were now approaching a turning of the ways and the traveller
+suddenly changed his destination.
+
+"Come to think of it, I'll go straight on," he said. "That'll save you a
+matter o' ten miles, tu. Drive ahead a bit Berry Down way. Theer I'll
+leave 'e an' you'll be back home in time to have some fun yet."
+
+The driver, rejoicing at this unhoped diminution of his labours, soon
+reached the foot of a rough by-road that ascends to the Moor between the
+homesteads of Berry Down and Creber.
+
+Yes Tor now arose on the left under its cap of flame, and the wayfarer,
+who carried no luggage, paid his fare, bid the other "good-night," and
+then vanished into the darkness.
+
+He passed between the sleeping farms, and only watch-dogs barked out of
+the silence, for Gidleigh folks were all abroad that night. Pressing
+onwards, the native hurried to Scorhill, then crossed the Teign below
+Batworthy Farm, passed through the farmyard, and so proceeded to the
+common beneath Yes Tor. He whistled as he went, then stopped a moment to
+listen. The first drone of music and remote laughter reached his ear. He
+hurried onwards until a gleam lighted his face; then he passed through
+the ring of beasts, still glaring fascinated around the fire; and
+finally he pushed among the people.
+
+He stood revealed and there arose a sudden whisper among some who knew
+him, but whom he knew not. One or two uttered startled cries at this
+apparition, for all associated the newcomer with events and occurrences
+widely remote from the joy of the hour. How he came among them now, and
+what event made it possible for him to stand in their midst a free man,
+not the wisest could guess.
+
+A name was carried from mouth to mouth, then shouted aloud, then greeted
+with a little cheer. It fell upon Mr. Blee's ear as he prepared to start
+homewards; and scarcely had the sound of it set him gasping when a big
+man grew out of the flame and shadow and stood before him with extended
+hand.
+
+"Burnish it all! You! Be it Blanchard or the ghost of un?"
+
+"The man hisself--so big as bull's beef, an' so free as thicky fire!"
+said Will.
+
+Riotous joy sprang and bubbled in his voice. He gripped Billy's hand
+till the old man jumped and wriggled.
+
+"Free! Gude God! Doan't tell me you've brawke loose--doan't 'e say that!
+Christ! if you haven't squashed my hand till theer's no feeling in it!
+Doan't 'e say you've runned away?"
+
+"No such thing," answered Will, now the centre of a little crowd. "I'll
+tell 'e, sawls all, if you mind to hear. 'Tis this way: Queen Victoria,
+as have given of the best she've got wi' both hands to the high men of
+the land, so they tell me, caan't forget nought, even at such a time as
+this here. She've made gert additions to all manner o' men; an' to me,
+an' the likes o' me she've given what's more precious than bein' lords
+or dukes. I'm free--me an' all as runned from the ranks. The Sovereign
+Queen's let deserters go free, if you can credit it; an' that's how I
+stand here this minute."
+
+A buzz and hum with cheers and some laughter and congratulations
+followed Will's announcement. Then the people scattered to spread his
+story, and Mr. Blee spoke.
+
+"Come you down home to wance. Ban't none up here as cares a rush 'bout
+'e but me. But theer 's a many anxious folks below. I comed up for auld
+sake's sake an' because ban't in reason to suppose I'll ever see another
+joy fire 'pon Yes Tor rock, at my time o' life. But us'll go an' carry
+this rare news to Chagford an' the Barton."
+
+They faded from the red radius of the fire and left it slowly dying.
+Will helped Billy off rough ground to the road. Then he set off at a
+speed altogether beyond the old man's power, so Mr. Blee resorted to
+stratagem.
+
+"'Bate your pace; 'bate your pace; I caan't travel that gait an' talk
+same time. Yet theer's a power o' fine things I might tell 'e if you'd
+listen."
+
+"'T is hard to walk slow towards a mother an' wife like what mine be,
+after near a month from 'em; but let's have your news, Billy, an' doan't
+croak, for God's sake. Say all's well wi' all."
+
+"I ban't no croaker, as you knaws. Happy, are 'e?--happy for wance? I
+suppose you'll say now, as you've said plenty times a'ready, that you 'm
+to the tail of your troubles for gude an' all--just in your auld, silly
+fashion?"
+
+"Not me, auld chap, never no more--so long as you 'm alive! Ha, ha,
+ha--that's wan for you! Theer! if 't isn't gude to laugh again!"
+
+"I be main glad as I've got no news to make 'e do anything else, though
+ban't often us can be prophets of gude nowadays. But if you've grawed a
+streak wiser of late, then theer's hope, even for a scatterbrain like
+you, the Lard bein' all-powerful. Not that jokes against such as me
+would please Him the better."
+
+"I've thought a lot in my time, Billy; an' I haven't done thinking yet.
+I've comed to reckon as I caan't do very well wi'out the world, though
+the world would fare easy enough wi'out me."
+
+Billy nodded.
+
+"That's sense so far as it goes," he admitted. "Obedience be hard to the
+young; to the auld it comes natural; to me allus was easy as dirt from
+my youth up. Obedience to betters in heaven an' airth. But you--you with
+your born luck--never heard tell of nothin' like it 't all. What's a fix
+to you? You goes in wan end an' walks out t' other, like a rabbit
+through a hedge. Theer you was--in such a tight pass as you might say
+neither God nor angels could get 'e free wi'out a Bible miracle, when,
+burnish it all! if the Jubilee Queen o' England doan't busy herself
+'bout 'e!"
+
+"'T is true as I'm walkin' by your side. I'd give a year o' my wages to
+knaw how I could shaw what I think about it."
+
+"You might thank her. 'T is all as humble folks can do most times when
+Queens or Squires or the A'mighty Hisself spares a thought to better us.
+Us can awnly say 'thank you.'"
+
+There was a silence of some duration; then Billy again bid his companion
+moderate his pace.
+
+"I'm forgetting all I've got to tell 'e, though I've news enough for a
+buke," he said.
+
+"How's Jan Grimbal, fust plaace?"
+
+"On his legs again an' out o' danger if the Lunnon doctor knaws
+anything. A hunderd guineas they say that chap have had! Your name was
+danced to a mad tune 'pon Grimbal's lips 'fore his senses corned back to
+un. Why for I caan't tell 'e. He've shook hands wi' Death for sartain
+while you was away."
+
+"An' mother, an' wife, an' Miller?"
+
+"Your mother be well--a steadfast woman her be. Joy doan't lift her up,
+an' sorrow doan't crush her. Theer's gert wisdom in her way of life. 'T
+is my awn, for that matter. Then Miller--well, he 'm grawin' auld an'
+doan't rate me quite so high as formerly--not that I judge anybody but
+myself. An' your missis--theer, if I haven't kept it for the last! 'Tis
+news four-an-twenty hour old now an' they wrote to 'e essterday, but I
+lay you missed the letter awin' to me--"
+
+"Get on!"
+
+"Well, she've brought 'e a bwoy--so now you've got both sorts--bwoy an'
+cheel. An' all doin' well as can be, though wisht work for her, thinkin'
+'pon you the while."
+
+Will stood still and uttered a triumphant but inarticulate
+sound--half-laugh, half-sob, half-thanksgiving. Then the man spoke, slow
+and deep,--
+
+"He shall go for a soldier!"
+
+"Theer! Now I knaw 't is Blanchard back an' no other! Hear me, will 'e;
+doan't plan no such uneven way of life for un."
+
+"By God, he shall!"
+
+The words came back over Will Blanchard's shoulder, for he was fast
+vanishing.
+
+"Might have knawed he wouldn't walk along wi' me arter that," thought
+Billy. Then he lifted up his voice and bawled to the diminishing figure,
+already no more than a darker blot on the darkness of night.
+
+"For the Lard's love go in quiet an' gradual, or you'll scare the life
+out of 'em all."
+
+And the answer came back,--
+
+"I knaw, I knaw; I ban't the man to do a rash deed!"
+
+Mr. Blee chuckled and plodded on through the night while Will strode far
+ahead.
+
+Presently he stood beside the wicket of Mrs. Blanchard's cottage and
+hesitated between two women. Despite circumstances, there came no
+uncertain answer from the deepest well-springs of him. He could not pass
+that gate just then. And so he stopped and turned and entered; and she,
+his mother, sitting in thought alone, heard a footfall upon the great
+nightly silence--a sudden, familiar footfall that echoed to her heart
+the music it loved best.
+
+THE END.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Children of the Mist, by Eden Phillpotts
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHILDREN OF THE MIST ***
+
+***** This file should be named 14527.txt or 14527.zip *****
+This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
+        https://www.gutenberg.org/1/4/5/2/14527/
+
+Produced by Charles Aldarondo, Robert Ledger and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team
+
+
+Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions
+will be renamed.
+
+Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no
+one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation
+(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without
+permission and without paying copyright royalties.  Special rules,
+set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to
+copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to
+protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark.  Project
+Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you
+charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission.  If you
+do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the
+rules is very easy.  You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose
+such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and
+research.  They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do
+practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks.  Redistribution is
+subject to the trademark license, especially commercial
+redistribution.
+
+
+
+*** START: FULL LICENSE ***
+
+THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
+PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
+
+To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
+distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
+(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at
+https://gutenberg.org/license).
+
+
+Section 1.  General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic works
+
+1.A.  By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
+and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
+(trademark/copyright) agreement.  If you do not agree to abide by all
+the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy
+all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession.
+If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the
+terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or
+entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
+
+1.B.  "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark.  It may only be
+used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
+agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement.  There are a few
+things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
+even without complying with the full terms of this agreement.  See
+paragraph 1.C below.  There are a lot of things you can do with Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement
+and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.  See paragraph 1.E below.
+
+1.C.  The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation"
+or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works.  Nearly all the individual works in the
+collection are in the public domain in the United States.  If an
+individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are
+located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from
+copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative
+works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg
+are removed.  Of course, we hope that you will support the Project
+Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by
+freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of
+this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with
+the work.  You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by
+keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others.
+
+1.D.  The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
+what you can do with this work.  Copyright laws in most countries are in
+a constant state of change.  If you are outside the United States, check
+the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement
+before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or
+creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project
+Gutenberg-tm work.  The Foundation makes no representations concerning
+the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United
+States.
+
+1.E.  Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
+
+1.E.1.  The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate
+access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently
+whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the
+phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed,
+copied or distributed:
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+1.E.2.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived
+from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is
+posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied
+and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees
+or charges.  If you are redistributing or providing access to a work
+with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the
+work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1
+through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the
+Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or
+1.E.9.
+
+1.E.3.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
+with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
+must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional
+terms imposed by the copyright holder.  Additional terms will be linked
+to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the
+permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.
+
+1.E.4.  Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
+work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.
+
+1.E.5.  Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
+electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
+prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
+active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm License.
+
+1.E.6.  You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
+compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any
+word processing or hypertext form.  However, if you provide access to or
+distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than
+"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version
+posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org),
+you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a
+copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon
+request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other
+form.  Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
+
+1.E.7.  Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
+performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
+unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
+
+1.E.8.  You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
+access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided
+that
+
+- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
+     the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
+     you already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  The fee is
+     owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he
+     has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the
+     Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.  Royalty payments
+     must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you
+     prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax
+     returns.  Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and
+     sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the
+     address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to
+     the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."
+
+- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
+     you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
+     does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+     License.  You must require such a user to return or
+     destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium
+     and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of
+     Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any
+     money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
+     electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days
+     of receipt of the work.
+
+- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
+     distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+1.E.9.  If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set
+forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from
+both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael
+Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark.  Contact the
+Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.
+
+1.F.
+
+1.F.1.  Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
+effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
+public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm
+collection.  Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain
+"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or
+corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual
+property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a
+computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by
+your equipment.
+
+1.F.2.  LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
+of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
+liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
+fees.  YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
+LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
+PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3.  YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
+TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
+LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
+INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
+DAMAGE.
+
+1.F.3.  LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
+defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
+receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
+written explanation to the person you received the work from.  If you
+received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with
+your written explanation.  The person or entity that provided you with
+the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a
+refund.  If you received the work electronically, the person or entity
+providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to
+receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund.  If the second copy
+is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further
+opportunities to fix the problem.
+
+1.F.4.  Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
+in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER
+WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO
+WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
+
+1.F.5.  Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
+warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.
+If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the
+law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be
+interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by
+the applicable state law.  The invalidity or unenforceability of any
+provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.
+
+1.F.6.  INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
+trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
+providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance
+with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production,
+promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works,
+harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees,
+that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do
+or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm
+work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any
+Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause.
+
+
+Section  2.  Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
+electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers
+including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers.  It exists
+because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from
+people in all walks of life.
+
+Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
+assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
+goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
+remain freely available for generations to come.  In 2001, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
+and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.
+To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
+and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4
+and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org.
+
+
+Section 3.  Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
+Foundation
+
+The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
+501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
+state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
+Revenue Service.  The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
+number is 64-6221541.  Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at
+https://pglaf.org/fundraising.  Contributions to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent
+permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.
+
+The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S.
+Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered
+throughout numerous locations.  Its business office is located at
+809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email
+business@pglaf.org.  Email contact links and up to date contact
+information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official
+page at https://pglaf.org
+
+For additional contact information:
+     Dr. Gregory B. Newby
+     Chief Executive and Director
+     gbnewby@pglaf.org
+
+
+Section 4.  Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
+spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
+increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
+freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
+array of equipment including outdated equipment.  Many small donations
+($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
+status with the IRS.
+
+The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
+charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
+States.  Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
+considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
+with these requirements.  We do not solicit donations in locations
+where we have not received written confirmation of compliance.  To
+SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any
+particular state visit https://pglaf.org
+
+While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
+have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
+against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
+approach us with offers to donate.
+
+International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
+any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
+outside the United States.  U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
+
+Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
+methods and addresses.  Donations are accepted in a number of other
+ways including including checks, online payments and credit card
+donations.  To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate
+
+
+Section 5.  General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.
+
+Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm
+concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared
+with anyone.  For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project
+Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.
+
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
+editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S.
+unless a copyright notice is included.  Thus, we do not necessarily
+keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.
+
+
+Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility:
+
+     https://www.gutenberg.org
+
+This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
+including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
+Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
+subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
diff --git a/old/14527.zip b/old/14527.zip
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..536f84c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/14527.zip