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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. 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