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diff --git a/46857.txt b/46857.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 4906f10..0000000 --- a/46857.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,15681 +0,0 @@ - SONS OF THE MORNING - - - - -This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world 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 -http://www.gutenberg.org/license. If you are not located in the United -States, you'll have to check the laws of the country where you are -located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: Sons of the Morning -Author: Eden Phillpotts -Release Date: September 14, 2014 [EBook #46857] -Language: English -Character set encoding: US-ASCII - - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SONS OF THE MORNING *** - - - - -Produced by Al Haines. - - - - - - SONS - OF THE MORNING - - - BY - - EDEN PHILLPOTTS - - - - W. J. GAGE & COMPANY LIMITED - TORONTO. - - - - - Entered according to Act of Parliament of Canada, - in the office of the Minister of Agriculture, - by W. J. GAGE & Co. (Limited), in the year - one thousand nine hundred. - - - - *BY THE SAME AUTHOR* - - CHILDREN OF THE MIST - LYING PROPHETS - SOME EVERYDAY FOLKS - THE HUMAN BOY - - - - - TO - MY VALUED FRIEND - - WILLIAM MORRIS COLLES - - A SMALL TRIBUTE OF - GREAT REGARD - - - - - *CONTENTS* - - *BOOK I.* - -CHAPTER - - I. The Beech Tree - II. Bear Down Farm - III. A Wise Man and a Wise Woman - IV. The Kiss - V. Pagan Altars - VI. Anthemis Cotula - VII. A Badger's Earth - VIII. Out of the Mist - IX. The Warning - X. Three Angry Maids - XI. Partings - XII. The Definite Deed - XIII. Snow on Scor Hill - XIV. The Wisdom of Dr. Clack - XV. Sun Dance - XVI. A Shelf of Slate - XVII. Spring on Scor Hill - XVIII. Roses and Rosettes - - - *BOOK II.* - - I. The Seeds - II. Cherry Grepe's Sins - III. A Secret - IV. The Wisdom of Many - V. In Spring Moonlight - VI. Sorrow's Face - VII. Plots against an Orphan - VIII. A Necklace of Birds' Eggs - IX. An Old-time Prescription - X. Oil of Man - XI. A Clean Breast of it - XII. Light - - - *BOOK III.* - - I. Vanessa Io - II. The Meeting of the Men - III. Flags in the Wind - IV. Drifting - V. A Hunting Morning - VI. Love of Man - VII. Lapses - VIII. The Round Robin - IX. Red Dawn - X. A Man of Courage - XI. The Road to Peace - XII. Peace - XIII. A Sound of Suffering - XIV. From Words to Blows - XV. Watern Tor - XVI. Threnody - - *BOOK IV.* - - I. The Passage of Two Years - II. No After-glow - - - - - *BOOK I.* - - - - *SONS OF THE MORNING* - - - *CHAPTER I.* - - *THE BEECH TREE* - - -Above unnumbered sisters she arose, an object noteworthy even amid these -aisles, where, spun from the survival of the best endowed, fabrics of -ancient forest enveloped the foot-hills of the Moor and belted heather -and granite with great woodlands. A dapple of dull silver marked her -ascension and glimmered upwards through the masses of her robe. From -noble girth of moss-grown trunk she sprang; her high top was full of a -silky summer song; while sunbeams played in the meshes of her million -leaves and cascades of amber light, born from her ripening harvest, -streamed over the dark foliage. She displayed in unusual perfection the -special symmetry of her kind, stood higher than her neighbours, and -fretted the blue above with pinnacles of feathering arborescence, whose -last, subtle expression, at that altitude, escaped the eye. Her midmost -boughs tended from the horizontal gradually downward, and the nether -branches, rippling to earth like a waterfall, fashioned a bower or -music-making dome of translucent green around about the bole. Within -this arbour the roots twisted down their dragon shapes into the dark, -sweet-scented earth, and fortified the beech against all winds that -blew. So she stood, queen of the wold, a creation loved by song-birds, -a treasure-house for squirrels, pigeons, and the pheasants that, at -autumn-time, strutted gorgeous in the copper lake of her fallen leaves. -Beneath her now, cool and moist in twilight of shadows, grew delicate -melampyre that brought light into the herbage, stood the wan -seed-vessels of bygone bluebells, and trailed grasses, with other soft, -etiolate things that had never known direct sunshine. The pale trunk -was delicately wrought with paler lichens, splashed and circled upon its -bark; while mossy boulders of granite, lying scattered within the -circumference of the tree's vastness, completed this modest harmony of -grey and silver, lemon and shadowed green. - -Woodland roads wound at hand, and in a noontide hour of late July these -paths were barred and flooded with golden sunlight; were flanked by -trunks of gnarled oak and wrinkled ash; were bridged with the far-flung -limbs of the former, whereon trailed and intertwined festoons of ivy and -wreaths of polypody fern that mingled with tree mosses. Through this -spacious temple, seen under avenues of many a pillar, sparkled falling -water where the sisters Teign, their separate journeys done, murmured -together and blended their crystal at an ancient bridge. Henceforth -these two streams sweep under hanging woods of larch and pine, by -meadows, orchards, homesteads, through the purple throat of oak and -fir-crowned Fingle, and so onwards, by way of open vales, to their -sad-coloured, heron-haunted estuary. Hand in hand they run, here moving -a mill-wheel, there bringing sweet water to a hamlet, and ever singing -their changeful song. The melody of them deepens, from its first baby -prattle at springs in Sittaford's stony bosom, to the riotous roar of -waterfalls below; lulls, from the music reverberated in stony gorges, to -a whisper amid unechoing valleys and most placid pasture lands. Finally -salt winds with solemn message from the sea welcome Teign; and mewing of -gulls on shining mud-flats; and the race and ripple of the tides, who -joyfully bring the little stream to that great Lover of all rivers. - -Leading from dingles on the eastern bank to interspaces of more open -glades beside the great beech tree, a bridge, fashioned of oak saplings, -still clothed with bark and ash-coloured lichen, crossed the river; and, -at this sunlit moment, a woman stood upon it and a man shook the frail -structure from his standpoint on the bank. His purpose was to alarm the -maiden if he could; but she only laughed, and hastened across -sure-footed. - -Honor Endicott was two-and-twenty; of tall, slight habit, and a healthy, -brown complexion. Her face betrayed some confusion of characteristics. -In repose the general effect suggested melancholy; but this expression -vanished when her eyes were lighted with laughter or her lips parted in -a smile. Then the sad cast of her features wholly disappeared and, as -the sky wakes at dawn or sunset, Honor was transfigured. A beholder -carried from her not the impression of her more usual reserve, but the -face, with its rather untidy black hair, pale brown eyes and bright lips -all smile-lighted. Happily she laughed often, from no vain -consciousness of her peculiar charm, but because she possessed the gift -of a humorous disposition, in the modern acceptation of that word, and -found the world, albeit lonely and not devoid of grey days, yet well -stored with matter for laughter. This sense, than which heredity--that -godmother, half fairy, half fiend--can bestow no better treasure on man -or woman, kept the world sweet for Honor. Her humour was no paltry -idiosyncrasy of mere joy in the ridiculous; but rather a quality that -helped her to taking of large views, that lent a sense of just -proportion in affairs, that tended to tolerance and leavened with -charity her outlook on all things. It also served to brighten and -better an existence, not indeed unhappy, but unusually lonely for a -young woman. - -She held up a pretty brown hand, and shook her head at the man. - -"Christopher," she said, "supposing that your bridge had broken, and I -had tumbled in?" - -"I should have saved you, without doubt--a delicious experience." - -"For you. What a subject for a romance: you, the last of your line; I, -the last of mine, being swept to death by old Teign! And my farm would -be desolate, and your woods and hills and ancestral hall, all bundled -wretchedly into Chancery, or some such horrid place." - -"On the contrary, I save you; I rescue you at great personal peril, and -we join hands and lands, and live happily ever afterwards." - -"There's a heron! You frightened him with your folly." - -The great bird ascended from a shallow, trailed his thin legs over the -water, then gathered speed, rose clear, steered with heavy and laborious -flight amid overhanging boughs, and sought a lonelier hunting-ground -elsewhere. - -"Brutes! I always walk right on top of them when I'm not carrying my -gun. I hate to think of the number of young trout they eat." - -"Plenty left to grow big and be caught all the same," said Honor, as she -peeped down to watch grey shadows, that sped up stream at sight of her -and set little sandclouds rising under the clear water where they -flashed away. - -"Nothing like a Devon trout in the world, I think," she added. "I -caught a half-pounder in the Wallabrook last night, just at the end of -the evening rise, with that fly, like a 'woolly bear' caterpillar, you -gave me." - -Christopher Yeoland nodded, well pleased. He was a broad and tall young -man of thirty, and he walked through woods and beside waters that had -belonged to his family for years without count. Ardent in some things, -sanguine in all, and unconquerably lazy, he had entered the world to -find it entirely a problem. Succeeding upon several generations of -shiftless and unpractical ancestors--men of like metal with himself--he -stood the penniless possessor of a corner of Devon wherein Nature had -exhausted her loving resources. He clung to the involved home of his -fathers, and dreamed of retrieving the desperate position some day. He -lived an open-air life, and spun courses of action, quite majestic in -their proportions, for the succour and restoration of his property; but -the taking of a definite step in any direction seemed beyond his powers. -In theory he swept to action and achievement, and, if words could have -done it, Godleigh had been freed from all encumbrance thrice in every -week; but practically Christopher appeared content to live from hand to -mouth at his old manor house, to keep one horse in the huge stables, two -dogs in the kennels, a solitary old woman and one man in his echoing and -empty house, where, aforetime, more than half a score of folk had -bustled away their busy lives. - -Godleigh, or Godbold's Leigh, as it was first called after its earliest -Norman owner, may be identified among the Domesday manors of Devon; but -it is almost beyond parallel to find possessions descending through a -line of commoners so unbroken as in this case. To Yeoland's ancestors, -none of whom had ever been ennobled, this place accrued soon after 1300 -A.D., during the reign of the second Edward; but since that period the -original estate had been shorn of many acres, and sad subdivisions and -relinquishments from century to century were also responsible for its -diminution. Now hill and valley immediately around Godleigh, together -with those tracts upon which stood the village and church of Little -Silver, with sundry outlying farms, were all that survived of the former -domain, and even these pined under heavy mortgages held by remote -money-lending machines with whom Christopher's father had been much -concerned throughout the years of his later life. The present old -fifteenth-century house, built on foundations far more ancient, peeped, -with grey mullioned windows and twisted chimneys, from forest of pine on -a noble hill under the eastern ramparts of Dartmoor. Granite crowned -this elevation, and Teign turned about, like a silver ribbon, far -beneath it. - -Here the last of his line passed with Honor Endicott beside the river, -and she mourned presently that the sole care of such noble woods rested -with the Mother only, and that never a forester came to remove the dead -or clear overgrowth of brake and thicket. - -"Nature's so untidy," said Honor. - -"She is," Yeoland admitted, "and she takes her own time, which seems -long from our point of view. But then there's no pay-day for her, thank -God. She doesn't turn up on Saturdays for the pieces of silver and bite -them suspiciously, like some of your farm folk you lent to help save my -hay last week; and she consumes all her own rubbish, which is a thing -beyond human ingenuity." - -This man and woman had known each other from early youth, and were now -left by Chance in positions curiously similar; for Honor Endicott was -also an orphan, also came of ancient Devon stock, and also found her -patrimony of Bear Down Farm--a large property on the fringe of the Moor -and chiefly under grass--somewhat of a problem. It was unencumbered, -but hungered for the spending of money. Concerning the Endicotts, who -had dwelt there for many generations, it need only be said that they -were of yeoman descent, dated from Tudor times, and had of late, like -many a kindred family all England over, sunk from their former estate to -the capacity of working farmers. - -Honor, who had enjoyed educational privileges as a result of some -self-denial on the part of both of her parents, now reigned mistress at -"Endicott's," as Bear Down Farm was commonly called. At first sovereign -power proved a source of pleasure; now, blunted by nearly a year of -experience, her rule occasioned no particular delight. - -Presently Christopher led his companion beside the great beech and -pointed to a leafy tent beneath it. - -"Come into my parlour! I found this delicious place yesterday, and I -said to myself, 'Mistress Endicott may take pleasure in such a spot as -this.' Here will we sit--among the spiders with bodies like peas and -legs like hairs; and I'll make you laugh." - -"It's late, Christopher." - -"Never too late to laugh. Just half one little hour. What are thirty -minutes to two independent people who 'toil not, neither do they -spin'--nor even knit, like your uncle? There--isn't it jolly -comfortable? Wish the upholstery on some of my old-world furniture was -as complete. By the way, you know that sofa thing with dachshund legs -and a general convulsed look about it, as though the poor wretch had -been stuffed with something that was not suiting it? Well, Doctor Clack -says that it's worth fifty pounds! But he's such a sanguine brute. Yet -this granite, with its moss cushions, is softer than my own easy chair. -There are no such springs as Nature's. Look at heather, or a tree -branch in a gale of wind, or a----" - -"Now don't begin again about Nature, Christo; you've talked of nothing -else since we started. Make me laugh if I'm to stop another minute." - -"Well, I will. I was looking through some musty old odds and ends in -our muniment-room last night and reading about my forefathers. And they -did put me so much in mind of the old governor. Such muddlers--always -procrastinating and postponing and giving way, and looking at life -through the wrong end of the telescope." - -"I've heard my father say that Mr. Yeoland was such a man." - -"Yes; and money! He never paid anything in his life but the debt of -Nature, dear old chap; and if he could have found a way to make Nature -take something in the pound, he'd be here pouring his wisdom into my -ears yet." - -"We're all bankrupts to her, I suppose." - -"He only made one enemy in all his long life; and that was himself." - -Christopher reflected a moment, then laughed and drew a paper from his -pocket. - -"That reminds me of what I set out on. We are most of us Yeolands much -like the governor. As I tell you, I rummaged in the archives to kill an -hour, and found some remarkably ancient things, ought to send them to -Exeter Museum, or somewhere; only it's such a bother. Couldn't help -laughing, though it was a sort of Sardinian chuckle--on the wrong side -of my face. We're always yielding up, or ceding, or giving away, or -losing something. Here's a scrap I copied from a paper dated 1330. -Listen!" - -He smoothed his screed, looked to see that Honor was attending, then -read:-- - -"'Simon de Yeolandde, s. of John Geoffrey de Yeolandde, gives to Bernard -Faber and Alice his wife his tenement at Throwle'--that's Throwley, of -course '_i.e._ my hall and my orchard called Cridland Barton, and my -herb garden, and my piece of land south of my hall, and my piece of land -north of my hall as far as Cosdonne, and the reversion of the dowry his -mother Dyonisia holds.' There--the grammar is rocky, but the meaning -clear enough. Here's another--in 1373. 'Aylmer Yeolande'--we'd given -away one of our 'd's' by that time, you see--'Aylmer Yeolande releases -to William Corndone 4*d.* (four pence) of annual rent, and to Johanna -Wordel all his right in the hundred of Exemynster.' And here's just one -more; then I'll shut up. In 1500 I find this: 'Suit between Dennys -Yeolandde'--we'd got our 'd' back again for a while--'Gentleman, of -Godbold's Leigh, and Jno. Prouze, Knight, of Chaggeforde, as to right of -lands in Waye and Aller--excepting only 12*s.* (twelve shillings) of -chief rent, which Dennys Yeolandde hath; and the right of comyn of -pasture.' Of course my kinsman went to the wall, for the next entry -shows him climbing down and yielding at every point to the redoubtable -Sir John. We're always fighting the Prouzes, and generally getting the -worst of it. Then their marriage settlements! Poor love-stricken -souls, they would have given their silly heads away, like everything -else, if they could have unscrewed them!" - -"So would you," said Honor Endicott. "You laugh at them; but you're a -Yeoland to the marrow in your bones--one of the old, stupid sort." - -"I believe I must be. The sixteenth and seventeenth century chaps were -made of harder stuff, and went to the wars and got back much that their -fathers had lost. They built us into a firm folk again from being a -feeble; but of late we're thrown back to the old slack-twisted stock, I -fear." - -"That's atavism," declared Honor learnedly. - -"Whew! What a word for a pretty mouth!" - -"I was taught science of a milk-and-water sort at school." - -"Smother science! Look at me, Honor, and tell me when you're going to -answer my question. 'By our native fountains and our kindred gods'; by -all we love in common, it's time you did. A thousand years at least -I've waited, and you such a good sportswoman where other things are -concerned. How can you treat a Christian man worse than you'd treat a -fish?" - -She looked at his handsome, fair face, and lost sight of the small chin -and mouth before a broad, sun-tanned forehead, curly hair, and blue -eyes. - -"You knew the answer, Christo, or you'd never have been so patient." - -"On the contrary, how can I know? I hang on in a storm of agony." - -"You look a miserable wretch enough--such a furrowed cheek--such a -haggard gleam in your eyes." - -"I say, now! Of course I don't wear my heart on my sleeve, or my awful -suspense upon my face. No, I hide my sufferings, go on shaving and -putting on my best clothes every Sunday, and worshipping in church and -carrying the plate, and all the rest of the dreary round. Only the -sunrises know of all I endure. But once refuse, and you'll see what -despair can drive a man to; say 'No' and I fling everything up and go -off to Australia, where lives the last relation I've got in the -world--an old gentleman in the 'back blocks,' or some such dismal -place." - -"You must not dream of that. Men have to work there." - -"Then you'll do the only thing to stop me from such an awful fate? -You'll take me for better for worse? You'll join your fat lands to my -lean ones? You'll----" - -"Don't," she said, rather bitterly, "don't laugh at me and mine in the -midst of a proposal of marriage. Somehow it makes my blood run cold, -though I'm not sentimental. Yet marriage--even with you--has a serious -side. I want to think how serious. We can't go on laughing for ever." - -"Why not? You know the summing-up of a very wise man after he'd devoted -his life to philosophy? Nothing is new, and nothing is true, and nothing -matters. God bless my own--very own little brown mouse of an Honor! -Somehow I had a sneaking hope all along that you would say 'Yes'!" - -"I haven't yet." - -"Kiss me, and don't quibble at a moment like this. You haven't kissed me -since you were fifteen." - -But Honor's humour for once deserted her. She tried to conjure thoughts -proper to the moment and magnify its solemnity; she made an effort, in -some measure pathetic, to feel more than she really felt. - -"You'll be wise, clearest Christo; you'll think of me and love me always -and----" - -"Anything--anything but work for you, sweet," he said, hugging her to -himself, and kissing her with a boy's rapture. - -"Oh, Christopher, don't say that!" - -"Then I won't; I'll even work, if you can steel yourself to the thought -of such a spectacle as Christo labouring with a sense of duty--like an -ant with a grain of corn. God bless and bless and bless your dear -little warm heart and body, and soft hair and eyes and everything! Work -for you! You wait and see." - -"I knew this was coming," she said a little drearily. "Ever so long ago -I saw it coming and heard it coming. And I rehearsed my part over and -over. Yet the thing itself is an anti-climax, Christo. I should have -said 'Yes' the second time you asked me." - -"The first time, my pearl." - -"Perhaps so. It's like flat cider now." - -"Don't say that. We've been courting continuously, if you look back, -ever since we were children. Then you had dear little tails down your -back--two of them--and I used to get you birds' eggs and other useful -things. When will you marry me, sweetheart?" - -"Oh, I don't know," said Honor. "When I can afford a cake." - -But there was a tear in her eye that he did not see. - -"There speaks again my own brave, heroic Honor! We will have a cake; but -why should you pay for it?" - -"I must--there's nobody else to do so. You can't. Come, it is time, and -more than time, that I went home." - -"Wait," he said; "on a great, historic occasion like the present one -marks the day with a white stone. This spot is henceforward sacred to -every subsequent Yeoland or Endicott. It may become the shrine of -family pilgrimages. So I'll set a true lover's knot upon this venerable -beech bole, together with the initials H.E.--that's God's feminine -masterpiece--and C.A.Y.--that's Christopher Aylmer Yeoland--not a divine -inspiration, I grant you; but a worthy, harmless child of Nature, taking -him all round. Hark to my best-loved poet:-- - - 'And in the rind of every comely tree - I'll carve thy name, and in that name kisse thee.'" - - -He cut and chattered; then, his work completed, bid Honor inspect the -conventional bow with their united initials staring white and naked from -the bark. - -"Nature will tone it down and make it pretty later on," he said. - -"I hope she will make you wise later on." - -They departed then and wandered upward by a woodland track to Godleigh. -His arm was round her; her head rested against his shoulder, and her -spirits rose a little. They laughed together, each at the other's slight -fancies; and then a vision of death met them. In a glade beside the -way, where honeysuckle hung pale lamps about the altar of sacrifice, -appeared a fallen cloud of feathers that warmed from grey to -golden-green. There a hawk had slain a woodpecker, and nothing remained -of the victim save the under-down and plumage, with his upper mandible -and a scattered feather or two from his crimson crest. - -"That's unlucky," said Honor. - -"Very--for the bird," admitted Christopher. "Poor beggar--I'm sorry. I -like the green woodpeckers. They've such a sense of humour, and love a -laugh as well as I do myself." - - - - - *CHAPTER II.* - - *BEAR DOWN FARM* - - -The lovers passed through Godleigh, and then, entering the main road -that ran from Little Silver to those high regions above it, pursued -their way by Devonshire lanes whose lofty hedge-banks shut out all view -of the grass lands extending upon each side. Here and there, however, -gates opened into the hayfields, and from one, where two of Honor's -ricks were slowly rising, came hum of voices. The scene was set in -silver-green wisps of hay; a sweet scent clung to the air; two horses -rested on the shady side of the rick; an elm or two whispered into the -haze of summer; and, hard by, sat above half a dozen persons taking -their midday meal under the hedge. Speech was hushed; the nearest men -touched their hats, and a girl dropped a curtsey as Honor walked by at -discreet distance from young Yeoland. And then, upon their passing, the -haymakers broke into a new subject with ready tongue. - -A man, smartly attired and apparently not of the working party, winked -as Christopher and his lady moved out of sight. - -"'Tis a case for sartain sure," he said. - -"Have been this many a day, if you ax me," answered a young woman near -him. She wore a sun-bonnet of faded blue, and a brown dress dragged up -to her belt on one side over a rusty red petticoat. - -"They've been tinkering arter each other ever since I can mind, an' I be -nineteen," she added. - -Another spoke. He was a tall labourer, clad in earth-colour, with a big -nose, a long neck, large, sun-blistered ears, and black hair. - -"Might be a happy thing belike," he said; and to him a smaller man -replied--a man whose bristly beard was nearly grey, whose frowning, dark -eyes and high, discontented forehead promised little amiability. - -"'A happy thing'! A happy fiddlestick, Henry Collins! Godleigh's -sea-deep in debt, an' so much a land of the Jews as Jerusalem's self, by -all accounts. An' missis--better her bide a maid all her days than marry -him, I reckon. She's a jewel tu precious for the likes of that -gude-for-nothing. An' I've my doubts, but--Sally, give awver, will 'e, -an' remember you'm a grawed gal!" - -This sudden exhortation Mr. Jonah Cramphorn cast at his daughter, the -maiden who had first spoken; and necessity for such rebuke appeared in -the fact that Sally, a ripe and plump damsel, with red lips, grey eyes -and corn-coloured hair, was now pelting the youth beside her with hay, -while he returned the compliment as best he could. - -Gregory Libby, in his well-fitting garments with neat gaiters and cap to -match, though formerly a worker, enjoyed holiday to-day for reasons now -to appear. He was a mean type of man, with sandy locks, a slight -hare-lip, and a low forehead; but to Sally's eyes these defects were not -apparent. Mr. Libby could sing charming songs, and within the past week -he was richer by a legacy of five hundred pounds. On the previous day -he had come back from London to Little Silver, and now, still putting -off his return to work, stood among the folk of Bear Down and posed as a -person of some consequence. Sally's conduct woke indignation elsewhere -than in her father's breast. Mr. Henry Collins glared at the grey -figure of Gregory. The big-nosed man was a new hand at Bear Down; but -one fortnight in the company of Sally had served to enslave Henry's -maiden heart. He was in love with Miss Cramphorn, but thus far had -hidden his secret. - -Beside the rising hayrick, sitting in sunshine with his face to the -others, an old, bald labourer ate bread and onions and drank from a -little cider barrel. His countenance showed a marvellous network of -wrinkles; his scant hair, reduced to tufts above his ears, was very -white; his whiskers were also white, and his eyes, blue as the summer -sky, wore an expression of boyish frankness. His small, clean-shaved -mouth was pursed like a young child's. - -"'Tis pity," he said, resuming the former topic, "'tis pity as missis -can't find a way to mate wi' her cousin, Maister Myles Stapledon, him -what be comin' to pay a visit presently. A snug man they say, an' a -firm-footed--solid every way in fact. I mind last time he comed -here--more'n ten year ago. A wise young youth even then." - -"Ban't purty Miss Endicott's sort by the sound of un," said Gregory -Libby; then, accepting a drink of cider from a horn mug which Sally -brought him, he drew forth a cigar from a yellow leather case. This he -presently lighted, marched about, and puffed with great show of -satisfaction, not oblivious to the attention he attracted. - -"A strange fashion way to take tobacco," said the ancient, who was -called Churdles Ash. - -"So it is then," assented Mr. Cramphorn; "an' what's more, I ban't -gwaine to allow 'tis a fit an' proper way of smokin' for the likes of -him. What's five hunderd pound when all's said?" - -"'Twill blamed soon be five hunderd pence, if the man's gwaine to -broadcast it away 'pon fantastic machines like them, as awnly -gentlefolks have any business with," said Samuel Pinsent, another -labourer, who passed for a great wit, chiefly by reason of a -Merry-Andrew power to pull remarkable faces. He was a red man with weak -eyes; and his fellows alleged him impervious to all feminine -attractions. - -"For Sundays an' high rejoicings a cigar may pass now an' again," argued -Henry Collins. "Not as I'm saying a word for Greg Libby," he added in -violent haste, as he caught Sally's eye. "He'm a puny twoad an' always -was--brass or no brass. What do the likes of him want wi' stiff collars -'pon week-days? Let un go back to his job, which was hedge-tacking, an' -not done tu well neither, most times." - -"He'm the monkey as have seed the world," said old Ash, lighting a black -pipe and crossing his hands over his stomach. - -Mr. Collins mopped his forehead, and looked up from where he sat. Then -he tightened the leather thongs that fastened in his trousers below the -knees and answered as he did so-- - -"Seed the world! Him! I knaw what he seed. He seed a cheap tailor in -the Edgware Road, Paddington way; an' he seed a wicked back street or -two; an' no doubt a theayter----" - -"That'll do, if you please, Henery," said Mr. Cramphorn. "Me an' Ash, as -weern't born essterday, can guess all the rest. I ban't in nature -suspicious----" - -Then in his turn Jonah was interrupted. - -"Ess fay, you be, my son," declared Mr. Ash. - -"Anyway," answered the parent, darkly scowling, "I see my darter pulling -eyes at the fule an' I won't stand it--wouldn't for twice five hunderd -pound." - -"No need to fright yourself," said Churdles Ash, shaking his head. -"Libby's not a marryin' man--tu selfish to marry while his auld mother's -alive to slave for him an' kiss the ground he walks on. Besides, -there's your other darter--Margery. He'm so set 'pon wan as t'other; -but 'tis all philandering, not business." - -"He'll end by havin' a sore back anyways if I see much more of it. -Sally to marry him indeed! Shaw me a purtier gal than Sally this side -Exeter an' I'll give 'e a gawlden sovereign!" - -"An' I'll give 'e another!" declared Mr. Collins. - -At this moment Jonah's second daughter, together with one Mrs. Loveys, -housekeeper at Bear Down, appeared. The latter was an ample, elderly -widow. She had a capacious bosom, bare arms, and a most kindly face. -Her late husband, Timothy Loveys, after a lifetime of service at -Endicott's, passed within a year of his master; and upon his death Mr. -Cramphorn had won promotion and was now head man. As for Margery, a -thin, long-faced girl, cast in mould more fragile than her sister, she -worked as dairymaid at the farm. She too was personable, but her -slimmer contour, reserved manner, and sharp tongue contrasted ill, in -masculine opinion, with Sally's physical exuberance and good temper. - -The women who now came to fetch empty utensils and baskets stayed -awhile, and Mrs. Loveys asked a question. - -"An' what for be you offerin' gawlden sovereigns so free, Henry -Collins?" she inquired with a side glance. - -"To find a purtier maiden than Sally, ma'am." - -Margery laughed and blushed, with her eyes on Mr. Libby. - -"What about missis?" she asked. - -"Missis," answered Jonah, "be a lady. She'm built on a different -pattern, though with like material. No disrespect to her, as I'd shed -my life's blood for, but the differ'nce betwixt she an' my Sally's the -differ'nce betwixt sunlight an' moonlight." - -"Between a wind-flower an' a butivul, full-blawed cabbage rose," -hazarded Mr. Collins. - -"Yet theer's them as would liefer have the windflower," said Margery, -who secretly believed herself very like her mistress, and dressed as -near to Honor as she dared. Mrs. Loveys nodded approval of this -statement; Mr. Cramphorn stoutly questioned it. - -"What d'you say, Churdles?" asked Pinsent; "or be you tu auld to call -home the maids you felt kind-like towards in last century when you was -full o' sap?" - -"I say 'tis time to go to work," replied Mr. Ash, who never answered a -question involving difference of opinion between his friends. "Come, -Collins, 'Thirty Acres' to finish 'fore sundown, an' theer's full work -'pon it yet! An' you, Tommy Bates; you fall to sharpenin' the knives -for the cutter, this minute!" - -He rose, walked with spreading feet and bent back across the road, then -dipped down into a great field on the other side. There lay a -machine-mower at the edge of the shorn hay, to the nakedness of which -still rippled a russet ocean of standing grass. Colourless light passed -in great waves over it; the lavender of knautias, together with -too-frequent gold of yellow rattle, flashed in it; and the great -expanse, viewed remotely, glowed with dull fire of seeding sorrels. -Above, danced butterflies; within, the grasshoppers maintained a -ceaseless stridulation; and soon the silvery knives were again purring -at the cool heart of the undergreen, while ripe grassheads, flowers, -sweet clovers, tottered and fell together in shining lines, where -Churdles Ash, most just embodiment of Father Time, pursued his way, -perched aloft behind two old horses. At each corner the jarring ceased -a moment, and the old man's thin voice addressed his steeds; then an -angle was turned, and he tinkled on again under the dancing heat. -Elsewhere Tommy Bates prepared another knife, and sharpened its -shark-like teeth with a file; Pinsent brought up a load of hay from a -further field; Cramphorn ascended one rick, and took the harvest from -the forks; while Sally and Collins turned the drying grasses at hand, -and pursued the business of tossing them with dexterity begotten from -long practice. Mr. Libby crept about in the near neighbourhood of the -girl, but conscious that Jonah, from the high vantage of the rick, kept -sharp eyes upon her, adventured no horseplay, and merely complimented -her under his breath upon her splendid arms. - - -Meanwhile, Christopher Yeoland had seen Honor to her home and so -departed. - -Bear Down lay in the centre of hay lands immediately beneath the Moor. -Above it stretched the heather-clad undulations of Scor Hill, and -beneath subtended forest-hidden slopes. The farm itself was approached -through a little avenue of sycamores, whose foliage, though it fell and -turned to sere, black-spotted death sadly early in most autumns, yet -made dimpled play of cool shadow through summer days on the great -whitewashed barn beneath it. Then, through a grass-grown yard and the -foundations of vanished buildings, one reached a duck-pond set in -rhododendrons, and a little garden. The house itself was a patchwork of -several generations, and its main fabric stood in shape of a carpenter's -mitre, whose inner faces fronted east and south. Each portion had its -proper entrance, and that pertaining to the frontage which faced dawn -was of the seventeenth century. Here a spacious granite doorway stood, -on one side of whose portal there appeared the initials "J.E.", set in a -shield and standing for one John Endicott, who had raised this stout -pile in the past; while on the other, a date, 1655, indicated the year -of its erection. The fabric that looked southwards was of a later -period, yet each matched with the other well enough, and time, with the -eternal mists of the Moor for his brush, already began to paint modern -stone and slate into tune with the harmonious warmth of the more ancient -wing. Behind the farmhouse were huddled a dairy, outbuildings, and -various erections, that made fair medley of rusty red tile, warm brown -wood-stack, and silver thatch. A little lawn rolled away from the -granite walls of the farm front, and the parterres, spread snugly in the -angle of the building, were set with rough quartz and gay under -old-world flowers. Here throve in many-coloured, many-scented joy -martagon lilies--pale, purple, and lemon--dark monkshoods, -sweet-williams, sweet-sultans, lavender, great purple poppies, -snapdragons, pansies, stocks, and flaming marigolds. Along the -streamlet, coaxed hither from Scor Hill to feed the farm, grew ferns and -willow-herbs, wild geraniums of varied sorts, wood strawberries, orpine, -and other country folks. The garden was a happy hunting-ground for -little red calves, who wandered bleating about it in the mists of early -morning; and for poultry, who laid their eggs in thickets of flowers, -scratched up dust-baths in the beds, and hatched out many a clutch of -chicks or ducklings under sheltered corners. Against the weathered -forehead of its seventeenth-century wing Endicott's displayed an ancient -cherry tree that annually shook forth umbels of snowy blossom about the -casements, and, later, jewelled these granite walls or decorated the -venerable inscription on the lintel with ruby-red fruit seen twinkling -through green leaves. Elsewhere ivy and honeysuckle and everlasting pea -climbed on a wooden trellis, and in one sheltered nook stood a syringa -and a great japonica, whose scarlet brightened the cloud-coloured days -of early springtime, whose pomaceous harvest adorned the spot in autumn. - -Within doors the farm was fashioned on a generous plan, and contained -large, low-ceiled rooms approached through one another by a method most -disorderly and ancient. Once, in the heyday of Endicott prosperity, -these chambers had been much occupied; now, as became practical farmers, -the men--generation by generation--had gradually drifted from the -luxuries of many dwelling-rooms. Their wives and daughters indeed -struggled against this defection, but masculine obstinacy won its way, -until the huge and pleasant kitchen began to be recognised as the -house-place also, while other apartments became associated with Sunday, -or with such ceremonious events as deaths and marriages might represent. - -Almost to the farm walls each year there rippled some hundreds of acres -of grass, for no other form of agriculture served the turn so well at -that high altitude. Roots and corn they grew, but only to the extent of -their own requirements. Of stock Bear Down boasted much too little; hay -was the staple commodity, and at this busy season Honor watched the -heavens with a farmer's eye, and personally inspected the undergrass, -its density and texture, in every field. - -A late, cold spring had thrown back the principal harvest somewhat -during the year in question; yet it promised well notwithstanding. Mr. -Cramphorn alone declared himself disappointed; but seldom had a crop -been known to satisfy him, and his sustained discontent throughout the -procession of the seasons counted for nothing. - -Honor, despite education and reasonable gift of common sense, never -wholly pleased her parents. Her father largely lacked humour in his -outlook, and he had passed doubly sad: in the knowledge that the name of -Endicott must vanish from Bear Down upon the marriage or decease of his -daughter, and in the dark fear that one so fond of laughter would never -make a farmer. Indeed, his dying hope had been that the weight of -supreme control might steady the girl to gravity. - -Now, Christopher gone, Honor entered her house, and proceeded into the -kitchen. A little separate parlour she had, but particular reasons led -to the spending of much time in the larger apartment. Nor was this an -ordinary kitchen. You are to imagine, rather, a spacious, lofty, and -comfortable dwelling-room; a place snug against the bitter draughts -which often bulged up the carpets and screamed in the windows throughout -the farm; a chamber warm in winter, in summer cool. Peat fires glowed -upon its cavernous and open hearth, and, like Vesta's sacred brands, -they never wholly died by night or day. Above the fireplace a granite -mantel-shelf supported shining metal-ware--brass candlesticks and tin -receptacles polished to splendour; a pair of old stirrups were nailed -against the wall, with a rack of guns--mostly antique muzzle-loaders; -while elsewhere, suspended in a pattern, there hung a dozen pair of -sheep-shears. Oak beams supported the roof, and from them depended hams -in canvas bags. At one corner, flanked by two bright warming-pans, -stood a lofty clock with a green dial-plate and ornate case of venerable -date; and about its feet there ranged cream-pans at this moment, the -crust of whose contents matched the apricot tone of kitchen walls and -made splendid contrast with the blue-stone floor where sunlight -brightened it. The outer doorstone had yielded to innumerable -steel-shod boots; it was worn clean through at the centre, and a square -of granite had been inserted upon the softer stone. Beside the fire -stood a brown leathern screen, and beneath the window, where light, -falling through the leaves of many geraniums, was cooled to a pale -green, there stretched a settle. - -The kitchen was full of sound. A wire-haired fox-terrier pup worried a -bit of rabbit-skin under the table, and growled and tumbled and gurgled -to his heart's content; crickets, in dark caves and crannies behind the -hearth, maintained a cheerful chorus; and from behind the screen came -tapping of wooden needles, where sat an old man knitting yarn. - -"Honor at last," he said, as he heard her feet. - -"Yes, uncle Mark; and late I'm afraid." - -"I didn't wait for you. The dinner is on the table. What has kept you?" - -"Christo has been asking me to marry him again." - -"But that's an everyday amusement of his, so I've heard you say." - -"Uncle, I'm going to." - -The needles stopped for one brief moment; then they tapped on again. - -"Well, well! Almost a pity you didn't wait a little longer." - -"I know what's in your head--Myles Stapledon." - -"He was. I confess to it." - -"If only you could see his photograph, dearest. Oh so cold, hard, -inscrutable!" - -"I remember him as a boy--self-contained and old-fashioned I grant you. -But sober-minded youths often take life too seriously at the start. -There's a sort of men--the best sort--who grow younger as they grow -older. Mrs. Loveys told me that the picture he sent you makes a -handsome chap of Myles." - -"Handsome--yes, very--like something carved out of stone." - -The blind man was silent for a moment; then he said-- - -"This shows the folly of building castles in the air for other folks to -live in. Anyway you must make him welcome during his visit, Honor, for -there are many reasons why you should. The farm and the mill, once his -father's, down Tavistock way, have passed out of his hands now. He is -free; he has capital; he wants an investment. At least you'll treat him -as a kinsman; while as to the possibilities about Bear Down, Myles will -very quickly find those out for himself if he's a practical man, as I -guess." - -"You don't congratulate me on Christo," she said petulantly. - -"I hardly seem able to take it seriously yet." - -Honor turned away with impatience. Her uncle's attitude to the -engagement was almost her own, allowing for difference of standpoint; -and the discovery first made her uncomfortable, then angry. But she was -too proud to discuss the matter or reveal her discomposure. - - - - - *CHAPTER III.* - - *A WISE MAN AND A WISE WOMAN* - - -Mr. Scobell, the Vicar of Little Silver, often said, concerning Mark -Endicott, that he was as much the spiritual father of the hamlet as its -parson. Herein he stated no more than the truth, for the blind man stood -as a sort of perpetual palliative of human trouble at Bear Down; in his -obscure, night-foundered passage through the world, he had soothed much -sorrow and brought comfort to not a few sad, primitive hearts in the -bosoms of man and maid. He was seventy years old and knew trouble -himself; for, born to the glory of light, he had been blind since the -age of thirty, about which period the accident of a bursting gun -destroyed his right eye. The other, by sympathetic action, soon became -darkened also; and Mark Endicott endured the full storm-centre of such a -loss, in that he was a man of the fields, who had depended for his -life's joy on rapid movement under the sky; on sporting; on the -companionship of horse and dog and those, like himself, whose lives were -knit up in country pursuits. He had dwelt at Bear Down before the -catastrophe, with his elder brother, Honor Endicott's father; and, after -the affliction, Mark still remained at the farm. He was a bachelor, -possessed small means sufficient for his needs, and, when the world was -changed for him, cast anchor for life in the scene of his early -activities. Before eclipse the man had been of a jovial, genial sort, -wholly occupied with the business of his simple pleasures, quite content -to remain poor; since loss of sight he had fallen in upon himself and -developed mentally to an extent not to have been predicted from survey -of his sunlit youth. Forty years of darkness indeed ripened Mark -Endicott into an original thinker, a man whose estimate of life's -treasures and solutions of its problems were broad-based, tolerant, and -just. If stoical, his philosophy was yet marked by that latter -reverence for humanity and patience with its manifold frailties that -wove courses of golden light into the decaying fabric of the porch, and -wakened a dying splendour in those solemn and austere galleries ere the -sun set upon their grey ruins for ever. Epictetus and Antonine were -names unknown to him, yet by his own blind road he had groped to some of -their lucid outlook, to that forbearance, fearless courage, contempt of -trifles and ruthless self-estimate an emperor learned from a slave and -practised from the lofty standpoint of his throne. Mark Endicott -appraised his own conduct in a spirit that had been morbid exhibited by -any other than a blind man; yet in him this merciless introspection was -proper and wholesome. The death of his sight was the birth of his mind, -or at least the first step towards his intellectual education. Seeing, -the man had probably gone down to his grave unconsidered and with his -existence scarcely justified; but blind, he had accomplished a career of -usefulness, had carved for himself an enduring monument in the hearts of -rustic men and women. He was generally serious, though not particularly -grave, and he could tolerate laughter in others though he had little -mind to it himself. His niece represented his highest interest and -possessed all his love. Her happiness was his own, and amongst his -regrets not the least centred in the knowledge that he understood her so -little. Mark's own active participation in affairs extended not far -beyond speech. He sat behind his leathern screen, busied his hands with -knitting great woollen comforters for the fishermen of Brixham, and held -a sort of modest open court. Often, during the long hours when he was -quite alone, he broke the monotony of silence by talking to himself or -repeating passages, both sacred and secular, from works that gave him -satisfaction. Such were his reflections that listeners never heard any -ill of themselves, though it was whispered that more than one -eavesdropper had overheard Mr. Endicott speak to the point. His quick -ear sometimes revealed to him the presence of an individual; and, on -such occasions, the blind man either uttered a truth for that particular -listener's private guidance, or published an opinion, using him as the -intelligencer. It is to be noted also that Mark Endicott oftentimes -slipped into the vernacular when talking with the country people--a -circumstance that set them at ease and enabled him to impart much homely -force to his utterances. Finally of him it may be said that in person -he was tall and broad, that he had big features, grizzled hair, which he -wore rather long, and a great grey beard that fell to the last button of -his waistcoat. His eyes were not disfigured though obviously without -power of sight. - -Honor made a hearty meal and then departed to continue preparations for -her cousin's visit. In two days' time he was arriving from Tavistock, -to spend a period of uncertain duration at Bear Down. The bright -afternoon waned; the shadows lengthened; then there came a knock at the -outer door of the kitchen and Henry Collins entered. He had long been -seeking for an opportunity to speak in private with Mr. Endicott; and -now his face brightened from its usual vacuity to find that Mark was -alone. - -"Could I have half a word, maister, the place bein' empty?" - -"You're Collins, the new man, are you not?" - -"Ess, sir; Henery Collins at your sarvice; an' hearin' tell you'm ready -to give your ripe judgment wheer 'tis axed an' doan't grudge wisdom -more'n a cloud grudges rain, I made so bold--ess, I made that bold like -as to--as to----" - -"What is it? Don't waste breath in vain words. If I can give you a bit -of advice, it's yours; an' take it or leave it as you mind to." - -"I'll take it for sure. 'Tis this then: I be a man o' big bones an' big -appetite, an' do handle my share o' vittles braavely; but I do allus get -that cruel hot when I eat--to every pore as you might say--which -swelterin' be a curse to me--an' a painful sight for a female, -'specially if theer's like to be anything 'twixt you an' she in the way -of keepin' comp'ny. An' if theer ban't no offence, I'd ax 'e what I -should take for't." - -Mr. Endicott smiled. - -"Take less, my son; an' don't swallow every mouthful as if the devil was -arter you. Eat your meat an' sup your drink slow." - -"Ban't a calamity as caan't be cured, you reckon?" - -"Nothing at all but greediness. Watch how your betters take their food -an' see how the women eat. 'Tis only gluttony in you. Remember you're a -man, not a pig; then 'twill come right." - -Mr. Collins was greatly gratified. - -"I'm sure I thank 'e wi' all my heart, maister; for 'twould be a sorry -thing if such a ill-convenience should come between me an' a bowerly -maid like Sally Cramphorn, the out-door girl." - -"So it would then," assented the elder kindly; "but no need--no need at -all." - -Collins repeated his sense of obligation and withdrew; while elsewhere -that identical young woman who now began to distract the lethargic -solidity of his inner life was herself seeking advice upon a deep matter -touching heart's desire. Soon after five o'clock Sally escaped from the -supervision of her jealous parent, and started upon a private and -particular errand through leafy lanes that led northerly from the farm -and skirted the Moor in that direction. Presently she turned to the -left, where a gate marked the boundaries of common land and arrested -cattle from straying on to the roads. Here, dipping into a little tunnel -of living green, where hazels met over a watercourse, Sally proceeded by -a moist and muddy short cut to her goal. It was a cottage that rose all -alone at a point where the Moor rippled down to its hinder wall and a -wilderness of furze and water-meadow, laced with rivulets and dotted -with the feathers of geese, extended in front. A dead fir tree stood on -one side of the cot, and the low breast-work of granite and peat that -separated a little garden from the waste without was very strangely -decked with the vertebrae of a bygone ox. The bones squatted imp-like -in a row there--a spectacle of some awe to those who knew the -significance of the spot. Upon the door were nailed many horse-shoes, -and walls of red earth or cob, painted with whitewash and crowned by -venerable and moss-grown thatch, formed the fabric of the cottage. Upon -fine days this mural surface displayed much magic of varied colour; it -shone cool in grey dawns, hot at noon, delicate rose and red gold under -such brief gleams of sunset light as the Moor's ragged mane permitted to -reach it. Stone-crops wove mellow tints into the rotting thatch above, -and the moss cushions of dark and shining green were sometimes brushed -and subdued by a haze or orange veil thrown over them by the colour of -their ripe seed-vessels. In the garden grew many herbs, knowledge of -whose potency their owner alone possessed, and at one corner arose the -golden spires of great mullein--a flower aforetime called "hag's taper" -and associated with witches and their mystic doings. Here the tall -plant towered, like a streak of flame, above pale, widespread, woolly -leaves; and it was held a sign and token of this wise woman's garden, -for when the mullein flowered she had proclaimed that her herbs and -simples were most potent. Then would such of her own generation as -remained visit ancient Charity Grepe in her stronghold; while to her -also came, with shamefaced secrecy, young men and maidens, often under -cover of darkness, or in the lonely hour of winter twilights. - -"Cherry," as old Charity was most frequently called, had openly been -dubbed a witch in times past. She recollected an experience, now near -fifty years behind her, when rough hands had forced open her jaws to -seek those five black spots observed upon the roof of a right witch's -mouth; she knew also that the same diabolic imprint is visible upon the -feet of swine, and that it indicated the point where unnumbered demons, -upon Christ's command, once entered into Gadara's ill-omened herd. -Since then, from a notoriety wholly sinister, she had acquired more -seemly renown until, in the year of grace 1870, being at that date some -five or six years older than the century, Mother Grepe enjoyed mingled -reputation. Some held her a white witch, others still declared that she -was a black one. Be that as it may, the old woman created a measure of -interest in the most sceptical, and, like the rest of her vanishing -class, stood as a storehouse of unwritten lumber and oral tradition -handed on through generations, from mother to daughter, from father to -son. The possessor and remembrancer of strange formularies and -exorcisms, she would repeat the same upon proper occasion, but only -after a solemn assurance from those who heard her that they would not -commit her incantations to any sort of writing. In her judgment all -virtue instantly departed from the written word. - -At this season of her late autumn, the gammer was entering upon frosty -times, for, under pressure of church and school, the world began to view -her accomplishments with indifference. Yet the uncultured so far bowed -to custom and a lustre handed down through half a century as to credit -Cherry with some vague measure of vaguer power. Little Silver called -her the "wise woman," and granted her all due credit for skill in those -frank arts that pretend to no superhuman attribute. It is certain that -she was familiar with the officinal herbs of the field. She could charm -the secrets and soothing essences from coriander and anise and -dill--with other of the umbel-bearing wild folk, whose bodies are often -poison, whose seeds are little caskets holding carminative and anodyne. -Of local plants she grew in her garden those most desirable, and there -flourished peppermint, mother-o'-thyme, marjoram, and numerous other -aromatic weeds. With these materials the old woman made shift to live, -and exacted trifling sums from the mothers of Little Silver by preparing -cordials for sick children; from the small farmers and credulous owners -of live stock, by furnishing boluses for beasts. - -Sally Cramphorn, however, had come on other business and about a widely -different sort of potion. She was among those who respected Cherry's -darker accomplishments, and her father himself--a man not prone to -praise his fellow-creatures--openly confessed to firm belief in Mother -Grepe's unusual powers. - -The old woman was in her garden when Sally arrived. It had needed sharp -scrutiny to observe much promise of wisdom about her. She was brown, -wrinkled and shrivelled, yet exhibited abundant vitality and spoke in a -voice that seemed musical because one expected the reverse. Her eyes -alone challenged a second glance. They were black, and flashed in the -twilight. Dame Grepe's visitor, a stranger to shyness, soon explained -the nature of the thing desired. With blushes, but complete -self-possession in all other respects, she spoke. - -"'Tis 'bout the matter of a husband, Cherry; an' you'm so wise, I lay -you knaw it wi'out my tellin' you." - -"Ess--you be wife-auld in body; but what about the thinking part of 'e, -Sally Cramphorn? Anyway I wonder you dare let your mind go gadding -arter a male, seeing what fashion o' man your faither is." - -Sally pouted. - -"That's the very reason for it I reckon. What gal can be happy in a -home like mine?" - -"A man quick to think evil--your faither--a vain man--a man as scowls at -shadows an' sees gunpowder treason hid behind every hedge--poor fule!" - -"So he do then; an' ban't very nice for a grawed woman like me. If I -lifts my eye to a chap's face, he thinks I be gwaine to run away from -un; an' there ban't a man in Little Silver, from Squire Yeoland to the -cowboy at the farm, as he've got a tender word for." - -"I knaw, I knaw. Come in the house." - -Sally followed the old woman into her cottage, and spoke as she did so. - -"It's hard come to think on it, 'cause I'm no more against a husband -than any other gal. 'Tis awnly that they'm feared of the sound 'pon -theer tongues as gals won't awn up honest they'd sooner have husbands -than not. Look at missis--she'll find herself a happy wife bimebye if -squire do count for anything." - -"Be they much together?" - -"Ess fay--allus!" - -The old woman shook her head. - -"A nature, hers, born to trouble as the sparks fly upwards. Fine metal, -but easy to crack by fire. She comed to me wance--years agone--comed -half in jest, half in earnest; an' I tawld her strange things to her -fortune tu--things as'll mean gert changes an' more sorrow than joy when -all's acted an' done. Full, fair share of gude an' bad--evil an' -balm--an' her very well content to creep under the green grass an' rest -her head 'pon the airth come fulness of time." - -"Lor, mother! You do make me all awver creepy-crawly to hear tell such -dreadful things," declared Miss Cramphorn. - -"No need for you to fear. You'm coarser clay, Sally, an' won't get no -thinner for love of a man. An' why should 'e? Pray for a fixed mind; -an' doan't, when the man comes beggin', begin weighing the blemishes of -un or doubtin' your awn heart." - -"Never, I won't--and my heart's fixed; an' I be so much in love as a gal -can be an' hide it, Cherry." - -"I knaw, I knaw. 'Tis Greg Libby you wants," answered the sibyl, who -had observed certain hay-makers some hours earlier in the day. - -"Ess, I do then, though you'm the awnly living sawl as knaws it." - -"Doan't he knaw it?" - -"Not a blink of it. He'm a wonnerful, dandified man since he come from -Lunnon." - -"Be he gwaine to do any more work?" - -"Not so long as his clothes bide flam-new, I reckon. Ban't no call for -un to. An' I love un very much, an' do truly think he loves me, Cherry. -An', in such things, a little comin'-on spirit in the man's like to save -the maid much heart-burnin'; an' I minded how you helped she as was -Thirza Foster, in the matter of Michael Maybridge, her husband now. -'Tis pity Gregory should bide dumb along of his backward disposition." - -"A love drink you're arter! Who believes in all that now?" - -"I mind how you made Maybridge speak, whether or no, an' I'll give 'e -half-a-crown for same thing what you gived Thirza." - -It was growing dusk. Gammer Grepe preserved silence a moment, then rose -and lighted a candle. - -"Half-a-crown! An' I've had gawld for less than that! Yet times -change, an' them as believed believe no more. It all lies theer. If -you believe, the thing have power; if not, 'tis vain to use it." - -"I do b'lieve like gospel, I assure 'e. Who wouldn't arter Thirza?" - -"Then give me your money an' do what I bid." - -She took the silver, spat upon it, raised her hand, and pointed out of -the window. - -"Do 'e see thicky plant in the garden theer, wi' flowers, like to tired -eyes, starin' out of the dimpsy light? 'Tis a herb o' power. You'll -find un grawin' wild on rubbish heaps an' waste places." - -She pointed where a clump of wild chamomile rose with daisy-like -blossoms pallid in the twilight. - -"Ess, mother." - -Then the wise woman mouthed solemn directions, which Sally listened to -as solemnly. - -"Pick you that--twenty-five stalks--at the new moon. Then pluck off the -flowers an' cast 'em in the river; but the stalks take home-along an' -boil 'em in three parts of half a pint o' spring watter. Fling stalks -away but keep the gude boiled out of 'em, an' add to it a drop more -watter caught up in your thimble from a place wheer forget-me-not do -graw. Then put the whole in a li'l bottle, an' say Lard's Prayer awver -it thrice; and, come fust ripe chance, give it to the man to drink mixed -in tea or cider, but not beer nor other liquor." - -With the ease of an artist Cherry improvised this twaddle on the spot, -and the girl, all ears and eyes, expressed great thankfulness for such a -potent charm, bid the gammer farewell, and hastened away. - - - - - *CHAPTER IV.* - - *THE KISS* - - -Some days later Christopher Yeoland was returning from the village of -Throwley to Little Silver, by a road that winds along the flank of the -Moor. He carried a basket in which reposed a young collie pup. Himself -he wanted no such thing, but the little beast came of notable stock, -possessed a special value, and seemed worthy of Honor. Among those -delights represented by his engagement was the facility it afforded for -giving of presents. He had already sketched on paper the designs of -many engagement rings. A circle of gold with diamonds and emeralds in -it was his vague intention; while his visions of how he should come at -such a jewel were still more doubtful. This man possessed great power -in the direction of dreams, in projecting the shadows of pleasant things -and winning happiness from these conceits despite their improbability. -Love of beauty was a characteristic in him, but otherwise he could not -be described as sensual. Beauty he adored; yet delight of the eye -appeared to suffice him. His attitude towards the opposite sex is -illustrated by an event now to be described. - -The day was done and the hour of rest had come upon the workers. -Labouring folk moved through the long July twilight upon their own -concerns, as private pleasure or business led them; and now, under the -huge shadow of the Moor, there unfolded a little drama, slight enough, -yet reflecting sensibly upon the future concerns of those who played in -the scene. Christopher Yeoland, his mind quite full of Honor, overtook -Sally Cramphorn in the valley, and being upon friendly terms with all -the countryside, marched awhile beside her. He allowed no social -differences at any time to obtain between him and a pretty face. Sally -was good to see, and as for Yeoland, of late days, chiefly by reason of -an exceeding honour that the mistress of Bear Down had done him, he felt -pliable, even reverential before all things feminine, for her dear sake. -He was not of that sort who find all other women sink into shadows after -the unutterable One has joined her fate with his for evermore; but, -contrariwise, the possession of Honor heightened his interest in her -sex. He might have been likened to a bee, that indeed loved clover -before all else, yet did not disdain a foxglove or purple lupin upon -occasion. So he walked beside Sally and contemplated her proportions -with pleasure, watched her throat work and the rosy light leap to her -cheek as he praised her. - -In Sally's heart was a wish that Greg Libby might see her with such a -courtier; but unfortunately a very different person did so. Mr. -Cramphorn, with an ancient muzzle-loading gun at full-cock and a -fox-terrier under the furzes ahead of him, was engaged in stalking -rabbits a few hundred yards distant. His keen eye, now turning -suddenly, rested upon his daughter. He recognised her by her walk and -carriage; but her companion, in that he bore a basket, deceived Mr. -Cramphorn. Full of suspicion and growling dire threats in his throat, -Jonah forgot the rabbits for this nobler game. He began stalking the -man and woman, skulked along behind the hazels at the common edge, and -presently, after feats of great and unnecessary agility, found himself -snugly hidden in a lofty hedge immediately beneath which his daughter -and her escort must presently pass. - -Meanwhile, she strolled along and soon recovered her self-possession, -for Yeoland was in no sense awe-inspiring. The young woman had now come -from securing a priceless thimbleful of water that bathed the roots of -forget-me-nots. She carried this magic liquid concealed in a little -phial; the rest of the ingredients were hidden at home; and she hoped -that night to brew the philtre destined for Mr. Libby. - -"Sally," said Christopher, "I'll tell you a great piece of news. No, I -won't; you must guess it." - -She looked up at him with a knowing smile on her red mouth. - -"You'm gwaine to marry missis, sir--be that it?" - -"You gimlet of a girl! But, no, you never guessed--I'm positive you -didn't. Somebody told you; Miss Endicott herself, perhaps." - -"None told me. I guessed it." - -"How jolly of you! I like you for guessing, Sally. It was a compliment -to us." - -"I doan't knaw what you mean by that, sir." - -"No matter. You will some day, and feel extremely flattered if people -congratulate you before you've told them. If you simply adore one girl, -Sally, you love them all!" - -"Gude Lard! Ban't so along wi' us. If we'm sweet in wan plaace, we'm -shy in t'others." - -"Only one man in the world for you, then?" - -"Ess--awnly wan." - -"He's a lucky chap. Mind that I know all about it in good time, Sally. -You shall have a fine wedding present, I promise you--whatever you like, -in fact." - -"Things ban't come to that yet; though thank you kindly, sir, I'm sure." - -"Well, they will." - -"He haven't axed ezacally yet." - -"Ass! Fool! Dolt! But perhaps he's in mortal fear of you--frightened -to speak and not able to trust his pen. You're too good for him, Sally, -and he knows it." - -"I be his awn order in life, for that matter." - -"I see, I see; it's this hidden flame burning in you that made you so -quick to find out our secret. I love you for it! I love every pretty -face in Devonshire, because my lady is pretty; and every young woman on -Dartmoor, because my lady is young. Can you understand that?" - -"No, I caan't," confessed Sally. "'Tis fulishness." - -"Not at all. At this moment I could positively hug you--not -disrespectfully, you know, but just out of love--for Miss Endicott." - -"It do make a man dangerous seemin'ly--this gert love of a lady." - -"Not at all. Far from it. It draws his claws. He goes in chains. Did -anybody ever dare to hug you, Sally?" - -"No fay! Should like to have seed 'em!" - -"You wouldn't have minded one though?" - -"Caan't say, as he never offered to." - -"D'you mean he's never even kissed you, Sally?" - -"Wance he axed if he might." - -"'Axed'! And of course you said 'No' like any other girl would?" - -"Ess, I did." - -"Fancy asking!" - -"What should he have done then?" - -It was a dangerous inquiry on Miss Cramphorn's part, and it is within -the bounds of possibility that she knew it. Had she been aware that her -sole parent was glaring, like an angry monkey, from a point in the hedge -within six yards of her, Sally had scarcely put that disingenuous -problem. The answer came instantly. Honor's pup fell headlong into the -road and greeted its descent with a yell; like lightning a pair of -tweed-clad arms were round Sally, and a rough, amber-coloured moustache -against her lips. - -"Sir--give awver! How dare 'e! What be doin' of? You'm squeezin' -me--oh----!" - -There was a crash in the hedge, the bark of a dog and the oath of a man. -Then Christopher felt himself suddenly seized by the collar and dragged -backwards. He turned red as the sunset, swore in his turn, then realised -that no less a personage than Jonah Cramphorn had been witness to his -folly. Trembling with rage, Bear Down's head man accosted the squire of -Little Silver. - -"You! You to call yourself a gen'leman! Out 'pon 'e--to rape a gal -under her faither's awn eyes! By God, 'tis time your wicked thread was -cut an' Yeolands did cease out of the land! Small wonder they'm come -down to----" - -"Shut your mouth, you fool!" retorted Christopher savagely. "How dare -you lay a finger upon me? I'll have you up for breaking other people's -hedges, and, what's more, I've a mind to give you a damned good hiding -myself." - -"You tell like that, you hookem-snivey young blackguard! I'd crack your -blasted bones like a bad egg--an' gude riddance tu! Ban't she my awn -darter, an' wasn't you carneying an' cuddlin' of her in broad day? -'Struth! I could spit blood to think such things can happen! An' me to -be threatened by you! You'll hide me--eh? Thank your stars I didn't -shoot 'e. An' if I'd slayed the pair of 'e 'twouldn't have been no gert -loss to clean-livin' folks!" - -"I'm ashamed of you, Cramphorn--reading evil into everything that -happens," said Yeoland calmly. - -"God stiffen it! Hear him! Hear him! Preachin' my duty to me. You -lewd, stalled ox, for two pins----" - -"Put that gun down or I'll break it over your head!" answered -Christopher; but the other, now a mere maniac, shaking and dancing with -passion, refused. Whereupon Yeoland rushed at him, twisted the gun out -of his hands, and threw it upon the ground. The next moment Jonah had -hit his enemy in the face with a big fist; Christopher struck back, -Sally screamed, and Cramphorn spit blood in earnest. Then they closed, -and Jonah's dog, grasping the fact that his master was in difficulties, -and needed assistance, very properly fastened on one of Yeoland's -leathern leggings and hung there, as both men tumbled into the road. - -The girl wrung her hands, lifted her voice and screamed to the only -being visible--a man with a cart of peat outlined against the sunset on -the heather ridges of the Moor. But he was a mile distant and quite -beyond reach of poor Sally's frantic appeal. Then both combatants rose, -and Cramphorn, returning to battle, got knocked off his feet again. At -the same moment a man came round the corner of the road, and mended his -steps upon hearing a frenzied announcement that two fellow-creatures -were killing each other. A moment later he hastened between the -combatants, took a hard blow or two from both, swept Christopher aside -with no particular difficulty, and saved the elder from further -punishment. - -Sally wept, thanked God, and went to minister to her parent; while the -new-comer, in a passionless voice that contrasted strangely with the -rapidity of his actions, accosted Yeoland. - -"What is this? Don't you know better than to strike a man old enough to -be your father?" - -"Mind your own business," gasped Christopher, brushing the dust off -himself and examining a wound in his wrist. - -"It's anybody's business, surely." - -The other did not answer. His passion was rapidly cooling to shame. He -scanned the speaker and wished that they might be alone together. The -man was tall, very heavily built, one who would naturally move with a -long and tardy stride. His recent energy was the result of -circumstances and an action most unusual. He still breathed deep upon -it. - -"I'm sure you'll regret what has happened in a calmer moment, and pardon -me for helping you to your senses," he said. - -"So he shall regret it, I'll take my dying oath to that," spluttered Mr. -Cramphorn. "Idle, lecherous, cold-hearted, hot-blooded beast as he be." - -"Get cool," said the stranger, "and don't use foul language. There are -remedies for most evils. If he's wronged you, you can have the law of -him. Put some cold water on his head." - -Sally, to whom the last remark was addressed, dipped her apron in the -brook by the wayside, but Mr. Cramphorn waved her off. - -"Get out o' my sight, you easy minx! To think that any cheel o' mine -would let strange men put theer arms around her in broad day!" - -"I'm entirely to blame--my fault altogether--not hers," said -Christopher. "I felt in a cuddling mood," he added frankly. "I -wouldn't have hurt a hair of her head, and she knows it. Why should it -be worse to kiss a pretty girl than to smell a pretty flower? Tell me -that." - -"Theer's devil's talk for 'e!" gurgled Jonah. - -"You miserable old ass--but I'm sorry--heartily sorry. Forgive me, and -go to Doctor Clack and get a soothing something. And if I've hurt your -gun I'll buy you a new one." - -"Likely as I'd have any dealin's wi' a son of Belial Beelzebub same as -you be! I'll put the law to work against 'e, that's what I'll do; an' -us'll see if a woman be at the mercy of every gen'leman, so-called, as -loafs 'pon the land because he'm tu idle to work!" - -"That'll do. Now go off about your business, Cramphorn, and let us have -no more nonsense. We ought both to be ashamed of ourselves, and I'm -sure I am. As a Christian man, you must forgive me; I'm sure, as a -Christian girl, Sally will." - -"Leave her alone, will 'e! I won't have her name on your tongue. Us'll -see if folks can break the laws; us'll see----" - -He strode off, pulling his daughter by the hand, and entirely forgetting -his gun beside the way; but after the irate father had departed, Yeoland -recovered his weapon and found it unhurt. He then picked up Honor's -pup, and overtook the stranger who was proceeding in the direction of -Little Silver. - -"How came you to get that man into such a white heat?" the latter asked -him. - -"Well, I kissed his daughter; and he was behind the hedge at the -critical point and saw me." - -"Ah!" - -"I'm a chap who wouldn't hurt a fly, you know. But I'm particularly -happy about some private affairs just at present, and--well, my -lightness of heart took that turn." - -The other did not smile, but looked at Christopher curiously. - -"You said a strange thing just now," he remarked, in a deep voice, with -slow, dragging accents. "You declared that to kiss a girl was no worse -than to smell a flower. That seemed a new idea to me." - -Yeoland opined that it might well be so. This was no woman's man. - -"I believe it's true, all the same," he answered. - -"Isn't there a lack of respect to women in the idea?" - -The speaker stood over Christopher by two inches. His face had a cold -comeliness. His features were large, regular, and finely modelled; his -complexion was dark; his eyes were grey; he wore a moustache but no -other hair upon his face. A great solidity, slowness, and phlegm marked -his movements and utterances, and his handsome countenance was something -of a mask, not from practised simulation or deliberate drilling of -feature, but by the accident of flesh. A high forehead neither declared -nor denied intellect by its shape; the man in fact showed but little of -himself externally. One might, however, have predicted a strenuous -temperament and suspected probable lack of humour from a peculiar sort -of gravity of face. His eyes were evidently of exceptional keenness; -his speech was marked by an uncertainty in choice of words that denoted -he was habitually taciturn; his manner suggested one who kept much of -his own company and lived a lonely life--either from necessity or -choice. - - - - - *CHAPTER V.* - - *PAGAN ALTARS* - - -The men proceeded together, and Christopher's companion made himself -known by a chance question. He inquired the way to Bear Down, whereupon -Yeoland, aware that a kinsman of the Endicotts was expected, guessed -that this must be he. - -"You're Myles Stapledon then?" - -"I am. I walked from Okehampton to get a glimpse of the Moor. Came by -way of the Belstones and Cosdon--a glorious scene--more spacious in some -respects than my native wilds down West." - -"You like scenery? Then you'll be joyful here. If Honor had known you -were walking, I'll dare swear she would have tramped out to meet you; -still, thank the Lord she didn't." - -"You know her well to speak of her by her Christian name," said -Stapledon slowly. - -Christopher was but two years younger than his companion, but one had -guessed that a decade separated them. - -"Know her! Know Honor! I should rather think I did know her. She's my -sun and moon and stars. I suppose she hoped to tell you the great news -herself, and now I've babbled it. Engaged--she and I--and I'm the -happiest man in all the South of England." - -"I congratulate you. My cousin promised to be a pretty woman--just a -dinky maid in short frocks when last I saw her. And your name----?" - -"My name is Yeoland." - -"The Squire of Godleigh, of course?" - -"That proud personage; and there lies Endicott's--under the wind-blown -sycamores where the whitewash peeps out. Your luggage is there before -you, no doubt. This is my way: to the left. You go to the right, pass -that farm there on your left, follow the road and so, after about five -minutes, find yourself in the presence of the Queen of the Moor. -Good-bye. We shall meet again." - -"Good-bye, and thank you." - -Stapledon moved onwards; then he heard a man running and Christopher -overtook him. - -"One moment. I thought I'd ask you not to mention that scrimmage on the -hillside. Honor would quite understand my performance, but she'd be -pained to think I had struck or been struck by that lout, and -perhaps---well. She'll hear of it, for Cramphorn and his daughter are -Bear Down people, but----" - -"Not from me, rest assured." - -"A thousand thanks. You might mention that you met me returning from -Throwley and that the pup is a gem. I'll bring it along some time or -other to-morrow." - -Again they separated, and such is the character often-times exhibited in -a man's method of walking, that appreciation of each had been possible -from study of his gait. Stapledon appeared to move slowly, but his -stride was tremendous and in reality he walked at four miles an hour; -the other, albeit his step looked brisk, never maintained any regularity -in it. He stopped to pat a bruised knee, wandered from one side of the -road to the other, and presently climbed the hedge to get a sight of -Bear Down, with hope that Honor might be seen in her garden. - -But at that moment the mistress of Endicott's was welcoming her cousin. -They greeted one another heartily and spoke awhile together. Then, when -Myles had ascended to the room prepared for him, Mr. Endicott listened -to his niece's description of the new arrival. - -"Better far than his photograph," she said. "More expression, but too -big. He's a tremendous man; yet very kind, I should think, and not -proud. Almost humble and most austere in dress. No rings or scarf -pin--just grey everything. He looks older than I thought, and his voice -is so curiously deep that it makes little things in the room rattle. We -were in the parlour for two minutes, and every time he spoke he vibrated -one particular bass note of the piano until I grew quite nervous. He -has very kind eyes--slate-coloured. I should say he was extremely easy -to please." - -"A fine open-air voice, certainly, and a good grip to his hand," said -the blind man. - -"Yet no tact, I fear," criticised Honor. "Fancy beginning about poor -old Bear Down wanting attention, and hoping that he might put some money -into it before he had been in the house five minutes!" - -"Nervousness. Perhaps you surprised him." - -But, later in the day, Myles endeavoured to repair a clumsiness he had -been conscious of at the time, and, after collecting his -thoughts--honestly somewhat unsettled by the sight of Honor, who had -leapt from lanky girl to beautiful woman since last he saw her--his -first words were a hearty congratulation upon the engagement. - -"Endicott's stock is very nearly as old, but there's a social -difference," he said bluntly. "'Tis a very good match for you, I hope. -You'll live at Godleigh, of course?" - -"It's all a long, long way off, cousin; and I'm sure I cannot guess how -you come to know anything at all about it," said Honor. - -Then the traveller told her, beginning his narrative at the point where -he had asked Christopher the road to Bear Down. He concluded with a -friendly word. - -"Handsome he is, for certain, with the wind and the sun on his cheek; -and a man of his own ideas, I judge; an original man. I wish you joy, -Honor, if I may call you Honor." - -"What nonsense! Of course. And I'm glad you like my Christo, because -then you'll like me too, I hope. We have very much in common really. We -see things alike, live alike, laugh alike. He has a wonderful sense of -humour; it teaches him to look at the world from the outside." - -"A mighty unwholesome, unnatural attitude for any man," said Mark -Endicott. - -"Yet hardly from the outside either, if he's so human as to want a -wife?" asked Honor's cousin. - -"He wants a wife," she answered calmly, "to take the seat next him at -the theatre, to walk beside him through the picture-gallery, to compare -notes with, to laugh with at the fun of the fair, as he calls it." - -Mr. Endicott's needles tapped impatiently. - -"Vain talk, vain talk," he said. - -"It may be vain, uncle, but it's none the less true," she answered. "If -I do not know Christopher, who does? The companionship of a congenial -spirit is the idea in his mind--perhaps in mine too. He's a laughing -philosopher, and so platonic, so abstracted, that if he had found a man -friend, instead of a woman, he would have been just as content to swear -eternal friendship and invite the man to sit and watch the great play -with him and laugh away their lives together." - -"I hope you don't know Mr. Yeoland as well as you imagine, Honor," said -Mark Endicott. - -"You misjudge him really, I expect," ventured Myles, his thoughts upon a -recent incident. "Think what it would be to one of active and jovial -mind to sit and look on at life and take no part." - -"'Look on!'" burst out the blind man. "Only God Almighty looks on; and -not even He, come to think of it, for He's pulling the strings." - -"Not so," said Myles; "not so, Uncle Endicott. He put us on the stage, -I grant you; and will take us off again when our part is done. But -we're moved from inside, not driven from out. We play our lives -ourselves, and the wrong step at the entrance--the faulty speech--the -good deed--the bad--they all come from inside--all build up the part. -Free-will is the only sort of freedom a created thing with conscious -intelligence can have. There's no choice about the theatre or the play; -but neither man nor God dictates to me how I enact my character." - -Mark Endicott reflected. He was a stout Christian, and, like an old -war-horse, he smelt battle in this utterance, and rejoiced. It was left -for Honor to fill the silence. - -"It's all a puppet-show, say what you will, cousin," she summed up; "and -anybody can see the strings that move nine dolls out of ten. A -puppet-show, and a few of us pay too little for our seats at it; but -most of us pay too much. And you need not argue with me, because I know -I'm right, and here is Mrs. Loveys to say that supper's ready." - - -A week later it was practically determined that Myles should concern -himself with Bear Down; but the man still remained as unknown to Honor -as in the moment of their first meeting. His money interested her not -at all; his character presented a problem which attracted her -considerably during those scanty hours she found heart to spend away -from her lover. It happened that Christopher having departed on a -sudden inspiration to Newton Races, Honor Endicott and her cousin set -out together for an excursion of pleasure upon the high Moor. - -The day was one in August, and hot sunshine brooded with glowing and -misty light on hills and valleys, on rivers and woods, on farm lands and -wide-spread shorn grasses, where the last silver-green ribbons of dried -hay, stretching forth in parallel and winding waves, like tide-marks -upon great sands, awaited the wain. Stapledon walked beside Honor's -pony, and together they passed upwards to the heather, beside an old -wall whose motley fabric glimmered sun-kissed through a blue shimmer of -flowers, and faded into a perspective all silvery with lichens, broken -with brown, thirsty mosses, many grasses, and the little pale pagodas of -navelwort. Beech trees crowned the granite, and the whisper of their -leaves was echoed by a brook that murmured unseen in a hollow upon the -other side of the road. Here Dartmoor stretched forth a finger, -scattered stone, and sowed bracken and furze, heather and rush and the -little flowers that love stream-sides. - -The travellers climbed awhile, then Myles stopped at a gate in the old -wall and Honor drew up her pony. For a moment there was no sound but the -gentle crick-crick-crick from bursting seed-pods of the greater gorse, -where they scattered their treasure at the touch of the sun. Then the -rider spoke. - -"How fond you are of leaning upon gates, Myles!" - -He smiled. - -"I know I am. I've learned more from looking over gates than from most -books. You take Nature by surprise that way and win many a pretty -secret from her." - -The girl stared as at a revelation. Thus far she had scarcely -penetrated under her cousin's exterior. He was very fond of dumb -animals and very solicitous for them; but more of him she had not -gleaned until the present. - -"Do you really care for wild things--birds, beasts, weeds? I never -guessed that. How interesting! So does Christo. And he loves the dawn -as much as you do." - -"We have often met at cock-light. It is a bond we have--the love of the -morning hour. But don't you like Nature too?" - -"Not madly, I'm afraid. I admire her general effects. But I'm a little -frightened of her at heart and I cringe to her in her gracious moods. -Christo's always poking about into her affairs and wanting to know the -meaning of curious things; but he's much too lazy to learn." - -"There's nothing so good as to follow Nature and find out a little about -her methods in hedges and ditches, where she'll let you." - -"You surprise me. I should have thought men and women were much more -interesting than rabbits and wild flowers." - -"You cannot get so near to them," he answered; "at least, I cannot. I -haven't that touch that opens hearts. I wish I had. People draw the -blinds down, I always think, before me. Either so, or I'm more than -common dense. Yet everybody has the greater part of himself or herself -hidden, I suppose; everybody has one little chamber he wouldn't open to -God if he could help it." - -"Are you a Christian, Myles? But don't answer if you would rather not." - -"Why, it makes a man's heart warm by night or by day to think of the -Founder of that faith." - -Again Honor was surprised. - -"I like to hear you say so," she answered. "D'you know I believe that -we think nearly alike--with a difference. Christ is much dearer to me -than the great awful God of the Universe. He was so good to women and -little children; but the Almighty I can only see in Nature--relentless, -unforgiving, always ready to punish a slip, always demon-quick to see a -mistake and visit the sins of the fathers on the children. Nature's the -stern image of a stern God to me--a thing no more to be blamed than the -lightning, but as much to be feared. Christ knew how to forgive and weep -for others, how to heal body and soul. The tenderness of Him! And He -fought Nature and conquered her; brought life where she had willed -death; health where she had sent sickness; stilled her passion on blue -Galilee; turned her water into wine." - -"You can credit all that?" - -"As easily as I can credit a power kinder than Nature, and stronger. -Yes, I believe. It is a great comfort to believe; and Christopher does -too." - -"A beautiful religion," said Myles; "especially for women. They do well -to love One who raised them out of the dust and set them up. Besides, -there is their general mistiness on the subject of justice. -Christianity repels me here, draws me there. It is child's meat, with -its sugar-plums and whips for the good and naughty; it is higher than -the stars in its humanity." - -"You don't believe in hell, of course?" - -"No--or in heaven either. That is a lack in me--a sorrowful -limitation." - -"Yet, if heaven exists, God being just, the man whose life qualifies him -for it has got to go there. That's a comforting thought for those who -love you, Myles." - -The word struck a deep note. He started and looked at her. - -"How kind to think of that! How good and generous of you to say it!" - -The voice of him sent an emotion through Honor, and, according to her -custom when moved beyond common, she fell back upon laughter. - -"Why, we're getting quite confidential, you and I! But here's the Moor -at last." - -They stood upon Scor Hill and surveyed their subsequent way, where it -passed on before. Beneath swelled and subtended a mighty valley in the -lap of stone-crowned hills--a rare expanse of multitudinous browns. -Through every tone of auburn and russet, sepia and cinnamon, tan and -dark chocolate of the peat cuttings, these colour harmonies spread and -undulated in many planes. From the warmth and richness of velvet under -sunshine they passed into the chill of far-flung cloud-shadows, that -painted the Moor with slowly-moving sobriety and robbed her bosom of its -jewels, her streamlets of their silver. Teign wound below, entered the -valley far away under little cliffs of yellow gravel, then, by sinuous -courses, through a mosaic of dusky peat, ripe rushes, and green banks -overlaid with heather, passed where steep medley and tanglement of -motionless boulders awakened its volume to a wilder music. Here, above -this chaos of huge and moss-grown rocks, scarlet harvests of rowan flung -a flame along the gorges; grey granite swam into the grey-green of the -sallows; luxuriant concourse of flowers and ferns rippled to the brown -lips of the river; and terraces of tumbling water crowned all that -unutterable opulence of summer-clad dingle with spouts, with threads, -with broad, thundering cataracts of foaming light. Here Iris twinkled -in a mist that steamed above the apron of mossy-margined falls; here -tree shadows restrained the sunlight, yet suffered chance arrows of pure -amber to pierce some tremulous pool. - -Each kiss of the Mother wakened long miles of earth into some rare hue, -where the Moor colours spread enormous in their breadth, clarity, and -volume. They rolled and rippled together; they twined and intertwined -and parted again; they limned new harmonies from the union of rush and -heath and naked stone; they chimed into fresh combinations of earth and -air and sunshine; they won something from the sky outspread above them, -and wove the summer blue into their secret fabrics, even as the sea -does. Between dispersed tracts of the brake fern and heather, and amid -walls of piled stone, that stretched threadlike over the Moor, there lay -dark or naked spaces brushed with green--theatres of past spring fires; -rough cart roads sprawled to the right and left; sheep tracks and the -courses of distant rivulets seamed the hills; while peat ridges streaked -the valleys, together with evidences of those vanished generations who -streamed for metal upon this spacious spot in the spacious times. -Beyond, towards the heart of the Moor, there arose Sittaford's crown; to -the west ranged Watern's castles; and northerly an enormous shoulder of -Cosdon climbed heaven until the opaline hazes of that noontide hour -softened its heroic outlines and something dimmed the mighty shadows -cast upon its slopes. Light winds fanned the mane of Honor's pony and -brought with them the woolly jangle of a sheep-bell, the bellow of -distant kine, the little, long-drawn, lonely tinkle of a golden bird -upon a golden furze. - -"The Moor," said Honor; and as she spoke a shade lifted off the face of -the man beside her, a trouble faded from his eyes. - -"Yes, the Moor--the great, candid, undissembling home of sweet air, -sweet water, sweet space." - -"And death and desolation in winter, and hidden skeletons under the -quaking bogs." - -"It is an animate God to me notwithstanding." - -She shivered slightly and set her pony in motion. - -"What a God! Where will it lead you?" - -"I cannot tell; yet I trust. Nature is more than the mere art of God, -as men have called it. That is why I must live with it, why I cannot -mew myself in bricks and mortar. Here's God's best in this sort--the -dearest sort I know--the Moor--spread out for me to see and hear and -touch and tread all the days of my life. This is more than His -expression--it is Him. Nothing can be greater--not high mountains, or -eternal snows, or calling oceans. Nothing can be greater to me, because -I too am of all this--spun of it, born of it, bred on it, a brother of -the granite and the mist and the lonely flower. Do you understand?" - -"I understand that this desert is no desert to you, Myles. Yet what a -faith! What a certainty!" - -"Better than nothing at all." - -"Anything is better than that. Our best certainties are only straws -thrown to the drowning--if we think as you do." - -"Bars of lead rather. They help to sink us the quicker. We know -much--but not the truth of anything that matters." - -"You will some day, Myles." - -"Yes, too late, if your faith and its whips and sugarplums are true, -Honor." - -"The life of the Moor is so short," she said, suddenly changing the -subject. "Now it is just trembling out into the yearly splendour of the -ling; then, that done, it will go to sleep again for month upon -month--lying dry, sere, dead, save for the mournful singing of rains and -winds. The austerity and sternness of it!" - -"Tonic to toughen mental fibres." - -"I'm not so philosophical. I feel the cold in winter, the heat in -summer. Come, let us cross Teign and wind away round Batworthy to Kes -Tor. There are alignments and hut circles and ruins of human homes -there--granite all, but they spell men and women. I can tolerate them. -They cheer me. Only sheep haunt them now--those ruins--but people dwelt -there once; Damnonian babies were born there, and wild mothers sang -cradle songs and logged little children in wolf-skin cradles and dreamed -golden dreams for them." - -"Nature was kind to those early folk." - -"Kind! Not kinder than I to my cattle." - -"They were happier than you and I, nevertheless. Happier, because nearer -the other end of her chain. They had less intelligence, less capacity -for suffering." - -"That's a theory of Christopher's. He often wishes that he had been -born thousands of years ago." - -"Not since you promised to marry him," said Myles, with unusual -quickness of mind. - -"Perhaps not; but he's a savage really. He declares that too much work -is done in the world--too much cutting and tunnelling and probing and -tearing Nature's heart out. He vows that the great Mother must hate man -and resent his hideous activity and lament his creation." - -"One can imagine such a thing." - -"And Christo says there is a deal of nonsense talked about the dignity -of work. He got that out of a book, I believe, and took the trouble to -remember it because the theory suited his own lazy creed so perfectly." - -For once Myles Stapledon laughed. - -"I do admire him: a natural man, loving the wine of life. We have more -in common than you might think, for all that I'm no sportsman. I -respect any man who will rise with the birds for sheer love of a fair -dawn." - -"Your rule of conduct is so much more strenuous, so much sterner and -greyer," she said, "The cold rain and the shriek of east winds in -ill-hung doors are nothing to you. They really hurt him." - -"Temperament. Yet I think our paths lead the same way." - -Honor laughed in her turn. - -"If they do," she declared, "there are a great many more turnpike gates -on your road than upon Christopher's." - - - - - *CHAPTER VI.* - - *ANTHEMIS COTULA* - - -As Myles Stapledon proceeded at the stirrup of his cousin their -conversation became more trifling, for the girl talked and the man was -well content to listen. She entertained him with a humorous commentary -on the life of the Moor-edge and the people who went to compose it. She -pointed to stately roofs bowered in forests and expatiated on the -mushroom folk who dwelt beneath them. - -"My Christo is not good enough for these! I'm a mere farmeress, and -wouldn't count, though I do trace my ancestors back to Tudor times. Yet -you might have supposed a Yeoland could dare to breathe the same air as -Brown, Jones, and Robinson. Don't you think so? What are these great -men?" - -"Successful," he said, not perceiving that she spoke ironically. - -"Ah! the god Success!" - -"Don't blame them. Money's the only power in the world now. Birth -can't give splendid entertainments and pose as patron of the local -institutions and be useful generally and scatter gold--if it has no gold -to scatter. The old order changes, because those that represent it are -mostly bankrupt. But money has always been the first power. Now it has -changed hands--that's all the difference. A few generations of idleness -and behold! the red blood has got all the money; the blue blood has -none." - -"Poor blue blood!" - -"They are nothing to you--these people. They pay proper suit and -service to the god that made them; they know the power of money, the -futility of birth. What is the present use of old families if they -represent nothing but bygone memories and musty parchments? Rank is a -marketable commodity to be bought and sold--a thing as interesting and -desirable to many as old china or any other fad of the wealthy. That -they can understand, but poor commoners!--why, it isn't business. Don't -you see?" - -"Christo's ancestors were a power in the land before this sort of people -were invented." - -"They _were_ invented. If you look back far enough, you'll see that -plenty of your ancient houses sprang from just this sort of people. -Only their way to power and prosperity was more romantic then. Now they -merely risk their health and eyesight grubbing for half a lifetime at -desks in offices or in a bad climate; then they risked their lives under -some Devon Drake or Raleigh upon unknown seas, or the field of battle. -Our present methods of fortune-making are just as romantic really, only -it will take another age, that looks at this from a bird's-eye point of -view, to see it. Every dog has his day, and romance always means -yesterday. It is summed up in that. I'll wager the neglect of the -wealthy doesn't worry Yeoland." - -"No, he laughs." - -"They are too sordid to understand a man living his life and content to -do so. It isn't business." - -Honor laughed. - -"No--they have the advantage of him there. Yet I do wish he wasn't so -lazy." - -But Stapledon felt that he could not speak upon that question, so the -subject dropped. - -They had now left the Moor and were descending to the valley and the -river below. A magpie, like a great black and white butterfly, passed -with slow flutter before them; there was a drone and gleam of shining -insects in the air; and upon the sunny hedge-banks many oaks dripped -with the fat sweetness of the aphides until the steep way beneath was -darkened in patches as though by rain. - -"D'you hear them?" asked Honor. "The twin Teigns! They meet at the -bridge beneath us. They know they are going to meet, and they begin to -purr and sing to one another. They will rush into each other's arms in -a minute. I love to see them do it." - -Forward went her surefooted pony, and Myles, striding now on one side, -now upon the other, with his eyes in the rich fabric of the hedges, fell -a little way behind. When he caught his cousin up again she saw that he -had been picking wild flowers. A smile trembled on her lips, for the -little blossoms looked out of place--almost ridiculous--in this stolid -man's great hand. Honor thought there was a pathetic appeal in the eyes -of the summer speedwells and dog-roses, a righteous indignation in the -bristling locks of the ragged-robins that he held; but, assuming that -the bouquet was designed for her, she concealed her amusement. Then her -mind ranged to another aspect of this action, and she found the man's -simplicity appeal to her. He did not offer Honor the flowers, but added -others to them; named each hedge blossom; showed with frank interest how -the seeds of the wood-sorrels sprang away and scattered at a touch; -appeared entirely interested by the unconsidered business and beauty of -a Devon lane. These concerns, so trivial to Honor's eye, clearly -wakened in Stapledon an interest and enthusiasm as keen as any -pertaining to humanity. - -They proceeded through the valley woods, past the great beech of the -proposal, whose secret inscription was discreetly turned away from the -high road, and then travelled towards Chagford, hard by the ancient mill -of Holy Street--once a happy haunt of artists, to-day denied to all men. -Here Honor pointed out the broken head of an old religious relic that -formed part of a hedge upon their right hand. - -"Market Cross," she said. "It used to be in Chagford until a worthy -clergyman rescued it and set it here." - -The fragment was of similar character to the granite round about it and -shared with the component wall a decoration of mosses, fern, nettle, -ivy, and brambles. Upon the stone itself was a rough incised cross, and -the whole appeared to occupy this humble place with peaceful propriety. -Myles viewed the fragment closely, then, moved by an idea, thrust his -bouquet between its arms and passed on. - -"I thought they were for me," said Honor. - -"No," he answered. "I picked them without a particular object." - -They went forward again, traversed Chagford Bridge, and so, by dell and -hamlet, hill and valley, returned towards Little Silver and began to -breast the great acclivity to Bear Down. - -At the foot of this steep climb one Doctor Courteney Clack met them. He -was a plump, genial soul of five-and-forty, and love of sport with lack -of ambition combined to anchor him in this remote region. He had little -to do and so much the more leisure for rod and horse. But to-day he was -walking, and his round, clean-shorn face showed him to be remarkably -warm. - -"Not at the races, Doctor? How extraordinary!" - -"Sheer evil fortune, Miss Endicott. A most inconsiderate young person." - -"Mrs. Ford?" - -"Exactly so. Nature has no sympathy with sportsmen. Christo is to tell -me everything. He also has charge of a five-pound note. So I enjoy the -sport in spirit." - -Hurried footsteps interrupted the conversation, and a boy was seen -running at top speed down the hill. - -"It's Tommy Bates from home!" cried Honor. "What on earth does he want -to go at that pace for?" - -"Me probably," said Doctor Clack. "Nobody ever runs in Little Silver, -unless it's to my house." - -The medical man was right, and Tommy announced that a labourer had -fallen suddenly sick in the hayfield and appeared about to perish. - -"Sunstroke for certain," declared the medical man. "If it's not asking -too much, Miss Endicott, I would suggest that I borrowed your pony. It -will take me up the hill a great deal faster than I can walk, and time -may be precious." - -Honor immediately dismounted, and Doctor Clack, with great entertainment -to himself, sat side-saddle, and uttering a wild whoop sent the -astounded pony at the hill in a manner both unfamiliar and undignified. -He was soon out of sight; and Tommy, after winning back his breath, -explained the nature of the disaster and gave the name of the sufferer. - -An hour earlier in the day, those workers of Bear Down already seen, -were assembled about their dinner beside the majestic bulk of the last -rick. All was now gathered in and the evening would see conclusion of a -most satisfactory hay-harvesting. With their bread and onions, cheese -and cold puddings the labourers speculated upon the worth of the crop. - -"I'm thinking 'twill go in part to fat the pocket of a lazy man," said -Henry Collins, who knew of the recent scene between Christopher Yeoland -and Mr. Cramphorn, and had his reasons for ingratiating the latter. - -"Lazy an' worse. Look at my eye!" growled Jonah. "If it weren't for -missis, I'd have laid him in clink afore now--vicious rip as he is! -He'll never trouble Satan to find him a job. Born to the gallows like -as not." - -He dropped his voice and turned to Churdles Ash. - -"I seen Cherry Grepe," he said. "She's took my money to be even with -un. I didn't ax no questions, but 'twill go hard with un afore very -long." - -Mr. Ash pursed his lips, which were indeed always pursed from the fact -of there being no teeth to mention behind them. He did not answer -Jonah's dark news, but spoke upon the main question. - -"Come to think of it, a honest scarecrow do more work in the world than -him," he declared. - -"No more gude than a bowldacious auld dog-fox," said Henry Collins. - -"Worse," replied Jonah. "Such things as foxes an' other varmints be the -creation of the Lard to keep the likes of Christopher Yeoland out o' -mischief. But him--the man hisself--what can you say of wan as have got -a sawl to save, an' behaves like a awver-fed beast?" - -"A butivul soarin' sawl," assented Samuel Pinsent. "But wheer do it soar -to? To kissin' honest gals on the highways by all accounts." - -Mr. Cramphorn's dark visage wrinkled and twisted and contracted. - -"Blast the viper! But I gived un a hard stroke here an' theer, I warn -'e. Might have killed un in my gert wrath, but for t'other. Walloped -un to the truth of music I did--philandering beast! 'Tis pearls afore -swine, missis to mate with him." - -"Fegs! You'm right theer. I've said afore an' I'll say again that she -should have bided longer an' tried for her cousin. He'm worth ten of -t'other chitterin' magpie; an' ban't feared o' work neither," declared -Mr. Ash. - -"Wait!" murmured Jonah darkly and with mystery in his voice. Then he -whispered behind his hand to the ancient. "Cherry Grepe had a gawlden -half-sovereign! I knaw what's in that woman, if she's pleased to let it -out. Bide an' see. An' her didn't burn the chap in a wax image stuffed -with pins for nought! 'That'll do the trick presently,'[#] her said. So -wait an' watch, Churdles, same as I be doin'." - - -[#] Presently = immediately. - - -Mr. Ash looked uneasy, but answered nothing. Then came a sudden -interruption. - -Sally was serving at the cider barrel and had just poured out a horn of -sweet refreshment for a thirsty man. It was Mr. Libby, who, in working -clothes to-day, had condescended to manual labour once more. Time being -an object with the hay, Mr. Cramphorn offered the youth a week's -employment, so, much to the secret satisfaction of one who loved him, -Mr. Libby became enrolled. Now the supreme moment was at hand, and -while Sally laughed, her heart throbbed in a mighty flutter and beat -painfully against a little bottle in her bosom. It contained the -philtre, now to be exhibited on the cold heart of Gregory. Danger -indeed lurked in this act, but Sally felt steeled to it and well -prepared to hazard any reasonable risk. Only the previous evening she -had seen Mr. Libby and her sister very close together in the gloaming. -Moreover, her father had babbled far and near of the incident on the -moorland road, and certain men and women, to her furious indignation, -had not hesitated to hint that only an unmaidenly and coming-on spirit -could culminate in such tribulation. - -Now she passed for one instant behind the rick, drew forth the phial, -took out its cork with her teeth and poured the potion into Mr. Libby's -horn of cider. Gregory, his holiday airs and graces set aside, thanked -the girl, gave a grateful grunt of anticipation, and drained the beaker -at a draught. - -"That's better!" he said. Then he smacked his lips and spat. "Theer's -a funny tang to it tu. 'Twas from the cask--eh?" - -"Ess, of course; wheer should it be from?" said Sally. Then she -fluttered away, scarcely seeing where she walked. - -The boy, Tommy Bates, was sitting beside Libby, and a moment later he -spoke. - -"Lard, Greg! what's tuke 'e? You'm starin' like a sheep." - -"Doan't knaw, ezacally. I'm--I'm----" - -"You'm gone dough-colour, an' theer's perspiration come out 'pon 'e so -big as peas!" cried candid Tommy. - -"I'm bad--mortal bad--'struth, I be dyin' I b'lieve! 'Tis here it's took -me." - -He clapped his hands to his stomach, rolled over on the ground and -groaned, while his companion hastened to cry the catastrophe. - -"Greg Libby's struck down! He'm thrawin' his life up, an' wrigglin' an' -twistin' like a gashly worm!" - -"Ah, I seed un wi'out his hat," said Mr. Ash calmly. - -"A bit naish an' soft, I reckon; comes o' not standin' to work," spoke -Henry Collins contemptuously. - -"Or might be tu much cider," suggested Pinsent. - -Without undue haste they strolled over to the sufferer. His head was in -Sally's lap, and she screamed that he was passing away before their -eyes. - -"Put the poll of un off your apern, will 'e!" snapped Mr. Cramphorn. -"Give awver hollerin', an' get on your legs, an' run home to Mrs. Loveys -for the brandy. The man's took a fit seemin'ly. An' you, Bates, slip -it down the hill for Doctor Clack. Loose his shirt to the throat, -Collins, and drag un in the shade." - -Jonah's orders were complied with, and soon, brandy bottle in hand, Mrs. -Loveys hastened to the hay field with Sally sobbing behind her. But -meantime Nature had assisted Mr. Libby to evade the potion, and a little -brandy soon revived his shattered system. He was sitting up with his -back against the hayrick describing his sensations to an interested -audience when Doctor Clack arrived. The physician, who loved well the -sound of his own voice, lectured on the recumbent Libby as soon as he -had learnt particulars. - -"First let me assure you all that he's in no danger--none at all," he -began. "Nature is more skilful, more quick-witted, more resourceful -than the most learned amongst us. Even I, beside Nature, am as nothing. -I should have ordered an emetic. Behold! Nature anticipates me and -takes all the necessary steps. Really one might have suspected a case -of _Colica Damnoniensis_--which doesn't mean a damned stomach-ache, as -you might imagine, having no Latin, but merely 'Devonshire Colic'--an -old-time complaint--old as cider in fact--but long since vanished. It -was caused by the presence of deleterious substances, or, as you would -describe it more simply, dirt, in the apple-juice; and those eminent -men, Doctor John Huxham and Sir George Baker, arrived at the conclusion -some hundred years ago that the ailment arose from presence of lead in -the cider vats. Nowadays such things cannot happen; therefore, to -return to our friend here, we must seek elsewhere for an explanation of -his collapse. Whatever he was unfortunate or unwise enough to partake -of has happily been rejected by that learned organ, the human -stomach--so often wiser than the human head--and my presence ceases to -be longer necessary. A little more brandy and water and our friend will -be quite equal to walking home." - -Myles and Honor had now reached the scene, and the mistress of -Endicott's insisted that a cart should convey Gregory to his mother. -The unconscious victim of love therefore departed making the most of his -sufferings. - -Sally also withdrew from the toil of the day, retired to her little -bedroom in Mr. Cramphorn's cottage near Bear Down, and wept without -intermission for a space of time not exceeding two hours. She then -cheered up and speculated hopefully upon the future. - -To explain these matters it need only be said that, like many a better -botanist before her, the girl had mistaken one herb of the field for -another, and, instead of gathering innocent wild chamomile, collected -good store of mayweed--a plant so exactly like the first to outward -seeming that only most skilled eyes detect the differences between them. -Thus, instead of receiving the beneficent and innocuous _Matricaria -chamomilla_, Mr. Libby's stomach had been stormed by baleful _Anthemis -cotula_, with the results recorded. - - - - - *CHAPTER VII.* - - *A BADGER'S EARTH* - - -While Myles Stapledon played a busy part at the farm and found ample -outlet for his small capital, ample occupation for his energies, Honor -roamed dreaming through the August days with Christopher. As for Myles, -he was a practical farmer and soon discovered what Mark Endicott had -anticipated, that no mean possibilities lurked in Bear Down. The place -indeed cried out for spending of money and increase of stock, but it -promised adequate return upon outlay--a return at least reasonable -viewed from the present low estate and reduced capabilities of English -land. Stapledon was not hungry for any immediate or amazing profit, but -Endicott's seemed certain to produce a fair interest upon the two -thousand pounds he embarked there; he liked the farm and he was -satisfied. At his cousin's particular desire, Myles stayed to see the -money spent according to his will. Some of it went in building; and -bygone beauties of old ripe thatches and cob walls that crumbled their -native red through many coats of mellow whitewash, now vanished, -yielding place to bricks, blue slates, and staring iron. A new -atmosphere moved over the stagnation of Endicott's and the blind man -settled into a great content. - -The mistress had other matters to fill her thoughts, and, as the autumn -approached, private concerns wholly occupied her. For Honor was more -frank with herself than is possible to a soul that lacks humour; and a -problem now rose ahead of her beyond the solution of days and nights; a -mystery that developed, deepened, heightened, until it became a -distraction and a trouble. Yet there was laughter in it, but of a -sub-acid sort, neither wholesome nor pleasant. - -Once in position of proud possessor, Christopher Yeoland exhibited no -further alarm and but little apparent eagerness in the matter of his -united future with Honor. Marriage appeared to be the last thing in his -thought, and the temperament of the man at this crisis became visible -and offered matter of comment for the most cursory observers. The fact -of delay suited Honor well enough in reality, for she had little -intention or desire to marry immediately, but that Christopher should be -of this mind piqued her. His perfect equanimity before the prospect of -an indefinite engagement secretly made Honor somewhat indignant. It did -not become her lover in her eyes. He was not indifferent, that she -knew; he was not cold, that she hoped; but his temper in this perfect -readiness to postpone matrimony showed him to Honor in a new sidelight. -Naturally enough she did not understand the trait, though it was -characteristic; and her discomfort existed in a vague sense that his -attitude, so much the reverse of a compliment to her, must have been -awakened by some deficiency in herself. That the imperfection lay in -him she did not imagine; that his love was a little anaemic in a -positive direction she could not be supposed to suspect. Intellectually -at least Christopher always sufficed, and Honor's uneasiness usually -evaporated when in his company, though it was prone to take shape and -substance again when absent from him. He always spoke of marriage as a -remote goal--wholly desirable indeed--but approached by such pleasant -ways that most rambling and desultory progress thereto was best; and, -though entirely of his mind, it is a fact that the girl felt -fluctuations of absolute annoyance that this should be his mind. - -From which cause sprang secret laughter, that was born of fretfulness, -that died in a frown. - -Other trouble, of a sort widely different, also appeared upon Honor's -horizon. After a period of supreme command, to find another enjoying -almost like share of obedience and service at Bear Down seemed strange. -But with absolute unconsciousness Myles Stapledon soon blundered into a -prominence at Endicott's second only to her own. Nor was his position -even second in some directions. Labouring folk follow a strong will by -instinct, and Myles was striking such a dominant note of energy, -activity, despatch in affairs, that the little community came presently -to regard him as the new controller of its fortunes. Stapledon's name -was upon the lips of the people more often than Honor's; even Jonah -Cramphorn, whose noblest qualities appeared in a doglike and devout -fidelity to the mistress, found Myles filling his mind as often as the -busy new-comer filled his eye. At such times, in common with Churdles -Ash and any other who might have enough imagination to regret an -impossibility, Jonah mourned that it was Yeoland rather than Stapledon -who had won his mistress's heart. - -But the latter, full of business and loving work as only those love it -who have devoted life thereto, overlooked the delicacy of his position -at various minor points; and with sole purpose to save his cousin -trouble he took much upon himself. It was sufficient that she said -nothing and Mark Endicott approved. Once he offered to pay the hands at -the accustomed hour of noon on Saturday; whereupon Honor blushed, and, -becoming aware that he had hurt her, Myles expressed contrition with the -utmost humility and heaped blame upon his blunder. - -"It was only to save you trouble," he concluded. - -"I know it; you are always doing so," she answered without irony. "But -pay-day--that's the farmer's work." - -Her answer, though not intended to do anything of the sort, forcibly -reminded Myles that he had but a limited interest in Bear Down. - -"Be frank," he said. "I'm such a thick-skinned fool that I may have -blundered before and hurt you and never known it. Do not suffer me to -do so again, Honor. I'm only very jealous for you and all that is -yours." - -"You are a great deal too kind to me, Myles, and have done more than I -can find words to thank you for. You are the good genius here. I don't -like to think of the loneliness we shall feel when you go from us." - -"I'm not going yet awhile, I promise you," he answered. - -Honor indeed appreciated her cousin's goodness fully, and, after this -incident, had no more occasion to deplore his tact. She only spoke -truth when affirming regret at the possibility of his departure. Her -earliest sensations of oppression in his society had passed upon their -walk over the Moor. From that moment the woman began to understand him -and appreciate the strenuous simplicity of him. Sometimes he looked -almost pathetic in his negations and his lonely and forlorn attitude -towards the things of Hope; at others he rose into a being impressive, -by that loneliness--a rare spirit who, upon "inbred loyalty unto Virtue, -could serve her without a livery," and without a wage. Thus seen he -interested Honor's intellect, and she speculated upon the strength of -his armour if Chance called upon him to prove it. Not seldom she found -herself in moods when a walk and a talk with Myles invigorated her; and -she told her heart that such conversations made her return to -Christopher with the greater zest, as an olive will reveal the delicate -shades of flavour in fine wine. She assured herself of this fact -repeatedly, until the reiteration of the idea caused her conscience to -suspect its truth. She wilfully shut her eyes to its absurdity for a -month, then changed her simile. Now she fancied that Christopher and -Myles must impart an intellectual complement to one another, in that -their qualities differed so extremely. - -The result of this attitude was inevitable upon a woman of Honor's -temperament. Comparison being impossible, she began to contrast the two -men. One could be nothing to her; the other she had promised to marry; -and even in the midst of her critical analysis she blamed herself, not -without reason, in that her love for Christopher had no power to blind -her. She asked herself bitterly what an affection was worth that could -thus dwell in cold blood upon a lover's weaknesses. She answered -herself that it was Christopher's own fault. She felt glad that he was -what he was. His defects looked lovable; and only in the rather chilly -daylight thrown by Stapledon's characteristics did Christo's blemishes -appear at all. Then Honor grew very angry with herself, but tried to -believe that her anger was directed against Myles. She flew upon him -savagely to tear him to pieces; she strove furiously, pitilessly to -strip him to his soul; but she was just between the ebullitions of -anger, and, after her hurricane onset, the lacerated figure of her -cousin still stood a man. He was difficult to belittle or disparage by -the nature of him. One may trample a flower-bed into unlovely ruin in a -moment; to rob a lichen-clad rock of its particular beauty is a harder -and a lengthier task. Granted that the man was ponderous and lacking in -laughter, he could yet be kind and gentle to all; granted that he -appeared oppressed with the necessity of setting a good example to the -world, yet he was in earnest, of self-denying and simple habit, one who -apparently practised nothing he did not preach. She turned impatiently -away from the picture of such admirable qualities; she told herself that -he was little better than a savage in some aspects, a prig in all the -rest. Yet Honor Endicott had lived too close to Nature to make the -mistake of any lengthened self-deception. Myles was living a life that -would wear, as against an existence which even her green experience of -the world whispered was irrational; and though the shrewdness of -Stapledon appeared a drab and unlovely compound beside Christopher's -sparkling philosophy, yet Honor knew which stood for the juster views of -life and conduct. One represented a grey twilight, clear and calm if -wholly lacking any splendid height of hue; the other promised wide -contrasts, tropical sunshine, and probable tempests. Not a little in the -sobriety of the first picture attracted her; but she was none the less -well pleased to think that she had already decided for the second. -Herein she followed instinct, for her nature was of the sort that needed -variable weather if intellectual health was to be her portion. - -Yet these dissimilar men, as chance willed it, proved excellent friends, -and, from the incident of their first meeting, grew into a sufficiently -warm comradeship. Myles found himself gasping a dozen times a day before -the audacities of Christopher. Sometimes indeed he suspected Yeoland's -jewels of being paste; sometimes he marvelled how a professed Christian -could propound certain theories; sometimes also he suspected that the -Squire of Godleigh spoke truer than he knew. Christopher, for his part, -welcomed the farmer, as he had welcomed any man whose destiny it was to -lighten Honor's anxiety. That the new-comer was putting a couple of -thousand pounds into Endicott's proved passport sufficient to Yeoland's -esteem. Moreover, he liked Myles for other reasons. They met often in -the fields and high places at dawn, and from standpoints widely -different they both approached Nature with love. Christopher took a -telescopic survey, delighted in wide harmonies, great shadows, upheavals -of cloud, storms, sunsets, rivers overflowing and the magic of the mist. -He knew the name of nothing and shrank from scientific approach to -natural objects--to bird or bud or berry; but he affected all the wild -animate and inanimate life of his woods and rivers; he was reluctant to -interfere with anything; he hated the mournful echo of a woodman's axe -in spring, though each dull reverberation promised a guinea for his -empty purse. Stapledon, on the contrary, while not dead to spacious -manifestations of force, was also microscopic. He missed much that the -other was quick to glean, but gained an intimate knowledge of matters -radical, and, being introspective, dug deeper lessons out of Devon -hedgerows and the economy of Dartmoor bogs than Yeoland gathered from -the procession of all the seasons as displayed in pomp and glory under -the banner of the sun. - -On a day when as yet no shadow had risen between them; when as yet Myles -contemplated his cousin's engagement without uneasiness, and Christopher -enjoyed the other's ingenuous commentary upon Honor's rare beauty of -mind and body, they walked together at sunset on the high lands of -Godleigh. Above the pine trees that encircled Yeoland's home and rose -behind it, an offshoot from the Moor extended. Deep slopes of fern and -grass, mountain ash and blackthorn, draped the sides of this elevation, -and upon the crown of a little hill, sharing the same with wild ridges -and boulders of stone, spread ruins and lay foundations of a building -that had almost vanished. A single turret still stood, ceiled with the -sky, carpeted with grass; and all round about a glory of purple heather -fledged the granite, the evening scent of the bracken rose, flames of -sunset fire touched stones and tree-tops, and burnt into the huge side -of distant Cosdon Beacon, until that mountain was turned into a mist of -gold. - -"There would be a grand sky if we were on the Moor to-night," said -Christopher; "not one of the clear, cloudless sort--as clean and -uneventful as a saint's record--but what I call a human sunset--full of -smudged splendour and gorgeous blots and tottering ruins, with live fire -streaming out of the black abysses and an awful scarlet pall flung out -to cover the great red-hot heart of the sun as he dips and dips." - -"A sunset always means to-morrow to me." - -"You're a farmer. Nothing ever means to-morrow to me." - -"I can't believe that, Yeoland--not now that you've won Honor." - -Christopher did not answer, but walked on where many an acre of fern -spread over the southern face of the slope. - -"Here you are," he said presently, indicating a burrow and a pile of -mould. "Tommy Bates found it when he was here picking sloes and told me -about it. I won't be sure it isn't a fox myself; though he declares the -earth to be a badger's." - -"Yes, I think that dead white grass means a badger. He brought it up -from the valley." - -"Then Tommy was right and I'm glad, for any distinguished stranger is -welcome on my ground. What does the brute eat?" - -"Roots and beech mast for choice. But he's carnivorous to the extent of -an occasional frog or beetle; and I'm afraid he wouldn't pass a -partridge's nest if there were eggs in it." - -"That's a black mark against the beggar, but I'll pretend I don't know -it." - -They strolled forward and Myles kept his eyes upon the ground, while -Christopher watched the sunset. - -"It's a singular puzzle, the things that make a man melancholy," said -the latter suddenly. "Once I had a theory that any perfect thing, no -matter what, must produce sadness in the human mind, simply out of its -perfection." - -"A country life would be a pretty miserable business if that was -so--with the perfect at the door of our eyes and ears all day long." - -"Then I discovered that it depended on other considerations. Love of -life is concerned with it. Youth saddens nobody; but age must. Our -love of life wakes our sorrow for the old who are going out of it. 'Tis -the difference between a bud and a withered blossom. Sunrise makes no -man sad. That's why you love it, and love to be in it, as I do. The -blush of dawn is like the warm cheek of a waking child--lovely; but -sunset is a dying thing. There's sadness in that, and the more -beautiful, the more sad." - -"I cannot see anything to call sad in one or other." - -"No, I suppose you can't; you've got such a devilish well-balanced -mind." - -A faint shadow of annoyance if not absolute contempt lurked in the tones -of the speech; but Stapledon failed to see it. - -"I wish I had," he answered. "There are plenty of things in Nature that -make a man sad--sounds, sights, glimpses of the eternal battle under the -eternal beauty. But sadness is weakness, say what you will. There's -nothing to be sentimental about really. It's because we apply our rule -of thumb to her; it's because we try to measure her wide methods by our -own opinions on right and justice that we find her unjust. I told Honor -something of this; but she agrees with you that Nature's quite beyond -apology, and won't be convinced." - -"You've told her so many things lately--opened her eyes, I'm sure, in so -many directions. She's as solemn as an owl sometimes when I'm with her. -Certainly she doesn't laugh as often as she used to." - -Myles was much startled. - -"Don't say that; don't say that. She's not meant to take sober -views--not yet--not yet. She's living sunlight--the embodiment of -laughter, and all the world's a funny picture-book to her still. To -think I should have paid for the pleasure she's brought me by lessening -her own! I hope you're utterly wrong, Yeoland. This is a very -unquieting thought." - -The man spoke much faster than usual, and with such evident concern that -Christopher endeavoured to diminish the force of his speech. - -"Perhaps I'm mistaken, as you say; perhaps the reason is that we are now -definitely engaged. That may have induced gravity. Of course it is a -solemn thing for an intelligent girl to cast in her lot with a pauper." - -But Myles would not be distracted from the main issue. - -"Her laughter is characteristic--marvellously musical--part of herself, -like bells are part of a fair church. Think of making a belfry dumb by a -deliberate act! Honor should always be smiling. A little sister of the -spring she seems to me, and her laughter goes to my heart like a lark's -song, for there's unconscious praise of God in it." - -Yeoland glanced at the other. - -"You can be sentimental too, then?" - -"Not that, but I can be sad, and I am now. A man may well be so to -think he has bated by one smile the happiness of Honor." - -"Sorry I mentioned it." - -"I'm glad. It was a great fault in me. I will try desperately to -amend. I'm a dull dog, but I'll----" - -"Don't, my dear chap. Don't do anything whatever. Be yourself, or you -won't keep her respect. She hates shams. I would change too if I -could. But she'd be down on me in a second if I attempted any -reformation. The truth is we're both bursting with different good and -brilliant qualities--you and I--and poor Honor is dazzled." - -Stapledon did not laugh; he only experienced a great desire to be alone. - -"Are you going to wait for the badger?" he asked, as they turned and -retraced their way. - -"Good Lord, no! Are you?" - -"Certainly. It's only a matter of hours at most. I can sit silent in -the fern with my eyes on the earth. I thought you wanted to see him." - -"Not an atom. It's enough for me that he's here in snug quarters. My -lord badger will show at moonrise, I expect. You'd better come down to -the house and have a drink after the manifestation." - -He tramped away; his footfall faded to a whisper in the fern; and Myles, -reaching a place from which the aperture below was visible, settled -himself and took a pipe from his pocket from habit, but did not load or -light it. He had an oriental capacity for waiting, and his patience it -was that had won much of his curious knowledge. A few hours more or -less under the stars on a fine summer night were nothing but a pleasure -to him. Rather did he welcome the pending vigil, for he desired to -think, and he knew that a man may do so to best purpose in the air. - -Once out of sight Christopher also stopped awhile and sat down upon a -rock with his face uplifted. The rosy sky was paling, and already a -little galaxy of lights afar off marked the village of Chagford, where -it stood upon its own proper elevation under the Moor. Thus placed, in -opposition to the vanished sun, detail appeared most clearly along the -eastern hills and valleys. Cot, hamlet, white winding road stood forth -upon the expanse, and while Christopher Yeoland watched the dwindling -definition on earth there ascended a vast and misty shield of pearl into -the fading sky. Through parallel bands of grey, like a faint ghost, it -stole upwards into a rosy after-glow. Then the clouds faded, and died, -and wakened again at the touch of the moon, as she arose with heightened -glory and diminished girth, to wield a sceptre of silver over sleep. -There descended then the great silence of such places, the silence that -only country dwellers understand, the silence that can fret urban nerves -into absolute suffering. Bedewed fern-fronds gathered light, and flung -it like rain across the gloom, and brought far-reaching peace and -contentment to the mind of Christopher. He dreamed dreams; he rose in -spirit through the moony mist--a dimensionless, imponderable, spirit -thing, ready to lose himself in one drop of diamond dew, hungry to fill -high heaven and hug the round moon to his heart. For a little season he -rejoiced in the trance of that hushed hour; then the moment of -intoxication vanished, and he rose slowly and went his way. - -The other man, after long waiting, was also rewarded. From beneath him, -where he sat, there came at last a sound and a snuffling. The badger -appeared, and the moonlight touched his little eyes and gleamed along -his amber side-streaks as he put up his nose, sniffed the air with -suspicion, stretched himself, scratched himself, then paddled silently -away upon his nightly business through the aisles of the fern. - - - - - *CHAPTER VIII.* - - *OUT OF THE MIST* - - -The calm awakened of moonlight, as quickly died, and Christopher Yeoland -found himself in some uneasiness when he thought of his love. Whereon -he based this irritation would have been difficult to determine, but a -variety of small annoyances conspired to build it. These trifles, -separately, laughter could blow away at a breath, but combined they grew -into a shadow not easily dispelled. Already the name of Myles had -oftener sounded upon Honor's lips than seemed necessary, even when -Stapledon's position and importance at Bear Down were allowed; and now -her name similarly echoed and re-echoed in the utterances of her cousin. -Still Christopher smiled in thought. - -"It's the novelty of him after me. I'm a mere rollicking, irresponsible -brook--only good to drink from or fish in--for ideas; he's a useful, -dreary canal--a most valuable contrivance--smooth, placid, not to say -flat. Well, well, I must shake Honor up; I must----" - -He reflected and debated upon various courses though immediate marriage -was not included amongst them. But a fortnight later the situation had -developed. - -Honor and Christopher were riding together over the Moor; and, albeit -the physical conditions promised fair enough until sunset-time, when -both man and woman turned homewards very happy, yet each had grown -miserable before the end, and they parted in anger upon the heathery -wastes where northern Teign and Wallabrook wind underneath Scor Hill. -For the weather of the high land and the weather of their minds -simultaneously changed, and across both there passed a cloud. Over -against the sunset, creeping magically as she is wont to creep, from the -bosom of the Moor and the dark ways of unseen water, arose the Mist -Mother. She appeared suddenly against the blue above, spread forth -diaphanous draperies, twined her pearly arms among the stocks and stones -and old, wind-bent bushes of the waste. Catching a radiance from the -westering sun, she draped the grey heads of granite tors in cowls of -gold; she rose and fell; she appeared and vanished; she stole forward -suddenly; she wreathed curly tendrils of vapour over sedge and stone, -green, quaking bog, still waters, and the peat cuttings that burnt -red-hot under the level rays of the sun. Great solitary flakes of the -mist, shining with ineffable lustre of light, lessened the sobriety of -the heath; and upon their dazzling hearts, where they suddenly merged -and spread in opposition to the sun on the slope of western-facing -hills, there trembled out a spectral misty circle--a huge halo of -colourless light drawn upon the glimmering moisture. Within it, a -whitethorn stood bathed in a fiery glow without candescence; and from -beneath the tree some wild creature--hare or fox--moved away silently -and vanished under the curtain, while a curlew cried overhead invisible. -The riders reined up and watched the luminous frolics of the Mist, where -she played thus naked, like an innocent savage thing, before them. - -"These are the moments when I seem to glimpse antique life through the -grey--wolf-skins and dark human skins, coarse faces, black hair, -bead-bright eyes, strange speech, the glimmer of tents or rush thatches -through the mist. These, and the bark of dogs, laughter of women, -tinkle of stone on stone, where some Damnonian hunter fabricates his -flints and grunts of the wood-bears and the way to kill them." - -"Always dreaming, dearest. I wonder what you would have done in those -days? Did the Damnonians have Christos too?" - -"Undoubtedly. I should have been a bard, or a tribal prophet, or -something important and easy. I should have dreamed dreams, and told -fortunes, and imparted a certain cultured flavour to the lodge. I -should have been their oracle very likely--nice easy work being an -oracle. In it you'll find the first dawn of the future art of -criticism." - -"Creation is better than criticism." - -"That's your cousin, I'll swear! The very ring of him. No doubt he -thinks so. Yet what can be more futile than unskilful creation? For -that matter the awful amount of time that's wasted in all sorts of -futile work." - -"You're certainly sincere. You practise the virtues of laziness as well -as preach them," said Honor without amusement. - -"I do; but there's not that old note of admiration at my theories in -your voice of late, my angel girl." - -"No, Christo; I'm beginning to doubt, in a fleeting sort of way, if your -gospel is quite the inspired thing you fancy it." - -"Treason! You live too much in the atmosphere of honest toil, -sweetheart. And there's hardly a butterfly left now to correct your -impressions." - -"No; they are all starving under leaves, poor things." - -"Exactly--dying game; and the self-righteous ant is counting his -stores--or is it the squirrel, or the dormouse? I know something or -other hoards all the summer through to prolong his useless existence." - -Honor did not answer. Then her lover suddenly remembered Myles, and his -forehead wrinkled for a moment. - -"Of course I'm not blind, Honor," he proceeded, in an altered tone. -"I've seen the change these many days, and levelled a guess at the -reason. Sobersides makes me look a weakling. Unfortunately he's such a -real good chap I cannot be cross with him." - -"Why should you be cross with anybody?" - -"That's the question. You're the answer. I'm--I'm not exactly all I -was to you. Don't clamour. It's true, and you know it's true. You're -so exacting, so unrestful, so grave by fits lately. And he--he's always -on your tongue too. You didn't know that, but it's the case. Natural -perhaps--a strong personality, and so forth--yet--yet----" - -"What nonsense this is, Christopher!" - -"Of course it is. But you don't laugh. You never do laugh now. My own -sober conviction is this; Stapledon's in love with you and doesn't know -it. Don't fall off your pony." - -"Christopher! You've no right, or reason, or shadow of a shade for -saying such a ridiculous thing." - -"There's that in your voice convinces me at this moment." - -"Doesn't he know we're engaged? Would such a man allow himself for an -instant----?" - -"Of course he wouldn't. That's just what I argue, isn't it? He stops -on here because he doesn't know what's happened to him yet, poor devil. -When he finds out, he'll probably fly." - -"You judge others by yourself, my dearest. Love! Why, he works too hard -to waste his thoughts on any woman whatsoever. Never was a mind so -seldom in the clouds." - -"In the clouds--no; but on the earth--on the earth, and at your elbow." - -"He's nothing of the kind." - -"Well, then, you're always at his. Such a busy, bustling couple! I'm -sure you're enough to make the very singing birds ashamed. When is he -going?" - -"When his money is laid out to his liking, I suppose. Not yet awhile, I -hope." - -"You don't want him to go?" - -"Certainly I don't; why should I?" - -"You admire him in a way?" - -"In a great many ways. He's a restful man. There's a beautiful -simplicity about his thoughts; and----" - -"And he works?" - -"You're trying to make me cross, Christo; but I don't think you will -again." - -"Ah! I have to thank him for that too! He's making you see how small -it is to be cross with me. He's enlarging your mind, lifting it to the -stars, burying it in the bogs, teaching you all about rainbows and -tadpoles. He'll soak the sunshine out of your life if you're not -careful; and then you'll grow as self-contained and sensible and perfect -as he is." - -"After which you won't want me any more, I suppose?" - -"No--then you'd only be fit for--well, for him." - -"I don't love you in these sneering moods, Christo. Why cannot you speak -plainly? You've got some imaginary grievance. What is it?" - -"I never said so. But--well, I have. I honestly believe I'm -jealous--jealous of this superior man." - -"You child!" - -"There it is! It's come to that. I wasn't a child in your eyes a month -ago. But I shall be called an infant in arms at this rate in another -month." - -"He can't help being a sensible, far-seeing man, any more than you can -help being a----" - -"Fool--say it; don't hesitate. Well, what then?" - -Honor, despite her recent assertion, could still be angry with -Christopher, because she loved him better than anything in the world. -Her face flushed; she gathered her reins sharply. - -"Then," she answered, "there's nothing more to be said--excepting that -I'm a little tired of you to-day. We've seen too much of one another -lately." - -"Or too much of somebody else." - -She wheeled away abruptly and galloped off, leaving him with the last -word. One of her dogs, a big collie, stood irresolute, his left forepaw -up, his eyes all doubt. Then he bent his great back like a bow, and -bounded after his mistress; but Yeoland did not attempt to follow. He -watched his lady awhile, and, when she was a quarter of a mile ahead, -proceeded homewards. - -She had chosen a winding way back to Bear Down, and he must pass the -farm before she could return to it. - -The man was perfectly calm to outward seeming, but he shook his head -once or twice--shook it at his own folly. - -"Poor little lass!" he said to himself. "Impatient--impatient--why? -Because I was impatient, no doubt. Let me see--our first real quarrel -since we were engaged." - -As he went down the hill past Honor's home, a sudden fancy held him, -and, acting upon it, he dismounted, hitched up his horse, and strolled -round to the back of the house in hope that he might win a private word -or two with Mark Endicott. Chance favoured him. Tea drinking was done, -and the still, lonely hour following on that meal prevailed in the great -kitchen. Without, spangled fowls clucked their last remarks for the day, -and fluttered, with clumsy effort, to their perches in a great holly -tree, where they roosted. At the open door a block, a bill-hook, and a -leathern gauntlet lay beside a pile of split wood where Sally Cramphorn -had been working; and upon the block a robin sat and sang. - -Christopher lifted the latch and walked through a short passage to find -Honor's uncle alone in the kitchen and talking to himself by snatches. - -"Forgive me, Mr. Endicott," he said, breaking in upon the monologue; -"I've no right to upset your reveries in this fashion, but I was passing -and wanted a dozen words." - -"And welcome, Yeoland. We've missed you at the Sunday supper of late -weeks. How is it with you?" - -"Oh, all right. Only just now I want to exchange ideas--impressions. -You love my Honor better than anybody else in the world but myself. And -love makes one jolly quick--sensitive--foolishly so perhaps. I didn't -think it was in me to be sensitive; yet I find I am." - -"Speak your mind, and I'll go on with my knitting--never blind man's -holiday if you are a blind man, you know." - -"You're like all the rest in this hive, always busy. I wonder if the -drones blush when they're caught stealing honey?" - -"Haven't much time for blushing. Yet 'tis certain that never drone -stole sweeter honey than you have--if you are a drone." - -"I'm coming to that. But the honey first. Frankly now, have you -noticed any change in Honor of late days--since--well, within the last -month or two." - -Mr. Endicott reflected before making any answer, and tapped his needles -slowly. - -"There is a change," he said at length. - -"She's restless," continued Christopher; "won't have her laugh -out--stops in the middle, as if she suddenly remembered she was in -church or somewhere. How d'you account for it?" - -"She's grown a bit more strenuous since her engagement--more alive to -the working-day side of things." - -"Not lasting, I hope?" - -"Please God, yes. She won't be any less happy." - -"Of course Myles Stapledon's responsible. Yet how has he done it? You -say you're glad to see Honor more serious-minded. Well, that means you -would have made her so before now, if you could. You failed to change -her in all these years; he has succeeded in clouding her life somehow -within the space of two months. How can you explain that?" - -"You're asking pithy questions, my son. And, by the voice of you, I'm -inclined to reckon you're as likely to know the answers to them as I am. -Maybe more likely. You're a man in love, and that quickens the wits of -even the dullest clod who ever sat sighing on a gate, eating his turnip -and finding it tasteless. I loved a maid once, too; but 'tis so far -off." - -"Well, there's something not wholly right in this. And they ought to -know it." - -"Certainly they don't--don't guess it or dream it. But leave that. Now -you. You must tackle yourself. The remedy lies with you. This thing -has made you think, at any rate." - -"Well, yes. Honor isn't so satisfied with me as of old, somehow. Of -course that's natural, but----" - -"She loves you a thousand times better than you love yourself." - -"And still isn't exactly happy in me." - -"Are you happy in yourself? She's very well satisfied with -you--worships the ground you walk on, as the saying is--but that's not -to say she's satisfied with your life. And more am I, or anybody that -cares about you. And more are you." - -"Well, well; but Myles Stapledon--this dear, good chap. He's a--what? -Why, a magnifying glass for people to see me in--upside down." - -"He thinks very little about you, I fancy." - -"He's succeeded in making me feel a fool, anyhow; and that's unpleasant. -Tell me what to do, Mr. Endicott. Where shall I begin?" - -"Begin to be a man, Yeoland. That's what a woman wants in her -husband--wants it unconsciously before everything. A -man--self-contained, resolute--a figure strong enough to lean upon in -storm and stress." - -"Stapledon is a man." - -"He is, emphatically. He knows where he is going, and the road. He -gets unity into his life, method into his to-morrows." - -"To-morrow's always all right. It's to-day that bothers me so -infernally." - -"Ah! and yesterday must make you feel sick every time you think of it, -if you've any conscience." - -"I know there isn't much to show. Yet it seems such a poor compliment -to the wonderful world to waste your time in grubbing meanly with your -back to her. At best we can only get a few jewelled glimpses through -these clay gates that we live behind. Then down comes the night, when -no man may work or play. And we shall be an awfully long time dead. And -what's the sum of a life's labour after all?" - -"Get work," said Mark, "and drop that twaddle. Healthy work's the first -law of Nature, no matter what wise men may say or poets sing. Liberty! -It's a Jack-o'-lantern. There's no created thing can be free. Doing His -will--all, all. Root and branch, berry and bud, feathered and furred -creatures--all working to live complete. The lily does toil; and if you -could see the double fringe of her roots above the bulb and under it--as -I can well mind when I had eyes and loved the garden--you'd know it was -so. There's no good thing in all the world got without labour at the -back of it. Think what goes to build a flash of lightning--you that love -storms. But the lightning's not free neither. And the Almighty's self -works harder than all His worlds put together." - -"Well, I'll do something definite. I think I'll write a book about -birds. Tell me, does Honor speak much of her cousin?" - -"She does." - -"Yet if she knew--if she only knew. Why, God's light! she'd wither and -lose her sap and grow old in two years with Stapledon. I know it, in -the very heart of me, and I'd stake my life on it against all the -prophets. There's that in close contact with him would freeze and kill -such as Honor. Yes, kill her, for it's a vital part of her would -suffer. Some fascination has sprung up from the contrast between us; -and it has charmed her. She's bewitched. And yet--be frank, Mr. -Endicott--do you believe that Stapledon is the husband for Honor? -You've thought about it, naturally, because, before she and I were -engaged, you told me that you hoped they might make a match for their -own sakes and the farm's. Now what do you say? Would you, knowing her -only less well than I do, wish that she could change?" - -The other was silent. - -"You would, then?" - -"If I would," answered old Endicott, "I shouldn't have hesitated to say -so. It's because I wouldn't that I was dumb." - -"You wouldn't? That's a great weight off my mind, then." - -"I mean no praise for you. I should like to chop you and Stapledon -small, mix you, and mould you again. Yet what folly! Then she'd look -at neither, for certain." - -"Such a salad wouldn't be delectable. But thank you for heartening me. -I'm the husband for your niece. I know it--sure as I'm a Christian. -And she knew it a month ago; and she'll know it again a month hence, I -pray, even if she's forgotten it for the moment. Now I'll clear out, -and leave you with your thoughts." - -"So you've quarrelled with her?" - -"No, no, no; she quarrelled with me, very properly, very justly; then -she left me in disgrace, and I came to you, hoping for a grain of -comfort. I'm a poor prattler, you know--one who cannot hide my little -dish of misery out of sight, but must always parade it if I suspect a -sympathetic nature in man or woman. Good-bye again." - -So Christopher departed, mounted his horse, and trotted home in most -amiable mood. - - - - - *CHAPTER IX.* - - *THE WARNING* - - -There was a custom of ancient standing at Bear Down Farm. On working -days the family supped together in a small chamber lying off the -kitchen, and left the latter apartment to the hands; but upon Sunday -night all the household partook at the same table, and it was rumoured -and believed that, during a period of two hundred years, the reigning -head of Endicott's had never failed to preside at this repast, when in -residence. Moreover, the very dishes changed not. A cold sirloin of -beef, a potato salad, and a rabbit pie were the foundations of the -feast; and after them followed fruit tarts, excepting in the spring, -with bread and cheese, cider and small beer. - -Two days after Honor's quarrel with Christopher, while yet they -continued unreconciled, there fell a Sunday supper at which the little -band then playing its part in the history of Endicott's was assembled -about a laden board. But matters of moment were astir; a wave of -excitement passed over the work folk, and Myles, who sat near the head -of the table on Honor's left, observed a simultaneous movement, a -whispering and a nodding. There were present Mr. Cramphorn and his -daughters, who dwelt in a cottage hard by the farm; Churdles Ash, Henry -Collins, the red-haired humorist Pinsent, and the boy Tommy Bates. Mrs. -Loveys took the bottom of the table; Mark Endicott sat beside his niece, -at her right hand. - -A hush fell upon the company before the shadow of some great pending -event. The clatter of crockery, the tinkle of knives and forks ceased. -Then Myles whispered to Honor that a speech was about to be delivered, -and she, setting down her hands, smiled with bright inquiry upon Mr. -Cramphorn, who had risen to his feet, and was darting uncomfortable -glances about him from beneath black brows. - -"D'you want to tell me anything, Cramphorn?" she inquired. - -"Ma'am, I do," he answered. "By rights 'tis the dooty of Churdles Ash, -but he'm an ancient piece wi'out gert store o' words best o' times, an' -none for a moment such as this; so he've axed me to speak instead, -'cause it do bring him a wambliness of the innards to do or say ought as -may draw the public eye upon un. 'Tis like this, mistress, we of -Endicott's, here assembled to supper, do desire to give 'e joy of your -marriage contract when it comes to be; an' us hopes to a man as it may -fall out for the best. Idden for us to say no more'n that; an' what we -think an' what we doan't think ban't no business but our awn. Though -your gude pleasure be ours, I do assure 'e; an' the lot of us would do -all man or woman can do to lighten your heart in this vale o' weariness. -An' I'm sure we wants for you to be a happy woman, wife, mother, an' -widow--all in due an' proper season, 'cordin' to the laws o' Nature an' -the will o' God. An' so sez Churdles Ash, an' me, an' Mrs. Loveys, an' -my darters, an' t'others. An' us have ordained to give e' a li'l -momentum of the happy day, awnly theer's no search in' hurry by the look -of it, so as to that--it being Henery Collins his thought--us have -resolved to bide till the banns be axed out. 'Cause theer's many a slip -'twixt the cup an' the lip, 'cordin' to a wise sayin' of old. An' so -I'll sit down wishin' gude fortune to all at Endicott's--fields, an' -things,[#] an' folk." - - -[#] Things = stock. - - -Mr. Cramphorn and his friends had been aware of Honor's engagement for -three months; but the bucolic mind is before all things deliberate. It -required that space of time and many long-winded, wearisome arguments to -decide when and how an official cognisance of the great fact might best -be taken. - -The mistress of Bear Down briefly thanked everybody, with a smile on her -lip and a tear in her eye; while the men and women gazed stolidly upon -her as she expressed her gratitude for their kindly wishes. When she had -spoken, Mr. Cramphorn, Collins, and Churdles Ash hit the table with -their knife-handles once or twice, and the subject was instantly -dismissed. Save in the mistress and her uncle, this incident struck not -one visible spark of emotion upon anybody present. All ate heartily, -then Honor Endicott withdrew to her parlour; Mrs. Loveys and Cramphorn's -daughters cleared the table. - -The men then lighted their pipes; Mark Endicott returned to his chair -behind the leathern screen; the deep settle absorbed Churdles Ash and -another; Jonah took a seat beside the peat fire, which he mended with a -huge "scad" or two from the corner; and the customary Sunday night -convention, with the blind man as president or arbiter, according to the -tone of the discussion, was entered upon. Sometimes matters progressed -harmoniously and sleepily enough; on other occasions, and always at the -instance of Mr. Cramphorn, whose many opinions and scanty information -not seldom awoke an active and polemical spirit, the argument was -conducted with extreme acerbity--a circumstance inevitable when opposing -minds endeavour to express ideas or shades of thought beyond the reach -of their limited vocabularies. - -To-night the wind blew hard from the west and growled in the chimney, -while the peat beneath glowed to its fiery heart under a dancing aurora -of blue flame, and half a dozen pipes sent forth crooked columns of -smoke to the ceiling. Mr. Cramphorn, by virtue of the public part he -had already taken in the evening's ceremonial, was minded to rate -himself and his accomplishments with more than usual generosity. For -once his suspicious forehead had lifted somewhat off his eyebrows, and -the consciousness of great deeds performed with credit cast him into a -spirit of complaisance. He lightly rallied Churdles Ash upon the old -man's modesty; then, thrusting his mouth into the necessary figure, blew -a perfect ring of smoke, and spat through it into the fire with great -comfort and contentment. - -Gaffer Ash replied in a tone of resignation. - -"As to that," he said, "some's got words and some hasn't. For my paart, -I ban't sorry as I can't use 'em, for I've always thanked God as I was -born so humble that I could live through my days without never being -called 'pon to say what I think o' things in general an' the men an' -women round about." - -"Least said soonest mended," commented Pinsent. - -"Ess fay! 'Tis the chaps as have got to talk I be sorry for--the public -warriors and Parliament men an' such like. They sweat o' nights, I -reckon; for they be 'feared to talk now an' again, I'll wager, an' be -still worse 'feared to hold theer peace." - -"You're pretty right, Ash," said Mr. Endicott. "It takes a brave man to -keep his mouth shut and not care whether he's misunderstood or no. But -'tis a bleating age--a drum-beating age o' clash and clatter. Why, the -very members of Parliament get too jaded to follow their great business -with sober minds. If a man don't pepper his speeches with mountebank -fun, they call him a dull dog, and won't listen to him. All the world's -dropping into play-acting--that's the truth of it." - -"I didn't make no jokes howsoever when I turned my speech 'fore supper," -declared Mr. Cramphorn; "an' I'm sure I'd never do no such ondacent -thing in a set speech. Ban't respectful. Not but what I was surprised -to find how pat the right word comed to me at the right moment wi'out -any digging for un." - -"'Tis a gert gift for a humble man," said Mr. Ash. - -"A gift to be used wi' caution," confessed Jonah. "When you say 'tis a -gift, last word's spoken," he added, "but a man's wise to keep close -guard awver his tongue when it chances to be sharper'n common. Not as I -ever go back on the spoken word, for 'tis a sign of weakness." - -Myles Stapledon laughed and Mr. Cramphorn grew hot. - -"Why for should I?" he asked. - -"If you never had call to eat your words after fifty years o' talkin', -Jonah, you're either uncommon fortunate or uncommon wise," declared the -blind man. "Wise you are not particular, not to my knowledge, so we -must say you're lucky." - -The others laughed, and Jonah, despite his brag of a tongue more ready -than most, found nothing to say at this rebuke. He made an inarticulate -growl at the back of his throat and puffed vigorously, while Henry -Collins came to the rescue. - -"Can 'e tell us when the weddin's like to be, sir?" he inquired of -Stapledon, and Myles waited for somebody else to reply; but none did so. - -"I cannot tell," he answered at length. "I fancy nothing is settled. -But we shall hear soon enough, no doubt." - -"I suppose 'tis tu inquirin' to ax if you'll bide to Endicott's when -missis do leave it?" said Samuel Pinsent. - -"Well--yes, I think it is. Lord knows what I'm going to do. My home's -here for the present--until--well, I really cannot tell myself. It -depends on various things." - -There was a silence. Even the most slow-witted perceived a new -revelation of Stapledon in this speech. Presently Churdles Ash spoke. - -"Best to bide here till the time-work chaps be through wi' theer job. -Them time-work men! The holy text sez, 'Blessed be they as have not -seed an' yet have believed'; but fegs! 'tis straining scripture to put -that on time-work. I'd never believe no time-work man what I hadn't -seed." - -"Anybody's a fool to believe where he doesn't trust," said Mark -Endicott. "You open a great question, Ash. I believed no more or less -than any other chap of five-an'-twenty in my young days; but, come -blindness, there was no more taking on trust for me. I had to find a -reason for all I believed from that day forward." - -"Was faith a flower that grew well in the dark with you, uncle?" -inquired Myles, and there was a wave of sudden interest in his voice. - -"Why, yes. Darkness is the time for making roots and 'stablishing -plants, whether of the soil or of the mind. Faith grew but slowly. And -the flower of it comes to no more than this: do your duty, and be gentle -with your neighbour. Don't wax weak because you catch yourself all -wrong so often. Don't let any man pity you but yourself; and don't let -no other set of brains than your own settle the rights and wrongs of -life for you. That's my road--a blind man's. But there's one thing -more, my sons: to believe in the goodness of God through thick and -thin." - -"The hardest thing of all," said Stapledon. - -Mr. Cramphorn here thought proper to join issue. He also had his own -views, reached single-handed, and was by no means ashamed of them. - -"As to the A'mighty," he said, "my rule's to treat Un same as He treats -me--same as we'm taught to treat any other neighbour. That's fair, if -you ax me." - -"A blasphemous word to say it, whether or no," declared Ash uneasily. -"We ban't teached to treat folks same as they treat us, but same as we -wish they'd treat us. That's a very differ'nt thing. Gormed if I ban't -mazed a bolt doan't strike 'e, Jonah." - -"'Tis my way, an' who's gwaine to shaw me wheer it fails o' right an' -justice?" - -"A truculent attitude to the Everlasting, surely," ventured Myles, -looking at the restless little man with his hang-dog forehead and big -chin. - -"Who's afeared, so long as he'm on the windy side o' justice? I ban't. -If God sends gude things, I'm fust to thank Un 'pon my bended knees, an' -hope respectful for long continuance; if He sends bad--then I cool off -an' wait for better times. Ban't my way to return thanks for nought. -I've thanked Un for the hay for missus's gude sake a score o' times; but -thank Un for the turmits I won't, till I sees if we'm gwaine to have -rain 'fore 'tis tu late. 'No song, no supper,' as the saying is. Ban't -my way to turn left cheek to Jehovah Jireh after He's smote me 'pon the -right. 'Tis contrary to human nature; an' Christ's self can't alter -that." - -"'Tis tu changeable in you, Cramphorn, if I may say it without angering -you," murmured Collins. - -"Not so, Henery; ban't me that changes, but Him. I'm a steadfast man, -an' always was so, as Mr. Endicott will bear witness. When the Lard's -hand's light on me, I go dancin' an' frolickin' afore Him, like to David -afore the ark, an' pray long prayers week-days so well as Sundays; but -when He'm contrary with me, an' minded to blaw hot an' cold, from no -fault o' mine--why, dammy, I get cranky tu. Caan't help it. Built so. -'Pears to me as 'tis awnly a brute dog as'll lick the hands that welts -un." - -"What do 'e say to this here popish discoorse, sir?" inquired Churdles -Ash; and Mark answered him. - -"Why, Jonah only confesses the secret of most of us. We've got too much -wit or too little pluck to tell--that's all the difference. He's -blurted it out." - -"The 'state of most of us'?" gasped Mr. Collins. - -"Surely, even though we don't own it to our innermost souls. Who should -know, if not me? It makes a mighty difference whether 'tis by pleasant -paths or bitter that we come to the throne of grace. Fair weather -saints most of us, I reckon. I felt the same when my eyes were put out. -God knows how I kept my hands off my life. I never shall. Before that -change I'd prayed regular as need be, morn and night, just because my -dear mother had taught me so to do, and habit's the half of life. And -after my eyes went the habit stuck, though my soul was up in arms and my -brain poisoned against a hard Providence. And what did I do? Why, -regular as the clock, at the hour when I was used to bless God, I went -on my knees and lifted my empty eyes to Him and cursed Him. 'Twas as -the psalmist prayed in his awful song of rage: my prayer was turned into -sin. I did that--for a month. And what was the price He paid me for my -wickedness? Why, He sent peace--peace fell upon me and the wish to -live; and He that had took my sight away brought tears to my eyes -instead. So I reached a blind man's seeing at the last. I've lived to -know that man's misty talk and thought upon justice is no more than a -wind in the trees. Therefore Jonah is in the wrong to steer his life by -his own human notion of justice. There's no justice in this world, and -what fashion of stuff will be the justice in the next, we'll know when -we come to get it measured out, not sooner. One thing's sure: it's not -over likely to be planned on earthly models; so there's no sight under -heaven more pitiful to me than all mankind so busy planning pleasure -parties in the next world to make up for their little, thorny, wayside -job in this." - -"The question is, Do we matter to the God of a starry night?" asked -Stapledon, forgetting the presence of any beyond the last speaker. "We -matter a great deal to ourselves and ought to--I know that, of course," -he added. "We must take ourselves seriously." - -Mark laughed and made instant answer. - -"We take ourselves too seriously, our neighbours not seriously enough. -It's the fault of all humans--philosophers included." - -"An' I be sure theer's immortal angels hid in our bones, however," -summed up Mr. Ash. - -"If so, good," answered Stapledon with profound seriousness. "But -thought won't alter what is by the will of God; nor yet what's going to -be. The Future's His workshop only. No man can meddle there. But the -present is ours; and if half the brain-sweat wasted on the next world -was spent in tidying the dirty corners in this one--why, we might bring -the other nearer--if other there be." - -"You'll know there's another long before your time comes to go to it, my -son," said the blind man in a calm voice. Then the tall clock between -the warming-pans struck ten with the sonorous cadence and ring of old -metal. At this signal pipes were knocked out and windows and doors -thrown open; whereupon the west wind, like the voice of a superior -intellect, stilled their chatter with sweet breath, soon swept away the -reek of tobacco, and brought a blast of pure air through the smoke. All -those present, save only Myles and Endicott, then departed to their -rest; but these two sat on awhile, for the old man had a hard thing to -say, and knew that the moment to speak was come. - -"How long are you going to stop here?" he asked suddenly. - -"I can't guess. I suppose there's no hurry. I've really not much -interest anywhere else. Why do you ask?" - -"Because it's important, lad. Blind folks hear such a deal. And they -often know more than what belongs to the mere spoken word. There's an -inner and an outer meaning to most speech of man, and we sightless ones -often gather both. It surprises people at times. You see we win -nothing from sight of a speaking mouth or the eyes above it. All our -brain sits behind our ear; there's no windows for it to look out at." - -"You've surprised me by what you have gleaned out of a voice, uncle." - -"And I'm like to again. Not pleasantly neither. I've thought how I'd -found something on your tongue long ago; but I've kept dumb, hoping I -was mistaken. To-night, my son, there's no more room for doubt." - -"This is a mystery--quite uncanny." - -"I don't know. 'Tis very unfortunate--very, but a fact; and you've got -to face it." - -"Read the riddle to me," said Stapledon slowly. His voice sounded -anxious under an assumption of amusement. - -"Do you remember after supper how Pinsent asked you whether you would -stop on here when his mistress was married? You answered that the Lord -knew what you were going to do. Now it was clean out of your character -to answer so." - -"I hope it was; I hope so indeed. I was sorry the moment afterwards." - -"You couldn't help yourself. You were not thinking of your answer to -the question, but the much more important thing suggested by the -question. That's what made you so short: the thought of Honor's -marriage." - -"I own it," confessed the other. A silence fell; then Mark spoke again -more gravely. - -"Myles, you must clear out of here. I'm blind and even I know it. How -much more such as can see--you yourself, for instance--and Honor--and -Christopher Yeoland." - -Stapledon's brow flushed and his jaw set hard. He looked at the -sightless face before him, and spoke hurriedly. - -"For God's sake, what do you mean?" - -"It's news to you? I do think it is! And it has come the same way to -many when it falls the first time. The deeper it strikes, the less they -can put a name to it. But now you know. Glance back along the road -you've walked beside Honor of late days. Then see how the way ahead -looks to you with her figure gone. I knew this a week ago, and I -sorrowed for you. There was an unconscious tribute in your voice when -you spoke to her--a hush in it, as if you were praying. Man, I'm -sorry--but your heart will tell you that I'm right." - -A lengthy silence followed upon this speech; then the other whispered -out a question, and there was awe rather than terror in his tone. - -"You mean I'm coming to love her?" - -"I do--if only that. Remember what you said the first day you came here -about the false step at the threshold." - -"But she is another man's. That has been familiar knowledge to me." - -"And you think that fact can prevent a man of honour from loving a -woman?" - -"Surely." - -"Not so at all. Love of woman's a thing apart--beyond all rule and -scale, or dogma, or the Bible's self. The passions are pagans to the -end--no more to be trusted than tame tigers, if a man is a man. But -passions are bred out nowadays. I don't believe the next generation -will be shook to the heart with the same gusts and storms as the last. -We think smaller thoughts and feel smaller sentiments; we're too careful -of our skins to trust the giant passions; our hearts don't pump the same -great flood of hot blood. But you--you belong to the older sort. And -you love her--you who never heard the rustle of a petticoat with -quickened breath before, I reckon. You're too honest to deny it after -you've thought a little. You know there's something seething down at -the bottom of your soul--and now you hear the name of it. Go to bed and -sleep upon that." - -Stapledon remained mute. His face was passive, but his forehead was -wrinkled a little. He folded his arms and stared at the fire. - -"God knows I wish this was otherwise," continued Mark Endicott. -"'Twould have been a comely and a fitting thing for you to mate her and -carry on all here. So at least I thought before I knew you." - -"But have changed your opinion of me since?" - -"Well, yes; I did not think so highly of you until we met and got to -understand each other. But I doubt if you'd be a fit husband for Honor. -There's a difference of--I don't know the word--but it's a difference in -essentials anyway--in views and in standpoint. Honor's a clever woman -to some extent, yet she takes abundant delight in occasional -foolishness, as clever women often do. 'Tisn't your fashion of mind to -fool--not even on holidays. You couldn't if you tried." - -"But she is as sober-minded as I am at heart. Under her humorous survey -of things and her laughter there is----" - -"I know; I know all about her." - -"We had thought we possessed much in common on a comparison of notes now -and again." - -"If you did, 'tis just what you wouldn't have found out so pat at first -sight. There's a great gulf fixed between you, and I'm not sorry it is -so, seeing she's another man's. Yeoland looks to be a light thing; I -grant that; but I do believe that he understands her better than you or -I ever could. I've found out so much from hearing them together. -Moreover, he's growing sober; there's a sort of cranky sense in him, I -hope, after all." - -"A feather-brain, but well-meaning." - -"The last leaf on an old tree--even as Honor is." - -"At least there must be deep friendship always--deep friendship. So -much can't be denied to me. Don't talk of a great gulf between us, -uncle. Not at least a mental one." - -"Truly I believe so, Myles." - -"We could bridge that." - -"With bridges of passing passion--like silver spider-threads between -flowers. But they wouldn't stand the awful strain of lifelong -companionship. You've never thought what that strain means in our class -of life, when husband and wife have got to bide within close touch most -times till the grave parts them. But that's all wind and nothing. -She's tokened to Yeoland. So no more need be spoken on that head. -You've got to think of your peace of mind, Stapledon, and--well, I'd -best say it--hers too. Now, good-night. Not another word, if you're a -wise man." - - -Mark Endicott was usually abroad betimes, though not such an early riser -as Myles, and on the following morning, according to his custom, he -walked in the garden before breakfast. His pathway extended before the -more ancient front of Bear Down, and in summer, at each step, he might -stretch forth his hand over the flower border and know what blossom -would meet it. Now there fell a heavy footfall that approached from the -farmyard. - -"Good morning," said Stapledon, as he shook Mark by the hand. - -"Good morning, my lad." - -"I'm going on Saturday." - -Mr. Endicott nodded, as one acknowledging information already familiar. - -"Your loss will fall heavily on me," he said, "for it's not twice in a -month of Sundays that I get such a companion spirit to chop words with." - - - - - *CHAPTER X.* - - *THREE ANGRY MAIDS* - - -Upon the day that Myles Stapledon determined with himself to leave -Little Silver, Christopher's patience broke down, and he wrote to Honor -concerning their protracted quarrel. This communication it pleased him -to begin in a tone of most unusual severity. He struck the note in jest -at first, then proceeded with it in earnest. He bid his lady establish -her mind more firmly and affirm her desires. He returned her liberty, -hinted that, if he so willed, he might let Godleigh Park to a wealthy -Plymouth tradesman, who much desired to secure it, and himself go abroad -for an indefinite period of years. Then, weary of these heroics, -Christopher became himself on the third page of the note, expressed -unbounded contrition for his sins, begged his sweetheart's forgiveness, -and prayed her to name a meeting-place that he might make atonement in -person. With joke and jest the letter wound to its close; and he -despatched it to Bear Down upon the following morning. - -Mr. Gregory Libby happened to be the messenger, and of this worthy it -may be said that, while now a person well-to-do in the judgment of -Little Silver, yet he displayed more sense than had been prophesied for -him, kept his money in his purse, and returned to his humble but -necessary occupation of hedge-trimming. He was working about Godleigh at -present, and being the first available fellow-creature who met Yeoland's -eye as he entered the air, letter in hand, his temporary master bid -Gregory drop gauntlet and pruning-hook that he might play postman -instead for a while. - -The youth departed then to Endicott's under a personal and private -excitement, for his own romance lay there, as it pleased him to think, -and he was conducting it with deliberate and calculating method. Libby -found himself divided between the daughters of Mr. Cramphorn, and, as -those young women knew this fact, the tension between them increased -with his delay. Upon the whole he preferred Sally, as the more splendid -animal; but the man was far too cunning to commit himself rashly. His -desires by no means blinded him, and he looked far ahead and wondered -with some low shrewdness which of the maids enjoyed larger part of her -father's regard, and which might hope for a lion's share of Jonah's -possessions when the head-man at Bear Down should pass away. In this -direction Mr. Libby was prosecuting his inquiries; and the operation -proved difficult and delicate, for Cramphorn disliked him. Margery met -the messenger, and gave a little purr of pleasure as she opened the -kitchen door. - -"Come in, come in the kitchen," she said; "I'm all alone for the minute -if you ban't feared o' me, Mr. Libby." - -"Very glad to see you again," said Gregory, shaking her hand and holding -it a moment afterwards. - -"So be I you. I heard your butivul singing to church Sunday, but me, -bein' in the choir, I couldn't look about to catch your eye." - -"Wheer's Sally to?" he asked suddenly, after they had talked a few -moments on general subjects. - -The girl's face fell and her voice hardened. - -"How should I knaw? To work, I suppose." - -"I awften wonder as her hands doan't suffer by it," mused Libby. - -"They do," she answered with cruel eagerness. "Feel mine." - -She pressed her palms into his, considering that the opportunity -permitted her so to do without any lack of propriety. And he held them -and found them soft and cool, but a thought thin to his taste. She -dropped her eyelids, and he looked at her long lashes and the thick -rolls of dark hair on her head. Then his eyes ranged on. Her face was -pretty, with a prim prettiness, but for the rest Margery wholly lacked -her sister's physical splendours. No grand curves of bosom met Mr. -Libby's little shifty eyes. The girl, indeed, was slight and thin. - -He dropped her hand, and she, knowing by intuition the very matter of -his mind, spoke. Her voice was the sweetest thing about her, though -people often forgot that fact in the word it uttered. Margery had a bad -temper and a shrewish tongue. Now the bells jangled, and she fell -sharply upon her absent sister. She declared that she feared for her; -that Sally was growing unmaidenly as a result of her outdoor duties. -Then came a subtle cut--and Margery looked away from her listener's face -as she uttered it. - -"Her could put you in her pocket and not knaw you was theer. I've heard -her say so." - -Mr. Libby grew very red. - -"Ban't the way for a woman to talk about any chap," he said. - -"Coourse it ban't. That's it with she. So much working beside the men, -an' killin' fowls, an' such like makes her rough an' rough-tongued. -Though a very gude sister to me, I'm sure, an'----" - -She had seen Sally approaching; hence this lame conclusion. The women's -eyes met as the elder spoke. - -"Wheer's faither to, Margery? Ah! Mr. Libby--didn't see you. You'm up -here airly--helpin' her to waste time by the look of it." - -"Theer's some doan't want no help," retorted the other. "What be you -doin' indoors? Your plaace is 'pon the land with the men." - -"Wheer you'd like to be, if they'd let 'e," stung the other; "but you'm -no gude to 'em--a poor pin-tailed wench like you." - -"Ess fay! Us must have a brazen faace an' awver-blawn shape like yourn -to make the men come about us! Ban't sense--awnly fat they look for in -a female of coourse!" snapped back Margery; and in the meantime the -cause of this explosion--proud of his power, but uneasy before the wrath -of women--prepared to depart. Fortune favoured his exit, for Honor -appeared suddenly at the other end of the farmyard with some kittens in -her hands and a mother cat, tail in air, marching beside her and lifting -misty green eyes, full of joy. - -Libby turned therefore, delivered his letter, and was gone; while behind -him voices clashed in anger, one sweet, one shrill. Then a door slammed -as Margery hastened away upon a Parthian shot, and her sister stamped -furiously, having no word to answer but a man's. Sally immediately left -the house and proceeded after the messenger; but a possibility of this -he had foreseen, and was now well upon his way back to Godleigh. Sally -therefore found herself disappointed anew, and marked her emotions by -ill-treating a pig that had the misfortune to cross her stormy path. - -Another woman's soul was also in arms; and while Margery wept invisible -and her sister used the ugliest words that she knew, under her breath, -their mistress walked up and down the grass plot where it extended -between the farm and the fields, separated from the latter by a dip in -the land and a strange fence of granite posts and old steel rope. - -Honor had now come from seeing Myles Stapledon. Together, after -breakfast, they had inspected a new cow-byre on outlying land, and, upon -the way back, he told her that he designed to return to Tavistock at the -end of that week. Only by a sudden alteration of pace and change of -foot did she show her first surprise. Then she lifted a questioning -gaze to his impassive face. - -"Why?" she asked. - -"Well, why not? I've been here three months and there is nothing more -for me to do--at any rate nothing that need keep me on the spot." - -"There's still less for you to do at Tavistock. You told me a month ago -that there was nothing to take you back. You've sold the old house and -let the mill." - -"It is so; but I must--I have plans--I may invest some money at -Plymouth. And I must work, you know." - -"Are you not working here?" - -"Why, not what I call work. Only strolling about watching other -people." - -Honor changed the subject after a short silence. - -"Did you see Christopher on Sunday? I thought you were to do so?" - -"Yes; the linen-draper from Plymouth has been at him again. He's mad -about Godleigh; he makes a splendid offer to rent it for three years. -And he'll spend good money upon improvements annually in addition to -quite a fancy rent." - -"Did you advise Christopher to accept it?" - -"Most certainly I did. It would help to lessen his monetary bothers; -but he was in one of his wildly humorous moods and made fun of all -things in heaven and earth." - -Honor tightened her lips. Their first great quarrel, it appeared, was -not weighing very heavily on her lover. - -"He refused, of course." - -"He said that he would let you decide. But he vows he can't live out of -sight of Godleigh and can't imagine himself a trespasser on his own -land. He was sentimental. But he has such an artist's mind. 'Tis a -pity he's not got some gift of expression as an outlet--pictures or -verses or something." - -"That can have nothing to do with your idea of going away, however, -Myles?" asked Honor, swinging back to the matter in her mind. - -"Nothing whatever; why should it?" - -"I don't want you to go away," she said; and some passion trembled in -her voice. "You won't give me any reason why you should do so, because -there can be none." - -"We need not discuss it, cousin." - -"Then you'll stop, since I ask you to?" - -"No, I cannot, Honor. I must go. I have very sufficient reasons. Do -not press me upon that point, but take my word for it." - -"You refuse me a reason? Then, I repeat, I wish you to stay. -Everything cries out that you should. My future prosperity cries out. -It is your duty to stay. Apart from Bear Down and me, you may do -Christopher much good and help him to take life more seriously. Will -you stay because I ask you to?" - -"Why do you wish it?" he said. - -"Because--I like you very much indeed; there--that's straightforward and -a good reason, though you're so chary with yours." - -She looked frankly at him, but with annoyance rather than regard in her -eyes. - -"It is folly and senseless folly to go," she continued calmly, while he -gasped within and felt a mist crowding down on the world. "You like me -too, a little--and you're enlarging my mind beyond the limits of this -wilderness of eternal grass and hay. Why, when Providence throws a -little sunshine upon me, should I rush indoors out of it and draw down -the blinds?" - -He was going to mention Christopher again, but felt such an act would be -unfair to the man in Honor's present mood. For a moment he opened his -mouth to argue the point she raised, then realised the danger and -futility. Only by an assumption of carelessness amounting to the brutal -could he keep his secret out of his voice. And in the light of what she -had confessed so plainly, to be less frank himself was most difficult. -Her words had set his heart beating like a hammer. His mind was -overwhelmed with his first love, and to such a man it was an awful -emotion. It shook him and unsteadied his voice as he looked at her, for -she had never seemed more necessary to him than then. - -"Don't be so serious," he said. "Your horizon will soon begin to -enlarge with the coming interests. I've enjoyed my long visit more than -I can tell you--much more than I can tell you; but go I must indeed." - -"Stop just one fortnight more, Myles?" - -"Don't ask it, Honor. It's hard to say 'No' to you." - -"A week--a little week--to please me? Why shouldn't you please me? Is -it a crime to do that? I suppose it is, for nobody ever thinks of -trying to." - -"I cannot alter my plans now. I must go on Saturday." - -"Go, then," she said. "I'm rewarded for being so rude as to ask so -often. I'm not nearly proud enough. That's a distinction you've not -taught me to achieve with all your lessons." - -She left him, but he overtook her in two strides, and walked at her -right hand. - -"Honor, please listen to me." - -"My dear cousin, don't put on that haggard, not to say tragic, -expression. It really is a matter of no moment. I only worried you -because I'm spoiled and hate being crossed even in trifles. It was the -disappointment of not getting my way that vexed me, not the actual point -at question. If you can leave all your interests here without anxiety -and trust me so far--why, I'm flattered." - -"Hear me, I say." - -"So will the whole world, if you speak so loud. What more is there to -hear? You're going on Saturday, and Tommy Bates shall drive you to -Okehampton to catch the train." - -"You're right--and wise," he said more quietly. "No, I've nothing to -say." - -Then he made a ghastly effort to be entertaining. - -"And mind, Honor, I shall be very sharp if my cheque does not come each -quarter on the right day. A hard taskmaster I shall be, I promise you." - -"Don't, Myles," she answered instantly, growing grave at his simulated -merriment. - -A few minutes afterwards she left him, sought out the squeaking kittens -to calm her emotions, presently deposited them in a sunny corner with -their parent, and, taking Christopher's letter, walked out again upon -the grass. - -A storm played over her face which she made no attempt to hide. -Tear-stained Margery, peeping from the kitchen window, noticed it, and -Samuel Pinsent, as he passed from the vegetable garden, observed that -his salute received no recognition. - -Honor Endicott knew very well what she now confronted, and she swept -from irritation to anger, from anger to passion before the survey. -Ignoring the great salient tragedy that underlaid the position, she took -refuge in details, and selecting one--the determination of Myles to -depart--chose to connect Christopher Yeoland directly with it, decided -to believe that it was at Yeoland's desire her cousin now withdrew. The -rectitude of the act added the last straw to her temper. The truth -perhaps was not wholly hidden from her; she had been quick to read Myles -by light thrown from her own heart. And here, at a point beyond which -her thought could not well pass, she turned impatiently to the letter -from her lover, tore it open, and scanned the familiar caligraphy. - -Half a page sufficed, for her mood just then was ill-tuned to bear any -sort of reproof. Anger had dimmed both her sense of proportion and her -knowledge of Christopher; round-eyed she read a few lines of stern -rebuke and censure, a threat, an offer of liberty, and no more. The -real Christopher, who only began upon a later folio, she never reached. -There was a quick suspiration of breath, a sound suspiciously like the -gritting of small teeth, and her letter--torn, and torn, and torn -again--was flung into the hand of the rough wind, caught, hurried aloft, -swept every way, scattered afar, sown over an acre of autumn grass. - -"This is more than I can bear!" she said aloud; and after the -sentiment--so seldom uttered by man or woman save under conditions -perfectly capable of endurance--she entered the house, tore off her -gloves, and wrote, with heaving bosom, an answer to the letter she had -not read. - - - - - *CHAPTER XI.* - - *PARTINGS* - - -When Christopher Yeoland received his sweetheart's letter at the hand of -Tommy Bates, he read it thrice, then whistled a Dead March to himself -for the space of half an hour. - -He retired early with his tribulation, and spent a night absolutely -devoid of sleep; but Nature yielded about daybreak, when usually he -rose, and from that hour the man slumbered heavily until noon. Then, -having regarded the ceiling for a considerable time, he found that Honor -had receded to the background of his mind, while Myles Stapledon bulked -large in the forefront of it. To escape in their acuteness the painful -impressions awakened by his letter, he destroyed it without further -perusal; he then wandered out of doors, and climbed above his pine woods -to reflect and mature some course of action. He retraced the recent -past, and arrived at erroneous conclusions, misled by Honor's letter, as -she had been deceived from the introductory passages in his. He told -himself that she had yielded to his importunities through sheer -weariness; that in reality she did not love him and now knew it, in -presence of this pagan cousin, sprung up out of the heather. From -finding herself in two minds, before all the positive virtues of -Stapledon, she was doubtless now in one again, and he--Christopher--had -grown very dim, had quite lost his old outline in her eyes, in fact had -suffered total eclipse from the shadow of a better man. - -To these convictions he came, and while still of opinion--even after the -catastrophe of her letter--that no more fitting husband could have been -found for Honor than himself, yet was he equally sure, since her -indignation, that he would never ask her to marry him more. Thus he -argued very calmly, with his body cast down under the edge of the pine -woods, his eyes upon the dying gold of oak forests spread over an -adjacent hill. Against Honor he felt no particular resentment, but with -Stapledon he grew into very steadfast enmity. - -Under his careless, laughter-loving, and invertebrate existence Yeoland -hid a heart; and though none, perhaps not Honor herself, had guessed all -that his engagement meant to him, the fact remained: it began to -establish the man in essential particulars, and had already awakened -wide distaste with his present uncalculated existence. Thus Honor's -promise modified his outlook upon life, nerved him, roused him to -responsibility. He was not a fool, and perfectly realised what is due -from any man to the woman who suffers him henceforth to become first -factor in her destiny. Yet his deeply rooted laziness and love of -procrastination had stood between him and action up to the present. All -things were surely conspiring to a definite step; but events had not -waited his pleasure; another man now entered the theatre, and his own -part was thrust into obscurity even at the moment when he meditated how -to make it great. But the fact did not change his present purpose. -Ideas, destined to produce actions during the coming year, were still -with him, and recent events only precipitated his misty projects. He -resolved upon immediate and heroic performance. He began by forgiving -Honor. He marvelled at her unexpected impatience, and wondered what -barbed arrow in his own letter had been sharp enough to draw such -serious wrath from her. There was no laughter in her reply--all -thunder, and the fine forked lightning of a clever woman in a passion on -paper. He felt glad that he had destroyed the letter. Yet the main -point was clear enough, though only implicitly indicated; she loved him -no more, for had she done so, no transient circumstance of irritation or -even active anger had been strong enough to win such concentrated -bitterness from her. He did not know what had gone to build Honor's -letter; he was ignorant of Stapledon's decision, of the fret and fume in -his sweetheart's spirit when she heard it, of the mood from which she -suffered when she received his note, and of the crowning fact that she -had not read all. - -So Christopher made up his mind to go away without more words, to let -Godleigh to the enamoured linen-draper for a term of years, and join his -sole surviving relative--an ancient squatter in New South Wales--who -wrote to his kinsman twice a year and accompanied each missive with the -information that Australia was going to the dingoes and must soon cease -to be habitable by anything but a "sun-downer" or a kangaroo. Hither, -then, Christopher determined to depart; and, viewed from beneath his -whispering pines, the idea had an aspect so poetical that he found tears -in his eyes, which set all the distant woods swimming. But when he -remembered Myles, his sorrow dried, scorched up by an inner fire; and, -as he looked into the future that this stranger had snatched away from -him, he began to count the cost and measure the length of his life -without Honor Endicott. Such calculations offered no standpoint for a -delicate emotion. They were the difference between visions of billowing -and many-breasted Devon, here unrolled before him, glorious under red -autumn light, and that other in his mind's eye--a sad-coloured -apparition of Australian spinifex and sand. - -His anger whirled up against the supplanter, and he forgot his former -charitable and just contentions uttered before this blow had fallen. -Then he had honestly affirmed to Honor that in his judgment Stapledon -was in love with her and scarcely realised his position. That utterance -was as nearly true as possible; but in the recollection of the woman's -anger he forgot it. How the thing had come about mattered nothing now. -To inquire was vain; but the knowledge that he had done no deed to bring -this storm upon himself proved little comfort. His patience and humour -and philosophy went down the wind together. He was, at least to that -extent, a man. - -To Honor's letter he returned no answer; neither did he seek her, but -avoided her rather and pursued an active search for Myles Stapledon. -Accident prevented a meeting until the morning of the latter's -departure, and, wholly ignorant that his rival was at that moment -leaving Bear Down for good and all, Christopher met him in a dog-cart on -the road to Okehampton, not far from the spot where had fallen out their -first introduction. - -The pedestrian raised his hand, and Myles bid Bates, who drove him, pull -up. - -"Well met," he said. - -"Would you mind giving me a few minutes of your time, Stapledon?" -inquired Christopher coldly; whereupon Myles looked at his watch, and -then climbed to earth. - -"Trot on," he said to his driver, "and wait for me at the corner where -Throwley road runs into ours. And now," he continued, as the vehicle -drew out from ear-shot, "perhaps you won't mind turning for half a mile -or so. I must keep moving towards Okehampton, or I shall miss my -train." - -They walked in step together; then Yeoland spoke. - -"You'll probably guess what I've got to say." - -"Not exactly, though I may suspect the subject. Hear me first. It'll -save you trouble. You know me well enough to grant that I'd injure no -man willingly. We must be frank. Only last Sunday did I find what had -overtaken me. I swear it. I didn't imagine such things could happen." - -"Don't maunder on like that! What do I care what's overtaken you? You -say you suspect the thing I want to speak about. Then come to it, or -else let me do so. When first we met you heard that I was the man your -cousin had promised to marry. You won't deny that?" - -"You told me." - -"Then why, in the name of the living God, did a man with all your -oppressive good qualities come between us? That's a plain question -anyway." - -A flush spread over Stapledon's cold face and as quickly died out. He -did not answer immediately, and the younger spoke again. - -"Well? You're the strong man, the powerful, self-contained, admirable -lesson to his weak brethren. Can't you answer, or won't you?" - -"Don't pour these bitter words upon me. I have done no deliberate wrong -at all; I have merely moved unconsciously into a private difficulty from -which I am now about to extricate myself." - -"That's too hard a saying for me." - -"It is true. I have wakened from an error. I have committed a terrible -action in ignorance. A blind man, but not so blind as I was, showed me -my stupidity." - -"Say it in so many words. You love Honor." - -"I do. I have grown to love her--the thing farthest from my thoughts or -dreams. I cannot help it. I do not excuse it or defend myself. I am -doing all in my power." - -"Which is----?" - -"Going--going not to come back." - -"It is too late." - -"Do not say so, Yeoland. What could I be to her--such a man----?" - -"Spare me and yourself all that. And answer this one question--on your -oath. Did she tell you of the letter she wrote to me?" - -"She did not." - -"Or of my letter?" - -"Not a word." - -"One question more. What did she say when you told her you were going?" - -"She deemed it unnecessary at the time." - -"She asked you to stop?" - -Stapledon did not answer immediately; then his manner changed and his -voice grew hard. He stood still, and turned on his companion and -towered above him. Their positions were suddenly reversed. - -"I will suffer no more of this. I have done you no conscious wrong, and -am not called upon to stand and deliver at your order. Leave a man, who -is sufficiently tormented, to go his way alone. I am moving out of your -life as fast as my legs will carry me. I mourn that I came into it. I -acknowledge full measure of blame--all that it pleases you to heap upon -me; so leave me in peace, for more I cannot do." - -"'Peace!' She did ask you not to go?" - -"I have gone. That is enough. She is waiting for you to make her your -wife. Don't let her wait for ever." - -"You do well to advise--you who have wrecked two lives with -your--'private difficulty'!" - -Yeoland stood still, but the other moved hastily on. Thus they parted -without further words, and Christopher, at length weary of standing to -watch Stapledon's retreating shape, turned and resumed his way. - -He had determined, despite his sneer, to take Stapledon's advice and go -back to Honor. The bonds woven of long years were not broken after all. -How should events of a few short weeks shatter his lifelong -understanding with this woman? Recent determinations vanished as soon -as his rival had done so, and Yeoland turned and bent his steps to Bear -Down, resolved that the present hour should end all and place him again -in the old position or dethrone him for ever. His mind beat like a bird -against the bars of a cage, and he asked himself of what, in the name of -all malevolent magic, was this man made, who had such power to unsettle -Honor in her love and worship, to thrust him headlong from his high -estate. He could not answer the question, or refused to answer it. He -swept on over the sere fern, with the soft song of the dead heather -bells in his ear; but the message of stone and heath was one: She had -asked the other man not to go. - -Before that consummation his new-kindled hope faded, his renewed -determinations died. The roads of surrender and of flight were all that -stretched before him. To Honor he could be nothing any more; and worse -than nothing if he stopped. Complete self-sacrifice and self-effacement -seemed demanded of him if his love was indeed the great, grand passion -that he had imagined it to be. Impressed with this conviction he passed -from the Moor and sought his nearest way to Godleigh; and then the mood -of him suffered another change, and hope spoke in the splendours of -sunset. Myles Stapledon had certainly gone; and he had departed never -to return. That was his own assurance. Honor at least might be asked, -and reasonably asked, to tell her mind at this crisis in affairs. - -And so he changed the road again and set his face for Bear Down. A dark -speck met his gaze while yet he was far distant; and he knew it for the -mistress and hastened to her, where she walked alone on the little lawn. - -Coming quietly over the grass Yeoland surprised her; she lifted a -startled face to his, and he found her moist of eye while in her voice -was a tremor that told of tears past. - -"Why d'you steal on me like this?" she asked suddenly, and her face -flushed, and her hands went up to her breast. "You frighten me. I do -not want you. Please, Christopher, go away." - -"I know you do not want me, and I am going away," he answered gloomily, -his expectations stricken before her words. "I'm going, and I've come -to tell you so." - -"How much more am I to suffer to-day?" - -"You can ask me that, Honor? My little girl, d'you suppose life's a bed -of roses for me since your letter?" - -"A bed of roses is the sum of your ambitions." - -"Why, that's like old times when you can be merely rude to me! But is -the old time gone? Is the new time different? Listen, Honor, and tell -me the truth." - -"I don't know the truth. Please go away and leave me alone; I can tell -you nothing. Don't you see I don't want you? Be a man, if you know -how, and go out of my sight." - -The voice was not so harsh as the words, and he thought he saw the ghost -of a hope behind it. - -"Curious!" he said. "You're the third person this week who has told me -to be a man. Well, I'll try. Only hear this, and answer it. I've just -left Myles Stapledon on his way to Okehampton--gone for good." - -"What is that to me?" - -"Your looking-glass will tell you. Now, Honor, before God--yes, before -God, answer me the truth. Do you love him?" - -"You've no right to stay here prattling when I bid you go." - -"None; and I'm not going to stay and prattle. But answer that you -shall. I've a right at least to ask that question." - -The girl almost wrung her hands, and half turned from him without -speaking; but he approached and imprisoned both her arms. - -"You must tell me. I can do nothing until I know, Your very own lips -must tell me." - -"You don't ask me if I love you?" - -"Answer the other question and I shall know." - -"Blind--blind--selfish egotists--all of you," she cried. Then her voice -changed. "Is it my fault if I do love him?" she asked. - -"I'm no judge. To part right and wrong was a task beyond me -always--excepting on general, crude principles. Answer my question." - -"Then, I do." - -He bent his head. - -"I love him, I love him, I love him." - -Neither spoke for some seconds; then the man lifted up his head, shook -it as though he had risen from a plunge, and laughed. - -"So be it. Now here's news for you, that I can relate since you've been -so frank. D'you remember what I whispered to you when I was a little -boy, of the cracks on my ceiling and the chance patterns I found on my -window-blind when I used to lie awake in the grey of summer mornings, -waiting for the first gold? You forget. So had I forgotten until a few -days since. Then, being lazy, I lay abed and thought, and thought, and -fell to tracing the old stories told by the lines on blind and ceiling. -Chance patterns of bays and estuaries, continents and rivers, all mapped -out there--all more real to me than those in my atlas. I remember a -land of blackamoors, a sea of sharks, an island of cannibals, a desert -of lions, in which the little flies figured as monsters of the -wilderness. Such dreams of deeds by field and flood I weaved in those -grey, gone mornings to the song of the thrush and the murmur of the old -governor snoring in the next room! And now--now I'm smitten with the -boy's yearning to speed forth over the sea of sharks--not after lions, -but after gold. I'm going to justify my existence--in Australia." - -"You couldn't go further off if you tried." - -"Not well--without slipping over the edge altogether." - -"You mustn't do this, Christopher." - -"It's done, dearest. This is only a ghost--an adumbration that's -talking to you. I ask for my freedom, Honor--sweetheart Honor. Thank -God we are humorists both--too sensible to knock our knuckles raw -against iron doors. You'll be happy to-morrow, and I the day after. We -mustn't miss more laughter than we can help in this tearful world. And -friends we must always be. That can't be altered." - -"I quite understand. You shall not do this, Christopher. I love you for -suggesting it. You may go--as far as London, or where the steamer -starts from. Then you must come back to me. You've promised to marry -me." - -"Forget it. I'm in earnest for once. At least you must credit that. -There's Mrs. Loveys at the window calling you to tea. We'll meet again -in a day or two very likely." - -"Don't go; don't go, Christo; I'm so lonely, and wretched, and----" - -But the necessary iron in him cropped up at this hour of trial. He -hardened his heart and was gone before she had finished speaking. - - -Two days later Honor, who had heard nothing of Christopher since their -last meeting, sent a message to him. He returned an evasive answer, -which annoyed her for the space of three days more. Then, still finding -that he kept at home, she went to seek him there. Between ten and eleven -o'clock one morning she started, but breaking her bootlace near the -outset, returned home again. The total delay occupied less than fifteen -minutes, and presently she reached Godleigh to find Mrs. Brimblecombe, -wife of Noah Brimblecombe, the sexton of Little Silver, on her knees, -scrubbing in the porch. The charwoman readily desisted from work and -answered Honor's question. - -"He kept it that 'mazin' quiet from us all, Miss. An' you never told -nobody neither. Gone--gone to foreign lands, they tell me; an' the -place in a jakes of a mess; an' the new folks comin' in afore -Christmas." - -As she spoke a dog-cart wound up the steep hill to Chagford, and a man, -turning in it, stopped and looked long at the grey house in the pines. -Had anybody walked on to the terrace and waved a handkerchief, he must -have seen the signal; but as Honor spoke to Mrs. Brimblecombe the trap -passed from sight. - -"When did he go?" she asked unguardedly. - -"Lard! Doan't 'e knaw 'bout it--you of all folks?" - -"Of course; of course; but not the exact hour." - -"Ten minutes agone or less--no more certainly; an' his heavy boxes was -took in a cart last night, I hear." - -Honor hurried on to the terrace and looked at the road on the hill. But -it was empty. Mrs. Brimblecombe came also. - -"Sails from Plymouth this evenin', somebody telled us, though others -said he'm gwaine to Lunnon fust; an' it seems that Doctor Clack knawed, -though how a gen'leman so fond of the moosic of his awn tongue could -hold such a tremenjous secret wi'out bustin' I can't fathom." - -Honor Endicott walked slowly back to Bear Down. The significance of her -own position, as a woman apparently jilted, did not weigh with her in -the least. She reflected, with a dull ache and deadness, that her -accident, with a delay of ten little minutes resulting from it, had -altered the whole scope and sweep of her life and another's. That -Christopher Yeoland had taken his great step with very real difficulty -the fact of his continued absence before it made sufficiently clear. He -had not trusted himself to see her again; and now Honor's conviction -grew: that her presence even at the last moment, must surely have broken -down his determination and kept him at home had she so willed. - -She asked herself what she might have done in the event of that ordeal, -and believed that she would have tried hard to keep him. - - - - - *CHAPTER XII.* - - *THE DEFINITE DEED* - - -Life, thus robbed of love for Honor Endicott, was reduced to a dreary -round of mere duties. Within one fortnight of time these two men, -severally responsible for the music and sunshine of her life, had -departed out of it in a manner perfectly natural, conventional, and -inevitable. Given the problems that had arisen, this was the solution -to have been predicted. Mark Endicott, indeed, put it very bluntly to -her; but Honor viewed the tragedy with more tender pity for her own -feelings. She marvelled in secret at the great eternal mystery of human -affections, at the evolution of the love instinct, which now, ennobled -and sublimated through the generations of men, had achieved its present -purity and perfection in the civilisation of monogamous nations; while -her uncle told her, in fewer words and homelier, that between two stools -she had fallen to the ground. - -She was supremely miserable through dwindling days, and each of them to -her seemed longer than those of the summer that was past. The shadows -of two men often accompanied her lonely rides, and circumstances or -places would remind her of each in turn, would suddenly stab her into -acute suffering as they wakened the image of Christopher or of Myles in -very life-colours. - -There came a laugh once, when she overheard Pinsent and Collins -congratulating each other that Bear Down had not been too precipitate in -the purchase of the wedding "momentum"; but the salt was gone out of -humour for a little while; and with her uncle, at least, she never -laughed at all. His boundless sympathy was strained before her wayward -unhappiness. She flew to paradoxes, contradictions, and whimsical -conceits, all vain, and worse than vain in his judgment. She sometimes -talked at random with no particular apparent object save to waken -opposition. But the knitting-needles ticked placidly through long -evenings beside the glowing peat: and it asked an utterance beyond -measure flagrant to set them tapping, as an indication that the blind -man's patience was exhausted. - -About mid-December they sat together in the little parlour of the -kitchen, and Honor, who lolled beside the fire, employed her pretty -fingers upon no more useful task than playing with a piece of string -from a grocer's parcel. - -"What are you doing?" asked Mark suddenly. - -"Making cats' cradles," she answered, and won from him the reproof that -such a confession invited. - -"How is it you've given up reading of late days?" - -"I've sunk into a lazy way. The lazier you are the less time there is -for anything." - -"You ought to read; you've ample leisure to improve your mind; and ample -need to." - -"That's just it--the ample leisure. When I had Christo to look after, -though every precious moment of the day was full, I could find time for -all. And that shows a busy man or woman's more likely to see well after -affairs than a leisurely one. Some men can actually _make_ time, I -believe--Myles could. But now--through these black, hateful, sunless -days--I feel I'm always wanting to creep off to bed, and sleep, and -forget." - -"That's never my brave girl spoke that?" - -"I'm not brave; and I'm tired of the awful stores of things worth -knowing collected by people who are dead. How the men who wrote books -must look back from the other world and shiver at the stuff they've left -behind them in this--knowing all they know there! But Myles was right in -that. He used to say he'd learned more from leaning over gates than -from any books. And I believe he had." - -"He was grounded in solid knowledge by lessons from wise books to start -with. They taught him to learn." - -"Such a way as he had of twisting everything into a precept or example!" - -"You'd have held that prosy talk presently." - -"Speak of sermons in stones! He found whole gospels in a dead leaf." - -"But you would have grown mighty impatient of all that after a while." - -"Very likely indeed. And yet I doubt it; for never being in earnest -myself, I admire it in others," she said. - -"Never in earnest and never of one mind! 'Tis a poor character, and I'd -not like to hear anybody give it to you but yourself, Honor." - -"With two minds you get light and shade into life--shade at any rate. -If I hadn't been--but you'll grow as weary of that as I am. Yet a -woman's days are so drab if she never changes her mind--all cut and -dried and dead. Why, every morning I open my eyes and hope I shall get -a new idea. I love my ideas to jostle about and fight and shift and -change and dance, like colours in a cloud. I like to find myself -helpless, shaken, bewildered, clutching at straws. You don't understand -that, Uncle Mark. Ideas are the beautiful, budding flowers of one's -thoughts." - -"And fixed opinions the roots--or should be. What's the value of poor -blossoms 'pon the top of a tree when the storm comes an' puny petals are -sent flying down wind? You talk foolishness, and you know 'tis -foolishness. Done to vex me, I could almost think. 'Tis your ideas that -make you miserable now. A feather in a gale is a stable thing beside -you, Honor. You must turn to books if only to please me." - -She promised to do so presently, but did not keep her promise; and thus, -to little purpose, oftentimes they talked. Then a circumstance quite -unexpected made Honor think less of her ill fate and start into new and -lively touch with her existence. After long intervals it chanced that -some intelligence both of Yeoland and Stapledon reached Bear Down on the -same morning; and Doctor Clack it was who brought news of his friend; -while information concerning Myles came more directly from himself. - -Doctor Clack dismounted with some parade, and made his announcement -before Honor and her uncle. That he might perchance move the girl to -emotion troubled him but little, for the physician was a staunch -partisan, and held that Christopher had been very badly treated. - -"A communication from the wanderer," said he. "Yeoland was leaving -Sydney for his kinsman's up-country place when he wrote six weeks ago. -All is well with him--at least so he declares, and--what do you think? -He desires me to join him. Such a romantic notion!" - -"Well?" - -"Well, Mr. Endicott, positively I don't see why I should not. Little -Silver without Christopher is, frankly, a howling wilderness from my -point of view--a mere solitary tomb. And nobody ever ill--nobody -ailing--no opportunities. When folk do succumb it means the end of them -and the inevitable dose of churchyard mould--that final prescription -none can escape." - -"The health of the place is your highest tribute surely." - -"Not at all--far from it. I've nothing to do with the matter. Drugs -decaying in their vases; steel rusting in its velvet. Besides, the -loneliness. A fishing-rod is but a vain thing to save a man--especially -when it's close time as now; and the new people at Godleigh haven't -asked me to a single shoot. In fact there's to be no shooting this year -at all. So my case is desperate." - -"Come and see us oftener," said Mark. - -"I will; I positively must; but I think I'll go abroad. There's a saying -that a man who can live quite happily alone must be one of two things: -an angel, or a demon. Now I'm neither to my knowledge, and since Christo -has vanished I've lived alone, and it's telling on me. I shall drift -into one of those extremes, and I leave you to guess which." - -"But you're always welcome everywhere, my dear Clack." - -"I know it--at least I think so; but there's such fear of wearing out a -welcome in a small place. Hereditary modesty, you'll say. If so, it's -on the mother's side, not the father's. But, in all seriousness, why -should not I join him?" - -"You know your own business best. Is there money to be made there?" - -"Plenty for a professional man. They are to have a qualification of -their own, I believe; but at present a practitioner with English degrees -gets the pull--very right and proper of course. Thus the old country -drives her sons away; but not before she's arranged ample accommodation -for them elsewhere--God bless her! So I'm wise to go--eh?" - -"Nothing like seeing the ends of the earth and enlarging the mind," said -Mark. - -"Well, don't any of you develop anything in the nature of an interesting -indisposition to tempt me to stop." - -Margery brought in a letter at this moment as the postman had just -penetrated to Bear Down--a feat he rarely accomplished much before -midday. Doctor Clack wondered in secret whether her old lover had also -communicated with Honor, but seeing that his own missive was charged -with a general message of goodwill to all at Endicott's, he suspected -the letter came from elsewhere. - -Soon he was gone; then, without comment, Mark's niece read aloud a brief -note from Myles Stapledon. It did no more than set forth his -determination to return in a fortnight's time. Reason for the step was -not given, as the writer disdained any excuse. His words were bald. "I -will arrive on such a date, if convenient," he concluded; and Mark -Endicott, reading ahead and reading backwards also, was saddened, even -amazed, as one standing before the sudden discovery of an unsuspected -weakness or obvious flaw in a work he had rejoiced to believe near -perfection. - -The stages by which Myles had arrived at the determination now -astonishing Mark Endicott had extended over three months, and the -curtain rose upon his battle exactly a week after he left the farm, for -at that date he learned how the engagement between Honor and Christopher -was definitely at an end, and how the latter would be on the sea before -his words were read. The announcement came from Yeoland himself, and -was written in London on the eve of his departure. Then began the fight -that ended with a determination to return, and caused such genuine -disappointment in Mr. Endicott. Mark, however, forgot the force of the -passion his niece had awakened in this man; and certain it is that -neither he nor any other could have guessed at the storm which swept -Stapledon's soul when he learned how Honor had regained her freedom. -Soaked as he was in love, to remain away from Endicott's with this -knowledge for three months had proved no mean task to Myles. The battle -fought and won with his passion while it had no right to exist proved -but a prelude to encounters far more tremendous upon Christopher -Yeoland's departure. - -There grew within him a web of sophistry spun through sleepless nights. -This at first, with the oncoming of morning, he swept away; but, -spider-like, and with a spider's patience, the love in him renewed each -mesh, and asked his conscience a question that his conscience seemed -powerless to answer. He fought, yet knew not the name of the foe. -To-day he marvelled at his own hesitation, and asked himself what still -held him back; to-morrow a shadow of Yeoland shamed his troubled -longings, and the word of Mark Endicott, "between you is a great gulf -fixed," reverberated drearily upon his thoughts. Then the cloud castles -fell to earth, and the sanguine glow upon their pinnacles vanished away. -Yet against that saying of the blind man's every pulse in his body often -throbbed furiously. He knew better, and Honor knew better also. It was -not for nothing that they had walked over the Moor together; not for -nothing they had stood silently, each by the other's side, on moonlight -nights. - -Out of darkness Christopher Yeoland sometimes took shape, but only as an -abstraction that grew more misty with passage of days. He had gone for -all time; and Honor was left alone. Myles burnt to know something of -her mind; how much or how little she had forgotten; how much or how -little she wondered at his attitude; in what she blamed him; whether -such blame grew daily greater or was already fading away--perhaps along -with his own image--in her recollection. - -The great apparition of Duty rose. In the recent past he had made -others supremely unhappy and tormented himself. That was over; and -now--the slave of duty from his youth up--he stood in doubt. For the -first time the man discerned no clear sign-post pointing to his road. -Wherein lay duty now? He wearied his brain with dialectics. Sometimes -duty looked a question of pure love; sometimes it hardened into a -problem of pure logic. He would have risked all that he had for one -glimpse of Honor's attitude towards the position; and finally he decided -that his duty lay in ascertaining that attitude. This much might very -easily be done without a word upon the vital theme. He told himself -that a few hours under the same roof with her--the sound of her voice, -the light in her eyes--would tell him all he needed to know. He dinned -this assurance upon his own mind; but his heart remained dead, even -before such a determination, and the cloud by no means lifted itself -from off him. He presented the somewhat uncommon spectacle of a man -trying to deceive himself and failing. His natural instincts of justice -and probity thrust Christopher Yeoland again and again into his -thoughts. He began three letters to the traveller on three separate -occasions, but these efforts ended in fire, and the letter that was -written and posted went to Bear Down. - -Through turmoil, tribulation, and deepening of frontal furrows he -reached this step, and the deed done, his night thickened around him -instead of lifting as he had hoped and trusted. Perhaps the blackest -hour of all was that wherein he rode through familiar hamlets under the -Moor upon his way to Honor. Then came the real sting of the certainty -that he had lapsed from his own lofty rule; and love itself forsook him -for a space beneath Cosdon's huge shadow at sunset time. He hastened, -even galloped forward to the sight of the woman; he told himself that in -her presence alone would be found balm to soothe this hurt; and the very -feebleness of the thought fretted him the more. - -So he came back, and Chance, building as her custom is on foundations of -the trivial, wrought from his return the subsequent fabric of all his -days. For out of the deliberate action, whether begun in laughter or -prayer, whether prompted by desire or inspired by high ambition, springs -issue, and no deed yet was ever barren of consequence, hidden or -revealed. Never, since conscious intelligence awakened here, has that -invention of the dunces justified itself--never once has any god from -any chariot of fire descended to cut one sole knot in a tangle of -earthly affairs. The seeds of human actions are sown to certain -fruition but uncertain crop, and Fate and Chance, juggling with their -growth, afford images of the highest tragedy this world has wept at; -conjure from the irony of natural operations all that pertains to sweet -and bitter laughter; embrace and environ the whole apparition of -humanity's progress through time. Life's pictures, indeed, depend upon -play of ridiculous and tragic chance for their rainbow light, for their -huge spaces of formless and unfathomable shadow, for their ironic -architecture, their statuary of mingled mice and mountains--flung -together, fantastic and awful. In Titan visions these things are seen -by lightning or by glow-worm glimmer; or sunned by laughter; or rained -upon with tears; or taking such substance and colour as wings above the -reach of either. - -Thus, his deed done, through chaos of painful thoughts, came Myles -Stapledon; and then, standing amid the naked beds of Bear Down garden, -he found Honor Endicott's little hand in his at last. Whereupon he -whispered to his soul that he had acted wisely, and was now about to -pass from storm into a haven of great peace. - - - - - *CHAPTER XIII.* - - *SNOW ON SCOR HILL* - - -There came a day when Honor and Myles rode out upon a dry and frozen -Moor under the north wind. The man, who had brought his own great horse -to Endicott's, now galloped beside Honor's pony, and the pace warmed -them despite the extreme coldness of the weather. Presently, upon their -homeward way from Watern's granite castles, they stopped to breathe -their horses, where a ring of horrent stones sprouted abrupt, uneven, -irregular, out of the waste, and lay there, the mark of remote human -activity. All the valley presented a stern spectacle unsoftened by any -haze, untouched by any genial note of colour. The Moor's great, -iron-grey bosom panted for coming snow; and Teign, crying among her -manifold stairways, streaked the gorges with ghostly foam light, where -naked sallows and silver birches tossed lean arms along the river. Only -the water offered action and sound in the rocky channels; all else, to -the horizon of ashy hills under a snow-laden sky, waited and watched the -north. - -Two horses stood steaming in Scor Hill Circle--that ancient hypaethral -high place of the Damnonians--while their riders surveyed the scene and -one another. Both long remembered the incident, and for them, from that -day forward, the spot was lighted with a personal significance, was -rendered an active and vital arena, was hallowed by interest more -profound than its mere intrinsic attributes of age and mystery had -formerly imparted to it. - -Myles Stapledon did not reach the speedy conclusion he anticipated upon -return to Bear Down. A month had now lapsed since his arrival, and, -while very thoroughly assured of his own sentiments, while gulfed and -absorbed, heart and soul, in a transcendent love of Honor that swept all -before it and left him a man of one hope, one daily prayer, he had yet -to learn her explicit attitude. His own humility helped to blind him a -little at first, but she made no attempt to disguise her pleasure in his -society, and by her unconventional companionship and intercourse wakened -strong hopes within him. For he attached an obvious meaning to many -actions, that had perhaps been conclusive of intention in any other -woman, but were not in Honor. She went everywhere with him alone--to -Chagford on horseback, to Exeter by train. Moreover, she let her cousin -do as he would with the farm, and when he suggested embarking further -capital and acquiring a half interest of all--she made no personal -objection, but consulted Mr. Endicott. The inevitable sequel now stared -Bear Down in the face, yet, when his niece put the question to him in -private, Mark refused to give advice. - -"That's a point none can well decide but yourself," he said. "The -future's your own, as far as a human being can claim such control. As -you act now, so the man will assume you mean to do afterwards." - -"I mean nothing at all but the welfare of the farm and--you won't -advise, then?" - -"No. It looks all cut and dried to me." - -Honor stamped her foot like a child. - -"Everything's always cut and dried in my hateful life--try as I will," -she said. Then she swept away, and he knitted on without visible -emotion, though not lacking an inner sympathy. For he understood her -desire to escape from the monotonous, and foresaw how this imminent -incident would not bring about that end. Personally Stapledon had served -to brighten his sightless life not a little, had set new currents -running in his mind, had sweetened back waters grown stagnant by disuse; -for Myles, as Endicott believed, was fine metal--wise, self-contained -even in his love, a sober and discreet man--super-excellent save in the -matter of his return to Bear Down. Even there, however, on second -thoughts, Mark did not judge him. He only felt the lover to be human, -and it was viewed in the character of a husband for Honor that the old -man regarded his nephew without enthusiasm. Stapledon's very goodness, -simplicity, and content with rural interests would suffice to weary the -wife he wanted soon or late. And Christopher Yeoland must probably -return to his home some day. - -Thus he argued, but, meantime, full of hope, and arriving at a right -logical conclusion on a wrong hypothesis of logical intention in Honor, -Stapledon resolved to speak. And now, before the beauty of her, kissed -into a sparkle by her gallop, her bosom rising and falling, a tiny cloud -around her lips, caught and carried away by the wind at each -expiration--before this winter vision his heart found a tongue; and, as -they walked their horses in the grey circle, he spoke. - -"It's a strange place this to tell you, yet these things are out of -one's keeping. I must say it I must. Honor, do you care for me at all?" - -"Of course I care for you." - -"Do you love me?" - -"Now, dear Myles, please don't say anything to make me cry in this wind. -Think of the freezing misery of it! Please--Please." - -"To make you cry! I hope not--indeed. I hope not that. Yet it's -solemn enough--the most solemn thing a man can say to a woman." - -"That's all right, then," she said cheerfully. "Nothing solemn ever -makes me cry." - -He looked bewildered, wistful, and her heart smote her; but the -inopportune fiend would speak. She remembered how that Christopher had -proposed marriage in a flippant spirit, while she craved for something -so different. Here was no frivolous boy in a sunny wood, but a strong, -earnest man under skies full of snow. His great voice and his eyes -aflame made her heart beat, but they had no power to alter her mood. - -"I love you!" he said simply. "I loved you long before I knew it, if -you can believe so strange a thing. I loved you, and, finding it out, I -left you and poured all the bitter blame on myself that I could. Then I -heard how you had agreed to part. He was going. He went. And now I -stand before you all yours. You are unlinked by any tie. He said -so--he----" - -"Oh you wretches of one idea!" she burst out, interrupting him. "You -self-absorbed, self-seeking, selfish men! How can I explain? How can I -lay bare my weaknesses before such superiority? He was the same--poor -Christo--just the same. I suppose nearly all of you must be; and women -are frightened to speak for fear of shocking you. So we pretend, and -win from you a character for huge constancy that we often deserve no -more than you do. Why attribute so many virtues to us that you don't -possess yourselves? Why demand a single, whole-hearted, utter, -ineffable love from us that not one in a thousand of you can give?" - -"All this is nothing to the purpose," he said in a puzzled voice. "What -can you answer, Honor? - -"Well, I'll speak for myself, not for the hosts of single-hearted women. -I won't tar them with my black brush. You want me to marry you, Myles?" - -"God knows how dearly." - -"And because I love you, you think I ought to marry you. Yet if I love -somebody else too? I wish I had fine words, though perhaps plain ones -are better to describe such an unheroic muddle. When I told Christo I -loved you--yes, I told him that--he bowed his head as though he had -heard his death knell. Yet I did not tell him I loved him less than -before." - -"You still love him?" - -"Of course I do. Can a quarrel kill a live love? He was made for -somebody to love him. And I love you--love you dearly too. And I'm not -ashamed of it, however much you may think I should be." - -"The end of that?" he said drearily. - -"Clear enough. I've spoilt two lives--no, not all, I hope, but a part -of two lives." - -"It is I that have done so," he answered bitterly and slowly; then he -stopped his horse and looked aloft where scattered flakes and patches of -snow began to float heavily downward from the upper grey. - -"No, no, no," said Honor. "It's just a snappy, snarling, unkind fate -that wills it so. Two's company, and three's none, of course." - -"Your knowledge is imperfect," he said, "and so your argument is vain. -If you were a type, the foundation of civilisation would fail. Surely -no woman worth thinking of twice can love in two places at once?" - -"Then think of me no more," she answered, "for I do--if I know love at -all. Is not the moon constant to earth and sun? A woman can love two -men--as easily as a man can love two women. You couldn't--I know that; -but you're not everybody. Most men can. Christianity has made a noble, -exalted thing of love, and I was born into the Christian view. Yet I'm -unfortunately a barbarian by instinct. Just an accidental primitive -heathen who has cropped up in a respectable family. You can't alter any -particular cranky nature by pruning. Oh, dear Myles, if I could marry -you both! You for the working weeks and Christo for Sundays and -holidays!" - -He merely gasped. - -"Yet I love to think you love me. But you know what naughty children -say when they're crossed? I can't have you both, so I won't have -either." - -"This you say for love of him?" - -"Don't trouble to find reasons. At any rate I'm speaking the truth. -Should I have confessed to such a depraved and disgraceful frame of mind -to a man I love if I had not been deadly serious despite laughter? Hate -me, if you must, but I don't deserve it. I would marry you and be a -good wife too; but there's a sort of sense of justice hid in me. -Christo noticed it. So don't drive me into marriage, Myles dear." - -"You love him better than me at any rate?" - -"Arithmetic can't be brought to bear upon the question. I love you -both." - -There was a pause; then she added suddenly-- - -"And if there were a hundred more men like you and Christopher, I should -love them all. But there are no more." - -"You've got a big heart, Honor." - -"Don't be unkind to me. It's a very unhappy heart." - -"It should not be." - -"That fact makes it so much the more unhappy." - -"Do you know your own mind in this matter?" - -"Of course I don't. Haven't you found that out?" - -"It's going to snow," he said. "We'd better hurry." - -"No, walk to the top of the hill; I like it." - -"You must be made happy somehow," he continued. "It's everybody's duty -who loves you to make you that, if it can be done." - -"You great, generous thing! How I wish I could do what you ask me to; -but I should be haunted if I did. You don't want a haunted wife, Myles?" - -"Leave that. I have spoken and you have answered. I shall not speak -again, for I pay you the respect and honour to believe your 'No' means -no." - -"Yes," she said; "you would." Then she turned away from him, for her -tears were near at last. "Every flake lies on the frozen ground. D'you -see how black the spotless snowflakes look against the sky? Isn't there -some moral or other to be got out of that, Myles?" - -"Why did you let me buy half Endicott's?" he asked, not hearing her last -speech. - -"Because you wanted to. And I wanted some money." - -"Money!" - -"Yes--I can tell you just at this moment. It will help to show you what -I am. I sent a thousand pounds to Christo." - -"He'll never take it!" - -"Of course not. Yet, somehow, it comforted me for quite two days to -send it." - -"How we fool ourselves--we who think we stand firm! I fancied I was -getting to understand you, Honor, and I knew nothing." - -"You'd know everything, and find that everything was nothing if you -weren't in love. There's nothing to know beyond the fact that I'm a -very foolish woman. Uncle Mark understands me best. He must do so, for -he can always make me angry, sometimes even ashamed." - -Snow began to fall in earnest, and fluttered, tumbled, sidled, scurried -over the Moor. The wind caught it and swept it horizontally in tattered -curtains; the desolation grew from grey into white, from a spotted -aspect, still lined and seamed with darkness, into prevailing pallor. -The tors vanished; the distance was huddled from sight; Honor's -astrakhan hat caught the snow, and her habit also. She shook her head, -and shining drops fell from her veil. Then Myles went round to ride -between her and the weather, and they hastily trotted down the hill -homeward. - -Already a mask of snow had played magic pranks with the world, reduced -known distances, distorted familiar outlines, brought remote objects -close, dwarfed the scene, and much diminished its true spaciousness. The -old familiar face of things was swallowed by a new white wilderness, -like in unlikeness to the earth it hid. - -Early darkness closed down upon the land before tremendous snow. Within -the farm candles guttered, carpets billowed, cold draughts thrust chill -fingers down stone passages, and intermittent gusts of wind struck upon -the casement, like reverberations of a distant gun. - - - - - *CHAPTER XIV.* - - *THE WISDOM OF DR. CLACK* - - -That night, despite the heavy snow, and not averse from a struggle with -the weather, Myles set out, after supper, for Little Silver, -three-quarters of a mile distant, in the valley beneath Bear Down. -Progress was difficult, but though snow already stood above Stapledon's -knees in the drifts, he found strength more than sufficient for the -battle, and presently brought a blast of cold air and a snow wreath into -the small dwelling of Doctor Clack, as he entered without formal -announcement. Courteney Clack--deeply immersed in packing for his -departure--marvelled at the advent of any visitor on such a night and -abandoned his labours. - -"Get out of that coat and come to the fire," he said. "I'm afraid this -means something serious, or you wouldn't have turned out in such a -tempest. Who's ill, and what's amiss?" - -"Nobody--nothing. I wanted this wild weather against my face to give me -a buffet. I also want a talk with you--if I can trespass on your time." - -The physician was much relieved to learn that it would not be necessary -for him to go out of doors. - -"I sail on Thursday," he said, "but, until that date, I am, as usual, at -the beck and call of all the world. Sit down and I'll get the necessary -ingredients. Need I say that I refer to a glass of punch?" - -"In six weeks," began Myles abruptly, "you'll be seeing Christopher -Yeoland." - -"God willing, that pleasure is in store for me." - -Stapledon took out his pipe, and began to fill it mechanically. - -"I want you to do a very delicate thing," he said. "The task will need -even all your tact and skill, doctor. Yet it happens that if I had to -pick a man out of England, I should have chosen you." - -"Now that must be flattery--a mere country apothecary." - -"No, it's true--for particular reasons. You are Yeoland's best friend." - -"A proud privilege. I have his word for it." - -"And, therefore, the man of all others to tackle him. Yet it's not to -your personal interest either. I'll be frank. That is only fair to -you. In the first place, what was the position between Miss Endicott -and your friend when he finally left here?" - -"Well, Stapledon, I suppose you've the right to ask, if anybody has; and -not being blind, I can't speak the truth, perhaps, without hurting you. -The rupture was pretty complete, I fancy--final in fact. I didn't know -whether to be glad or sorry. Miss Honor is a girl who wants a tight -hand over her. I say it quite respectfully, for her good--and yours." - -"Don't drag me in, Clack. The point is that she still loves Yeoland. -That's what I came here to explain to you. It is right that he should -know it, and you are the man to tell him. The information must come -from yourself, remember--from nobody else. The point is, how are you to -be furnished with proofs?" - -"Are you sure there exist proofs? Is it true?" - -"She told me so herself." - -Doctor Clack had little difficulty in guessing at the nature of the -conversation wherein such a confession had made a part. He was -impulsive, and now did a thing that a moment's reflection had left -undone. He stretched out his hand and gripped Stapledon's. - -"I'm sorry," he said. "You have my sincere sympathy. Forgive me if I -offend." - -Myles flushed, and as the other had been surprised into sudden speech, -so now was he. Indeed he answered most unexpectedly, on the spur of the -moment, stung thereto by this assault on self-esteem. - -"You mistake!" he answered. "She loves me also." - -Doctor Clack whistled. - -"How spacious! These times are really too cramped for such a girl. -This is the sort of knot that could be cut so easily in mediaeval days; -but now the problem is most difficult. You want to drop out of the -running in favour of Christo? Carlyle says that the heroic slumbers in -every heart. It woke in Yeoland's when he turned his back on Little -Silver and everything that made life worth living for him. Now it wakes -in you." - -"I do not want her life to be made a lonely, wretched thing by any act -of mine." - -"Of course not." - -"We must save her from herself." - -"Ah, that means that she has announced a determination not to marry at -all." - -"Yes. We are both so much to her that she cannot marry either." - -The doctor smothered a smile--not at Stapledon's speech, but before the -monumental sternness with which he uttered it. - -"How characteristic!" - -"Against that, however, I have the assurance that she does not know her -own mind. Women, I think, if I may say so without disrespect and upon -slight experience, are very contradictory. Miss Endicott has not been -in the habit of analysing her emotions. Not that she is not lucidity -itself. But--well, if he were here and I--if I were out of the way--I -only want her happiness. It seems to lie there. He must come back to -her. I can't say all I feel about this, but you understand." - -"You're set on her happiness. Very altruistic and all the rest; but I'm -afraid she's not built for it. To get happiness into her life will be -difficult. Too humorous to be happy, don't you think? Omar al Khattab -remarks, very wisely, that four things come not back to man or woman. -They are the spoken word, the sped arrow, the past life, and the -neglected opportunity. She sent Yeoland about his business. Now there -is a sort of love that won't brook cruelty of that pattern." - -"Cruelty's too big a word for it. She called it a lover's quarrel -herself. Eliminate me, and judge whether the spoken word might not be -retrieved and forgotten if he came back to her again." - -"Of course improbability's the only certainty with a woman. Don't fancy -I'm letting my own interest stand in the way. I, too, in common with -all human clay, contain the germ of the heroical. I'll tell Christo -everything; that he still has half--is it half or a lesser or greater -fraction?--of Miss Honor Endicott's heart. Here we are--three -able-bodied men: you, Christo, and myself. Well, surely with a little -expenditure of brain tissue we can--eh? Of course. One of you chaps is -the obstacle to the other. You pull her heart different ways. She is -suspended between your negative and positive attractions like a -celestial body, or a donkey between two bundles of hay. So you both go -free. Now, if one of you heroes could only find comfort in another woman -such a circumstance might determine--you follow me?" - -"Her happiness?" - -"Not so much her happiness as her destination. Well, I'll urge upon -Yeoland the advisability of coming home; I'll tell him how things stand, -and of course keep you out of it." - -"She would be happier with him than with me: that's the point." - -"Say rather: that's the question. He may not think so. I don't want to -flatter you, but I don't think so myself. There is that in Christo not -usually associated with the domestic virtues. He and I are bachelors by -instinct--natural, unsophisticated beasts, in no sense educated up to -the desirable and blessed, but extremely artificial, state of matrimony. -You, on the contrary, are a highly trained creature with all your -emotions under your own control, and capable of a consistent -unselfishness in the affairs of life which is extremely rare in the male -animal. No; merely considered as a husband, Christo would not have a -look in with you--could hardly expect to get a vote--certainly not -mine." - -"He might make a better husband for Honor." - -"Not for any woman." - -"Don't tell him so, if you think it." - -"Leave me to do what I deem wise. Like you, I'm solely actuated with a -desire to brighten Miss Endicott's life. But you must not dictate my -line of action. My judgment is not wont to be at fault." - -"I know that very well. This great cause is safe in your hands. Put it -first. Put it first, before everything. You can't feel as I do, and as -Yeoland must; but you're a man of very wide sympathy--that's to say a -man of genius more or less. And you're his first friend--Yeoland's, I -mean; so for his sake--and hers----" - -"And yours--yes. I shall glory in bringing this matter to an -issue--happy for choice, but definite at any rate--if only to prove all -your compliments are not vain. Light your pipe and drink, and fill your -glass again." - -"No more--perfect punch--perfect and very warming to the blood." - -"Your punch-maker, like your poet, is born. The hereditary theory of -crime, you know." - -"Now I must get up the hill. And thank you, Clack. You've lightened my -anxiety, I think. We shall meet again before you go?" - -"Certainly--unless you are all snowed up at Bear Down. Good-night! -Gad! I hope nobody will want me! Not my weather at all." - -The storm screamed out of the darkness. Beyond a narrow halo of light -from Courteney Clack's open door all was whirling snow and gloom; and -through it, his head down, Stapledon struggled slowly back to the farm. - -The significance of his own position, the bitterness of his defeat, the -nature of his loss, and the gnawing sting of suffering had yet to come. -This effort to ameliorate the lonely life of Honor by bringing Yeoland -back into it was indeed laudable; but mere consciousness of right has no -power to diminish the force of great blows or obliterate the awful -meaning of a reverse in love. His future stretched desolate as the -weather before Myles Stapledon, and these physical exercises under the -storm, together with his attempts on behalf of others, might serve to -postpone, but could not diminish by one pang, the personal misery in -store for him. - - - - - *CHAPTER XV.* - - *SUN DANCE* - - -On the morning of Easter Sunday, some three months after the departure -of Doctor Clack from Little Silver, certain labouring men in their best -broadcloth ascended Scor Hill at dawn. Jonah Cramphorn, Churdles Ash, -Henry Collins, and the lad Tommy Bates comprised this company, and their -purpose was to behold a spectacle familiar and famous in ancient days -but unheeded and little remembered at the period of these events. Ash -had attracted the younger men to see the sun dance on Easter morn, and -of those who accompanied him, Mr. Cramphorn was always willing to honour -a superstition, no matter of what colour; Collins came to gain private -ends; while the boy followed because he was promised a new experience. - -"T'others may go to the Lard's Table for their bite an' sup, an' a holy -act to theer betterment no doubt," declared Churdles; "but, for my -paart, 'tis a finer deed to see the gert sun a-dancin' for sheer joy -'pon Resurrection Marnin', come it happen to be fine. A butivul day, -sure enough, an' the elements all red an' blue, like the Saviour's -clothes in the window-glasses to church." - -Mr. Ash's dim eyes scanned the sweetness of an April sky, and the party -moved onward to the crown of the hill. Through pearly dews they went, -and passed forward where the soft, green mantle of on-coming spring hung -like a veil on hedgerows and over wild waste places. A world stretched -before them lighted by the cold purity of spotless dawn, and the -day-spring, begemmed with primrose stars, was heralded by thrushes in -many a dingle, by the lark on high. As yet earth lay in the light that -is neither sunshine nor shadow, but out of the waxing blue above, from -whence, like a shower, fell his tinkling rhapsody, one singing bird -could see the sun, and himself shone like a little star. - -To the upland heath and granite plodded these repositories of -obsolescent folk-lore; and they talked as they went, the better to -instil Collins and the boy with a proper understanding in the matter of -those superstitions a scoffing generation agreed to disregard. Henry, on -his part, felt more than uneasy, for he much doubted the sanctity of -this present step. But love was responsible; Collins pined for Sally in -secret, and his great desire to conciliate Mr. Cramphorn was such that, -when Jonah invited him to the present observation, he undertook at once -to be of the party. Now he recollected that he had also promised the -vicar to go to the Sacrament that morning. - -"You must knaw," said Churdles Ash to Tommy, "that this holy season be a -gert time for signs an' wonders up-along an' down-along. I tell 'e -these things, 'cause you'm a young youth, an' may profit an' hand 'em on -to your childern in fulness of time. Theer be Gude Friday--a day of -much vartue, I assure 'e. Not awnly the event o' the Lard's undoing by -they bowldacious Jews, but the properest for plantin' vegetables in the -whole of the year." - -"An' the best for weanin' of childern," said Mr. Cramphorn. "Sally was -weaned 'pon that day, an' went straight to cow's milk so natural an' -easy as a born calf; an' look at her now!" - -Mr. Collins sighed deeply. - -"Butivulest gal in Debbensheer, I reckon," he said. - -Jonah grunted assent, and Henry, feeling the moment for a certain vital -question had arrived, mopped his wet brow and tremulously approached the -matter. - -"Fall back a pace or two, will 'e, maister? Your darter--I daresay you -might have seed as I was a bit hit in that quarter?" - -"I've seed it, I grant you. I'm all eyes wheer my gals be consarned." - -"These things caan't be helped. I mean no disrespect, I'm sure. 'Tis -the voice of nature in a man." - -"I'm sorry for 'e, Henery." - -"For that matter I couldn't wish myself out o' the evil, though 'tis -perplexin' an' very onrestful to my head. I be mazed when I consider how -a man of my modest way could think twice 'bout a rare piece like Sally. -Never seed such a wonnerful strong arm 'pon any woman in all my born -days." - -Jonah frowned and shook his head. - -"Never mind her paarts. Don't become you or any man to name a limb of -her separate from the rest. Baan't respectful!" - -"Then I'm sorry I said it. An' as for respectfulness, I'd go on my -bended knees to her to-morrow." - -"Have you?" inquired the parent. "That's the question. Have 'e axed -her an' got a answer?" - -"Not for the world," stammered Henry. "Not for the world afore gettin' -your leave. I knaw my plaace better." - -Mr. Cramphorn's nose wrinkled as though it had caught an evil odour. - -"Bah! You say that! You'm so chicken-hearted that you come to me 'fore -you go to she! Then I sez 'No.' I forbids you to speak a word of the -matter, for I reckon your way be more tame an' soft than the likes of -her or any other high-spirited female would suffer." - -"You'm tu violent--I swear you be," protested Mr. Collins. "You'd have -been the fust to blame me if I'd spoke wi'out axin' you. Besides, -caan't a man talk apart from usin' his tongue in this matter? I've a -looked at her time an' again wi' all the power of the eye. Theer's a -language in that, an' she knawed what I meant, or I'm a fule." - -"Theer be such a language for sartain," admitted Jonah; "but not for -you. No more power o' speech in your gert eyes than a bullock's--I -don't mean as it's to be counted any fault in you, but just the will of -Nature. An' so enough's said." - -"Quick! Run, the pair of 'e!" cried Tommy's voice. "Her's risin' nigh -the edge o' Kes Tor Rock all copper-red!" - -Cramphorn quickened his pace, and Collins, now merged in blank despair, -strode alter him. Together they approached Mr. Ash, and joined the aged -man upon a little granite elevation at the south-eastern extremity of -Scor Hill. Below them, a watercourse, now touched to fire, wound about -the shoulder of the elevation; and beneath, much misty, new-born verdure -of silver birch and sallow, brightened the fringe of fir woods where -Teign tumbled singing to the morning. - -Over against the watchers, lifted above a grey glimmer of ruined -Damnonian hut villages and primaeval pounds, there towered the granite -mass of Kes Tor, and from the distant horizon arose the sun. He bulked -enormous, through the violet hazes of nightly mist that now dwindled and -sank along the crowns of the hills; then the effulgent circle of him, -ascending, flashed forth clean fire that flamed along unnumbered crests -and pinnacles of far-flung granite, that reddened to the peaty heart -each marsh and mire, each ridge and plane of the many-tinted garment -that endued the Moor. - -Silently the labourers watched sunrise; then was manifested that -heliacal phenomenon they had come to see. A play of light, proper to -the sun at ascension, ran and raced twinkling round his disc; and, like -an empyreal wheel, the blazing star appeared to revolve and spin upon -its upward way. - -"He be dancin'! He be dancin', now!" declared Mr. Ash. - -"For sure, if I could awnly keep the watter out o' my eyes," added -Jonah; while Collins, by his comment, reflected personal tribulations -and exhibited an impatient spirit in presence of this solemn display. - -"I've seed un shimmer same as that scores o' times on working-days," he -said sourly. - -"Granted--in a lesser fashion; but not like he be doin' now. He knaws -as the Lard o' Hosts leapt forth from the tomb to the biddin' of cherub -angels 'pon this glad marnin'--nobody knaws it better than him. An', -for all his size, he'm as giddy an' gay an' frolicsome by reason of it, -as the high hills what hop in the Psalms o' David." - -Thus speaking, Gaffer Ash regarded the source of light with a benignant -and indulgent smile. - -"An' us all did ought to feel the same, I'm sure," moralised Jonah -Cramphorn, wiping the tears from his eyes and blinking at a huge red -spot now stamped upon his retina and reproduced in varying size against -everything which he regarded. "For my part I hold that not a heathen in -the land but ought to rise into a gude Christian man afore that gert -act." - -They waited and watched until the growing glory defied their vision; -then all started to return homewards, and both the elder men declared -themselves much refreshed, invigorated, and gladdened by what they had -seen. Each, inspired by the incident, occupied himself with time past -and matters now grown musty. They related stories of witches and of -ghosts; they handled omens, and callings, and messages from dead voices -heard upon dark nights; they explained the cryptic mysteries hidden in -hares and toads, in stars, in 'thunder-planets,' and the grasses of the -field. They treated of turning stones against an enemy; of amulets to -protect humanity from the evil eye; of ill-wishing and other magical -misfortunes; of oil of man; and of the good or sinister forces hidden in -wayside herbs. - -"'Tis the fashion 'mongst our young school-gwaine fules to laugh at auld -saws an' dark sayings because theer teachers laugh at 'em; but facts -doan't change, though manners may," said Mr. Cramphorn. "Theer's -witches descended from Bible witches, same as theer be saints an' -'postles comed from laying on of hands. An' Cherry Grepe's of 'em; she -doan't want for power yet, or my brain be no better'n tallow. I seed -Chowne's oxen charmed into gude health again, an' gerter wonders than -that onder my awn eyes. Ten shillin' she had of mine--" he added, -lowering his voice for the ear of Mr. Ash alone--"ten shillin' to bring -harm 'pon Christopher Yeoland. An' she drawd a circle against un before -my faace an' done a charm wi' wax an' fire. ''Twill all act presently,' -she said; and act it did, as you knaw, for he'm crossed in love, an' a -wanderer 'pon the faace of the airth, like Cain at this minute; an' -worse to come, worse to come." - -Mr. Ash looked very uneasy. - -"I could wish as you hadn't told me that," he answered. "You'm allus -lickin' your lips on it, an' I'd rather not knaw no more. Ban't a -pleasant side o' your carater." - -Shouts from Tommy interrupted Churdles, and all looked where the boy -pointed--to see some white object vanish under a gate before their eyes. -As for himself, heedless of Cramphorn's loud warning, Tommy Bates picked -up a stone and ran after the object. - -"'Ful to me!" cried Cramphorn, "did 'e see it--a rabbit as I'm a sinful -man!" - -"The white coney o' Scor Hill! An' that's death wi'in the year to some -wan us knaws! Fegs! A bad business for sartain." - -"Death inside the week," corrected Jonah solemnly. "It may have -awvertook some poor neighbour a'ready." - -"Or it may be ordained for wan of ourselves," murmured Mr. Ash gloomily. - -"I wish to Christ I'd gone to church then!" burst out Collins. "For -it's been a cruel hard marnin' for me from time I rose, sun dance or no -sun dance; an' now to cap it wi' this gert, hidden calamity, an' death -in the wind." - -"Sure as night follows day," declared Churdles Ash. - -The love-sick Collins tramped on his way without further speech; Tommy -did not return from pursuit of the apparition, and Ash argued with -Cramphorn as to who might now be numbered with the majority. Upon this -delicate point they could by no means agree; and they were still -wrangling as to the identity of their ill-starred acquaintance when a -man met them hard by the main entrance of Bear Down, and they saw that -it was Myles Stapledon. - -After Doctor Clack's departure and within a few days of the scene in -gathering snow upon Scor Hill, Myles had left Endicott's and taken him -rooms at Little Silver, in the dwelling of Noah Brimblecombe, sexton to -the parish. This man owned a pleasant abode somewhat greater than a -cottage--an establishment the bulk of which its possessor annually -under-let to advantage in the summer months. Hither came the rejected, -his plans for the future still unformed. And here he dwelt for three -long months and laboured like a giant to crush the agony of his spirit, -the black misery of every waking hour. Bear Down once thoroughly -invigorated by his capital and improved by his knowledge, he determined -to leave; but while work still remained to do he stopped at the gates of -the farm and exercised a painful self-control. Honor he saw not seldom, -but the former friendship, while still quite possible for her, was -beyond the power of the man. She pitied him, without wholly -understanding; and very sincerely pitied herself in that circumstances -now deprived her not a little of his cherished society. The difficulty -lay in her attitude towards him. To behave as one who loved him was -impossible under the constraint that now hedged him in; so she attempted -to imitate his manner, and failed. A great awkwardness and unreality -characterised present relations, and Honor found in these circumstances -ample matter for mental distraction, if only of a painful nature; while -Stapledon waited for the season of spring to finish his labours, and -counted that each post might bring some message from Christopher. - -To-day he had news definite and tremendous enough The last of the -Yeolands was coming back to his fathers--that he might sleep amongst -them; for he was dead. - -With a face darkened, Myles asked Cramphorn where he might find Mr. -Endicott, and Jonah, seeing that something was amiss, himself made an -inquiry. - -"Maister Mark be in the garden most likely. An' what ill's walkin' now, -sir, if a man may ax? Theer's a black story in your faace as you caan't -hide." - -"Black enough," said Stapledon shortly. "You'll know in good time." - -He passed by and left them staring. - -"That dratted white rabbit!" murmured Mr. Ash; while the messenger of -sorrow approached Mark, where he walked up and down under the walls of -the farm, beside uprising spikes of the orange-lilies and early growth -of other things that stood along his way. - -"You, Stapledon? Good morning. There's the feel of fine weather on my -cheek." - -Above them a window, set in cherry-buds, stood open, and within Honor, -who had just returned with her uncle from a celebration of the Lord's -Supper, was taking off her hat at her looking-glass. - -"Good morning, uncle. I've brought some awfully sad and awfully sudden -news. Here's a letter from Clack. I rode early to Chagford about -another letter I expected, and found this waiting, so saved the postman. -Christopher Yeoland--he has gone--he is dead." - -"Dead! So young--so full of life! What killed him?" - -"Died of a snake-bite near Paramatta. It's an orange-growing district -near Sydney, so the doctor says. He was there with his cousin--an old -settler--a survivor from a cadet branch of the family, I fancy. And it -seems that it was Yeoland's wish to lie at home--his last wish." - -"Then no doubt Clack will look to it. Gone! Hard to credit, very hard -to credit." - -"I'm thinking of Honor. It will be your task to tell her, I fear. My -God! I can't believe this. I had hoped for something so different. -She loved him--she loved him still." - -"Is there any reason why she should not read the letter?" asked Mr. -Endicott. - -"None--not a line she need not see. It is very short--cynically short -for Clack. He was probably dazed when he wrote; as I am now." - -"Give it to me, then. I will go up to her at once. Yes, I must tell -her--the sooner the better." - -But Honor Endicott knew already. She had heard through her casement, -and stood like a stone woman staring up into the blue sky when Mark -knocked at her door. - -"Come in, uncle," she said; and then continued, as he entered groping, -"I have heard what you want to say. So you are spared that. Give me the -letter and I will read it to you." - -"You know!" - -"My window was open. I could not choose but hear, for the first word -chained me. Christo is dead." - -He held out the letter and left her with it; while she, as yet too -shocked to see or feel beyond the actual stroke, read tearlessly. - -And, gazing with the eye of the mind through those great spaces that -separated her from this tragedy, she saw her old lover again, remembered -his joy of life, heard his laughter, and told herself that she had -killed him. - - -Below, in the kitchen, all Bear Down assembled about breakfast. Then -Mark Endicott told the company this news, and unutterable glances passed -between Ash, Cramphorn, and Collins. - -"You'd best to keep dumb 'bout your share, Jonah," muttered Churdles -under his breath, with round eyes that indicated aversion. "I wouldn't -say the law mightn't overget 'e, if it knawed." - -"As to that, I fear nothin', an' the tears I shed won't drown a midge," -answered the other in a defiant whisper. "I've forgived his wrong; -forget it I never shall." - -Collins was busy telling Sally and Margery of the spectral rabbit. - -"An' 'tis plain the ill-convenient beast didn't run for nought. Who -shall laugh at such deeds now? Not the vainest man amongst us," he -concluded. - -"Him of all to go!" sighed Mrs. Loveys; "an' when us thinks of what -might have been an' how one short word will make or mar a life----" - -Then a question from Margery as to where Tom Bates might be was answered -by the sudden appearance of that youth, and Mrs. Loveys, with a mind -somewhat overwrought, found outlet for emotion in an attack upon him. - -"Doan't 'e knaw the hour for eatin', you ugly li'l twoad?" she demanded -sharply. "An' to come to the table in such a jakes of a mess tu! You -ought to be shamed." - -But the boy paid no heed. He returned breathless with a comforting -discovery, and now cried it aloud to his companions of the morning. - -"'Tis all right," he said; "no call for no upstore nor trouble at all. -That theer white bastey I mean. I followed un half a mile to the furze -meadows down-long to make sartain, then I lost un, an' presently if I -didn't see un again--wi' a young rabbit he'd catched! Nought but that -baggerin' auld ram cat as they've got to Creber Farm!" - -"Quiet! you young fule!" said Mr. Cramphorn roughly; "shut your mouth, -will 'e? or I'll scat 'e awver the ear-hole! You to pit your green -brains against our ripe wans! A man be dead, an' so 'tis sartain us -seed what us seed." - -"Sartain as doom us seed what us seed," echoed Gaffer Ash, "for a man be -dead." - - - - - *CHAPTER XVI.* - - *A SHELF OF SLATE* - - -A blackbird, with sleepy notes and sad, warbled in a green larch at -dawn; and the pathos proper to his immemorial song was well suited to -the scene. For the larch raised her lovely foliage, begemmed with -rubies, above many graves in the burying-place of Little Silver; and a -streamlet also murmured there, uttering a sort of purring harmony that -mingled with the contralto of the bird. From an ivy-tod, at hand in the -grave-yard hedge, bright eyes peeped and the mother, with head and tail -alone visible and sooty-brown body pressed close upon four eggs, -listened to her lord. Elsewhere a man also heard the music, but heeded -it not. He stood at his house door, yawned and sniffed the morning; -while his whitewashed walls that faced the east were warmed into a -glowing melon colour, and sunshine wove golden threads along the ancient -straw of the thatch above. - -Noah Brimblecombe, the sexton, was a man of middle age, with grey -whiskers, clean-shaved lips and chin, a strong mouth, and a reflective -forehead. His back had grown rounded by digging of graves from early -manhood, and the nature of his life's labours appeared in a tinge of -gloom that marked his views. He passed through the world with an almost -morbid severity in his disparagement of all mundane concerns, triumphs -or possessions. The man now stood and fixed his small grey eyes upon -the church, but little more than a hundred yards distant. Then, bearing -great keys in one hand, an inch or two of candle in the other, he -proceeded to the burying-ground upon an errand connected with his -calling. - -Little Silver is a hamlet of almost beggarly simplicity. In the midst -stands a trinity of three great buildings beneath the bosom of a hill; -certain ruined barns, with a few thatched cots and a pound, embrace the -remainder of the village; while a duck-pond outside the churchyard gate, -orchard lands sloping to the valleys beneath, a little winding road and -a stone wall, beside which grow yellow bullace plums, complete the -picture. Variety in form and wide divergence in point of age -characterise the central features of this spot. Paramount, by virtue of -years and pristine significance, stand the ruins of Little Silver -Castle; the church comes next--an erection of the customary moorland -pattern, with a ring of small, sweet-toned bells, and a crocketted -tower, something too tall for its breadth; while, between these two, -there stands an old-time manor-house--empty as the ruined castle at the -date of this narrative; but more recently repaired for habitation. Here -spread the familiar theatre of Mr. Brimblecombe's life. Every stone of -the old fourteenth-century castle was familiar to him, and he delighted -to take chance visitors of antiquarian taste upward by a winding stair -into the time-fretted, ivy-mantled abode of the lords of Little Silver. -Now the sky was its covering; the lancet windows, through which once -frowned war-like faces behind crossbow, matchlock, or petronel, were the -dwelling of a thousand soft green things and framed the innocent eyes of -wild flowers; in the upper chamber rowans stood rooted upon old -hearthstones; briar and many grasses, pellitory of the wall and blue -speedwells superseded bygone mural tapestries; and where antlers of the -red deer hung and brazen sconces for the torch aforetime sprang, there -now rose the fronds of hart's-tongue and shield ferns, with tangle of -woodbine and ivy and networks of rootlets that hid the mossy homes of -wrens. Beneath the ruin there still existed a dungeon-vault, gloomy and -granite-groined; yet, save for broken wall and stairway, perfect as when -poor wretches mouldered there at the mercy of their feudal masters. Now -not so much as one spectre of a vanished sufferer haunted the place; -only the bats passed their sleeping hours among the arches of the roof, -and hung from five-clawed hands, with sinister, wrapped wings--like -little dusky cherubim that worship with veiled faces at some -mystery-seat of evil. - -Mr. Brimblecombe was not concerned with castle or with church at the -present time. His eye roamed forward to a ponderous mausoleum that lay -amid lush grasses and rank, sappy, umbelliferous plants in a corner of -the churchyard. A conical yew tree flanked each angle, and the larch, -whereon a blackbird sang, extended high overhead. Here stood the vault -of the Yeolands, and the last six generations of them slept within, for -no further accommodation existed under the church flags, where earlier -members of the race lay jowl to jowl with their historic enemies, the -Prouzes. The family tomb was of granite, with white marble tablets upon -three sides and a heavy metal door in the fourth or eastern face. Above -grinned decoration of a sort, and the architect, following sepulture -fashions at that date, had achieved a chaplet of marble skulls, which -Time was toying with from year to year. Now their foreheads, their -crowns, and occiputs were green and grimy; their eyes and jaws were -stuffed with moss; trailing toad-flax crept out of their noses; and -stray seeds, bird-planted, hung bright blossoms above them in -summer-time. - -Hither came Brimblecombe, and his feet stamped over the graves of many -more dead than the mounds of the churchyard indicated. A young man, the -sexton's assistant, sat and smoked among the marble skulls, waiting for -his master there; and now he rose, put out his pipe, and gave Noah "Good -morning." A moment later the blackbird had fled with a string of sharp -ejaculations, for a harsh note grated upon the air as the sexton turned -his key in the Yeoland vault door. A flood of light from the risen sun -streamed in where, "sealed from the moth and the owl and the -flitter-mouse," lay the dead. A few giant woodlice rushed to -concealment before this shattering incursion of sunshine, and other -curling, crawling things made like haste to disappear. Then -Brimblecombe's blinking eyes accommodated themselves to the inner gloom. -Two ledges of slate lay on each side of the mortuary, and coffins, whose -nails had long turned green, poked head and feet from rotting palls upon -three of these. The place struck very cold, with a fungus smell. A few -puny fragments of asplenium found life amid the interspaces of the -stone-work and lived dismally in the dark where damp oozed and granite -sweated. The fourth ledge bore a coffin that held Christopher Yeoland's -father, and its pall had as yet resisted the decaying influences of this -gloomy spot, for only a few round circles of mould dimmed the lustre of -the velvet. - -It was the custom of the family that the last four of their dead should -lie here upon these shelves; but now another needed his place and the -most ancient of the four--a matron who had flourished in the first -George's days--was to be deposed and lowered into the charnel below. -Brimblecombe moved an iron grating in the floor; then, with his -assistant's help, carried a slight and much tarnished shell to its place -in the ultimate desolation beneath. - -"'Tis awful how the watter gains down here," declared Noah. "Small -wonder them ducks of Mother Libby's do graw to be so heavy. They gets -the very cream an' fatness of the churchyard into 'em, an' 'tis a'most a -cannibal act to eat 'em." - -"'Tis lucky this here gen'leman's last of his race seemin'ly," said the -younger man, raising a candle above his head and spitting among the -coffins; "for theer ban't no more room to bury a beetle. Full up above -an' below by the look of it." - -"Last of his line--'tis so--an' comed of gude havage[#] as ever a man -need to boast on. A poor end to such a high family. Just a worm -stinged un an' he'm falled into lifeless dust, no better than the -founder of the race. To think this heap o' rags an' bones be all that's -left of a mighty folk as was." - - -[#] Havage = ancestry. - - -"An' not a Yeoland left to carry on the name, they tell me." - -"Not wan, Sam Reed; not a single bud left to bloom. Auld tree be dead of -sheer age, I reckon, for 'tis with families as with nations, as parson -said 'pon the Sunday after auld Jarvis died. They rise up gradual an' -slow to theer high-watter mark; then, gradual or fast, they tumble back -into the dust wheer they started. All dust--nations an' men like you -an' me--all draws our life an' power from dust--airth, or gold, or -grass, or what not. An' awnly lookin' 'pon the whole story of a man or a -family when 'tis told to the end, can you say wheer 'twas it reached the -high-watter mark an' measure the sum weight of the gude or bad to be set -against its name. Do you take me?" - -Young Reed nodded. - -"In paart I do," he said. - -"Very well, then. Now I be gwaine to my meal." - -Having made all ready for a new-comer, as yet upon the sea, Mr. -Brimblecombe locked up the Yeoland vault again. He then walked to a -rubbish heap at the back of the church behind the tower, there deposited -the rags of a pall taken from the coffin that he had just deposed, and -so returned home. - -At his door stood Stapledon, smoking a pipe before breakfast; indeed of -late Myles had fallen much upon tobacco and the company of his horse and -dogs. But neither narcotic nor the trustful eyes of the dumb animals he -loved possessed power to lighten loads that now weighed upon his heart. -They lay beyond the alleviation of drug or the affectionate regard of -beasts. This sudden death had shocked him immeasurably, and in process -of time he began to accuse himself of it and saddle his conscience with -the self-same deed that Honor had instantly committed to her own account -on hearing the ill tidings. Stapledon felt that he was sole cause of -the disastrous catastrophe; that by blundering blindly into the united -lives of this woman and man he had destroyed the one and blackened all -the future days of the other. Before this spectacle, very real, very -bitter contrition and self-accusation overwhelmed him. And that the -lash fell vainly rendered its sting the greater. But he could not punish -himself adequately, and at length even remorse fainted before the sure -knowledge that Yeoland was beyond all reach of prayer or petition. -Stapledon's was not a nature that could grieve for long over an evil -beyond possibility of cure. In any sort of future he disbelieved; yet, -if such existed, then there might be time in it for Christopher Yeoland -to settle with him. Meanwhile, a living, suffering woman remained. He -thought without ceasing of Honor, he asked himself by how much this -event altered his duty with regard to her, and finally determined, -through turmoil of sleepless nights and much torture of the mind, to do -as he had already determined before this sad news came, and leave Bear -Down when certain buildings were completed and the new stock purchased. - -For some weeks he had seen nothing of Honor, and purposely abstained -from seeking her. Concerning her, however, he had learnt from Sally -Cramphorn, who described how the mistress kept her room for two days -from Easter Sunday, how she had then reappeared, dressed in mourning, -and how that ever since she had spent most of her time with Mr. -Endicott, and preserved an unusual silence. For nearly three weeks -Honor did not pass beyond her garden; and this fact confirmed Stapledon -in a suspicion that she had so acted and avoided the land to escape from -sight of him. He felt such a desire natural in her, and only wondered -that she had not known him well enough to rest assured he would not seek -her or cross her path. - -Then he learned that the girl was going from home for a while to visit -an aunt at Exeter; and, once assured of her departure, he hastened to -Bear Down and won a lengthy conversation with Mark Endicott. Women were -at work in the kitchen; so, setting down his needles and worsted, Mark -walked out of doors, took the arm Myles offered, and moved with him -slowly along the hillside. They spoke first of Christopher Yeoland. - -"I can't believe it yet somehow. A man so full of life and -possibilities, with all the world before him to do some good in. A sad -death; a cruel death." - -"As to that, I don't know," answered the elder. "He's out of earshot of -our opinions now, poor fellow; but I'm not ashamed to say behind his -back what I told him to his face more than once. Never a man played a -poorer game with his time. 'Tis the life of him looks sad and cruel to -me--not the death." - -"So young as he was." - -"What's that? Only a woman would be soft enough to mourn there. -'Tisn't the years of a man's life that matter, but the manner of living -'em. The length of the thread's no part of our labour--only the -spinning of it. He went--poor soul--but left no ball of yarn behind -him--nought but a tangle of broken ends and aimless beginnings. 'Tis -the moral sticking out of this I speak for--not to blame the man. God -knows I don't judge him unkindly. My youth was no better spent--maybe -not so well." - -Stapledon's mind continued to be occupied by the former figure. - -"The spinning--yes, the spinning," he said. "That's a true saying; for, -if you look at it, all life's much like a ropewalk, where we -toil--walking backwards--with our faces turned away from fate." - -"Some are blind for choice--such as you," answered Mr. Endicott; "some -judge they've got the light; some hope they have; some know they have. -That last sort denies it to all but themselves, an' won't even let -another soul carry a different pattern candlestick to their own. But a -man may envy such high faith, for it's alive; it rounds the rough edges -of life; sets folk at peace with the prospect of their own eternity; -smooths the crumples in their deathbeds at the finish." - -"I don't know. I've never heard that your thorough-paced believers make -a better end than other folks," Myles answered. "My small experience is -that they regard death with far more concern and dread than the -rudderless ones who believe the grave is the end." - -"That's only to say a fear of death's nature-planted and goes down -deeper than dogma. Most makes of mind will always shrink from it, so -long as life's good to live. Faith is a priceless treasure, say what -you may, if a body has really got it. I'll maintain that so long as I -can talk and think. The man who pretends he has it, and has not, -carries his own punishment for that daily lie with him. For the Lord of -the Blessings never could abide pretence. Take Him or leave Him; but -don't play at being sheep of His fold for private ends. That's a game -deserves worse damnation than most human baseness." - -"Yes, yes. Take Him as He is; and take what He brought, and be -thankful. Lord of the Blessings! Isn't that a title high enough? But -here's my thought and sure belief, uncle. The discovery called -Christianity depended on no man, no single advent of a prophet, or poet, -or saviour. It was a part of human nature always, a gold bred in the -very heart's core of humanity. And Christ's part was to find the gold -and bring it into the light. Burn your book; let the beautiful story -go. It is ruined, worm-eaten, riddled by the centuries and follies and -lies heaped upon it. Sweep your institutions all clean away and -Christianity remains, a sublime discovery, the glorious, highest known -possibility of man's mind towards goodness. Lord of the Blessings! What -dogma intrudes amongst them to blind and blight and make our hearts -ache? They are alive and eternal--as all that is true must be eternal. -They were waiting--hidden in human hearts--left for a man to discover, -not for a God to invent. Who cares for the old dead theories that -explained rainbows and precious stones, and the colour of a summer-clad -heath and the strength of the solid earth? We have the things -themselves. And so with the message of Christ." - -"Wild man's talk," said Mark. "And quite out of your usual solid way of -thought. There's more hid in the Rock of Ages than a vein of gold -opened by a chance good man; but you and me won't argue on that, because -we're not built to convince each other. With years may come light; -Potter Time may mould a bit of faith into the fabric of even you -presently; who can tell? But spin slow and sure, as you mostly do--look -to the thread and see you leave no knot or kink behind as won't stand -the strain that life may call it to bear any moment." - -"There's another thought rises from what you said; and I'll tell you why -I'm on that morbid tack in a moment. You declare the length of the -thread is out of our keeping, and that a mind will shrink naturally from -death so long as life is good. But how many a poor fool does determine -the length and cut the thread when life ceases to be good?" - -"Determine the length they don't. They are the puppets, and when the -string is pulled they make their bow and go off the scene--by their own -hand, if it is to be." - -"Humanity holds suicide a crime now. Once, I learn, it was not so. -Great heathen men destroyed themselves, yet do not lack marble statues -for it. Only yesterday, as one might say, a man was cut off and buried -at crossroads with a stake through his belly if he dared to die by his -own hand. The Church recognises no shades of meaning in this matter, -and so to-day, as often as not, a coroner's jury bleats out a solemn and -deliberate lie--so that a man shall be buried with the blessing of the -Church and rest in God's acre against the trump. But there's no greater -piece of solemn humbug than that eternal verdict." - -"I thought much of these things when my eyes were put out. I have been -on the brink myself, but 'twas ordained my thread should run. A man -must be mad to destroy himself--mad or else a coward." - -"Most times cowardly perhaps," answered Myles. "But to be a coward is -not to be a lunatic. Suicide is one of those matters we shut our eyes -about--one of the things we won't face and thresh out, because the -Church is so determined on the point. Not but a man may picture -circumstances when a self-death would be a great deed. You may lay down -your life for your friend in more ways than one. Such a thing can rise -to greatness or sink to contempt according to the mainspring of the -action. Some at least might think so, and that's why I'm on this -subject. I feel a shadowy fear sometimes that Christopher Yeoland might -have had some such fancy--would even have done such a crack-brained deed -for love of Honor. I bid his friend be very plain with him and explain -the gap that his going left in her life. I made it as clear as I had -power to. Honor distinctly told me that she still loved him too well to -marry any other man. That was all he had need to know, and I asked -Clack to make Yeoland return to her on the strength of her confession." - -"And now he does." - -"How might he have argued when you consider his great love for her? Is -it not possible that he thought so? Is it not possible that he said, 'I -am the obstacle. Let me go beyond reach, and Honor--who still feels that -nothing can wipe out our old understanding--will be in reality free?' -Might he not reason in that way?" - -The old man shook his head. - -"Not to the extent of blotting himself out by death. Had the cases been -reversed, I could almost picture you destroying yourself, since your -views are what they are. You might do it, worse luck--Yeoland never. -Besides, what necessity? Such a course would be merely like a stage -play under these circumstances." - -"But there was an inclination towards just that in him; towards a -theatrical sort of way--unreal." - -"You read him like that. But he wasn't so superficial as he seemed to a -man of your build of mind. You don't find Honor superficial? No--he -wouldn't kill himself, because the necessity wouldn't appear from his -point of view. As I say, you'd blunder into the act much sooner than -Yeoland." - -"Not so at all. You misunderstand me." - -"Well, at least you can't see what would be easier and pleasanter, and -answer the purpose just as well under our present civilisation. -Consider. How stands the problem if Yeoland married somebody else? -You'll find that meets the case at every point. I'm not belittling -Yeoland. Who knows what chances of greatness there may have been hidden -and lost in him? Life only calls into play a thousandth part of any -man's powers during his brief tale of days, and most of us die full of -possibilities unguessed even by ourselves, because the hazard never -rose; but Yeoland's greatness, if greatness he had, would not have led -him off the stage by that road. He didn't die willingly, I promise you. -Come back he might have upon your message, if he had lived; or married -he might have, even out of consideration for Honor's future. We'll -allow him all the credit belonging to possibilities. Meantime, the only -thing that we know beyond his death is a last wish expressed to Clack--a -wish quite in keeping with his character." - -"To be brought home again." - -"Yes, the desire to rest his bones in Little Silver. Struck for death, -the thought in his mind was not death, nor Honor, nor you. His love for -the grass and the trees and the earth of his mother-land woke in him; -dying, his heart turned to Godleigh and his own old roof-tree. The -picture of the place was the last on his brain when all things were -fading away." - -The other bowed his head; then he asked concerning Honor. - -"It's hit her hard," answered Mark Endicott. "This sudden end of him -has been a burnish on the glass of memory--polished it very bright. She -has lived through the summer weather with him and talked fitfully of -woodland walks by him, and chatter of birds, and shining of Teign, and -cutting of letters on tree trunks. The glow and glory of love slowly -growing in them--sad enough to look back on for those that love her." - -"Sad enough. And my share of the pain's all too light." - -"Who knows how much or how little you deserve? You were sent to play -your part in her life. Just a bit of the machine. -Change--change--change--that's the eternal law that twists the wheel and -opens the womb; digs the grave and frets the name off the tombstone; -gnaws away the stars; cools the sun in heaven and the first love of a -young maid's heart. You brought something new into her life--for better -or for worse. Something new and something true, as I think; but maybe -truth's not always the right medicine at all hours. Anyhow change will -work its own way with time and space and the things that belong to them. -She was torn in half between you, and brave enough to make naked -confession of it. That proclaimed her either a greater character than -we thought once, or a poorer thing every way--according to the mind that -views the case." - -"I didn't know such a tangle could happen." - -"Every sort of tangle can happen where men and women are concerned. Not -that she's not a puzzle to me, too, every hour. She has gone now for a -while to Exeter. I advised that she should bide there until after the -funeral, but she scorned the thought. 'I'm chief mourner in truth, if -not in name,' she said; and so she will be. Time must do the rest." - -"The last resource of the wretched." - -"And the best to be relied on." - -"I can only hope to God she's not to be unhappy for ever." - -"She gets her happiness, like a bee gets honey--here, there, everywhere, -by fits and snatches. Too quick to see the inner comedy of human -affairs to be unhappy for ever, or happy for long. And what are you -going to do, Myles?" - -"I thought to go for good--yes, for good this time." - -"Couldn't do better. She will read you into these chapters of her life. -Can't help it. But Time's on your side too, though you slight him. And -this, at least, you'll remember: if she wants you to come back, she -won't hesitate to let you know it." - - - - - *CHAPTER XVII.* - - *SPRING ON SCOR HILL* - - -Often it happens that small matters demand lengthy spaces in time for -their development, while affairs of import and interests involving high -changes are carried through at comet speed upon the crest of some few -splendid or terrible moments. Thus did concerns of note to those -playing a part of their history under our eyes tumble unexpectedly to -the top, and an event take place wholly unforeseen by Myles Stapledon, -though predicted and prophesied for a more or less remote future by -Uncle Endicott. For this surprise one woman was responsible. - -Honor returned from Exeter in time to be present at Christopher -Yeoland's funeral; and with her she bore a fair wreath of Eucharis -lilies, which Mr. Brimblecombe consigned to a rubbish heap behind the -church tower as soon as her back was turned, because he held flowers out -of place on the coffin of quality. Those now occupying Godleigh for a -term of years gladly allowed the recent possessor to pass his last night -among men beneath that roof, and not a few folk representative of the -district attended the obsequies in person or by proxy. So Christopher -Yeoland was laid upon his shelf of slate, and Doctor Courteney Clack, -for the benefit of such as cared to listen, told how a whip snake, -falling from a tree, had fastened upon the dead man's neck, and how, -with few words and one wish to be buried at home, he had quickly passed -away under the poison. - -So that chapter closed at the mausoleum, whose guardian cherubs were -moss-grown skulls; and day followed day, month succeeded upon month, -into the time of early summer; of misty silver nights and shining noons; -of warm rain and steaming fields; of the music of life from birds' -throats; of the scent of life in the chalices of bluebells; of the very -heart-beat and pulse of life under the glades of green woods and beside -the banks of Teign. - -Then, in a June day's shape, Time, of many disguises, began his work -with Honor Endicott. A revulsion followed the gloom that had passed and -pressed upon her; she mourned still, but for choice in the sunshine; -and, growing suddenly athirst for the river and the manifold life that -dwelt upon the brink of it, she took her rod as an excuse, passed upward -alone, descended Scor Hill, and pursued her way eastward to a lonely -glen where Teign winds into the woods of Godleigh. Many fair things -broke bud about her, and in secret places the splendour of summer made -ready. Soon the heather would illuminate these wastes and the foxgloves -carry like colour aloft on countless steeples of purple bells; soon -woodbine and briar would wreathe the granite, and little pearly clusters -of blossom spring aloft from the red sundews in the marsh; while the -king fern already spread his wide fronds above the home of the trout, -and the brake fern slowly wove his particular green into the coombs and -hills. - -Despite a sure conviction that melancholy must henceforth encompass her -every waking hour, Honor Endicott was not armed against the magic of -this blue and golden day. She could fish with a fly, and that -skilfully; and now, before the fact that a brisk rise dimpled and -dappled the river, passing temptations to kill a trout wakened and were -not repulsed. She set up her rod, and by chance mused as she did so -upon Myles Stapledon. Him she had not seen for many days, but her -regard had not diminished before his abstention. Indeed she appreciated -it up to a point, though now it began to irk her. She did not know that -he was about to depart definitely; for Mark Endicott had deemed it -unnecessary to mention the fact. - -At her third cast Honor got a good rise, and hooked a fish which began -its battle for life with two rushes that had done honour to a heavier -trout. Then it leapt out of the water, showed itself to be a -half-pounder or thereabout, and headed up stream with a dozen frantic -devices to foul the line in snag or weed. But Honor was mistress of the -situation, turned the fish with the current, and, keeping on the deadly -strain, soon wearied it. Then she wound in the line steadily, steered -her victim to a little shelving backwater, and so, having no net, lifted -the trout very gently out of its element on to the grass. Flushed with -excitement, and feeling, almost against her will, that she was young, -Honor gazed down upon gasping fario, admired the clean bulk of him, his -fierce eye, dark olive back spotted with ebony and ruby, the lemon light -along his plump sides, his silver belly, perfect proportions, and sweet -smell. He heaved, opened his gills, sucked deep at the empty air, and -protested at this slow drowning with a leap and quiver of suffering; -whereupon, suddenly moved at thought of what this trout had done for -her, Honor picked him up and put him back into the water, laughing to -herself and at herself the while. After a gulp or two, strength -returned to the fish, and like an arrow, leaving a long ripple over the -shallow, he vanished back to the deep sweet water and his own sweet -life. - -Other trout were not so fortunate, however, and by noon, at which time -all rise ceased, the angler had slain above half a dozen and was weary -of slaughter. She fished up stream, and had now reached the tolmen--a -great perforated stone that lies in the bed of Teign near Wallabrook's -confluence with it. And resting here awhile, she saw the figure of -Myles Stapledon as he approached the river from a farm on the other -side. The homestead of Batworthy, where it nestles upon the confines of -the central waste, and peeps, with fair silver thatches, above its -proper grove, shall be seen surrounded by heather and granite. The -river babbles at its feet, and on every side extends Dartmoor to the -high tors--north, south, and west. From hence came Myles Stapledon, -after gathering certain information from a kindly colleague; and now he -strode across the stream and on to within ten yards of Honor, yet failed -to see her, where she sat motionless half hidden by ferns and grasses. -He moved along, deep plunged in his own thoughts, and she determined to -let him pass, until something in the weary, haggard look of him tempted -her to change her mind. He was lonely--lonelier than she; he had nobody -to care about him, and all his life to be lived. Perhaps, despite these -sentimental thoughts, she had suffered him to go, but one circumstance -decided her: on the arm of his workaday coat appeared a band of black. -And, guessing something of his recent tribulations, she lifted her voice -and called him. - -"Myles! Why do you avoid me?" - -He started and slipped a foot, but recovered instantly, turned, and -approached her. His face betokened surprise and other emotion. - -"How good of you to call me--how kind. I did not know that you were out -on the Moor, or within a mile of this place. Else I would have gone -back another way." - -"That's not very friendly, I think. I don't bite." - -"I thought--but like all thoughts of mine, though I've wasted hours on -it, nothing was bred from it. At least I may accompany you back. It -was most kind to call me. And most strange and culpable of me not to -see you." - -She noticed his gratitude, and it touched her a little. - -"I've killed eight trout," she said; "one nearly three-quarters of a -pound." - -"A grand fish. I will carry them for you. Fine weather to-day and the -summer really at the door." - -"It was thoughtful of you to keep away, Myles. I appreciated that." - -"I should have gone clean and haunted the land no further; but there was -much to do. Now all is done, and I'm glad of this chance to tell you -so. I can really depart now. You'll think it a cry of 'Wolf!' and -doubt my strength to turn my back on Bear Down again; but go I must at -last." - -She was reflecting with lightning rapidity. That he meant what he said -she did not doubt. The news, indeed, was hardly unexpected; yet it came -too suddenly for her peace of mind. There existed a side to this action -in which she had an interest. Indeed with her might lie the entire -future of him, if she willed it so. Decisions now cried to be made, and -while even that morning they had looked afar off, vague, nebulous as -need be, now they rushed up from the horizon of the future to the very -zenith of the present. Yet she could not decide thus instantly, so -temporised and asked idle questions to gain time. - -"Of what were you thinking when I saw you cross the river with your head -so low?" she asked, and hoped that his answer might help her. But -nothing was further from his mind than the matter in hers. He answered -baldly-- - -"My head was bent that I might see my way on the stepping-stones. As to -my thoughts, I only had a muddled idea about the season and the green -things--friends and foes--all growing together at the beginning of the -race--all full of youth and sap and trust--so to speak; and none seeing -any danger in the embrace of his companion. Look at that pest, the -beautiful bindweed. It breaks out of the earth with slender fingers, -weak as a baby's, yet it grows into a cruel, soft, choking thing of a -thousand hands--more dangerous to its neighbour than tiger to man--a -garotter, a Thug, a traitor that hangs out lovely bells and twines its -death into fair festoons that it may hide the corpse of its own -strangling." - -"And then?" - -"That was all my thought. Yet I seemed to feel akin to the plant -myself." - -"Something has changed you since we dropped out of one another's lives. -Fancy a practical farmer mooning over such nonsense! Bindweed can be -pulled up and burnt--even if it's growing in your heart." - -"How like you to say that! It is good to me to hear your voice again, -Honor." - -"Take down my rod then, and tell me why you are going. Half of -Endicott's is your own." - -"I thought--I believed that you would be happier if I did so. And I -still suspect that is the case. I owe you deeper reparation than ever a -man owed a woman." - -"You are too good, but your goodness becomes morbid." - -"I'm only a clumsy fool, and never knew how clumsy or how much a fool -until I met you." - -"No, I say you are really good. Goodness is a matter of temperament, -not morals. Some of the most God-fearing, church-going people I know -can't be good; some of the worst people I ever heard about--even frank -heathens like yourself--can't be bad. There's a paradox for you to -preach about!" - -But he shook his head. - -"Your mind's too quick for me. Yet I think I know what you mean. By -'goodness' and 'badness' you signify a nature sympathetic or otherwise. -It's all a question of selfishness at bottom." - -"But the day looks too beautiful for such talk," answered Honor. - -"So it is; I don't desire to talk of anything. You can't guess what it -is to me to hear your voice again--just the music of it. It intoxicates -me, like drink." - -"You're dreaming; and, besides, you're going away." - -The light died out of his face, and they walked together in silence a -few paces. Then the girl's mind established itself, and her love was a -large factor in that decision, though not the only one. She determined -upon a course of action beyond measure unconventional, but that aspect -of the deed weighed most lightly with her. - -They were passing over the face of Scor Hill when she turned to the -left, where stood that ancient monument of the past named Scor Hill -Circle. - -"I'm going down to the old ring," she said; "I've a fancy to visit it." - -He followed without speech, his mind occupied by a frosty picture of -their last visit to the same spot. Now it basked under sunlight, and -spring had touched both the splinters of granite and the lonely theatre -in which they stood. Upon the weathered planes of the stones were -chased quaint patterns and beads of moss, together with those mystic -creatures of ochre and ebony, grey and gold, that suck life from air and -adamant and clothe the dry bones of Earth with old Time's livery. - -Upon a fallen stone in the midst, where young heather sprouted in tufts -and cushions, Honor sat down awhile; and seeing that she remained -silent, Myles uttered some platitudes concerning the spot and the -ceremonies of heathen ritual, state, or sacrifice that had aforetime -marked it. The upright stones surrounded them where they sat beside a -sort of central altar of fading furze. The giant block of the circle -stood on the north of its circumference, and upon more than one of the -unshaped masses were spots rubbed clean by beasts and holding amid their -incrustations red hairs of cattle, or flecks of wool from the fleeces of -the flocks. Even now a heifer grazed upon the grass within the circle; -its herd roamed below; round about the valley rose old familiar tors; -while sleepy summer haze stole hither and thither upon the crowns of -Watern and Steeperton, and dimmed the huge bulk of Cosdon Beacon where -it swelled towards the north. - -"When did we last come here?" began Honor suddenly. - -"On the day of the snowstorm." - -"Ah, yes. We were riding, and stopped a moment here. Why?" - -Stapledon looked at her, then turned his head away. - -"If you have forgotten, it is good," he said. - -"What did I say to that great question, Myles?" - -"Spare me that, Honor. I have been punished enough." - -"Don't generalise. What did I say?" - -"That you could marry neither of us--neither Yeoland nor me--out of -consideration for the other." - -"And you gasped when you heard it; and I kept my word. Now the pity is -that you must keep yours." - -"Mine?" - -"Never to ask again what I would not give then." - -"Honor!" - -"Hush. Don't break your word for such a trifle as a wife. I'm -accustomed to doing unmaidenly, horrible things, so this doesn't hurt me -as much as it would a proper-thinking, proper-feeling woman. I love -you; I always have loved you since I knew you. And I suppose you love -me still--more or less. He who has gone--has gone. There will never be -another Christo for me, Myles. You cannot take his place; and if you -were dead and he was alive, he could never have taken yours. That's my -peculiarly deranged attitude. But here I sit, and I should like to be -your wife, because life is short and a woman's a fool to throw away good -love and starve herself when plenty is offered." - -Stapledon's dog looked up from his seat on the heather, barked and -wagged his tail, knowing that his master was happy; and the heifer, -startled by these canine expressions of delight and sudden ejaculations -uttered aloud in a man's deep voice, flung up her hind legs wildly and -cutting cumbrous capers, to indicate that she too appreciated the -romance of the moment, shambled away from the grey circle to join her -companions in the valley below. - - - - - *CHAPTER XVIII.* - - *ROSES AND ROSETTES* - - -"Us'll go down-long awver the plough-path; then us'll be in full time to -see the butivul bride arrive," said Tommy Bates. He stood in Sunday -attire among his betters, and the sobriety of much black broadcloth was -brightened by unusual adornment, for Cramphorn, Ash, Collins, Pinsent, -and the rest were decorated with large rosettes of satin ribbon. Many -also wore roses in their buttonholes, for one of Stapledon's few friends -was a big rose-grower at Torquay, who, from the abundance of his scented -acres, had despatched countless blooms--crimson and cream, snow-white, -ivory and orange-yellow, pink and regal purple--to brighten a glorious -day. - -But in the judgment of Ash and the elders no flower of cultivation could -compare in significance or beauty with the sham sprigs of orange-blossom -at the centre of the rosettes. Churdles himself also carried a bulky -parcel in the tail of his coat, which added another protuberance to his -gnarled form. It was not a prayer-book, as he gave Collins to -understand with many nods and winks. - -The party stood upon the grass plot before Bear Down--a space separated -from the main great grass lands of the farm. These latter subtended the -level ground and swelled and billowed under waves of colourless light -that raced free as the wind over another year's hay harvest. Far -beneath, just visible above a green hedge between elms, four small peaks -arose and a White Ensign fluttered from a flagstaff in the midst, where -stood the village church. - -Mr. Cramphorn and his friends set forth and improved the occasion with -reflections upon what would follow the wedding, rather than in much -consideration of the ceremony itself. - -"They be gwaine straight off from the church door," said Mr. Ash, "an' -so they'll miss the fun of the fair up-long, though 'tis theer money -as'll furnish the junketings. A braave rally of neighbours comin' to -eat an' drink an' be merry by all accounts; an' not a stroke more'n -milkin' cows an' feedin' things to be done to-day by man or woman." - -"They ought to bide to the eating whether or no," said Mr. Cramphorn. -"An' I be gwaine to tell a speech, though they'll be half ways to Exeter -before I does. I hold it my duty. She'm the best mistress an' kindest -woman in the world to my knawledge, an' my gift o' words shan't be -denied at her solemn weddin' feast, whether she be theer or whether she -han't." - -Mr. Collins applauded these sentiments, for his private ambitions were -strong at heart under the rosy atmosphere of the hour. - -"I lay you'll tell some gude talk come bimebye," he said. "'Tis a gert -power--same as the gift of tongues in the Bible seemin'ly." - -"Theer'll be some plum drinkin' by all accounts," said Mr. Ash, pouting -up his little wrinkled mouth in cheerful anticipation. "Brown sherry -wine for us, an' fizzy yellow champagne an' auld black port for the -quality. An' it's a secret hope of mine, if I ban't tu bowldacious in -thinkin' such a thing, as I may get a thimbleful of the auld -wine--port--so dark as porter but butivul clear wi' it, an' a sure -finder of a man's heart-strings. I be awful set upon a sup of that. -I've longed for fifty years to taste it, if so be I might wi'out -offence. It have been my gert hope for generations; an' if it awnly -comes 'pon my death-bed I'll thank the giver, though 'twould be a -pleasanter thing to drink it in health." - -"I seed larder essterday," said Tommy Bates. "My stars! The auld -worm-eaten shelves of un be fairly bent." - -"Purty eating, no doubt," assented Cramphorn, though as one superior to -such things. - -"Ess fay! Fantastic pastry, more like to cloam ornaments for the -mantelshelf than belly-timber. God knaws how they'll scat 'em apart." - -"Each has its proper way of bein' broke up," said Mr. Cramphorn. -"Theer's manners an' customs in all this. Some you takes a knife to, -some a fork, some a spoon. The bettermost takes a knife even to a apple -or pear." - -"Things a lookin' out o' jellies, an' smothered in sugar an' transparent -stuff! I'd so easy tell the stars as give a name to half of 'em. But -theer was a pineapple--I knawed un by seein' his picksher in the auld -Bible, where Joseph was givin' his brothers a spread. But they didn't -have no such pies an' red lobsters as be waitin' up-long. Such a huge -gert cake 'tis! All snow-white, an' crawled awver wi' silver paper, an' -a li'l naked doll 'pon top wi' blue eyes an' gawld wings to un. A pixy -doll you might say." - -"Her ought to bide an' cut that cake herself, not dash away from church -as though she'd done murder 'stead of praiseworthy matrimony," grumbled -Mr. Cramphorn. "'Tis defying the laws of marryin' and givin' in -marriage. Theer may be trouble to it presently." - -"If they'm both of a mind, they'll do what they please," said Collins. - -"Ay, an' 'twon't hurt none of us, nor make the vittles an' drinks less -sweet," declared Samuel Pinsent. - -"That's truth," assented Gaffer Ash; "an' when you come to be my ripe -years, Jonah, you'll go limpin' to meet the li'l pleasures that be left -to 'e half-way, 'stead of fearin' evil. As for the pains--fegs! they -meets you half-way!" - -"'Twill be a happy marriage, I should reckon," ventured Pinsent. - -"We'll pray it will be, though he'm a thought tu deep in love for my -money," declared Cramphorn. - -"Can a man love his maiden more'n enough?" asked Henry Collins in -amazement; and the other answered that it might be so. - -"Love be well knawn for a mole-blind state, Henery--a trick of Nature to -gain her awn ends; an' the sooner new-fledged man an' wife see straight -again better for their awn peace of mind. Maister Myles be a shade -silly here and theer, though Lard knaws if ever a man's to be forgiven -for gettin' his head turned 'tis him. A marvellous faace an' shape to -her. But ban't the wise way to dote. She'm a human woman, without -disrespect; and her sawl's to save like poorer folk. In plain English, -he'll spoil her." - -"Couldn't--no man could," said Mr. Ash stoutly. "To think of a sovereign -to each of us, an' two to me by reason of my ancient sarvice!" - -"You've toiled 'pon the land for a fearsome number of years, I s'pose, -Maister Ash?" asked Tommy respectfully. - -"Me? I was doin' man's work in the reign of the Fourth Gearge. I've -ate many an' many a loaf o' barley bread, I have; an' seed folks ride -pillion; an' had a woman behind me, on the auld-fashion saddles, myself, -for that matter. An', as for marriage, though I never used it, I've -seed scores o' dozens o' marriages--sweet an' sour. Marriages be like -bwoys playin' leapfrog, wheer each lad have got to rucksey down in turn; -an' so man an' wife have got to rucksey down wan to t'other at proper -times an' seasons. Each must knaw theer awn plaace in the house; an' -Mrs. Loveys was right, when us gived 'em the cannel-sticks for a gift. -You call home how she said, 'I wish 'e patience wan wi' t'other, my -dearies, 'cause theer ban't nothin' more useful or more like to be -wanted 'bout the house o' newly married folk than that!'" - -The party now mingled with those already assembled in Little Silver. A -crowd drawn from Throwley, Chagford, and elsewhere stood and admired -flags that waved between green-garlanded poles at the churchyard gate. -Many passed from the hot sunshine into the shadow of the holy building; -many had already entered it. - -"Us'll bide here till our brows be cool an' she've a-come. Then us'll -go in an' sit usual plaace, left side o' the alley," said Mr. Cramphorn. - -Presently Myles Stapledon appeared, and a hum of friendship rose for -him. He looked somewhat anxious, was clad in a grey suit, white -waistcoat, and a white tie with his solitary jewel in it--an old -carbuncle set in gold that had belonged to his father and adorned that -gentleman's throat or finger on the occasion of his marriage. In the -bridegroom's buttonhole was a red rosebud, and now and again his hand -went nervously across to an inner pocket, where reposed the money for -the honeymoon. He walked to the vestry, made certain entries in the book -spread open for him, and presented Mr. Scobell with two guineas. He -then entered a choir stall and sat down there, facing the eyes of the -increasing company without visible emotion. - -Outside came stroke of horse-hoofs and grinding of wheels. Then entered -an ancient aunt of the bridegroom's with her two elderly daughters. A -second carriage held Honor's relatives from Exeter, and a third -contained Mrs. Loveys and Sally and Margaret Cramphorn; for it was -Honor's wish that her serving-maids should be her bridesmaids also, and -she knew none of her sex who loved her better. Each had a bouquet of -roses; each wore a new dress and now waited at the entrance for their -mistress, with many a turn and twist, perk of head, and soft rustle from -the new gowns. The eyes of Mr. Collins watered as he beheld Sally, and -his huge breast rose, heaved up by mountainous sighs. Meantime, she had -secretly handed a rosette to Mr. Greg Libby, who, in company of his old -mother, adorned the gathering; and Margery too, at the first -opportunity, presented the young man with a rosette. Thus it came about -that Gregory gloried in dual favours and attached both to his marriage -garment; whereupon two maiden hearts under dove-coloured raiment were -filled with emotions most unsisterly, and all men, save one, laughed at -the luck of the gilded hedge-tacker. - -The glory of Little Silver church centres in an ancient screen of many -colours. Upon it shall be found elaborate interlacing of blue and gold, -pale blue and dark crimson; while through the arches of it may be seen -the Lord's Table under a granite reredos. Pulpit and lectern are also -of the good grey stone, and to-day a riot of roses that made the little -place of worship very sweet climbed the old pillars and clustered in the -deep embrasures of the windows. The walls, painted with red distemper, -ascended to a waggon roof; and upon pews, where the humble living stood -or knelt above dust of noble dead, frank daylight entered through plain -glass windows. - -Along the base of the ornate screen stood figures of the saints -mechanically rendered, and about one, standing upon the right hand of -the choir entrance, there twined a text that indicated this figure stood -for John the Baptist. "The voice of one crying in the wilderness" were -those graven words; and now by chance they caught a pair of downcast -eyes, as Honor Endicott bent her young head and passed onward from -independence into the keeping of a man. - -She came with her uncle, and those in church rose amid mighty rustlings -and clink of iron-shod boots, and those outside crowded into their -places. A little harmonium groaned gallantly, and Mr. Scobell billowed -up the aisle from the vestry. Honor walked to meet Myles with her hand -holding Mark Endicott's. At the steps, under the screen, she stopped -for him to feel the step, and as she did so caught sight of the text. -Then a big, florid face, with the plainest admiration exhibited upon it, -met her gaze, and she also became dimly conscious of a tall, grey man at -her right elbow. The florid face belonged to Mr. Scobell, who, -recollecting himself and chastening his features, frowned at the back of -the church, and began the ceremony. But the grey man was waiting for -her, longing for her, "to have and to hold from this day forward, for -better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to -love and to cherish," until death should part them. - -Yet the text--that voice in the wilderness--haunted her mind all the -while, as it is the way with irrelevant ideas to intrude upon high -moments. Presently Honor put her hand into her husband's, felt the gold -slip over her finger, and marvelled to feel how much heavier this ring -was than the little toy of diamond and pearl she had been wearing of -late. Then all was accomplished, and Mr. Ash and his friends quite -drowned the squeak and gasp of a Wedding March, with which the vicar's -daughter wrestled upon the harmonium; for they all clattered out of -church and drew up in a double line outside along the pathway. Churdles -then produced his mysterious packet and exhibited a bag of rice. This -was opened, and old, tremulous hands, knotted and veined like ivy-vines -upon an oak, flung the grain as lustily as young plump ones, while man -and wife came forth to face the benignant shower. - -At the gate two stout greys and an old postillion--relic of days -flown--were waiting to take Myles and his lady to Okehampton for the -London train. Mark Endicott, led by Tommy Bates, stood at the carriage -door; and now he felt warm lips on his blind face and a tear there. - -"Be a good uncle," whispered Honor; "and don't weary your dear hands too -much for those Brixham fishermen. Home we shall come again in a month; -and how I'm going to do without you for so long, or you without me, I -can't guess." - -He squeezed her hands, and for once the old Spartan was dumb. - -"God bless 'e!" - -"Long life an' happiness to 'e!" - -"Good luck to the both of 'e!" - -Then a jumble and buzz of many speaking together; lifting of voices into -a cheer; a gap in the road, where the carriage had stood; a puff of dust -at the corner by the old pound; and courageous fowls, clucking and -fluttering and risking their lives for scattered rice, among crushed -roses and the legs of the people. - -The bells rang out; the dust died down; personages drove slowly up the -hill to the banquet; certain persons walked up. Mr. Cramphorn, fearful -of a love contagion in the air, convoyed his daughters home himself, and -Libby, growing faint-hearted before the expression on Jonah's face, -abandoned his design of walking by Sally's side for half the distance -and with Margery for the rest. Henry Collins was also deprived of the -society he craved, and by ill-fortune it chanced that Ash, Pinsent, and -the two rivals found themselves in company on the journey home. Collins -thereupon relieved his wounded soul by being extremely rude, and he -began with a personal remark at the expense of Gregory's best coat and -emerald tie. - -"All black an' green, I see--mourning for the devil that is," he said, -in a tone not friendly. - -"Aw! Be he dead then?" inquired Mr. Libby with great show of interest. - -"Not while the likes of you's stirrin'. An' what for do 'e want to make -a doomshaw of yourself--wearin' two rosettes, like a Merry Andrew, when -other men have but wan?" - -"Grapes are sour with you, I reckon, Henery. You see I puts this here -left bow just awver my 'eart, 'cause Sally Cramphorn gived it to me." - -Collins blazed into a fiery red, and a fist of huge proportions clenched -until the knuckles grew white. - -"Have a care," he said, "or I'll hit 'e awver the jaw! Such a poor -penn'orth as you to set two such gals as them by the ears!" - -"Who be you to threaten your betters? You forget as I'm a man wi' money -in the bank, an' you ban't." - -"Ah, so I did then," confessed Collins frankly. "I did forget; but they -didn't. Keep your rosettes. 'Tis your gert store o' money winned -'em--same as bullock, not farmer, gets the ribbons at Christmas fair. -So, every way, it's dam little as you've got to be proud of!" - -Mr. Libby became inarticulate before this insult. He rolled and rumbled -horrible threats in his cleft palate, but they were not intelligible, -and Collins, striding forward, left him in the rear and joined Gaffer -Ash and Pinsent, who dwelt peaceably on the joys to come. - -"A talk of moosicians there was," said Samuel. - -"Right. The Yeomany band to play 'pon the lawn. An' gude pleasure, tu, -for them as likes brass moosic." - -"How Maister Stapledon girned like a cat when the rice went down -onderneath his clean collar!" - -"Ess, he did; 'twas a happy thought of mine." - -"What's the value or sense in it I doan't see all the same," objected -Collins, whose day had now suffered eclipse. "'Pears to me 'tis a silly -act whether or no." - -"That shaws how ill you'm learned in affairs," answered Mr. Ash calmly. -"The meanin' of rice at a weddin's very well knawn by onderstandin' men. -'Tis thrawed to ensure fruitfulness an' a long family. A dark branch of -larnin', I grant 'e; but for all that I've awnly knawed it fail wance; -an' then 'twern't no fault of the magic." - -But Henry had been taught to regard a full quiver as no blessing. - -"If that's what you done it for, 'twas a cruel unfriendly act," he -declared, "an' I stands up an' sez so, auld as you be. Devil's awn -wicked self caan't wish no worse harm to a innocent young pair than -endless childer. I knaw--who better?--being wan o' thirteen myself; an' -if I heard that was the use of it, not a grain would I have thrawed at -'em for money." - -Churdles blinked, but was quite unmoved. - -"You speak as a bachelor, my son, not to say as a fule. Black dog's got -'pon your shoulder this marnin'. A pity tu, for 'tis a perspiring day -wi'out temper. No rough language to-day. All peace an' plencheousness; -an' a glass o' black port, please God. Us'll feast wi' thankful hearts; -an' then go forth an' sit 'pon the spine-grass in the garden an' smoke -our pipes an' listen to the moosickers in the butivul sunshine." - -"'Pears to me," said Gregory Libby, who had now rejoined them, "that you -chaps o' Endicott's did ought to give some return for all this guzzling -an' holiday making." - -"Theer you'm wrong, as you mostly be, Greg," answered old Ash with a -serene smile, "for 'tis awnly a small mind caan't take a favour wi'out -worrittin' how to return it." - - - - - *BOOK II.* - - - - *CHAPTER I.* - - *THE SEEDS* - - -In late summer a strong breeze swept the Moor, hummed over the heather, -and sang in the chinks and crannies of the tors; while at earth-level -thin rags and tatters of mist, soaked with sunshine, raced beneath the -blue. Now they swallowed a hill in one transitory sweep of light; now -they dislimned in pearly tentacles and vanished magically, swept away by -the riotous breezes; now moisture again became visible, and grew and -gathered and laughed, and made a silver-grey home for rainbows. Beneath -was hot sunshine, the light of the ling, the wild pant and gasp of great -fitful zephyr, as he raced and roared along the lower planes of earth -and sky; above, free of the fret and tumult, there sailed, in the upper -chambers of the air, golden billows of cloud, rounded, massed and -gleaming, with their aerial foundations levelled into long true lines by -the rush of the western wind beneath them. Other air currents they knew -and obeyed, and as they travelled upon their proper way, like a moving -world, their peaks and promontories swelled and waned, spread and arose, -billowed into new continents, craned and tottered into new golden -pinnacles that drew their glory from the gates of the sun. To the sun, -indeed, and above him--to the very zenith where he had climbed at -noon--the scattered cloud armies swept and ascended; and their progress, -viewed from earth, was majestic as the journey of remote stars, compared -with the rapid frolics of the Mother o' Mist beneath. - -A man and a woman appeared together on the high ground above Bear Down, -and surveyed the tremendous valleys where Teign's course swept to -distant Whiddon and vanished in the gorges of Fingle. There, gleaming -across that land of ragged deer park and wild heathery precipices -crowned with fir, a rainbow spanned the river's channels, and the -transparent splendour of it bathed the distance with liquid colour, -softened by many a mile of moist air to the melting and misty delicacy -of opal. - -"How flat the bow looks from this height," said the man. - -"Fancy noting the shape with your eyes full of the colour!" answered the -woman. - -He started and laughed. - -"How curiously like poor Christopher Yeoland you said that, Honor. And -how like him to say it." - -Myles and his wife were just returning from payment of a visit. They -had now been married a few months, and, with the recent past, there had -lifted off the head of the husband a load of anxiety. He looked younger -and his forehead seemed more open; he felt younger by a decade of years, -and his face only clouded at secret moments with one daily care. -Despite his whole-hearted and unconcealed joy he went in fear, for there -were vague suspicions in his head that the happiness of his heart was -too great. He believed that never, within human experience, had any man -approached so perilously near to absolute contentment as he did then. -Thus in his very happiness lay his alarm. As a reasonable being, he -knew that human life never makes enduring progress upon such fairy -lines, and he searched his horizon for the inevitable clouds. But none -appeared to his sight. Every letter he opened, every day that he -awakened, he expected, and even vaguely hoped for reverses to balance -his life, for minor troubles to order his existence more nearly with his -experience. He had been quite content to meet those usual slings and -arrows ranged against every man along the highway side of his -pilgrimage; and tribulation of a sort had made him feel safer in the -citadel of his good fortune. Indeed, he could conceive of no shaft -capable of serious penetration in his case, so that it spared the lives -of himself and his wife. Now the balance was set one way, and Providence -blessed the pair with full measure, pressed down and running over. All -succeeded on their land; all prospered in their homestead; all went well -with their hearts. On sleepless nights Stapledon fancied he heard a -kind, ghostly watchman cry out as much under the stars; and hearing, he -would turn and thank the God he did not know and sleep again. - -"Gone!" said Honor, looking out where the rainbow died and the gleam of -it was swept out of being by the sturdy wind. - -"So quickly; yet it spoke a true word before the wind scattered it; told -us so many things that only a rainbow can. It is everlasting, because -it is true. There's a beauty in absolute stark truth, Honor." - -"Is there? Then the multiplication table's beautiful, dear love. If a -rainbow teaches me anything, it is what a short-lived matter beauty must -be--beauty and happiness and all that makes life worth living." - -"But our rainbow is not built upon the mist." - -"Don't think about the roots of it. So you are satisfied, leave them -alone. To analyse happiness is worse and more foolish, I should think, -than hunting for rainbow gold itself." - -"I don't know. What is the happiness worth that won't stand analysis? -All the same, I understand you very well. I believe there is nothing -like prosperity and such a love of life as I feel now to make a man a -coward. Anybody can be brave when he's got everything to win and -nothing to lose; but it takes a big man to look ahead without a -quickened pulse when he's at the top of his desire, when he knows in the -heart of him that he's living through the happiest, best, most perfect -days the earth can offer. Remember that to me this earth is all. I -know of nothing whatever in me or anybody else that merits or justifies -an eternity. So I cling to every moment of my life, and of yours. I'm -a miser of minutes; I let the hours go with regret; I grudge the -night-time spent in unconsciousness; I delight to wake early and look at -you asleep and know you are mine, and that you love to be mine." - -"It's a great deal of happiness for two people, Myles." - -"So much that I fear, and, fearing, dim my happiness, and then blame -myself for such folly." - -"The rainy day will come. You are like poor, dear Cramphorn, who scents -mystery in the open faces of flowers, suspects a tragedy at crossing of -knives or spilling of salt; sees Fate busy breeding trouble if a foot -but slips on a threshold. How he can have one happy moment I don't -know. He told me yesterday that circumstances led him to suspect the -end of the world by a thunder-planet before very long. And he said it -would be just Endicott luck if the crash came before the crops were -gathered, for our roots were a record this year." - -"His daughters bother him a good deal." - -"Yes; I do hope I may never have a daughter, Myles. It sounds unkind, -but I don't like girls. My personal experience of the only girl I ever -knew intimately, inclines me against them--Honor Endicott, I mean." - -"Then we disagree," he said, and his eyes softened. - -"Fancy, we actually differ, and differ by as much as the difference -between a boy and a girl! I would like a girl for head of the family. -I've known it work best so." - -Honor did not answer. - -While her husband had renewed his youth under the conditions of & happy -marriage, the same could hardly be said for her. She was well and -content, but more thoughtful. Her eyes twinkled into laughing stars -less often than of old. She made others laugh, but seldom laughed with -them as she had laughed with Christopher Yeoland. In the note of her -voice a sadder music, that had wakened at her first love's death, -remained. - -Yet she was peacefully happy and quietly alive to the blessing of such a -husband. Her temperament found him a daily meal of bread and -butter--nourishing, pleasant to a healthy appetite, easy to digest. -But, while he had feared for his happiness, she had already asked -herself if his consistent stability would ever pall. She knew him so -thoroughly, and wished that it was not so. It exasperated her in secret -to realise that she could foretell to a nicety his speech and action -under all possible circumstances. There were no unsuspected crannies -and surprises in him. Surprises had ever been the jewels of Honor's -life, and she believed that she might dig into the very heart's core of -this man and never find one. - -"He seems to be gold all through," she thought once. "Yet I wish he was -patchy for the sake of the excitement." - -But Myles by no means wearied his wife in these halcyon hours. She was -very proud of him and his strength, sobriety, common sense. She enjoyed -testing these qualities, and did so every day of the week, for she was a -creature of surprises herself, and appreciated juxtaposition of moods as -an epicure desires contrary flavours. She never found him wanting. He -was as patient as the high Moor; and she believed that she might as -easily anger Cosdon Beacon as her husband. He ambled by her side along -the pathway of life like a happy elephant. If ever they differed, it -was only upon the question of Honor's own share in the conduct of the -farm. Formerly she had been energetic enough, and even resented the -man's kindly, though clumsy attempts to relieve her; since marriage, -however, she appeared well content to let him do all; and this had not -mattered, in the opinion of Myles, while Honor found fresh interests and -occupations to fill those hours formerly devoted to her affairs. But -she did not do so; she spent much time to poor purpose; she developed a -passing whim for finer feathers than had fledged her pretty body as a -maiden; she began buying dresses that cost a ten-pound note apiece. -These rags and tags Myles cared nothing for, but dutifully accompanied -to church and upon such little visits of ceremony as the present. Then -he grew uncomfortable and mentioned the trifle to Mark Endicott, only to -hear the old man laugh. - -"'Tis a whim," he said; "just one blind alley on the road towards -happiness that every woman likes to probe if she can; and some live in -it, and, to their dying day, get no forwarder than frocks. But she -won't. Praise the new frill-de-dills when she dons them. Please God -there's a time coming when she'll spend money to a better end, and fill -her empty time with thoughts of a small thing sprung from her own flesh. -No latest fashions in a baby's first gear, I believe. They don't -change; no more do grave clothes." - -Man and wife walked homeward beside tall, tangled hedges, full of -ripeness and the manifold delicate workmanship and wrought filigrane of -seed-vessels that follow upon the flowers. Honor was in worldly vein, -for she had now come from calling upon folks whose purse was deeper than -her own; but Myles found the immediate medley of the hedgerow a familiar -feast, and prattled from his simple heart about what he saw there. - -"You hear so often that it's a cheerless hour which sees the summer -flowers dying, but I don't think so, do you, sweetheart? Look at the -harvest of the hedges in its little capsules and goblets and a thousand -quaint things! But you've noticed all this. You notice everything. -Take the dainty cups, with turned rims, of the campions; and the -broadswords or horse-shoes of the peas-blossomed things; and the cones -of the foxgloves and the shining balls of starry stitchworts; and the -daggers of herb Robert; and the bluebell's triple treasure-house; and -the violet's; and the wood-sorrel, that shoots its grain into space; and -the flying seeds of dandelions and clematis. And the scarlet -fruits--the adder's meat, iris, the hips and aglets, bryony and -nightshade; and the dark berries of privets and madders and -wayfaring-tree and dogwood; and then the mast of oak and beech and -chestnut--it is endless; and all such fine finished work!" - -She listened or half listened; then spoke, when he stopped to draw -breath. - -"Poor Christo used to say that he saw Autumn as a dear, soft, -plump-breasted, brown woman sitting on a throne of sunset -colours--sitting there smiling and counting all the little cones and -purses and pods with her soft hazel eyes, until falling leaves hid her -from his sight in a rain of scarlet and gold and amber, under -crystalline blue hazes. And sometimes he saw her in the corn, with the -round moon shining on her face, while she lingered lovingly in the -silver, and the ripe grain bent to kiss her feet and stay her progress. -And sometimes"--she broke off suddenly. "You have an eye like a lynx -for detail, Myles. Nothing escapes you. It is very wonderful to me." - -He was pleased. - -"I love detail, I think--detail in work and play. Yet Yeoland taught me -more than he learned from me. The seeds are symbols of everlasting -things, of life being renewed--deathless." - -Honor yawned, but bent her head so that he should not see the -involuntary expression of weariness. Believing that he had her -attention, he prosed on. - -"For my part I often think of the first sowing, and picture the -Everlasting, like a husbandman, setting forth to scatter the new-born, -mother-naked earth with immortal grain." - -"And I suppose the slugs came as a natural consequence; or d'you think -Providence only had the happy thought to torment poor Adam with prickles -and thorns and green flies and caterpillars and clothes after he'd made -that unfortunate effort to enlarge his mind?" - -Myles started. - -"Don't, Honor love! You should not take these things so. But I'm -sorry; I thought I was interesting you." - -"So you were; and those heavy, brick-red curtains of Mrs. Maybridge were -interesting me still more. I don't know whether I liked them or hated -them." - -"Well, decide, and I'll write to Exeter for a pair if they please you. -Where you'll put them I don't know." - -"More do I, dearest. That's why I think I must have a pair--to puzzle -me. Nothing ever puzzles me now. I've read all the riddles in my -world." - -"How wise! Yet I know what you mean. I often feel life's got nothing -left that is better than what it has brought. We want a hard winter to -brace us--with anxiety, too, and perhaps a loss here and there. So much -honey is demoralising." - -She looked at him with curiosity. - -"Are you really as happy as all that? I didn't know any human being -could be; I didn't think it possible to conscious intelligence. That's -why I never quite grasped the perfect happiness of the angels--unless -they're all grown-up children. Nobody who has trodden this poor, sad -old world will ever be quite happy again even in heaven. To have been a -man or woman once is to know the shadow of sorrow for all eternity." - -But he was thinking of her question, and heard no more. It came like a -seed--like some air-borne, invisible, flying spore of the wild -fern--touched his heart, found food there, and promised to rise by -alternative generation to an unrest of like pattern with the -mother-plant in Honor's own heart. - -"You're not as happy as I am then?" he asked, with a sudden concern in -his voice. "D'you mean that? You must mean it, for you wonder at the -height of my happiness, as though it was beyond your dreams." - -"I'm very, very happy indeed, dear one--happier than I thought I could -be, Myles--happier by far than I deserve to be." - -But the seed was sown, and he grew silent. In his egotism the -possibility of any ill at the root of his new world, of a worm in the -bud of his opening rose, had never struck him. His eyes had roamed -around the horizons of life; now there fell a little shadow upon him -from a cloud clean overhead. He banished it resolutely and laughed at -himself. Yet from that time forward it occasionally reappeared. -Henceforth unconsciously he forgot somewhat his own prosperity of mind -in attempting to perfect Honor's. He laboured like a giant to bring her -measure of full peace. Her days of light and laughter were his also; -while when transitory emotions brought a chill to her manner, a cloud to -her eyes, he similarly suffered. The wide distinctions in their nature -he neither allowed for nor appreciated. Concerning women he knew nothing -save this one, and all the obvious, radical differences of essence and -nature, he explained to himself as necessary differences of sex. - -Man and wife proceeded together homeward, and Honor, acutely conscious -of having raised a ripple upon the smooth sea of his content, entered -with vigour into her husband's conversation, chimed with his enthusiasm, -and plucked seeds and berries that he might name them. Without -after-showing of the bitter she had set to his lips, Myles serenely -returned to the hedgerow harvests; and so they passed downward together -towards the farm, while the sky darkened and pavilions of the coming -rain loomed large and larger. - -"Just in time," said the man. "I heard Teign's cry this morning; but -bad weather is not going to last, I think." - -Yet the day closed in drearily, after set of sun. The wind fell at that -hour and backed south of west; the mist increased and merged into the -density of rain; the rain smothered up the gloaming with a steady, -persistent downpour. - - - - - *CHAPTER II.* - - *CHERRY GREPE'S SINS* - - -Where Honor's head lay upon her pillow by night, a distance of scarcely -one yard separated it from the famous cherry tree of Endicott's. This -year, owing to a prevalence of cold wind, the crop, though excellent, -had been unusually late, and it happened that the thrushes and -blackbirds paid exceptional attention to the fruit. Once, in a moment -of annoyance at sight of her shining berries mutilated by sharp bills, -and pecked to the purple-stained stones, Honor had issued an impatient -mandate to the first servant who chanced to meet her after discovery of -the birds' theft. Henry Collins it was, and his round eyes grew into -dark moons as she bid him shoot a few of the robbers and hang their -corpses Haman-high as a dreadful lesson to the rest. - -For a fortnight after this stern decree Collins, full of private -anxieties, paid no heed to his mistress's command, and Honor herself -dismissed the matter and forgot her order as completely as she forgot -those moments of irritation that were responsible for it; but anon Henry -recollected the circumstance, borrowed Jonah Cramphorn's gun, rose -betimes, and marched into the garden on a morning soon after the -rainstorm. A flutter of wings in the cherry tree attracted him, and -firing against the side of the house he brought down a fine cock -blackbird in a huddled heap of ebony feathers now streaked with crimson, -his orange bill all stained with juice from the last cherry that he -would spoil. The shot echoed and re-echoed through the grey stillness -of dawn, and Myles, already rising, hastened to the window, while Honor -opened her eyes, for the report had roused her. - -"It's Collins!" exclaimed her husband, staring into the dusk of day; -"and the brute has shot a blackbird! Is he mad? How did he dare to come -into the private garden with his gun? And now you'll most probably have -a headache--being startled out of sleep like that. Besides, the cruelty -of it." - -"What a storm in a teacup, my dear! The man is only doing as I ordered -him. The birds are a nuisance. They've eaten all my cherries again this -year. I bid Collins thin them a little." - -"_You_ told him to shoot them? Honor!" - -"Oh, don't put on that Sunday-school-story look, my dearest and best. -There are plenty of blackbirds and thrushes. The garden is still my -province, at any rate." - -"The birds do more good than harm, and, really, a handful of sour -cherries----" - -"They're _not_ sour!" she cried passionately, flaming over a trifle and -glad of any excuse to enjoy an emotion almost forgotten. "My father -loved them; my great-grandfather set the tree there. It's a sacred -thing to me, and I'll have every bird that settles in it shot, if I -please." - -"Honor!" - -"And hung up afterwards to frighten the rest." - -"I'm surprised." - -"I don't care if you are. You'll be more surprised yet. 'Sour'! -They're better cherries than ever you tasted at Tavistock, I know." - -"Collins----" - -"Collins must do what I tell him. You're master--but I'm mistress. If -the house is going to be divided against itself----" - -"God forbid! What in heaven's name are you dreaming of? This is -terrible!" - -"Then let Collins kill the thrushes and blackbirds. I wish it. I hate -them. If you say a word I'll turn the man off." - -But two go to a quarrel. Myles, much alarmed and mystified by this -ebullition, vowed that Collins might shoot every bird in the county for -him; then he departed; and his lady, only regretful that the paltry -little quarrel had endured so short a time, arose much refreshed by it. -The sluggish monotony of well-balanced reciprocal relations made her -spirits stagnant, while pulses of opposition, like sweet breezes, seemed -always a necessity of health to invigorate and brighten it. Stapledon -appeared at breakfast with anxious eye and a wrinkle between his brows; -his attitude towards Honor was almost servile, and his demeanour to the -household more reserved than common; but the mistress had obviously -leapt from her couch into sunshine. She chatted cheerfully to all, -granted Sally a morning away from work, when that maiden begged for some -leisure; and herself, after breakfast, announced a determination to go -afield and see whether the recent rain had improved the fishing. Myles -offered to make holiday also, but, with the old ripple in her voice and -between two kisses, she refused him. - -"No, dear heart. 'Tis my whim to go alone. I'm feeling a good girl -to-day, and that's so rare that I don't want to spoil the sensation. So -I mean catching some trout for your supper and Uncle Mark's. Don't come. -A day alone on the Moor will blow away some cobwebs and make me better -company for my dear, good husband." - -Presently she tramped off to northern Teign, where it tumbles by slides -and rocky falls through steep valley under Watern's shoulder; and as she -left the men at the garden, Mr. Endicott turned his blind eyes upon -Myles with a sort of inquiry in them. - -"What's come over her to-day? Fresh as a daisy seemingly, and happy as -a lark. Got a new ring or bracelet out of you? The old note, that I've -missed of late and sorrowed to miss. But I can name it now, because -it's come back. What's the reason?" - -"I can't tell you. You hurt me a good deal when you say you've missed -any indication of happiness in her. As a matter of fact we had a brief -passage of words this morning. Nothing serious of course. That wasn't -it at any rate." - -Mr. Endicott chuckled. - -"But it was though, for certain! You set a current flowing. You've -done her a power of good by crossing her. I don't want any details, but -a word to the wise is enough. Labour keeps your life sweet; she wants -something else. Some women must have a little healthy opposition. I -wager she loves you better for denying some wish or issuing some order." - -"Not at all. Since we're on this incident I may mention that I gave way -completely. But 'twas a paltry thing." - -"Then if a breeze that ends tamely, by her getting her will, can shake -her into such brave spirits, think how it would be if you'd forbid her -and had your way! Learn from it--that's all. Some natures can't stand -eternal adoration. They sicken on it. There's no good thing, but -common-sense, you can't have too much of. So don't be--what's the word?" - -"Uxorious," said Myles Stapledon drearily. - -"Yes. Don't pamper her with love. You're all the world to her and she -to you; but take a lesson from her and hide more than you show. Man and -woman's built for stormy weather, and as calm seas and snug harbours -breed grass and barnacles on a ship's bottom, so you can reckon it with -sheltered souls. I've seen whole families rot away and vanish from this -sort of self-indulgence. It saps strength and sucks the iron out of a -man. There's metal in you both. Don't try and stand between her and -the weather of life." - -"I understand you, uncle. I'm only waiting for trouble to come. I know -all this happiness isn't entirely healthy. But it's natural I should -wish to shield her." - -"Right, my son. Only remember she's a hardy plant and won't stand -greenhouse coddling. How would you like it yourself?" - -They parted, the younger impressed with a new idea; yet, as the day wore -on, he began to think of Honor, and presently strolled up the hill to -meet her. Once he laughed to himself as he tramped to the heights; but -it was a gloomy laugh. This idea of quarrelling as a counter-irritant, -of coming nearer to her by going further off, he little appreciated. - -Myles wandered to the circle of Scor Hill and mused there. Here she had -denied him in snow, offered herself to him in springtime. Honor he did -not see, but another woman met his gaze. She was aged and bent, and she -passed painfully along under a weight of sticks gathered in the valley. -He spoke from his seat on a stone. - -"I should not carry so much at one load, Cherry; you'll hurt yourself." - -Gammer Grepe, thus accosted, flung her sticks to the ground and turned -to Myles eagerly. - -"'Tis a gude chance I find 'e alone," she said, "for I'm very much -wantin' to have a tell with 'e if I may make so bold." - -"Sit down and rest," he answered. - -Then the gammer began with tearful eagerness. - -"'Tis this way. For years an' years the folks have been used to look -sideways 'pon me an' spit awver theer shoulders arter I'd passed by. -An' I won't say the dark things my mother knawed be hid from me. But I -never could abear the deeds I've been forced into, an' was allus better -pleased doin' gude than harm. God's my judge of that. But I've so fair -a right to live as my neighbours, an' I've done many an' many a ugly -thing for money, an' I shall again, onless them as can will come forrard -and help me. Eighty-four I be--I'll take my oath of it; an' that's a -age when a lone woman did ought be thinkin' of the next world--not doin' -dark deeds in this." - -Myles had seen his wife far off and caught the flutter of her dress in -the valley a mile distant. She was still fishing as her tardy progress -testified, but where she stood the river was hidden under a tumble of -rocky ledges. He turned in some surprise to the old woman. - -"D'you mean that here, now, in the year eighteen hundred and -seventy-one, folks still ask you for your help to do right or wrong and -seriously think you can serve them?" - -"Ess fay; an' I do serve them; an' 'tis that I'm weary of. But, seein' -theer's nought betwixt me an' the Union Workhouse but theer custom, I go -on. Theer's cures come fust--cures for childern's hurts an' the plagues -of beasts." - -"That's not doing harm, though it's not doin' good either." - -"Listen, caan't 'e? Ban't all. I killed a man last year for ten -shillin'! An' it do lie heavy upon me yet. An' the mischief is, that my -heart be so hard that I'd do the same to-morrow for the same money. I -must live, an' if I caan't get honest dole at my time of life, I must -make wicked money." - -Stapledon inwardly decided that the sooner this old-time survival was -within the sheltering arm of the poor-house the better. He suspected -that she was growing anile. - -"You mustn't talk this nonsense, mother. Surely you know it is out of -your power to do any such thing as 'ill-wish,' or 'overlook,' let alone -destroy anybody?" - -"That's all you knaw! Us o' the dark side o' life be so auld as -Scripture. The things we'm taught was never in no books, so they'm -livin' still. Print a thing and it dies. We'm like the woman as drawed -up Samuel against Saul. We can do more'n we think we can here an' -theer. I killed a man other end of the world so sure's if I'd shot un -through the heart; for them as seed my deed, which I offered up for ten -shillin' o' money, has ears so long as from here to hell-fire; an' they -sent a snake. I drawed a circle against Christopher Yeoland, an' picked -him, like a bullace, afore he was ripe. An', along o' poverty, I'd do -the same against anybody in the land--'cepting awnly the Lard's anointed -Queen--so theer! That's the black state o' wickedness I be in; an' 'tis -for you at Bear Down to give me gude money an' a regular bit weekly, -else theer'll be more mischief. Yet 'tis a horrible thing as I should -have to say it--me so auld as I be, wi' wan foot in the graave." - -"So it is horrible," said Myles sternly, "and if you were not so old I -should say the ancient remedy of a ducking in a horse-pond would be the -best way to treat you. To wish evil to that harmless man! Surely you -are not such a malignant old fool as to think you destroyed him?" - -"Me! Gude Lard A'mighty, I wouldn't hurt a long-cripple or a crawling -eft. 'Twas awnly to earn bread. Who paid me I caan't tell 'e, for we -has our pride; but I was awnly the servant. Us larns a deal 'bout the -inner wickedness of unforgiving sawls in my calling." - -"It must have been a strange sort of brute who would wish to hurt -Christopher Yeoland; but you needn't be concerned, old woman. Be sure -your tomfoolery didn't send death to him." - -Cherry reddened under her wrinkles. - -"'Tis you'm the fule!" she cried. "I knaw what I knaw; an' I knaw what -power be in me very well, same as my mother afore me. An' best give -heed or you might be sorry you spoke so scornful. I'm a wise woman; an' -wise I was years an' years afore your faither ever got you. I doan't ax -for no opinions on that. I ax for money, so I shall give up these -things an' die inside the fold of Jesus--not outside it. Because my -manner of life be like to end in an oncomfortable plaace, an' I'd give -it up to-morrow if I could live without it." - -"You're a very wicked woman, Charity Grepe!" flamed Stapledon, "and a -disgrace to the countryside and all who allow themselves to have any -dealings with you. I thought you only charmed warts and such nonsense. -But, here at the end of your life, you deal in these disgusting -superstitions and apparently gull intelligent human beings with your -tricks. Be sure a stop shall be put to that if I can bring it about. -The hands at Endicott's at least won't patronise you any more. You -might be locked up if half this was known." - -"Then you won't help me to a higher way of living an' regular wages?" - -"You must reform first. I can promise nothing." - -Cherry, in doubt whether to bless or curse, but disposed towards the -latter expression of her emotions, rose and eyed Stapledon suspiciously. -He too rose, helped her with her bundle, and again assured her that she -must promise reformation before he could undertake any practical -assistance. So she hobbled away, uneasy and angered. Actual wounded -feeling was at the bottom of her resentment. Whatever her real age, she -was human, and therefore not too old to be vain. Since the death of -Christopher Yeoland, Gammer Grepe had taken herself very seriously and -been much impressed with the nature of her own powers. - -Ten minutes later husband and wife met, and Stapledon spoke of his -recent experience. - -"Scor Hill Circle seems destined to be the theatre of all my strangest -accidents." - -"And most terrible, perhaps?" - -"And most precious. But this last is grim enough. Just now that old hag -Cherry Grepe was here begging and threatening in a breath. Think of it: -she says she killed Christopher Yeoland!" - -Time is like a Moor mist and weaves curtains of a density very -uncertain, very apt to part and vanish in those moments when they look -most impenetrable. Moods will often roll away the years until memory -reveals past days again, and temperaments there are that possess such -unhappy power in this sort that they can rend the curtain, defy time, -and stand face to face at will with the full proportions of a bygone -grief, though kindly years stretch out between to dim vision and soften -the edges of remembrance. - -Honor often thought of her old lover, and during this day, alone with -her mind and the face of the Moor, she had occupied herself about him. -She had a rare faculty for leaving the past alone, but, seeing that he -was now dead, and that she believed in eternity, Honor pictured that -state, and wondered if a friendship, impossible between two men and a -woman, would be practicable for the three when all were ghosts. An -existence purely spiritual was a pleasant image in her esteem, and -to-day, while all unknowing she hovered on the brink of incidents -inseparably entwined with flesh and womanhood, she bent her thoughts -upon radiant pictures and dreamed strange dreams of an eternal conscious -existence clothed only with light. - -The crude announcement of Gammer Grepe's confession came inharmoniously -upon her thoughts from one direction, yet chimed therewith at the -standpoint of the supernatural. She shivered, yet laughed; she declared -that Cherry and her cottage should be conveyed entirely to Exeter Museum -as a fascinating relic of old times; yet recollected with a sort of -discomfort the old woman's predictions concerning herself when, as a -girl, and in jest, she had sought to hear her fortune. - - - - - *CHAPTER III.* - - *A SECRET* - - -Mark Endicott showed not a little interest in the matter of Cherry -Grepe. Such a survival astonished him, and being somewhat of a student -in folk-lore, he held that, far from discouraging the wise woman, she -should be treated with all respect, and an effort made to gather a -little of her occult knowledge. - -By a coincidence, soon after Stapledon's conversation with the wise -woman, there came further corroboration of Cherry's powers from the -mouth of one among her steadfast clients. After supper, at that hour -when the hands were wont to utter their opinions or seek for counsel -from those in authority over them, Mr. Cramphorn opened a great question -vital to his own peace of mind and the welfare of his daughters. Jonah -loved them both with a generous measure of paternal regard for one of -his mental restrictions. Next to his mistress in his esteem came Sally -and Margery; and now, with passage of days, there grew in him a great -perplexity, for his daughters were old enough to take husbands and both -apparently desired the same; while, as if that did not present -complication sufficient, the man their ardent hearts were fixed upon by -no means commended himself to Cramphorn's judgment. - -As for Mr. Libby, with an impartiality very exasperating, he committed -himself to no definite course. He made it plain that he desired an -alliance with Jonah; yet, under pressure of such monkey brains as -Providence had bestowed upon him, and secretly strong in two strings to -his bow, he held the balance with great diplomacy between these maids -and exercised a patience--easy to one who in reality possessed little -love for either. His aim was to learn whether Sally or her sister had -greatest measure of her father's regard, for he was far-seeing, knew -that Mr. Cramphorn might be considered a snug man, and must in the -course of nature presently pass and leave his cottage and his savings -behind him. The cottage lease had half a hundred years to run, and an -acre of ground went with it. So Gregory, while he leant rather to Sally -Cramphorn by reason of her physical splendours, was in no foolish frenzy -for her, and the possible possession of a house and land had quickly -turned the scale in favour of her sister. Moreover, he was alive to the -fact that the father of the girls held him in open dislike; another -sufficient cause for procrastination. - -With indifferent good grace Jonah recorded his anxieties to Myles and -Mark Endicott. - -"Both wife-auld, an' be gormed if I knaw what to do 'bout it. A gude -few would have 'em, but not wan's for theer market seemin'ly except that -fantastical chap, Greg Libby, who stands between 'em, like a donkey -between two dachells. I may as well awn up as I seed Cherry Grepe on -it, but for wance seems to me as I thrawed away my money. Two shillin' -I gived her an' got nought." - -"What did she say?" asked Mr. Endicott. - -"Her took me by a trick like. Fust her said, 'Do 'e reckon your gals -have brains in theer heads?' An' I said, 'Coourse they have, so gude as -any other females in theer station o' life.' Then her said, 'You'm -satisfied with theer intellects?' An' I said, 'Why for shouldn't I be?' -Then said Cherry, 'Very well, Jonah; let 'em bide an' find men for -theerselves. Ban't your business, an' you'll be a fule to make it so. -'Tis awnly royal princesses,' she said, 'an' duchesses an' such like as -have to set other people husband-huntin' for 'em. But us humble folks -of the airth--'tis the will of Providence we may wed wheer we love, like -the birds. Let 'em bide, an' doan't keep such a hell-hard hold awver -'em,' said her to me, 'an' then they'll larn you in theer awn time what -they be gwaine to do 'bout husbands,' she said." - -"Don't see who can give you better advice, Jonah. I can't for one. -Looks to me as if old Cherry's got more sense than I was led to believe. -Let them find their own men--only see to it when found that they're -sound in wind and limb. Libby's got a cleft palate, and, likely as not, -his child will have one. 'Tisn't in reason that a lovesick girl should -think for her unborn children; but for his grandchildren a man ought to -think if chance offers. Anyway, never give a flaw any opportunity to -repeat itself, when you can prevent such a thing. Not enough is done -for love of the unborn in this world. 'Tis them we ought to make laws -for." - -By no means satisfied, Cramphorn presently went to bed, and Myles -pursued the subject for a while. Then he too retired, taking the lamp -with him, and the blind man knitted on for a space, while a choir of -crickets chirruped and sped about upon the hearth. - -But though Stapledon went to his chamber, the day was not yet done for -him, the theme in his thoughts not yet to be extinguished. Since their -trivial quarrel Honor and her husband had been as happy together as man -and woman need pray to be, and that dim, dreary shadow which Myles had -stared at, Honor shut her eyes upon, might be said to have retreated to -a point of absolute disappearance. The ache in the man, that showed at -his eyes, had passed like any other pain; the twinge in the woman, -revealed not at all, though generally followed by a humorous speech, -troubled her no more at this moment. She grew pensive and very -self-absorbed; she stared absently through the faces of those who -addressed her; she dwelt much with her own thoughts and discoveries. - -This night she was not in bed when Myles entered her room, but sat -beside the open window, her elbows upon the sill and her face between -her hands. - -"Myles," she said, "there's a man down in the meadow. I saw him -distinctly pass between two of the sleeping cows. Then he drifted into -the shadow of the hedge--a man or a ghost." - -"A man, sweetheart, though I know you would rather think it something -else and so get a new sensation. Pinsent probably, as a matter of prosy -fact. I bid him get me some rabbits. Shut the window and come to bed. -You'll catch cold." - -"No; I'm cold-proof now--so the old wives say when---- Come here a -minute, Myles, and sit here and look at the moon and listen to the dor -beetles. There will not be many more such nights and such silvery mists -this year." - -"You can almost see the damp in the air," he said. - -"Yes, and down below, with ear to grass, one might hear the soft whisper -of the little mushrooms breaking out of Mother Earth, while the fairies -dance round them and scatter the dew." - -"You're not wise to sit there, dear love." - -"I must be humoured--we must be." - -He threw off his coat and stretched his great arms in pleasant -anticipation of rest and sleep. - -"Whatever do you mean, my pretty?" - -"I mean that I have a long, tedious, tremendous enterprise in hand. A -most troublesome enterprise. You're always at me not to waste time. Now -I'm really going to be busy." - -"You couldn't tell me anything I'd like to hear better." - -"Couldn't I? Remember!" - -He did remember. - -"That--yes--all in good time." - -"Not a moment more shall I waste. You'll guess I'm in earnest, for I'm -going to work night and day." - -"A fine resolve! But keep your work for working hours, sweetheart. And -how many are to benefit by this great achievement?" - -"Who can tell that? It may be for good or for harm. Yet we have a right -to be hopeful." - -"You make me most curious. How shall I view it, I wonder?" - -"Well, you ought to be rather pleased, if you've told me the truth. -And--look!" - -A meteor gleamed across the misty moonlight. It seemed to streak the -sky with radiance, was reflected for an instant in the pond among the -rhododendrons, then vanished. - -"D'you know what that means?" asked Honor. - -"A wandering atom from some old, ruined world perhaps, now burnt up in -our atmosphere." - -"And do new-born souls come wandering from old, ruined worlds, I wonder? -The German folk say that a shooting-star means a new life brought down -from above, Myles. And--and how I do wish next May was come and gone; -and if it's a girl, my dear one, I believe I shall go mad with -disappointment." - -So new fires were lighted in the man's deep heart, and blazed aloft like -a signal of great joy and thanksgiving. His first impulse was to cuddle -her to his breast; then he felt her to be a holy thing henceforth, -separated from him by a veil impenetrable. - -Long after his wife slept he lay in thought, and his spirit was much -exalted, and his grey mind filled to bursting with sense of unutterable -obligations. Nature was not enough to thank; she alarmed him rather, -for, upon the approach of such experience, men fear the impassive -Earth-Mother as well as love her. But that night he felt with unusual -acuteness the sense of the vague power behind; and it pressed him on to -his knees for a long, silent, wordless hour with his soul--an hour of -petition and thanksgiving, of renewed thanksgiving and renewed petition. - - - - - *CHAPTER IV.* - - *THE WISDOM OF MANY* - - -When the news spread to all ears at Endicott's and beyond it, Mr. -Cramphorn, ever generous of his great gift, and always ready to speak in -public if a high theme was forthcoming, proposed to make an official -congratulation in the name of himself and his companions. His love of -his mistress prompted him to the step; yet he designed a graceful -allusion to Myles also. - -It was with much difficulty that Churdles Ash prevailed upon Jonah to -postpone this utterance. - -"'Tis a seemly thought enough," admitted the ancient, "an' I, as knaws -your power of speech, would be the fust man to hit 'pon the table an' -say 'Hear, hear' arter; but ban't a likely thing for to do just now, -'cause fust theer's the bashfulness of her--an' a woman's that bashful -wi' the fust--that shaame-faaced an' proud all to wance, like a young -hen lookin' round to find a plaace gude enough to lay her fust egg in, -an' not findin' it. Then theer's the laws of Nature, as caan't be -foretold to a hair by the wisest; so, all in all, I'd bide till the -baaby's born if I was you. You'm tu wise to count your awn chickens -'fore they'm hatched out; then why for should 'e count any other -party's? But bide till arter--then you'll give us a braave discoourse -no doubt." - -So Jonah delayed his next important declaration as mouthpiece of Bear -Down; but while he thus restrained the warmth of his heart and denied -himself the pleasure of his own voice uplifted in a public capacity, -neither he nor any other adult member of the little community saw reason -to desist from general conversation upon so interesting a subject. -During Sunday evenings, after supper, while the men smoked their pipes -upon departure of Honor and her maids, the welfare of the little -promised one grew to be a favourite theme; and Myles, proud but uneasy -at first, in the frank atmosphere of conjecture, theory, and advice, now -accepted the reiterated congratulations as a matter of course, and -listened to the opinions and experiences of those who might be supposed -to have deeper knowledge than his own in such delicate affairs. - -There fell a Sunday evening hour towards Christmas, when Mr. Ash, full -of an opinion awakened in him at church, began to utter advice -concerning Honor; and the rest, chiming in, fell to recording scraps of -sense and nonsense upon the great subject in all its relations. - -"Seed missis down-along to worship's marnin'," said Mr. Ash; "an' fegs! -but she was a deal tu peart an' spry 'pon her feet if you ax me. She -did ought to keep her seat through the psalms an' hymns an' spiritual -songs; an' theer's another thought, as rose up in sermon: Onless you -want for your son--come a bwoy--to be a minister, 'tis time missis gived -up church altogether till arter." - -"Why for not a parson?" inquired Cramphorn. "'Tis a larned, necessary -trade, though other folk, tu, may knaw a little 'bout principalities -here an' there. Still, seein' all they do--why they'm so strong as Lard -Bishops come to think of it, 'cept for laying on of hands--though why -that calls for a bigger gun than a marryin' I never yet heard set out. -You'd say a weddin' was the stiffest job--the worst or the best as man -can do for his fellow-man. However, a larned trade 'twill be no -doubt--not farmin', of course," he concluded. - -"As to that, it depends," said Stapledon quite seriously, "if he showed -a strong taste." - -"We'll hope he'll be ambitious," declared Mark. "Yes, ambitious and -eager to excel in a good direction. Then he'll be all right." - -"But he might be blowed away from his ambition by the things as look -gude to young gen'lemen, so I should keep un short of money if I was -you," advised Mr. Ash. - -"Blown away! Not he--not if his ambition is a live thing. If he lets -pleasure--dangerous or harmless--come between him and his goal--then -'twill be mere vanity, only wind, nothing. But let me see a lad with a -big, clean ambition. Nought keeps him so straight or makes his life a -happier thing to himself and others." - -"You never do see it," declared Myles. "A fine idea, but it hardly ever -happens." - -"Not lawyering," begged Jonah, drawing down his eyebrows. "Doan't 'e -let un go for a lawyer, maister. 'Tis a damn dismal trade, full of -obstructions and insurrections between man an' man, an' man an' woman." - -"So it is then!" ejaculated Mr. Endicott heartily. "A damn dismal trade! -You never said a truer word, Jonah. They live in a cobweb world of -musty, dusty, buried troubles, and they rake justice out of stuff set -down by dead men for dead men. 'Tis precedent they call it; and it -strangles justice like dogma strangles religion. Myles understands me." - -"They'm a solemn spectacle--the bettermost of 'em be--savin' your -honor's pardon," ventured Pinsent. "The fur an' robes an' wigs of 'em do -look terrible enough to a common man." - -"Terrible tomfoolery! Terrible science of escaping through the -trap-doors of precedent from common-sense!" - -"But I seed a high judge to Exeter," persisted Pinsent. "An' 'twas at -the 'Sizes; an' he told a man for hangin'; an' his eyes was like -gimlets; an' his lean face was so grey as his wig; an' a black cap he -had; an', what's worse, left no room for hope of any sort." - -"Rogues, rogues," growled the blind man. "I'd sooner see son of mine -fighting with the deep sea or building honest houses with moor-stone. A -vile trade, I tell you; a trade to give any young mind a small, cunning -twist from the outset!" - -To hear and see Mr. Endicott show heat upon any subject, and now lapse -from his own judicial attitude upon this judicial theme, provoked a -moment of silence and surprise. Then Mr. Ash returned to his practical -starting-point. - -"Gospel truth and the case against law put in a parable," he declared; -"but theer's a gude few things to fall out afore the cheel's future -performances call for minding. Fegs! He've got to be born fust, come -to think of it. 'Tis the mother as you must be busy for, not the cheel; -an' I'd warn 'e to fill her mind with gude, salted sense; an' also let -her bide in the sunshine so much as her can these dark days. An' doan't -let her read no newspapers, for the world's a bloody business by all -accounts, with battles an' murders an' sudden deaths every weekday, -despite the Litany Sundays--as doan't make a ha'porth o' differ'nce -seemin'ly. Keep her off of it; an' never talk 'bout churchyards, nor -ghostes, nor butcher's meat, nor any such gory objects." - -"I won't--in fact I never do," answered Myles, who was as childlike as -the rest of the company upon this subject. "No doubt a calm and -reposeful manner of living is the thing." - -"Ess," concluded Mr. Ash; "just Bible subjects, an' airly hours, an' -such food as she fancies in reason. 'Seek peace and ensue it,' in -Scripture phrase. An' leave the rest to Providence. Though in a -general way 'tis a gude rule to leave nought to Providence as you can -look arter yourself." - -"Shall 'e lift your hand to un, maister?" inquired Mr. Collins. "They -tell me I was lathered proper by my faither afore I'd grawed two year -auld. Do seem a gentle age to wallop a bwoy; yet here I be." - -"'Tis a very needful thing indeed," declared Cramphorn--"male an' female -for that matter. A bwoy's built to larn through his hide fust, his head -arterwards. Hammer 'em! I sez. Better the cheel should holler than the -man groan; better the li'l things should kick agin theer faither's shins -than kick agin his heart, come they graw." - -"If we could only be as wise as our words," said Myles. "I'm sure I -gather good advice enough of nights for a king's son to begin life with. -So many sensible men I never saw together before. You're likely to kill -him with kindness, I think." - -The boy Tommy Bates returned home from a walk to Chagford at this -moment, with his mouth so full of news that he could not get it out with -coherence. - -"A poacher to Godleigh last night! Ess fay! An' keeper runned miles -an' miles arter un, if he's tellin' truth; an' 'twas Sam Bonus--that -anointed rascal from Chaggyford by all accounts. Not that keeper can -swear to un, though he's very near positive. Catched un so near as damn -it--slippery varmint! An' his pockets all plummed out wi' gert game -birds! But theer 'tis--the law ban't strong enough to do nought till -the chap's catched red-handed an' brought for trial." - - -Thus the advent of a precious new life at Endicott's was discussed most -gravely and seriously. Mark Endicott indeed not seldom burst a shell of -laughter upon so much wisdom, but Stapledon saw nothing to be amused at. -To him the subject was more important and fascinating than any upon -which thought could be employed, and he permitted no utterance or canon -of old custom to escape unweighed. At first he repeated to his wife a -little of all that eloquence set flowing when she retired; but Honor -always met the subject with a silver-tongued torrent of irreverent -laughter, and treated the ripest principles of Mr. Ash and his friends -with such contemptuous criticisms that her husband soon held his peace. - -Yet he erred in forgetting the blind man's warning under this added -provocation of a little one in the bud; he spent all his leisure with -his wife; he tried hard to catch her flitting humours, and even -succeeded sometimes; but oftener he won a smile and a look of love for -the frank failure of his transparent endeavours. - -"Don't be entertaining, sweetheart," she said to him. "I cannot tell how -it is, but if you are serious, I am happy; if you jest and try to make -me laugh, my spirits cloud and come to zero in a moment. That's a -confession of weakness, you see; for women so seldom have humour. -Everybody says that. So be grave, if you want me to be gay. I love you -so; and gravity is proper to you. It makes me feel how big and strong -you are--how fortunate I am to have you to fight the battle of life for -me." - -"I wish I could," he said. "But you're right. I'm not much of a joker. -It's not that you have a weak sense of humour that makes me miss fire; -it's because you have a strong one." - -Sometimes the veil between them seemed to thicken from his standpoint. -Even a little formality crept into his love; and this Honor felt and -honestly blamed herself for. Mark Endicott also perceived this in the -voice of the man; and once he spoke concerning it, when the two walked -together during a January noon. - -It was a grey and amber day of moisture, gentle southern wind and watery -sunlight--a day of heightened temperature, yet of no real promise that -the earth was waking. Ephemera were hatched, and flew and warped in -little companies, seen against dark backgrounds. Hazardous bud and bird -put forth petal and music, and man's heart longed for spring; but his -reason told him that the desire was vain. - -"No lily's purple spike breaking ground as yet, I doubt?" said Mark -Endicott, as he paced his favourite walk in the garden. - -"Not yet. But the red japonica buds already make a gleam of colour -against the house. - -"What good things this coming springtime has hidden under her girdle for -you, Myles! Leastways, one's a right to hope so. That reminds me. Is -Honor happy with you alone? Not my business, and you'll say I'm an old -cotquean; but I'm blind, and, having no affairs of my own, pry into -other people's. Yet Honor--why, she's part of my life, and the best -part. She seems more silent than formerly--more and more as the days -pass. Natural, of course. I hear her thread, and the click of her -needle, and her lips as she bites the cotton; but her work I can't -follow with my ears now, for it's all soft wool, I suppose. She said -yesterday that she much wished I could see her new garb--'morning gown' -she called it. She's pleased with it, so I suppose you've praised it." - -"Yes, uncle, and was sorry that I had. I don't know how it is, but I -contradict myself in small things, and she never forgets, and reminds -me, and makes me look foolish and feel so. This gown--a brown, soft, -shiny thing, all lined with silky stuff the colour of peach-blossom, -warm and comfortable--I admired it heartily, and said it was a fine -thing, and suited her well." - -"You could do no more." - -"But somehow I was clumsy--I am clumsy, worse luck. And she said, -'Don't praise my clothes, sweetheart; that's the last straw.' 'Last -straw' she certainly said, yet probably didn't guess how grave that made -the sentence sound. Then she went on, 'You know my gowns don't match -earth and sky one bit; and you love better the drabs and duns of the -folk. You've told me so, and I quite understand. You'd rather have -Sally's apron and sun-bonnet, and see her milking, with her apple cheeks -pressed against a red cow, than all my most precious frippery. And, of -course, you're right, and that makes it so much the more trying.' Now -that was uncalled for. Don't you think so? I say this from no sorrow -at it, God bless her! but because you may help read the puzzle. I don't -understand her absolutely, yet. Very nearly, but not absolutely." - -"No, you don't, that's certain. The mistake is to try to. You're wise -in what you let alone, as a rule. But her nature you can't suffer to -grow without fuss. There's a sound in your voice to her--afore the -hands, too--like a servant to his mistress." - -"I am her servant." - -"Yes, I know; so am I also; but--well, no call to tramp the old ground. -You might guess she'd look for gentleness and petting, yet----" - -"She asks for it one moment, and grows impatient at it the next." - -"Well, you'll learn a bit some day; but you've not got the build of mind -to know much about women." - -Myles sighed, and drummed his leg with a whip. - -"It's all so small and petty and paltry--these shades and moods and -niceties and subtleties." - -"Women will have 'em." - -"Well, I try." - -"Go on trying. The world's full of these small things, speaking -generally. You're built for big, heavy game. Yet it's your lot to -catch gnats just now--for her. And she knows how hard you try. It'll -come right when she's herself again. Life brims with such homespun, -everyday fidgets. They meet a man at every turn." - -"I long to be heart and heart with her; and I am; but not always." - -"Well, don't addle your brains about it. Your large kindness with dogs -and beasts, and love of them, and discipline would please her best. If -you could only treat her as you treat them." - -"Treat her so! She's my wife." - -"I know; and lucky for her. But remember she can't change any more than -you can. The only difference is that she doesn't try to, and you do. -All this brooding and morbidness and chewing over her light words is not -worthy of a man. Be satisfied. You'll wear--you can take that to your -comfort. You'll wear all through, and the pattern of you is like to be -brighter in her eyes ten years hence than now. No call to go in such a -fog of your own breeding. Wood and iron are different enough in their -fashion as any two creatures in the world; but that doesn't prevent 'em -from cleaving exceeding tight together. She knows all this well enough; -she's a woman with rather more sense of justice than is common to them; -and your future's sure, if you'll only be patient and content; for she -loves you better far than she's ever told you, or is ever likely to." - - - - - *CHAPTER V.* - - *IN SPRING MOONLIGHT* - - -Another springtime gladdened the heart of man and set the sap of trees, -the blood of beasts, the ichor of the wild wood gods a-flowing. A green -veil spread again, a harmony of new-born music, colour, scent, all won -of sunshine, rose from feathered throats, from primroses, from censers -of the fragrant furze; and there was whisper of vernal rains, ceaseless -hurtle of wings, and murmur of bees; while upon new harps of golden -green, soft west winds sang to the blue-eyed, busy young Earth-Mother, -their immemorial song. - -Honor Endicott moved amid the translucent verdure; and her eyes shadowed -mystery, and her heart longed for her baby's coming, as a sick man longs -for light of day. She found an awakening interest in her own sex--a -thing strange to her, for few women had ever peeped within the portals -of her life; but now she talked much with Mrs. Loveys and the matrons of -Little Silver. She listened to their lore and observed how, when a -woman's eyes do dwell upon her child, there comes a look into them that -shall never be seen at any other time. She noticed the little children, -and discovered with some surprise how many small, bright lives even one -hamlet held. Black and brown-eyed, blue-eyed and grey; with white skins -and red; with soft voices and shrill; rough and gentle; brave and -fearful--she watched them all, and thought she loved them all, for the -sake of one precious baby that would come with the first June roses. -The little life quickened to the love-songs of the thrushes; it answered -the throbbing music of river and wood; its sudden messages filled her -eyes with tears; her heart with ineffable, solemn thrills of mother-joy. -Great calm had spread its wings about Honor. She approached her ordeal -in a high spirit, as of old-time mothers of heroes. She abstracted -herself from all daily routine, but walked abroad with her husband in -the long green twilights, or sat beside Mark Endicott and watched his -wooden needles tapping as he talked. A recent pettiness of whim and -fancy had almost vanished, though now and again she did express a desire -and rested not until the fulfilment. Fear she had none, for the season -of fear was passed, if it had ever clouded her thoughts. To Myles her -attitude insensibly grew softer, and she found his wealth of affection -not unpleasant as her time approached. She accepted his worship, -received his gifts, even pretended to occasional fancies that he might -have the pleasure of gratifying them. - -There came an evening of most lustrous beauty. Mild rain had fallen -during the day, but the sky cleared at nightfall, when the clouds -gleamed and parted in flakes of pearl for the pageant of a full May -moon. Silently she swam out from the rack of the rain; spread light into -the heart of the spring leaves; woke light along the glimmering grass -blades; meshed and sprinkled and kissed with light each raindrop of them -all, until the whole soaking world was bediamonded and robed in -silver-grey. - -Honor turned from beholding her dim grass lands, the time then being -nine. - -"I must go out," she said. "The night is alive and beckoning with its -lovely fingers. The peace of it! Think of this night in the woods! I -must go out, and you must take me, Myles." - -"Not now, dearest one. It is much too late, and everything soaking wet -after the rain." - -"I can wrap up. I feel something that tells me this is the very last -time I shall go out till--afterwards. Just an hour--a little hour; and -you can drive me. I've got to go whether you will or not." - -"Let us wait for the sun to-morrow." - -"No, no--to-night. I want to go and feel the peace of the valley. I -want to hear the Teign sisters kissing and cuddling each other under the -moon. I'll put on those tremendous furs you got me at Christmas, and do -anything you like if you'll only take me." - -"Doctor Mathers would be extremely angry!" murmured her husband. - -"He need know nothing about it. Don't frown. Please, please! It would -hearten me and cheer me; and I promise to drink a full dose of the red -wine when I come in. You shall pour it out. There--who could do more?" - -She was gone to make ready before he answered, and Mark spoke. - -"She cannot take hurt in this weather if she's wrapped up in the furs. -The air feels like milk after the rain." - -Stapledon therefore made no ado about it, but marched meekly forth, and -himself harnessed a pony to the little low carriage purchased specially -for his wife's pleasure. - -Soon they set off through the new-born and moon-lit green, under shadows -that lacked that opacity proper to high summer, under trees which still -showed their frameworks through the foliage. Inflorescence of great -oaks hung in tassels of chastened gold, and a million translucent leaves -diffused rather than shut off the ambient light. Unutterable peace -marked their progress; no shard-borne things made organ music; no -night-bird cried; only the rivers called under the moon, the mist wound -upon the water-meadows, and the silver of remote streamlets twinkled -here and there from the hazes of the low-lying grass land or the shadows -of the woods--twinkled and vanished, twinkled and vanished again beyond -the confines of the night-hidden valley. - -"A fairy hour," said Honor; "and all things awake and alive with a -strange, strange moon-life that they hide by day." - -"The rabbits are awake at any rate. Too many for my peace of mind if -this was my land." - -"Don't call them rabbits. I'm pretending that their little white scuts -are the pixy people. And there's Godleigh under the fir trees--peeping -out with huge yellow eyes--like the dragon of an old legend." - -"Yes, that's Godleigh." - -"Drive me now to Lee Bridge. It was very good of you to come. I -appreciate your love and self-denial so much--so much more than I can -find words to tell you, Myles." - -"God be good to you, my heart! I wish I deserved half your love. You -make me young again to hear you speak so kindly--young and happy -too--happy as I can be until afterwards." - -"It won't be many more weeks. The days that seemed so long in winter -time are quite short now, though it is May. That is how a woman's heart -defies the seasons and reverses the order of Nature on no greater -pretext than a paltry personal one." - -"Not paltry!" - -"Why, everything that's personal is paltry, I suppose, even to the -bearing of your first baby." - -"I should be sorry if you thought so, Honor." - -"Of course, I don't really. Hush now; let me watch all these dear, -soft, moony things and be happy, and suffer them to work their will on -my mind. I'm very near my reformation, remember. I'm going to be so -different afterwards. Just a staid, self-possessed, sensible -matron--and as conservative as a cow. Won't there be a peace about the -home?" - -"Honor!" - -"Honour bright. Look at Forde's new thatch! I hate new thatch under -the sun, but in the moonlight it is different. His cot looks like some -golden-haired, goblin thing that's seen a ghost. How pale the whitewash -glares; and the windows throw up the whites of their eyes!" - -"Don't talk so much. I'm sure you'll catch cold or something. Now -we're going down to valley-level. Lean against me--that's it. This hill -grows steeper every time I drive down it, I think." - -They crossed Chagford Bridge, where a giant ash fretted the moonlight -with tardy foliage still unexpanded; then Myles drove beyond a ruined -wool factory, turned to the right, passed Holy Street and the cross in -the wall, and finally reached the neighbourhood of Lee Bridge. Here the -air above them was dark with many trees and the silence broken by fitful -patter of raindrops still falling from young foliage. The green dingles -and open spaces glittered with moisture, where the light fell and wove -upon them a fabric of frosted radiance touched with jewels, to the crest -of the uncurling fern-fronds, and the wide shimmer of the bluebell -folk--moon-kissed, as Endymion of old. Pale and wan their purple -stretched and floated away and faded dimly, rippling into the darkness; -but their scent hung upon the air, like the very breath of sleeping -spring. - -"Stop here, my love," said Honor. "What a bed for the great light to -lie upon! What a silence for the tiny patter of the raindrops to make -music in! And thoughts that hide by day--sad-eyed thoughts--peep out -now upon all this perfection--hurry from their hiding-places in one's -heart and look through one's eyes into these aisles of silver and ebony; -and so go back again a little comforted. The glory of it! And if you -gaze and listen closer, surely you will see Diana's own white self -stealing over the mist of the bluebells, and hear perhaps her unearthly -music. Nay, I must talk, Myles, or I shall cry." - -"I'm only thinking of all this ice-cold damp dropping upon you out of -the trees," he said. - -They proceeded, then stopped once again at Honor's urgent desire. The -great beech of the proposal stood before her, and she remembered the -resting-place between its roots, the words carved upon its trunk. Its -arms were fledged with trembling and shining foliage; its upper peaks -and crown were full of diaphanous light; its huge bole gleamed like a -silver pillar; and spread under the sweep of the lower branches there -glimmered a pale sheen of amber where myriads of little leaf-sheafs had -fallen and covered the earth as with spun silk. - -Great longing to be for one moment alone with the old tree seized upon -Honor. Suddenly she yearned to gaze at the throne of her promise to -Christopher, to see again those letters his hand had graven upon the -bark above. The desire descended in a storm upon her, and shook her so -strongly that her voice came, tremulously as bells upon a wind, to utter -the quick plan of her imagination. - -"I wish you'd go to the bridge yonder and get me some water to drink. -Your tobacco pouch will do if you rinse it well, as you often have upon -the Moor. I'm frantically thirsty." - -"My dear child--wait until we get home. Then you've promised me to -drink some wine." - -"No, I can't wait; I'm parched and I want the river water. To please -me, Myles. It won't take you a moment--straight between the trees -there, to that old bridge of ash poles. That's the nearest way. I must -drink--really I must. It's unkind to refuse." - -He grumbled a little and declared what with the dropping trees, she -might have enough water; but then he saw her face in the moonlight, and -she kissed him, and he departed to do her bidding. - -The rustic bridge, crossed by Honor at the outset of this record, was a -structure but seldom used save by gamekeepers. It spanned Teign some -seventy yards away from the great tree; but Myles, who did not know the -spot well, found that he must now cross a tangled underwood to reach the -river. The place was difficult by night, and he proceeded with caution, -emptying the tobacco out of his pouch into his pocket as he did so. One -fall, got from a treacherous briar, he had; then he arrived beside the -bridge and noted where faint indication of a woodland path led from it. -By following this his return journey promised to be the easier. Myles -knelt and scrambled to the brink, sweetened the rubber pouch and filled -it as well as he could with water. He had, however, scarcely regained -his feet when a shrill scream of fear twice repeated frightened the -dreaming forests from their sleep, rang and reverberated to the depths -of the woods, and revealed a sudden echo close at hand that threw back -upon its starting-point the deep horror of the cry. For a second -Stapledon made no movement, then he charged into the woods and tore his -way back to the road. There he arrived a minute later, torn and -bleeding. The pony stood unmoved, but Honor had disappeared. As Myles -looked wildly about him, it seemed that in her fearful expression of -sudden terror his wife had vanished away. Then, amid the dark spaces of -shadow and the silver interspaces of light he found her, lying with the -moon upon her white face and one small hand still clutching a few -bluebells. She had fallen midway between the carriage and the great -beech; she had been stricken senseless by some physical catastrophe or -mental shock. - -The man groaned aloud before what he saw, dropped down on his knees -beside her, gathered her up gently, and uttered a thousand endearing -words; but her head fell forward without life towards him, and setting -her down, he gathered the wet, shining moss and pressed it about her -forehead and neck and unfastened the buttons at her throat. Great -terror came upon him as she still remained unconscious, and he picked -her up to carry her back to the carriage. Then she moved and opened her -eyes and stretched her hands to him; whereupon, in his turn, he cried -aloud and thanked God. - -As she began to apprehend, to order the broken tangles of thought and -take up again the threads so suddenly let fall, he feared that she would -faint once more, for with return of memory there came a great wave of -terror over her eyes; but she only clung to him and breathed with long, -deep gasps of fear, yet said no word. Then it seemed that a physical -pang distracted her mind from the immediate past; a strange, bewildered -look crossed her upturned face, and she bowed herself and pressed her -hand into her side and moaned. - -"Oh, I was a mad fool to do this!" he cried. "I am to blame for it all. -Let me drive--back through Godleigh. That's nearest. We've the right, -though we never use it. Say you're better now." - -But she could not answer yet, and he made the pony gallop forward until -it crossed the bridge over Teign, then turned into the private -park-lands beyond. - -Presently Honor spoke. - -"I'm so sorry I screamed out. I frightened you and made you hurry from -the river and tear your face. It's bleeding very badly still. Take my -handkerchief--poor Myles!" - -"What happened? What were you doing?" - -"I had a sudden longing to gather some of the bluebells with the -moonlight and dew on them. Nothing happened--at least----" - -"Something must have nearly frightened you to death from your terrible -shriek." - -"I don't know. I can't remember. A tree moved, I think--moved and -seemed alive--it was some dream or trick of the light." - -"All my fault. Why am I thus weak with you?" - -"Oh, it was so grey, Myles. You saw nothing?" - -"Nothing but you. I had eyes for nothing else." - -She shivered and nestled close to him. - -"But I'm so sorry I cried out like that." - -"Don't think more about it. Half the terror was in your mind, and half -in the pranks of the moonlight among the trees. They look enough like -ghosts. I only hope to heaven no harm will come of this. The fall has -not hurt you, has it?" - -"No, no, no; I shall be all right. I was only----" - -Then suffering overtook her again, and she shrank into herself and said -no more. But as they left the gates of Godleigh and prepared to mount -the hill homewards, Honor spoke in a small, faint voice. - -"While we are here in Little Silver, dearest, perhaps--Doctor Mathers--I -don't know whether it's anything, but I'm not very well, dear Myles. -I'm--indeed I think baby's going to be born to-night. Perhaps we had -better call and tell him before going home." - -Her husband was overcome with concern. He ran to the physician's little -dwelling, distant two hundred yards off in the village, delivered his -message, and then, returning, put the astounded pony at the hill in a -manner that caused it to snort viciously and utter a sort of surprised -vocal remonstrance almost human. The sound made Honor laugh even at her -present crisis; but the laugh proved short, and in three minutes Myles -was carrying her to her room and bawling loudly for women. - -Soon the household knew what had happened; Doctor Mathers arrived; and -Tommy Bates, hurled out of sleep, was despatched at high pressure for -Mrs. Brimblecombe, the sexton's wife--a woman of significance at such -times. - -Very faintly through the silence a noise of voices came to the ear of -Collins where he slept in a spacious attic chamber with Churdles Ash. -Thereupon Henry left his bed and wakened the elder man. - -"Theer's the douce of a upstore down house 'bout somethin'. Please God -we ban't afire!" - -Mr. Ash grunted, but the last word reached his understanding; so he -awoke, and bid the other see what was amiss. Collins thereupon tumbled -into his trousers and proceeded to make inquiries. In three minutes he -returned. - -"'Tis missus took bad," he said. "A proper tantara, I can tell 'e, an' -doctor in the house tu. Ought us to rise up? Might be more respectful -in such a rare event." - -"Rise up be damned!" said Mr. Ash bluntly. "Not that I wouldn't rise up -to the moon if I could take the leastest twinge off of her; but 'tis -woman's work to-night. The sacred dooty of child-bearin' be now gwaine -on, an' at such times even the faither hisself awnly looks a fule. Go -to sleep." - -"The dear lady be afore her date seemin'ly," remarked Collins, returning -to his bed. - -"'Tis allus so wi' the fustborn. The twoads be mostly tu forrard or tu -back'ard. An' they do say as them born late be late ever after, an' do -take a humble back plaace all theer days; while them born airly gets -ahead of or'nary folks, an' may even graw up to be gert men. I've seed -the thing fall out so for that matter." - -"An' how might it have been wi' you, I wonder, if theer's no offence? -How was you with regards to the reckoning?" - -"'Tis a gude bit back-along when I was rather a small bwoy," answered -Churdles, laughing sleepily at his own humour; "but, so far as I knaw, I -comed 'pon the appointed day to a hour." - -"Just what us might have counted upon in such a orderly man as you," -mused Collins. - -"'Tis my boast, if I've got wan, that I never made my faither swear, nor -my mother shed a tear, from the day that I was tucked-up.[#] No fegs! -Never. Now you best go to sleep, or you might hear what would hurt your -tender 'eart." - - -[#] Short-coated. - - - - - *CHAPTER VI.* - - *SORROW'S FACE* - - -Throughout that short summer night the young successor of Doctor -Courteney Clack was torn in two between a birth-bed and a death-bed. For -the old mother of Gregory Libby was now to depart, and it chanced that -the hour of her final journey fell upon a moment of great peace before -the dawn. Then, when she had passed, while her son yet stared in fear -from the foot of the bed, Doctor Mathers dragged his weary limbs up the -hill again to Bear Down. Now he rendered the household happy by his -announcement that he had come to stop until all was concluded. - -He sat and smoked cigarettes and soothed Myles, who tramped the parlour -like a caged animal. He spoke cheerily, noted the other's mangled face, -and congratulated him upon a narrow escape, for his left cheek was torn -by a briar to the lid of the eye. Presently he yawned behind his hand, -gladly partook of a cup of tea, and prayed that the expected summons -from the dame above might not be long delayed. And when the sun was -flaming over the hills and the air one chant of birds, there came a -woman with a kind face, full of history, and spoke to Doctor Mathers. - -"Now, sir, us would like to see you." - -Myles turned at the voice, but his companion was already gone. Then the -terrific significance of these next few moments surged into the -husband's mind, and he asked himself where he should go, what he should -do. To go anywhere or do anything was impossible; so he hardened his -heart and tramped the carpet steadily. There was a vague joy in him -that his child should be born at the dawn hour. - -A moment later Mark Endicott entered. He, too, had not slept but he had -spent the night in his own chamber and none knew of his vigil. Now he -came forward and put out his hand. - -"Be of good heart, lad! She's going on very well with great store of -strength and spirit, Mrs. Loveys tells me." - -"If I could only--" - -"Yes, every man talks that nonsense. You can't; so just walk out upon -the hill along with me an' look at the first sun ever your child's eyes -will blink at. A fitting time for his advent. A son of the morning you -are; and so will he or she be." - -"Last night it is that makes me so fearful for Honor." - -"A shock--but time enough to fret if there's any harm done. Wait for -the news quiet and sensible." - -They walked a little way from the house, Myles scarcely daring to look -upward towards a window where the cherry-blossom reigned again; but when -they stood two hundred yards distant, a cry reached them and Tommy Bates -approached hurriedly. - -"Maister! Maister Stapledon, sir! You'm wanted to wance!" - -"Go!" said Mark, "and tell Tom to come and lead me back." - -So, for the second time in twenty-four hours, Myles Stapledon ran with -heavy and laborious stride. In a few moments he reached the house, and -finding nobody visible, entered the kitchen and made the china ring -again with his loud summons. Then Mrs. Loveys entered, and her apron -was held up to her eyes. Behind her moved Cramphorn and his daughter -Margery, with faces of deep-set gloom. - -"What's this? In God's name speak, somebody. Why are you crying, -woman?" - -"She's doin' cleverly--missis. Be easy, sir. No call to fret for her. -All went butivul---but--but--the dear li'l tiny bwoy--he'm dead--born -dead--axin' pardon for such black news." - -"Honor knows?" - -"Ess--'pears she knawed it 'fore us did. The dark whisper o' God--as -broke it to her in a way no human could. 'Twas last night's fright an' -fall as killed un, doctor reckons." - -The man stared, and sorrow set his face in a semblance more than common -stonelike. - -"Bear up, dear sir," ventured Jonah. "She'm doin' braave herself, an' -that's more'n a barrel-load o' baabies to 'e, if you think of it aright. -An' gude comes out o' evil even in such a case sometimes, for he might -have been born a poor moonstruck gaby, as would have been a knife in his -mother's heart for all time." - -But Stapledon did not answer. He walked past them, returned to the -parlour and resumed his slow tramp up and down. What of the great event -waited for, hoped for, dreamed about through near nine months--each a -century long? He felt that all the past was true, but this last -half-hour a dream. He saw the chair that Doctor Mathers had occupied, -observed his empty cup, his litter of cigarette-ends about the hearth. -It seemed hard to believe that the climax was come and passed; and for -one brief and bitter moment the man's own suffering dominated his heart. -But then he swept all personal tribulation out of mind, and went upon -his knees and thanked the Unknown for His blessings, in that it had -pleased Him to bring Honor safely through her ordeal. He prayed for her -sorrow to be softened, her pain forgotten, and that her husband might be -inspired in this trial to lighten his wife's supreme grief. He begged -also for wisdom and understanding to support her and lift her burden and -bear it himself as far as that was possible. - -He still knelt when Doctor Mathers suddenly entered, coughed, and -plunged a hand into his pocket fiercely for more cigarettes. Then Myles -rose, without visible emotion, to find the young physician red and -angry. Indeed he now relieved his mingled feelings by swearing a little. - -"Your wife's all right, and of course I'm infernally sorry about this. -You know it's not my fault. The shock quite settled the matter, humanly -speaking. A most unlucky chance. What in the name of God were you -doing in the middle of the night in the woods? It's enough to make any -doctor get savage. I'm heartily sorry for you both--heartily; but I'm -mighty sorry for myself too. As a man with his way to make--but, of -course, you don't know what all the fools on the countryside will say, -though I well do. It's always the doctor's fault when this happens. -However, I can't expect you to be sorry for me, I know." - -"I am, Mathers. The blame of this sad thing is mine--all. I should -have been firm, and not yielded to an unwise idea. And if you've no -objection, I should like to see my wife and tell her how entirely I -blame myself." - -"It's no good talking like that, my dear sir; but, fault or no fault, -let it be a lesson to you next time. Be firm. Mrs. Stapledon was -frightened by the ghost of the devil apparently. Anyway, I can't learn -what the nature of the shock was. 'Something grey--suddenly close to -me,' is all she will say. That might be a wandering donkey. It's all -very cruel and hard for you both--a jolly fine little boy he would have -been. Better luck next time. I'll be back again in a few hours." - -"I may see Honor?" - -"Yes, certainly; but cut it short, and don't talk about fault or blame -on anybody. Let her think you're glad--eh?" - -"She wouldn't believe it." - -"Well, well, don't make a fuss. Just say the right thing and then clear -out. I want her to sleep before I come back. You know how sorry I am; -but we must look ahead. Good morning." - -A little later Stapledon, his heart beating hard and a sort of fear upon -him, knocked at the door of his wife's room and was allowed to enter. -In the half light he saw Mark sitting by Honor, and heard the old man -speak in a voice so soft and womanly that Myles could scarce believe it -was his uncle. - -"Why, your good, brave heart will tide you over for all our sakes. -'Twas part of the great web of woman's sorrow spun in the beginning, -dearie. It had to be. You thought how life was going to change for you; -but it hasn't changed--not yet--that's all the matter. Take your life -up again where you set it down; and just go on with it, like a brave -girl. Here's Myles come. I hear his breathing. He'll say the same, in -better words than mine. We must all live through the cloud, my Honor, -and see it sink before the good sunshine that will follow. 'Twasn't -Nature's will this should happen so, but God's own. There's comfort in -that for you. And we'll have God and Nature both to fight on our side -come next time." - -He departed, and husband and wife were left alone. For a moment he could -only hold her hand and press it and marvel to see how young she appeared -again. Her eyes were very bright--like stars in the dim room. She -looked at him and pressed back on his hand. Then a flicker of a -whimsical smile woke at the corner of her lips and she spoke in a little -voice. - -"I'm so--so sorry, dear heart. I did my very best--I----" - -"Don't," he said; and the old nurse in the next room frowned at his -loud, hoarse tones. - -"You'll say that I've been wasting my time again--I know you will." - -"Please, please, Honor. For God's sake not at a minute like -this--I----" - -Then he stopped. Where was the answer to his prayer? Here he stood -ranting and raving like a lunatic, while she, who had endured all, -appeared calm and wholly self-possessed. - -"The fault was all mine--every bit of it," he began again quietly. "If -I had not let my headstrong little love go into the woods, the -child----" - -"Don't blame yourself. The past is past, and I'll never return to it in -word or in thought, if I can help doing so. Only there are things we -don't guess at, Myles--terrible things hidden and not believed in. Our -little son had to die. It is cruel--cruel. I cannot explain--not now. -Perhaps some day I will if I am ever brave enough." - -"Don't talk wildly like this, my darling Honor. You are overwrought; -you will be better very soon. Uncle Mark was right. Life has not -changed for us." - -"It never will. Things hidden--active things say 'No'! Oh, the grey -horror of it there!" - -She shivered and put her arms round Myles, but Mrs. Brimblecombe had -heard her patient's voice lifted in terror, and this was more than any -professional nurse could be expected to stand. As the medical man -before her, she considered her own great reputation, and, entering now, -bade Myles take his leave at once. - -"Please to go, sir," she said aside to him. "You really mustn't bide no -longer; an' 'tis very ill-convenient this loud talking; an' your voice, -axin' your pardon, be lifted a deal tu high for a sick chamber." - -"I'll go," he answered; "but don't leave her. The cursed accident of -light or shade, or whatever it was that frightened her overnight, is in -her mind still. She's wandering about it now. Soothe her all you -can--all you can. And if she wants me, let me know." - -In the passage red-eyed women of the farm met him, and Mrs. Loveys -spoke. - -"We'm all broken-hearted for 'e, I'm sure; an'--an' would 'e like just -to see the dear, li'l perfect bwoy? Her wouldn't--missis. But p'raps -you would, seein' 'tis your awn. An' the mother of un may be glad to -knaw what he 'peared like later on, when she can bear to think on it." - -Myles hesitated, then nodded without words and followed Mrs. Loveys into -an empty room. There he looked down, among primroses and lilac that -Sally had picked, upon what might have been his son; and he marvelled in -dull pain at the dainty beauty of the work; and he stared with a sort of -special blank wonder at the exquisite little hands and tiny nails. -Presently he bent and kissed this marred mite, then departed, somehow -the happier, to plan that it should lie within the churchyard for -Honor's sake. - -He broke his fast soon after midday, and, upon learning that his wife -slept peacefully, sought for his own comfort the granite counsellors of -the high hills. There was an emptiness in life before this stroke; it -left him helpless, not knowing what to turn to. His great edifice of -many plans and hopes was all a ruin. - -Much to their own regret, Cramphorn and Churdles Ash met Stapledon as he -climbed alone to the Moor. They were very sorry for him in their way, -and they felt that to touch their hats and pass him by without words at -such a moment would not be fitting. - -"Sure, we'm grievous grieved, all the lot of us," said Jonah -grimly--"more for her than you, because, bein' an Endicott, she'm more -to me an' Ash than ever you can be. But 'tis a sad evil. Us had -thought 'twould be osiers as you li'l wan would rock in--soft an' gentle -by his mother's side; but 'tis elm instead--so all's ended, an' nought -left but to bend afore the stroke." - -Mr. Ash was also philosophical. - -"'Tweern't death ezacally as comed 'pon the house, neither; nor yet -life, you see. 'Cause you can't say as a babe be dead what never drawed -breath, can 'e?" - -"An' theer's another cheerful thought for 'e," added Cramphorn, "for -though 'tis as painful for a woman to bear a wise man as a fool, no -doubt, yet so it might have failed out, an' the pain ends in wan case -and turns to joy; an' in t'other case it never ends. An' as 'twas odds -he'd have been a poor antic, 'tis better as her should mourn a month for -un dead than for all the days of his life, as Scripture sez somewheers." - -"Well spoke," commented Churdles. "Never heard nothin' wiser from 'e, -Jonah. An', beggin' your pardon, theer's a gert lesson to such a -trouble, if a body ban't tu stiff-necked to see it. It do teach us -worms o' the airth as even God A'mighty have got a pinch of somethin' -human in the nature of Un--as I've allus said for that matter. This -here shows how even He can alter His purpose arter a thing be well -begun, an' ban't shamed to change His Everlasting Mind now an' again, -more'n the wisest of us. Theer's gert comfort in that, if you please." - -Stapledon thanked both old men for their consolation, and set his face -to the Moor. - - - - - *CHAPTER VII.* - - *PLOTS AGAINST AN ORPHAN* - - -The departure of Mrs. Libby and its probable effect upon her son became -a matter of local interest, because she had toiled with her old bones -for him to the end, and he had taken all her service as a matter of -course, but would now feel the loss of his home comforts exceedingly. - -"He'll have to get a wife," said the man Pinsent at Sunday supper. All -were assembled save Honor, who had now been in her room for three weeks, -and still kept it. - -"If 'tis awnly for somebody to cook his victuals, the man must marry," -declared Collins. Then with some craft he added, "And the question in -Little Silver is who's to be the gal." - -"He'm a comical tempered chap, to my thinking; an' they do say a man wi' -a tie in his speech----" began Pinsent. But he found himself sharply -taken to task from the quarter he had secretly aimed at. - -"You'd best to mind your awn business, Samuel!" flamed out Sally, then -blushed rose-red to the roots of her hair at the laughter her confession -won. Her relations alone did not laugh. Margery bent over her plate -and grew white rather than red; and Mr. Cramphorn roundly rated the -speaker for such a lapse of manners. - -"'Fore the whole world, would 'e? I blush for 'e--though you can for -yourself still, it seems. An' him never so much as opened his lips on -it! 'Tis a most unmaidenly thing, an' never to have been looked for in -no darter o' mine." - -"Sorry I drawed it from her, notwithstanding," said Pinsent. "I'm sure -I'd rather have bit my tongue out than bring red to any gal's cheeks." - -"Nobody would hurt her for gold," added Collins. - -But Sally was now in tears. She left her supper, and withdrew weeping; -her sister gave vent to a little hard laugh; while a moment later -Cramphorn, in some discomfort, followed his elder daughter. Then, -familiar with Jonah's estimate of Libby, and having no desire to breed -further storm, Mark Endicott spoke to Ash. - -"What's your opinion of the man, Churdles?" - -"A poor creation, your honour," answered the patriarch promptly. "Not a -penn'orth o' nature in un, else he'd have had some gal squeezed to his -heart so soon as ever he comed by enough money to marry. He'm cold -clay, an' awnly waitin' to see which of Jonah's maids be in highest -favour--which is most like to have the cottage left to her. His faither -was another most calculating chap. The woman what's just gone had awnly -half a score short of a hunderd pound saved when he offered hisself. -Married for money, in fact; an' that's a 'mazin' thing to happen except -among respectable people." - -"What d'you say to that, Margery?" asked Myles Stapledon bluntly. He -did not like Margery, and her attitude at her sister's discomfiture had -not escaped him. - -"Ban't for me to speak against my elders," she answered slowly, with a -malignant look at the placid veteran. "Mr. Ash--auld as he is--do find -it so hard to mind his awn business as other people seemin'ly. He ban't -paid for pokin' his ancient nose into Gregory Libby's consarns, I -s'pose. But he'm past larnin' manners now, no doubt." - -The boyish features of Mr. Ash flushed suddenly and his head shook a -little. - -"Theer's a sour speech--an' her so young! Worse'n any vinegar you'll be -in the marriage cruet, woman, whoever 'tis that's daft enough to take -'e! Fegs! I pity un; an' I pity the Dowl when it's his turn--as it -will be some day. To talk to a auld man so!" - -Unwonted wrinkles appeared in Mr. Ash's apple-face, and he showed a -great disinclination to let the matter drop, though Stapledon bid him be -silent. He chattered and growled and demanded an apology, which Margery -declined to offer. Then she instantly left the kitchen, so that no -argument should rise upon her refusal. She glowered sullenly about her, -restrained a strong desire to scream, and then withdrew. - -Yet Churdles, though he knew it not, and must have much deplored the -fact if it had come to his understanding, was responsible for a -practical and valuable lesson to Margery. His words, though they -angered her, had not fallen upon deaf ears. She sulked away now in the -corner of an empty room and set her wits to work. Mr. Libby was in one -respect like heaven; he had to be taken by storm, and Churdles Ash -unwittingly indicated the direction of attack. - -Margery indeed loved this shifty youth; she adored his cane-coloured -hair cut straight across his low forehead, like a child's fringe, his -uncertain eyes, his moustache--with a most "gentleman-like droop to it," -as she had discovered. She loved him--not for his money but for -himself, and her sister's infatuation was of a similar genuine quality. -They were primitive maidens both and had seen little of the other sex, -owing to their father's suspicions that every man on the eastern side of -Dartmoor would run away with them, given the opportunity. Now passion -worthy of a better cause burnt in their young hearts, and each raged -against the other--inwardly for the most part. Their weapons were -different, and whereas Margery's sarcasms proved wholly wasted on her -sister, Sally's anger, when roused, generally took the shape of a -swinging box on the ear--a retort contemptible enough, no doubt, yet not -easy to be ignored. Margery's waspish tongue was no match for her -sister's right arm, therefore open quarrels seldom happened; yet each -daily strained every nerve, and since Gregory had come to be a mere -womanless, desolate orphan, the efforts of both girls were redoubled. -It had, however, been left to the sensation of that evening to quicken -their wits; and now each, by ways remote, set about a new and more -pressing investment of Mr. Libby's lonely heart. - -Margery took the word of Mr. Ash to herself, and realised that if her -loved one was really waiting to get a hint of Jonah Cramphorn's -intentions, her own course must be modified. She knew that her father, -despite his surly and overbearing disposition, might be influenced -without difficulty; and she possessed the tact and discretion proper to -such a task. She had never desired any influence over him until the -present, and had indeed thought but little of the future, excepting with -reference to herself and Gregory. Now, however, the danger of allowing -Sally even an indirect ascendency was made manifest, and Margery -determined that her sister must be put out of court at home, by fair -means if possible, by foul if necessary. - -In a most cold-blooded and calculating spirit she approached the problem -of making herself so indispensable to her father that he should come to -regard her as his better and more deserving child. That situation once -established, no doubt Gregory Libby would be the first to perceive it. -If he was backward in doing so, then might she delicately aid his -perception; indeed she doubted not that this course would be necessary, -for the control she now set herself to maintain over her parent must be -more real than apparent at first. She hoped that within a month at the -latest it would be safe to hint to Gregory that such supremacy existed. - -And meanwhile, hanging over a gate out of doors, so that her -tear-stained cheeks might cool, Sally also meditated some definite -action whereby the halting regard of the desired object should grow -established and affirmed. To a determination she also came, but it fell -far short of her sister's in subtlety. She merely fell back upon the -trite conceit of a _tertium quid_, and hoped how, once reminded of the -fact that other men also found her pleasant in their eyes, Mr. Libby -would awaken into jealousy and so take action. Her father she did not -consider, because his opinions had long since ceased to weigh with her, -when it was possible to disregard them. Sally approached the future in -a sanguine spirit, for within the secret places of her heart there -lurked an honest belief that Gregory loved her to desperation. Why he -delayed to mention the fact, under these distracting circumstances, was -not easy to explain; but now, upon his mother's death, there had come a -climax in the young man's life; and Sally felt that in the present -forlorn circumstances she ought to be, and probably was, his paramount -object of reflection. - -So she determined to precipitate the imminent declaration by parading -another possible husband; and that point established it remained only to -decide upon whom this thankless part should fall. Henry Collins -naturally offered himself to her mind. His emotions were perfectly -familiar to her, though in that he had scrupulously obeyed Jonah and -never dared to offer marriage, Sally regarded him with some natural -derision. But he loved her very well, and would come when she whistled, -and frisk at her side with great content and joy. Whereupon, driven -frantic before the spectacle of Collins lifted to this giddy fortune, -she doubted not but that Gregory would declare himself and make a -definite offer. His words once spoken, she felt no fear for the future. -She held herself in some esteem, and was satisfied of her powers to keep -Libby, or any other man, to a bargain. - -Thus both maids, within the space of an hour, had braced their minds to -a course of vital action; and it remained for time to show which, if -either, was to succeed in the result. - - - - - *CHAPTER VIII.* - - *A NECKLACE OF BIRDS' EGGS* - - -There came a Sunday, yet not so soon as Doctor Mathers hoped, when Honor -declared herself able and desirous to take the air again. She chose the -Moor as the scene of this return to life; and, as Stapledon had departed -for the day to see an acquaintance at Okehampton before his wife decided -to go forth, her uncle, and not her husband, accompanied her--to the -deep chagrin of the latter when he returned home. - -Through the long hours of a weary and empty convalescence, Honor said -little concerning the incident responsible for wreck of hope; but her -loss had grown into an abiding grief nevertheless; and while the man was -stricken most sorely at first, but had now become resigned, devoting -only leisure thought to his private sorrow, the woman took this trial to -her heart with increasing bitterness through those lonely hours that -followed upon it. There was, moreover, an added element of terror and a -superstitious despair bred of her alarm in the woods. This died but -slowly, for she would not share the experience with any other; yet, as -physical health increased, all lesser emotion dwindled before the -ever-present sense of loss. From Myles she hid the heavy misery of it, -that his own sorrow might not be increased; but she liked to speak with -her uncle of the little flower lost in the bud, and he was patient and -never weary of comforting her to the best of his power. - -It is to be noted, however, that Myles somewhat misunderstood Honor's -extreme reticence, and her assumed air of brightness and good hope -misled him perhaps more completely than Honor designed. He was secretly -surprised that this matter had not left a deeper mark; he did not guess -at a scar out of his sight; but he marvelled that his wife could still -laugh and even jest upon occasion. Under her tranquillity and humour he -failed to probe, but he bade the inner wonder in his mind be dumb. Not -until long afterwards did he learn the truth and realise the depth of -the sorrow she had masked for love of him. - -The little open carriage crept up over Scor Hill, then proceeded by a -steep way to Charity Grepe's cottage. There Honor left half-a-crown in -person, for since certain rumours that poor Cherry must go to the -work-house, the mistress of Bear Down had become her active champion. -Then the pony was turned, climbed the hill again, and presently stood -above Teign valley, at a point on the hillside where a little lakelet -reflected the blue sky above it, and shone framed in rushes and verdant -sphagnum, in rosy sundews all frosted and agleam, in small scattered -flames of the bog asphodel, and in many lesser things that love a marsh. - -Away on the wide front of Watern, great gloomy tracts, still dark from -fire, spread forth over many an acre. There a "swaling" had freed the -land of heath and furze, and provided light and air for grass; but the -spot seen from this distance was naked as yet. - -"There's a great scar over against us on the hill--black--black against -the green and the grey and the blue overhead--all charred and desolate. -That's how my heart feels, Uncle Mark--so dreary and forlorn--like an -empty nest." - -"Look again," he said; "look at what seems so black upon the hill, and -think as you look, and you'll remember the ash and ruin are all full of -young, sweet blades, sprouting strong, brimming with sap to hide the -rack of dead char. 'Twill be so with you, my dear; for there's the bend -and spring of youth in your heart still. Wait till the heather's out -again, and the foxgloves are nodding along the low ridges over the -Teign, and the whortle bells be turned to purple berries once more." - -"How you remember!" she said, "despite all the long years of darkness." - -"Yes; I remember, thank God. I smell the damp near where you've pulled -up; and I see the marsh, down to the little bluebell flower that creeps -in the grass, and the spotted leaves of orchis, and the white wisps of -the cotton grass in summer, and all the rest, that I never thought upon -when I had my eyes. But there's a quiet, unknown mercy that works -through the morning hours of a man's life if he lives in the lap of -Nature and is true to her. Keen sight stores the memory unbeknown to -us; and none can tell how deep that unconscious, unguessed gathering-up -may be but those who fall upon blindness. No credit to me at all; yet -the pictures come as the seasons come--at bud-break; at the sound of the -west wind and the call of the river; at the music of rain on the leaves; -at the whirr of the cutter in the hay; at the touch of snow on my face -and in my eyebrows. I know--I know it all, for my eyes reaped and my -brain garnered at the merciful will of God. Without those mind -picture-books I should be blind indeed." - -"You're so brave. I wish that I had more of you in me. I'm not a true -Endicott." - -"As to that, 'tis only those who won't see are blind. Eyesight's the -window of the house, but the ear is the door. A blow-fly on the -window-pane is big enough to hide the evening star--if you're content to -let it; but shut your eyes and you'll see the star in the blue, with -nought between it and your thoughts." - -"It's so hard to be wise; and words are not warm, live things you can -cuddle. Oh, I want something smaller than myself to love! I had -lighted such a great fire of love; and now it's all burnt out, and no -green hope springing through the ashes." - -"Be patient. Look forward, my Honor." - -"There's nothing there--all blank." - -"You're morbid; and that's the last foolishness I should ever have -thought to tax you with. Myles----" - -"No--no; you don't understand. How should you understand?" - -"Moonshine!" - -"It wasn't moonshine. I wish I could think it was. But you must be -patient with me. It's so cold to open your eyes every morning with the -dull feeling that something sad is waiting for you to remember it. I'm -all winter, while the rest of the world is full of spring." - -"And spring will touch you presently." - -"I had built such castles in the air--painted such futures. First, my -boy was to be a soldier; but I grew frightened of that when I began to -fill in details of the picture; and then a farmer, but that did not -satisfy me at all. Presently my heart went out to the thought of his -being an artist--either in words or pictures, but an artist in deeds at -any rate. You don't know what I mean by that. One who thought and felt -like an artist--and walked so. He was to magnify the Lord and love the -earth, and all green things, and birds especially, and the changeful -sky. I did not think of him as loving men and women very -much--excepting me. So my silly thoughts sped and I shut my eyes, that -nobody should see my hope looking out of them. I was going to be the -mother of a great man--and I am only the mother of a great sorrow, after -all." - -"A shared sorrow; don't forget that, my dear. There's three hearts to -take each a part of the load. More than that, for, beyond Myles and me, -every man's breast and woman's bosom is heavy for you here. A -widespread, real regret, though 'tis not their way to make much ado." - -"They are very good to me--better than I deserve. I shall have more -thoughts for them now. Sorrow at least teaches sympathy. But my soul -has quite lost heart of late days, and I feel so old." - -At this moment from the valley there came two persons along the path -where Honor's pony carriage stood. One appeared uneasy, the other in a -very halcyon halo of delight; for Sally, true to her resolve, had -indicated that a little attention from Mr. Collins would not be -unwelcome; and now they moved side by side upon a stolen walk. -Elsewhere Margery accompanied her parent to see a neighbour, and Sally -was supposed to be at the farm. - -The pair made awkward acknowledgments and were proceeding, when Honor -noted an unusual decoration about her milkmaid's neck. In addition to a -string of glass pearls, a little necklace of birds' eggs--alternate -thrush and blackbird--adorned Sally's plump throat, and the spectacle, -suggestive as it was of robbed nests, woke a wave of passing indignation -in Honor's heart. - -"What is that round your neck?" she asked with a sudden hardness in her -voice; and Sally's hands went up gingerly to the frail adornment, while -she looked at Collins, whose gift, snatched from screaming birds, she -wore. Seeing explanation was expected from him, Henry stood forward, -touched his Sunday hat, and spoke with many stumblings. - -"Beggin' pardon, I'm sure, ma'am, I----" - -"You robbed the birds, Collins?" - -"Ess, I did, but if you call home last cherry-time, ma'am; if I may say -so--you see I did as you bid an' shot a braave lot last autumn, as you -wanted--them being so bowldacious as to eat your fruit; an' come autumn -an' winter, I catched a gude few in traps what I teeled in the garden. -Then, come spring, I had a bright thought that if I took the eggs of 'em -'twould mean gert thinning out o' the birds. An' no account neither, if -I may say so; 'cause a egg's just life in the raw, waitin' for warmth -an' time to quicken it. They never lived like, savin' your presence, so -the airth ban't the poorer by a bird's note, 'cause us caan't lose what -we never had. 'Tis no more'n a seed spoiled, or a leaf-bud nipped by -frost, or a cheel still----" - -He clapped his hand over his mouth and heard Sally say "Fule!" under her -breath; but his mistress nodded and bid him go on his way. - -"You may be right; but take no more eggs from the birds." - -So Mr. Collins got himself out of sight to the tune of a reprimand from -Sally that made his ears tingle. - -"You gert, clumsy-mouthed gawk! To utter such a speech an' tellin' that -stuff to her, an' go mumblin' on, like a bumble-bee in a foxglove; an' -end up so! Not the sense of a sheep you ain't got!" - -She tore off his gift and stamped on the blown shells, while he merely -stood and rolled his great eyes wretchedly. - -Elsewhere Endicott spoke to his niece. - -"Strange how a chance word out of a fool's mouth will often come pat. -These things--eggs--buds--babies are so little account in the great sum -total. Nature's units don't trouble her. The crushed windflower will -bud and blow again next year. What is a year to her? The robbed -mother-bird screams for an hour, then goes on with the vital business of -preserving her own life; and the robbed mother-woman--her heart aches -to-day, but the pain soothes off presently as the months and years roll -over first memories. We're built to forget; else the world would be a -madhouse, or just one great welter of sorrow. 'Tis God's way, I judge, -seldom to put upon us more than we can bear. If grief or pain's past -bearing--why then the heart or something cracks and there's an end of -us. But sorrow alone never killed a healthy being. I'd rather count it -the torch that lights to the greatest deeds we're built to do. I hoped -that a little child would draw you together--Myles and you--close, close -as soil and seed; but 'tis a shared grief must do it--instead of a -shared joy. Such a welding, as by fire, may last longest after all." - -She sighed, touched her pony with the whip, in a sort of thoughtful -caress, and turned him homewards. - -"I don't know what Myles thinks about it. Either he hides all he feels -to save me--or he is forgetting, as you say. It is natural that he -should. No man that ever lived can know how long those nine months are -to a woman. But I--I--there it is in the wind--in the rustle of the -leaves. I hear it so often--the sound of a rocking cradle. I must wait -until the wind sings a different song before I can be wise. Some day I -shall wake up strong again--strong to acknowledge all your goodness and -everybody's goodness and sympathy. I cannot yet." - -The old man was moved for her. He put his hand on hers and patted it. - -"I think I understand as much as an ancient bachelor may. But you must -do your share and help the powers to help you. There's an effort called -for. Hard to make, but you must make it. Take up your life again--the -old life that you laid down; an' do it with a single heart." - -"I cannot yet. I left it behind so gladly. I must go back for it. I -do not care about any life just now. I cannot cry or laugh with my -heart. It's all pretence--think what that means. I look at everything -from the outside--like Christo used to. I'm a dead, withered bough -still on the tree; and what is it to me that the next bough is busy -about new leaves?" - -"You do yourself a wrong to say so, and I'd not listen to anybody else -who spoke so ill of you. You must come back to yourself--your own good -self--and the sooner the better. That's a plain duty at least--not to -be escaped from. That's a call, whether your heart's sad or merry. -'Tis the honest, everyday duty of a woman to be good, dear heart--same -as it's the duty of a Mary lily to be white. Keep your proper colour, -as God meant you, and as God taught you. Live as you have lived: with a -sense of duty for the sake of those that love you, if no better reason." - -She sighed again, aweary of the subject. - -"Now we'll go home. We're wasting my first breath of sweet air in -words. Better to draw it in silently and not turn it into talk." - -Mark Endicott laughed. - -"Why, yes, it does the heart more good that way, no doubt. You're a -deal wiser than I am, niece, for all my grey hairs and jackdaw chatter." - -Then slowly down the hill, without more speech, they drove together. - - - - - *CHAPTER IX.* - - *AN OLD-TIME PRESCRIPTION* - - -From the occasion of her drive upon the Moor, Honor, instead of -proceeding towards good health, fell away in that desired progress. -What chance had conspired to an effect so unfortunate none knew, but the -fact was apparent, and as days passed and summer returned, there stole -gradually upon her a listless and inert attitude of spirit--a state of -the mind that reflected upon her physical condition and appeared in a -most despondent outlook upon life. From time to time some transient -gleam of returning health and happiness gladdened those who loved her; -but weeks passed and still Honor's temper was of a sort that kept Myles -anxious and Doctor Mathers exasperated. For she proved not a good -patient and none could prevail upon her to consider the foreign travel -and sea voyage that her physician stood out for at every visit. She -told them that she was well enough at home; that her health improved; -and that they need be under no concern for her. Meanwhile, her life -grew narrower and narrower, both in its bounds of thought and -performance. Her reflections indeed she kept to herself for the most -part, and certainly the event responsible in great measure for her -sustained ill-health she imparted to no one; but her actions were -obvious, and Myles began to grow care-worn as he watched a life so full -of energy and various interest now sink into mere mechanical existence. -Her walks dwindled to strolls; Nature brought Honor no particular -delight; and the old haunts failed to cheer her. Until midday she rarely -stirred from her own room, and sometimes she would keep her bed -altogether from sheer indifference toward affairs. - -This life of ashes, which neither love nor duty seemed capable of -rousing into renewed activity and vigour, was beheld in its dreary -unfolding by the little population of Bear Down; and that busy hive, -both in season and out, discussed this grave crisis in the fortunes of -its mistress and offered all manner of suggestions and advice upon it. -Some opinions were undoubtedly sensible enough, as when Churdles Ash -counselled forcible compliance with the doctor's orders. - -"You'm her lawful lard an' master," he said to Stapledon; "so 'tis your -dooty to hale your lady away to furrin paarts, whether her will or no. -She'll be fust to thank 'e, dear sawl, come her gets whole again." - -But Myles knew Honor well enough, or little enough, to believe that such -a high-handed course must be futile. Long and anxious were the -deliberations he held with his uncle, and there came a time when Mark -suggested a visit from some great physician of expert knowledge. - -"Have a London chap," he proposed. "Honor doesn't care a fig for -Mathers. But maybe a keen pair of eyes, and a big forehead, and a big -voice, and the knowledge it's cost perhaps a hundred pounds to fetch it -all down to see her, might bring the woman to some sense." - -"I proposed it. She wouldn't hear of it." - -"Very well; don't let her hear of it--till the man is in the house. Get -Mathers to tell you of some great wonder whose strong point is all these -nerve twists and tangles that Honor's struggling under. For a woman to -take to thinking, is as bad as for a man to take to drinking--sometimes. -It breeds a wrong habit and interferes with Nature. There's a mystery -under all this--ever since that sad mischance--and as she won't tell -those that love her maybe a clever doctor, who understands the springs -of healthy mental action, will find a way to bring back her peace." - -"There's a secret, as you say; and I've known it on her tongue; I've -felt that it was to be revealed at last. Then there has come a sigh, -like the shutting of a door of the mind--a door not to be opened from -the outside." - -"That is so--and it may be a doctor's work to open that door, instead of -a husband's. We'll hope I'm right. Fetch such a man along, if it costs -the hay harvest. It's all drouthy nothings here with this fever eating -the girl alive." - - -While Mark Endicott and his nephew thus debated the question of the hour -and sought for one able to storm the dim domain of Honor's neurotic -disorders, Mr. Ash, Mr. Cramphorn, and others of Endicott's took counsel -among themselves how best the tribulation might be overcome. - -Ash now regarded the illness as a moonstroke, and was of opinion that -doses of lunar radiance alone would restore their mistress. - -"Moon must undo what moon's done," he announced. But Cramphorn knew of -no precedent, and therefore scoffed at the idea. - -"Never was I lower in my spirits," the head-man declared; "an' the -plague is that gen'lefolks be so exalted in their awn opinions that no -word of ours will they heed, though we spoke wi' the tongues of fire. -What do they care for organy tea an' such-like herbs of the field? Yet -here I stand, a living sawl, as would be dust at this hour, but for that -an' other such-like simples. Cherry Grepe's 'pon theer black books, or, -if they'd had sense, they'd have thrawed awver that bwoy--that -Mathers--an' gived her a chance to shaw her gert gifts. So like as not -she've got a cunning remedy for this dark complaint--a mess of some sort -as would put our lady right, mind an' body, in a week. Many a time have -I seen a wise man or woman by mere force of words, wi'out so much as -striking the sickness, charm it that sudden, as wan might a'most say he -seed the evil fly from a party's mouth--like a leather-bird,[#] -a-screechin' across the dimpsy light." - - -[#] A leather-bird = a bat. - - -"Ess; 'tis pity they doan't give Mother Grepe a chance," admitted -Churdles Ash; "for wi' all her little ways an' secrets, she do worship -the same Saviour in heaven as her betters do--onless she'm a liar." - -"A white witch for sartain," declared Collins. "An' her charmed a wart -for Tommy Bates but last week, an' done it in the name of Jesus Christ, -an' awnly axed a threp'ny-bit." - -So the men discussed Honor's evil case during a dinner interval on the -land, then returned to work, regretful that those most involved thus -persisted in overlooking a possible means of grace in their hour of -tribulation. - -But while Collins and the rest dismissed this matter before work and -those personal interests of life uppermost in all minds, Mr. Cramphorn -continued to dwell darkly upon the subject. This cross-grained, surly -soul loved his mistress with an affection superior to that commanded by -his own flesh and blood. Herein circumstances and even heredity were -strong upon him. Sprung from a line that had laboured at Endicott's -through many generations, the descendant of men who were born heirs of -toil upon this land and looked to the reigning powers as their immediate -lords under Providence, a traditionary regard dwelt in the blood of him, -and the concerns of those who controlled his destiny became Cramphorn's -own concerns. Such a spirit modern education and the spread of -knowledge drives quickly forth, for the half-educated class of to-day -scorns gratitude as a base survival; but Jonah dated from long before -the Board Schools, and their frosty influence was no more in his heart -than upon his tongue. Sour, conceited, a very rustic Malvolio, he might -be; but the nobler qualities of Malvolio, he also possessed. It was not -the least among his vague regrets that the name of Endicott must -presently vanish from Bear Down, even as the name of Cramphorn was -destined to. - -And now Jonah thought upon the word of Churdles Ash concerning the wise -woman. His own experience of her powers also inclined him in that -direction, and finally he decided to visit her again. That Cherry had -destroyed Christopher Yeoland he did not doubt; that she might, if she -would, cure his mistress, he was assured. He determined that if the -thing could be done for half a sovereign, done it must be. And should -Cherry's charm prove powerful enough to work without the patient's -connivance, so much the better. - -That same evening he visited the cottage of the sorceress, where it lay -behind the low wall, and the row of ox vertebrae, and the torch of the -great mullein, that now towered aloft with its first blossoms shining in -the gloaming above a woolly spire. - -Gammer Grepe was at home and in her garden. She stood with her arms -folded on the gate, and Cramphorn observed that she smoked a clay pipe -with the manner of long experience. He asked civilly for a little -conversation and followed the old woman into her cottage. - -"Walk in an' welcome, if there's any money to it," she said bluntly. -"'Tis 'bout them gals again, I s'pose. Tu gert a handful for 'e, eh? -You'm a fule to fret, for they'll go theer ways wi'out axin' your leave. -Be your peas a-come to the farm? Might let 'em knaw as I've got half a -quart or so, if Mrs. Stapledon fancies 'em." - -"Ess, our peas be come, an' it 'idden 'bout my darters I'm here; an' -fule or no fule, it takes two to make a weddin'; an' if the proper chap -ban't on-coming, us have got to sit down an' wait, like nesseltripe. I -be here touching the mistress of Endicott's." - -Cherry frowned. - -"I've no word against her, as you knaw, but the rest of 'em--that auld -blind piece an' her husband--specially him--I doan't set no store by. -She'm what a Endicott should be. T'others I'd so soon ill-wish as -not--just to larn 'em the things they doan't believe." - -Her eyes glimmered with anger, and the candlelight played pranks with -her aged but not venerable face. - -"Well, 'tis peace rather than war so far as I'm consarned. I know what -you can do--who better?" - -"Ess; an' for all theer hard words I'd rather starve than hurt -Endicott's. 'Tis his loss, not mine--this furriner she've married. Not -but what I might to-morrow----" - -"'Tis the very thing I be come upon," interrupted Jonah eagerly. -"Her--the mistress. What do this green youth by name of Mathers knaw? -If he'd got the wit of a louse he'd never have let the cheel slip -through his fingers. But her--she'll slip through his fingers next." - -"Ban't no doctor's job now," said Cherry. "The things that could cure -her trouble doan't come out of shops. For tearings of heart, an' black -night vapours, an' such-like deep ills the very herbs o' the fields are -vain. You want sterner food." - -"'Tis her sawl be sick by all the looks of it," explained Jonah. "An' -it tells 'pon the butivul body of her, like a blight 'pon a rose. -She've been ill, to an' from, ever since the bearin' of that dead baaby; -an' from being a woman of ready spirit she've grawed that down-daunted -as you'd a'most say she'd cry or run if a goose hissed at her. An' now, -be gormed if she ban't comin' to be a regular bed-lier! Think of her, -so peart an' spry as she was, keepin' her room these summer days! Caan't -'e offer for to cure her, Cherry? I lay theer'd be gude money to it an' -plenty, whatever hard thoughts some have got against you." - -"Theer's but wan cure as I knaws for her," said the old woman gloomily; -"an ugly, savage cure, an' fallen out of use these many days now. But a -sure balm and a thing as eats to the heart like a cancer, rubbed under a -woman's left breast." - -"God's truth, mum!" - -"'Tis as I tell 'e. Like a cancer; but 'stead of being death to the -livin', 'tis life to the dyin', or them like to die. A savage cure, an' -such latter-day stuff as Myles Stapledon would awnly cock his nose at -it; so it won't be done, however. An' her'll die--her'll die for need -of oil of man. 'Tis that--a thing in no books--a secret as'll be a dead -and buried secret in a few years' time, when me an' the likes of me be -dead an' buried." - -"Oil of man? I've heard Churdles Ash name it." - -"Ess, he'd be sure to knaw at his age. 'Tis simple enough. Theer's a -virtue in all bones--that everybody knaws who's drinked soup, I s'pose." - -"Surely; an' the better the bone, the better the broth," assented Jonah. - -"That's it! You've hit the point I was comin' to. So it happens that a -Christian bone of a human be fuller far of virtue than any saved from a -sheep or other beast." - -Cramphorn felt a cold shiver slide up his spine like a speedy snail, and -spread out upon his neck and shoulders. - -"Christ A'mighty! What be tellin' 'bout? Would 'e have folks turn into -black cannibals?" - -"Didn't I say 'twas used outwardly, you gaby? Oil of man be rubbed 'pon -the heart, or be burnt like a candle. In that shaape 'tis a torch held -up for them wanderin' in the world to come home to others as yearns for -'em. Both ways be precious deeds. Theer ban't none wanderin' she -wants; so us must rub it 'pon her heart against this fit she'm suffering -from." - -"Wheer's such a thing to be got?" - -"You ax that! As for preparin' the bones, 'tis my work. Gettin' of 'em -be a man's." - -Mr. Cramphorn breathed hard. - -"A sure cure?" he asked. - -"Sure as Scripture. An' a thing knawed for centuries, so my mother used -to tell me. She made it a score o' times a'most. Men was braver then." - -"Just--churchyard--bones," murmured Jonah with an expression like a dog -half frightened, half angry. - -"The skull of a man--no more. Bones as have held human brains. I'll do -my paart for ten shillin'--same as you gived me when----" - -"Hush, for the Lard's sake! Doan't 'e go back to that." - -She laughed. - -"You knaw at any rate that I ban't a vain talker. I'll say no more. -Awnly if you'm serious set on restorin' Honor Stapledon to her rightful -health, 'tis in your power. Mrs. Loveys can rub the stuff in when she's -asleep if she won't consent to no other way. An' her'll come to herself -again in a fortnight." - -"Be so mortal light of evenings now, an' never dark all night," said -Cramphorn, his mind running ahead. - -"That's your outlook. If you'm man enough to go an' dig----" - -"I be in a maze," he confessed. "Never heard tell of such a fearful -balm in my born days." - -"Very likely. Theer's more hid than you'll ever knaw, in this world or -the next." - -"I must think upon it. 'Tis a onruly, wild, dangerous deed. Might lead -to trouble." - -"'Tis a rightful, high act if you ax me. God'll knaw why for you be -theer. Theer's a reward for the salvation of our fellow-creatures in -next world if not this; an' I'm sure theer did ought to be, for I've -saved enough in my time." - -"I'll think about it serious," said Cramphorn, who was now desperately -anxious to be gone. - -"Just a bone against a woman's life. You think about it as you say." - -"So I will, then, wi' all my strength." - -Before he had reached the gate Cherry Grepe called him back. - -"An' look here, I'll do my share for three half-crowns, seein' it's for -her. I'm allus awnly tu glad to do gude deeds so cheap as can be, -though wi' evil actions 'tis differ'nt. They win high wages all the -world awver." - -Then Jonah retreated with his dreadful idea, yet found that as it became -more familiar it began to look less terrible. For all his follies and -superstitions, he lacked not physical courage, and once assured by -Gammer Grepe that such a sacrilege would be judged by his Maker from the -standpoint of its motive, he troubled no further as to the performance -of the deed. Thenceforward his mind was busy with details as to how such -an enterprise might be safely achieved, and through his head passed the -spectacle of many green graves. Even before the familiar memories of -those who slept beneath them the dogged Jonah winced not; but presently -a new reflection glared in upon his mind--an idea so tremendous that the -man stood still and gasped before it, as though petrified by the force -of his own imagination. For a moment this aspect peopled the night with -whispering phantoms; it even set Jonah running with his heart in his -mouth; then the wave of personal fear passed and left him well over the -shock his thought had brought with it. But the effect of so much -excitement and such unwonted exercise took a longer time to depart; his -nerves played him some tricks; he was more than usually taciturn at -supper, and retired to rest soon after that meal. - -Yet, once in bed, Jonah's thoughts kept him such active and unfamiliar -company that sleep quite forsook his couch, and it wanted but a little -time of the hour for rising when finally he lost consciousness--to do -grim deeds in dreamland. - - - - - *CHAPTER X.* - - *OIL OF MAN* - - -Concerning this weird medicament, it is only necessary to state that -memory of the nostrum lingers yet in ancient and bucolic minds; while -the tradition, now nearly extinct, is nevertheless founded upon matters -of fact from a recent past. For your Oil of Man was counted precious -medicine through bygone centuries, and in the archives it may be gleaned -that Moses Charras, author of a Royal Pharmacopoeia, published two -hundred years ago, indicates the nature of its preparation, and declares -how that the skulls of healthy men, slain in full flush of their -strength by lead or steel, best meet its requirements. One Salmon of -London prepared and sold _Potestates cranii humani_ at the sign of the -"Blew Bull," in Shoe Lane, during the sixteenth century; _oleum humanum_ -has within man's memory been a source of advantage to the porters of our -medical schools; and, at a date even later than that of which we treat, -a physician practising hard by Dartmoor received applications for the -magic antidote from one who found herself in private trouble beyond -reach of common drugs. She believed that oil of man must still be a -medicinal commodity general as rhubarb or syrup of squills. - -It was not surprising, therefore, that Cherry Grepe remembered the -potent force of this remedy, or that Jonah Cramphorn, once satisfied -that the decoction alone stood between his mistress and her end, -determined to procure it. A great thought kept him waking until the sun -was ready to ascend above the remote gorges of Fingle; but when Jonah -rose, cold water and daylight finally dwarfed the dim horrors of his -project until they grew perfectly plain before him. That the plan was -defensible his strenuous spirit had long since decided. But an -accomplice seemed necessary to such a design, for the feat was of too -great a magnitude and peril to be achieved single-handed. The common -operation of two willing workers might, however, make all the -difference, and while he regretted a need for assistance, Jonah felt it -to be imperative. Upon the subject of punishment in event of detection, -he did not waste thought. The prospect from that standpoint was -undoubtedly dark--too dark to dwell upon. The power of the law he could -only guess at, and in his mind was a tumultuous upheaval of old -recollections touching the theme. He remembered Burke, Hare, and others -of their trade; but they had killed men; he proposed no action more -unlawful than taking of bones long dead. - -To choose his assistant for a matter so delicate appeared difficult in -one aspect, yet simple enough viewed practically. That he must broach -such a subject to a sane man offered no embarrassment to Mr. Cramphorn; -but to select a kindred soul, of stuff sufficiently stern to help with -the actual details, promised a harder problem. Scarcity of choice, -however, tended towards elucidation. The field was narrowed to an -option between Pinsent and Collins; of whom Jonah quickly decided for -the latter. By midday indeed he determined that Henry should -participate both in the peril and the privilege of restoring Honor to -health. - -The men met soon after noon near the farmyard, and Cramphorn seized his -opportunity. - -"Come in here, an' put home the door behind 'e, Henery Collins," he -said; "I've got somethin' mighty serious to say to you. For your ear -awnly 'tis; an' you'll be very much dumbfounded to larn as you an' me be -chosen by Providence for a gert, far-reachin' deed." - -In the dim light of a stable Mr. Collins gazed with round, innocent eyes -at the speaker; then he began to clean his boots on a spade. - -"Whatever do 'e mean? Providence doan't chose the likes of me for its -uses, I reckon." - -"I stand for Providence in this thing; an' I mean missus. Theer's no -nature left in her now, as you must see along wi' the rest. An' why -for? 'Cause she'm fadin' away like a cloud. So wisht an' hag wi' her -trouble--an' her not quarter of a century auld yet. Dyin'--dyin' afore -our eyes; an' theer's awnly one creation as'll save her; an' that's for -you an' me to get, my son. 'Tis ordained as we'm the parties." - -"Sure, I'd go to world's end for her," declared Mr. Collins. - -"No need. No call to go further'n Little Silver buryin' ground." - -"Then, if 'tis any deed of darkness, you'd best to put it in other hands -to wance." - -"No fay--you an' me. An' a high an' desperate act--I won't deceive you -theer--but a act righteous in the eye of God; though, if it got knawed -by humans, theer'd be trouble." - -"I'm tu peaceful in my ways for it then, an' I'll take it very kind if -you'll say no more about it to me at all. Ban't in my line." - -"Tu late; you'm in the plot; an' you ought to be a proud man if you do -feel all for missus as I've heard 'e say scores o' times, in drink an' -out. Ess, you must do what I ax you; theer ban't no gwaine back now." - -Mr. Collins reflected. He believed, despite the eggshell necklace, that -he still gained ground with Jonah's elder daughter in that she tolerated -him at less than a yard's distance by fits and starts; but the necessity -for not proposing marriage Henry felt to hamper his movements. That -Sally might refuse--perhaps a dozen times--was nothing against the -argument, for a rustic love-maker is as patient as Nature's self. But -in the heart of Collins, obedience to anybody who ordered him with voice -sufficiently loud, was a rooted instinct. He had abided by Jonah's -clear utterance during time past; and now he remembered it, and, -astonished at his own astuteness, sought to make a bargain. - -"If I help 'e with this thing, will 'e let me offer marriage to your -eldest darter?" - -The other was much astonished, for his views upon the subject of Sally -had changed somewhat under Margery's delicate manipulation. - -"Offer! Powers! I thought as you'd axed her years agone. What's to -hinder 'e? 'Tis a free country, an' you'm auld enough to knaw your awn -minds, ban't 'e?" - -The younger labourer was hurt, and showed as much. - -"Your memory's grawin' short seemin'ly," he said. "No matter. If you -say I may ax her--'tis all I want. Then I'll serve 'e to the best of my -power." - -In less than half an hour Henry Collins departed from the stable a -haunted man. His eyes roamed like those of a frightened horse; he would -have given the wide world to be a thousand miles from Bear Down; for the -deed without a name made him tremble to the foundations of his being and -threw him into an icy perspiration each time that its significance -crossed his mind. Only the permission to propose to Sally sustained -him; and even his love could hardly stand the ordeal of this test, for, -to tell truth, he doubted more than once whether the game was worth the -candle. - -How he lived through those moments that separated him from the night -Henry never afterwards remembered; but the suspense only endured through -some few hours, for Mr. Cramphorn, after revealing his design, perceived -that it must be put into immediate execution if the other's help was to -be counted upon. - -"Give the fule time and he'll draw back or bolt," reflected Jonah. - -But the sombre minutes, deep laden each with its own horrid burden of -terror and presentment, flapped their bat-wings away into the limbo of -time past, and a moment arrived--midnight between two days of late -July--when Collins and his leader met by appointment at a spot in the -great hayfield of Endicott's, and together proceeded down the hill to -Little Silver. - -Henry carried an unlighted bull's-eye lantern; Cramphorn's pocket -bulged, and in his hand he bore a small bag of battered leather. Under -their breath they discussed the matter. The night was moonless, and a -haze of heat stole abroad upon the land. Pale green light shuddered -along the north-eastern horizon, and the faces of umbel-bearing flowers -caught it and spoke of it dimly out of the darkness. A dewy peace held -the world--a peace only broken by the throb of the field-crickets that -pulsed upon the ear infinitely loud in contrast with the alternate -silences. Mist enveloped all things in the valleys, and as the men sank -towards the churchyard, Collins shivered before cold moisture that -brushed his face like a dead hand. - -"'Tis a thing beyond all belief," he said; "an' I be very glad as you -didn't give me more'n a day to think, else I should have runned away -rather than faace it." - -"'Tis a ugly thing done for a butivul purpose. 'Tis the best work as -ever that brain-pan will have to its credit in this here world." - -"'Struth! I cream all awver to hear 'e! Such courage as you've got. -Did 'e get the keys?" - -"Ess; when Noah Brimblecombe was up to the rectory. I seed un go; then -went in the cottage an' waited, an' when his missus had her back turned -at the door, I pulled the curtain in the corner, under the cloam images -wheer the church keys all hang to. And them I wanted I found. To put -'em back wi'out him knawin' will be a harder job." - -"An' arter the--the screws, theer'll be a lead case, I s'pose--have 'e -thought 'pon that? But I lay you have." - -"I've got a mall an' cold chisel in my bag. Ban't no harder than -openin' a chest of tea," answered the old man grimly. - -Mr. Collins whined and shivered. - -"To think of it! The mystery of it! If she knawed--the very man she -promised to wed. 'Tis tu gashly; I been ever since this marnin' -broodin' awver the business." - -"A gert thought--that's what it was, an' I be proud of it; an' if 'tis -ever knawed an' telled about after I'm dead and gone, folks'll say -'tweern't no common man as carried out such a projec'. A fule would -have digged in the airth an' be catched so easy as want-catcher kills -moles; but theer's brains goes to this item. I minded Christopher -Yeoland--him as was taken off in full power an' pride of life by a -snake-sting; an' I minded how nought but the twist of a key an' the -touch of a turnscrew still lay between him an' the quick." - -"Twas 'cause you hated un so mortal bad livin' as your thoughts ran upon -him dead," ventured Collins uneasily. - -"Not so 'tall. As to hatin' un, I did; but that's neither here nor -theer. I'm just a tool in this matter, an' the dead dust of Christopher -Yeoland ban't no more to me than the ridge of airth a plough turns. 'Tis -a fact this same dust an' me comed to blows in time agone; but all these -frettings an' failings be forgotten now, though we weern't no ways -jonic--a empty, lecherous man. Still, he've answered for his sins, an' -I hates un no more. I awnly wants a bit of the 'natomy of un for a -precious balm; then 'tis screws again, an' locks again; an' none wiser -'cept you an' me an' the spiders." - -"Theer's God A'mighty." - -"I doan't forget that. The Lard's on our side, or I shouldn't be here. -No puzzle for Him. No doubt Judgment Day will find the man all of a -piece again to take his deserts." - -"You'm a wonder--to talk of such a fatal deed as if 'twas no more'n -pullin' a turnip." - -"An' that's how us should look 'pon it. An' if 'twas a turnip axed for, -a turnip I'd have got." - -They now entered the churchyard from its south-western side by a hole in -the hedge. Mr. Collins lighted his lantern and passed over the graves -like a drunken Will-o'-the-wisp with many a trip and stagger. Then he -stood under the skulls of the Yeoland mausoleum, and glanced fearfully -up where they grinned, and his light seemed to set red eyeballs rolling -in their mossy sockets. - -Soon both men had entered the sepulchre, and Henry happily burned -himself with the lantern as he did so--an accident that served to steady -his nerves and shut his mouth upon chattering teeth. Jonah, too, felt -the tragedy of the situation, but in a higher spirit, and the peacock -part of the man played him true, though only coffins were his audience. -He thought how ages unborn might ring with this desperate deed; he even -determined that, if the matter leaked out no sooner, he would himself -confess it upon his death-bed, when ignoble retaliation would be -impossible, and little time left for much save admiration and applause. - -This he resolved as he lifted the pall of Christopher's coffin and -observed how that damp had already begun to paint the brass inscription -green. - -He opened his bag, bade Henry keep the lantern steady and shut his -mouth, then calmly removed his coat, turned up his sleeves, and began -his work. But the task proved harder than he had anticipated, and his -assistant, after one bungling effort to aid, was forced to abandon any -second attempt. To hold the lantern proved the limit of his power; and -even that bobbed every way, now throwing light among the dim shadows -upon the shelves, now blazing into Jonah's eyes, now revolving -helplessly over the ceiling of the vault. Presently Cramphorn grew -annoyed as well as warm, and, aware that precious time was passing, -swore so loudly that a new, material terror overtook his companion. - -"For God's grace, doan't 'e bawl so loud!" he implored. "If p'liceman -was ridin' past and catched us!" - -Though he felt no flicker of fear, Jonah realised the value of this -counsel. He looked to see that the door was shut fast, then proceeded -with his work in silence. The reluctant screws came out quicker as he -acquired increased skill, and from their raw holes issued a faint smell -of eucalyptus, for the coffin was built of that wood. - -At last the men together lifted the lid, and set it in a corner. Then a -sterner task awaited them where the lead shell lay bare. Noise of -mallet on chisel was now inevitable, and Collins heard himself directed -to stand sentry at the churchyard gate, so that if the nightly patrol -should pass that way on his uncertain round, silence might fall until he -had departed beyond earshot. Probability of any other human visitor -there was none, unless the doctor chanced to be abroad. - -Henry therefore got out into the fresh air very willingly, and before -long sat him down at the churchyard gate and listened to muffled -activity from Jonah's mallet in the distance. One other sound disturbed -the night. Already grey dawn stole along the eastern woods, but the -deep, tranced hour before bird-waking was upon all things, and in its -loneliness Collins found the lap and chuckle of a stream under the -churchyard wall welcome as a companion. It knew action at least, and -broke the horrible stillness. Once he heard slow footfall of hoofs, and -was about to give an alarm, when, from the shadows, came forth an old -white horse that wandered alone through the night. Like a ghost it -dragged itself slowly past--perchance waking from pain, perchance -wondering, as such aged brutes may wonder, why grass and water are no -longer sweet. It hobbled painfully away, and the echo of its passing -was swallowed up in the silence, and the apparition of its body vanished -under the mist. There only remained the wakeful streamlet, leaping from -its dim journey among coffins into the watercress bed, and a hollow -reverberation of blows from the mortuary. - -Presently, however, Mr. Cramphorn's mallet ceased to strike, and finding -that the supreme moment had now come, Collins nerved himself to return. -From the dawn-grey into gloom he stole to see the picture of Jonah in a -round ring of lantern light sharply painted upon darkness. A coffin, -with its inner leaden shell torn back, lay at Cramphorn's feet, and -Henry instantly observed that some tremendous and unforeseen -circumstance had fallen out during his vigil at the churchyard gate. -The other man was glaring before him like a lunatic; his short hair -bristled; his face dripped. Terrified he was not, yet clearly had become -the victim of amazed bewilderment and even horror. - -"For Christ's sake, doan't 'e glaze at me like that!" implored Henry. -"What have 'e done? What's happened to 'e? Doan't tell me you'm struck -into that shaape for this high-handed job!" - -The other's mouth was open and his under-jaw hung limp. Apparently he -lacked force to speak, for he merely pointed to his work; upon which -Collins looked sideways into the coffin with stealthy dread. Instantly -his face also became transformed into a display of liveliest -astonishment and dismay; but in his case frank terror crowded over him -like a storm. And thus three men--two living and one a corpse--each -confronted the others, while the marble serenity of this death offered a -contrast to the frenzied emotion on the faces of those that lived. - -"God's gudeness! You've brawked into the wrong wan!" gasped Collins. - -Jonah shook his head, for still he could not answer; yet the suspicion -of his companion seemed natural, because not Christopher Yeoland but -another lay at their feet. - -Within the coffin, placid and little disfigured save where the eyes had -fallen in and the skin tightened over his high, bald brow, appeared a -venerable face--a face almost patriarchal. The dead man's beard gleamed -nobly white upon his breast, and his features presented the solemn, -peaceful countenance of one indifferent to this rude assault from busy -souls still in life. - -"'Tis magic--black, wicked magic--that's what it is. Else he've been -took out an' another party put in unbeknawnst," stuttered Collins. - -Then Cramphorn found his voice, and it came weak and thin with all the -vigour strained out of it by shock. - -"Not him at all--an' like as not he never was in. A far-reachin', -historic action--that's what we've comed on. Our dark deed's brought to -light a darker." - -"Which us'll have to keep damn quiet about," gasped Henry. - -"'Tis a gert question how our duty do lie. My brains be dancin' out of -my eyes in water. Maybe we've found a murder. An' I caan't get the -thread of action all in a minute." - -"'Tis daylight outside, anyway." - -"Then for God's sake do your share, if you'm a man. Hammer that lead -back an' shut up this here ancient person--Methuselah he might be, from -the look of un. I be gone that weak in the sinews that a cheel could -thraw me. I must get a bite of air, then I'll help." - -"You ban't gwaine!" cried Henry in terror; but Jonah remained in sight -and soon returned. Then, to the younger's great satisfaction, he heard -that his partner had quite abandoned the original enterprise and was -only desirous to make good their desecration and depart. - -"It caan't surely be as a dead man graws auld quick after he's put -away?" asked Collins. - -"A fule's question. 'Tis all a trick an' a strammin' gert lie worked -for some person's private ends. An' the bite comes to knaw how we'm -gwaine to let it out." - -"Ess; we'm done for ourselves if we tell." - -"Doan't talk; work. I must think bimebye when I'm out of this smell o' -death." - -Henry obeyed, and showed considerable energy and despatch. - -"He may be a livin' man still!" - -"Young Yeoland? I'd guess it was so, if I didn't knaw 'bout Cherry -Grepe. Please God, mine be the intellects to smooth out this dark deed -anyways, so that generations yet to come shall call me blessed. Awnly -you keep your mouth shut--that's what you've got to do. Guy Fawkes an' -angels, to be faaced wi' such a coil!" - -"It'll want a powerful strong brain to come out of it with any credit to -yourself," said Mr. Collins. - -"As to that, such things be sent to those best able to support 'em." - -"Well, no call to tell me to keep quiet. I'll not make or meddle, I -swear to 'e. If theer's any credit due an' any callin' of anybody -blessed, you may have the lot. I shall pray to God for my paart to let -me forget everythin' 'bout this night. An' seein' the things I do -forget, I awnly hope this will go like a breath o' air. Same time 'tis -more likely to haunt me to my dyin' day than not." - -"Doan't drink, that's all. Forget it you won't; but doan't drink 'pon -it, else you'll let it out in the wrong ears for sartain. You ban't -built to keep in beer an' secrets to wance. An' take care of Ash, as -sleeps along wi' you. Have a lie ready if he's wakin' when you go -back." - -In twenty minutes the matter was at an end, an old man's coffin once -more in its appointed place, and the family vault of the Yeolands locked -and double-locked. Collins and Cramphorn then left the churchyard, but -Jonah found himself without physical strength to start uphill -immediately; so the men retired to rest awhile within the crumbling -walls of Little Silver Castle, close at hand. There they sat, under the -great groined arches of the dungeon chamber, and whispered, while the -bats squeaked and clustered in their dark nooks and crannies at return -of day. - -Then Cramphorn and his assistant proceeded homewards as they had -come--knee-deep through the grass lands--and before three o'clock both -were back in their beds again. Yet neither slept, for each, in -proportion to his intelligence, was oppressed by the thought of his -discovery and by the memory of an ancient face, autumn brown, yet having -a great white beard, that rippled over his breast and so passed out of -sight beneath the engirding lead. - - - - - *CHAPTER XI.* - - *A CLEAN BREAST OF IT* - - -As discoveries of moment hidden for long years or through all past time -will suddenly and simultaneously burst, like Neptune, upon students -widely separated, yet pursuing one goal by divers roads, so now this -extraordinary circumstance stumbled upon by Jonah Cramphorn and his -companion during their secret enterprise was noised abroad within a -fortnight, yet without any action or intervention from them. - -It is true that, despite his solemn promises, Henry Collins soon found -himself constitutionally unequal to preserving the secret, and he -confessed the same within a week of the incidents relating to it; but -those before whom he published his experience took no step upon it until -they heard the story in full detail at a later date. Then the whole -curious truth was blazed abroad. - -Mr. Cramphorn, as soon as Noah Brimblecombe's keys were back on their -nail without awakening of suspicion, shut up his adventure stoutly -enough, while he pondered how best to reveal the discovery; but his -accomplice found the position far less endurable. Henry existed -henceforth like a man struggling under some grim incubus by day as well -as night. Sleep deserted him; his head ached; he found himself bungling -his work, and, upon this development, the man grew alarmed for his -brains and believed that he must be going mad. Even poor Henry's -love-star dwindled somewhat while yet this cloud of horror hung over -him, and though he had won permission from Sally's father to propose -marriage, such was the tremendous nature of the price paid and its -appendage of mental chaos that he found himself unequal to thoughts on -any other theme. He could not profit by his new powers for the present; -indeed, he felt that, until this knowledge was shifted on to other -shoulders, life would hold no happy moment. Five days he spent with his -secret; then, being strung to a pitch when his promise to Jonah ceased -to weigh with him, he determined to make a clean breast of the whole -matter. Everything should be divulged excepting only the name of his -partner. First rose the question of an ear for this confession, and, -hesitating only a moment between Mark Endicott and Myles, Mr. Collins -decided that he would tell them both. He thought also of the vicar, but -held, doubtless correctly, that his personal offence would bulk larger -in the eyes of Mr. Scobell than upon the view of those at Bear Down. - -Chance to make his revelation offered within two nights of Henry's -decision, for then it happened that Cramphorn, his daughters, Churdles -Ash, and other of the hands tramped off to Chagford, where a travelling -circus was attracting the countryside. Henry, though he angered Sally -not a little by refusing to accompany her, found an opportunity -excellent for his purpose, and seized upon it. Left alone with the -blind man and Stapledon, Collins began tremulously to tell his story; -and his eyes rolled as he proceeded; and his voice often failed him or -rose into high squeaks between gulps of emotion; but he made his meaning -clear, and so lifted a weight from off his soul. - -"Please, your honours, I've got a thing in my head as be burstin' it, -an' I'll thank you to let me have a tell now I be alone with you. A -devilish secret 'tis, an' I caan't keep my lips shut 'pon it no more, or -I shall go daft." - -"Out with it then," said Stapledon. "Your brains weren't built for -devilish secrets, Henry." - -"No, they wasn't," admitted Collins, "an' I'm glad to hear you allow it. -I do best I can wi' the gifts I've got--an' who could do more? An' -'twas last week as I promised to go along wi' another man whose name -theer ban't no call to mention. He'll answer for hisself 'pon the -Judgment Day; but I can't wait so long. I wants to get it awver now." - -"Begin at the beginning, lad; talk quietly, and light your pipe. We're -friends and shan't let out your secret where it can hurt you," said -Mark. - -"I'm sure I pray God to bless you for them words," answered Collins -earnestly; "but I can't smoke--the very taste of tobacco be changed -since. 'Tis like this--us wanted oil of man, which you might knaw -'bout, bein' so wise as you are." - -"An old wife's remedy--well?" - -"Whether or no, it was told to my mate that awnly oil of man stood -between missus here an' her death. So we ordained to fetch what was -needed in the faace of all men." - -"For that old witch on the hill, I suppose?" asked Myles. - -"I doan't name no names, axin' your humble pardon," answered Collins -uneasily. "This is my awn sacred confession--awnly my business an' -yours, if I may say it without rudeness. Anyway, we went for what was -wanted; an' that was a man's head bones--a chap cut off in fulness of -life for choice. An' my mate--a deep man, I allow that much--thought -fust of Bill Cousins--him took off by sunstroke two years ago; an' then -he reckoned 'twas beyond our power these short nights to dig for what we -wanted between dimpsy-light of evening an' morn. An' when he comed to -me he minded me how theer was quality buried above ground so well as -poor folks under; an' a young man slain in his strength by mischance. -Squire Christopher Yeoland he meant. A gashly auld thought, sure -enough; yet us steeled ourselves to it." - -"You dared that sacrilege!" burst out Stapledon; but Collins merely -stared at him. Time had taken the labourer so far beyond this point in -the tragedy that not only did he forget its dramatic significance upon a -new listener, but also how he himself had felt when Jonah first broke it -to him. - -"Ess; us set about the job. That ban't nothin'. 'Twas for love of -missus us done it. An' I watched while t'other worked; an' when he -stopped hammerin' an' I went back, he was starin' an' bristlin', 'cause -afore him laid--not the gen'leman us counted 'pon--but a very auld, aged -man, berry-brown from keepin', yet so sweet as a rose, wi' a gert white -beard to un." - -"You broke into the wrong coffin!" - -"No fay, us didn't. 'Tis the carpse what comed from furrin -paarts--anyways the box as did. Christopher Yeoland, beggin' his -pardon, was the name 'pon the brass. An' my mate was mazed; an' us -hammered back the lead all suent and tidy, an' screwed on the lid, an' -put un 'pon his shelf wance more an' slipped it home. That's the tale, -an' I'll take my oath of it afore God A'mighty's angel." - -There followed a lengthy silence upon his story; then Mr. Collins made -an end. - -"'Tis the awful hardness of sharin' such a dreadful secret wi' wan other -man as I caan't endure no more. An' I swear, by any deep word you -choose, that I never meant no findin' of anybody's secrets--awnly gude -to missus--as might have been saved by what we went for, but won't never -be better without it." - -"That's as may be, Henry," said Mr. Endicott. "For the rest, this thing -is somebody's secret, as you say. Anyway you're not weighed down with it -now. You may hold yourself free of it, and if you take my advice, -having eased your mind, you'll go off to rest with a quiet conscience. -No great harm can fall on you at any rate. Perhaps none at all, for -I'll wager it was Cramphorn, not you, who hatched this piece of folly." - -"Please, please, doan't name nobody, your honours!" implored Henry. "I -promised the man to bide still as a worm 'bout it. In fact I swore I -would. An' I did try to keep him off my tongue at any rate, an' thought -as I had." - -"We shall not take any steps against him or you. Now go to bed and -sleep. You've done the right thing in telling us; but don't tell -anybody else." - -Mr. Collins, not sorry to depart, did so, and for some minutes Stapledon -and the blind man continued to sit in silence, each busy with his own -thoughts. Then Mark spoke. - -"A stunning, dislocating, play-acting piece of foolery, if it's true. -Yet somehow I know it is. There's a deal of light shed on darkness for -me, and for you too I reckon, by such an upheaval." - -"Not so. I see no light--unless you believe this means that Christopher -Yeoland may still be alive." - -"Yes, I think it means that; and such a return must be an earthquake -more or less in all the lives that were once connected with him. Men -can't die and live again without upsetting the world. A mad imagining. -Perhaps no mother's son but him would have dreamed of it. But the -motive----" - -"That," said Myles quickly, "is all I can see. Knowing as much of the -man as I do, so much looks clear. When Clack joined him, I sent a -message. It was as urgent as need be, and to the effect that Honor -loved him still. That she loved me too Clack probably added to my -message. While one of us lived, Honor would never have married the -other. So this thing he did to make her road easy." - -"If you're right, the puzzle comes together piece by piece." - -"Excepting the old man in the coffin--supposing that it was a man." - -Endicott reflected; then was struck with an idea. - -"It may be that the death of this old man put the cranky thought into -Yeoland's head. If it was his kinsman that lies there instead of -himself, all's smoothed out. What simpler way to clear Honor's road? -This parade of evidence is made that there may be no doubt in any mind. -A Yeoland dies and is buried in the tomb of his forefathers. But after -all it wasn't our Yeoland." - -"Did he mean to let this farce go on for ever?" - -"No farce for him; yet, maybe, he got some solid joy out of it. A quick -mind for all his vagabond, empty life. He saw the position, and -reckoned that in fulness of time she might come to be a happy wife along -with you. Then this old relative dies at the right moment and sets a -spark to his imagination. No, I suppose we should never have known. -His idea would be to keep his secret close hid for ever from those it -concerned most--unless----" - -He broke off and pursued his reflections in silence. Myles waited for -him to speak again, but the blind man only resumed his knitting. - -"He blotted himself clean out of life for love of Honor," Stapledon at -length declared. - -"That I believe. A strange, unlawful deed, yet 'tis a question whether -the law has any punishment. To think of the immense confusion of human -life if many graves yielded up their dead again!" - -"And what is our course? Who can benefit or suffer if we state these -things? There's such huge folly about it when you think of details that -I feel as if it must all be a nightmare of Henry's." - -"No, no; it's true enough." - -"Then he may be married himself by this time, and in a new home, with -England a mere dream behind him?" - -"I wish I thought he was, Myles--for--for general peace of mind; but I -don't. If he had a live, guiding, absorbing passion, after Honor, it -was Godleigh--the woods and hills and songs of Teign. These things were -in his blood. If I know him, they might have drawn him back with bands -of steel." - -"Why didn't they do so then?" - -"How can we say that they didn't?" - -"What! He may have been here--at our elbows?" - -"I see the likelihood of that clearer than you, being blind. Yes, I can -very easily think of him under shadow of night, with the true feel of a -ghost, rambling beneath his own trees--his and not his--or listening to -the river, or creeping to his own door when all men slept; or in the -dawn--such a lover of cock-light as he was--he would steal through the -dew with the birds to watch sunrise, then vanish and hide himself, or -get above to some wild ridge of the moor and lie there till darkness -gathered again. Such freaks would be meat and drink to him; and also to -remember that he was only a live man in Australia, but a dead one in his -own land. Just for argument suppose that was so; then look back a little -way and think it out." - -But Myles could by no means divine his uncle's drift. Practical even -before this surprise, he was looking to the future, not backward, for -study of the past appeared vain, and doubly vain to him in this crisis. - -"Not much use turning back," he said. "I want to know about the time to -come. These two--Collins and Cramphorn--through their fool's errand -have certainly unearthed an extraordinary fact: Christopher Yeoland's -secret, so to call it. And it is for us to determine whether our duty -is to proclaim the thing or not. There's Godleigh--it falls empty again -next autumn, for the people don't renew their lease." - -"Well, Godleigh reverts to the man in Australia. The lawyers believe -that man is an ancient settler; we know, or think we know, that the -place has not really changed hands. Yeoland may reappear after giving -Little Silver due warning." - -"Or, being a rolling stone, and probably no better off now than when he -left England, he may stop in Australia. Still, there's the chance of his -returning." - -"Be sure he will, even if he has not done so," said Mark Endicott -firmly. "If 'tis only to the old life and old ways, he'll come back. -He'll say, as likely as not, that the thing he meant to do is done. -Honor is married and a happy wife. Who would deny him his own again -after that sacrifice?" - -"I only think of Honor and the awful shock to her. It might kill her." - -"Don't fret yourself there, or torture over that point. Now I'll say -what will astound you: I think Honor may very possibly be less amazed -and staggered at this news than ever you were, or I either." - -"Not amazed! What do you--what in God's name do you mean by that? That -she knew? Knew it and hid it from me? That she suffers now -because----" - -He broke off and sprang to his feet, while the other maintained silence -and let the stricken man stride away his passion and regain his -self-control. Soon enough Myles grew cool and contained. Then he -walked to Mark and put his hand on the old man's shoulder. - -"Forgive me; but this is the utter, blasting wreck and ruin of my whole -life that you are hinting at," he said calmly. - -"I hint at nothing," answered the other with unusual roughness. "Had I -thought any such impossible thing I should have been as big a fool as -you are. You ought to know your wife better than to believe she'd act a -lie of that sort." - -"I don't believe it--I never said that I believed it Your words seemed -to imply that you must believe it. Else why do you suggest that Honor -would be less astonished to hear of this resurrection than you and I -are?" - -"If you had taken a look back as I bid you, Myles, instead of rushing -forward without looking, you need not have asked me that question. -Glance back, even now, and what has been dark as the pit may lighten and -lift somewhat. Just call to mind the sorrow that has hung so heavily -over us of late days--the little chick that we counted so precious--too -soon." - -But Stapledon was in no mental mood for retrospective or other thought. -A wide turmoil tossed the sea of his soul into storm; the terrible -weakness of the strong got hold upon him, and he rocked in one of those -moments when capacity to think deserts the mind, when intellect seems -overwhelmed. - -"I cannot see what you see," he said. "I admit that I am blind and a -fool, but for God's sake don't ask me any more questions beyond my power -to answer. Tell me what you think, or know, or believe you know. -Consider what this means to me--the fact that Christopher Yeoland may be -alive--may have stood behind a hedge yesterday, and watched me pass, and -laughed. Don't you see? I've got Honor by falsehood--a false -pretence--a fraud." - -"Not of your own breeding, if it is so. Your true and loving wife she -is for all time now, whether the man be dead or alive--though of that -there's a certain proof in my mind. I'd be the last to tear you with -questions at this minute. I only wanted you to see what has rushed in -upon me so sudden and fierce. Light in it every way--light in it for -you and for Honor, I pray God. If what I make out of this puzzle is -true, and Christopher Yeoland alive, then there may be matter for -rejoicing in the fact rather than gloom. Not darkness anyway. Now call -home to your mind that night in the woods, when at her silly whim, which -I was fool enough to support, you took your wife for a drive to Lee -Bridge." - -"I remember it well enough." - -"You left her to fetch water from the river, and while you were away she -got out of the pony carriage, light-footed and silent as a moonbeam, to -pick bluebells. Then suddenly there! Out of the mist and night--out of -the dim woods--the man! Wandering alone no doubt They met, and she, -being in no trim for such a fearful shock as the sight of one long dead -walking the earth again, went down before it. Think of her suddenly eye -to eye and face to face with him in the midst of night and sleep! It -froze her blood, and froze the poor little one's blood too--that thawed -no more. For she thought him a spectral thing, an' thinks so -still--_thinks so still_! That's the dark secret she's dumb about and -won't whisper to you or me, though she's been near telling us once or -twice. That's what has been eating her heart out; that's what neither -your prayers nor mine could get from her. She must be made to -understand in careful words that will ask your best skill to choose -aright She must learn that you have discovered what she's hiding, and -that it was flesh and blood, not phantom, she saw. 'Tis a pity, if what -I say is fact, that the fool ran away when he saw you coming to succour -her. The harm was done by that time; and if we had known, how many of -these ghost-haunted hours might we have saved her! I may be spinning -thin air, yet I think what I tell is true." - -But Stapledon was glaring at the impassive face before him with a gaze -that seemed to burrow through Mark's sightless eyes and reach his brain. -Now Myles spoke in a voice unfamiliar to his listener, for it was -loud-pitched and turbulent with sudden passion. - -"That man killed my child!" - -A glass vessel 90 the dresser echoed the deep, dominant note of this cry -and reverberated it; one moment of silence followed; and then came -shuffle of feet on the flagged way, with laughter and echo of time-worn -jests, as Churdles Ash, Pinsent, and the others returned from their -pleasure. Mark Endicott, however, had opportunity for a final word. - -"It may be as you say--a dark accident, and worse ten thousand times for -him than even you. Be just--be very just to the madman, if he has -really done this wayward deed and is coming back into your life again. -Be just, and don't swerve an inch out of your even-handed course, for -your road is like to get difficult if you do." - -"Us have viewed a gert pomp of braave horsemanship," announced Mr. Ash. -"Never seed no better riders nor merry-men nowheer, though the hosses -was poor." - -"An' Tommy Bates here be all for joinin' of 'em," laughed Samuel -Pinsent; "but I tell un as he turns out his toes tu far to do any credit -to hisself in such a wild course of life." - - - - - *CHAPTER XII.* - - *LIGHT* - - -Beside his sleeping wife did Stapledon recline, and endeavoured, through -the hours of a weary night, to gather the significance of those great -things that he had gleaned. Sometimes he surprised his own thought--as -a man's conscience will often burst in roughly upon his mind--and found -himself hoping that this news was untrue and that Christopher Yeoland -filled a coffin, if not at Little Silver. But the edifice of -probability so carefully reared by Mark Endicott showed no flaw, and -even amid the mazes of his present doubt Myles found time to marvel at -the ratiocination of the old man. Before this explanation it seemed -difficult to believe that another clue to the puzzle existed. A note of -inner unrest, a question within a question, finally brought Myles out of -bed at dawn. He rose, soon stood in the air, and, through the familiar -early freshness of day, walked upwards to the Moor for comfort. What -was it to him if this harebrained soul had thus played at death? He, at -least, was no dreamer, and moved upon solid ground. He passed beside -the kingdom of the blue jasione and navel-wort on the old wall, while -above him wind-worn beeches whispered in the dawn wind. From force of -habit he stood at a gate and rested his arms upon the topmost bar, while -his great dog roved for a rabbit. Now the man's eyes were lighted to -the depths of their disquiet from the east, and at sight of the distant -woods his thoughts turned back to that meeting responsible for his -child's death. He had yet to learn from Honor whether his uncle's -suspicion was correct concerning the incident, but little doubt existed -within his mind, and he breathed heavily, and his emotions almost -bordered upon malignity. Better such a futile soul under the earth in -sober earnest. So ill-regulated a human machine looked worse than -useless, for his erratic course impeded the progress of others more -potent, and was itself a menace and a danger. This man had killed his -little son--that child of many petitions and wide hopes; had crushed -him, like a sweet wild flower under the heel of a fool. So bitterly he -brooded; then pondered as to how his wife would receive this tremendous -message. - -Upon the first heather ridges the cold breath of the Moor touched the -man to patience and brought him nearer himself. He looked out into the -dayspring; noted where one little flame-coloured forerunner of dawn -already shone upon lofty granite afar off; and saw the Mist Mother rise -from the ruddy seeding rushes of her sleeping-place. He beheld the -ancient heron's grey pinion brighten to rose beside the river; heard cry -of curlew and all the manifold music of the world waking again. Above -him the sky flushed to the colours of the woodbine, while upon earth -arose an incense and a savour of nightly dews sun-kissed. From marsh -and moss, from the rush beds and the peat beds; from glimmering ridges -cast upward by workers long gone by; from the bracken and the heather, -and the cairns of the old stone men; from the gold eyes of the little -tormentils, the blue eyes of the milkworts, the white stars of the -galiums woven and interwoven through the texture of the budding -heath--from each and all, to the horizon-line of peak and pinnacle, a -risen sun won worship. Then did Stapledon's eyes soften somewhat and -his brow clear in the great light, for there came songs from the Sons of -the Morning--they who in time past had welcomed him as a brother; and -their music, floating from the high places, soothed his troubled heart. -Under that seraphic melody the life of man, his joys and his sorrows, -peaked and dwindled to their just proportions; gradually he forgot his -kind, and so thought only of the solemn world-order outspread, and the -round earth rolling like an opal about the lamp of the sun, through -God's own estate and seigniory of space. - -That hour and the steadfast nature of him presently retrieved his -patience; then Myles shone forth unclouded as the morning. Recollection -of his recent fret and passion surprised him. Who was he to exhibit -such emotion? The Moor was his exemplar, and had been so since his -boyish eyes first swept it understandingly. For him this huge, untamed -delight was the only picture of the God he did not know, yet yearned to -know; and now, as oftentimes of old, it cooled his blood, exalted his -reflections, adjusted the distortions of life's wry focus, and sent him -home in peace. - -Duty was the highest form of praise that he knew, and he prepared to -fall back upon that. Let others order their brief journeys on lines -fantastical or futile, he at least was wiser and knew better. He -reflected that the folly of the world can injure no soul's vital spots. -Only a man's self can wound himself mortally. He would live on agreeably -to Nature--obedient as the granite to the soft, tireless touch of wind -and rain; prompt as the bursting bud and uncurling tendril; patient as -the cave spirits that build up pillars of stalagmite through unnumbered -ages; faithful as the merle, whose music varies not from generation to -generation. Life so lived would be life well guarded and beyond the -power of outer evil to penetrate. - -So he believed very earnestly, and knew not that his noble theory asked -a noble nature to practise it. Only a great man can use perfectly a -great tool; and this obtains with higher rules of conduct than -Stapledon's; for of all who profess and call themselves Christians, not -one in a thousand is mentally equipped to be the thing he pretends, or -even to understand the sweep and scope of what he professes. It is not -roguery that makes three parts of Christendom loom hypocrite in a -thinker's eyes, but mental and constitutional inability to grasp a -gospel at once the most spiritual and material ever preached and -misunderstood. Centuries of craft stretch between man and the Founder's -meaning; confusion bred of passion has divided the House against itself; -politics and the lust of power have turned religion into a piece of -state machinery; and the rot at the root of the cumbrous fabric will, -within half a century, bring all down in far-flung conflagration and -ruin. Then may arise the immortal part out of the holocaust of the -Letter, and Christianity, purged of churchcraft as from a pestilence, -fly back to brood upon the human heart once more in the primal, rainbow -glory of the Sermon on the Mount, preached under heaven by a Man to men. - -That day Myles Stapledon, with all caution and such choice of words as -he had at command, broke the story to Honor, and his tactful language, -born of love, was so skilful that the shock brought no immediate -collapse with it. The narrative asked for some art, yet he developed it -gradually, and found his reward where Mark had predicted. First Honor -learnt what she herself had seen upon that fateful night; and when, in a -very extremity of amazement, she confessed to the secret of a fancied -spectre, Myles went further and led her to understand that what she had -witnessed was flesh and blood, that a confusion, probably not -intentional, had been created, and that Christopher Yeoland might be -suspected still to live. Stapledon spared himself nothing in this -narrative. Asked by his wife as to the reason that could have prompted -her former lover to a step so extravagant, he reminded her of her own -determination to marry neither of them; he explained how he had begged -Christopher to come back, that her life might be as it had been; and -added that doubtless the wanderer on his side, and for love of her -alone, had put this trick upon them in the belief that such a course -would contribute to her final happiness. Having set out this much with -extreme impartiality, a human question burst from the heart of the man. - -"For you he did this thing, love; he only thought of you and not of the -thousand preposterous tangles and troubles likely to spring from such an -action. Your happiness--that was all he saw or cared to see. And did -he see it? Tell me, dear Honor--here on the threshold of his return -perhaps--tell me; was it for your happiness? Thank God, I think I know; -yet I should like to hear from your own lips the truth and that I am -right." - -The truth, as she believed it before this most startling fact, came -instantly to Honor's lips. She was enfeebled and unstrung by weeks of -wayward living consequent upon great fret of mind. She had nursed this -dreadful belief in an apparition until it had grown into a sort of real -presence, and the conviction, fabricated through weeks of brooding, -would not be dispelled at a word. Deep was the impress left upon her -mind, and time must pass before a shape so clear could fade. As a -result, the man now thought to be returned from the dead frightened her -for a season, scarcely less than his fancied ghost had done. She was -timid before the amazing whisper that he still lived. In this fear she -forgot for the moment what had prompted Yeoland to his typical folly; -she dreaded him in the body as she had dreaded him in the spirit; she -turned to the solid being at her side, clung to Myles in her weakness, -and held his great arm tightly round her waist. - -"For my happiness indeed, dearest one. You have loved me better than I -deserved, and forgiven so many faults. This makes me shiver and grow -cold and fear to be alone; yet how different to the thing I thought!" - -"And he may come home." - -"He will never be real to me again--not if I see him and hear him. -Never so real as there---grey-clad with the moon on his face--a shadowy -part of the great web of the night, yet distinct--all very ghost. I'm -frightened still. You can forgive a little of what I made you endure, -now that you know what I have suffered." - -He hugged her up to his heart at these words, believed her as thoroughly -as she believed herself, and thanked Heaven that blind Mark Endicott had -been led to such a true prophecy. - - -A week passed, yet no step was taken, though the new position came to be -accepted gradually by those acquainted with the secret. For Honor the -knowledge was actually health-giving by virtue of the morbid cloud that -it dispelled. Such tidings liberated her soul from a strange fear and -offered her mind a subject of boundless interest. Many plans were -proposed, yet scarcely a desirable course of action presented itself. -Mark advocated no step, and Honor added her plea to his, for she openly -expressed a hope that Christopher, if still he lived, would not return -to Godleigh. And this she said upon no suspicion of herself, but rather -from a continued dread of the man. It seemed impossible to her that she -could ever think of him as among the living. Stapledon, on the contrary, -desired an explanation, and his wish was gratified most speedily by an -unexpected herald from Yeoland himself. An authentic representative -arrived at Endicott's--a somewhat shame-faced and apologetic messenger -laden with the facts. - -For, upon a morning in August, Doctor Courteney Clack appeared, desired -to see Mr. Endicott alone, and not only told the blind man that his -theory was in the main correct, but begged that from the stores of his -common sense and wisdom he would indicate the most seemly and least -sensational means by which this news might be broken to those concerned. -The doctor did not pretend to excuse himself or his part in the play. -There was, indeed, no necessity for recrimination or censure. The -future lay at the door, and Christopher Yeoland, who had, in truth, -haunted his own domain by night, designed to return to it in earnest -during the autumn. The temporary lease would then terminate, and -circumstances now enabled the owner to free his land of every -encumbrance and henceforth administer Godleigh in a manner worthy of its -traditions. - -The interview was an old man's triumph, for Mark Endicott, too frank to -pretend otherwise, gloried in the relation of the story long afterwards, -loved to dwell upon his own reasoned synthesis and explain how closely -it fitted the revealed facts, despite their rare singularity. As for -Courteney Clack, that gentleman's amazement, when he found his -intelligence more than a fortnight old, may be guessed, but can hardly -be stated. Mr. Endicott sent for Myles to substantiate him, and finally -the astounded physician unfolded his own narrative, now shrunk to a tame -and trivial thing--an echo for the most part of Mark's deductions. - -On reaching Australia with Stapledon's messages the physician's first -professional duty had been at the bedside of Christopher's ancient -kinsman, with whom the young man was dwelling. For only two days after -Doctor Clack's arrival, the old wool dealer was bitten by a whip-snake -at his country seat on the Hawkesbury River, and there passed speedily -out of life. This fact combined with Clack's news from home to -determine Christopher Yeoland in the action he had taken, and the -scheme, once adumbrated upon young Yeoland's mind, grew apace. The dead -man, who was also named Christopher, proved to be very wealthy, and his -money, willed to assist the establishment of technical schools in -Sydney, had been withdrawn from that purpose after two months' -intercourse with the youthful head of the race. Thus, in ignorance of -his own near exit, the elder left it within Christopher's power to -redeem the ancestral forests and roof tree in fulness of time. Apart -from the imposition, built on the fact of his relative's sudden death, -the traveller had already determined that he should lie in the family -grave at home. It was the right place for one who had saved Yeoland -credit at the last gasp and given the head of that family wherewithal to -lift honour from the dust. Then came Stapledon's message and Clack's -fearless gloss; so that, with wits quickened and a mind enlarged by his -own unexpected good fortune, Christopher made final sacrifice of all -love hope--a renunciation worthy of honest praise in sight of his own -altered circumstances--and, with Clack's aid, practised his theatrical -imposition that Honor's road might stretch before her straight and -certain. Nothing less than his death would decide her, and so he let -the implicit lie be told, and determined with himself at all cost to -keep out of his own country until expiration of the period for which he -had let Godleigh. - -Clack indicated a circumstance in itself satisfactory at this stage in -his story. Christopher's resurrection would not practically prove so -far-reaching as Mark Endicott and Stapledon had imagined, for none -existed with any right to question the facts. On the supposed death of -the owner, Godleigh had reverted to a man of the same name in -Australia--that was all the lawyers knew--and the legal difficulty of -reclaiming his own and re-establishing his rights promised to be but -trifling. Neither had the law very serious penalties in pickle for him, -because it could not be showed where Christopher had wronged any man. - -Time passed, and even the limits of patience that he had set himself -were too great for Yeoland of Godleigh. Now he was rich, and hated -Australia with a deep hatred. He returned home therefore, and those -events related had fallen almost act for act as Endicott declared. In -the flesh had the man haunted Godleigh. Once a keeper nearly captured -him upon his own preserves; once, during the past spring, he had crept -to the great beech tree, impelled thither at the same hour and moment as -his old sweetheart. Her collapse had frightened him out of his senses, -and, on seeing Stapledon approaching, he had retreated, concealed -himself, and, upon their departure, returned to his hidden horse. Deeply -perturbed, but ignorant of all that the incident really signified, he -had ridden back that night to Exeter, and so departed to the Continent, -there to dwell unrecognised a while longer, and wait, half in hope, half -in fear, that Honor might proclaim him. - -But no sound reached his ear, and of Little Silver news neither he nor -Courteney Clack had learnt anything of note for many weeks. Now, -however, with only two months between himself and his return to -Godleigh, Christopher Yeoland felt the grand imposture must be blown -away. It had at least served his purpose. - -Thus spoke Clack; then his own curiosity was satisfied, and he learned -how, by the lawless operation of obscure men, that secret hidden in the -churchyard had become known, and how, upon the confession of one -conspirator, three others beside the two discoverers had come to hear of -it. - -"And as for that terrible thing--the child killed by him -accidentally--my child--" said Stapledon without emotion, "little use -tearing a tender-hearted creature with that to no purpose. I do not -want him to know it." - -"I won't tell him, you may be sure," answered the doctor, still in a -dream before this unexpected discounting of his great intelligence. "He -will not hear of it from me. But know he must sooner or later. That -can't be spared him. Only a question of time and some blurted speech." - -"I'll tell him, then," declared Myles. "There's nobody more fitting. I -don't forget." - -The question next arose as to how Little Silver should be informed, and -Mr. Endicott declared that the vicar must make a formal announcement -after morning service on the following Sunday. Then, with further -conversation upon minor points, Doctor Clack's great confession ended; -while as for the matter of the desecration, he held with Mr. Endicott -that no notice need be taken beyond, perhaps, warning Mr. Cramphorn that -his egregious enterprise was known, and that his own safety rested in -silence. - -The doctor stopped a few days at Endicott's; saw Honor, who heard him -with deep interest and decreasing fear; then wrote at length to -Christopher in London; but, not caring to face the publication of -Yeoland's existence and pending return, Clack finally took himself off -until the sensation was on the wane. Before he set out, Myles had a -private conversation with him in nature comforting enough, for, -concerning Honor, the medical man gave it as his professional opinion -that this counter-shock would serve adequately to combat her former -hopeless, nerveless condition. The truth, despite its startling nature, -must bring wide relief from spiritual terrors, and so probably -participate in and hasten the business of recovery. - -Then came the thunder-clap, whose echoes reverberated in journals even -to the great metropolitan heart of things, and Christopher Yeoland -achieved a notoriety that was painful to him beyond power of words to -express. Only one gleam of satisfaction shone through all the notes and -comments and unnumbered reasons for his conduct: not one came nearer the -truth than the utterance of a West Country journalist, who knew the -history of the Yeoland family, and opined that a touch of hereditary -eccentricity was responsible for all. - -Of Little Silver, its comments, theories, bewilderment, and general -suspicion that there must be something rotten at the roots of the world -while such deeds could be, there appears no need to discourse. How Ash -and his kind reviewed the matter, or with what picturesque force it -appealed to Noah Brimblecombe, janitor of the mausoleum, may easily be -imagined; while for the rest it would be specially interesting, if -pertinent, to describe the emotions of Jonah Cramphorn. Relief and -disappointment mingled in his mind; he had made no history after all; he -was not the mainspring of this commotion, and when he nodded darkly and -showed no surprise, folks merely held him too conceited to display -honest amazement like everybody else, and laughed at his assumption of -secret knowledge. There came a night, however, when Mr. Endicott spoke -with him in private, after which Jonah desired nothing more than silence -for himself, and poured his pent-up chagrin and annoyance upon Charity -Grepe, who--poor soul--derived little lustre from this resurrection. - - - - - *BOOK III.* - - - - *CHAPTER I.* - - *VANESSA IO* - - -Between Bear Down and the valley was fern and the breath of fern and -great gleam and drone of summer flies under the living sun. Here Teign -tumbled through deep gorges, and from the wind-swept granite of Godleigh -hill, beneath unclouded noonday splendour, acres of bracken panted -silver-green in the glare, dipped to the fringes of the woods below, and -shone like a shield of light upon the bosom of the acclivity. At -river-level spread a forest, where oak and alder, larch and pinnacles of -pine shimmered in the haze. Dark shadows broke the manifold planes of -them, and the song of the river beneath, with lull and rise on the lazy -summer breeze, murmured from mossy granite stairways twining through the -woods. Here shone masses of king fern, twinkled jewels of honeysuckle, -and the deep, pink blossoms of eglantine. The atmosphere was very dry; -the leaves on a little white poplar clapped their hands to the river -melody; hirundines wheeled and cried in the upper blue, and there lacked -not other signs, all dearer than rainbows to a farmer whose corn is -ripe, of fine weather and its continuance. - -In the shadow of a great stone upon the hillside, where, beneath the -fairy forest of the fern, sad grasses robbed of sunlight seeded feebly, -and wood strawberries gemmed the under-green, sat Honor Stapledon alone. -Upon one hand sloped bare descents, already blistered somewhat by a hot -July, patched with rusty colour where the heather had been roasted under -the eye of the sun, painted with tawny, thirsty foliage, brightened by -the blue spires of viper's bugloss, starred with pink of centauries. A -great bramble bore red fruit and pale blossom together; and here -butterflies made dancing, glancing gleam and tangle of colour as they -came and went, flashed hither and thither, or settled to sun themselves -on the flowers and rocks. One--_Vanessa Io_--feared nothing, and -pursued his business and pleasure upon the bramble within a few inches -of Honor's cheek. - -As yet Christopher Yeoland had not plucked courage to return publicly, -but that morning came rumours from Little Silver that he was upon a -visit to Godleigh, as guest of the departing tenant. Noah Brimblecombe -had actually seen him and mentioned the fact to Mr. Cramphorn. Honor, -therefore, expecting an early visit, and feeling quite unequal to such -an experience now that it had come so near--desiring moreover that Myles -and not herself should first welcome the wanderer--had stolen away to -the adjacent hillside, there to pass some hours with a book. But her -thoughts proved of a nature more interesting than verses. Indeed they -lacked not poetry and even images to be described as startling, for the -matter was dramatic and sufficiently sensational to fire a less -imaginative mind. So her book remained unopened, and she watched -_Vanessa Io_, though her thoughts were not with him. - -While Stapledon had grasped the fact of Christopher's continued -existence and pending return somewhat sooner than his wife, the -positions a month later seemed reversed. He faced the upheaval on the -first proclamation, and she shrank from it with emotion bred from her -recent terror; but now it was Honor who discussed affairs in the calmer -spirit, and Myles who changed the subject, not always without -impatience. The woman's frank interest daily grew, and she saw no cause -to hide it; while the man, whose mind had been jolted from the rut of -accepted things, now felt a desire to return into it and found himself -come near resentment of this wonder. Such a tremendous circumstance -hung over his days like a cloud, for it meant more to him than anybody, -so at least he believed at that season. Stapledon's intellect was of a -sort likely to be impatient at such monkey tricks. He found all the -solid building of the past, all the logical sequences of events and -movements leading to possession of Honor, tumbled into ruins around him. -To his order-loving nature the skein of life grew in some measure -tangled before such sleight and jugglery. Though he strove hard to keep -in sight the sure knowledge that Yeoland had played his part for love of -Honor, yet indignation would now and then awake to burn in him; and that -first spark of passion, lighted when he thought of his child, after the -earliest confession from Henry Collins, was not as yet wholly -extinguished. Now, while the return of the wanderer came nearer, Myles -shook himself into a resolute attitude and told himself that the -uncertain depths and shallows of his own emotions must be discovered and -his future line of conduct determined, as Mark Endicott had forewarned -him. But while he stood thus, in unfamiliar moods of doubt, Honor, -contrariwise, from a standpoint almost approaching superstitious fear, -was come to accept the truth and accept it thankfully. The tremendous -mental excitement, the shock and clash of thoughts afforded by this -event, possessed some tonic faculty for her, and, as Doctor Clack had -predicted, wrought more good than harm within her nature. For a little -while she had wept after the first wave of fear was passed; she had wept -and wondered in secret at the snarling cruelty of chance that willed -this man, of all men, to rob her of her baby treasure; but the thought -of his sorrow when the truth should reach him lessened her own. - -The reason for Christopher's conduct Honor had of course learned. That -much Myles set out for her with the most luminous words at his command; -and he smarted even while he told of the other's renunciation and -self-sacrifice. He explained many times how for love of her Yeoland -departed and let it be imagined that he was no more; how, from -conviction that her happiness was wound up with her present husband, he -had done this thing. Myles strove to live in an atmosphere of naked -truth at this season, for his instinct told him that the way was strange -and that salvation only lay in stripping off it every cloud or tissue of -unreality. - -As for Mark Endicott, from mere human interest at an event beyond -experience, he passed to estimate and appraisement of Christopher's -deeds. Averse from every sort of deception, he yet found himself unable -to judge hardly before the motives and the character of the first puppet -in this tragi-comedy. Yeoland had meant well in the past, and the only -question for the future was his own sentiments toward Honor. That these -justified him in his return to Godleigh Mr. Endicott nothing doubted. -He recollected the somewhat peculiar emotional characteristics of the -man and felt no cause for fear, save in the matter of Myles. - -As for Little Silver, intelligence that their squire, resuscitated in -life and pocket, was returning to his own filled most hearts with lively -satisfaction after the first amazement had sobered. Recollection of his -generosity awakened; whereon the fathers of the village met in conclave -and determined to mark their great man's home-coming with some sort of -celebration, if only a bonfire upon the hill-top and some special -broaching of beer-barrels. - -Honor moved her parasol a little, mused on time to come, and wished the -ordeal of meeting with Christopher behind her. The chapter of their -personal romance was sealed and buried in the past, and her feelings -were not fluttered as she looked back. The interest lay ahead. She -thought of the life he had lived since last they met, and wondered what -women had come into it--whether one above all others now filled it for -him. She hoped with her whole heart that it might be so, and sat so -quiet, with her mind full of pictures and possibilities for him, that -_Vanessa Io_ settled within a foot of her and opened and shut his wings -and thanked the sun, as a flower thanks him for his warmth, by display -of beauty. His livery caught the thinker and brought her mind back -behind her eyes so that she noted the insect's attire, the irregular -outline of his pinions, their dull brick-red and ebony, brown margins, -and staring eyes all touched and lighted with lilac, crimson, yellow, -and white. Within this splendid motley the little body of him was -wrapped in velvet, and as he turned about upon a bramble flower his -trunk, like a tiny trembling watch-spring, passed to the honeyed heart -of the blossom. Then he arose and joined the colour-dance of small blue -butterflies from the heath, of sober fritillaries, and other of his own -Vanessa folk--tortoise-shells, great and small, and a gorgeous red -admiral in black and scarlet. - -Far beneath a horn suddenly sounded, and the music of otter-hounds arose -melodious from the hidden valley. Flight of blue wood-pigeons and cackle -of a startled woodpecker marked the progress of the hunt. Here and -there, with shouts and cries, came glint of a throng through the trees -that concealed them. Then Honor heard the grander utterance of an -elderly foxhound who was assisting the pack. He had suddenly lighted on -the scent of his proper prey, and a moment later she saw him away on his -own account, climbing the opposite hill at speed. His music died, and -the clamour beneath soon dwindled and sank until a last note of the -horn, mellowed by distance, slowly faded away. But Honor was -uninterested, for the modern fashion of otter-hunting at noon instead of -grey dawn, though it may promise the presence of fair maidens at a meet, -holds forth small likelihood of otters, who are but seldom slain upon -these lazy runs. - -Then the sound of a step sprang out of the silence, and the woman turned -and drew breath at sight of Christopher Yeoland, standing knee-deep in -the fern behind her. He was clad as when she saw him last, in grey -country wear; and to her first startled glance he seemed unchanged. - -"Never pass a parasol without looking under it, if I can," he said; and -then, before she could rise, he had flung himself beside her and taken -her left hand and squeezed it gently between his. Her other hand went -unconsciously towards her breast, but now she lowered it into his and -suffered the greeting she had no power to speak, be uttered by that -pressure of palm on palm. - -"What tremendous, tragic things we ought to whisper at this moment," he -said; "yet, for the life of me, I can only think of a single question: -Have you forgiven me for my far-reaching fool's trick? If you haven't, -I can't live at Godleigh under the shadow of Endicott's frown. And I -certainly can't live anywhere else, so, should you refuse to pardon, I -must die in real earnest." - -"If anybody can forgive you, it is I, Christopher. Oh dear--I am glad we -are over this meeting. It has made me feel so strange, so curious. It -seems only yesterday that I saw you last; and I could laugh, now that -you are alive once more, to think your spirit had power to frighten -me--or anybody. Yet I do not quite believe I shall ever feel that you -are flesh and blood again." - -"It will take time. I began to doubt myself when I came home and stole -about in the old haunts, and felt how ghosts feel. Once a keeper chased -me out of Godleigh, and I only escaped by the skin of my teeth! Thrice -I saw you--at your window in moonlight, and driving with your husband, -and--the last time." - -His voice faltered; she saw tears in his eyes and knew that he had -learned of the misfortune in the wood. The fact pleased her, in that -this sorrow was bound to come to him and now it would not be necessary -for Myles to speak about the past. A moment of silence passed between -them, and she looked at Christopher softly and saw him unchanged. Every -feature and expression, every trick of voice and gesture was even as it -used to be. She knew his careless tie, his jerk of head, his habit of -twisting up the corner of his moustache and then biting it. - -"How wonderful this is!" she said, not heeding his broken sentence. -"How mysterious to think I sit here talking to a man I have believed for -two years to be dead! And yet each moment my heart grows calmer and my -pulse beats more quietly." - -"Things are always commonplace when you expect them to be theatrical and -rise to fine, giddy heights. That's the difference between plays and -real life. Chance works up to her great situations and then often -shirks them in the most undramatic and disappointing way. But when she -does want a situation, she just pitches people headlong into it--like -our meeting at the old tryst by the beech. Memory took me there; what -took you? God forgive me, I----" - -"Leave that," she said quickly. "It can't be talked about. Have you -seen Myles or Uncle Mark yet?" - -"No; a proper attraction brought me here, and somehow I knew that I -should find you. But I long to meet him too--your husband. It's a -blessing to know that among the many who blame me he won't be counted. -Please Heaven, I shall see a great deal of you both in the future. I -always loved the west wind best, because it blew over Bear Down before -it came to me. Sunshine ahead, I hope, and some for me. I've come home -to be happy." - -"Have you found a wife?" - -"Honor!--No, I haven't looked for one. Godleigh's my wife. And I must -set about spending some money on her, now I've got plenty. So -strange--that lonely old cadet of our family. He was, I thought, as -poor as a church mouse. Three parts of a miser, and lived hard and -laughed at luxuries, as so many do who have had to make their own -fortunes. Money-grubbing carries that curse along with it, that it -often turns the grubber blind and deaf to all save the sight and clink -of the hateful, necessary stuff. But the dear old boy somehow warmed to -me; and I drew pictures of home for him; and he promised to come home -and see me some day when he grew old. He was seventy-three then, but -utterly refused to accept the fact. Then death suddenly rushed him, in -the shape of a whip-snake, and dying, his thoughts turned home, and it -was his wish, not my whim, that he should lie there. That put my plot -into my head, for he was of the same name. Not until after his death -did I know he had altered his will; and I can tell you, seeing the style -he lived in and the size of his ideas, that I was staggered when I found -he had left me a real fortune. That's my adventure--a mere bit of a -story-book, yet a very pleasant bit to the hero of it." - -_Vanessa Io_ returned, and so still sat Honor that he settled boldly -upon the sun-kissed folds of her skirt. - -"Do you remember how I used to say you were all butterfly, though in -grave moments you rather claimed for yourself the qualities of staid and -sober twilight things--solemn beetles, whose weight of wing-case reminds -them that life is real and earnest?" - -"You were right upon the whole. I've got the same spirit in me as that -little, gaudy, self-complacent atom there, opening and shutting his -wings, like a fairy's picture-book upon your knee. Our rule of life is -the same. I only hope he's having more luck with his existence than I -have had with mine." - -She reflected a moment. This was the first hint of his own sorrows in -the past, of the price he had paid. - -"But I'm not changed, for all the world of experiences that separates -us," he continued quickly. "I'm only a thought older. Time is -beginning to do a little gradual work in grey just above my ears. So -delicate and apologetic and gentle he is that I can't grumble. Is Mr. -Endicott well?" - -"Very well." - -"And Myles and the farm?" - -"Both flourishing abundantly, I believe." - -"And to think the sadness on your face is solely of my bringing--yet you -can welcome me after what I have done!" - -She marvelled a little that he could speak of it - -"Pray, Christo, do not harp upon that. None accuses you. How could -such a thing be thrown as blame upon anybody? Fate so often uses the -kindest of us to do her cruel deeds. 'Tis the height of her cynic fun -to plan parts in her plots and make the wrong actor play them." - -"I ought to have used common sense and kept away altogether." - -"Common sense!" - -"I know; but I found it in Australia. There was no excuse for me. Can -he forgive me?" - -"I have not heard him breathe so much as one hasty word since he has -known. You do not understand him to ask such a question. He is above -admiration. No woman ever had such a good husband. And the better I -love him, Christo, the better shall I love you, for giving him to me." - -"Good God! you mustn't talk like that, must you?" he asked with some -flutter; but she regarded him calmly as she answered. - -"Why should not I? He knows that I loved you, and, therefore, love you. -I am a most logical woman, and unchanging. It has all been very smooth -and clear between Myles and me from the first, because we both hated any -shadow of misunderstanding. That's the strength of our married life." - -"My only fear centred in the recollection of his great straightness. He -hates a trick, even though he may win by it." - -"He loves me with all his heart." - -"Yes--there it is. I didn't feel very anxious about the thing I did -first; only about what I have done since I sometimes get a doubt. The -question is whether, once dead, I was justified in coming to life again. -Man's only built to be heroic in snatches--at least the average man--and -when I found myself rich, instead of keeping it up and going through to -the bitter end, as a bigger chap would have done, I thought of Godleigh. -If you had lived a year and more among gum trees I think you might find -it in you to forgive me for coming back. Those eternally lost gum -trees! And springtime calling, calling from home! And here I am in -God's good green again--His always, mine for a little while." - -"Who can wonder that you came? The wonder would have been if you had -stopped away. The thing you desired to bring about is done--happily and -for ever." - -"But Myles? He's so thorough. What does he think? Half-measures -wouldn't win his respect." - -"Half-measures you call them; but even a saint's life is only -patchwork--all wrought in the drab colours of human nature, with a few -bright stars marking the notable deeds. Yes, and lesser existences are -a mere patchwork of good intentions, mostly barren." - -"Not barren for certain. We sow decent grain and dragon's teeth mixed; -and the poor sowers so often don't know which is which--till the crop's -past praying for." - -"That's your philosophy, then. I was wrong; you have changed." - -"It's true. These things are in copybooks, but we never heed them when -we are young. So that is why sometimes I have my doubts about Myles. -Then I think along another line and the cloud vanishes." - -"There can be no cloud, and he will soon rejoice that such a friend is -in the land of the living." - -But suspicion had already wakened in Yeoland. - -"You say 'he will rejoice'; you don't say 'he does.'" - -"Of course he does. How can you doubt it?" - -"Tell him you have seen me, and that I am a perceptible shade wiser than -when I left England. Tell him that incident in the wood has come near -breaking my heart. I can feel great griefs if I don't show them. I do -not expect him to slip into the old relations as you have. You and I -were a couple of wild wood children together for years, until our elders -trapped us and attempted to tame and educate and spoil us. Yet between -him and me now there are close bonds enough--bonds as deep to me, as -binding, as eternal as the dawn-light we both adore. But he's a -fire-worshipper, or something, and I'm a Christian; so, when all's said, -we shall never get straight to one another's hearts like Honor and -Christo. It isn't possible. I thought to meet him with a handshake to -bridge the years, and a silent understanding too deep for words; I -pictured him all the way home as my friend of friends, and now--now I -ought to go upon my knees to him and ask him to put his foot on my neck -and forgive me for that moonlight madness." - -"Now I know that it is you, not I, who fail to understand my husband," -said Honor. "He is a greater man by far than you think or I know. -Never utter or dream these things any more, for they are wrong. Forget -them and look forward to happiness." - -They talked a while longer on divers themes; then the woman rose to -return home, and Christopher, declaring an intention to visit Endicott's -that evening, went back to Godleigh. - -Each now marvelled much from a personal point of view at this, their -first meeting--at its familiarity of texture and lack of distinction. -Both indeed felt dumbly astonished that, after such a gap, converse -could be renewed thus easily; yet they joyed in the meeting; and while -Yeoland ingenuously gloried in the sight and voice of the woman he had -loved, Honor's pleasure was of a colour more sober, a quality more -intricate. - - - - - *CHAPTER II.* - - *THE MEETING OF THE MEN* - - -Christopher Yeoland visited Bear Down on the evening after his meeting -with its mistress; but the hour was late when he arrived, and Honor had -retired with a headache ere he entered the farm. Even as he reached the -front door and lifted his hand to the bell Yeoland changed his mind and -strolled round to the kitchen entrance. There he stood for an instant -before marching boldly in according to his old custom. A voice fell upon -his ear, and for a moment he thought that it must be Mark speaking to -himself alone, as was the blind man's wont; but other speech broke in -upon the first, and, catching his own name on Cramphorn's tongue, -Christopher stood still, laughed silently, and listened. - -An utterance from Churdles Ash was the first that came distinctly to -him. - -"Us o' Little Silver be like the twelve apostles, I reckon--all mazed -wi' gert wonder to hear tell of a resurrection." - -"Awnly theer's a world-wide differ'nce 'tween Lard o' Hosts an' this -gormed Jack-o'-lantern," answered Cramphorn. "For my part I'd so -soon--maybe sooner--he was wheer us thought him. Born he was to make -trouble, an' trouble he'll make while he walks airth. No fay, I can't -fox myself into counting this a pleasing thing. He'm takin' up gude -room, if you ax me." - -Christopher, having heard quite enough, himself answered as he came -among them-- - -"That's honest, at any rate, Jonah. But I hope you're wrong. I've come -back a reformed character--on my solemn word I have. Wait and see." - -He shook hands with Stapledon first, afterwards with Mark Endicott and -the assembled labourers. There fell a moment of awkward silence; then -Jonah, who felt some word from him seemed due, knocked out his pipe and -spoke before retiring. He contented himself with an expression of -regret, but hesitated not to qualify it so extensively that little doubt -arose concerning his real opinions. - -"I didn't knaw as you was behind the door, Squire Yeoland, else I might -have guarded my lips closer. An' bein' a living sawl--to save or damn -accordin' to God's gudeness--'tweern't seemly for me to speak so sharp. -Not that offence was meant, an' a man's opinions be his awn; though I -trust as you'll order your ways to shaw I'm a liar; an' nobody better -pleased than me, though not hopeful, 'cause what's bred in the bone -comes out in the flesh. An' I may say you've proved wan thing--if awnly -wan: that a sartain party by name of Charity Grepe be a auld, -double-dealin' rascal, an' no more a wise woman than my awn darters. So -gude-night all." - -Pinsent and Collins retreated with Mr. Cramphorn, but old Churdles Ash -remained to shake hands once again with the wanderer. - -"I be a flat Thomas wheer theer's any left-handed dealings like this -here," he said. "Most onbelievin' party as ever was, as well a man may -be when the world's so full of evil. But by the hand of you and the -speech of you, you'm flesh and blood same as the rest of us. I'm sure I -hope, your honour, if you'll take an old man's respectful advice, as -you'll bide above ground henceforrard an' do no more o' these dark, -churchyard deeds 'mongst Christian folks. It may be very convenient an' -common down-long in furrin paarts, but 'tidn' seemly to Little Silver, -wheer theer's such a lot o' the risin' generation as looks to 'e for a -example." - -"I'll act as becomes me ever afterwards, gaffer," declared Christopher, -whereon, gratified by this promise, Mr. Ash touched his forehead, -praised God and the company, and so withdrew. - -Then Yeoland began his story, and Mark put an occasional question, while -Stapledon kept silence until he should have opportunity to speak with -the other alone. A necessity for some recognition and utterance of -personal gratitude weighed heavy on him. That Christopher desired no -such thing he felt assured, but he told himself that a word at least was -due, and must be paid, like any other debt. Myles had judged as the -wanderer suspected: Yeoland's initial act seemed great to him; this -return to life he accounted paltry and an anticlimax beside it. Putting -personal bias out of the question, or believing that he did so, -Stapledon endeavoured to estimate the achievement from an impartial -spectator's standpoint, and so seen this homecoming disappointed him. -He did not deny the man his right to return; he only marvelled that he -had exercised it. Yet as Christopher, with many an excursus, chattered -through his story, and spoke of his native land with manifest emotion, -Stapledon wondered no more, but understood, and felt disinterested -sympathy. Then he blamed himself for previous harsh criticism, and -discovered that the leaven of a personal interest had distorted his -point of view. Morbidly he began to think of Honor, and the dominant -weakness of his character awoke again. He told himself that Yeoland -would find out how perfect was the unanimity between husband and wife; -then he gave himself the lie and wondered, with his cold eyes upon -Christopher, if the returned wanderer would ever discover that the inner -harmony of Honor's married life was not complete at all times. - -When Yeoland had made an end, Mark asked him concerning his plans for -the future, and listened to many projects, both happy and impracticable, -for the glorification of Godleigh and the improvement of Little Silver. - -"Clack's going to be my agent. After he practically perjured his -immortal soul for me, I cannot do less for him than give him that -appointment. And he's a good sportsman, which is so much nowadays." - -With some element of restraint they discoursed for an hour or more, then -Yeoland rose and Myles walked part of the way home with him. Under a -night of stars the farmer spoke and said what he accounted necessary in -the briefest phrases capable of rendering his sentiments. - -"I want you to know that I understand and I thank you. My gratitude is -measured by the worth of what you--you gave me. I can say no more than -that." - -"No need to have said as much. Your voice tells me you don't like -saying it, Stapledon, and truly I had no desire to hear it. You see, we -could only win her full happiness that way. I knew her character better -than you could----" - -"Impossible!" - -"Now, no doubt, but not then, when these things happened. I pictured -her with you, and with me. I appreciated your message, but I didn't -agree with you. Honestly you have nothing to thank me for. We're on -this now and will leave the bones of the thing clean-picked. It was -love of the woman--desire to see her happy for all time--that made me -act so. You asked her to marry you before you sent your message by -Clack. So that showed me you believed that you could achieve her -happiness if she let you try. But she would never have married you -until she knew that I was out of it. The right thing happened. All's -well that ends well. With a past so distinct and defined, it seems to -me that the future could hardly look happier. We understand each other -so well--we three, thank God. I threshed it all out through many a long, -sleepless night, I can tell you. I'm no _tertium quid_ come back into -lives that have done with me; I'm not here to ruffle up a tangle already -smoothed out by time. You understand that?" - -Myles agreed with the younger man, and tried to believe him. - -"Of course I understand. Friends we shall always be, and each welcome -to the other when our devious ways may cross. Honor is not likely to be -sentimental under such curious conditions. She will view this, your -return, with the calm self-possession she displays in all affairs of -life. It has done her good already, and lifted a cloud. I tell you so -frankly. She was haunted. I hear you know all about that. There is no -need for you to say what you feel about it. I will take your words as -spoken. So here we stand--we three--and our lives must go forward and -unfold to the ripening here on this hillside. What then? There is room -enough?" - -"Ample, I should imagine. That you should ask the question is a little -astonishing. But I understand you better than you think. You can't -help the defiance in your tone, Stapledon; you can't wholly hide the -hardness in your voice. D'you think I don't know what's cutting you so -deep when you look at me and remember that night? Forgive me. I have -paid for it with grey hairs." - -"You mistake. I should be a fool to blame you seriously for that. -Merely evil fortune. Evil fortune was overdue in my life. I had been -waiting long for reverses. You were the unconscious instrument." - -"Your old, sombre creed, whose god is the law of chance. Anyhow, you -and your wife shall find no truer friend than Christopher Yeoland in the -years to come." - -They shook hands and separated, the one perfectly happy and contented -that this ordeal was over; the other already in a cloud of cares with -his face lifted to meet troubles still invisible. The one saw a smooth -and sunlit road ahead of him--a road of buds and flowers and singing -birds; the other stood among pitfalls past numbering, and the way was -dreary as well as dangerous. - -As he returned home, Myles stopped and looked over a gate to set his -thoughts in order. Whereupon he made discoveries little calculated to -soothe or sustain him in this hour. First he found that lack of -knowledge alone was responsible for his commotion--lack of knowledge of -his wife; and secondly, reviewing his recent conversation with -Christopher, he very readily observed a note in it unfamiliar to -himself. This man's advent aroused an emotion that Myles had read of -and heard about, but never felt. Upon the threshold of renewed -intercourse, and despite so many friendly words, Stapledon recognised -the thing in his heart and named it. He was jealous of Yeoland's -return, and his discovery staggered him. The fact felt bad enough; the -position it indicated overwhelmed him, for it shone like an evil light -on the old fear; it showed that the understanding he boasted between -himself and Honor by no means obtained. Herein lay his trial and his -terror. No cloudless marital life could receive this miasma into its -atmosphere for an instant, for jealousy's germ has no power to exist -where a man and a woman dwell heart to heart. - -Great forces shook Stapledon; then he roused himself, fell back upon -years of self-discipline, shut the floodgates of his mind, and told his -heart that he was a fool. - -"The man shall be my friend--such a friend as I have never had yet," he -said aloud to the night. "I will weary him with my friendship. He is -honest, and has sacrificed his life for me. It is the vileness of human -nature, that hates benefits received, which works in me against him. -And if it pleases Fate to send me another child, this man, who believes -in God, shall be its godfather." - -His determination comforted Stapledon, and he passed slowly homeward -conscious of a battle won, strong in the belief that he had slain a -peril at its birth. He told himself that the word "jealousy" rang -unreal and theatrical, in presence of his wife's slumber. - - - - - *CHAPTER III.* - - *FLAGS IN THE WIND* - - -Godleigh forest was paying its debt to the Mother in good gold, and a -myriad leaves flew and whirled aloft, tumbled and sailed downwards, -rustled and hustled over the green grass, dropped amongst the forest -boughs, floated away on Teign's bosom, eddied in sudden whirlwinds at -gates and wind-swept gaps of the woodlands. The summer glory was -extinguished once again, the tree-top life was ended for another -generation of foliage; and now, final livery of russet or crimson won, -the leaves fell and flew at the will of a wild wind, or waited in some -last resting-place for latter rains, for alchemy of frost and for the -sexton worm. Their dust is the food of the whole earth, and to the -blind and patient roots, twisting gigantically at the hidden heart of -things, they return obedient. For to them they owe every aerial -happiness in gleaming dawns, every joy of the moonlight and starlight -and deep nocturnal dews, song of birds and whisper of vernal rain, cool -purple from shadows of clouds and all the glorious life of a leaf--of -each small leaf that joins its particular jewel to the green coronet of -summer. - -Little Silver took a holiday from the affairs of working-day life on the -occasion of the Squire's official return to Godleigh Park, and the day -was set aside for rejoicing and marked with a white stone. A great -banquet under canvas formed the staple attraction; the grounds were -thrown open, and Christopher invited his small world to lunch with him -in a noble marquee tricked out with flags and streamers. But the season -and the day proved out of harmony with campestral merry-making. -Nature's October russets, pale gold and red gold, killed the crude -bunting colours; a high wind rollicked and raved through the woods and -over the waste places; the great tents and the lesser creaked and -groaned, billowed and bent; yet those driven from them by fear were sent -back by heavy squalls of rain. The autumnal equinox welcomed Yeoland -roughly to his home; but happily he drove under the triumphal arch of -laurel and oak before an envious gust sent it sprawling; happily also -the increasing wind blew the sky clean towards nightfall, though the -rockets that then shrieked aloft chose perilous, unexpected places for -their descent, and the bonfire was abandoned, for its conflagration must -have threatened every rick of hay within half a mile east of it. Upon -the whole, however, this celebration was counted successful, though one -uncanny incident marred the day. At earliest dawn Mr. Brimblecombe -discovered that some genius unknown had decorated the Yeoland mausoleum -with heavy wreaths of autumn flowers and evergreens; but even the least -imaginative recognised that such accentuation of the tomb at this moment -showed a triumph of wrong-headedness. - -Upon that great occasion did Henry Collins, whose patience, even in -affairs of the heart, was almost reptilian, avail himself of the general -holiday. And when Sally Cramphorn, who still philandered with him, -though fitfully, promised that she would take a walk by his side after -the feasting, Henry believed that the moment for speech was come at -last. He had debated the form of his proposition for several months, -and the girl's attitude now naturally led him to suspect an agreeable -termination to his protracted sufferings. The time was that of eating -and drinking, and Sally, who perceived that Mr. Gregory Libby, from his -standpoint as carver at the head of one of the tables in the banqueting -tent, viewed her position beside Collins with concern, hastened her meal -and shortened it. Then, as soon as possible upon the speech-making, she -took Henry by the arm and led him forth very lovingly under the nose of -the other man. Together they proceeded through the woods, and the -graciousness which she exhibited while Gregory's eye was yet upon her, -diminished a little. Still the woman felt amiably disposed to her -innocent tool, and even found it in her heart to pity him somewhat, for -she guessed what now awaited her. Mr. Collins walked slowly along, with -some strain and creaking of mental machinery as he shook his thoughts -and ideas into order. He passed with Sally under pine trees, and at -length found a snug spot sheltered from the wind. - -"Us might sit here 'pon the fir-needles," suggested Henry. - -"'Tis damp, I doubt," answered his companion, thinking of her best gown. - -"Then I'll spread my coat for 'e. I want to have a tell along with you, -an' I caan't talk travellin'. 'Tis tu distractin', an' what I've got to -say'll take me all my power, whether or no." - -He spread his black broadcloth without hesitation, and Sally, -appreciating this compliment, felt she could not do less than accept it. -So she plumped down on Henry's Sunday coat, and he appeared to win much -pleasure from contemplation of her in that position. He smiled to -himself, sighed rather loudly, and then sat beside her. Whereupon his -tongue refused its office and, for the space of two full minutes, he -made no remark whatever, though his breathing continued very audible. - -"What be thinking 'bout?" asked Sally suddenly. - -"Well, to tell plain truth, I was just taking pleasure in the idea as -you'd ordained to sit 'pon my jacket. 'Twill be very comfortin' to me to -call home as you've sat on un every time I put un on or off." - -"If 'twas awnly another party!" thought the girl. "Doan't be such a -fule," she said. - -"That's what everybody have been advisin' me of late," he answered -calmly, without the least annoyance or shame. "'Tis the state of my -mind. Things come between me an' my work--a very ill-convenient matter. -But, whether or no, I'll be proud of that coat now." - -She sat comfortably beside him, and presently, after further silence, -Henry lolled over towards her, and, taking a straw, sought with clumsy -pleasantry to stick it into her hand under the white cotton glove which -she was wearing. - -"What be about?" she asked sharply. "Go along with 'e! Doan't 'e knaw -me better than to think I be so giddy?" - -Thus repulsed, Mr. Collins apologised, explained that in reality he did -know Sally better, that his action was one of pure inadvertence, and -that he admired her character by special reason of its sobriety. -Silence again overtook them, and, while Sally fidgeted impatiently, the -man's owl eyes roamed from off her face to the woods, from the woodland -back again to her. He stuffed his pipe slowly, then returned it to his -pocket; he sighed once or twice, tied up his boot-lace, and cleared his -throat. After a painful pause the woman spoke again. - -"Be us at a funeral or a junketing? You look for all the world as if -you'd catched something hurtful. Wheer's your manners? What's in your -mind now?" - -Henry gulped, and pointed to an oak immediately opposite them--a great -tree bound about in a robe of ivy. - -"Was just considerin' 'bout thicky ivydrum, an' what gude sneyds for -scythe-handles her'd make." - -"Then you'd best to bide here with your scythe-handles, an' I'll go -back-along to the company. I didn't come out to sit an' stare at a -ivybush if you did." - -"Doan't 'e be so biting against me, woman!" said Collins indignantly. -"I be comin' to it so fast as I can, ban't I? 'Tedn' so easy, I can -assure 'e. Maybe chaps as have axed a score o' females finds speech -come quick enough; but I've never spoke the word to wan afore in all my -life; an' 'tis a damn oneasy job; an' I ban't gwaine to be hurried by -you or any other." - -Sally appeared awed at this outburst. She suddenly realised that Mr. -Collins was a man, a big one, a strong one, and an earnest one. - -"Sorry I took you up tu quick, I'm sure. I didn't knaw as you felt so -deep." - -"If I could have trusted pen an' ink, I should have written it out for -'e," he answered, "but my penmanship's a vain thing. I'll have the -handkercher out of that pocket you'm sittin' on, if 'tis all the same to -you. Theer's a dew broke out awver my brow." - -She rose and passed to him a large red handkerchief. Then he thanked -her, mopped his face, and continued-- - -"When fust I seed you, I felt weak by reason of your butivul faace, an' -the way you could toss hay an' keep so cool as a frog. An' I will say -that the laugh of you was very nigh as fine as a cuckoo's song. Then I -got to see what a gude gal you was tu, an' how you scorned all -men-folk--'cept Libby." - -These words he added hastily, as he saw her colour rising. - -"Libby, I do allow, you gived your countenance to, though, if I may say -it, ban't no gert sign of love to see a chap in two minds between such a -piece as you an' your sister. But I never looked at no other but -you--not even when I was up to Exeter. An' if you see your way to keep -comp'ny along wi' me, God's my judge you'll never be sorry you done it. -I be a man as stands to work an' goes to church Sundays when let alone. -An' I'd trust you wi' every penny of the money an' ax for no more'n a -shillin' here an' theer. An' I'd stand between you an' your faither, as -doan't 'pear to be so fond of you of late as he used to be." - -Sally moved uneasily, for he had echoed a recent, dim suspicion of her -own. - -"Best let that bide," she said. "If my faither likes Margery better'n -what he do me, that's his business, not yours." - -"'Tis a fault in him, however," answered Henry. "You'm worth ten -thousand o' she; an' he'll live to find it out yet. He'm grawin' auld -an' tootlish, I reckon, else he'd never set her up afore you." - -"She'm a crafty twoad," declared the other gloomily. "I knaw she'm -clever'n what I be, but flesh an' blood counts for somethin'. He sees -me twice to her wance--Gregory do; an', whether or no, the man's free as -ban't achsually married." - -Mr. Collins grew warm again, to see the drift of his lady's thoughts, -and endeavoured to bring her conversation back to the matter in hand. - -"Ban't for me to speak nothin' 'gainst Libby or any other man. An' -'twouldn't be fair fightin' if I said what I'd say wi' pleasure to the -faace of un if he was here; but I want 'ess' or 'no' for myself, an' I -do pray, my dear woman, as you'll consider of it afore you decide." - -"Ban't no need, an' thank you kindly, I'm sure," said Sally. "But you -must look some plaace else than me, Henery; an' I'm sure you'll find -many so gude, an' plenty better." - -He sat silent, staring and sniffing. - -"Doan't 'e cry 'bout it," she said. - -"I ban't cryin'--merely chap-fallen," he answered, "an' theer's none -'pon the airth so gude as you that ever I see; an' I do wish as you'd -take your time an' not be so sudden. I can wait--I can wait if theer's -a shade of doubt in your mind. Ess fay, I can wait weeks, an' months, -an' years, so easy as a tree, for you to decide. But do 'e take a bit -of time. 'Tis cruel short just to say 'no,' after all as I've felt for -'e so long." - -She accepted the alternative, half from pity, half from policy. Any -hint of an understanding might galvanise the cold-blooded Libby into -action. - -"Wait then," she said, "an' us'll see what time sends." - -"Thank you, I'm sure--cold comfort, but a thought better'n nought. Now, -if you'll rise up off my coat I might get 'e a few braave filbert nuts; -then us'll join the people." - -Sally dusted the coat and helped its master into it. They then returned -towards the central festivity, and upon the way, at the bend of a narrow -path, came suddenly upon Christopher Yeoland, Honor and her husband, -Mark Endicott, with his arm in that of Mr. Scobell, Doctor Clack, and -other local celebrities and men of leading in the neighbourhood. - -"Lard! how can us pass all this mort o' gentlefolks an' me that -down-daunted," moaned Henry; but his companion, secure in her pretty -face and trustful of her best gown, felt quite equal to the ordeal. - -"So easy as they can pass us," she answered. "They'm awnly men an' women -when all's said, an' us be so gude as them, 'pon a public holiday or in -church. I mind a time when Squire Yeoland never passed me by wi'out a -civil word, an' I shouldn't wonder if he didn't now for all his riches." - -She was right. Observing that no parent accompanied her and -recollecting her blue eyes very well, Christopher stopped. - -"Ah, Sally, glad to see you again. Not married yet--eh? But going to -be, I'll warrant. That's your man? Lucky chap. And remember, the day -of the wedding I've got twenty pounds for you to make the cottage -vitty." - -Miss Cramphorn blushed and murmured something, she knew not what, while -Henry, now safely past his betters, shook at these bold words. Then the -company proceeded, and Myles Stapledon, recollecting when these two had -last met, mused upon the nature of the man, while Honor chid him. - -"That's the way you'll send your money spinning, by putting a premium on -improvident marriages. Ask Mr. Scobell what he thinks of such folly." - -"A sentiment. I've always liked Sally. I kissed her once and her -father saw me. Myles will tell you about that. Not that she ever liked -me much--too good a judge of character, I expect." - -Meantime Mr. Collins and his companion passed back to the tents and -flags, and as they did so Henry could not refrain from commenting upon -the squire's handsome promise. - -"Did you hear what the man said?" he asked. - -"Not being deaf, I did," answered Sally with evasion. "A wonnerful -offer. Twenty pound! An' just for to make a place smart." - -"Best to find a maid as won't keep 'e hanging round. 'Tis mere -gapes-nestin' for you to wait for me--a wild-goose chase for sartain." - -"I hope not." - -"Twenty pounds ban't much arter all's said." - -"Not to your faither, as he be a snug man enough by accounts; but 'tis -tidy money to the likes of me--big money to come in a heap an' all -unearned. Not as I'd want it. You should have every penny-piece if -you'd awnly--" - -"I doan't want to hear no more 'pon that head. I've promised to think -of it, an' I ax you not to speak another word till I tell you to." - -"'Twas the thought of the money that carried me away like, an' I'll be -dumb from to-day, I do assure 'e." - -Somewhat later they met Mr. Cramphorn, but it was significant of a -lessened interest in his elder daughter that Jonah, instead of -reproaching her for thus walking apart with one of the other sex, merely -called to Collins and bid him bring his strength where it was needed to -brace the tackle of a tent. - - - - - *CHAPTER IV.* - - *DRIFTING* - - -With return of winter some temporary peace descended upon Myles, and, -looking back, he felt ashamed at the storm and stress of spirit that -Yeoland's resurrection had awakened in him. For a season, as life -returned to its level progress, he truly told himself that he viewed the -friendship between his wife and her old lover without concern, because -it was natural and inevitable. Honor's very frankness and ingenuous -pleasure in the wanderer's company shamed a jealous attitude. Some men, -indeed, had gone further and blessed Yeoland's home-coming. Certainly -that event was in no small measure responsible for Honor's renewed -physical welfare, and the excitement acted kindly upon a temperament -that found food in novelty and desired sweep and play of change for her -soul's health. Stapledon's wife was well again, and soon she discovered -that life could still be full and sweet. Into a sort of lulled -contentment he therefore sank, and proclaimed to himself that all was -well, that the existence of the three, lived under present relations, -was natural and seemly. He checked impatience at the expeditions -planned, listened to Christopher's endless designs with respect to -Godleigh, advised him and endured from him the old, extravagant conceits -and jesting, specious views of life. Yet the glamour was off them now, -and they only wearied Myles. He believed at first that Yeoland must be -a changed man; but very soon he found no such thing had happened. - -Nevertheless, some parity of tastes obtained, as of old, in divers -directions. Again they walked for many miles together, each occupied -with Nature from his own standpoint; and again they met in the dawn hour -that possessed like fascination for both. At such times, under grey -winter light, shrewd and searching, what was best in the men stood -first, and they almost understood one another; but when they met, -smudged by long hours of the toilsome day, and especially when they -found each other in common company of Honor, both lacked the former -sympathy. - -As for Christopher, he heartily appreciated Myles at this period, and -found the farmer's common sense a valuable antidote to the somewhat too -spacious ideas of Doctor Clack in matters concerning betterment of -Godleigh. And not seldom did Yeoland rejoice, with a single eye, that -his old love had such a steadfast rock upon which to establish her life. - -In his relations with Honor he had been a little astonished to find the -fact of her marriage not recognised by his nature, as it was by his -conscience. That Nature could dare to be herself surprised him, when -her wave throbbed through his being now and again upon some rare, sweet -note of voice or tinkle of laughter. At such emotional moments he -complimented the character and heroic attributes of Myles, with a vigour -so crude that Honor might have suspected had not she echoed the -sentiment from her heart. She never wearied of her husband's praises, -and had no discernment as to what prompted Christopher's sudden -overflowings of admiration. The man's return, as in the first instance -of his own juxtaposition with Myles, served to alter Honor's inner -attitude towards her husband. It seemed, in a sense, as she had fancied -of old, that these two were the complement each of the other. - -And a result was that his wife became more to Stapledon as the weeks -passed. Gradually--but not so gradually that he failed to observe -it--there came an increase of consideration in small matters, a new -softness in her voice, a deeper warmth in her kisses. He marked her -added joy in life, noted how she let her happiness bubble over to make -him more joyful; and at first he was filled with satisfaction; and next -he was overclouded with doubt. He tried to ascertain why her old -lover's return should increase Honor's liking for her husband; he -laboured gloomily upon a problem altogether beyond his calibre of mind -to solve. He failed to see that the subtle change in his wife extended -beyond him to the confines of her little world, that some higher -graciousness was bred of it, that the least planet of which she was the -sun now reaped new warmth from her accession of happiness. He puzzled -his intelligence, and arrived, through long fret and care, at an -erroneous solution. Utterly unable to appraise the delicate warp and -poise of her humours, or gauge those obscure escapements that control -happiness in the machinery of a woman's mind, Stapledon came to pitiful -and mistaken conclusions that swept from him all content, all security, -all further peace. At the glimmer of some devil's lantern he read into -Honor's altered bearing an act of deliberate simulation. He denied that -this advent of the other could by any possibility possess force to -deepen or widen her affection for him; and he concluded, upon this -decision, that the alteration must be apparent, not real. Such was the -man's poor speed in the vital science of human nature. Next, he strove -to explain the necessity for her pretence, with the reason of it; and so -he darkened understanding, fouled his own threshold with fancied danger, -and passed gradually into a cloudy region of anxiety and gloom. Excuse -for speech or protest there was none; yet, unable to discern in Honor's -frank awakening to everyday life and her renewed healthful bearing -towards all her environment an obvious purity of mind and thought, he -suffered his agitation to conquer him. He lived and waited, and sank -into a chronic watchfulness that was loathsome to him. His fits of -moody taciturnity saddened his wife and astonished her above measure, -for it seemed that the old love of natural things was dead in him. In -truth, his religion of the Moor--his dogma of the granite and vast waste -places--failed him at this pinch. His gods were powerless and -dumb--either that, or the heart of him had grown deaf for a season. - -His unrest appeared, but the inner fires were hidden very completely. -Then Mark Endicott, who knew that Myles was disordered, and suspected -the tissue of his trouble, approached him, burrowed to his secret, and -held converse thereon through some hours of a stormy night in January. - -Stapledon at first evaded the issue, but he confessed at length, and, -when invited to name the exact nature of his disquiet, merely declared -the present position to be impossible in his judgment. - -"We can't live with the balance so exact," he said. "I feel it and know -it. Honor and this man loved one another once, and the natural -attraction of their characters may bring them to do so again, now that -such a thing would be sin." - -"A big word--'sin,'" answered Mr. Endicott. "If that's all your -trouble, the sooner you let sunshine into your mind again the better. -Honor's an Endicott, when all's said, though maybe one of the strangest -ever born under that name. I'm astonished to hear that this is the -colour of your mind. And the man--queer though he is, too, and unlike -most men I've met with--yet he's not the sort to bring trouble on a -woman, last of all this woman." - -"You prose on, uncle, not remembering what it felt like to feel your -blood run hot at a woman's voice," answered Myles with unusual -impatience and a flash of eye. "I give him all the credit you desire -and more; I know he is honourable and upright and true. What then? -Highest honour has broken down before this temptation. He is made of -flesh and blood after all, and a man can't live within a span of a woman -he loves and be happy--not if that woman belongs to somebody else. I -don't assert that his love still exists, yet it's an immortal thing--not -to be killed--and though he thinks he has strangled it--who can say? It -may come to life again, like he did." - -"You judge others by your own honest character; but I'm not so certain. -If there is a man who could live platonically beside a woman he loves, -that man might be Yeoland. There's something grotesque in him -there--some warp or twist of fibre. Remember how well content he was in -the past to remain engaged to her without rushing into her arms and -marrying her. He's cold-blooded--so to call it--in some ways. I've -known other such men." - -"It's contrary to nature." - -"Contrary to yours, but temperaments are different Don't judge him. -There may be a want in him, or he may possess rare virtues. Some are -ascetic and continent by disposition and starve Nature, at some secret -prompting of her own. I don't say he is that sort of man, but he may -be. Certainly his standpoint is far less commonplace than yours." - -"I caught him kissing a pretty milkmaid once, all the same; and that -after he was engaged to Honor," answered the other gloomily. - -"Exactly. Now you would not do such a thing for the world, and he would -make light of it. Beauty merely intoxicates some men; but intoxicated -men do little harm as a rule. He's irresponsible in many ways; yet -still I say the husband that fears such a man must be a fool." - -"I can't suppose him built differently to other people." - -"Then assume him to be the same, and ask yourself this question: Seeing -what he did for love of her, and granting he loves her still, has he -come back to undo what he did? Would he change and steal her now, even -if he had the power to do so? What has he done in the past that makes -you dream him capable of such a deed in the future?" - -"I don't say that he dreams that such a thing is possible. Probably the -man would not have returned into the atmosphere of Honor if he had dimly -contemplated such an event. But I see nothing in his character to lift -him above the temptation, or to make me rest sure he will be proof -against it. There's a danger of his opening his eyes too late to find -the thing which he doubtless believes impossible at present an -accomplished fact." - -"What thing?" - -"Why, the wakening again of his love for her, the returned knowledge -that his life is empty and barren and frost-bitten without her. He felt -that once. What more natural than that, here again, he should feel it -redoubled in the presence of his own good fortune in every other -direction?" - -"If such a suspicion crossed his mind, he would depart from Godleigh. -That I do steadfastly believe. Understand, your welfare would not weigh -with him; but Honor's happiness--I feel more assured of it--is still -more to him than his own." - -"I know--I know; yet how easily a man in love persuades himself that a -woman's vital welfare and real happiness depends upon him." - -"Now we argue in a circle, and are at the starting-point again. Yeoland -believed so thoroughly that she would be happier with you than with him -that he actually blotted himself out of her life, and, when he heard she -would not marry you while he lived, let it be known that he was dead. -Solely for her sake he played that cumbrous prank." - -"That is so; yet remember what you told me years ago. Then you honestly -believed that this man, from the depths of his own peculiar nature, -understood Honor better than anybody else in the world did. You thought -that, and you are seldom wrong about people. So perhaps he has come to -that conclusion too. If I was the wrong husband for her----" - -"I never said such a thing." - -"No, because I never asked you; but if it was so, what more likely than -that he has discovered it since his return? At any rate he may think -that this is the case--though I dispute it with all my heart--and he may -feel his sacrifice was vain. Then, what more likely than that he should -ask himself if it is too late to amend the position?" - -Mr. Endicott's face expressed absolute surprise and some scorn for the -speaker. - -"Do I hear Myles Stapledon? Where have you sucked poison since last we -spoke together? You, who live in the fresh air and enjoy the -companionship of natural beasts and wholesome lives, to spin this trash! -And wicked trash, too, for what right have you to map out evil roads for -other people to follow? What right have you to foretell a man's plan -and prophesy ill? Have done with this dance of Jack-o'-lanterns, and get -upon the solid road again. Look in your wife's character. No need to -go further than that for ointment to such a wound as you suffer from. -You have let jealousy into the house, Myles, and the reek of it and the -blight of it will make your life rotten to the marrow if you don't set -to work and cleanse the chamber again. I know they are happy together; -but you've got to face that. I know she's better for his coming, and -you've got to face that too. These are subtle things, and if you can't -understand them, put them behind you. All this is false fire, and -you're in a ferment of windy misery brewed inside you--just wind, -because the home-coming of this native has upset your digestion. You -ought to feel some shame to harbour such a pack of imps. Time was when -a breath of air from Cosdon Beacon would have blown them back to their -master. How they got in I can't say; for it's not part of your real -character to make trouble. You're like the ploughboy who builds a -ghostie with a sheet and turnip and only frightens himself. Get this -weed out of your heart at any cost. Burn it out with the caustic of -common sense; and trust me, blind as I am, to be quick enough to smell -the smoke that tells of fire. I mean in this matter. Honor's only less -to me than she is to you. And I know the truth about her as sure as I -know the sound of her voice and the things it says, and the secrets it -lets out, apart from the words her tongue speaks." - -"She's said many a queer thing on the subject of a man and his wife and -their relations each to the other. I cannot easily forget them." - -"It's her wide, healthy frankness in every affair of life that might set -you at rest, if you were not, as I hint to you, a fool." - -"If I were a fool, it might. I know she holds the tie lightly. Any -conventional sort of bondage angers her. I won her by a trick--not of my -hatching, God knows--yet none the less a trick." - -"You'd make Job lose his patience--you, that I thought a man of ideas as -fresh and wholesome as the west wind! Can't you see this cuts both -ways? She's yours till death parts you, so have done whining. You're -stirring hell-broth, that's what you're doing, and if you let Honor -catch a sight of the brew, there will be some real, live trouble very -likely. You, to break out like this! Well, it shows how true the -saying runs: that every man, from Solomon down, is mad when the wind -sets in one quarter. Now you've found your foul-weather wind, and it's -like to blow you into some play-acting if you don't pull yourself up. -You're the luckiest man on the whole countryside, if you could only see -it so. Be patient, and put your faith in your wife, where it should be, -and go your old gait again." - -"I'll try your remedy--ignore the thing, banish it, laugh at it." - -"Laugh at yourself; if you could only learn to do that, there'd be hope -for you. And take another point to your comfort. We're all agreed that -Yeoland's no hypocrite, whatever else he may be. Three days since I had -speech with him, and your name was on his lips, and he rejoiced that you -were his friend and Honor's husband. He does not dream that his return -to life has either gladdened her or troubled you. He only sees her now -pretty much as she was when he went away. He hasn't seen what you and I -have--her sorrows. But, remember that Honor's real happiness rests with -you--nobody else--and she knows it, and trusts to you for it. Nobody can -ever take your place, and if she glimpses a serious change in you, -she'll soon be down in the mouth, and, as like as not, a lie-abed -again." - -"She has seen a change. She has asked me what was amiss." - -"Then stir yourself, and make a giant's effort before she finds out more -than you want her to know. I'm glad I spoke to you to-night--wish I had -sooner; but it's not too late. You've had tangles to untie in your -character before to-day--puzzles to pick--dirty corners to let the light -in upon. Who hasn't? And you're not the one to fear such work, I -should reckon. So set about it, and the Lord help you." - -Myles Stapledon rose and took the old man's hand. - -"Thank you," he said. "You've done me good, and I'll try to be worthy -of your advice. I don't quite know what this place would be without -you, Uncle Endicott." - -"Quieter, my son--that's all. I'm only a voice. Words are poor things -alongside actions. The great deeds of the world--the things -achieved--are not chattered by the tongue, but rise out of sweat, and -deep, long silences. Yet I've given you advice worth following, I do -think, though, seeing that your blind spot looks like jealousy, what -I've bid you do may be harder than you imagine. So much more credit if -you do it." - -Neither spoke again, and Stapledon, taking the candle, soon went to his -bed; but Mark sat on awhile over his knitting in the dark, while the -crickets chirruped fearlessly about the dim and dying peat. - - - - - *CHAPTER V.* - - *A HUNTING MORNING* - - -On such a morning as hunting folk live for, some ten days after the -conversation between Stapledon and Mr. Endicott, Christopher, who did -not himself hunt, drove Honor to a meet of the Mid Devon. Taking his -dog-cart down a mossy by-path at the spinney-side, he stopped not fifty -yards distant from where a patch of scarlet marked the huntsman's -standpoint. Above was a race of broken clouds and gleam of sunshine -from pale blue sky; below spread opaline air and naked boughs, save -where great tods of ivy shone; while underneath nervous tails twitched -among brown fern and wintry furzes. Then a whimper came from the heart -of the wood, and two old hounds threw up their heads, recognised the -sound for a youngster's excitement, and put nose to earth again. A -minute later, however, and a full bay echoed deep and clear; whereupon -the pair instantly galloped whence the music came. - -Honor and her companion sat in Christopher's dog-cart behind a fine grey -cob. - -"They know that's no young duffer," said Yeoland, as the melody waxed -and the hounds vanished; "he's one of their own generation and makes no -mistake. If the fox takes them up to the Moor, sport is likely to be -bad, for it's a sponge just now, and the field won't live with the -hounds five minutes. Ah! he's off! And to the Moor he goes." - -Soon a business-like, hard-riding, West Country field swept away towards -the highlands, and silence fell again. - -Christopher then set out for Little Silver, while conversation drifted -to their personal interests and the prosperity in which each now -dwelt--a thing foreseen by neither three short years before. They had -no servant with them and spoke openly. - -"My touchstone was gold; yours a husband of gold," said Christopher. -"Money he possessed too, but it is the magic man himself who has made -Endicott's what it is now." - -"Yes, indeed--dear Myles. And yet I'm half afraid that the old, simple -joy in natural things passes him by now. It seems as though he and I -could never be perfectly, wholly happy at the same time. While I went -dismal mad and must have made his life a curse, he kept up, and never -showed the tribulation that he felt, but was always contented and -cheerful and patient. Now that I am happier, I feel that he is not. -Yes, he is not as happy as I am. He has told me a thousand times that -content is the only thing to strive for; and certainly he proved it, for -he was well content once; but now our positions are reversed, and I am -contented with my life, while daily he grows less so." - -"He's a farmer, and a contented farmer no man ever saw, because God -never made one." - -"It isn't that; the work never troubles him. He looks far ahead and -seems to know, like a wizard, long before the event just what is going -to be successful and what a failure. I think I know him better than -anybody in the world, but I can't fathom him just now. Something is -worrying him, and he tries hard not to let it worry him and not to show -that it does. Partly he is successful, for I cannot guess the trouble; -but that there is a trouble he fails to hide. I must find it out and -take my share. Sometimes I think----" - -She broke off abruptly. - -"What? Nothing that involves me? We're the best, truest friends now, -thank heaven." - -"No, no. Time will reveal it." - -For a moment or two they were silent with their thoughts. It struck -neither that such a conversation was peculiar; it occurred to neither -the man nor the woman that in the very fact of their friendship--of a -friendship so close that the wife could thus discuss her husband's -trouble--there existed the seed of that trouble. - -Christopher mused upon the problem, and honestly marvelled before it. - -"I suppose nobody can be happy really, and he's no exception to the -rule. Yet, looking at his life, I should account him quite the luckiest -man I ever heard of. Consider the perfection that he has crammed into -his existence. He prospers in his farm; he has Nestor under his roof in -the shape of your wiseacre of an uncle; and he has you! Providence must -have been puzzled to find a way to hurt him. And she hasn't hit him -under the belt either, for never a man enjoyed finer health. Now where -can he have come across melancholy? I suppose it's his hereafter, or -non-hereafter, that's bothering him. Yet I should judge that the man -was too sane to waste good time in this world fretting because he -doesn't believe in another." - -"It's a cloud-shadow that will pass, I hope." - -"I hope so heartily--such a balanced mind as he has. Now if I began to -whine--one who never did carry any ballast--you could understand it. -Look ahead and compare our innings. His will end gloriously with -children and grandchildren and all the rest of it. And I--but if I -painted the picture you'd probably say I was a morbid, ungrateful -idiot." - -"Very likely; and I should probably be quite right. There's a great duty -staring you in the face now, Christo, and nobody who cares for you will -be contented or happy until you've tackled it like a man. Don't look so -innocent; you know perfectly well what I mean." - -"Indeed I do not. I am doing my duty to Godleigh--that's my life's work -henceforth, and all anybody can expect." - -"But that is just what you are not doing. You're not everybody, -remember; and even if you think you are, you won't live for ever. -You'll have to go and sleep in real earnest under the skulls with bats' -wings, poor Christo, some day, and Myles and I shall be outside under -the grass." - -"Who is morbid now?" - -"Don't evade the point. I want you to think of the thing you love best -in the world--Godleigh." - -"Well?" - -"Godleigh has got to go on. It won't stop because you do--Godleigh's -immortal. When a tree falls there, Nature will plant another. Then -what is to become of the dearest, loveliest place in Devon after you are -gathered to your fathers?" - -"I'm going to leave it to you and Myles and your heirs for ever." - -"Don't be ridiculous, Christo; you're going to leave it to a rightful -heir, and it's high time you began to devote a little thought to him. -Don't wait until you're a stupid, old, middle-aged thing of half a -century. Then you'll probably die in the gloomy conviction that you -leave your children mere helpless infants." - -"So much the better for them, for they'd escape the example of their -father. But, as a matter of fact, I'm not going to marry. Godleigh's -my mother and sister and brother and wife and family." - -"Then you'll leave your family unprovided for, and that's a very wicked -thing to do. We're growing old and sensible nowadays, and there'll be -plain speaking between us as long as we live; so I tell you now that -I've thought of this very seriously indeed, and so has Myles. He quite -agees with me; and my opinion is that you ought to marry; the sooner the -better." - -"Don't," he said; "don't go in for having opinions. When anybody begins -to cultivate and profess opinions their sense of humour must be on the -wane. Keep your mind free of rooted ideas. You were wont to love the -rainbow play of change, to welcome sudden extremes as a sign of health -and mental activity. Before you married you hated opinions." - -"That was before I grew happy, I think. Happiness runs one into a -groove very quickly; it steadies our ideas. Now, you won't be perfectly -happy until you marry." - -"To find her." - -"Why, that's not so difficult." - -"Never, Honor. There was only one possible mother for my children. You -are going over ground that I travelled centuries ago; at least it seems -centuries. I told my fib and looked ahead, quite like a son of wisdom -for once, and counted the cost, or tried to. Let all that sleep. I -shall never know to my dying day how I brought it off, but I did. -Perhaps a generous sympathy for unborn boys and girls had as much to do -with it as anything else. Candidly and without sentiment, it is time we -Yeolands came to an end. For my part I shall die easier knowing that -I'm the last of them. I never was very keen about living for the mere -sake of living, even in old days, and now I care less than ever. Not -that I want to die either; but I go wandering through this great, -roaring, rollicking, goose-fair of a world, stopping at a booth here, -shooting for nuts or something equally valuable there; and when Dustman -Death surprises me, pottering about and wasting my money,--when he puts -out his grey claws and asks for his own again, I shall welcome him with -perfect cheerfulness." - -"Nonsense--and wicked nonsense! You--what?--thirty-two, or some absurd -age--trying to talk like Uncle Mark! And Godleigh free! I won't have -it, Christo. If ever you loved me, you must obey me in this and find a -wife." - -"Can't; won't; too small-hearted. I've got nothing to give a girl; and -all your fault. Some of me really died, you know, when I pretended that -all of me did." - -"Then I suppose that it's my turn to go away and perish now? Would you -feel equal to marrying anybody if I was dead?" - -"Not a parallel instance at all. For you there was a grand chap -waiting--a man worth having; else I should not have died, I assure you. -In my case there's no grand woman waiting; so if you expire, you will -merely be bringing a great deal of trouble upon many excellent people -and doing nobody the least good--not even my nebulous prospective lady. -No, Myles and I would merely share a mile of crape and live in black -gloves for ever. You die! What a thought!" - -"Sometimes I wish I had long ago." - -"No; you must live to brighten these dull Devonshire winters and strew -flowers upon your husband and me when our turns come. Dear old -Stapledon! I'm really bothered to know that something is troubling him. -I'd tackle him myself, only if you cannot win the truth, I certainly -should not. I wish he'd be confidential; I do like confidential men. -For my part I haven't got a secret from him in the world." - -"He works too hard." - -"He does. The man has a horrible genius for making work. It knocks the -vitality out of him. I hate this modern gospel that sets all of us poor -little world-children to our lessons as a panacea for every evil under -the sun. Just look what dull dogs all the hard workers are." - -"Well, you've played truant from your youth up." - -"Deliberately, as an example to others. But I'm doing any amount of -work now. Brain-work too; which is easily the most hateful sort of -work. And all for my Godleigh. Yet she doesn't thank me. I see poor -Mother Nature stealing about miserably and suspiciously when I go into -the woods. She liked me better a pauper. She doesn't know that I'm -helping her to make this little corner of earth more and more perfect. -She doesn't look ahead and judge how much toil and trouble I am saving -her with the ruins of things that must be cleared away--either by her -method or my quicker one. She hates axes and ploughs and pruning-hooks, -old stick-in-the-mud that she is." - -"Treason!" - -"No treason at all. Common sense I call it. I'm weary of this nonsense -about going straight to Nature. Australia taught me to suspect. She's a -bat, a mole; she doesn't know her best friends. She'll sink a saint in -mid-ocean--a real saint with an eighteen-carat halo--and let a pirate -come safely and happily to some innocent merchantman stuffed with the -treasures of honest men, or her own priceless grains and seeds. She'll -put back the hand of progress at the smallest opportunity; she'll revert -to the primitive if you turn your back on her for an instant; she'll -conjure our peaches into wild plums, our apples into crabs, man -into--God knows what--something a good deal lower than the angels, or -even the cave-dwellers. If we let her, she would hunt for and polish up -the missing link again, and huddle the world backwards faster than we -spin round the sun. Nature is a grand fraud, Honor. Take the personal -attitude, for instance. What has she ever done for me? Did she show me -any of her hoarded gold during the month I nearly killed myself -exploring in New South Wales? Did she lead me to the water-holes when I -was thirsty, or lend me a cloud to hide the sun when I was hot? Has she -opened a flower-bud, or taught a bird to sing, or painted a dawn, or -ever led the wind out of the east, that I might be the happier? We fool -ourselves that we are her favourites. Not so. She is only our -stepmother, and behaves accordingly. She knew that the advent of -conscious intelligence must be a death-blow to her, and she has never -forgiven man for exhibiting it." - -"So I'm not the only one in Little Silver who is developing opinions, I -see," laughed Honor. "You're growing egotistical, Christo; you're -expecting almost too much, I fear. Nature has something better to do -than plan your private fortune and convenience, or arrange the winds of -heaven to suit a cold in that silly head of yours! Never in my most -dead-alive moment did I grow so dull as that. To be cross with poor -Nature--as if she had not to do what she is told, like everybody else. -To blame her!" - -"I don't blame her. I know where to throw the blame of things perfectly -well." - -"Then you're the only man in the world who does, and you ought to tell -everybody and so make yourself famous." - -Thus they prattled in the old manner, and, unconscious of difficulty or -danger, passed upon their way. Much each saw of the other; much frank -delight each took in the other's company; and through the passage of -winter to the advent of spring they progressed, coming nearer and nearer -to discovery of the secret tribulation in Stapledon's heart that each -now innocently, honestly mourned and misunderstood. - - - - - *CHAPTER VI.* - - *LOVE OF MAN* - - -Mr. Gregory Libby, to whom circumstance denied any opportunity of close -investigation, at length came upon a conclusion respecting the daughters -of Jonah Cramphorn, and allowed his judgment to be unconsciously -influenced by his desire. That is to say he arrived at a mistaken -decision because the balance of his feeble, physical emotions weighed -toward Sally. She was the eldest and the fairest; he concluded, -therefore, that she enjoyed the greater proportion of her parent's -regard, and must the more materially benefit under his will in time to -come. He braced himself for the crucial question, and it happened that -he did so but two days after a very significant symposium at Endicott's, -during which Mr. Cramphorn occupied the position of chief speaker, and -his daughters were the principal theme of conversation. From discussion -upon these primitive maids, and their father's opinion concerning them, -discourse had truly ranged to higher subjects; but not before Jonah made -definite statements of a sort that deeply moved one among his listeners. - -Behind the obscurity blown from a clay tobacco-pipe, Henry Collins sat, -round-eyed and wretched. He gasped with most unselfish sorrow for the -girl he loved, and committed to memory certain surly assertions of Mr. -Cramphorn concerning her, with a purpose to forewarn Sally of the fate -her future held. For Jonah spoke definitely and doggedly. He weighed -the merits of his own daughters with Spartan frankness, and, arriving at -judgment, declared Margery's filial conduct a lesson to Little Silver, -regretted Sally's indifference and independence of manners, and -concluded with complacent hints that his knowledge of human nature was -not wont to be at fault, and that she best able to administer wisely his -worldly wealth should have it as a just reward, when he passed beyond -need of cottage or savings bank. - -These utterances Libby heard too late, but Cramphorn's elder daughter -became acquainted with them immediately after they were spoken, thanks -to the enterprise of Henry Collins. He felt it his duty to the woman -that she should be put in possession of such gloomy predictions, while -yet power might lie with her to falsify them. - -"Afore the whole comp'ny he said it," declared Henry; "an' he'm a man as -knaws no shadder of turning most times. An' he haven't got the wisdom -of a mouse neither--not in this matter; so it'll surely happen, onless -you fall in wi' his ways more an' knock onder oftener than what you do." - -"I've seed it comin', an' he'm a cruel wretch," answered Sally with many -pouts. "An' her's worse--my sister, I mean. Sly minx, she've plotted -an' worked for it wi' low onderhand ways--cooing to un; an' glazin' at -un when he talked, as if he was King Solomon; an' spendin' her pence in -pipes for un; an' findin' his book-plaaces to church--'Struth! I could -wring her neck, an' 'tis more'n likely I shall do it wan day." - -"But he doan't knaw--Libby, I mean--though he's sartain to hear soon; -an' your faither won't tell Margery for fear she should give awver -fussin' 'bout arter un, when she knaws his will's writ an' signed an' -can't be called back. So I comed to say that I doan't care a feather -for all his money, an' I loves you better'n ever--better'n better now -he'm set against 'e." - -"Ess, I knaw all that; and doan't 'e tell this tale to nobody else; an' -bid them others, as heard my auld beast of a faither, to keep it in an' -tell nobody. Wance Libby knaws, 'tis----" - -"All up. Ess, so 'tis, Sally; an' doan't that shaw 'e what fashion o' -dirt the man's made of? Do 'e want a chap to marry you for what you -take to un in your hand? Do 'e----" - -"Doan't ax no more questions now, theer's a dear sawl. I ban't in no -fettle to answer 'em, an' I be sore hurt along o' this. A gude darter -as I've been tu. An' her--no better'n a stinging long-cripple--a snake -as'll bite the hand that warms it. I wish I was dead, I do. Go away, -caan't 'e? I doan't want your 'ankersher. Let my tears alone, will 'e? -I wish they was poison. I'd mingle 'em wi' her food--then us would see. -Go--go away! Be you deaf? I'll scream my heart out in a minute if you -bide theer!" - -Collins, desiring no such catastrophe, made haste to disappear; and such -is the rough-and-tumble of things that chance willed this dramatic -moment for the entrance of Gregory Libby. Big with fate he came from -hedge-trimming, and shone upon Sally's grief like the sun of June upon a -shower. She was sobbing and biting her red lips; and he, with the -dignity of toil yet manifested about him, dropped his sickle, flung off -his gloves, led Sally behind a haystack, and bid her sit down and relate -her sorrow. - -"Just gwaine to take my bit of dinner," he said; "so you can tell while -I eat. What's the matter? You'm wisht, an' your butivul cheeks be all -speckly-like wi' cryin'." - -She swallowed her tears, sucked her lips, and smiled through the storm. - -"Nought--a flea kicked me. Sit here an' I'll pull down a bit o' dry out -o' the stack for 'e." - -"Ban't awften them wonnerful butcher-blue eyes o' yourn shed tears, I'm -sure," he mumbled with his mouth full; "but we've all got our troubles -no doubt. An' none more'n me. I'm that lonesome wi'out mother to do -for me. I never thought as I'd miss her cookin' an' messin' 'bout the -house so much. An' what's money wi'out a woman to spend it--to spend it -on me, I mean?" he added hastily. "I want a wife. A gude woman stands -between a man an' all the li'l twopenny-ha'p'ny worrits as his mind be -tu busy tu trouble 'bout. I want a useful gal around me, an' wan as'll -take the same view of me what mother done." - -"You'm a marryin' man for sartain." - -"I be. An' I've thought an' thought on it till I got the 'eadache; an' -my thoughts doan't go no further'n you, Sally." - -"Lard, Gregory dear!" - -"True's I'm eatin' onions. I've been figuring you up for years. An' -now I knaw we'm likely to be a very fitting man an' wife. You knawed -mother; and you knaw me, as ban't a common man ezacally, so say the -word." - -"Oh, Gregory! An' I thought you was after my sister!" - -"She'm a very gude gal, an' a very nice gal tu," said Mr. Libby with his -usual caution. "No word against her would I say for money. An' if you -wasn't here, I'd sooner have her than any other. A brave, bowerly -maiden wi' butivul hands to her, an' a wonnerful onderstandin' way, -an'----" - -"Ess, but 'tis me you love--me--not her?" - -"Ban't I tellin' you so? I say it in cold blood, after thinkin' 'pon -it, to an' from, for years. An' I'll tell you how mother treated me, -for you couldn't do no better'n what she did. She onderstood my habits -perfect." - -"God knaws I'll make 'e a gude wife, Greg. An' no call to tell me -nothin' of that 'bout your mother, 'cause I'll be more to 'e than she; -an' I'll think for 'e sleepin' an' wakin', an' I'll work for 'e to my -bones, an' love the shadow of 'e." - -"I'm glad to hear you say so, Sally, though mother's ways was very well -considered. The thing be to make up your mind as I'm in the right all -times, as a thinking man mostly is." - -"I knaw you will be; an' a gude husband, as'll stand up for me against -all the world, an' see I ban't put upon or treated cruel." - -"I will do so. An' 'tis odds if I'll let 'e do any work at all arter -you'm wedded to me--work 'cept about my house, I mean." - -"No, for 'twill take me all my time workin' for 'e, an' makin' your home -as it should be." - -"Kiss me," he said suddenly, "an' kiss me slow while I take my full of -it. Theer's blood 'pon your lips! You've bited 'em. What's fretted 'e -this marnin'? Not love of me, I warn 'e?" - -"'Twas, then--just love of you, Greg; an' fear that the fallin' out of -cruel things might make 'e turn away from me." - -He patted her cheek and stroked it; then her neck; and then her plump -bosom. - -"So butivul an' fat as a pattridge you be! An' I'm sure I love 'e -tremenjous; an' nothin' shall never part us if you say so." - -"Then all my tears was vain, an'--an' I'll grow a better woman an' say -longer prayers hencefarrard--for thanksgivings 'cause I've got 'e." - -"'Tis a gude match for you, Sally; an' I do trust as you'll never make -me to regret I spoke." - -"Never, never; an' you'll never love nobody else, will 'e?" - -"Not so long as you'm a gude wife an' a towser to work. My mind was -always temperate 'an sober towards petticoats, as be well knawn." - -"Oh, I could sing an' dance for sheer joy, I could! An' so chapfallen -just afore you comed. But what's a faither to a lover--'specially such -a sour faither as mine?" - -"Doan't you quarrel wi' Cramphorn, however," said Gregory; "he'm the -last man as I'd have you fall out with." - -"Quarrel! I never quarrel with nobody. But he ban't like -you--even-tempered an' fair. A wan-sided, cranky man, faither. I be -his eldest, yet Margery's put afore me. He can't see through her dirty, -hookem-snivey tricks an' lying speeches. I be straight an' plain, same -as you, an' he hates me for it." - -Mr. Libby's heart sank low. - -"Hates you? D'you say your faither hates you?" - -"Well, the word ban't big enough seemin'ly. I can tell you now, because -we'm tokened, an' my heart shan't never have no secret from you. But he -likes Margery best because she foxes him, an' fules him, an' tells him -he's a wonder of the world; an' he believes it. An' Collins says as -he've awpenly gived out that she'm to have all his gudes an' his money. -Why for do 'e give awver lovin' me?" - -For Mr. Libby's arm, which was round Sally's waist, fell away from that -pleasant circumference, and an expression of very real misery spread -over his face to the roots of his yellow hair. - -"'His gudes an' his money'?" he asked, in a faint voice, that sounded as -though he had been frightened. - -"Ess. Why, you'm as if somebody had suddenly thrawed a bucket of water -awver 'e! Doan't think I care 'bout his money now. You'll have to make -him chaange his mind bimebye. When you'm my husband, you'll have to -tackle faither an' see he doan't cut me away." - -The man's brain went cold. Desire had vanished out of his eyes, and -Sally might have been a stone beside him. He flung away the remainder -of his luncheon, and uttered a hearty oath or two. - -"'Tis a damned oncomely thing, an', as it takes two to a quarrel, -theer's some fault your side as well as his, I reckon. What be the -reason as Margery's more to him than you--his eldest?" - -"Because she'm a lyin' slammockin' female twoad--that's the reason; an' -he caan't see through her." - -There was a moment of heavy silence; then Gregory Libby spoke. - -"Doan't say nothin' 'bout what we've planned out to-day. Doan't tell -nobody. Time enough come Spring." - -"Say nought! I'd like to go up 'pon top the hill an' sing out my gude -fortune for all ears to hear!" - -"No, bide quiet. Us'll let 'em have the gert surprise of it in church. -None shall knaw till we'm axed out some Sunday marnin'." - -"'Twill bust upon 'em like thunder. I lay Margery will faint if she'm -theer." - -"An' us'll have the laugh of 'em all." - -"'Tis as you please, Greg." - -"An' you'll take your oath not to tell?" - -"Not even mistress?" - -"Certainly not she." - -"Nor yet Missis Loveys?" - -"So soon tell all Little Silver." - -"You might let me just whisper it to my awn sister. 'Twill be a cruel -stroke if her hears it fust afore all the people to church." - -"If you say a syllable of it to Margery, 'tis off!" declared Mr. Libby, -and with such earnestness did he speak that the girl was alarmed, and -made hasty assurances. - -"Very well, I promise an' swear, since I must. But how long be I to go -dumb? Remember, 'tis tu gert a thing for a woman to keep hid for long. -You'm cruel, Greg, lovey, to ax it. I'll have to blaze it out soon or -bust with it." - -"Wait my time. It ban't to be awver-long, that I promise 'e." - -"Kiss me again, Greg; an' cuddle me." - -"You take your dyin' oath?" - -"Ess, I said so." - -"Very well; now I must go back to my work." - -Presently they separated, and Sally, full of her secret, walked upon air -through a golden world, with her hot heart's core aglow, while Mr. Libby -bit his hare-lip, employed many coarse words for the benefit of the -hedge he hacked at, and put a spite and spleen into each stroke that -soon blunted his bill-hook. He was now faced with a problem calling for -some ingenuity. He yearned to know how he might retrieve his error, and -get well free of Sally before approaching her sister upon the same -errand. Where to turn for succour and counsel he knew not. "If mother -was awnly alive for ten minutes!" he thought. As for another ancient -dame, Charity Grepe, she--publicly exposed as a fraud and delusion by -Jonah Cramphorn--had found her occupation gone in earnest, and now -reposed at Chagford poor-house. There was none to help the unhappy -orphan in his trouble. The matter looked too delicate for masculine -handling; and even Gregory had sense to perceive that it would be easy -for others to take a wrong attitude before his dilemma and judge him -harshly. Then came an inspiration to this lack-lustre son of the soil. - -"No pusson else but she heard me tell her," he reflected. "Theer's awnly -her word for it, an' I'll up an' say 'tis a strammin' gert lie, an' that -she was mazed or dreamin', an' that I wouldn't marry her for a hunderd -sovereigns! I'll braave her to her faace, if it comes to that. -Folks'll sooner believe a man than a woman most times; an' if I ban't -spry enough to awver-reach a fule of a outdoor farm-gal on such a -matter, 'tis pity." - - - - - *CHAPTER VII.* - - *LAPSES* - - -During early spring a new experience came to Myles Stapledon. -Physically perfect, he had known no ache or ill until now; but chance -for once found him vulnerable. From a heavy downpour upon the land he -returned home, found matters to occupy him immediately, and so forgot to -doff wet clothes at the earliest opportunity. A chill rewarded his -carelessness, and a slight attack of pneumonia followed upon it. For the -first time within his recollection the man had to stop in bed, but -during the greater part of his illness Myles proved patient enough. -Honor ministered to him untiringly; Mr. Endicott was much in the -sick-room also; and from time to time, when the master was returning -towards convalescence, Cramphorn or Churdles Ash would enter to see him -with information concerning affairs. - -Then, during one of the last wearisome days in his bed-chamber, at a -season when the invalid was somewhat worn with private thoughts and -heartily sick of such enforced idleness, an unfortunate misunderstanding -threw him off his mental balance and precipitated such a catastrophe as -those who knew Stapledon best had been the least likely to foresee. He -was in fact forgotten for many hours, owing to a common error of his -wife and uncle. Each thought the other would tend the sick man, so -Honor departed to Newton Abbot with Christopher Yeoland, and Mark, quite -ignorant of his niece's plans, was driven by Tommy Bates to Okehampton. -The pitiful mistake had not dwelt an hour in Stapledon's memory under -ordinary circumstances, but now, fretted by suffering and as ill able to -bear physical trouble as any other man wholly unfamiliar with it, his -lonely hours swelled and massed into a mountain of bitter grievance. He -brooded and sank into dark ways of thought. Temptations got hold upon -him; the ever-present thorn turned in his flesh and jealousy played with -his weakness, like a cat with a mouse. Upon Honor's return the man -afforded his wife, a new sensation and one of the greatest surprises -that experience had ever brought to her. - -Unaware of his lonely vigil, she returned home in high good humour, -kissed him, complimented him on the fact that this was to be his last -day in bed, and remarked upon the splendour of the sunset. - -"'At eventide it shall be light,'" she said; "and Christo was so rapt in -all the glory of gold and purple over Cosdon, as we drove home from -Moreton, that he nearly upset me and his dog-cart and himself. Yet I -wish you could see the sky. It would soothe you." - -"As winter sunshine soothes icicles--by making their points sharper. -Nature's softest moods are cruellest if your mind happens to be in -torment." - -"My dear! Whatever is the matter? And your fire out--oh, Myles, how -wrong!" - -"Is it? Then blame yourself. Since my midday meal and before it I have -seen no soul this day, and heard no voice but the clock. Here alone, -suffering and chewing gall for six hours and more. But what does it -matter so you were pleased with the sunset and your company?" - -"Then where is uncle? Surely----? I _am_ so sorry, dear one. We've -muddled it between us, and each thought you were in the keeping of the -other." - -"Don't be sorry. What do I matter? Where have you been?" - -"To Newton with Christo. And he sent you these lovely black grapes. -I'm afraid I ate a few coming home, but I haven't spoiled the bunch." - -"Eat the rest, then, or fling them into the fire. I don't want them." - -"You're angry, Myles; and you have a right to be; yet it was only a -dismal accident. We must light the fire, and I'll get you your tea, -poor ill-used fellow. It was a shame, but I'm very, very penitent, and -so will uncle be." - -"I wish I could get out of your way. Such a bother for you to come back -to a sick-room; and a sick animal in a house is a bore -always--especially to you, who don't love animals." - -The woman's eyes opened wide and she stared at him. - -"Whatever do you mean?" - -"You know well enough. I'm so exacting and my cough keeps you awake at -night, and these drives in the fresh air behind Yeoland's big trotter -must be such a relief to you. Why don't you ask him to drive you right -away--to hell, and have done with it?" - -Honor looked at him, then turned her back and knelt down by the fire. -Presently she spoke. - -"Your thoughts have been ugly company I'm afraid. This is a terrible -surprise, Myles, for I know so well how much you must have suffered -before you could say such things to me. Will you never understand your -own wife?" - -"I think I do--at last." - -"You'll be sorry--very sorry that you could speak so, and let an unhappy -accident be the spark to this. If you had but heard what Christopher -said of you this very day driving home----" - -"Don't begin that folly. That he slights me enough to praise me--and -you listen to him and pretend to think he is in earnest!" - -She did not answer; then he sat up in bed and spoke again. - -"I'm glad that weakness has torn this out of me. I shall be sorry -to-morrow, but I'm glad to-night. Leave the fire and come here. I -don't want to shout. You see what you've dragged me down to; you see -what a snarling cur with his bone stolen I look now. That's your work. -And I'll thank you to put a period to it. I don't live any longer in -this purgatory, however greatly your fool's paradise may please you. -I'm weary of it. It's poisoning me. Either you see too much of this -man or not enough. That is what you have to determine. If too much, -end it; if not enough, mend it, and go to him, body and soul, for -good--the sooner the better." - -"Myles! You, of all men, to be so coarse! Are you mad? Are you -dreaming to speak to your wife so? God knows that I've never done, or -said, or thought anything to anger you to this, or shadow your honour -for a second--nor has he." - -"'He!' Always 'he--he--he'--rooting at your heart-strings, I suppose, -like a ----. What do you know of his thoughts and dreams? How comes it -that you are so read in his life and mind that you can say whether my -honour is so safe with him? I'd sooner trust it with my dogs. Then it -would be safe. Who are you to know what this man's mind holds?" - -"I ought to know, if anybody does." - -"Then go back to him, for God's sake, and let me come to the end of this -road. Let all that is past sink to a memory, not remain a raw, present -wound, that smarts from my waking moment until I sleep again." - -"You are weary of me?" - -"I'm weary of half of you, or a quarter of you, or what particular -proportion of you may still be supposed to belong to me." - -"I am all yours--heart and soul--and you know it; or if you do not, -Christopher Yeoland does." - -"You love him too." - -"That question was answered years ago. I love him, and always shall. -His welfare is much to me. I have been concerned with it to-day." - -"Yet you dare to say you belong heart and soul to me." - -"It is the truth. If you don't understand that, I cannot help you. He -does understand." - -"I lack his fine intellect. You must endeavour to sink to my level and -make this truth apparent to your husband's blunter perceptions. I must -have more than words. Acts will better appeal to me. After to-day I -forbid you to see or speak with Yeoland; and may you never suffer as you -have made me suffer." - -"I will do what you wish. If you had only spoken sooner, Myles, some of -this misery might have been escaped. I wish I had seen it." - -"Any woman who loved honestly would have seen it," he said, hard to the -end. Then, without answering, she left him; and while he turned -restlessly upon himself and regret presently waxed to a deep shame at -this ebullition, she went her way and came to tears leisurely along a -path first marked by frank amazement. Honor's surprise was unutterable. -Never, since the moment of their meeting, had she dreamed or suspected -that any imaginable disaster could thus reduce the high standard by -which Myles conducted his mental life and controlled his temperament. -That physical suffering and a sharp illness should have power to -discover and reveal such a secret much surprised her. She remained -incredulous that she had heard aright. It was as though she had dreamed -the meeting and some nightmare Myles--grotesque, rude, a very -Caliban--had taken shape while her mind ran riot in sleep. Yet it was -true, for the measure of his lapse from customary high courtesy, was the -measure of the months that he had suffered in silence, and the measure -of his wrongs. Wholly imaginary she held them; all he had said was the -outcome of a nature fretted by sickness and reduced below itself, like a -drunken man--this Honor believed; but even so she remained in a stupor -of astonishment. To see such a man with his armour off, to hear strange -words in his mouth, to watch passion on his face, was an experience -unutterably painful. And yet surprise transcended sorrow. She was -almost stunned and dazed by this storm of thunder and lightning from a -mind whose weather had never promised such a tempest. Now the moody -fits and evasive humours could be read a little, for light fell every -way. And Honor sat an hour with her thoughts; then passed from first -emotions to others deeper and truer. She began to regret the past and -blame her blindness. Unconventional enough, she had acted with no -thought of any special significance being read into her actions--least -of all by her husband. A woman of more common mind and nature had seen -the danger and doubtfulness of such relations; but this was her first -revelation of it; and the sudden, somewhat brutal disclosure opened her -eyes widely indeed. She set herself to see and estimate from her -husband's standpoint, to gauge the extent of the justice that had -launched his pent-up outburst, and, upon a paltry misunderstanding, -loosed these tremendous charges, hugged up and hidden within his heart -till now. She ignored the cruel manner of his assault, and felt her -heart beat in fear at this shadow of a master passion. Jealousy was its -name, and an accident of lonely hours with the demon had suffered it to -overwhelm him, tear him, dominate him thus. - -The thread of the woman's thoughts need not be traced as she strove with -these tangles, and slowly restored the ravelled skein. That Myles would -regret this hurricane she knew; that he would ask her forgiveness, and -probably desire her to disregard his demands she suspected. -Self-control was a garment that her husband could scarcely discard for -long, even in sickness; the amazing thing was that it should have proved -a garment at all; for Honor always believed it as much a part of Myles -as his other characteristics. Meantime she asked herself her duty, and -justice spoke, while the woman listened without impatience. - -She understood in some degree the strenuousness of many male characters -upon the subject of ethics; she conceded that men of her husband's stamp -thought and felt more deeply than most women; and she knew that her own -sense of proportion, or sense of humour--which often amounts to the same -thing--had inclined her, rightly or wrongly, to view all relations of -life from an impersonal standpoint, including even those affairs in -which she herself participated. - -She knew the absolute innocence of her inmost soul with respect to -Christopher, and her face flamed here at the thought that her husband -had dared to fear for her honour and his own. But she resolutely -identified her thoughts with his attitude; she reminded herself that -Myles was a bad student of character, and quite unable to see the real -nature of Christopher Yeoland, or understand him as she did. Her brain -grew tired at last, and pity led to tears; but the nature of the pity -was uncertain, and whether she cried for herself, for her husband, or -for both, Honor could not have declared with any certainty. - -That evening, while Mark Endicott was with Myles and his wife sat alone -in her parlour, Christopher Yeoland strolled up to the farm with a -parcel forgotten and left in his vehicle. The master of Godleigh stayed -for a brief chat, made inquiries after Stapledon, and very quickly -discovered that his companion laboured under some secret emotion. Honor -thereupon changed her mind. She had not intended to whisper a hint of -her tragic discovery, but the other's ready sympathy proved too much for -her reserve. Moreover, there was a thought in her that perhaps the -sooner Yeoland knew the truth the better. She told him a little of what -had happened and attributed it to her husband's great present weakness; -yet the thing sounded graver spoken aloud, even in her very guarded -version, and Christopher's forehead showed that he, too, held it -serious. - -"Of course he didn't mean it," she concluded; "and to-morrow he will be -sorry for having spoken so. But I'm afraid that dear Myles will never -understand that we are different from other people." - -"You think we are?" - -"I know we are. Surely we have proved that to one another, if not to -the world." - -"We can't expect people to take us at our own valuation. This row comes -appositely in a way. God knows the truth, but all the same, perhaps the -position is impracticable. The world would say that Myles was right, -and that we were too--too original. Only what's to be done? Of course -he can't forbid us to speak to one another--that's absurd. But, for -some reason, our friendship makes him a miserable man. He's let that -out to-night, poor dear chap." - -"I wish I could understand his attitude; but I must make myself -understand it, Christo. It is my duty." - -"I believe I do know what he feels. It's pride more than jealousy. His -mind is too well hung to be jealous, but pride is the bait to catch all -big natures. He doesn't like to feel any other man has the power to -please you." - -"But remember the basis of our friendship. It must make a difference. -And I have always been so frank. He knew--none better--what we were each -to the other once; and he knows that I am fond of you and always must be -so." - -"Exactly; and that's not knowledge to make him particularly happy. We -have accentuated it of late, and hurt him. He sees perils and troubles -ahead that don't really exist--mere phantoms--yet, from his point of -view, they look real enough. He cannot see, and so there's probably a -growing inclination on his part to kick me out of Little Silver, if such -a thing could be done. Yes, I appreciate his attitude, though he can't -appreciate mine. It comes to this: my deep content in your society is -making him very angry--and worse than angry. He's turning by slow -degrees into a volcano. To-day came the first little eruption--a mere -nothing. Myles will regret it, and to-morrow bank up the fire again in -his usual Spartan way; but he is powerless to prevent the sequel. There -may be a regular Pompeii and Herculaneum presently. Your husband is -built that way, though I never guessed it. If you were mine, and he was -in my position, I should not turn a hair, knowing you and knowing him; -but he is different. He doesn't know me at all, and he doesn't know you -as well as I do. He must be blind to a nature like yours by the -accident of his own personal temperament." - -"He understands me, I am sure--at least, I think so." - -"Not all round. But that's beside the mark. The question is, What -next?" - -"No question at all. My whole life and soul must be devoted to making -him happy in spite of himself." - -"And what must I do?" - -She did not answer, and before need of a definite decision and the -necessity for action, Christopher fell back upon his customary methods. - -"Obviously I must do nothing. Least done soonest mended--a proverb -quite as wise as the one I found it on; for deeds make more bother in -the world than the loudest words. I shall let Time try his hand. It -will probably come out all right when Myles gets well. He's so sane in -most things--only there's my volcano theory, I tell you what; I'll speak -to your uncle and ask him if he sees any difficulty." - -"Can't you make up your mind yourself?" - -"No--unless you express a wish. Otherwise I shall go on as I am going. -I'll see Mr. Endicott, and when Myles is fit again I'll see him. Yes, -that's the road of wisdom. I'll meet him and say, 'Now, old chap, -explode and give me the full force of the discharge. Tell me what you -mean and what you want.'" - -Honor, for her part, found loyalty wakened rather than weakened by her -husband's remonstrances. She desired to return to him--to get back to -his heart. Christopher wearied her just now, and when Mark Endicott -entered from the sick-room, Honor bid Yeoland farewell and hastened to -Myles. - -Yeoland chatted awhile, shared some spirit and water with the blind man, -and then, on a sudden, after private determination to do no such thing, -broached the problem in his mind. - -"Look here," he said; "I've had a nasty jar to-night, Mr. Endicott, and -I'm in no end of a muddle. You know that I'm a well-meaning brute in my -way, even granted that the way is generally wrong. But I wouldn't -really hurt a fly, whereas now, in blissful ignorance, I've done worse. -I've hurt a man---a man I feel the greatest respect for--the husband of -my best friend in the world. It's jolly trying, because he and I are -built so differently. There's an inclination on his part to turn this -thing into the three-volume form apparently. It's such ghastly rot when -you think of what I really am. In plain English, Stapledon doesn't like -his wife to see so much of me. She only discovered this deplorable fact -to-day, and it bewildered her as much as it staggered me. Heaven's my -judge, I never guessed that he was looking at me so. Nor did Honor. -Such kindred spirits as we are--and now, in a moment of weakness, the -man bid her see me no more! Of course, he's too big to go in for small -nonsense of that kind, and he'll withdraw such an absurd remark as soon -as he's cool again; but straws show which way the wind blows, and I want -to get at my duty. Tell me that, and I'll call you blessed." - -"What is Honor to you?" - -"The best part of my life, if you must know--on the highest plane of -it." - -"Don't talk about 'planes'! That's all tom-foolery! You're a wholesome, -healthy man and woman--anyway, other people must assume so. I'll give -you credit for believing yourself, however. I'll even allow your -twaddle about planes does mean something to you, because honestly you -seem deficient--degenerate as far as your flesh is concerned. All the -same, Stapledon is right in resenting this arrangement with all his -heart and soul. His patience has amazed me. Two men can't share a -woman under our present system of civilisation." - -"Which is to say a wife may not have any other intellectual kindred -spirit but her husband. D'you mean that?" - -"No, I don't. I mean that when a man openly says that a woman is the -best part of his life, her husband can't be blamed for resenting it." - -"But what's the good of lying about the thing? Surely circumstances -alter cases? It was always so. He knew that Honor and I loved each -other in our queer way long before he came on the scene. She can't stop -loving me because she has married him." - -"It isn't easy to argue with you, Yeoland," answered Mark quietly; "but -this I see clearly: your very attitude towards the position proclaims -you a man of most unbalanced mind. There's a curious kink in your -nature--that is if you're not acting. Suppose Honor was your wife and -she found greater pleasure in the society of somebody else, and -gradually, ignorantly, quite unconsciously slipped away and away from -you; imperceptibly, remember--so subtly that she didn't know it -herself--that nobody but you knew it. How much of that would you suffer -without a protest?" - -"I shouldn't bother--not if she was happy. That's the point, you see: -her happiness. I constitute it in some measure--eh? Or let us say that -I contribute to it. Then why need he be so savage? Surely her -happiness is his great ambition too?" - -"Granted. Put the world and common sense and seemliness on one side. -They don't carry weight with you. Her happiness then--her lasting -happiness--not the trumpery pleasure of to-day and to-morrow." - -"Is it wise to look much beyond to-morrow when 'happiness' is the thing -to be sought?" - -"Perhaps not--as you understand it--so we'll say 'content.' Happiness -is a fool's goal at best. You love Honor, and you desire for her peace -of mind and a steadfast outlook founded on a basis strong enough to -stand against the storms and sorrows of life. I assume that." - -"I desire for her the glory of life and the fulness thereof." - -"You must be vague, I suppose; but I won't be, since this is a very -vital matter. I don't speak without sympathy for you either; but, in -common with the two of you--Myles and yourself--this silly woman is -uppermost in my mind--her and her good. So, since you ask, I tell you -I'm disappointed with you; you've falsified my predictions of late, and -your present relations with Honor have drifted into a flat wrong against -her husband, though you may be on a plane as high as heaven, in your own -flabby imagination. This friendship is not a thing settled, defined, -marked off all round by boundaries. No friendship stands still, any -more than anything else in the universe. Even if you're built of -uncommon mud, lack your share of nature, and can philander to the end of -the chapter without going further, or thinking further, that is no -reason why you should do so. The husband of her can't be supposed to -understand that you're a mere curiosity with peculiar machinery inside -you. He gives you the credit of being an ordinary man, or denies you -the credit of being an extraordinary one, which you please. So it's -summed up in a dozen words: either see a great deal less of Honor, or, -if you can't breathe the same air with her apart from her, go away, as -an honourable man must, and put the rim of the world between you. Try -to live apart, and let that be the gauge of your true feeling. If you -can bide at Godleigh happy from month to month without sight of her or -sound of her voice, then I'll allow you are all you claim to be and give -you a plane all to yourself above the sun; but if you find you can do no -such thing, then she's more to you by far than the wife of another man -ought to be, and you're not so abnormal as you reckon yourself. This is -going right back upon your renunciation in the beginning--as pitiful a -thing as ever I heard tell about." - -"Stay here and never see her! How would you like it? I mean--you see -and hear with the mind, though your eyes are dark. Of course I couldn't -do that. What's Godleigh compared to her?" - -"And still you say that sight of her and sound of her voice is all you -want to round and complete your life? - -"Emphatically." - -"You're a fool to say so." - -"You don't believe it?" - -"Nor would any other body. Least of all her husband." - -"A man not soaked in earth would." - -"Find him, then. Human nature isn't going to put off its garment at -your bidding. If you're only half-baked--that's your misfortune, or -privilege. You'll have to be judged by ordinary standards -nevertheless." - -"Then I must leave the land of my fathers--I must go away from Godleigh -because a man misunderstands me?" - -"You must go away from Godleigh because, on your own showing, you can't -stop in it without the constant companionship of another man's wife." - -"What a brute you'd make me! That's absolutely false in the spirit, if -true in the letter. The letter killeth. You to heave such a millstone!" - -"You're a poorer creature than I thought," answered Mark sternly, "much -poorer. Yet even you will allow perhaps that it is to her relations -with her husband, not her relations with you, that Honor Endicott must -look for lasting peace--if she's to have it." - -"Yet I have made her happier by coming back into her life." - -"It's doubtful. In one way yes, because you did things by halves--went -out of her life and then came back into it at the wrong moment. I won't -stop to point out the probable course of events if you had kept away -altogether; that might not be fair to you perhaps, though I marvel you -missed the lesson and have forgotten the punishment so soon. Coming -back to her, ghost-haunted as she was, you did make her happier, for you -lifted the horror of fear and superstition from her. But now her -lasting content is the theme. How does your presence here contribute to -that?" - -"It would very considerably if Stapledon was different." - -"Or if he was dead--or if--a thousand 'ifs.' But Stapledon is -Stapledon. So what are you going to do with the advice I've given you?" - -"Not use it, I assure you. Consider what it means to drive me away from -Godleigh!" - -"For her lasting content." - -"I don't know about that. Of course, if it could be proved." - -"You do know; and it has been proved." - -"Not to my satisfaction. I resent your putting me in a separate -compartment, as if I was a new sort of beast or a quaint hybrid. I'm a -very ordinary man--not a phenomenon--and there are plenty more people in -the world who think and act as I do." - -"Go and join them, then," said Mr. Endicott, "for your own peace of mind -and hers. Get out of her life; and remember that there's only one -way--that leading from here. I'm sorry for you, but you'll live to know -I've spoken the truth, unless your conscience was forgotten, too, when -the Lord fashioned you." - -Yeoland grumbled a little; then he brightened up. - -"My first thought was best," he said. "I should not have bothered you -with all this nonsense, for it really is nonsense when you think of it -seriously. I should have stuck to my resolve--to see Myles himself and -thrash this out, man to man. And so I will the moment he's up to it. -The truth is, we're all taking ourselves much too seriously, which is -absurd. Good-night, my dear sir. And thank you for your wisdom; but -I'll see Stapledon--that is the proper way." - - - - - *CHAPTER VIII.* - - *THE ROUND ROBIN* - - -Before they slept that night Myles had expressed deep sorrow to Honor -for his utterances and declared contrition. - -"The suffering is mine," he said; "to look back is worse for me than for -you." - -His wife, however, confessed on her side to a fault, and blamed herself -very heartily for a lapse, not in her love, but in her thoughtfulness -and consideration. She declared that much he had spoken had been -justified, while he assured her that it was not so. - -The days passed, and health returned to Myles; upon which Christopher -Yeoland, believing the recent difficulty dead, very speedily banished it -from his mind, met Stapledon as formerly in perfect friendship, never -let him know that he had heard of the tribulation recorded, and -continued to lead a life quite agreeable to himself, in that it was -leavened from time to time by the companionship of Honor. - -Spring demanded that Myles should be much upon the farm, and the extent -of his present labours appeared to sweep his soul clean again, to purify -his mind and purge it of further disquiet. All that looked unusual in -his conduct was an increased propensity toward being much alone, or in -sole company of his dogs; yet he never declined Honor's offers to join -him. - -She had not failed to profit vitally by the scene in the sick-room, yet -found herself making no return to peace. Now, indeed, Honor told -herself that her husband's state was more gracious than her own; for -there began dimly to dawn upon her heart the truth of those things that -Myles had hurled against her in the flood of his wrath. She divined the -impossible persistence of this divided love, and she felt fear. She was -sundered in her deepest affections, and knew that her peace must -presently suffer, as that of Myles had already suffered. Her peculiar -attitude was unlike that of her husband or the other man. She saw them -both, received a measure of worship from both, and grew specially -impatient against the silent, pregnant demeanour of Mark Endicott. His -regard for her was steadily diminishing, as it seemed, and he took some -pains that she should appreciate the fact. - -It grew slowly within her that the position was ceasing to be tenable -for human nature, and not seldom she almost desired some shattering -outburst to end it. She was greatly puzzled and oftentimes secretly -ashamed of herself; yet could she not lay a finger on the point of her -offending. Nevertheless she missed some attributes of a good wife, not -from the conventional standpoint, which mattered nothing to her, but -from her own standard of right-doing. - -Meantime, behind the barriers now imperceptibly rising and thickening -between man and wife, behind the calm and masklike face that he -presented to the world, Myles Stapledon suffered assault of storm upon -storm. He knew his highest ambitions and hopes were slipping out of -reach; he marked with punctuations of his very heart's throb the -increasing loneliness and emptiness of his inner life; and then he -fought with himself, while his love for Honor waxed. In process of time -he came gradually to convince himself that the problem was reduced to a -point. She loved Christopher Yeoland better than she loved him, or, if -not better, then, at least, as well. She did not deny this, and never -had. Life with him under these circumstances doubtless failed every -way, because his own temperament was such that he could not endure it -placidly. He doubted not that his wife went daily in torment, that she -saw through him to the raging fire hidden from all other eyes. He gave -her credit for that perspicacity, and felt that her existence with him, -under these circumstances, must be futile. He then convinced himself -that her life, if spent with Christopher, would be less vain. Through -dark and hidden abodes of agony his soul passed to this decision; he -tried to make himself feel that he loved her less by reason of these -things; and finally he occupied thought upon the means by which he might -separate himself from her and pass out of her life. - -In the misty spring nights, under budding woodland green, or aloft in -the bosom of silence upon the high lands, he wandered. A dog was his -companion always, and his thoughts were set upon the magic knife, that -should cut him clean out of his wife's existence with least possible -hurt to her. By constitution, conviction, instinct, the idea of suicide -was vile to him. He had spoken of the abstract deed without detestation -in Mark Endicott's company, had even admitted the possibility of heroic -self-slaughter under some circumstances; but faced with it, he turned -therefrom to higher roads, not in fear of such a course, but a frank -loathing rather, because, under conditions of modern life, and with his -own existence to be justified, he held it impossible to vindicate such a -step. And that door closed; he thought of modern instances, and could -recall none to serve as a precedent for him. He turned, then, to -consider the mind of Christopher Yeoland, and endeavoured to perceive -his point of view. Blank failure met him there; but the thought of him -clenched Stapledon's hand, as it often did at this season, and he knew -that hate was growing--a stout plant of many tendrils--from the -prevalent fret and fever of his mind. He worked early and late to -starve this passion, but toil was powerless to come between his spirit -and the problem of his life for long. - -His tribulation he concealed, yet not the outward marks of it. The eyes -of the farm were bright, and it was natural that he should be the focus -of them all. There came a night when Myles and his wife were gone to -Chagford at the wish of others, to lend weight in some parochial -entertainment for a good cause. Mr. Endicott was also of the party, and -so it chanced that the work-folk had Bear Down house-place to -themselves. The opportunity looked too good to miss, and their master -was accordingly discussed by all. - -"Some dark branch of trouble, no doubt," said Henry Collins. "Time was -when he would smoke his pipe and change a thought with the humblest. -Now he's such a awnself man, wi' his eyes always turned into his head, -so to say." - -"Broody-like," declared Churdles Ash; "an' do make his friends o' dumb -beasts more'n ever, an' looks to dogs for his pleasure." - -"Ess; an' wanders about on moony nights, an' hangs awver gates, like a -momet to frighten pixies, if wan may say so without disrespect," -continued Collins. - -"A gert thinker he've grawed of late," said Cramphorn; "an' if I doan't -knaw the marks of thought, who should?" - -"Sure a common man might 'most open a shop with the wisdom in his head," -admitted Sam Pinsent; and Jonah answered-- - -"He ban't wise enough to be happy, however. A red setter's a very gude -dog, but no lasting company for a married man--leastways, he shouldn't -be. Theer's somethin' heavy as a millstone round his neck, an' dumb -beasts can't lift it, fond of 'em as he is. The world's a puzzle to all -onderstandin' people; yet theer's none amongst us havin' trouble but can -find a wiser man than hisself to lighten the load if he'll awnly look -round him. Theer's Endicott, as have forgot more of the puzzle of life -than ever Stapledon knawed; an' theer's Ash, a humble man, yet not -without his intellects if years count for anything; an' me, as have some -credit in company, I b'lieve. Ess, theer's auld heads at his sarvice, -yet he goes in trouble, which is written on his front and in his eyes. -Best man as ever comed to Endicott's tu, present comp'ny excepted." - -"Theer's nought as we could do for his betterment, I s'pose?" asked -Gaffer Ash. "I've knawed chaps quick to take fire at any advice, or -such bowldaciousness from theer servants; but if you go about such a -deed in the name of the Lard, nobody of right honesty can say nothin' -against you. Now theer's a way to do such a thing, an' that is by an -approach all together, yet none forwarder than t'others. Then, if the -man gets angry, he can't choose no scapegoat. 'Tis all or none. A -'round robin' they call the manifestation. You puts a bit of common -sense, or a few gude Bible thoughts in the middle, an' writes your names -about, like the spokes of a cart-wheel, or the rays of the sun sticking -out all around. So theer's nothin' to catch hold of against them as -send it." - -"Seein' we doan't knaw wheer the shoe pinches, the thing be bound to -fail," said Pinsent. "If us knawed wheer he was hit, I be sure auld -blids like you an' Jonah would have a remedy, an' belike might find the -very words for it in the Scriptures; but you caan't offer medicine if -you doan't know wheer a body's took to." - -"'Tis the heart of un," said Cramphorn. "I'm allowed an eye, I think, -an' I've seed very clear, if you younger men have not, that this cloud -have drifted awver him since Squire Yeoland comed to his awn--an' more'n -his awn. Stapledon be out o' bias wi' the world here an' theer no -doubt." - -"I'm sure they'm gert friends, sir, an' awften to be seed abroad of a -airly mornin' together 'pon the lands," piped in Tommy Bates. - -"Shut your mouth, bwoy, till us axes your opinion," retorted Jonah. -"An' come to think on't, seein' the nature of the argeyment, you'd best -clear out of this an' go to bed." - -"Let un listen to his betters," said Mr. Ash. "'Tis right he should, -for the less he listens to men as a bwoy, the bigger fule he'll be come -he graws. 'Tis a falling out contrary to all use," he continued. -"Missis was set 'pon squire fust plaace; then, second place, he died; -an', third place, she married t'other; fourth place, he comed to life; -an' fifthly an' lastly, 'pon this thumb of mine, he graws rich as -Solomon, an' bides in pomp an' glory to Godleigh again." - -"An' they'm awften about together, drivin' an' walkin' for that matter; -though God, He knaws I'd be the last to smell a fault in missis," said -Jonah. - -"Damn bowldacious of the man, however," declared Pinsent. - -"'Tis so; an' all of a piece wi' his empty life, fust to last; an' -that's what's makin' Myles Stapledon go heavy an' forget to give me an' -others 'Gude-marnin'' or 'Gude-evenin',' 'cordin' to the time of day. -He thinks--same as I do--that theer's a sight tu much o' Yeoland in the -air; an' yet he's that worshipful of his wife that, though maybe she -frets him, he'd rather grizzle hisself to fiddle-strings than say a word -to hurt her. 'Mazin' what such a wonnerful woman sees in that vain -buzz-fly of a man." - -"You'm right, no doubt, Jonah," assented Ash. "An' if 'tis as you say, -an' we'm faaced wi' the nature of the ill, us might do our little in all -gude sarvice an' humbleness towards the cure." - -"The cure would be to knock that cockatrice 'pon the head an' scat his -empty brains abroad wance for all. Then the fule would have to be buried -fair an' square, wi' no more conjuring tricks," declared Jonah -Cramphorn. - -"You'm an Auld Testament man, for sartain!" admitted Collins in some -admiration. - -"Fegs! So he be; but these here ain't Auld Testament days," said -Churdles Ash; "an' us caan't taake the law in our awn hands, no matter -how much mind we've got to it. 'Tis a New Testament job in my judgment, -an' us'll do a 'round robin' to rights, an' set out chapter an' verse, -an' give the poor sawl somethin' very high an' comfortin' to chew 'pon. -Truth to tell, he's a thought jealous of his lady's likin' for t'other. -I mean no rudeness, an' if I doan't know my place at fourscore, when -shall I? But so it seems; an' the fact thraws un back 'pon dogs an' his -awn devices, which is very bad for his brain." - -"What's the gude o' texts to a jealous man, whether or no?" asked Jonah -scornfully. - -"Every gude; an' even a bachelor same as me can see it. Fust theer'll -be the calm process o' handlin' the Word an' lookin' up chapter an' -verse, each in turn; then the readin', larnin', markin', an' inwardly -digestin'; then, if we pick the proper talk, he'll come to a mood for -Christ to get the thin end of the wedge in wi' un. An' so us'll conquer -in the name of the Lard." - -"'Pears to me as a bloody text or two wouldn't be amiss. I'd like to -fire the man up to go down-long to Christopher Yeoland an' take a -horse-whip to un, an' tan the hide off un. Theer's nought cools a -lecherous heart like a sore carcase," growled Jonah, reverting to his -Old Testament manner. - -Then Mr. Collins created a diversion. - -"I won't have no hand in it anyways," he said. "'Tis a darned sight tu -perilous a deed to come between a man and wife, even with a text of -Scripture, 'specially when you call home how hard 'tis to find lasting -work. Us might all get the sack for it; an' who'd pity us?" - -"All depends 'pon how 'tis done. Wi' a bit of round writin' the blame -doan't fall nowheers in partickler." - -"'Tis the wise ch'ice of words such a contrivance do depend on; an' what -more wise than Paul?" inquired Jonah Cramphorn. "I read the seventh of -Romans to my wife 'pon our wedding night, and never regretted it. He -hits the nail on the head like a workman; an' if theer's trouble arter, -the chap will be fallin' out wi' an anointed apostle, not us. Ess, I be -come round to your opinion, Ash. Us had better send it than not. You -wouldn't have had the thing rise up in your head if Providence didn't -mean us to do it." - -"Might be safer to send it wi'out names, come to think of it," suggested -Collins; but Gaffer Ash scorned the cowardly notion. - -"Wheer's the weight of that? No more'n a leaf in the wind wi'out names. -No sensible pusson would heed advice, gude or ill, as comed so. 'Tis -awnly evil-doers as be feared to sign an' seal their actions." - -"Us might send it to she, instead of he," suddenly suggested Cramphorn. -"Her's more to us, God bless her; an' a woman's better able to brook -such a thing. She doan't see how this here do 'pear to other people, -else she'd never give the chap as much as 'Gude-marnin'' again. An' -her'll be fust to mark the righteous motives to the act. Gimme the big -Bible from the dresser-drawer, Tom Bates; an' then go to your bed. Us -doan't want a green youth like you in the document. - -"A dangerous thing to give advice wheer it ban't axed," mused Pinsent; -"an' specially to your betters." - -"So dangerous that I'll have no part nor lot in it," declared Henry. -"The dear lady's temper ban't what it was, so your darter tells me, -Cramphorn; an' you've got a mother an' sister to keep, Samuel, so you'd -best to bide out of it along wi' me." - -Mr. Cramphorn was turning over the leaves of an old Bible thoughtfully. - -"Paul's amazin' deep versed in it, seemin'ly," he said. "'Pears as he -was faaced wi' just such a evil when he wrote an' warmed up they -Corinthians. Listen to this here. 'An' unto the married I command, yet -not I, but the Lard, Let not the wife depart from her husband: But an' -if she depart, let her remain unmarried.'" - -"Awften had a mind 'pon that scripture myself," declared Mr. Ash. - -"An' lower down he's at 'em again. Hark to this: 'Art thou bound to a -wife? seek not to be loosed. Art thou loosed from a wife? seek not a -wife.' I reckon most men doan't need to be told that last. Then theer's -another bracing word further on. Parson Scobell preached 'pon it awnly -last month. Ephesians, fifteenth of five: 'See then that ye walk -circumspectly, not as fules, but as wise.'" - -"Tu strong for a lady," said Mr. Ash. - -"Not so, Churdles. I'm the last to say or set a hand to any -awver-bitter speech. 'Tis what her wants to awpen her butivul eyes, an' -shaw her the right road, same as them 'twas fust writ for. An' -here--same chapter: 'Wives, submit yourselves to your awn husbands, as -unto the Lard.' Ban't tawld to submit theerselves to young, flauntin' -bachelors, you see; an' then it says how women should hold theer awn men -in special reverence." - -"Theer's the twinge, an' I'd have 'e put that in for sartain," declared -Churdles. "If her reverenced un, her wouldn't go about in high-wheeled, -cranky dog-carts with t'other. Ess, put that down; together wi' any -light hint against the lust of the flaish, so long as you can find it -set out in parlour language." - -Mr. Cramphorn took pencil and paper to his task; and Gaffer Ash, with -the help of a round candlestick, drew a shaky circle in the middle of a -sheet of foolscap. "Our names will all stick around," he said; "an' in -the midst Jonah will set chapter an' verse. Perhaps ten verses might be -enough to right the wrong, an' if you'm quick, Cramphorn, us'll get it -in a henvelope an' addressed to missis, then slip it off to bed an' -leave the manifestation 'pon the table against her comes home." - -"More respectful to send it through the post," ventured Collins; and -Churdles admitted that it might be so. - -"P'raps you'm right theer, Henery. Ess, for sure you be; an' you'm -gwaine into Chaggyford wi' the cart fust thing to-morrow, so you can -post it theer; then 'twill come wi' all the dignity of the mail," he -said. - -Jonah finished his pious task and wrote his name; Churdles Ash, who had -only learned to write in middle-age, set down a shaky signature, half -schoolboy's, half senile in its wavering line; Pinsent wrote a laboured -but well-regulated hand, and Mr. Collins also subscribed, yet with such -uneasiness that one might have imagined he was signing his own -death-warrant. - -"Even now I'd like to hear Maister Endicott 'pon it," he murmured. "If -he was against it, I'd never willingly countenance the step." - -"He'm wan of the family; an' whenever was it knawn as a female gived -credit to them of her awn blood for sense?" inquired Jonah. "Why, 'tis -last thing they think of. No; us o' the land will send this here for -gude or evil. We'm doin' our duty an' shan't be no worse thought of. -She'm a wonnerful woman--a queen among 'em at her best--always was -so--an' she'll think the better of us for this transaction." - -"She'm just the sort to put a bit on our wages if the 'round robin' -worked to her betterment--a most grateful woman," said Sam Pinsent, who -from doubt had suddenly sprung to the extremity of hope. - -"Ess--an' if her didn't, he would, so like as not," declared Gaffer Ash. -"If this sets all right an' makes 'em happy an' sensible an' -onderstandin', in the name of the Lard and of Paul, how much smoother -'twill be for all parties!" - -"An' if all works well an' nobody don't do nothin'," suggested Pinsent, -"it might be a question whether us shouldn't send in another to remind -'em of theer well-wishers. However, that's in the future." - -"'Twould be like sendin' in a bill, an' not to be dreamt of," answered -Cramphorn. "'Tis awnly a small-fashioned mind as would think of such a -thing." - -Pinsent retorted; but at that moment footsteps and voices warned the -company. Pipes were relighted; the Bible was placed in the -dresser-drawer; wide innocence sat upon each brown face; and, like lead -within the breast pocket of Henry Collins, reposed the 'round robin' -destined, as all hoped, to such notable issues. - - - - - *CHAPTER IX.* - - *RED DAWN* - - -The admonition culled from Paul was duly posted, and henceforth Collins -avoided his mistress with utmost care, while Pinsent, fear again -overtaking him, did likewise. Cramphorn, on the contrary, itched to -hear or see some definite result of his daring, while as for the ancient -Ash, he went unmoved upon his way. To tell truth, the missive made an -impression as deep as any of those responsible for it could have -desired; but they never knew of its results, for the outgrowth of them -was swept away by greater concerns. When Honor first received the -"round robin," she felt amused; then she became annoyed; and, lastly, -she grew anxious. The sort of men responsible for this audacity she -understood, and she was aware the action sprang from honest purpose and -most laudable intent. Cramphorn, the master spirit, worshipped her with -high devotion, and she knew it; for the rest, they had but done as he -bid them. The selected quotations, which Honor carefully consulted, -were not indeed apposite, yet had this value, that they showed her how -present relations appeared in the eyes of an ignorant, though impartial -countryside. She was astounded at such an uncharitable and painful -mistake; yet, seeing that the error existed, and was probably -widespread, the wife felt thankful to know it. She fluctuated between -contempt and anger, then finally fell back upon a condition of real -concern. First she thought of showing the paper to Myles, but feared -that his lack of humour might prompt him to austere treatment of her -censors. To speak to Christopher was out of the question, and Honor, -after some demur, decided that her uncle should know. From him she -expected full measure of sympathy in her embarrassment, but she was -disappointed of this hope. - -"Very interesting and instructive," said the old man, after his niece -had begun in laughter and ended with recitation of every text to which -the document referred; "very interesting. So we may learn from the -mouths of babes and sucklings." - -"I ought to be cross with them. Fancy Cramphorn so greatly daring, -despite his feudal instincts!" - -"Shows how much and how deeply the man must have felt constrained to -act. You say you should be cross. Why? They only try to give you some -practical light. There's a great, deep goodwill behind this." - -"But it is such nonsense." - -"They don't think so." - -"Surely you're not going to take it seriously, Uncle Mark?" - -"Most seriously; and so do you, though you pretend to laugh--as if I -didn't know every note in your laughter, like every note in a ring of -bells. It is serious. You cannot defy simple, wholesome usage and -custom for ever." - -"But who has a right to speak while Myles is silent? If I hurt him, he -would tell me. He is quite himself again." - -"Shows how little you know him, for all your love of him. You are -hurting him, and my ear tells me more than all your senses can tell you. -He lives in a dreary hell and speaks out of it. I can almost see his -face when I hear his voice." - -"I'm always thinking of him." - -"Yes, with a moiety of your thoughts. It isn't allowed one woman to -make two men wholly happy--else you might succeed. But you're only -following the old, stale road and making two men wholly miserable. Any -fool in a petticoat can manage as much. That's the foundation your -present content is built upon. There's awful wickedness in it, to my -mind; and double-distilled sin coming from such as you, because you're -not a fool at all, but have sense enough to profit by experience. You -must be aware that Myles is a wretched man; and, though you may not -think it, Yeoland knows very well he's living in a wrong atmosphere--a -mere shadow of happiness. Better far you make one happy, out-and-out, -than keep each miserable. One has got to smart, and the sooner you -decide which, the better for both." - -"That you should ever speak so!" - -"You've fallen away much of late--in mind and conduct I mean. Your -fine, sharp instincts are grown blunter. You can live this mean, -half-and-half life; and you don't understand, or you won't. There's no -passion in it, I do think, and I suppose you can go on being fond of two -men without disgracing Endicott breed; but I'll speak plainly, since -it's vital I should. Men are different. They're not built to go on -mooning with a talking doll for ever. Even Christopher Yeoland is made -of flesh and blood. A woman may be all mind; a man never is. Now, what -are you, and what are you doing? You're a married woman, and you're -ruining the life of about the worthiest man I've been happy to meet -since my own brother--your dear father--died. End it--if Yeoland hasn't -got strength and determination sufficient to do so. Tell him your mind; -be true to your husband, and bid the man go--if he is a man." - -Honor Stapledon listened to this grave rebuke with a heaving breast. - -"You call that justice! You would ask him, after all he has suffered -and endured, to go away from his own? You would coldly bid him turn his -back on all that makes life worth living for him--Godleigh?" - -"Without the least remorse, if he can't stop decently." - -"To judge so vilely! If you cannot understand and appreciate the fact -that Christopher isn't made of common clay, then the case is hopeless." - -"Coarse clay or china clay, he's a callous, cruel devil to do what he is -doing; and you can tell him so from me." - -"I'm only sorry that you so hatefully misunderstand Christo." - -For once the blind man let his anger run over. It had been boiling for -many days, and now, before this attitude in Honor, he could restrain the -explosion no more. - -"Damn Christo!" he said. "Damn him for a poor, white-livered, whole -cowardice of curs rolled into one! Your husband's worth a wilderness of -his sort, and you ought to know it, and--there, I'll not say more. I -blamed Myles first for being jealous of nought; now I blame him no more. -Reason is with him. And though this boneless thing doesn't know better, -you ought to, if only to credit your stock. What's come to you? What's -sapped up all your old sense and self-respect?" - -She stared at his wrath as at a new experience. - -"I am unchanged," she answered, "though all the rest of my little world -is going mad it seems. I have been misled and mistaken, if you are -right, though I am not sure at all that you are. Certainly I thought -after his illness, and the things he said to me then, that Myles was -looking at this matter from my own rational stand-point. He grew -sensible again--the old, wise Myles. But if you are correct in this -monstrous belief, Myles must have set my mind at rest at the cost of his -own peace. Yet could he hide that from me?" - -"Not if your eyes were as they used to be. There must be no more rest -at any rate--neither rest nor peace--till I'm proved right and the case -is righted, or I'm shown wrong, when I'll not be backward in begging for -forgiveness. Only remember, it's got to come from you--this clearing -up. Myles will do nothing while he thinks your happiness is in blossom; -he'll go on silently fretting his soul sour; and t'other will do -nothing--that I'll swear to--unless a pitchfork be taken to him. Enough -said now. Have it out with your husband, and first put yourself in his -place so far as your knowledge of him allows. Look out of his eyes, and -try to feel what this means to such a man--ay, or any other man worth -calling one." - -"I will think of what you say. At least, you are right when you tell me -that I have degenerated. Happiness means degeneration, I suppose." - -"You're the last leaf of an old tree, and I'd have you live beautifully, -and make a good end, and leave a fragrant memory to your children." - -"He's the last of his line, too--Christopher." - -"That rests with him probably. It is well that he should be if he's no -more than appears. But I have done, and am cool again. I'm sorry if -I've hurt you. I love you better far than anything in the world, yet -you've given me cause for deep mourning of late days." - -Honor prepared to speak, but did not do so. She looked at her uncle's -wrinkled, grey face and blind eyes, bent down, kissed him on the -forehead, and then hastened away without any more words. - - -While the matter of this serious speech was in his wife's mind, it -chanced that Stapledon and the Squire of Godleigh met after the dawn -hour, each being led to the same spot upon his homeward way. Neither -had seen the other for some weeks, and by mutual exchange of thought, a -common subject leaped to the mind of each. - -Myles had been upon Kes Tor to see the sunrise; Christopher was -returning from a further point; and now in the valley beneath Batworthy -Farm they met, where Teign, touched with ruddy gold of the morning, -wound murmuring along. Upon one bank the hill rose sharply under silver -birch, mountain ash, oak, and concourse of tall pines; to the north more -gradual acclivities of shaggy moor extended, and these were broken into -leek-green beds of sphagnums, and gemmed with ruddy sundews, where -springs opened or rivulets wound with little bubbling whispers to the -river. A red dawn scattered the stream with stars and sparks reflected -from low eastern clouds above the sunrise; and this radiance, thrown -upward from the water, touched the under-leaf of the alders, where they -hung above the stream and slashed the shadows with sanguine light. A -spirit, sweet, fresh and dewy as any naiad, dwelt here; the place was -bedecked with mossy greens and olives, duns and transparent -velvet-browns, all softened and swept with the purest opaline blue, by -contrast of dawn shadows with dawn fire. Rock shapes upon the -river-bed, perfect in their relations of colour and of form, made most -harmonious medley of manifold planes. They were touched by sunshine, -modelled to the outlines of their mosses by great violet shadows spread -between flame-lances from on high, blended by ripple and shimmer of -reflected light from the river, broken in mass by the green rushes and -tall grasses, by the dancing briar, its point under a waterfall, by the -snowy blossoms of great umbel-bearers, and by the majestic foliage of -king fern. Teign splashed and spouted crystal-bright through this -display of forms and colours, and there was pleasant music of water and -murmur of new-born leaves, while red light came and went through the -dawn purity, soaked each dingle with misty gold, and chequered the river -with many shades of ambers and agates and roses agleam together. - -"Sons of the young morning--you and I! This is our hour, and we suck -life from the risen day," said Christo, extending a hand to the other as -they met at stream-side. - -"Rain's coming," answered Myles; "and this splendour will be drowned -long before noon." - -"Then let us make the most of it. I'm glad we met here. A happy place -to talk in, with fair things to fill one's eyes." - -"What is there to talk about? I'm afraid our interests are too widely -separated." - -"Well, that will do for a start. I want to talk, if you'll listen. -Frankly, Stapledon, we are not what we might be each to the other. I -wish I understood you better. There's hardly a man in the world that I -regard more deeply. Yet I know right well you don't echo the sentiment. -We grow less intimate daily, instead of better friends. Yet we're bound -together in a sort of way by the past, however distasteful that may be -to you. At least I should say we must be. And so many common -interests--say what you please to the contrary. Both fairly intelligent -and intellectual, both prone to probe under the surface of things. -What's the barrier? Frankly I have no idea. I thought at one time it -might have to do with Honor; and so did Mr. Endicott. He talked to me -with amazing vigour and plain choice of homely words. Yes, honestly, he -made me feel like a criminal lunatic for about a week. Then, thank God, -you recovered your health, and we met, and I saw at a glance that the -old man was utterly wrong and had been engaged with a mare's nest. Yet -there's a gulf between us, despite so much that we enjoy in common." - -"Since you wish to speak of this, I say that there are some things that -cannot be enjoyed in common." - -Yeoland started. - -"You mean that I was wrong, then, and Mr. Endicott right? But don't you -see how infernally greedy and unreasonable you are? Either that, or you -continue to misunderstand me of set purpose. I gave you Honor for your -own; yet you grudge me my place at Godleigh--at the footstool of the -throne you share with her. What do I rob you of? Do the birds rob you -when they eat the crumbs fallen from your table? I cannot remotely -judge of your attitude." - -"That is true; but every other man can. And it may be that many do." - -"Have you considered that this position you take is in some measure a -reflection on your wife?" - -"I have not, and if I had, I do not ask your criticism upon that." - -"Well, I shall never see how you hold any ground for this ridiculous -animosity, Stapledon; but for the sake of argument, you must be conceded -a case. What is your exact grievance in English? The thing I have done -I can do again: go; but before we imagine you bidding me to do so, or -picture me as obeying, out of regard for Honor--before that climax, I -say, consider what you are doing in common justice. By banishment you -take from me every temporal and spiritual treasure worth living for. As -I stand here, I believe I am a happy man--almost; happy in Godleigh; -happy in renewed intercourse with Honor; happy--on my oath before -Heaven--in the knowledge that she belongs to you. I may be unfinished -and unfurnished--only half a man, as Mark Endicott didn't hesitate to -tell me; but, such as I am, this hillside is my life, and, if you bade -me depart from it and I went, then I should presently die." - -Myles lifted his head and looked from under his brows half in contempt, -half in dubiety. - -"You're a slight thing to turn a man's hair grey--a slight thing on your -own showing," he answered. "Can you dissect yourself so glibly and mean -it? You parade your own emptiness without flinching. Yet you believe -what you say, no doubt; and there may be truth in it, but not all the -truth. I can't suppose you utterly abnormal in your attitude towards -other people, just because you say you are." - -"I say no such thing. It was Endicott who said so. I say that my view -of life is very much more exalted and my standards higher than--yours, -for instance. If you could understand my plane, you would understand -me; but you can't. The aesthetic habit of mind is beyond your -percipience." - -"Then we can leave it out. You may deceive yourself with big words, -nobody else. What are you going to do? That is the question. The fact -that my peace of mind and my salvation are bound up in my wife is -unfortunate, because I neither wish you to consider me, nor do I desire -to be under any further obligation. But Honor is my wife, and, as that -relationship is understood by common men, it carries with it definite -limitations. She loves you, and never attempts to hide it. Her -primitive nature is big enough to find room in her heart for us both; -but my still more primitive nature can't tolerate this attitude. I'm -not big enough to share her with anybody else, not big enough to watch -her happier than the day is long in your company." - -"You think soberly and honestly that the world grows too small for the -three of us?" - -"Little Silver does." - -"We might toss up which of us blows his brains out." - -"Try to feel as serious as I do, Christopher Yeoland. Try to look at the -future of this woman's life, since you have approached me upon it." - -"I do so, and I see a life not necessarily unhappy. A woman heroic -enough to love two men deserves double share of happiness; don't you -think so?" - -"I suppose you're in earnest, though God knows it is not easy to argue -with such a babbler." - -"No, I'm not flippant. It is you who have got the perspective of this -thing all wrong. If you were a little older, you would see how absurd -it is to try and turn pure comedy into drama. If you were only a better -judge of character--can't you understand that I'm incapable of tragedy? -There's nothing hurting you, or going to hurt you, but your own narrow -nature. When we're all white-headed--the day after to-morrow, or -so--when we are all grown into the sere and yellow--you will be the -first to laugh, through toothless gums, at this, and say that I was -right." - -"Well, we won't argue, because there's no solid ground where we can meet -as a foundation for any possible sort of understanding. You take such a -view of life and its responsibilities as I should have supposed -impossible for a reasonable being. We're different to the roots, and, -materialist though I am, I recognise, a million times more deeply than -you can, the demands of this existence and the need to justify it. Now -listen, and then we will part: I tell you that in my judgment as her -husband, my wife's ultimate happiness and content and mental health will -be more nearly assured if you go out of her life than if you stop in it. -I ask you to go out of it. I recognise all that this demand means, -especially as coming from me to you. You'll gauge the depth of my -convictions that I can bring myself to ask you so much--for her sake, -not mine." - -"You want me to turn my back upon Godleigh?" - -"I do; as that is apparently the only way you can turn your back on Bear -Down." - -"You have no right to ask such a thing." - -"Under the circumstances I consider that I have." - -"There is another alternative." - -"I cannot see it then." - -"You will though, before you sleep to-night. I shall not suggest it to -you; but such a level-headed man as you are must presently see it for -himself. I say I shall not propose it, because my peace of mind is not -at stake. As a matter of fact, you're arguing for yourself now, though -you fancy you are speaking for Honor. She's very nearly happy, and -would be perfectly so if you were. It is your five-act drama manner and -general tragic bearing that make her feel more or less downcast. And I -am also happy. Now, consider; if I clear out, you'll be joyous again; I -shall be in doleful dumps, of course, and Honor----?" - -"Well?" - -"Don't you know? She can't help loving us both. She can't alter that -now, poor girl. If she knows I'm miserable, she certainly won't be -happy.' - -"You are making your position clear to me. She is not unhappy now, -though my life is dark; but if your peace of mind was spoiled, then hers -would suffer too. - -"It may appear egotistical, but I think that nearly defines the -situation." - -"Which is to say that you are more to her than I am?" - -"Remorseless logic, but--no; I don't assert that for a second. You are -her husband. Such a delicate question should not be raised." - -"It is raised, and she must decide it." - -"My dear Stapledon, let us have no brutality. Do try to catch a little -of her big, pure spirit. We may both learn from her. These earthly -wranglings would shock her immeasurably." - -"You won't leave this place?" - -"Not unless Honor asks me to do so, and without inspiration. Now, -good-bye. To think of the sweet air we've wasted in such futilities! -You're right about the rain. Look away south." - -Yeoland rose from the mossy stone whereon he had pursued this matter, -and quickly disappeared; Myles also moved upon his way. Great -slate-coloured ledges of cloud were already sliding upwards from the -Moor, and it was raining by the time the farmer returned home to his -breakfast. - - - - - *CHAPTER X.* - - *A MAN OF COURAGE* - - -Sally Cramphorn found the secret of her happiness hard to hide, and as -the weeks lengthened into months and Libby still bid her hold her peace, -yet would give no definite reason for the imposed silence, she grew -somewhat restive. He refused to discuss dates, and declared that a year -at least ought to pass in order that each should thoroughly understand -the other before irrevocable matrimony. Under these circumstances Sally -found her engagement fall something flat. She was in no haste to marry, -but importunate that the world might learn of her good fortune; and -finally, after a decided difference or two upon the question, Gregory -realised that definite steps must be taken, and at once. First he -thought of telling Sally, with frankness, how he had made a mistake, and -was of opinion that, by reason of wide disparity in their dispositions, -she could be no bride for him; but, to do Gregory justice, all manner of -sincerity he consistently abstained from, and, in the present case, more -than a candid bearing seemed necessary. To throw Sally over before her -face called for full measure of courage, and any such step, until he was -thoroughly established in Margery's good graces, must be highly -dangerous. So Libby assured himself. He determined, therefore, first -to propose to Sally's younger sister, win to his side the strength of -her personality and the bitterness of her tongue, then explain his -mistake to Margery and leave her wit to solve and escape from present -entanglement with the wrong woman. - -For once Mr. Libby acted speedily upon a decision, sought out the other -maiden, lured her from the sheltering radius of the farm, and proceeded -with his proposal after a plan very similar to that which had conquered -Sally. - -"It's took me a long time--I may say years--to make up my mind," he -said, chewing a blade of grass and glancing sideways at the rather hard -profile of Margery; "but I do think as you'm the best maid in Little -Silver, cautious though I am by nature. Ess, a wife's a solemn thought, -yet you come nearer my fancy than any gal ever I seed or heard tell of, -Margery Cramphorn. You've got a warm heart, as would make any man -happy, I should reckon; an' to cut a long story short, I've ordained to -marry you, if you'm willin'." - -For answer Margery began to cry; but she let him kiss her, so he knew -that the response was favourable. - -"Doan't blubber about it. 'Tis a joyful thing; an' I'm sure I'm mazed -wi' gladness to think as you can care for me. An' I hope as your love -be big enough to last." - -"Always, always, till we'm auld mumpheads--so long as ever I can see an' -move an' love--so long I'll do for you an' fight for you, dear Gregory." - -"Caan't say no fairer, an' I b'lieve you mean it. An' the whole beauty -of married life lies in the woman putting the man fust--so my mother -said; 'cause he'm the bread-winner an' must be thought of all times. -An' you might remember my mother's ways wi' me--a very gude, comforting, -proper woman. I ban't a horse for strength, an' comfort I must have." - -"Which you shall have--love an' worship always, dear Gregory; an' I'm a -proud maiden to think such a rich man as you could look to me for a -helpmate. An' you shan't never be sorry; an' faither do set me higher'n -Sally, so come presently I'll bring 'e more'n myself." - -"That's no odds. A chap in love doan't heed no such things as them; but -theer's wan point as I ban't ezacally clear on touchin' Sally. I can't -say nothin' now; but--but next time we meet, I'll tell you how it -stands--a mystery like. She'm a gude gal, no doubt, but tu apt to run -away with ideas an' misread a man's intentions, an' take for facts -things what she've dreamed in her sleep, I reckon. But bide till next -Monday, then I'll make it clear. Now we'll just love each other an' -tell about marryin'." - -"Oh, Greg, I do blush to think of it. An' I've longed for 'e, out o' -sight, all these years an' years! Won't her be raw--Sally? Her always -thought as she was the favoured piece." - -"Ban't seemly in a woman to set her mind 'pon a chap so outrageous. But -let her bide. Now, when shall us be man an' wife? An' what fashion -wall-hangings would 'e like to the cottage-parlour? For it must be done -again, 'cause theer's beastly grease 'pon it, wheer my mother's head got -against the wall on Sundays. She used to fall asleep regular in a auld -armchair, then roll to the left out o' the chair till the wall stopped -her head. Done it for years. An' her recipes I've kept, an' the wan -for herby-pie you'd best larn by heart, for 'tis favourite food o' -mine." - -"I will, Greg. You know how I can cook." - -"Wi' a tender-stomached man, same as me, you'll have to put your heart -into the cooking." - -"So I will then." - -He squeezed her slowly until she gasped. - -"You'm strong enough, I reckon, however," she said. "Your arm be like a -bar of steel around me!" - -"'Tis love as hardens the sinews. I've a gert gift for lovin', an' if a -man couldn't love the likes o' you, he'd be a poor, slack-baked twoad, -for sartain. I'm lucky to get 'e, an' I knaw it, an' us'll be a happy -couple, I lay--me a-doin' man's work an' makin' gude money, an' you -'bout the house, so thrifty an' savin' that us shall graw rich 'fore we -knaw it, an' p'raps come to keep a servant for you to order here an' -theer. An' me wi' my awn hoss an' trap, so like as not, to drive to -cattle-shows an' junketings, an' taake my plaace in the world." - -"An' I'll sit beside 'e an' look down at the walkers." - -"You'll be home-along wi' the childer more like. That's the mother's -plaace. But us be lookin' a thought tu far forrard now. Wait till Bank -Holiday anyway; then I'll meet 'e quiet by the river--down where -Batworthy fishing right ends. 'Tis a private an' peaceful plaace; an' -theer you must fix the day." - -"So I will then, an' a proud woman I am, an' a true wife I'll make you; -Lard's my judge." - -"Mother----" began Mr. Libby; but he changed his mind and declared that -it was now time to turn homewards. - -At Bear Down he left his new love, after cautioning her by all holy -things to keep their secret, and, ten minutes later, met his old -sweetheart returning from Chagford. Sally was heavily laden and in a -bad temper. Indeed Mr. Libby's procrastination seemed enough to try any -woman who heartily worshipped him. Now he offered to carry her parcels -up the steep hill to the farm, and such unwonted civility soothed her -not a little. Presently they rested awhile in the gathering twilight, -and Gregory, with cynic satisfaction, kissed Sally's red lips while yet -he tasted Margery's caresses. The experience fired him, and a wave of -fancied courage held his soul. He told himself that he was the strong, -resolute spirit into whose hand destiny had thrust the welfare of these -simple maids. He laughed to think what soft wax they were under his -control. Then he determined to put Sally out of her misery at once. He -began a sentence to that end; but he changed his mind as her blue eyes -fell full and honest upon him. After which she travelled the old, weary -ground and clamoured for a definite understanding and definite date, -superior to all self-respect in her importunity. - -"How long be I to go dumb, anyways? An' how long be I to wait? Us -doan't grow no younger, an' you'm five-an'-thirty come September. Ban't -fair, I reckon, an' theer's more in it than I can guess, for you'm like -no sweetheart ever I heerd tell 'bout. So cold as a newt seemin'ly. -But if your love's gone poor, then best to say so. If you'm shamed of -me or you've changed your mind----" - -The opportunity was an excellent one, but Gregory's courage had -evaporated. Moreover, there came into his head an inspiration. It -occurred to him--while removed from such an event by distance--that it -would be an exciting incident to invite Sally to the streamside also, to -confront the sisters and clear up the situation once for all. The -vision of himself between the tearful twain was pleasing rather than -not. He saw himself the centre of an impressive scene. - -"I'll play the man," he reflected; "an' set her down handsome afore her -sister. 'Tis awnly her word against mine, an' Margery'll believe me -quick enough, for 'tis her interest so to do." - -Upon this heroic resolution he spoke. - -"I doan't say as you'm not in the right, Sally, to ax for somethin' -plain. Us'll come to a fixture next Monday, as be a holiday. You meet -me wheer Batworthy fishing right do end, down in the valley onder the -roundy-poundies on the hill, at three o'clock in the afternoon by my -watch, an' us'll settle up 'bout the axing out in church an' such like." - -The girl could scarcely believe her ears. - -"Really! 'Tis 'most tu gude to be true." - -"I mean it. Ess fay, I begin to want a wife 'bout the place." - -"I'll come down-long, then, Monday afternoon, rain or shine." - -"Very well. An' now I'll bid you gude-night. Mind the spot an' doan't -keep me waitin'; but if 'tis pourin' cats an' dogs I shaan't be theer, -for I've got to be careful of my paarts, bein' a bit naish, as you -knaw." - -"Bless 'e, dear Greg; 'tis gert news to me. An' you'll never be sorry -for it, wance I'm Mrs. Libby--that I'll swear." - -"Theer's awnly wan gal as be the wife for me," he said, and grinned at -his own wit. - -So they parted; and while Sally went home all gladness, forgetting the -weight of her parcels in the lightness of her heart, Gregory moved down -the hill occupied with a curious reflection. - -"Theer'll be a 'mazin' tempest o' words between 'em, I doan't mind a red -rage, but I'm always terrible afeared of a white wan. Sally'll go so -fiery as sunset, an' use crooked language, no doubt; but that's nothin'. -Awnly I couldn't cross t'other. Her turns ash-colour when her's vexed, -an' her tongue's sharper'n a razor. 'Twill be a gert battle to watch -an' a very fine study of female character, no doubt." - - - - - *CHAPTER XI.* - - *THE ROAD TO PEACE* - - -A month after his conversation with Christopher, Myles Stapledon made -definite and determined advance upon the road to peace. There came a -night when he and his wife lay in bed and a bright moon fretted the wall -opposite their eyes with the pattern of the latticed window. The man -gazed upon this design as it elongated and stole from left to right; -then, conscious that Honor was not asleep, he spoke gently to her. - -"You are waking," he said, "and I also. Hear me a little while, dear -heart. There's no shadow of anger in what I'm going to say to you. I'm -cool in body and brain, and I want to look at your life as it must seem -in other eyes--in the eyes of those who love you, though not as I love -you. I want to be just--ay, and more than just." - -"You are always just, Myles--where you understand. The hard, impossible -thing is to be just where we don't understand. You're going to talk to -me about Christo; and I'm going to listen. You've a right to -speak--which is more than anybody else in the world has, though certain -folks don't realise that. I thought all was well, but I am wrong. You -hide behind yourself so much--even from me. You are an unhappy man, and -you have not told me, but Uncle Mark has." - -"I may be considered so. And to know that I am makes you unhappy and -Yeoland uncomfortable. I have spoken to him recently. I explained to -him that the present position, apart from my personal feelings -concerning it, was very undesirable and must be modified, to say the -least. He seemed surprised, but quite unprepared to make any -suggestion. A plan other than my own proposal he hinted at, but he did -not put it before me." - -"He can feel deeply too; this must have been a shock and a grief to -him." - -"At least he recognised that it was so to me. I think he was neither -shocked nor grieved himself. If anything, he felt incensed by my -attitude. The position is not endurable to me, though you and he see no -difficulty. But I must be allowed the decision, and I say that this -state has to cease--selfish though that may seem to you." - -"Then it shall cease. You could not be selfish if you tried, Myles. I, -too, can feel a little. Uncle Mark began what you are going to finish. -I'm probably faulty in my intellect, or I should have seen all this -sooner. At any rate I know what I owe to you--what a husband you have -been to me. I won't talk of duty; I'll talk of my love for you, Myles -dearest. That is a live, deep thing at least." - -"I never thought to doubt it, or ask proof of it. I knew it was real -enough, and believed it immortal until--not doubt--I won't say doubt -came--but sorrow, and a cloud, and a mist of the mind that was very -chilling to me. I have lost my way in it of late, and have wandered -wondering how far off you were in the darkness, asking myself if we were -drifting further and further apart, fearing that it was so." - -"You have been too patient, and I too blind. And I have loved you more -every day, not less." - -"It is a question for your decision. I don't like to wound your ear -with blunt words; but there must be no more vague misery for want of -speech after to-night. Half the wretchedness of life happens because -we're frightened to speak out, and make a clean wound, and have done -with it. You're my wife, for better or worse--not necessarily for good -and all. My heart and soul are wrapped up in your well-being; but I've -got to live my own life, not yours; I've got to do the unknown will, and -I've no right to let anything from outside come between me and what I -believe is my duty. Nothing outside a man can hurt him, unless he -suffers it to do so. I must not let these troubles stand between me and -my road any longer. I must go on with the light I have--alone, if you -say so; but I must go on." - -"Alone?" - -"If you say so. Self-respect to a man with my outlook is all he has. -And I'm losing it." - -"To live without me?" - -"If you say so. I'm not as conventional as you think, Honor. You made -certain promises to me under certain impressions. The fact that the man -whom you believed to be dead, when you married me, was not dead in -reality absolves you from your undertaking, if you wish to be absolved. -So at least it stands in my judgment; and mine is the only judgment, -after your own, that you need consider." - -"I swore an oath before God!" - -"You swore in the dark. Now go back to the starting-point and make up -your mind anew. Which of us is to have you henceforth--all of you?" - -"To think that I should hear you say that! To know my actions justify -the words!" - -"I can very easily teach myself to go without; I can never tame myself -to share. No man could." - -"You have all of me, for ever, and for ever, and for ever. I am your -wife." - -"Don't let that last accident influence you. Argue as if you were not; -argue as if you were free. Second thoughts are often best. You're -linked to me by a chain that can quite easily be broken if you desire to -break it." - -"Your words are blunt, as you said they should be; but you're making the -clean wounds you spoke of in my heart. They'll heal if they don't kill. -I'd rather die--much rather die than leave you, Myles." - -"Consider. Yeoland will be just as ready to accept and applaud your -decision as I shall. He, too, realises at any rate that this isn't -going on. We don't stand at the end of our lives; rather at the -beginning of them. We may have fifty years more of it yet--either -together or apart; but not like this." - -"The alternatives?" - -"We two are the alternatives. Go to him, if you like, and I shall know -what to do; or stay with me and abide by my will. What comes afterwards -you may leave to me. If you are to be my wife, Honor, you must shut -this man clean out of your existence, for evermore, absolutely--never -speak his name again, or think it. And for myself I shall be what I -have always been--neither better nor worse. I can promise -nothing--nothing of the beautiful side of life. No rainbows ever play -in my cloudy atmosphere, as they do in his changeful, April weather. I -am plain, dull, uninteresting, old-fashioned. I know nothing, and go -joylessly in consequence--a cheerless soul with little laughter in me. -Sometimes I think the east wind must blow colder for touching me. -That's all I have to offer, and you know it by this time. What the -other can give you that is better, softer, sweeter for a beautiful -woman, I needn't tell you. It's the difference all through the piece -between a working farmer and an accomplished gentleman of no -occupation--no occupation but to make you happy. And no need to study -the world in your choice; no need to think the accident of a human -contrivance that makes you my wife should weigh with you. It was under -a wrong knowledge of facts that you accepted me, and, in any case, we've -gone far beyond paltry conventions and customs. I shall respect you -more if you fling away that ring and go to him, than I do at present." - -"Can you love me with all your heart and speak so?" - -"You know whether I love you." - -"And yet you talk so coldly of going on with your life alone." - -"The necessity of facing that has been forced upon me, Honor." - -"Do you think I am even without a sense of duty?" - -"Don't let any trumpery consideration of duty weigh with you. You have -to decide what is to become of your life. Consider only your duty to -your soul. Your religion--of love and fear and belief in an -eternity--should be of service to you here, if ever, for your trust is -in a just Being who metes out reward or punishment according to the -record in the book. That's a wholesome assumption if you can accept it; -but don't let minor dogmas and man's additions interfere with your -decision. By your record you will be judged--so you believe. Then -create that record; set about it wisely and decide which line of action -leads to making of the higher history. If you can justify your -existence better with me, then stay with me; if life lived with -Christopher Yeoland will offer more opportunities of doing something big -and useful and beautiful--as very likely it might, when we consider his -money and position and sympathetic nature--then it is your duty to -yourself to go to him. Nobody can decide for you; but use your best -thought upon it and make no mistake in this critical pass. Look at it -every way impartially and distrust even your conscience, for that has -been educated by rote, like every other woman's conscience." - -"Your speech is very cynical, Myles; but your voice is earnest enough." - -"There is nothing ironical in what I say; only the facts are ironical." - -"Do you want me to go to him?" - -"Yes--if your heartfelt conclusion is that you can live a finer, -worthier life so." - -"Don't you know I love you dearly?" - -"I know you love us both." - -"I've never stopped to contrast or compare. I was your wife." - -"But I ask you again not to remember that. Decide between us, or decide -against us. There's that alternative. I've thought of that for you. -Once you said that, as you couldn't have both, you'd have neither. That -was in jest; but the course is still open in earnest if the road to your -peace points there." - -"To leave you. Oh, Myles, how you must have suffered and suffered and -thought before you could say these things to me." - -She put her arms about him and pressed close to him. The light had -stolen round and, one by one, the diamonds of wan silver were -disappearing. He showed no responsive emotion, but stroked the small -hand on his breast wearily. - -"Yes, I have thought a good deal. Will you decide what you are going to -do in a week? Is that long enough?" - -"How wicked--how wicked I have been in this. To think we can be wicked -day after day and never know it! And your patience! And how -extraordinary that you had it in you to speak in this cold, calculating -way!" - -"A stronger man might have borne it longer--into old age, perhaps, as -Yeoland said. I could not. I've got nothing much beyond my -self-respect. That's the sole thing that has kept me from destroying -you, and him." - -She thought upon this, but did not answer it. - -"Sleep now," he said, after a pause. "'Tis the day-spring nearly. I've -wearied you, but it had to be. Speak to me again about the matter in a -week. And don't fear me any more. Passion against him is clean passed -and gone. Just a gust of nature, I suppose, that makes the males fight -in season. I wouldn't hurt a hair of your head--or his." - -She nestled closer. - -"Why wait a week when there is no need to wait a day, or an hour? I -love you--better than anybody in the world; and I'll tell Christopher -that; also that I have done great wrong in this matter; and I ask you, -Myles, to take me where I shall never see him again--for his good and -because I love you with my whole heart--all, all of it. And judge me by -what I do henceforth and not what I say now. See how I shall order my -life--let that convince you." - -He did not speak, but his silence was cardinal--a hinge on which his -whole spirit turned. - -"You believe me, Myles? You know that I have never spoken an untruth to -you." - -A sigh rose, and seemed to pass away like an embodied trouble under the -first dawn light--to depart like a presence from the man and leave him -changed. - -"I believe you--I believe you. I wish I could feel a personal God--to -kneel to Him and thank Him, and to let my life thank Him henceforth." - -"I'm a very wicked woman, and I ought to have lived in the Stone days, -for I deserve nothing better than a hut circle and a cruel master to -beat me. I should have been kicked about by some old, Neolithic hero -with his dogs. I'm not big enough to deserve the love of a man like -you, not wise enough even to rate the depth and height of it. But you -shall see I can learn still and be single-hearted too. I'll live -differently--higher; I'll aim anew--at the sun--I'll--I'll----" - -Here she broke down, and he comforted her in his slow, stolid fashion. - -"Honor, you are all the best part of me--the best thing that my life has -known, or can know. Pray that the time to come may shine brighter seen -against gloom gone. I've never doubted your motives--never. I've only -lived in torment, because--there, don't be unhappy any more. I could do -great things--great things for sheer thanksgiving. I must try to pay -the world back in coin for this sunrise. The rest will be easy now you -have spoken. Thought can cut the knot that remains, and I will take -deep thought for all of us. Nothing is left to hurt us; think of that! -Here's a solid foundation to work upon, now that you have decided to be -my wife." - -"What shall you do, Myles?" - -"Think of him, and study how best to take you out of his life with least -wound to him. I can be sorry for him now." - -"His life is to live as well as ours." - -"He must learn how to live it; but not from me. Sleep now, my own -woman, again. Leave me to think out the rest. You don't know what this -return means to me; I can't find the words to thunder out such a -heart-deep thing. I feel as I felt when first you promised to marry me. -I am waking out of a long chaos into peace." - -Honor answered him, and their conversation presently grew disjointed as -slumber stole over her weary brain. She sighed once or twice--the shaken -sigh that follows upon tears--then her hand, that held his, relaxed and -fell away. But Stapledon did not sleep. A thousand blind alleys of -future action he followed, and countless possible operations pursued to -barriers of difficulty. - -At dawn he arose, and, leaving unconscious rest to repair the fret and -turmoil of his wife's mind, pressed on to new problems. For the -storm-cloud of his sorrows was touched with light; the ragged -soul-garden within him spread smoothed and purged of deep-rooted weeds. -He found space for wholesome seed therein, and passing into the air -breathed wordless prayers upon the pure morning and opened his heart to -the warmth of the sunrise fires. - - - - - *CHAPTER XII.* - - *PEACE* - - -The day was the first of the week, and Myles, finding that no immediate -plan entered his mind under the risen sun, turned homeward to breakfast, -then announced a determination to take himself upon the Moor for a tramp -alone. Thither he proposed to carry his new-found peace, and, once -there, he knew that a final and just decision would reach him from his -counsellors of the granite and west wind. After dinner he set forth to -spend some hours face to face with the central fastnesses. A dog--his -great red setter--accompanied him, and the beast was far less easy at -heart than the man, for storm threatened, and since dawn sign upon sign -had accumulated of electric disturbances on high. Thunder had growled -about for some days, yet night was wont to dispel the gloom. - -"Gert bouldering clouds, maister," said Churdles Ash, who met Myles -setting forth. "A savage, fantastic sky out Cosdon way, and reg'lar -conjuring time up-long in the elements." - -Thus this man unconsciously echoed a hoary superstition, that lightning -and thunder are the work of malevolent spirits. - -But Myles, for once much mistaken, saw no immediate promise of storm. -To the north remote banks of low cloud, with edges serrate and coppery, -sulked above the distant sea, and all manner of cloud shapes--cumulus, -stratus, and lurid nimbus--were flung and piled together, indicating -unusual turmoil aloft; but similar threats had darkened several recent -noons, and Stapledon, in a mood most optimistic, trusted the weather and -foretold the storm would delay for many hours until its purple heart was -full to the bursting. - -"Exmoor will hold it back as like as not," he said. - -Ash, however, believed that he knew better; and it was certain that the -red dog did. A silence not natural to the time of day spread and -deepened; and the wind came to life strangely at corners and -cross-roads, sighed and eddied, then died again. - -The farmer, with his thoughts busier than his eyes, strode swiftly -onward, for he pictured himself as coming to great definite resolutions -at some spot hid in the heart of the heather, bosomed deep upon the -inner loneliness, beyond the sight of cattle and the sound of -bellwether. He desired to reach a region familiar to him, lying afar -off to the south of Cranmere, that central matrix of rivers. Here the -very note of a bird was rare and signs of animate life but seldom seen. -The pad-marks of some mountain fox upon the mire, or a skeleton of -beast, clean-picked, alone spoke of living and dead creatures; sometimes -a raven croaked and brooded here; sometimes, from a great altitude above -the waste, fell cry of wild fowl that hastened to some sequestered -estuary or fruitful valley of waters afar off. - -Such stations brought sure content and clarity of mind to this man; they -rested his spirit and swept foregrounds of small trouble clean away -until he found himself at the altar of his deity in mood for worship. -It was only of late that the magic of the Moor had failed him, and now, -with new peace in his heart, its power for good awakened, and he knew -right well that solution of the problem before him lay waiting his -advent in the solitudes. - -Over Scor Hill he passed, among the old stones that encompassed each -supreme experience of his life with their rugged circle; then, his -leathern leggings dusted to yellow by the ripe pollen of the ling, he -walked onward over a splendour of luminous pink, crossed northern Teign -under Watern, proceeded to Sittaford Tor, and, steadily tramping -westward, left man and all trace of man behind him. The unmarked road -was familiar, and every gaunt hill-crest about him stood for a steadfast -friend. He crossed the infant Dart; he ploughed on over the heavy peat -hags, seamed and scarred, torn and riddled by torrents; he leapt from -tussock to ridge, and made his way through gigantic ling, that rose high -above his knees. Cranmere he discarded, and now his intention was to -reach the loneliest and sternest of all these stern and lonely -elevations. He beheld the acclivities of Great and Little Kneeset and -other mountain anchorites of the inner Moor; he passed the huge mass of -Cut Hill by the ancient way cleft into it, and from thence saw Fur Tor's -ragged cone ahead, grassy and granite-crowned. Stapledon had walked -with great speed by the shortest route known to him, yet suddenly to his -surprise a darkness as of evening shadowed him, and, lifting his head, -he looked around upon the sky, to regret instantly a preoccupation that -had borne him forward with such unthinking speed. - -Strange phenomena were manifesting themselves solemnly; and they offered -opportunity to note the difference between natural approach of night and -the not less natural but unaccustomed advent of a night-black storm from -the north. Darkness gathered out of a quarter whence the mind is not -wont to receive it. A sudden gloom descended upon the traveller from -Cranmere, and under its oncoming the Moor heads seemed massed closer -together---massed and thrust almost upon the eye of the onlooker in -strange propinquity each to other. A part of the sky's self they -seemed--a nearer billow of cloud burst from the rest, toppled together -like leaden waves on the brink of breaking, then suddenly frozen along -the close horizon--petrified in horror at tremendous storm shapes now -crowding above them. - -On every side heath and marsh soaked up vanishing day, and were nothing -brightened by it. The amethyst of the ling spread wan and sickly upon -this darkness; only the granite, in studs and slabs far-strewn, gathered -up the light and reflected a fast-waning illumination from the southern -sky. One sheep-track, which Stapledon now traversed, was similarly -luminous, where the narrow pathway wound like a snake and shone between -sulky heather ridges, dark as the air above them. Over this region, now -to a timid heart grown tenebrous and appalling in its aspect, pale -lightning glared and, still remote, came the growl and jolt of thunders -reverberating above distant granite. As yet no rain broke from the -upper gloom, and the Moor retained its aspect of sentient and vigilant -suspense. All things were still clear cut, and to the eye abnormally -adjacent. Like some incarnate monster, that cowered under its master's -uplifted lash, the desert seemed; and the granite teeth of it snarled -through the heather, and shone steel-blue in the lightning, while a -great storm stretched its van nearer and nearer. Yet no breath stirred -a grass blade, and between the intermittent thunder from on high, a -silence, tense and unbroken by the murmur of an insect, magnified the -listening man's heart-beat into a throbbing upon his ear. - -Stapledon now perceived from the congested accumulations of the sky that -a tempest of rare severity must soon have him at the heart's core of it. -He increased his pace therefore, and broke into a run. To turn was -futile, and he hurried forward upon Fur Tor, wherein some niche or rocky -crevice might offer shelter. Such a spot he knew to the lee of the -great hill; and now he stumbled forward, while the black edge of the -thunderstorm billowed and tumbled to the zenith, and swallowed up the -daylight as it came. - -Upon a tremendous gale, still unfelt at earth-level, the clouds hurtled -in precipices, in streaming black wisps and ribbons, and in livid -solitary patches over the pallor of dying light behind them. Then, -half-way up Fur Tor, as he stood panting to regain breath, the wanderer -felt the wind at last. A hot puff struck his hotter cheek, then another -and another, each cooler and stronger than the first. His dog whimpered -and crawled close; there ran a sigh and a shiver through the heath; -grass blades and fragments of dead things floated and whirled aloft upon -little spiral wind-spouts; vague, mysterious, and solemn--carried from -afar, where torrential rains and hail were already churning the mosses -and flogging stone and heath--there came the storm murmur, like a tramp -of approaching hosts, or the pulsing of pinions unnumbered. - -A grey curtain suddenly absorbed and obliterated the purple horizon, and -softened the sharp details; lightning stabbed through and seared the -watcher's sight, while thunder immediately above his head wounded the -ear like discharge of ordnance. He ran for it, having difficulty to see -his way. The vanguard of the wind buffeted him; the riot above his head -deafened him; the levin dazed his senses; then by good chance that spot -he sought was reached, and he crept into a stony hollow opening upon the -south-east--a natural cave among the clatters of the tor, where two -masses of stone stood three yards apart, and a block falling upon them -from above made a pent-house nearly weather-proof. Growing heather and -fern filled the interstices, and the spot resembled a large natural -kistvaen of the sort not seldom discovered in the old Moorland barrows, -where Stone men laid the dust of their heroic dead. - -Hither came the raging spirit of this tempest and looked into the eyes -of Myles Stapledon. Then, at the moment of its prime fury, when the -very roots of the land were shaking, and its living pelt of heath and -rush seemed like to be stripped from its quivering carcase by the hail, -did Stapledon pluck a way to peace through future action. Ever curious, -he picked up the ice morsels, noted how the hailstones, frozen and -frozen again in some raging upper chamber of the air, were all cast in -like mould of twin cones set base to base; and then, from this -observation, his mind turned to the twin life of a man and woman united -indissolubly. Out of the uproar came a voice to him, and where the tors -tossed thunder back and forth, until it died among their peaks, the -watcher caught a message affirming his own heart in its sudden -determination. - -The simplicity of his conclusion struck him as sure criterion of its -justness; and a mind possessed of one humorous trait, one faint -perception of the ludicrous, had been surprised into some ghost of -laughter before the idea, had surely smiled--even in a hurricane--before -the inevitable contrast between its past long intervals of mental misery -and this bald, most unromantic finger-post pointing to peace. True, no -decision had been possible before Honor's determination was made known -and the nature of the final problem defined; but now, under all this -turmoil of sky and groan of earth, from his hot mind came a course of -action, right and proper every way, reasonable and just to each of the -three souls involved, yet most unromantic and obvious. He stumbled, in -fact, upon the manifest alternative alluded to by Yeoland at their last -meeting. As the master of Godleigh would not depart therefrom, Stapledon -decided that he and Honor must leave Bear Down. That the labour of his -brain-toil and deep searching should produce no more notable birth than -this mouse of a plan, that the stupendous storm should have uttered no -greater thing, appeared small matter to tempt one smile from Myles. -Indeed, he forgot the weather and all other questions save this step -ahead of him, for upon nearer examination it appeared not at all simple, -but both complex and intricate. Retreat was the total of his intention; -there appeared no other way to conquer this difficulty than by flying -from it. He convinced himself that justice demanded this step, because -one must depart from Little Silver, and his interests in that region -could by no means be compared with those of Christopher Yeoland. - -Justice to Honor faced him; but Bear Down was less to her than Godleigh -to the owner, and never had Stapledon known his wife to manifest the -patrimonial ardour of the man. Leaving of her old home, therefore, -would be no excessive sorrow to her, and the fact that such a course -must impoverish them was not likely to count for much with husband or -wife. His mind ranged forward already. The fair weather within it -laughed at the elemental chaos around him. There was sunshine in his -heart, and the whole force and centre of the storm failed to cloud that -inner radiance. He thought of the future, and in spirit plunged over -seas to the child-countries of the motherland, that he might seek -amongst them a new environment for his life and Honor's--a new theatre -for work. But from such flights to the far West and South he returned -upon these austere regions that now stretched around him, and his heart -much inclined to familiar scenes on the fringe of the Moor hard by the -place where he was born. - -Long he reflected until the night or the storm merged into true dusk, -and day closed untimely. The thunder passed, and the rain floods, -having persisted far beyond Stapledon's experience of such electric -tempests, began to lessen their volume. Yet heavy downfalls steadily -drove across the twilight; the wind sank to a temperate gale, and, below -him, mists arose from the new-made swamps, and woke, and stretched their -tentacles, and crept through desolation round about the footstool of the -tor. - -A space of five wild leagues now separated Myles from his home, and he -stood night-foundered in the very capital of the central waste. Alive -to the concern his absence must occasion, he yet hesitated but a moment -before declining the ordeal of a return journey. The man was too -experienced to enter upon such a hazard. He knew that radical changes -had overtaken the low marshes since he traversed them; that the quaking -places over which he had progressed by leaping from tussock to tussock -were now under water; that great freshets had borne the least rivulets -above their banks, and that an element of danger must await any attempt -to retrace his way until the morning. - -Viewed in the light of his new content, this tribulation looked trumpery -enough. He lighted a pipe, regretted his small dinner, and sorrowed -more for his hungry dog than himself, in that the great beast was denied -consolation of tobacco or the stimulant of an exalted heart. - -Mapping the Moor in his mind, Stapledon considered every possible way to -food and shelter. He knew more than the actual roads or ridges, streams -or natural tracks and thoroughfares of beasts; for the inhabiting spirit -and essence of Dartmoor was his--a reward of lifelong service. He -possessed some of that instinct of the dogs and birds and ponies born to -these conditions. Like them, he rarely erred, yet, like them, he often -felt, rather than recognised danger--if danger was abroad; while he knew -that widest experience and shrewdest natural intuition are not always -proof against those perils that may spring into activity by day or night -in these tenantless, unfriended wastes. - -Fur Tor stands near the heart of the Devonshire moorland. It is a place -not easy to reach at all times, and impossible to depart from under the -conditions now obtaining. Water-springs unknown had burst their founts, -and the central sponges were overflowing in deep murmurs from the hills. -Time must elapse, hours--the number of which would depend upon future -weather--must pass by before any possibility of Stapledon's retreat. -His mind drew pictures of the nearest human habitations around him and -the means by which they might be reached. Five miles away, by the -western fork of Dart, was "Brown's house"--a ruined abode of one who had -loved the Moor as well as Myles and built his dwelling upon it. Only -shattered stones stood there now; but further south, by Wistman's wood -of dwarf and ancient oaks, a warrener dwelt in a cabin on the hillside. -Yet a network of young rivers and a cordon of live bogs extended between -that haven and Myles. Tavy's stream encircled him with its infant arms -and wound between him and safety beyond the forest boundaries. Approach -to Mary Tavy or Princetown was also impracticable, and, after very brief -deliberations, the wanderer decided that nothing could be done until the -morning. This conclusion he announced aloud to his dog--a pleasantry -indicative of his happy mind, for such an action from Stapledon's -standpoint looked a considerable jest. - -Soon the man piled stones before the entrance of his hiding-place, -filled a draughty gap with fern and heather, and made himself as -comfortable as the circumstances allowed. Great content was in his -heart, and when, near midnight, the clouds passed, the moon rose and -painted with silver the waters spread below, with frosted silver the fog -that rolled above them, he deeply felt the silence and peace, their -contrast with the frenzy of the past storm; he roamed in thought through -the unutterable silence of that moonlit loneliness; and presently he -slept, as he had not seldom slumbered on the high land in time -past--within some ruined hut circle, or where the wolves, through long, -primeval nights, once howled around Damnonian folds. - - - - - *CHAPTER XIII.* - - *A SOUND OF SUFFERING* - - -Stapledon slept well, and, awakening with the light, found himself -strengthened and refreshed. The stiffness consequent on a hard bed soon -passed as he rose, stretched himself, strode sharply here and there to -restore circulation, and drank of the morning air. Sunlight warmed him, -and his thoughts turned homeward. He thought first of descending to Two -Bridges and the hospitality that would there await him; but the day was -so brilliant after the storm, and in his waking mood he felt so well -furnished with strength, that he abandoned this project and determined -to tramp back to Little Silver. He tightened his belt on his empty -stomach, lighted a pipe, and set his face for home. It was nearly seven -o'clock when he started, and, allowing for all reasonable interruptions -of progress--incidents inevitable after the storm--he believed that it -would be possible to make the shepherd's cot at Teign Head under Watern -Tor long before midday. - -His road of the previous evening he found quite impassable, and it was -nearly nine o'clock before he fairly escaped from the labyrinth of deep -waters and greedy bog now spread about Fur Tor. The task of return -indeed proved far more difficult than he had anticipated, for the -present harmonious contentment of his mind, despite hunger, induced an -optimism rare enough in Myles at any time. But experience came to his -aid, and he set to work soberly to save his strength for a toilsome -journey. - -It is unnecessary to describe the many turnings of a tortuous way -followed at mercy of the unloosened waters. Chance ultimately willed -the man to Watern--a craggy fastness familiar enough to him, yet -somewhat removed out of the direct course he had planned. But Teign's -birthplace was overflowing, and, to avoid morasses beneath Sittaford, he -had tended northerly and so found himself not far from the tremendous -and stratified granite ledges that approach the magnitude of cliffs on -Watern's crown. - -Weary enough by this time, and surprised to find himself somewhat -weakened from unusual exertions and lack of food, Myles paused to rest a -little while on the northern side of the crags. Here was grateful -shadow, and he reposed in the damp rushes, and felt his heart weary and -his head aching. His dog similarly showed weariness, but knew the -horizon-line easterly hid Bear Down, and marvelled why the master should -call this halt, within three miles of home. - -Then, pleasantly conscious that the worst of his difficult enterprise -was over, Myles Stapledon suddenly heard a sound of suffering. There -fell upon his ear reiterated and hollow meanings, that might be -expressions of pain from man or beast. Some creature in an extremity of -physical grief was certainly near at hand; so he rose hastily, that he -might minister to the tortured thing, while his dog barked and ran -before him. - -And here it is necessary to leave the man for a period of brief hours, -for ancillary matters now merge into our main theme at this--the climax -of the record. - - - - - *CHAPTER XIV.* - - *FROM WORDS TO BLOWS* - - -Honor by no means enjoyed such easy sleep as her husband after the -thunderstorm; indeed it can scarcely be said concerning her night's rest -that it held slumber. The tempest and a belief that Myles was alone in -its midst, brought very real terror to her; nor did she win much comfort -from her uncle's reiterated assurance that no ill could touch Myles -Stapledon upon Dartmoor. - -"Return he won't for certain until morning," declared the blind man. -"Full of thought he went his way and forgot to raise a weather eye until -suddenly surprised by the storm. Its loosened torrents cut him off on -the high land and drowned his way home, no doubt; but whatever part of -the waste he's upon, 'tis familiar ground to him, and he'll know the -nearest way to shelter and doubtless take it." - -In his mind, however, the speaker felt a cloud. He was alarmed rather -for the storm that he believed might have burst within Stapledon's heart -than for any chance accident of sudden tempest from without. Quite -ignorant of the last phase of the other's trial; unaware that Myles had -passed the point of highest peril and now approached happiness once -more, old Endicott only suspected that this man had reached the climax -of his tribulation, and believed Stapledon's long and lonely expedition -was undertaken that he might wrestle with his fate and determine some -final choice of way. Herein he judged rightly, but he knew not the -modified enigma that lay before Myles upon that journey to the desert, -and remained wholly unaware that the major problem stood solved. -Thought upon the matter took Endicott along dark ways; he remembered -words spoken long ago; and for once a mind usually most luminous in -appraisement of human actions, deviated from the truth. Such a mistake -had mattered little enough; for Mark was no harbinger of gloomy -suspicions, and never word of his had made sorrow more sad or deepened -any wound; but a time came when his conviction, supported by apparent -evidence, was confirmed in his own mind; and from thence cruel chances -willed that it should escape from him to another's keeping, should -hasten night over a life scarcely advanced to its noon. - -A morning of almost extravagant splendour followed upon the storm, and -the soaked world under sunshine fortified human spirits unconsciously, -wakened hopes and weakened fears in the breast of Honor. She walked out -before breakfast, and upon the way back to Bear Down met Christopher -Yeoland. - -He was full of his own concerns, for the lightning had fallen upon -Godleigh, slain certain beasts, and destroyed two ancient trees; but, -hearing of Stapledon's absence, Christopher forgot his troubles, -mentioned various comforting theories, and promised to ride far afield -after breakfast upon the Moor. - -"He'll probably come back a roundabout way and drive from Moreton," said -Yeoland; "but there's a ghost of a chance that he may walk direct, after -having put in a night at a cot or one of the miners' ruins. In that case -he'll be starving and wretched every way. So I'll take a flask and some -sandwiches. Poor beggar! I'm sorry for him; still he knows the Moor as -well as we know our alphabet, so there's very little need for anxiety." - -But the news of the thunderbolt in Godleigh Park by no means tended to -make Honor more content, and she returned home in tribulation despite -the sunshine. After breakfast she went out alone, and Christopher, true -to his promise, made a wide perambulation on horseback; while others, -who had planned no special pleasure for their holiday, also assisted the -search, some upon ponies and some upon foot. Yet no news had reached -Bear Down by midday, and then Christopher Yeoland arrived, after a ride -of twenty miles. - -"A good few wanderers I met and accosted--Moor men out to look after -their beasts and see what harm last night was responsible for--but I saw -nothing of Myles," he said. "Gone far down south, depend upon it. -He'll be here in the course of the evening. And it's rum to see the -flocks, for the storm has washed them snow-white--a beautiful thing. -The hills are covered with pearls where the sheep are grazing. You can -count every beast in a flock three miles off." - -Yeoland lunched at the farm, then trotted homeward; but Collins and -Pinsent, though they had travelled far that morning, set out again after -dinner, being privately pressed to do so by Mark Endicott. - -Elsewhere, true to his word, the man Gregory Libby repaired to riverside -that he might meet Sally and her sister, and settle that great matter, -once and for all, at a spot quite bathed in sunlight and little framed -to harbour broils, though an ideal tryst for lovers. Libby was first to -arrive, and after waiting for five minutes a twinge of fear shadowed his -mind. The deed before him looked difficult and even dangerous at this -near approach. Gregory, therefore, decided to slink by awhile and hide -himself where he might note the sisters' arrival without being -immediately observed. They would doubtless prove much amazed each at -sight of the other; they would demand an explanation; and then he would -come forth and confront them. - -He concealed himself with some care, put out his pipe, that the reek of -it might not betray him, and settled down to watch and hear from a -position of personal safety. - -Sally was the first to arrive--very hot and somewhat out of spirits, as -it seemed, because the way was rough for a woman, and her green Sunday -dress had suffered among the bilberries, while a thorn still smarted in -her hand. Libby saw her sit down, ruefully regard her gown, and then -fall to sucking at her wounded finger. - -There followed a period of silence, upon which broke a slow rustle, and -Sally's eyes opened very widely as another woman, cool and collected, -appeared within the glade. But Margery also became an embodiment of -surprise as her sister rose and the two confronted each other. Then it -was that a heartless rascal, from his secure concealment, felt disposed -to congratulate himself upon it. He stood two inches shorter than Sally -Cramphorn, and he realised that in her present formidable mood the part -he had planned might prove difficult to play. - -"Merciful to me! What be you doin' in this brimbley auld plaace?" asked -the elder girl abruptly. - -"My pleasure," answered Margery with cold reserve. "'Pears you've comed -a rough way by the looks of you. That gown you set such store by be -ruined wi' juice of berries." - -'"Your pleasure'! Then perhaps you'll traapse off some place else for -your pleasure. I'm here to meet a--a friend of mine; an' us shaan't -want you, I assure 'e." - -Margery stared, and her face grew paler by a shade. - -"By appointment--you--here? Who be it, then, if I may ax?" - -"You may not. Mind your awn business." - -"I will do, so soon as I knaw it. Awnly it happens as I'm here myself -to meet a friend, same as you--an'--an'--is it Henery Collins you'm come -to see? You might tell me if 'tis." - -"Shaan't tell you nothin'--shaan't underman myself to talk to 'e at all. -I'm sick of 'e. You'm spyin' 'pon me, an' I won't have it." - -"Spyin' on a fule! Do 'e thinks I care a farthin'-piece what you do or -what trash you meet? I'll be plain, anyways, though you'm 'shamed of -your company whoever 'tis, by the looks of it. I'm here to meet Greg -Libby; so I'll thank you to go!" - -"Him?" - -"Ess--him. He's a right to ax me to meet him wi'out your leave, I -s'pose?" - -"No fay, he haven't! No right at all, as I'll soon larn him." - -Margery blazed. - -"An' why for not, you gert haggage of a woman? Who be you to have the -man 'pon your tongue--tell me that?" - -"Who be I? I be his gal, that's who I be--have been for months." - -"You damn lyin' cat! _Your_ man! He'm mine--mine! Do 'e hear? An' us -be gwaine to be axed out in church 'fore summer's awver." - -"Gar! you li'l pin-tailed beast--dreamin'--that's what you be--sick for -un--gwaine mad for un! We'm tokened these months, I tell 'e; an' he'll -tell 'e same." - -Awed by such an exhibition, and amazed at rousing greater passions in -others than he himself was capable of feeling, Gregory sank closer and -held his breath. - -"'Tis for you to ax him, not me, you blowsy gert female," screamed -Margery, now grown very white. "Long he's feared you was on a fule's -errand. He knaws you, an' the worth of you. An' he an' faither's -friends again, thanks to me. An' he'm not gwaine to marry a pauper -woman when he can get one as'll be well-to-do. You--you--what's the use -of you but to feed pigs an' wring the necks of fowls for your betters to -eat? What sober man wants a slammockin' gert awver-grawn----?" - -A scream of agony cut short the question, for Sally beside herself at -this outburst, and but too conscious through her rage that she heard the -truth, set her temper free, flew at her sister like a fiend, and -scratched Margery's face down from temple to chin with all the strength -of a strong hand and sharp nails. Blood gushed from this devil's -trident stamped into a soft cheek, and the pain was exquisite; then the -sufferer, half blinded, bent for a better weapon, picked up a heavy -stone, and flung it at close quarters with her best strength. It struck -Sally fairly over the right eye, and, reeling from this concussion, she -staggered, held up for a moment, then gave at knee and waist and came -down a senseless heap by the edge of the water. - -Margery stared at this sudden work of her hands; she next made some -effort to wipe the blood off her face, and then hastened away as fast as -she could. Mr. Libby also prepared to fly. For the unconscious woman at -his feet he had no thought. He believed that Sally must be dead, and -the sole desire in his mind was to vanish unseen, so that if murder had -been done none could implicate him. He determined not to marry Margery, -even if she escaped from justice, for he feared a temper so ferocious -upon provocation. Gregory, then, stole away quickly, and prepared to -perambulate round the farm of Batworthy, above the scene of this tragic -encounter, and so return home secretly. - -But circumstances cut short his ambition and spoiled his plan. When -Margery left her sister, she had not walked far before chance led her to -Henry Collins. He was on the way to the Moor once again, that he might -pursue search for Stapledon, when Margery's white face, with the hideous -wales upon it, her shaking gait and wild eyes, arrested him. He stopped -her and asked what had happened. - -"I've fought my sister an' killed her," she said; "killed her dead wi' a -gert stone. She'm down to the river onder Batworthy Farm; an' if 'twas -to do awver again, I'd do it." - -He shrank from her, and thought of Sally with a great heart-pang. - -"Wheer be she? For God's love tell me quick." - -"Down below the fishing notice-board, wi' her head in the watter. She'm -dead as a nail, an' I'm glad 'twas I as cut her thread, an' I'm----" - -But he heard only the direction and set off running. So it came about -that Gregory Libby had not left the theatre of the tragedy five minutes -when Collins reached it, and saw all that made his life worth living -lying along procumbent beside Teign. One of Sally's arms was in the -river, and the stream leapt and babbled within six inches of her mouth. -Her hair had fallen into the water, and it turned and twisted like some -bright aquatic weed a-gleaming in the sun. - -Even as Henry approached the woman moved and rolled nearer the river; -but its chill embrace helped to restore consciousness, and she struggled -to her side, supported herself with one arm and raised the other to her -head. - -Mr. Collins praised the Almighty. He cried-- - -"God's grace! God's gudeness! Her ban't dead! Glory be to Faither, Son -an' Ghost--her'm alive--poor, dear, darlin' maid!" - -Then he fished Sally from the stream, and hugged her closer to himself -than necessary in the act. Next he set her with her back against a -tree, and presently she opened her eyes and sighed deeply, and gazed -upon Henry with a vacant stare. Then Sally felt warm blood stealing -from her forehead to the corner of her mouth, and put up her hand to the -great contusion above her eye, and remembered. Collins, seeing that her -eyes rolled up, and fearing another fainting fit for her, dipped his -Sunday handkerchief in the river and wiped her face. - -"A gashly auld bruise, sure enough; but it haven't broke your head -bones, my dear woman; you'll recover from it by the blessing o' the -Lard." - -She became stronger by degrees, and memory painted the picture of the -past with such vivid colours that a passionate flush leapt to her cheek -again. - -"Blast him! The dog--the cruel wretch--to kindiddle me so--an' play wi' -her same time. What had I done but love him--love him wi' all my heart? -To fling us together that way, so us might tear each other to pieces! I -wish I could break his neck wi' my awn hands, or see him stringed up by -it. I'll--I'll--wheer's Margery to? Not gone along wi' him?" - -"No. I met her 'pon the way to home. She reckons she've killed you." - -"An' be happy to think so, no doubt. I sclummed her faace down--didn't -I?" - -"Doan't let your rage rise no more. You've had a foot in the graave for -sartain. Be you better? Or shall I carry 'e?" - -She rose weakly, and he put his arm around her and led her away. They -moved along together until, coming suddenly above the ridge of the hill, -Mr. Libby appeared within two hundred yards of them. He had made his -great detour, and was slipping stealthily homeward, when here surprised. - -Sally saw him and screamed; whereupon he stopped, lost his nerve, and, -turning, hastened back towards the Moor. - -"Theer! the snake! That's him as fuled me an' brawk my heart, an' -wouldn't care this instant moment if I was dead!" - -"'Tis Greg Libby," said Collins, gazing at the retreating figure with -great contempt. "A very poor fashion o' man as I've always held." - -But Sally's mind was running forward with speed. - -"Did you ever love me?" she asked suddenly, with her eyes on the -departing hedge-tacker. - -"You knaw well enough--an' allus shall so long as I've got sense." - -"Then kill him! Run arter un, if it takes e' a week to catch un, an' -kill un stone dead; an' never draw breath till you've a-done it." - -Mr. Collins smiled like a bull-dog and licked his hands. - -"You bid me?" - -"Ess, I do; an' I'll marry you arter." - -"Caan't kill un, for the law's tu strong; but I'll give un the darndest -dressin' down as ever kept a man oneasy in his paarts for a month o' -Sundays. If that'll comfort 'e, say so." - -"Ess--'twill sarve. Doan't stand chatterin' 'bout it, or he'll get -off." - -Henry shook his head. - -"No, he won't--not that way. The man's afeared, I reckon--smells -trouble. He's lost his small wits, an' gone to the Moor, an' theer -ban't no chance for escape now." - -"Let un suffer same as he've made me--smash un to pieces!" - -"I'll do all that my gert love for 'e makes reasonable an' right," said -Collins calmly. Then he took off his coat and soft hat, and asked Sally -if she was strong enough to carry them back to the farm for him. - -"'Tis the coat what you sat upon to Godleigh merry-making, an' I -wouldn't have no harm come to it for anything." - -She implored Henry to waste no more time, but hurry on the road to -vengeance; for Mr. Libby was now a quarter of a mile distant, and his -retreating figure already grew small. Collins, however, had other -preparations to make. He took a knife from his pocket, went to a -blackthorn, hacked therefrom a stout stick, and spoke as he did so. - -"Doan't you fret, my butivul gal. Ban't no hurry now. Us have got all -the afternoon afore us. 'Tis awnly a question of travellin'. Poor -gawk--he've gone the wrong way, an' theer won't be no comin' home till -I've had my tell about things. You go along quick, an' get Mrs. Loveys -to put a bit of raw meat to your poor faace; an' I'll march up-along. -'Twill be more'n raw meat, or brown paper'n vinegar, or a chemist's -shop-load o' muck, or holy angels--to say it wi'out disrespect--as'll -let Greg lie easy to-night. Now I'm gwaine. Us'll have un stugged in a -bog directly minute, if he doan't watch wheer he'm runnin' to, the silly -sawl." - - - - - *CHAPTER XV.* - - *WATERN TOR* - - -Desperate was the flight, deliberate the pursuit of Gregory Libby. He -had started without more purpose than that of a hare at first -death-knell from hounds, and now, too late, he realised that by heading -directly for the open Moor, his enemy must get the opportunity he needed -to make a capture. Mr. Libby indeed was lighter and fleeter than Henry -Collins, and at a mile or two the bigger man had stood no chance, but -now, with Dartmoor before them, the question was one of endurance, and -in that matter Henry held the advantage. He would lumber along in -pursuit until dark, if necessary, and it was impossible for the other to -hide from him. But the probable result of capture lent Libby wings. He -pushed forward, yet wasted precious breath by cursing himself for a fool -as he ran. Across the wastes, where old-time miners streamed for tin, he -went, and gained a little as he did so. Then it struck him that at -climbing his slighter build would win great advantage, so he headed for -the rocky foot-hills of Watern Tor. The extra labour told upon -Gregory's lungs, however; he had soon been running for half an hour--a -performance without parallel in his career--and he found that hoped-for -vantage of ground by no means crowned his supreme effort. Henry came -along with a steady shamble. He was blowing like a roaring horse, but -his huge chest proved equal to the strain, and he grinned to find -himself steadily decreasing the gap between his stick and Sally's enemy. -Presently the fugitive caught his foot in a rabbit hole, fell, and hit -his shins on stone. He groaned and swore, for the accident cost him -fifty yards, and quite shook his scanty pluck. His breath began to come -hard, and he felt his heart flogging against his ribs very painfully. A -mist filled his eyes, and it was lurid and throbbed with a red pulse at -every stride. Nervous twitchings overtook him, and his knees and elbows -jerked spasmodically. He grew unsteady and giddy, fell again, and then -got upon his feet once more. Turning to avoid a bog, and splashing -through the fringe of it, he still kept running, but his pace was -dwindling to a slow trot, and his force was spent. Now he could hear -the other snort within a hundred yards of him. - -Then Mr. Collins hazarded a request. - -"Stop!" he bawled. "Best to draw up, for I be gwaine to give 'e worst -walloping ever you had, an' 'tis awnly puttin' off the hour." - -But Libby did not answer. Terror added a last impetus, and he reached -the summit of the hill, under those low precipices of granite that -surmount it. Here rises a huge mass of stratified rock, beside which a -smaller fragment, the Thirlestone named, ascends like a pinnacle, and -stands separated at the summit by a few feet only from the main mass. -Moved by physical fear and a desire to get as far as possible from -Collins and the blackthorn, did Gregory struggle hither, and over rough -granite steps crawled and jumped on to the great crown of the tor. A -last effort took him to the top of the Thirlestone, and there, stranded -between earth and sky, at an elevation of some forty feet from the turf -below, he assumed a very tragical attitude. Frightened sheep leapt away -from the granite plateau, and bounded down, sure-footed, from the -northern ledges, where they found cool shadows. Bleating, they regained -the earth, and so scampered off as Henry, his man safe, stopped to blow -and recover necessary energy. For the victim there was no escape; the -path to the summit of Thirlestone was the sole way back again. Turning -up his sleeves the pursuer advanced from ledge to ledge until only the -dizzy aperture between the pinnacle and its parent tor separated him -from Mr. Libby. To stride across would be the work of a moment; but -Collins felt haste was unnecessary. He sat down, therefore, recovered -his wind, and volunteered some advice. - -"Best come down-along wi' me quiet. I caan't do what I be gwaine to do -on this here gert rock. Us might fall awver an' break our necks." - -"If you move a step towards me, God's my witness I'll jump off an' slay -myself; an' 'twill be brought home against you as murder," declared -Libby. "S'elp me I will; an' who are you to do violence against me, as -never hurt you in word or deed?" - -"Us won't talk 'bout that. I've got to larrup 'e to the point wheer -'twould be dangerous to give 'e any worse; an' I be gwaine to do it, -because I knaw you desarve it--never no chap more. So come awver an' -us'll get back to the grass." - -"What for do 'e want to bruise a man 'cause a rubbishy gal be vexed wi' -un? Females is allus wrong-headed an' onreasonable. You ain't heard -the rights, I'll swear." - -"An' ban't likely to from such a gert liar as you, I reckon. Come -awver, will 'e, an' shut your damn mouth!" - -"I'll jump--I'll jump an' kill myself!" - -But the other knew his man too well. Even Henry's customary caution did -not interfere between him and instant action now. - -"You ban't built to do no such reckless deed," he answered calmly. "You -wouldn't be in such a boilin' fright of a thrashin' else. I'm sick of -the sight of your snivelling, yellow face an' rabbit mouth--lyin', -foxin' varmint that you be!" - -He strode across the gap, and Mr. Libby, abandoning all thought of -self-destruction, merely dropped where he stood and grovelled. - -"I'll give 'e money--anything I've got--a gawlden pound--two--five! -Doan't--doan't for Christ's love! 'Tis tu hurtful, an' me a orphan, an' -weak from my youth. Oh--my God--it'll kill me--you'll do murder if you -touch me--it'll----" - -At this point, and during a pause in the scuffling and screaming of the -sufferer, circumstances very startling were forced upon the attention of -both men. Collins had made the other rise and get back to the tor, at -risk of falling to earth if he refused the jump. He had then gripped -Gregory by the collar, and was cautiously dragging him down the granite -ledges to earth, when a strange noise stayed his progress. It was the -same sound that had arrested Stapledon upon his homeward way. - -"Gude Lard!" exclaimed Collins, dropping the other as he spoke; "theer's -somebody groanin' horrid near by. God send it ban't maister!" - -They listened, and the mournful cry of suffering was repeated. - -It seemed to rise from the heart of the great cliff on which they stood, -and while in measure human, yet vibrated with the mechanical resonance -of a beast's voice. Collins returned to the summit, crept towards its -edge, and peered over where the tor terminated in abrupt western-facing -cliffs. Then the mystery was explained, and he saw a dying creature -beneath him. Midway between his standpoint and the turf below there -stretched a narrow ledge or shelf, weathered out through the centuries, -and upon this excrescence lay a mortally injured sheep. The poor -brute--probably scared by flash of lightning or roar of thunder -overnight--had made a perilous leap and broken both forelegs in its -tremendous descent. Now, helpless, in agony and awful thirst, it lay -uttering mournful cries, that grew fainter as the sun scorched life out -of it. - -But Collins, attracted by a barking, gazed beyond, and his eyes filled -with active concern at sight of a thing, motionless and distorted as a -scarecrow, upon the rocks and turf below. Beside it a red setter sat -and barked. Then the creature rose and ran round and round, still -barking. Collins knew the broad shape below, and the brown, upturned -face. He nearly fell forward, then turned, leapt to safety, and, -forgetting the other man, hastened down to earth. - -And there he found Myles Stapledon, unconscious if not a corpse. Upon -his open eyes was peace, and the Death that must have looked into them -had lacked power to leave there any stamp of terror or impress of fear. -He had fallen backwards and so remained, supine. No visible violence -marked his pose, yet a general undefined distortion pervaded it. - -"God's holy will!" murmured the living man to himself. "An' he heard -the same cry as us did, an' quick to end the sorrow of the beast, tried -to get to un. Cruel plain; but 'twas no job for a gert, heavy piece -like him. An' he slipped, an' failed backward on the bones of his neck -'fore he could say the words." - -Libby shivered at the other's elbow. - -"Be you sure he'm truly dead?" he asked - -"The gen'leman's warm, but the faace of un tells death, I be feared; an' -his niddick's scatted in somethin' awful. But the dog do think he's -alive by the looks of un; an' such things is awften hid from us an' -shawed to beastes." - -"Please God he've enough heat in un to bring back life." - -"It may be so. Anyway, 'tis for us to be doin'. I'll bide along wi' -un, an' you slip it back quicker'n you comed. Run for your life, or -his'n, to the farm, an' tell what's failed, an' send folks here an' a -man 'pon a hoss for a doctor, an' bid 'em bring brandy." - -Collins spoke with extraordinary passivity. He received this tremendous -impression with grief indeed, but no shock. Fear before any plain, -daylight event, however horrible, his nature was incapable of suffering; -only the night unnerved him. - -"Go!" he said. "Doan't stand starin', an' keep out of Missis -Stapledon's way, but see the men. An' tell Pinsent, or the bwoy, to -bring a gun along wi' 'em. 'Twas his dyin' deed to try an' put thicky -sheep out of sufferin'; an' I'll see 'tis done my awn self, for respect -of the man." - -Gregory answered nothing, but departed. In the excitement of this event -he forgot his own pending discomfiture and escape. But he remembered -these things half-way back to Little Silver. Then he had time for -personal satisfaction. - -"'Tis a ill wind as blaws gude to none," he thought. - -And the other ordered the body of his master in seemly pose, and placed -a pillow of fern under the battered skull, and sat down and waited. Not -all the mellow sunset light could bring warmth to the face of Myles -Stapledon. An evening wind blew over the Moor; the mist, generating and -growing visible at close of day, stole here and there, and spread silver -curtains, and wound about her familiar playthings of granite. She hid -the heath, and transformed the stone, brushed by the living, and glazed -the placid eyes of the dead. - -With profound respect, but no active emotion of sorrow, Henry Collins -sat and watched; yet bitter mourning did not lack, for the great red dog -still ran up and down, nosed his master, then lifted up his voice and -howled as the cold truth struck into him. His wonderful eyes imaged a -world of misery and his face showed agonies far more acute than the -moonlike countenance of the man. - -But Collins had come correctly to the truth, and, in his speech, -accurately described an incident that here, upon thresholds of renewed -hope and peace, had ended the days of Myles Stapledon. - -At sudden cry from a brute in pain above him, Myles climbed Watern, -realised the sheep's sad plight, and immediately essayed to throw it -down, that its miseries might be ended. But at unguessed personal -disadvantages, from a protracted fast and recent physical exertions, the -man over-estimated his strength, nor took account of the serious -difficulties attending such a climb. Half-way to the ledge, he grew -suddenly giddy, and, for the first time, realised that though he might -descend, return must be for him impossible. A desperate effort to get -back proved futile; he slipped, struggled, slipped again, and found his -hands and arms powerless to serve or save. And then he heard the -unexpected Message and knew that his hours were told. - -Now he slept where he had fallen, below the unchanging granite. His -life was done with; its tribulations and sunrise of new hope alike -quenched. Yet no pang of mental sorrow marked his dead face, and -physical suffering was likewise absent from it. The man lay calm of -feature, contented of aspect. His eyebrows were arched and normal, his -hands were unflexed. One had guessed that he made no effort to question -the mandate, but rather, in a phrase of Aurelius, had yielded up life -with serenity complete as His who issued the discharge. - - - - - *CHAPTER XVI.* - - *THRENODY* - - -"In all my life, and long it has been, I never met a particular good -man, nor yet a particular bad one. Maybe each sort's rare as t'other, -for black and white mixed is the common dirt-colour of human nature. -Yet--him--him we've laid to his rest--I do think he was good. He was -better than sight to me--that I know." - -The men in Bear Down kitchen were clad in black, for that noon they had -buried their master, not without tears. He lay in Little Silver -churchyard beside his wife's father; but Honor had not attended the -funeral. - -"Ess, a very gude, upright man, I think. A man as stood to work in -season, and never bid none do a job what he couldn't have done better -hisself," said Churdles Ash mournfully. - -"A man of far-seeing purposes, as allus carried through whatever he -ordained; an' could tell when rain was comin' to a day," added Samuel -Pinsent. He knew of no higher praise than that. - -"An' so soft-hearted wi' the beasts what perish that he comed by his -death for a silly auld sheep. Who but him would have thrawed away life -on such a fool's errand?" asked Cramphorn bitterly. - -"No other man for sartain, sir," answered the boy Bates. - -"Very fine to bring it in death by misadventure," continued Jonah, "an' -I'm not saying 'twas anything but seemly so to do; but all the same, if -the maister had lived an' come off wi' a mere brawken leg or arm, I'd -have been the fust to tell un as he was riskin' his life in a fule's -trick, even if he'd been a lighter built an' spryer man." - -"A plaace as looks much easier than 'tis," said Tommy Bates. "I climbed -it next day an' done it easy gwaine down, but 'twas all I could do, -hangin' on by my claws like a cat, to get up 'pon top again." - -'"Twas playin' wi' his life, I say, an' though he'm dead, worse luck, -theer's blame still falls against un. What do 'e say, maister?" - -Mark Endicott's face wore a curious expression as the question reached -him. The blind man had preserved an unusual silence before this -tragedy, and while the real explanation of Stapledon's death was -accepted by all, from Honor to those amongst whom the farmer was no more -than a name, yet Endicott had at no time discussed the matter, though he -exhibited before it an amount of personal emotion very rare from him. -The sudden end of Myles had aged Mark obviously, shaken him, and set -deep currents surging under the surface of him. Even his niece in her -own stricken heart could find room for wonder at her uncle's bitter -expressions of sorrow and self-pity before his personal loss. After the -first ebullition of grief, when tears were seen to flow from his eyes -for the first time in man's recollection, he relapsed into a condition -of taciturnity and accepted the verdict brought at the inquest with a -relief not understood by those who observed it. He kept much alone and -spoke but seldom with Honor, who rarely left her room through the days -that passed between her husband's death and burial. Out of the darkness -of his own loss Mark seemed powerless to comfort another, even though -she might be supposed to suffer in a degree far keener than his own; and -the men of Bear Down, noting his attitude, whispered that old Endicott -was beginning to break up. Yet this was but partly the case, for -private convictions and an erroneous conclusion before mentioned were in -the main responsible for the blind man's great concern; and the -impossibility of sharing his burden with any other at this moment -weighed heavily upon him. Spartan he still stood under the blow and that -worse thing behind the blow; but the night of his affliction was darker -than a whole lifetime of blindness, and the signs of it could not be -hidden. The man began to grow aged, and his vigour and self-control -were alike abating a little under steady pressure of time. - -Now each of the toilers assembled there uttered some lament; each found -a word of praise for his dead master. - -"The auld sayin' stood gude of un," declared Churdles Ash. "'The dust -from the farmer's shoes be the best manure for his land.' Ess fay, -everywheer he was; an' no such quick judge of a crop ever I seed afore." - -"Never begrudged a chap a holiday, I'm sure," declared Pinsent. - -"Would to God it had been t'other," growled Mr. Cramphorn. It was a -vain desire that he had openly expressed on every possible occasion, and -once to Christopher Yeoland's face. - -"Don't wish him back, lads," answered Mark Endicott. "His life's work -was done nearly perfect--by the light of a poor candle, too; an' that's -to say there was a deal of pain hidden away deep in it. For pain is the -mother of all perfect work. He's out of it. We that have lost the man -are to be pitied. We cannot pity him if we're good Christians." - -"A cruel beast of a world 'tis most times," declared Cramphorn, as he -lighted his pipe. "Takin' wan thing with another, 'tis a question if a -man wouldn't be happier born a rabbit, or some such unthinking item." - -"World's all right," answered Ash. "You'm acid along o' your darters. -'Tis the people in the world makes the ferment. 'Twas a very gude -plaace when fust turned out o' hand, if Scripture's to count; for God -A'mighty seed it spread out like a map, wi' its flam-new seas an' -mountains an' rivers; an' butivul tilth--all ripe for sowin', no doubt; -an' He up an' said 'twas vitty." - -"Ah! Awnly wan man an' wan woman in it then--wi'out any fam'ly," -commented Jonah. "The Lard soon chaanged His tune when they beginned to -increase an' multiply. Disappointing creations all round, them -Israelites. God's awn image spoiled--as they be to this day for that -matter." - -"Pegs! an' us little better'n them judged in the lump. Take I--as'll be -next to go onderground by the laws of nature. What have I to shaw for -all my years?" asked Ash sadly. - -"You've done a sight o' small, useful jobs in your time--things as had -to be done by somebody; an' you've worked no ill to my knowledge. 'Tis -somethin' to have bided on the airth eighty year an' never woke no hate -in a human breast," said Jonah. "Very differ'nt to the chap that -mourned in his Lunnon clothes at the graave-side, an' cried his -crocodile tears into a cambric 'ankersher for all to see," he added. - -"They was real, wet tears, for I catched the light of the sun on 'em," -said Tommy Bates. "An' he shook grevous at 'dust to dust,' as if the -dirt was falling 'pon him 'stead of the coffin." - -"He'm gone since--drove off to Okington, they tell me; an' Brimblecombe -says he be off to furrin paarts again to roam the world," murmured -Samuel Pinsent. - -"Like the Dowl in Job, no doubt," declared Jonah; "though 'tis question -whether he'll see worse wickedness than he knaws a'ready--even among -they Turks. - -"The man stopped in the yard till the graave was all suent, an' smooth, -an' covered to the last turf, however," answered Collins; "for I bided -tu, an' I watched un out the tail o' my eye; an' he was cut deep an' -couldn't hide it even from me." - -"No gude for you to spit your spite 'gainst him, Jonah," summed up -Churdles Ash. "It caan't be no use, an' 'tis last thing as dead maister -would have suffered from 'e." - -There was a silence; then Collins spoke in musing accents, to himself -rather than for any listener. - -"Really gone--dust--that gert, strong frame--an' us shan't see the -swinging gait of un, or the steady eye of un, nor hear the slow voice of -un calling out upon the land no more." - -"Gone for ever an' ever, amen, Henery," answered Ash. "Gone afore; an' -I like to be the fust to shaake his hand, in my humble way, t'other side -the river." - -"An' his things a mouldering a'ready," whispered Tommy Bates with awe. -"I found the leggings what he died in behind easy-chair in the parlour, -wheer he wus took fust; an' they'm vinnied all o'er." - -Jonah Cramphorn nodded. - -"'Tis a terrible coorious fact," he said, "as dead folks' things do -mildew 'mazin' soon arter they'm took off of 'em." - -The talk fell and rose, flickering like a fire; then silence crowded -upon all, and presently every man, save only Mark Endicott, departed; -while he was left with a horror of his own imagining, to mourn the last -companion spirit his age would know. - - - - - *BOOK IV.* - - - - CHAPTER I. - - *THE PASSAGE OF TWO YEARS* - - -Upon the death of Myles Stapledon great changes marked the -administration of Bear Down. The event stood for a landmark in the -history of the farm, and served as an occasion from which its old, -familiar name of 'Endicott's' fell into disusage; for the place now -passed into alien hands, and from it departed the last of the old stock, -together with not a few of those whose fortunes had been wrapped up with -the farm for generations. - -Honor determined to leave her home within a month of her husband's -death. To roam awhile alone seemed good to her, and, for a space of -time that extended into years before her return, she absented herself -from Devon. Her farm had appreciated much in value of late years, and a -tenant for it did not lack long; but the new power brought new servants, -and certain of the older workers took this occasion to retire from -active service. Churdles Ash went to live with an elderly nephew at -Little Silver; Mr. Cramphorn also resigned, but he continued to dwell in -his cottage at Bear Down and was content that Sally and Margery should -still work upon the farm. Collins, promoted to deputy headman, took his -life with increasing seriousness--a circumstance natural when it is -recorded that matrimony with Sally Cramphorn had now become only a -question of time. - -Mark Endicott also left Bear Down for a cottage at Chagford, and Mrs. -Loveys accompanied him as housekeeper. This great uprooting of his life -and necessary change of habits bewildered the old man at first; but his -native courage aided him, and he unfolded his days in faith and -fortitude. From Honor he heard erratically, and gathered that she -drifted rudderless amid new impressions now here, now there. Then, as -the months passed by, into the texture of her communications came -flashes or shadows of herself, and the blind man perceived that Time was -working with her; that her original, unalterable gift of mind was -awakening and leavening her life as of yore. - -Humour she still possessed, for it is an inherent faculty, that sticks -closer than a spouse to the heart that holds it from puberty to the -grave. It wakens with the dawn of adult intelligence, and neither time -nor chance, neither shattering reverse nor unexpected prosperity can rob -the owner of it. Earthly success indeed it brightens, and earthly -failure it sets in true perspective; it regulates man's self-estimate -and personal point of view; enlarges his sympathies; adjusts the -too-staring splendours of sudden joys; helps to dry the bitterest tears -humanity can shed. For humour is an adjunct divine, and as far beyond -the trivial word for it as "love" is, or "charity." No definition or -happy phrase sums it correctly, or rates it high enough; it is a balm of -life; it makes for greater things than clean laughter from the lungs; it -is the root of tolerance, the prop of patience; it "suffers long and is -kind"; serves to tune each little life-harmony with the world-harmony -about it; keeps the heart of man sweet, his soul modest. And at the end, -when the light thickens and the mesh grows tight, humour can share the -suffering vigils of the sleepless, can soften pain, can brighten the -ashy road to death. - -In the softness of the valley air lived Mark Endicott, and still knitted -comforters for the Brixham fishers. - -His first interest was Honor and her future. Of these, he prophesied to -those few who loved her and who came to see her uncle from time to time. -To Mrs. Loveys, to Ash, to Jonah Cramphorn the old man foretold a thing -not difficult of credence. Indeed, eighteen months after the death of -her husband, a letter from Honor, despatched at Geneva, came as -confirmation, and informed Mark that she had met Christopher Yeoland -there. - -"They will part no more," said he when the letter was read to him; and -he was right. - -An interval of six months separated this communication from the next, -and when his niece wrote again, she signed herself "Honor Yeoland." The -missive was tinctured with some unusual emotion, and woke the same in -Mrs. Loveys as she rehearsed it, and in Mark as he listened. "I am just -twenty-seven," said the writer. "Do not tell me that it is too late in -life to seek for a little happiness still. At least I know what Myles -would think." - -But the deed demanded no excuse in her uncle's judgment, for he had long -anticipated it, and was well content that matters should thus fall out. - -And a few months later, when August had passed again, the master of -Godleigh and his lady returned home. Special directions prevented any -sort of formal welcome, and the actual date of their arrival was only -known to a few. Through a twilight of late summer they came, unseen and -unwelcomed; and one day later, upon a fair afternoon in mid-September, -Honor, escaping from the flood of new cares and responsibilities, -slipped valleywards away to traverse the woods alone and visit her uncle -at Chagford. - -A chill touched her heart as she proceeded, for in these dear glades, at -Doctor Clack's command, the woodmen had been zealous to help Nature -during the preceding spring. Wide, new-made spaces innocent of trees -awaited her; light and air had taken the place of many an old giant, and -raw tablets of sawn wood, rising in the vigour of bramble, and refreshed -undergrowths were frequent beside her path. Then, at a familiar spot, -no pillar of grey supporting clouds of mast and foliage met Honor's -eyes. Instead there opened a little clearing, created by one effort of -the axe, with the frank sky above and a fallen column below--a column -shorn of branch and lopped of bough--a naked, shattered thing lying in a -dingle of autumn grasses and yellow, autumn flowers, like, yet unlike, -the old nest of memories. - -And this fallen tree, so unexpected, came as right prelude to the matter -that awaited her beside it. The beech of her joy and sorrow was thrown -down, and its apparition awakened in her heart none of that gentle and -subdued melancholy she anticipated. Rather, such emotions were -smothered in active regret at its downfall. And now a howling, winter -storm descended upon her spirit--a tempest very diverse from the -silver-grey, autumnal rainfall of placid sadness that here she had -foreseen and expected. - -The stricken tree struck a chord of deeper passion than it had done -beheld in prosperity; whereupon, looking forward, Honor found herself -not alone. Close at hand, in a spot that he had favoured through the -past summer, sat Mark Endicott with his knitting; and a hundred yards -away, beside the river, a boy, successor to Tommy Bates, stood with his -back turned watching the trout. - -Mark sat in the sunshine with his head uplifted. - -There was speculation in his face, but his hands were busy, and the old -wooden needles flashed in white wool. - -She watched him a moment, then her eyes caught sight of something nearer -at hand. - - - - - *CHAPTER II.* - - *NO AFTER-GLOW* - - -The object that had attracted Honor's attention was an inscription -carved upon the fallen beech tree. Ignorant of the interest awakened by -that ancient work of Christopher's hand, when the same came to be -discovered by woodmen, she glanced hurriedly at the initials and -love-knot, now weathered and toned by time and the tree's growth; then -she produced a little pocket-knife, and, not without difficulty, erased -the record of her husband's red-letter day in a vanished summer. - -Mark Endicott sat within ten yards of Honor while she worked; but he -continued unconscious of her near presence, for the song of a robin and -the music of Teign muffled the small noise she made. Moreover, the -blind man's own voice contributed to deaden all other sound, for, -following his ancient use, he thought aloud. This Honor discovered, -hesitated a moment, then, her task upon the tree completed, listened to -Mark Endicott. - -There are blind, dark forces that spin the fabric of man's day and night -from his own emotions and sudden promptings. In thoughtless action and -unconsidered deed; in impulse born of high motive or of low, they find -their material, weave our garments; and, too often, led by destiny, -steep most innocent white robes in poisoned blood, as Deianira that of -Hercules. Thus they fashion man's black future out of his sunny past, -breed his tears from his laughter, his enduring sorrows from fleeting -whims, and tangle him soul-deep in networks of his own idle creation. -Our secure hour is the signal to their activities; they sleep while we -are watchful; they wake when we enter upon our pleasures and seek for -joy. - -Moved by a sentiment that herself might be the object of his thoughts, -and her heart yearning to him as he sat there alone, Honor gave heed to -the slow voice and listened to Mark Endicott's oral musings upon the -time that was past. Fitfully he spoke, with unequal intervals of -silence between the sentences. But his thoughts were of a piece; he -dwelt upon a theme that he could now endure to handle--a theme rendered -familiar to his mind by constant repetition and convictions rooted -beyond power of further argument. Of Honor indeed he had been thinking; -for the sound of her voice and the touch of her hand he had greatly -longed. These were numbered first among the few good things left to -him; but from reflection upon his niece he had now passed to her dead -husband, and he spoke and thought of Myles Stapledon. His voice, though -he communed with himself, was so clear that no word escaped the -listener; and every utterance came as cloud upon cloud to darken her day -and deepen her night henceforward. - - -"A man good in the grain--frugal--industrious--patient--yet the one -thing needful denied him--held out of his reach. Maybe faith had made -him almost a hero--maybe not. Anyway, there was strong meat in the rule -he set himself; and he didn't swerve even to the bitter end of it.... -Strange, strange as human nature, that his way of life could reach to -that. Yet I heard the words upon his lips; I heard him say how -self-slaughter might be a good, high deed. And certain 'tis the Bible -has no word against it. Little he thought then--or I--that he'd take -that road himself....... And the foundations of his life so simple as -they were. His pleasures to find out flowers and seeds in season, and -the secret ways of wild creatures. To think that 'twas only the Moor, -and the life of it, and the moods of it, that he sucked such iron from. -'I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help.' -That it should have been help to do such a thing as he did! All a big -mind turned to ruination for lack of faith..... Close touch with -natural things taught him the killing meaning of selfishness; for -everything in nature is selfish but Nature's self. Out of the innocence -of barren heaths, the honesty of the sky, the steadfastness of the -seasons and the obedience of green things to the sun--out of all these -he gathered up the determination to do a terrible deed....... 'Twas all -they taught him, for Nature's a heathen. Yet a wonderful departure; and -the heart of him held him up at the last, for his face was happy, his -eyes at peace, so they said. 'Twas a glimpse of that life to come he -could never believe in here that made his eyes at peace. God spoke to -him I doubt. Yet never a glimmer of promise did he see, or a whisper of -hope did he hear in this life. And he gave up the only life he knew for -her--died brave enough, to the tune of his own words spoken long, long -since.... And the suicide of him not guessed, thank God. Even she -couldn't see--so quick as she is. The dust was flung in her eyes by a -kind angel. Yes, surely she was blinded by some holy, guardian thing, -for his great nature was understood by her. She had sense enough for -that." - - -He shook his head for a space, then fell into silence again. - -He had uttered his conclusion--this old, wise man--in the ear of the -soul on earth most vitally involved. He had been for long years a voice -that conjured some sense out of his own darkness; he had lightened the -difficulties of others; he had spoken not seldom to the purpose and won -a measure of love and respect; yet here, by same flaw of mind, or by the -accident of blindness; by weakness that hinted approaching senility, or -by mere irony of chance, he had taken a wrong turning and missed the -transparent truth concerning Myles Stapledon. The dead man's own past -utterances were in a measure responsible; and upon them Mark had long -since built this edifice of error; he had lived in the belief for two -years; had accepted it as life's most tragic experience, to be taken by -him in silence to the grave. - -But now this opinion crashed into the mind of Honor Yeoland, and she -reeled before it and was overwhelmed. Up into the blue sky she looked -blankly, with a face suddenly grown old. For an instant she fought to -reject the word; for an instant she had it in her to cry out aloud that -the old man lied; then the life of Mark Endicott--the sure bulwark of -his unfailing wisdom and right judgment rose before her, and she -believed that what he said was true. Not in her darkest hour had the -possibility of such an event entered Honor's thoughts. Agony she had -suffered at Stapledon's death, and the mark of it was on her face for -ever, but he had left her for the last time at peace to seek a course -that might maintain peace; he had departed full of awakened content to -find the road to new life, not death. - -Yet this utterance under the woods made her uncertain of her better -knowledge; this remorseless, unconscious word, thrown by a voice that -had never spoken untruth, was, as it seemed, a blind oracle above appeal -from human suffering, an inspired breath sent at God's command to reveal -this secret in her ear alone. The glare suddenly thrown upon her mind -she held to be truth's own most terrible white light; and she stood -helpless and confounded, with her future in ruins. At least some -subdued Indian summer of promised content with Christopher had seemed to -await her. Now that, too, was torn away and whelmed in frost and snow; -for Myles had killed himself to give it to her; Myles had not believed -her solemn assurance, but, convinced that she still placed him second in -her affection, had set her free. With steady heart and clear eye he had -gone to death, so ordering his end that none should guess the truth of -it. And none had guessed, save only this ancient man, whose judgment -within Honor's knowledge was never at fault. - -She believed him; she saw that her present state, as the wife of -Christopher, could only confirm him in his conviction; she pictured Mark -Endicott waiting to hear how, all unconsciously, she had followed the -path Myles Stapledon marked out for her when he died. And then she -looked forward and asked herself what this must mean. - -A part of her answer appeared in the old man who sat, ignorant of her -presence, before her. He--the instrument of this message--had spoken -his belief indeed, but with no thought of any listener other than -himself. She knew Mark Endicott; she was aware that he had rather -himself suffered death than that this matter should have reached her -ear. Loyalty to him was not the least part of her determination now. -He must never know what he had done. - -Neither could she tell her husband for a kindred reason. Such news -would cloud his mind for ever, and lessen all his future joy in living. - -Before the loneliness of such an unshared grief the woman's soul rose up -in arms, and, for one brief moment, she rebelled against her lot, told -herself that the evangel of evil had spoken falsely, determined with -herself to reject and cast aside this thought as a suspicion unworthy, a -lie and a libel on the dead. But the unhappy soul of her was full of -the fancied truth. Had she possessed power to turn deaf ears and reject -this theory as vain and out of all harmony with her own knowledge of -Myles Stapledon, Honor's state had been more gracious; but it was beyond -her mental strength to do so. Understanding the dead man no less and no -more than her uncle, she read new subtleties into the past before this -bitterness, credited Myles with views that never existed in his mind at -all, and concluded with herself that he had indeed taken his own life -that she might be what she now was--the wife of Christopher Yeoland. - -Therefore her own days stretched before her evermore overshadowed until -the end of them, and her thoughts leapt whole abysses of despair, as the -revelation gradually permeated her being. Seed was sown in that moment, -as she stood with the blue sky mirrored in her brown eyes, and a growth -was established, whose roots would keep the woman's heart aching till -age blunted sensibility, whose fruits would drop gall upon her thirst -while life lasted. Unshared darkness must be her portion--darkness and -cruel knowledge to be revealed to none, to be hidden out of all -searching, to be concealed even beyond the reach of Christopher's love -and deepest sympathy. He indeed had her heart now, and knew the secret -places of it; therefore, in a sort of frenzy, she prayed to God at that -moment, and called upon Him to show her where she might hide this thing -and let it endure unseen. - -The boy by the river had not observed Honor, and her uncle remained -ignorant of her presence. She turned, therefore, and departed, lacking -strength at that moment to speak or hearten his desolate life with the -music of her voice. She stole away; and in the woods, returning, her -husband met her and rejoiced in the accidental encounter. - -"Good luck!" he cried. "I'd lost half myself the moment you -disappeared, and had made up my mind to mourn unobtrusively till you -came back to me. Why hasn't outraged Nature sent a thunderbolt to -suppress Courteney Clack? I might have known that desperate surgeon -would have prescribed amputation upon most shadowy excuse." - -"He has been very busy." - -"And done absolutely the right thing, viewed from standpoint of -forestry; which makes it impossible to say what one feels. But forget -all that. Home we won't go yet. Come and see the sunset." - -A promise of great aerial splendours filled the sky as the day waned, -and Yeoland, to whom such spectacles were precious as formerly, hastened -upwards to the high lands with his wife by his side. - -Together they passed through the wood of pines above Godleigh, then, -pursuing their way onwards, the man caught a shadow of sobriety from -Honor, being quick at all times to note the colour of her thoughts. The -fact that she was sad called for no wonder where they then stood, for -now in her eyes were mirrored Bear Down's wind-worn sycamores, ripe -thatches, whitewashed farm-buildings, and grey walls. The relinquished -home of her forefathers lay there, and she had now come from visiting -the last of her line. This Christopher supposed, and so understood her -demeanour. - -Overhead a splendid turmoil of gloom and fire waxed heavenwide, where -wind and cloud and sinking sun laboured magnificently together. - -"I know every strand in your dear thoughts, love; I could write the very -sequence of them, and take them down in shorthand from your eyes." - -She smiled at him. That favourite jest of his had been nearly true -until now. Henceforth it could be true no more. It was not the picture -of home and the thirsty, shorn grass lands spread around it that made -her soul sink so low. Even Christopher henceforth was outside the last -sanctuary of her heart, and must so remain. There had come a new sorrow -of sorrows, to be hidden even from her second self--a grief not to be -shared by him, a legacy of tears whose secret fountains he must never -find. - -She held his hand like a child, and something of her woe passed into -him; then he knew that she was very sad, and suspected that her -unhappiness had source in deeper things than the renewed spectacle of -her home. He instantly fell into sympathy; but it was only a little -deeper than that of an artist. What she felt now--walking where Myles -Stapledon had so often walked--he could readily conceive; and it made -him sad also, with a gentle, aesthetic melancholy that just fell short -of pain. For him and for Honor he believed that a future of delicate -happiness was spread. These clouds were natural, inevitable; but they -scarcely obscured the blue. So he argued, ignorant of that anguish in -the mind of his wife. For her the anticipated summer of peace appeared -not possible. Now her future stretched before her--ghost-haunted in -sober truth. Here was such a mournful twilight as broods over all -personifications of highest grief; for her, as for those Titan -figures--each an incarnate agony--who pace the aisles of olden drama, -there could be no removal into the day-spring of hope, no departure into -any night of indifference. Only an endless dusk of sorrow awaited her. -Western light was upon her face; but not the glory of evening, nor yet -the whole pageant of the sun's passing, could pierce the darkness of her -heart. - -They stood upon Scor Hill above the Moor; and Christopher spoke-- - -"This was his god--poor old Myles! This was a symbol to him of the -Creator. A great, restful god, yet alive and alert. A changeless -god--a god to pray to even--a listening god." - -"He would have given all that he had to know a listening god," she said. - -"And yet who is there but has sometimes seen his god, moving dimly, -awfully, behind the veil? A flash--a divine gleam at higher moments. -We fall on our knees, but the vision has gone. We yearn--we yearn to -make our crying heard; but the clay comes between. That was his case. -You and I have our Christ to cling to. He sweetens our cup of -life--when we let Him. But Myles--he walked alone. That is among my -saddest thoughts--among the very saddest thoughts that Nature and -experience bring to me." - -"The earth is very full of things that bring sad thoughts." - -"Yes, and a man's heart still more full. There are plaintive sorrows I -could tell you about--the sadness of hidden flowers, that no human eye -ever looks upon--the sadness of great, lonely mists on lonely lands; the -sadness of trees sleeping in moonlight; the sadness of a robbed bird; -the eternal sadness and pathos of man's scant certainties and undying -hopes. How wonderful he is! Nothing crushes him; nothing stills the -little sanguine heart of him, throbbing on, beating on through all the -bitter disillusions of this our life from generation to generation." - -Far below them, in fulvous light of a wild sunset, the circle of Scor -Hill appeared. Concerning the memories its granite girded, Christopher -knew little; but, at sight of Watern's crest, now dark against the -flaming sky, he remembered that there lay the scene of Stapledon's end, -and regretted that he had come within sight of it that night. To him -the distant mountain was a theatre of tragedy; to Honor, an altar of -sacrifice. - -Without words they waited and gazed upon the sky to witness after-glow -succeed sunset. Over the Moor a vast and radiant mist burnt under the -sun and faded to purple where it stretched beneath the shadows of the -hills; and the earth, taking this great light to her bosom, veiled -herself within it. All detail vanished, all fret of incident -disappeared, while the inherent spirit of the place stood visible, where -loneliness and vastness stretched to the sunset and heaved up their huge -boundaries clad only in a mystery of ruddy haze. Particulars departed -from the wilderness, save where, through alternate masses of gloom and -transparent vapour, carrying their harmonies of orange and tawny light -to culmination and crown of fire, there twinkled a burn--twinkled and -tumbled and flashed, under mellow drapery of air and cloud, beneath -flaming depths of the sunset, and through the heart of the earth-born -mist, like a thread of golden beads. Here colour made a sudden music, -sang, and then sank back into silence. - -For heavy clouds already reared up out of the West to meet the sun; and -amid far-flung banners and pennons and lances of glory he descended into -darkness. Then the aspect of earth and heaven changed magically; day -waned and grew dense, while a great gloom swept over the heath and rose -to the zenith under a cowl of rain. Dim radii still turned upon the -clouds where light fought through them; but their wan illumination was -sucked away and they died before their shafts had roamed full course. -The cry of the river rose and fell, the rain began to whisper, and all -things merged with unaccustomed speed into formless chaos of twilight. - -"No after-glow--then we must look within our own breasts for it--or, -better still, each other's breasts," said the man. - -But neither heart nor voice of the woman answered him. - - - - - THE END - - - - - - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SONS OF THE MORNING *** - - - - -A Word from Project Gutenberg - - -We will update this book if we find any errors. - -This book can be found under: http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/46857 - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, so -the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright royalties. -Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this -license, apply to copying and distributing Project Gutenberg(tm) -electronic works to protect the Project Gutenberg(tm) concept and -trademark. 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